Sleight of Fantasy

by Dima Zales

  Vlad rips the jaw from his face, turning the rest of the explanation into macabre gibberish.

  He then methodically rips off other parts of the vampire—and by the time he’s done, the room looks like the back of a butcher’s shop on a busy weekend.

  Not bothering to clean the blood from his clothes, Vlad heads for the door—

  Vlad is in a dark basement, surrounded by dismembered bodies.

  Attaching a long hose to a huge water tank, he locates a bloody drain in the cement floor, deposits the hose there, then walks back and unscrews a large valve.

  Water pours out into the drain, washing away the blood and gore—

  I float next to a giant room that looks like an armory for SWAT or Navy SEALs.

  Vlad walks up to the counter, makes his eyes become mirrors, and stares at the clerk.

  “Do your smoke grenades produce fire?” Vlad asks.

  “No,” the guy replies in a mesmerized tone.

  “Bring a smoke grenade, a shotgun, a—”

  Blood-covered Vlad stands in front of five armed Russian goons. His eyes seem to absorb the light in the already poorly lit basement.

  One of the mobsters points his sausage-like finger at Vlad and says something in Russian, his voice shaking.

  Vlad replies in Russian as well—but all I can make out is a mention of Baba Yaga and the promise of painful death in his tone.

  The goons pull out their guns.

  Vlad blurs into motion—

  Vlad stands in a hospital-like room that looks like the one where Baba Yaga kept the Johnnies—the mobsters she uses like marionettes with her mind-control magic.

  The Johnnies are lying comatose here as well, IVs and all. Vlad walks up to one big guy, and sinks his elongating fangs into the man’s neck.

  Thirst satisfied, he rips his snack’s head off and looms over the next comatose body—

  Vlad parks the giant fuel tanker in a dark alley, then attaches a long hose to the back and carries the other end into a familiar-looking basement.

  He then hooks up the hose to an empty tank.

  The smell of gasoline hits my nonexistent nostrils as Vlad fills the tank with viscous liquid—

  Vlad is stalking the halls of the blood-splattered banya.

  He viciously kills every guard. Every customer. Every member of staff—

  Vlad stands in front of a gasoline-soaked man with a Zippo lighter.

  “Yes, I supply that cursed restaurant with beef,” the man shouts hysterically. “I do so at a loss.” He strains to free himself from the ropes that bind him. “They’re not the kind of people you say no to.”

  “That restaurant will have no more business.” Vlad flicks on the lighter—

  Vlad kills people with bare hands.

  Vlad kills people with various weapons.

  Vlad rips—

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  When I find myself back in the real world of my car ride, I could swear I’ve just witnessed thousands of hours of violence.

  Damn.

  Vlad has clearly watched too many revenge movies and excessive amounts of torture porn. Some of the stuff in those visions could’ve easily come from John Wick, The Punisher, Hostel, Kill Bill, and Saw, just to name a few.

  And what was the deal with all that gasoline? Also, why was he—

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” the driver asks me. “You turned white all of a sudden.”

  “I dozed off and had a nightmare,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I’ll be fine.”

  The traffic in front of us is dissipating, so the driver speeds up, leaving me in peace.

  Closing my eyes, I even out my breathing until I can brave Headspace again.

  Do I dare get more visions of Vlad?

  No.

  Not unless I’m willing to puke inside this nice lady’s car.

  But Ariel could use my attention again. Hopefully, she isn’t on a crazy killing spree.

  I try to reach Headspace—but it doesn’t work. After a few more tries, I give up.

  Vlad’s murder marathon must’ve drained me of my seer juice. I guess I have to be careful using the multi-vision skill.

  Exhausted, I sink into a nap.

  When I open my eyes again, we’re pulling up to my building. The driver parks between a red Lamborghini and a limo that’s an exact replica of the one Kevin drove.

  A panda-like man opens the door for me with a huge grin.

  “Hi, Bentley,” I say to my former trainer. “What are you doing here?”

