by Jane Kindred
He was busy counting his facets. “Take it all. Don’t take any of it. I don’t care.”
“Well, what will it do?”
“Darken you up a bit.” He regarded me as if I were stupid. “What did you think it would do, give you horns and a tail?”
“I thought there would be gemstone oils. I used to use them to color my eyes. And there were herbs to take the color from my skin, not to darken it.”
“Obvious folkery. Tinted eyes will get you slapped in irons faster than you can blink them. And dulling your color? Did that fool anyone? With your porcelain skin, and hair like spun honey? Darkening is the only thing that will work. Unless you’d rather just have your man here rough up your face. A few good punches to the snout ought to do it.”
Vasily was ready to leap over the counter in a rage, but I pulled him toward the door. “Never mind,” I said. “We got what we came for.”
“Mudak,” snarled Vasily as he slammed the shop door.
I opened the vial and drank half the draught, grimacing at the bitter taste, and we headed back toward the portal to wait for Dmitri’s expedition to arrive. Vasily watched me while we walked, pulling up his collar against the wind rising with the approaching evening.
After a moment, he reached out and touched my hair beneath the fur ushanka. “I don’t see any difference.” He glared toward the apothecary’s shop. “That son of a succubus!”
“Wait.” I grabbed his arm. Ahead of us, an unnatural light threw shadows across the snow. “Ophanim. I think we’re out past…” The ground swayed beneath me and I clutched at Vasily, who caught me as my legs gave way. “Curfew,” I finished, as the light of the Ophanim disappeared into a warm and pleasant darkness.
Dvenadtsatoe: A Pale Horse
“Nazkia!” Vasily scooped her up as the cold glow of the Ophanim Guard illuminated the end of the dusk-shadowed street. He considered for a moment letting the Ophanim apprehend them. It would be a quick way to get into the queen’s camp to find Ola. But the thought of Anazakia waking in such a place was more than he could stand. He turned and hurried back to the apothecary’s door.
When he tried the latch, it was locked. He banged on the thin wood, but there was no response. The Ophanim patrol would soon be upon them. Vasily had the advantage for the moment, but even cloaked in shadows, he’d be spotted in a few more feet.
“Damn you, demon!” He pounded the door. “Let us in or I’ll show the Guard where we got this bottle!”
The door opened so swiftly he almost fell into the shop. The demoness Lively was staring up at him in wide-eyed fear.
“Lively!” The old man snarled at her from behind the counter. “Get them in!”
The girl stepped aside and Vasily hurried in.
“What the devil do you mean,” the apothecary demanded, “shouting in the street like a madman?”
“What the devil do you mean by drugging my girl?”
“Nobody drugged anyone. It’s not my fault she’s a lightweight. She shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
The heat in Vasily’s eyes flared at the old man. “You wouldn’t tell her how much to take!”
The apothecary waved his hand with a grunt of dismissal.
“As if it mattered anyway. Your elixir’s useless.”
The apothecary lifted a bushy white eyebrow. “Seems to be working fine to me.”
Vasily glanced down at Anazakia and nearly dropped her in surprise. She’d taken on the appearance of the girl who stood behind them.
“Worked a little too well, maybe. Suppose I shouldn’t have used so much of Lively’s blood.”
“Blood?” Vasily looked from Anazakia to the demon girl. It was uncanny. Both faces were a wan olive with a softly pointed chin, and both had tresses of a dull nut-brown, though Anazakia had retained a slight wave to hers if one looked closely. Her full, rose-hued lips were now a thin, colorless line, and the color had also gone out of her cheeks.
“Lively,” barked the apothecary. “Give the girl your bed to sleep it off.” He nodded to Vasily. “Might as well tuck in for the night anyway. Curfew won’t lift until dawn.”
Vasily followed Lively through the partitioning curtain and set Anazakia down on the straw tick mattress the girl indicated on the floor. After covering Anazakia with a blanket and tucking it beneath her unfamiliar chin, he returned to the front of the shop.
“How long will the other effects last?” he asked the apothecary. “Will she have to take more in the morning?”
