Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (29 page)

“Listen, Dee…”

Dalana resolved to be distracted for a while from her dilemma.

“I’m listening,” said Dalana.

“I just wanted to ask…well, I more or less understand about these Edzeni and Khans. Then there are humans and creatures like me and those like you, but…are there any others that exist?”

“On this earth there live such a vast quantity of different creations that even I get lost when it comes to matters of classification,” Dalana replied. “There are mortals and immortals; there are even certain creatures that are
halfmortal
. There are creatures of every kind.”

“Well, sure,” the transmog said “Anthropomorphic and zoomorphic, carnivores and herbivores, chordates and invertebrates… I suppose there are even creatures in the intestinal tract. But are there any you could not master?”

“Yes, I’m up to my ears in them,” admitted Dalana.

“And what would you do if you suddenly came across one of them?”

“First I’d have to come across them, and then I’d have to see,” said Dalana laconically.

“But you made quick work of that troll,” said Vasilisa pensively. “It’s all strange somehow …”

“Even though I am not listening in on your thoughts, I can predict what you’ll say next,” said Dalana, smirking. “You thirst for blood. Well, you will get it.”

“When?” demanded Vasilisa. “When will you bring me the head of that bitch?”

“Haste makes waste. And also, don’t count on me to actually bring you her head. It’s too bothersome and unsanitary.”

“Don’t worry, that was a figure of speech,” said the transmog. “I just want her die as soon as possible.”

“I know,” nodded Dalana, unable to find a more meaningful response.

Now that the identification of Soigu had been successfully completed, it was time to deal with that beauty from CRUSS. What Vasilisa did not know was that Marisa Sukhostat had less than twenty-four hours to live. Dalana had no desire to please the girl ahead of time. According to her masterful plan, Special Agent Sukhostat would be led to Sergels Torg tomorrow at ten in the morning with the assistance of the suggestible agent and the communication channel that Dalana had charmed out of the fortuneteller. This comprised the first and most important part of Dalana’s plan – to draw the target into a populated area. The crowds of people, the mass of traffic, the profusion of shops, the tourists, drug dealers and demonstrators, the commotion… Any unfortunate incident, from a car crash to an industrial disaster, could theoretically be written into the confines of such a place.

“Turn there,” said Vasilisa, as they crossed the bridge. “Drive in there behind the trees.”

They got rid of the evidence in a matter of seconds. Usually indolent and careless, Vasilisa displayed her true agility. With a barely audible splash the garment bag, weighed down with the girl’s remains and a sufficient number of rocks, sank to the bottom of the river. The black deeps of the river once again concealed all traces of the vampire’s crime.

“Well, that’s it – I’m so over her,” announced the transmog as she came back to the car. “A surprisingly deserted place, isn’t it? You can’t really find many such places in the center anymore.”

Dalana started the car and turned the radio up as high as it would go.

“…and with you once again, it’s me, Romeo D’Armagnac.” Dalana heard the familiar voice of the DJ. “It’s great that our listeners haven’t forgotten about the Soviet stage. It was considered glamorous and stylish in its time. But nothing is forever, and I personally love ‘ABBA’, which had its own beautiful moment. We’re listening to our glamorous Swedish quartet and their timeless hit, ‘I Do’.”

Dalana smiled slightly – Star was in its element. Everything it did was quirky, but it was done without delay. She had her answer. The client was agreeable and had accepted the new terms. Now if – or rather when – everything went well, Dalana would be richer not by five million dollars, but by seven million dollars. She thought it might be nice to take the longest vacation of her career. Canada – Quebec, Ottawa… But all that would happen much later, and right now she had to earn her extra pay. Tonight Dalana was going to have to get her hands dirty and become acquainted with the Stockholm sewage system. The extra couple of million would smell especially vile.

“Hey, let’s kick back, have some fun,” Vasilisa suggested all of a sudden.