  His grin widens. “Nero hired me and Thalia to look after you.”

  Nero hired not one but two martial arts experts to guard little old me? If that’s his way of showing how much of a pain in the butt I am being, message received loud and clear.

  “Didn’t Nero fire you?” Thanking the driver, I climb out of the car.

  “He said, and I quote, ‘You’re lucky I need muscle on short notice.’” Bentley’s impersonation of Nero’s voice sounds more like a bear.

  I look around. “Where is Thalia?”

  “In the car,” he says. “If you ask me, she’s too serious, even for a nun.”

  I walk up to the limo, smile, and wave at the emaciated woman inside.

  Thalia waves back, but without a smile. It’s not clear if this is her usual demeanor, or if she’s extra grumpy at the indignity of having to drive my ass around.

  Leave it to Nero to talk a nun into being a chauffeur.

  “I’m going home,” I tell Bentley. “I won’t need you today.”

  “We’ll be here until Nero personally calls to relieve us of duty,” Bentley says. “You’re not the boss here. Sorry.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “See you later.”

  Before he gets a chance to chat me up some more, I run for the lobby.

  Neither Bentley nor Thalia follow me.

  I enter the elevator and ride up.

  There’s a construction crew on my floor repairing the damage Vlad had wrought.

  Given what I just saw in those visions, there’s going to be a lot of clean-up after Vlad in the near future.

  I open the apartment door.

  Fluffy paws pitter-patter across the floor, and then grumpy rodent eyes stare up at me.

  “Nero insisted I do a sleepover at his house,” I say preemptively. “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Oh, come on,” Felix says, appearing from the kitchen with a sandwich in his hand. “You have free will.”

  I hungrily eye the sandwich.

  Felix smirks as he hands it to me.

  “Free will is why you stay with Nero,” Kit says, approaching from the living room in a lacey pink nightie. “You would too, if you had the chance.”

  “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t,” Felix mutters and returns to the kitchen.

  “I was worried sick,” Fluffster says in my head as I attack the sandwich.

  “I need to sit down,” I say between bites, and walk into the living room.

  Lucifur is curled up on the loveseat, so I sit next to her.

  She doesn’t look up.

  I examine her worriedly.

  It might be wishful thinking, but she looks better today than when I saw her last.

  “She ate today,” Felix says as he walks in with a new sandwich. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  Kit sits down on the couch. “Just let her get acclimated, and she’ll rule the place.”

  “You better tell us everything,” Felix says as I stuff more of the sandwich into my mouth. “And I do mean everything.”

  I swallow and bring them up to speed, starting with the vision of Lucretia in trouble and the fight with my werewolf classmates.

  “You got yourself pet werewolves?” Kit turns herself into Roxy, then Maddie, then Ashley. “You have no idea how jealous I am right now.”

  I nearly choke on my next bite. “What do you mean pet werewolves?”

  “They’re young, so I doubt they fully understand what submitting to you means,” Kit says.
“An adult werewolf would probably sooner die than submit to someone who isn’t from their pack.”

  I look at Felix. “Can you explain it to me without making it sound so statutory rapey?”

  He reddens. “It’s a werewolf thing. Because they submitted, they will forever see you as dominant. So let’s just say they will never cause you any trouble again.”

  Kit grins. “And you can make them do all sorts of juicy—”

  “Moving on with the story,” I say and proceed to tell them about Lucretia’s turning, Gaius’s involvement, and Nero’s appearance on the scene.

  I then gloss over my private time with Nero, and ignoring Kit’s complaints, I steamroll ahead to the vision of Vlad and the helicopter ride conversation.

  “Bailey Spade is Freda Krueger?” Felix’s eyes are like saucers underneath his unibrow. “I can’t believe she never mentioned it.”

  “I like her.” Kit gets a dreamy look on her face. “So snarky. So sexy. So—”

  “Bailey and Sasha do share a twisted sense of humor.” Felix grins, recovering from shock. “Except Bailey is more—”

  “Can I finish my story?” I say sternly.