“Nyet. Nyet.” The old man lapsed into Russian easily, as if he’d spent more time below than above, and from the looks of him, he might have spent the equivalent of a human life below. “Won’t wear off until she takes the antidote.”
“What antidote?” Vasily demanded. “You didn’t sell us an antidote.”
“Well, you didn’t ask for one, did you?” the old man grumbled as he pulled out another bottle from beneath the counter, filled with a clear fluid. “Twenty facets.”
Vasily yanked the pouch from his pocket and counted out another twenty. The crystal facets used for money in Heaven were worth plenty here, but far more in the world of Man. Below, they called them diamonds.
The apothecary took his crystal and handed over the bottle. “Bit of a problem now, though, isn’t it?”
“Why’s that?”
“Needs a drop of your girl’s blood. Hers has Lively’s in it now.” The old man shrugged. “Won’t be of much use unless you’ve stored up some of her pure angel blood somewhere else.”
…
The expedition came to a dead end with the discovery of the closure of the Brimstone portal. They’d ended up with a late afternoon arrival at Lake Baikal, having fallen behind at every step of the trip. It started with arguing over who was to stay behind with Vashti now that Vasily had given them the slip and gone ahead. The Nephil’s twin couldn’t be left in custody of her, regardless of how helpful he’d been in her surrender. It was simply unwise to pit his loyalty to one against the other.
Belphagor had flatly refused the duty when Dmitri suggested that as Ola’s only other earthly connection, he couldn’t be risked on the expedition. Dmitri had called in Lev to take the task, and he was only too happy to be included. Though he was Dmitri’s partner, Lev was an ordinary demon. Born to a Grigori father and a demon mother, without the human blood, he was as unremarkable as Belphagor. As a result, Dmitri—in Belphagor’s opinion—was overprotective, trying to keep Lev out of clan business as much as possible, though by birth he was an Exile himself.
After Lev’s arrival, however, Nebo insisted he wouldn’t leave his sister, and Dmitri gave up and decided Vashti would be brought along. Her injury could work in their favor. They needed someone on the inside at the Relocation Camp to be on the lookout for Ola, and turning in a known fugitive to the authorities in Raqia would help earn their trust to get the group a spot on the local work crew. They’d planned for that someone to be Belphagor, as his infamy would make him difficult to disguise among the demon population, but how much better to have two fugitives to turn in than one? Bringing the Nephil who’d stolen Ola from the queen in the first place would be sure to seal the deal.
In addition, the camp was likely to be segregated, and it would take someone on the women’s side of the complex to find the child. With this in mind, Dmitri called in Margarita Pavlovna from the Muscovite Nephilim to infiltrate the women’s work crew. A graceful redhead in her late thirties, Margarita was petite for a Nephil, but she possessed a surprising mastery of the traditional Russian martial arts known as Systema from her years in special forces. If Belphagor hadn’t known otherwise, he would have taken her for a dancer.
With the addition of Margarita, the expedition was complete. Only now, with the former Brimstone portal sealed, the six of them were stranded in the damp stone passage affectionately known as the “Hell Stairway.”
Belphagor felt like a fool. He should have known the Host wouldn’t have left the portal open once it was discovered. “I
don’t suppose one of you could just blast through it somehow. Being earthspirits.”
Lev snorted. “Oh, sure we can, Bel. Just like you can float through it, being an airspirit. It’s actually that easy for Exiles to get back into Heaven. We’re just that lazy.”
“No need to be testy, sweetheart.” Belphagor squinted under the sudden glare of Dmitri’s flashlight. Dmitri had been more forgiving of Belphagor’s intimacy with Lev than Vasily had ever been, but the Grigori chieftain had always been somewhat irritated at their easy banter, preferring to make himself scarce when the two of them were together. They were in a tight space now in more ways than one. It would be wise not to exacerbate his annoyance.
Nebo lowered Vashti onto the steps to rest her leg, while Margarita observed the rest of them with mild disdain, though she was careful not to direct her condescending looks toward the chieftain.
She gave Belphagor a dismissive once-over. “So you don’t know any other portals? Just the one under your gambling hall?”