“What?” replied Dalana quizzically as she returned to reality.

“Let’s stop by a club.”

“No,” barked Dalana. “I’ve had enough of the local clubs.”

Vasilisa dove in for the kill.

“This is an ordinary human club. Listen, I’m serious, let’s have a little fun, what do you say? You’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a very posh place! I haven’t actually been there often but when I have, I’ve had a lot of fun – it’s called ‘Retro’. They usually play music from the forties and fifties, but they play music from before and after as well. Let’s go!”

“You’re deranged,” laughed Dalana. “There’s a search going on for you – have you forgotten?”

“They’re searching for you too,” retorted the transmog.

“Quite so. You said it. That’s just it. But it’s alright for me – in nine out of ten situations I’d be able to escape. As for you, I highly doubt it. Or do you naively assume that I will risk myself again to save your inquisitive butt?”

“Fuck it! If I have to die, I want to die where there’s music,” Vasilisa exclaimed cheerfully. “Of course they’re searching for us, but I doubt they’ll be searching for us there. Don’t worry – the place is too high-class. And in this wig I don’t even look like myself.”

“You’re not being very persuasive,” Dalana said as she shook her head.

“Oh, come on,” begged the girl. “Just for a couple of hours, to dance and unwind. Hey, by the way, this is very nearly the only club where they play all the John Kander classics!”

Dalana’s eyes caught fire.

“Kander?” she repeated.

“Yes!” said Vasilisa victoriously, instantly guessing that she had cut Dalana to the quick. “From
Chicago
, and
New York, New York
and even
Cabaret
!”

Dalana mused. The twentieth century had brought into her life, as it had into the lives of many Begotten of Old, a flurry of delight mixed in equal measure with despair. Not a single preceding era had passed by so desperately and at the same time so cheerfully. Dalana had transplanted herself to the USA by that time, so she had seen it all and remembered much of it. That gingerbread city, Hollywood, had sprung up before her eyes; Prohibition had appeared then disappeared; the Great Depression oppressed then evaporated; Henry Ford set up his first assembly line…The smell and taste of ardent American blood, gangland chic and the international film beau-monde, who burned through their lives to the jazz improvisations of dark-skinned enchanters – those were the symbols of the first half of the twentieth century in the United States, far away from wars, hunger, poverty and ruin. Dalana longed for those times with an ache that was beyond measure. However, it had to change eventually. Still, even up to the beginning of the eighties America had seemed to Dalana like the best place on Earth.

“So you love John Kander, do you?” she asked Vasilisa. “And what about your patriotism? You’re just so Russian, aren’t you? You’d wander round in old felt boots, touting the virtues of bast shoes, and then suddenly – Kander…”

“Don’t be so rigid,” Vasilisa frowned. “Patriotism has its place, but I adore everything that’s made in Hollywood and on Broadway. There are pluses as well as minuses everywhere – that’s what you need to remember. ‘Life is a cabaret.’ It’s not all high-gloss and glamour.”

Vasilisa may have been woven from contradictions, at times irritating, at times entertaining, but she remained true to herself. Dalana smiled genially.

“So then, where is your Retro located?” she asked.

“That means we’re going?” The girl lit up like a Christmas tree.

“It seems we’re both deranged,” Dalana grinned in reply. “Where should I go from here?”

“I’ll tell you where to go. Just park at least fifty meters away or we won’t pass face control because of this piece of scrap metal. They have a dress code too, but on that score I’m not worried.”

“I should say so,” said Dalana.

“Do you have money on you?” asked the transmog.

Dalana nodded.

“Excellent. But I want to warn you,” Vasilisa said, winking slyly. “I dance brilliantly. I’m a natural. Rock-n-roll, the twist…but my show stopper is the Charleston. So, get ready to be obscured by my shadow.”

“Would you believe that – she’s giving me notice!” Dalana snorted. “I was dancing the Charleston in the early twentieth century when you were huddled in your frost bound cellars hiding from terrorists!”