  Felix bites his sandwich, and Kit rolls her eyes. I proceed to explain the rest, finishing with my conversation with the bannik.

  “I’ve been to Buyan.” Kit turns herself into a large black cat for some reason, then back into her usual human shape. “It’s a quaint place.”

  Felix swallows his food. “My family on my father’s side is originally from Buyan.”

  “Does that mean you know how to get there?” I ask him excitedly.

  “No. I’ve never been. I avoid Otherlands without technology when I can help it.”

  I look at Kit. “What about you? Can you tell me how to get there?”

  She nods, then walks over to the coffee table and picks up a notepad and a pack of crayons. I keep them there, so I’m always ready to perform a classic of mentalism called the drawing duplication.

  “From JFK hub, you take the south purple gate.” Kit draws a purple circle in the leftmost part of the notepad. “From there, a western green one.” She draws a green circle so that it intersects the purple one in its southern corner. “A red gate next.” She draws the red circle to intersect the purple one in the western corner and then proceeds to explain the rest of the path, drawing more and more circles as she does.

  When she finishes, the resulting map/diagram looks vaguely familiar.

  Felix frowns at the notepad. “Is this some new way of mapping the Otherlands? It looks like something out of my computer science class and not at all how Hekima taught us.”

  “No. His method is newer and more precise,” Kit says. “But this”—she gestures at the drawing—“is how the gate makers allegedly did it, back in the day.”

  “This is so great.” I rip the paper from the notepad, put down what’s left of my sandwich, and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Felix steps in front of me, arms bent at his sides—which makes him look like an angry meerkat.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I tap my pocket. “To Buyan. Vlad needs a way to kill an unkillable asshole, and I plan to help him do it before he gets himself killed.”

  “Do you speak Russian?” Kit asks. “Because they only speak a dialect of it on Buyan.”

  “No,” I say. “I know a little Spanish, and that’s about it.”

  “I can go with you.” Fluffster stands on his hind legs. “I speak Russian, remember?”

  “You don’t have your powers outside this apartment,” Felix says. “You’ll be a liability. If anything, Sasha should take Nero. His Russian is fluent and—”

  “Nero has a contract with Baba Yaga forbidding him from killing her people, and Koschei is listed in there by name,” I say. “He won’t participate in this.”

  “Then I’ll go.” Felix puts the remainder of his sandwich next to mine and stands up.

  “Are you sure?” I look him up and down.

  “I think so,” he says, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Is your robot ready?” I ask. “Maybe you can send it in your stead?”

  “Golem is ready,” Felix says proudly. “But I have to connect to him to make this work, and I can’t do it across gates.”

  “Oh.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That makes sense.”

  “Am I not invited then?” Kit pouts. “I speak adequate Russian, you know.” She says something in what sounds like perfect Russian to me, and Felix and Fluffster roll their eyes—meaning they understood.

  “I assumed you didn’t want to go,” I tell Kit.

  “Why?”

  “You drew a map on how to get there,” I say. “I’d only do that if I couldn’t lead the way.”

  “You asked how to get there, and I showed you how to get there.” Kit’s pout is reaching almost comical proportions. “I didn’t want you to think I’m blackmailing you into taking me with you by hoarding knowledge. I wanted you to want to take me. But if you don’t, I’ll understand.”

  “I think Kit really needs a friend,” Fluffster says inside my head. “Be kind to her.”

  I nod at the domovoi, and with a straight face and as much formality as I can muster, I say, “Kit, would you please do me the honor of tagging along?”

  The pout disappears, and she pretends to consider my words.

  “Extra please?” I say sweetly. “With a cherry on top?”

  “How can I deny you?” Kit’s face suddenly looks rounder and rosier-cheeked. Her outfit changes to a sarafan—a bright Russian jumper dress that reaches to the floor. A headscarf later, Kit looks like the Matryoshka doll Felix got me a few years back. All she’s missing is a set of smaller Kits to jam inside herself—and I don’t mean in a dirty way. “Are you also joining?” She bats her extra-long eyelashes at Felix.

