Legacy in Blood

by Masha Dark

“No,” snapped Marisa. “Just in case you didn’t notice when we arrived, the only window that was open was in the kitchen. It should remain that way.”

  “But it stinks,” repeated the trainee.

  “Deal with it,” stated Marisa as she opened the door to the corridor. “I wish you a successful watch. Don’t turn on any lights, and don’t watch the TV. When you return to the Academy, present me with a report. And not one for the two of you, but personally from each.”

  She unclenched her fist and the clump of tissues fell to the floor.

  “You need to pick that up and stick it in the trash. If, of course, you don’t want to keep it as a memento.”

  With these words Marisa stepped out the door, leaving the distressed trainees to each other’s company.

  Dalana turned the wheel. The car veered dangerously, almost fatally, to the right, just making it past the barrier onto the exit ramp.

  “Road hog!” yelled a red faced person who was driving behind her in a truck as he eloquently twirled his finger near his forehead.

  Dalana did not hear his insult for the simple reason that at that moment she was cursing herself in all the languages she knew.

  The moment before she had swerved, Dalana understood: something irreparable had happened.

  Vasilisa had been caught in a trap.

  Several minutes later Dalana was speeding back to her abandoned lair. She raced along at full speed, squeezing as much speed as possible out of the tin can on wheels she was driving.

  Clutching at the shabby steering wheel in a frenzy, Dalana upbraided herself for ever getting involved with the girl. And for leaving her alone an hour ago in an indifferent city. And for the fact that now she was guaranteed to be late for her meeting with the Courier. And for the fact that she’d got messed up in this business. And for the fact that now Vasilisa would try to plod along after her everywhere she went…

  If, of course, Vasilisa was still alive.

  If, of course, Dalana herself stayed alive.

  Dalana parked dangerously close to the apartment building and hurled herself out of the car. Fortunately, the darkness, Dalana’s ally, had already come into its own.

  In the next moment Dalana’s worst fear was confirmed: there were humans from CRUSS in the apartment. Two of them.

  The window of the bedroom where they had stationed themselves was gleaming with a pale, unfriendly light.

  No matter how hard she tried, Dalana could not feel Vasilisa’s thoughts.

  I’m too late, Dalana realized with bitterness. Dolon does indeed bring disaster on his wings.

  However, there was an outside chance that Vasilisa had not been killed but was lying senseless or in some torture chamber somewhere beyond the walls of the Coalition. In any event, Dalana intended to find out what had really happened in the apartment. If they’d killed the girl, Dalana would learn who was guilty of her death.

  Understanding just how much she was risking, the Begotten of Old soared to a window of her recent refuge and stuck to the wall with her palms.

  If at this dark hour someone caught sight of the strange creature clinging to a wall near the window on the fourth floor then surely he would take her for a gigantic spider or a monstrous bat.

  Dalana desperately hoped no one would notice her.

  Positioning herself as comfortably as possible, Dalana hungrily listened to the stream of consciousness of the two crusaders.

  Their thoughts were barbaric and unsparing.

  Vasilisa had been killed. She’d been shot and both the boys were impatiently awaiting the arrival of the clean-up crew, which was supposed to gather up Vasilisa’s brains and intestines from the floor. The crusaders were playing cards by the light of a desk lamp, ignoring the instructions they’d been given. The life of the kitten was at stake: he who won got to drown the little animal. However, one of the men had proposed an alternative – they could just kick the thing out onto the stairs and let someone else sort it out. The crusaders were lounging about in the musty bedroom, and the mangled body, or as the men called it, Vasilisa’s ‘messed-up corpse’ was in the living room. However, such proximity did not disturb the trainees of the Coalition. Their thoughts were elsewhere…

  …by that drill-sergeant Sukhostat.

  Dalana clenched her teeth so hard that they squeaked.

  That’s it – the latest surprise from Pandora’s Box. It turned out that two people were guilty of Vasilisa’s death: Dalana, for operating so unprofessionally, and Agent Marisa Sukhostat of CRUSS, who by some inexplicable confluence of events had managed to elude death from the blast set off by the suicide bomber.