“It was more than a gambling hall.” He tried to keep a lid on his temper. “It was home for a great many demons.”
“Demons who are dead because of your involvement with angelic royalty, if I’m not mistaken.”
Belphagor cast an angry look at Dmitri. “Are all of your Nephilim such bigots? We don’t need another ignorant purity queen who can’t stay on mission.”
“I’m not some sex-starved simpleton who sells out my entire race for a bit of Nephil cock,” Margarita countered. “I know where my loyalties lie.”
“I’m sitting right here,” said Vashti. It was the first hint of resentment she’d displayed since turning herself in.
Margarita regarded her coolly. “How clever of you to recognize yourself in that description.”
“That’s enough,” snapped Dmitri. “Belphagor’s right. The Grigori have agreed to defend and protect the offspring of Vasily and Anazakia, and I’ve done a poor job of keeping our people on mission. There is no room for delusions of ethnic or social superiority here. If there’s anybody on this team who isn’t prepared to die for the child of an angel, you can leave now—with the exception of Vashti, of course.”
“I’m on mission now,” Vashti said in a quiet voice. “I don’t expect anyone to believe that, but I’ll try to earn your trust.”
“Thank you, Vashti. I appreciate that.” Dmitri gave her a stern look. “And yes, you will have to earn it. I don’t know that you can.” He looked at the others. “Well? Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Margarita answered a little stiffly. “My apologies.”
Nebo nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Lev?” Dmitri prompted.
“Are you joking?” Lev’s lifted eyebrow dropped at the disapproving glare. “Of course, yes.”
Dmitri sighed. “Now that we’re clear on our mission, Bel, what do you propose we do about getting into Heaven?”
Belphagor considered for a moment. “Well, it’s got to be past curfew in Raqia now, so I suppose we’re stuck here for the night. We can look for an alternate portal in the morning.”
Margarita groaned, but the general mood was one of reluctant agreement. After eating the last of the food they’d brought for the train trip, they curled up on the landing and steps with their packs for pillows and tried to catch a few hours’ sleep.
Belphagor found himself sharing a corner with Margarita, their backs together for warmth. The red ponytail hanging over her shoulder reminded him of Vasily, and he dreamt he was with him on Misha’s terrace in the Unseen World. Instead of Misha touching him, it was Vasily with his warm firespirit hands, kissing Belphagor’s scars and then kneeling before him. On his face was the penitent expression of need and desire the novice pickpocket had shown after the thrashing Belphagor had given him on the night they’d met.
“Moi sladostny malchik.” He whispered the endearment after Vasily had earnestly pleasured him without being asked. My sweet boy. He reached down to stroke the matted red locks Vasily wore tied together on his crown, but instead Belphagor’s hand rested on soft, pale golden curls.
He yanked back his hand as if he’d been bitten. The head in his lap belonged to the former principality of Heaven. Kae lifted his head and laughed, grey eyes twinkling with the same sadistic merriment that had so often danced in the quicksilver eyes of the queen. In his hand, Kae held the knut, Belphagor’s blood dripping from the cured leather thong at its tip.
“Come back for more, I see.” Kae grinned. “So have I. What can I say? It’s in my blood.”
Belphagor woke in a cold sweat and sat up with a start. Margarita curved away from him with a murmur of half-conscious complaint. The walls and ceiling surrounding them weren’t the same as when he’d gone to sleep. As the staircase was prone to do, it had changed locations under Raqia—or Raqia had changed its location over the staircase. A crossbeam of early winter light was clearly visible at the top of the stairs before the next turn of the spiral. Wait long enough in the Hell Stairway, it seemed, and Raqia came to you.
…
Vasily had prepared her, explaining how the elixir worked, but Anazakia still stared in shock into the mirror over the washbasin.
“What do you mean I don’t have my own blood anymore?” She brushed her fingers against her lips. “You mean I have to stay this way?”
“He says we should have taken a drop of your blood before you drank it. When your blood was still pure.”
“Nice of him to tell us afterward!” Tears wavered against her lashes—lashes that were no longer the long golden ones turning up subtly at the ends, but dark, thin, and straight. Vasily reached out to comfort her and saw Lively standing behind them just inside the curtain. Anazakia jumped, her olive cheeks burning a deep crimson.
