Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series)

by Dark, Masha

  “I’d forgotten how it feels to hold a fork,” continued Vasilisa. “But Lucinda, she…she used utensils everyday…. She so wanted to at least look like a human from the outside…. But who was she trying to deceive? We never even had any guests at our house…not before everything happened…”

  The transmog tried to smile but the smile came out pitiful and thin. Dalana tactfully held her tongue, understanding that any reply from her in the present situation would be superfluous. It was astonishing, but Dalana couldn’t find a way to turn the conversation to the topic that was the reason she had allowed Vasilisa to become a part of her life for a short time. Yet now, when it was all over, they sat and talked about a movie, about a cake and about the heavy destiny of transmogrified vampires.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business,” said the transmog after a short time.

  It’s about time, Dalana thought with relief.

  “Your commission has been accomplished,” she said aloud. “Marisa Sukhostat is dead.”

  “What, did she just up and die?” asked Vasilisa incredulously.

  “If you want to be exact, she was killed in today’s explosion,” clarified Dalana.

  “This…”

  Vasilisa stopped short and after a moment continued, but no longer aloud.

  So it was you who arranged that explosion? You arranged a terrorist attack just to kill that rotten bitch?

  Why are you so upset? Dalana replied. You wanted her death – you got it.

  Indeed I did, but other humans died there, humans who had nothing to do with the murder of Lucinda and Nicholaus!

  You feel pity for humans? Dalana’s eyebrows flew upwards from shock. Since when?

  Since now! ‘screamed’ Vasilisa. I know what you’re driving at, but that is not the same! We doomed those humans to a massacre. No one gave us the right to do that!

  Alright, calm down, ordered Dalana. It didn’t happen the way you imagine it did. That explosion would have happened one way or another. It was Fate, do you understand? And I simply made it so that the scheduled explosion played into my hand. Or rather, into yours. And, by the way, thanks to my intervention far fewer humans died than would have if I hadn’t intervened. And bear in mind that usually I, as I mentioned earlier, don’t intervene where I shouldn’t. Do you get the message?

  No, Vasilisa admitted.

  Well, just take it under advisement, Dalana concluded. And next time don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Because experience has shown that your conclusions are almost always mistaken.

  Vasilisa was clearly still reeling from what she had heard about the explosion.

  “I hope there won’t be a next time for me,” she said.

  “One never knows,” Dalana shrugged her shoulders.

  Vasilisa took a folded piece of paper from her pocket.

  “Here,” she said. “The remaining half of your fee. I hope that bitch was blown to bits.”

  “Rest assured,” responded Dalana perfunctorily.

  Dalana unfolded the slip of paper. A fraction of a second passed while she memorized the bank and the account number. Just a few more were needed to do away with the evidence with the aid of a lighter.

  Vasilisa glanced at the handful of ashes in the bottom of the ashtray.

  “Gal has helped us once again,” she said.

  “Don’t remind me,” Dalana frowned. “I don’t know what’s in store for me as a result of that little incident.”

  Dalana looked out the window then listened to the patter of rain on the street. The rain seemed to be abating. Her watch showed just past seven. It was time for her to return to her cottage or else she might miss the Courier.

  “Well, that’s it,” said Dalana, drumming the tips of her fingers on the table. “Let’s take our leave of each other.”

  “Listen, Dee…”

  Dalana inquisitively raised her eyes. In the fraction of a second before the girl spoke the second half of the sentence, Dalana already knew what she planned to say.

  “…take me with you, won’t you?”

  The devotion that shone in her eyes pricked Dalana for a moment right in her heart. But only for a moment.

  “Not possible,” said Dalana.

  “But why?” Vasilisa asked. “I know I’m spoiled and I can be difficult, but I’ll work on that. This child that lives inside me…it will depart. With time. I really am a grown woman.”

  “A grown woman,” Dalana mimicked, but not unkindly. “To me you are and always will be a little girl.”

  “Is that the real reason you don’t want to take me with you?”

  Dalana realized that Vasilisa was struggling not to cry.