  Dalana repeatedly asked herself questions that she did not know the answers to. Where had she made her mistake, a mistake that was fatal for one and preserving for the other? How could such an irreproachably organized plan have failed?

  It was an equation with a variable. Sadly, right now Dalana had neither the time nor the opportunity to solve it. Dalana could not afford the luxury of giving way to her emotions – it would cost her too dearly. She knew only one thing: the money for Marisa Sukhostat’s head had been paid. In full. And Dalana, as a professional, was obliged to see the business though to its end.

  But right now she needed to leave. So that the avalanche of troubles that had thundered right at her heels since she landed in Sweden did not become even larger.

  Suddenly, Dalana felt the presence of someone else, someone completely harmless and frightened half to death. Dalana stretched out her neck and warily glanced through the darkened kitchen window. Two small, blazing points of light were looking right at her. Well of course, the kitten.

  Come here, Dalana mentally called to her.

  While the animal clamored up onto the windowsill, Dalana managed to smoothly and almost soundlessly shift her body closer to the window. Inwardly cursing, she thanked the little boy-crusaders for not having the sense to shut the small window in the kitchen. In the blink of an eye, Dalana thrust her arm through the aperture, carefully picked up the kitten by its scruff and drew it through the window.

  The return journey to the car seemed unbearably long to Dalana. Her feet had just touched the ground when a middle-aged man walked out the front door.

  “Good evening,” he said drunkenly to Dalana. “Tell me, what-what’s your name?”

  Dalana, slouching and hunching her head in her shoulders, rushed to get away. If she had landed just a couple of seconds later her troubles would have increased.

  “Hold tight,” said Dalana to the kitten as she deposited her in the backseat of the car. “I still mean to make it on time.”

  Marisa consigned last piece of fried chicken to her mouth and chewed it with pleasure. Bumblebee, who was sitting opposite her, as usual was fiddling with his fork in some sort of fish dish.

  Just the two of them were eating today. Volsky and his associates, owing to a happy resolution of the political quagmire of the past few days, were busy with the detailed planning of tomorrow’s raid on the werewolf Soigu’s mansion.

  “Do you at least feel better after yesterday’s illness?” Marisa asked Bumblebee. “I’m asking now because in all the hubbub earlier I forgot to ask.”

  “I understand,” he responded in a businesslike tone. “You were getting ready to catch a valuable little bird – there was no time for the niceties. You did really well. I think Goldberg will be pleasantly surprised.”

  Marisa was not about to disillusion him with the confession that the value of that little bird had actually been very little, on an informational level at any rate. Meanwhile, Marisa was surprised to find that she was not feeling the pleasure or joy that usually sprang up in her after a successfully completed operation. Marisa didn’t feel anything except moral fatigue. It was like all her emotions had suddenly, as if on command, switched off.

  It’s just all a bit too much, that’s all, thought Marisa. The days are simply congested with events. That’s why my feelings have dulled. And then – I do feel hungry. These chicken
breasts really are quite delicious today! It’s nothing, I’ll bounce back…

  “As for me, well,” continued Bumblebee in the interim. “I’m fine. I don’t know what was wrong with me yesterday. I haven’t even had a head cold in the past twenty years.”

  Marisa quickly glanced at Bumblebee, her eyes full of doubt. It was hard for her to swallow the idea that a man of his constitution and way of life hadn’t caught the common cold once in twenty years.

  “You probably got food-poisoning or something,” Marisa suggested. “Not from here, of course. Here, as you know, the food is way too good.”

  “But I didn’t eat anywhere else,” he objected. “The strangest thing is that I remember very little about yesterday. It’s like everything’s in some kind of a fog…”

  Bumblebee pushed his plate of fish away.

  “To hell with it anyway. Let’s talk about your issue.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Marisa with an attentive look.

  “Unfortunately, as yet there’s nothing concrete.”

  “It’s okay, there’s still time. Do you have any information at all?”