  “Of course,” he says.

  “You really don’t have to,” I say at the same time.

  “I’m going.” Lifting his chin, Felix marches out of the living room.

  “He’s so hot when he’s acting confident,” Kit whispers into my ear. Louder, she adds, “It’s just too bad it doesn’t happen very often.”

  Not dignifying Kit’s comment with a reply, I follow Felix.

  “Get the lights,” Fluffster says in my head.

  Hiding my eye roll, I do as the domovoi wants, then also turn off the lights in the hallway and the kitchen for good measure.

  “Good luck,” Fluffster tells us as we leave.

  “They have me,” Kit tells him. “I’m better than luck.”

  Felix and I exchange glances and shrug.

  “I almost forgot.” Felix looks at me guiltily. “I’ve been carrying this for you.”

  He takes out my Jubilee necklace from his pocket.

  The necklace Rose used her powers on, right before she—

  No.

  Not going to think about that now.

  Reverently, Felix slides the jewelry over my head, like the President issuing a medal of valor.

  My breath quickening, I turn away from my friends—and come face to face with another reminder of earlier events: the construction people are still repairing the hallway.

  Kit and Felix follow my gaze, and their faces also turn somber.

  Kit recovers first, and by the time she marches out of the building, there’s a spring in her step.

  “Kit?” Bentley runs up to her and gives her an enthusiastic bear hug.

  “Sasha told me you’re her bodyguard,” Kit says.

  “Is that your Lamborghini?” Bentley asks, pointing at the red car I noticed earlier.

  “It is.” Kit takes out a set of fancy keys and dangles them in front of Bentley’s nose. “Want to drive us to JFK?”

  “Is Sasha coming?” he asks, his face turning surprisingly serious. It makes him look like a panda worried about his species’ ability to reproduce.

  “Of course I’m going,” I say.

  “We must take the limo then,” he sa
ys, looking wistfully at the keys. “Nero’s orders.”

  “Wouldn’t want to disobey Nero,” I say mockingly. “Limo it is.”

  “Thanks.” Bentley looks back at Kit. “By the way, you can’t park there. Your precious will get towed.”

  “I told her the same thing when we pulled in,” Felix says. “She didn’t believe me.”

  “Would you like to repark it?” Kit dangles the keys again.

  “Oh, yes,” Bentley says excitedly. “But please don’t leave without me.”

  “No problem,” Kit says.

  “Please be quick about it,” I add.

  Bentley snatches Kit’s keys and beelines for the Lamborghini.

  The rest of us walk leisurely toward the limo.

  As the roar of the Lamborghini’s 750-horsepower engine reaches me, so does a wave of powerful dread.

  “Wait!” I shout, spinning toward Kit’s car.

  The Lamborghini explodes.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  My retinas register the flash of fire first; then a deafening boom devastates my eardrums.

  The blast wave throws me backward, straight into Kit. The Councilor grabs me, sparing us both a fall.

  Felix isn’t as lucky, however. His back slams into the pavement.

  Thalia runs out of the limo clutching a fire extinguisher.

  I extricate myself from Kit’s hold and rush over to Felix.

  “I’ll be okay,” he gasps. “Go help the nun.”

  I run around the pyre to check on Kit and Thalia.

  Kit’s arms look scaly as she rips the flaming remnants of the driver’s door away. Reaching inside, she pulls out a burning body.

  She places it on the asphalt a foot away from the car, and Thalia desperately aims a stream of foam at it.

  The fire fizzles out, but Thalia keeps spraying.

  Kit puts a hand on the nun’s shoulder. “He’s gone. There’s no more aura.”

  She’s right. The charred flesh lacks more than just its aura. It’s barely recognizable as having once been a person—and will probably haunt my nightmares for the rest of my days.