  “It’s all ‘wine, women and song’ with you,” smirked Dalana.

  She was also struggling – she was assiduously striving to suppress a feeling of confusion that had overtaken her. Confusion and doubt.

  Perhaps you are irritated by the dominance of spoken conversation? Vasilisa continued. But I really can speak inwardly. Not as well as you, of course, but…

  “Stop,” said Dalana. “For a transmog you communicate very well – that’s not the issue at all. Your ‘childishness’ no longer irritates me…almost…. But you must realize that…you are a beautiful, reasonably intelligent, relatively rich transmog. Believe me, this is not the worst hand you could have been dealt. Things will work out. Don’t be disheartened.”

  An awkward pause hung over them. Contrary to Dalana’s hopes, Vasilisa became even more despondent during that pause.

  “All these insane pranks of yours, like that excursion to Retro…well, I guess your insanity is not only infectious, but also enjoyable. I don’t regret meeting you,” said Dalana, having finally composed herself. “And the issue here isn’t money either…although even to me that sounds strange. At first, I didn’t know how to get rid of you…I confess I even thought about killing you…”

  “You don’t say,” chuckled the transmog.

  “But now…after all that has befallen us…I won’t lie, I’ve taken to you.”

  Dalana reached out her hand and stroked Vasilisa on the cheek. Vasilisa caught her hand and for several seconds held it in her own. A man at a nearby table cast them a glance full of distaste. His companion was gaping at them with a bit of interest.

  “To be honest with you,” said Dalana as she cautiously disengaged her hand. “I haven’t done so much for any living creature as I have for you. At least not for the last few centuries.”

  “Please don’t abandon me,” Vasilisa’s voice was rough from sobs that had gathered in her throat. “I don’t have any one else left…only you and Crumbcake.”

  “Ah, yes, about Crumbcake. It’s good you reminded me,” said Dalana in an intentionally casual tone. “I saw Dolon Tengri…. However, that’s not important. It’s just that I advise you not to return to the apartment.”

  “But my cat’s there!” Vasilisa objected. “She’s waiting for me.”

  “Yes she is, and in all likelihood so is someone else,” said Dalana crossly. “Someone who will not hesitate to chop your head off.”

  I will not abandon my cat! said Vasilisa. Because I am not like you, do you hear me?

  The transmog hung her head. Then she said desolately, “Dee, I beg you…take me with you.”

  Dalana saw a tiny drop sliding down Vasilisa’s cheek. She was having difficulty restraining her tears.

  “It’s out of the question,” said Dalana, intentionally severe. “Pick up your napkin and dry your eyes immediately. This affliction was pleasant. But it has passed.”

  “You talk like you’re in some kind of soap opera,” responded Vasilisa dully. “And you know what? You often act like a small child yourself.”

  Dalana was about to object, but then she realized that Vasilisa, surprisingly enough, was right. Especially about the soap opera part. The words that arose in Dalana’s mind were either banal to the point of vulgarity or disgustingly grandiloquent.

  “We have different paths,” s
he muttered in a low voice. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Vasilisa gave way and began to cry, turning towards the window. Dalana took a few bills from her pocket and put them on the table. Then she stood up.

  “That’s it. Forgive me,” she said. “I wish you well. You still have money left? Ready at hand, I mean, so you can start out? If not…if you need some, I can give it to you.”

  Vasilisa remained silent.

  “Well then. I will take that to mean you don’t,” said Dalana. “And I am serious – it’s best if you don’t return to the apartment. To hell with your things – you can buy new things. And someone else will look after the kitten. Don’t go there again. I have a bad feeling about it.”

  Trying not to listen to the girl’s thoughts and struggling not to turn around, Dalana left the coffeehouse as quickly as she could.

  CHAPTER NINE

  1.

  You become responsible – forever – for what you tame.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Vasilisa opened the door and, without taking off her shoes, walked into the living room.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called. “Crumbcake? Where are you?”

  Then she saw her. Crouched in a heap, the kitten was cowering in the corner of the room.