“Don’t trouble on account of me, miss. I don’t take it personal.” Lively’s voice was nearly as nondescript as her appearance. At least Anazakia had retained her own. Lively pulled a moth-eaten hat down low over olive-green eyes that matched Anazakia’s, wearing a tightly buttoned, patched coat. “Master Apothecary says you’re wanting the queen’s labor camp. I’ll take you.” They’d decided to head to the camp directly, since there was no chance of rendezvousing with the expedition now.
“Master?” Anazakia picked up her coat. “He doesn’t own you?” She asked the question in a tone of disbelief, as if expecting an answer in the negative.
Vasily suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Anazakia seemed forever naive about the ways of her own erstwhile princedom.
“I work for him.” Lively shrugged. “Master Apothecary paid my family a goodly sum.”
As they followed Lively out, the apothecary, finishing a transaction with another patron, grunted at them from the counter without looking up. Vasily glanced at the female patron with interest. Down her back hung a neat queue of hair in a rich, natural red like his own when it wasn’t enhanced with his element. Anazakia noticed his look, and he ducked his head awkwardly. He’d never experienced the jealousy of a lover before—Belphagor had practically passed him out like a favor to men who expressed an interest in him—but he was certain he was seeing it now in the cool look from her foreign grey-green eyes.
Lively led them out onto a street that was at least less deserted than it had been the afternoon before, though it was a far cry from the bustling district Vasily remembered. The brothel that had stood beside The Brimstone was gone, as was the tavern across the street. The flophouse on the corner—he’d roomed there briefly after his return to Raqia following the “misunderstanding” between him and Belphagor—still showed a vacancy sign in the window, but across from it had been a cabaret that rang with bawdy music and bawdier company at all hours of the day. It was silent now. Judging by the ragged souls hanging about outside, a soup kitchen had taken its place.
Though the Demon Market had once extended from the Devil’s Doorstep at the south end of Lethe Street to its glittering lanterns on the embankment of the River Acheron, it was now a single lackluster block. Past the
anemic remnants of the former marketplace that had drawn angels both genuinely bohemian and scornfully curious, the streets of Raqia grew progressively shabbier as they neared the perimeter of Elysium. It was as if its proximity with the city of the ruling class had left a stain of sin upon the city’s edges.
Crossing the Acheron over the bridge that demons and angels alike called the Hell Gate, they entered the capital of the Firmament of Shehaqim. Anazakia seemed tense. Vasily took her hand, hesitating for a moment to glance from her face to Lively’s to be sure he was taking the right one. Eyeing the red and black badges on their sleeves, angelic mothers and nannies crossed to the other side of the street with their prams as they approached. It was nothing new to Vasily. When he’d bothered to set foot in the sterile domain of the Host, his appearance had always elicited such reactions, but this was a world in which Anazakia had once been used to drawing attention of a different kind.
He’d seen the supernal family himself once on his way out of Elysium, as he’d left Belphagor to seek “higher learning” in Araphel. The four girls were much younger, before Grand Duke Azel was born. Anazakia was the youngest, so she must have been the child in pigtails tucked in layers of furs between her mother and a sister in the front of a gilded red sleigh, while the older girls rode behind them. All four of the grand duchesses were honey-haired beauties with the same porcelain skin, and all had bright, joyful eyes in varying hues of summer sky. They’d smiled and laughed with one another as the sleigh passed by. It was a joy he hadn’t seen in Anazakia since he’d known her—except perhaps when holding Ola.
Lively led them from the southern end of Elysium along the main thoroughfare of Palace Avenue, the “Nevsky Prospekt” of the celestial realm. The camp, she said, was situated on the northern boundary of Elysium on the shore of the Gulf of the Firmament, the spot where Vasilevsky Island lay across the Neva from Dvortsevaya Ploshchad in the world of Man. In Heaven’s geography, a startlingly similar River Neba separated the two. To reach it from the south, one had to pass by the Palace Square or take a long detour around it.