  “Nah, well, some kind of information can always be found,” Bumblebee said with a wry expression. “The mail was sent from an absolutely normal address. There are millions like it. The provider is also fairly widespread.” Bumblebee chuckled knowlingly. “Half of Stockholm uses it. In fact, so do I. They have good rates…the quality is also decent…”

  “But you couldn’t get the IP address?” she interrupted him.

  “My computer couldn’t detect it.”

  “So use a different one.”

  “A different computer won’t be able to detect it either. None will – it’s been scrambled too well.”

  “And what kind of a program could conceal it that way?” asked Marisa.

  “There’s a freaking swarm of these programs,” explained Bumblebee. “I use one. So what I’m saying is – I need some time to look into it thoroughly. At least a night.”

  “Okay,” Marisa said. “If there’s any news, let me know.”

  “Will do. Are you going to see Pavel now?”

  Marisa sank into a reverie. She really didn’t want to see Pavel. But at the same time she longed to find out the details of the upcoming arrest. This was no joke. During their tenure at CRUSS no one had yet caught a werewolf!

  “Yes, I am,” said Marisa to Bumblebee. “Are you coming with me?”

  “I’m not needed,” he demurred. “This Soigu of yours has such a weak-ass security system that any idiot could deal with it.”

  Marisa somehow didn’t believe that. A man, or rather, a creature like Soigu wouldn’t leave his lair unprotected. It was possible that the werewolf’s protection system was somehow beyond Bumblebee’s expertise. Marisa hoped that Volsky would be able to answer that question.

  “I’m off,” said Marisa to Bumblebee as she got up from the table. “I’m counting on you. And, if it isn’t too much of a bother, could you please clear my plate for me?”

  Marisa quickly walked away without waiting for his answer.

  2.

  Hic locus, hic saltus.

  Here is the place, here is the jump (you need to act).

  Dalana had been standing in the stone hall of her temporary country refuge for a good twenty minutes, trying to solve the latest puzzle – had the Courier visited this place in her absence or not?

  It was logical to assume that It had not. Otherwise It would have left the visa and the new passports. On the other hand it was entirely possible that It had stopped by but had simply forgotten about the documents. Or perhaps It had been put out that no one was here to meet It and in a fit of pique It had decided not to leave them.

  For the first time in a long time, Dalana felt like she was ready to just give up. Everything was going wrong. It was as if someone was intentionally confusing her cards, masterfully ensnaring Dalana in a web of her own machinations.

  In a web of intrigue…or in a spider’s web, thought Dalana, smiling bitterly. Both are entirely appropriate.

  At that moment Dalana felt a burst of cold air. There was clearly a draft in the house. Dalana was about to check if she had closed the front door when she realized that the Courier was here.

  The imperious, vigorous, bold Sovereign of the clear, unclouded sky, he was known to Dalana as Esege Malan. The Tengri who dispersed the clouds. The Tengri who offered hope.

  In mute rapture, Dalana respectfully bowed her head to him. She could vividly smell the delicate fragrance of maple syrup. Compliments of Canada…

  My greetings to you, munificent Lord of the Clear Sky, exclaimed Dalana, instantly experiencing a surge of energy.

  And my greetings to you, Daughter of the Red Father, replied the Tengri.

  He looked transparent and almost immaterial, but Dalana was ready to swear that she had seen nothing quite as substantial and vital as this wondrous creature in quite a long time.

  Dalana found it incredible that the Tengri of the Clear Sky was carrying out courier services for Victor. All she could do was envy Victor’s connections in high places, that is, in the Upper World.

  I’m a bit late, said Esege Malan somewhat guiltily. I had business to attend to. The West Wind refused to acquiesce.

  Dalana knew that he was speaking of Dolon Tengri. And indeed, the sky beyond the windows was now bright and full of stars – without a single cloud. It was just a pity that the Clear Tengri had been so late in driving the rainy herald of misfortune from his domain…

  Autumn is approaching, replied Dalana laconically.

  For the Clear Sky the seasons of the year hold no meaning, rejoined the Tengri. But – to business! Take these items, for now they are yours.