  Vasilisa understood: she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t heeded Dalana and she had returned to the apartment. Absorbed in her own thoughts, Vasilisa had not heard other thoughts. She had not noticed the enemy lurking in the apartment.

  “Turn around,” instructed a young female voice. “And no sudden movements.”

  The voice was pleasant. In different circumstances Vasilisa might have even called it sexy. But now this voice was ordering her, princess Vasilisa Vsevolodovna Polgarina, to turn around and not move. More importantly, the owner of this voice had a formidable gun and its tip was pointing right at the back of Vasilisa’s head.

  Get out of here! she ordered the kitten.

  To her relief the kitten obediently withdrew into a different room. Vasilisa hoped that the two churls who were lurking in there would not harm her little Crumbcake.

  “I said turn around, you little bitch,” repeated Marisa. “Are you deaf?”

  With a crooked grin, Vasilisa turned and found herself at the point of a gun that was confidently held in the right hand of an attractive young woman.

  “Who do we have here!” exclaimed Marisa. “I don’t believe my eyes! It’s our fugitive countess!”

  “Do you need help?” one of trainees asked from the bedroom.

  “Help?” replied Marisa. “No, indeed.”

  “You recognize me?” Vasilisa entered the conversation.

  “Are you surprised?” asked Marisa.

  “Not especially,” answered Vasilisa nervously.

  “Tell me a new one – you knew you had guests, right?” said Marisa with unvarnished mockery.

  “Well, I assumed so,” Vasilisa replied in the same tone.

  “Is that right?” Marisa smiled widely. “So why did you return?”

  “Someone is waiting for me here. Someone I am responsible for. But you couldn’t understand that.”

  “Seriously?”

  Marisa gestured theatrically with her free arm.

  “I’m curious, why is that?”

  “Because I am a Russian princess,” Vasilisa declared with flashing eyes. “And you are a whore of a cop.”

  Marisa laughed spitefully in reply and moved the point of the gun. Now it was aimed at Vasilisa’s chest instead of her head. At her heart.

  “A Russian princess, you say?”

  Marisa ostentatiously spat on the floor, after which she scornfully continued: “Did they often raise such trash in princely houses?”

  Vasilisa squared her shoulders, mentally calculating the distance that separated her from this slut. It was a ruinous plan. The powerful gun would go off before Vasilisa could plunge her fangs into this viper’s throat. But she had to try.

  “You actually are quite a darling, even if you do mix up titles,” Vasilisa said in a deceptively conciliatory tone. “At any other time I would at least eat you. You would enjoy it; you can take my word for it. But right now, as it happens, I’m in a cursed hurry. So now you will get out of my way, allow me to pick up my kitten and get out of here.”

  “What a kidder you are,” replied Marisa in an ostentatiously tender voice. “No, after all you shock me.”

  Marisa shifted the aim of the gun just a bit lower. Now it was aimed at Vasilisa’s stomach.

  “So it was you who killed Zemfira,” continued Marisa. “How did you reach her?”

  At these words Vasilisa became tense.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Perhaps you had someone helping you?” suggested Marisa. “Now then, why don’t you tell me who that was? Or perhaps it was you who sent me this morning’s email? Start talking, you little bitch, or you’ll regret it.”

  The thoughts of the intruders buzzed around Vasilisa like a mad swarm of bees, but because of her great agitation she could not concentrate. Lacking the strength to grasp the terrible solution that was lingering nearby, Vasilisa hissed in despair.

  “Don’t bother listening to that tart,” said one of the peasants in the bedroom. “Just finish her, Marisa!”

  Almost suffocating from the hatred that flared up in her, Vasilisa growled ferociously and lunged at Marisa at full speed. Just as the transmog had anticipated, the shot outstripped the lunge. The impact of the bullet flung Vasilisa backwards across the room. The transmog’s head slammed into the window and broke it with a resonant crash. Her abdomen turned into a font of intolerable, throbbing pain. Vasilisa realized that her entrails had been shredded. Something else was bothering her. Something on her forehead.

  A shard of glass. The thought sailed through Vasilisa’s head.

  She rolled her eyes and saw that a fairly large, blood-soaked piece of glass was sticking out of her head.

  Marisa walked over to the prostrate vampire and placed her foot over her destroyed abdomen.

  “Listen here,” said the girl clearly. “Your wound is such that you won’t die immediately. But you will linger painfully for a long time, choking on the filth of your own entrails. But if you tell me right now who brought you to Zemfira, I’ll do you a favor and hasten the process.”

  “How can it…” babbled Vasilisa.

  She noticed that two bloody bubbles appeared on her lips when she spoke. She shut her lips and the bubbles burst, letting loose a small spray of blood. It was strange, but she couldn’t taste her own blood at all.

  “But Dee assured…she killed y…”

  Something gurgled in Vasilisa’s throat and she could not finish the sentence.

  Marisa listened avidly to the words of the dying vampire. It was too bad she’d had to shoot her so soon. On the other hand, this fiend had rushed at her when it had heard her name. What else could she have done?

  “Repeat what you just said,” ordered Marisa.

  Vasilisa concentrated. The pain, which had hitherto flared only in her pulverized womb, was now spreading throughout her entire body. There was only one way to end her suffering: she had to provoke the girl into shooting her. With her final strength, Vasilisa listened to Marisa’s thoughts.

  …Andre and Dennis Kameus. How many people has this bitch killed?

  “Kame…Kameus,” Vasilisa gasped weakly.

  This time the bloody bubbles on her lips increased to a round dozen.

  “What did you say?” yelled Marisa. “Talk, bitch, or else I’ll shove my foot into your belly!”

  Overcoming the pain, Vasilisa stretched her lips into a sinister approximation of a smile and bared her fangs, which were stained red with her own blood.

  “Kameus,” repeated the vampire. “He screamed like a baby when I killed him…”

  In full accordance with Vasilisa’s plan, the shot struck her in the head.

  “Stupid cunt, coming back here for a kit
ten,” Marisa swore under her breath. “Well aren’t we a sentimental fool…royal bitch…. For you, Dennis.”

  Marisa was just about ready to start kicking the vampire’s corpse, but at the last moment she thought better of it. Averting her eyes, Marisa took a tissue packet out of her pocket, opened it and fished out several tissues at once. In succession she wiped her face, her hands and the barrel of her gun. Finally, crumpling up the tissues, she walked out into the hallway.

  “I’ll call in for a crew,” Marisa said darkly, throwing the words at the trainee hovering by the entrance. “That has to be tidied up. And this place needs to be torn apart; we’ve got to find out the identity of the owner. Even if this apartment was probably just rented.”

  The trainee, a muscular lad by the name of Neumann, stared discontentedly at Marisa.

  “That’s just great. What are we supposed to do, just hang out here?”

  “You’re on duty, you’re not hanging out,” said Marisa sharply. “Until noon tomorrow.”

  “But we have training, among other things,” declared the second trainee, whose name Marisa did not remember, as he emerged from the bedroom.

  “Don’t worry, you can always catch up on theory. Experience is a great thing. Take any chance you can for practical training.”

  “Practical training – guarding a messed-up corpse?” Neumann flared up. “You didn’t even let us in the room during the fight, Marisa.”

  “Trainee Neumann!” yelled Marisa in a savage voice. “You! And your associate! A serious reprimand to you both! On three counts!”

  The trainees were taken aback.

  “Why three counts?” they blurted out in chorus.

  “For familiarity, for insubordination and for address not according to regulations!” snapped Marisa.

  She paused for effect.

  Then she added in a tranquil tone: “To you I am, now and always, Special Agent Sukhostat. Is that clear?”

  The trainees vigorously nodded their heads.

  “Good,” said Marisa. “You should thank me for not accusing you of habitual negligence towards your profession.”

  “Can we at least open a window?” whined the ‘unnamed’ trainee. “It stinks in here something awful.”