  There was a sound like the sound of a deadbolt being unlocked or the sound of thunder. In the next instant what looked like two small, high-quality leather binders fell onto the floor.

  Dalana bent over and picked up the documents. Sure enough, the leather was fine and very expensive.

  “Bravo, Vic,” Dalana muttered aloud. “Everything’s included…”

  Bloody Daughter, I’m expecting gratitude from you, as well as those symbols that you must give to me, the Tengri announced impatiently.

  Oh, of course, Clear Lord. Dalana recollected herself. I was just thinking. I thank you for bringing these items to me in time.

  It took some time to convey the information about the bank account with five million dollars in it to the Tengri. She’d just received this information from Vasilisa, and although Dalana tried not get distracted by oppressive thoughts, she managed poorly and kept getting sidetracked.

  I wish that bitch was blown to bits.

  But it was Vasilisa’s head that had been blown to bits.

  These two wild thoughts battled in Dalana’s mind and impeding Esege Malan’s efforts to correctly commit the information to memory.

  When the transfer of the information was finally complete, Dalana suddenly remembered that she must ask Victor for one more service.

  The Tengri, in the meantime, was already taking it upon himself to leave Dalana.

  Clear Lord, wait! she called to the Courier. I want you to communicate one more request from me. I need…

  Dalana fell silent, realizing that for the first time in her life she was at a ‘mental impasse’.

  “A veterinary registration card,” Dalana finished aloud.

  I did not understand your words, said the Tengri, nonplussed.

  How to explain to the Divinity of the Clear Sky what a veterinary registration card was? Was this ancient creature, to whom the limitless spaces of the upper World were subject, even able to comprehend what kind of complications could arise with customs officials when you flew into a different country with forged documents, carrying a cat with you and the police breathing down your neck? Those who existed outside of the framework of human society did not know what bureaucracy was and had never even heard about the Coalition of Special Services. There was no way
to translate the phrase ‘veterinary registration card’ from verbal language into mental.

  Then it dawned on Dalana.

  Look here, Lord, she requested as she pointed at the armchair where, curled up into a ball, the kitten was breathing gently.

  Do you see that animal? I must, without fail, take him away with me, added Dalana. Please communicate this.

  After she had parted with the Tengri, Dalana decided that she needed a breath of fresh air and walked out onto the terrace. The night greeted Dalana with a stunning silence and a palpable, almost autumnal, chill. But for some reason she did not want to remain on the terrace. Furthermore, she really needed to address herself to her next operation – the kun-mus. Circumstances were inexorable: she would have to postpone dealing with Marisa Sukhostat until a better time. The matter of the kun-mus in the skin of an international businessman would not suffer delay.

  As she returned to the house, Dalana realized that she hadn’t looked over her new documents. She had to familiarize herself with the details of two identities belonging to two different nations.

  Dalana made herself comfortable on the soft couch and leisurely thumbed through both folders. The first passport was Swedish with a Canadian visa. With the help of this passport Dalana was transformed into Diana Salo. Dalana snorted. She’d been having a lot of luck recently with Dianas. A student from Stockholm, Diana Salo was taking off to a foreign land to study and to learn the language more intensively. The tickets included with the passport completed the tale: Salo would fly though Paris to visit an old friend of her mother – or better yet, of her grandmother – to give her a rare edition of some book, Pasternak’s novel, for example.

  Passport number two attested the opposite. Dalana, or rather Dolores, was one hundred percent Canadian and she had never traveled beyond the boundaries of her own country.

  The documents were in order, so she could now risk getting rid of that forgery she’d received from the transmogs. With the help of fire, naturally. Happily, calling upon the Noyan of Fire for aid was not at all necessary this time. A simple lighter would do.

  Setting aside the folders, Dalana took out her old passport, lit it on two sides and tossed it into the fireplace. As she watched the fire devouring the paper, Dalana regretted the fact that it couldn’t destroy the fireplace. Undoubtedly Vasilisa could have done it if she were here right now.