“I’m a natural I tell you – dancing is in my nature!” grinned Vasilisa. “Get ready, my dear, to be number two this evening.”

“And you should get ready to make an ass of yourself in public,” Dalana replied playfully.

“We’ll see who will outdance whom,” said the transmog.

Dalana spluttered pertly in reply. Ever since she’d come to Stockholm she had not had a single normal evening. But as Pandora said in days gone by – Life is full small surprises.

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

1.

 

Science benefits when its wings are sheathed in invention.

 

Michael Faraday

 

Marisa nervously stroked the steering wheel, fighting a losing battle to conceal the agitation and excitement that was sweeping through her.

For over an hour she and Volsky had been sitting in her car, parked in front of his home, talking about all sorts of nonsense. Two grown people, they were talking about one thing and at the same time thinking about something entirely different. Both obstinate creatures, neither of them wanted to make the first move. Marisa was quite dispirited by this because Volsky, the ladies man who had seduced two-thirds of the women of the Coalition, was now behaving like a blushing virgin on her first date. Quite like she herself was behaving. But then Marisa had loads of time to thoroughly forget what physical intimacy with a man was like. She’d encountered a question online today that seemed particularly apt: ‘How many partners have you had over the past year?’ Marisa Sukhostat could easily reply with her hand over her heart, “Not even one. Just like the year before.”

God, what a day today,
thought Marisa as she examined the dashboard of her car.

Around eight o’clock Bumblebee had suddenly felt queasy. Judging from his greenish face, the boy was properly ill.

“It’s nothing more than that battered perch coming back to haunt you,” quipped Arvid in his usual manner. “I’ve been telling you for a long time: don’t gobble up so much fish.”

But Bumblebee, that enthusiast of repartee, contrary to the universal expectation, did not reply to the jest of his sarcastic colleague, but only weakly nodded his head in reply and became even paler.

Volsky sent Bumblebee home without hesitation. He had just left headquarters when the buzzer from security went off. Volsky reacted to their message with amazement – a courier service had delivered a parcel addressed to agent Bumblebee.

A short while later Marisa, Volsky and their coworkers were staring at a small package. Besides the logo of a well-known courier service, there was a note written directly on the package in a painstaking hand – ‘To Agent Bumblebee, from a friend.’

“The day has been full of surprises,” said Volsky as he picked up the package. “And the night seems to be as well. What do you think, should we open it?”

After a brief discussion, the agents decided to open the odd package. Inside was an electric shaver.

“It’s a Shpilips tender shave,” Arvid said when he saw it. “The latest model. It costs an unbelievable amount of dough. I’ve been saving up for one of these for half a year.”

Not waiting for Volsky’s reaction, Arvid took the case in his hands and quickly extracted from it the stylish, matte black object. The small cylinder obediently fit in his hand.

“Brilliant!” Arvid exclaimed delightedly. “It conforms exactly the shape of my palm. Just like it’s alive!”

“Are you actually crazy, or is it just me?” asked Marisa.

Genaro glanced doubtfully at the shaver.

“I wonder who sent our Bumblebee such a rich gift?”

“People, are you blind or something?” asked Volsky. “What, you don’t see? It’s used!”

Upon inspection Volsky’s insightful words proved true – the shaver was definitely second hand.

“Who the hell would send Bumblebee a used shaver?” Graham asked indignantly. “It’s still full of someone else’s hair! Freaking weirdo!”

“Perhaps our Bumblebee is a covert fetishist?” suggested Arvid.

The agents laughed, and even Marisa was unable to contain her smile.

“Graham, you put the question the wrong way,” said Volsky, loud enough that it forced everyone to quiet down. “The question isn’t
who
sent it
, though I’d also like to find that out, the most important question right now is,
whose hair is that?
Are you all up to speed?”

“So, whose is it?” asked Marishka.

“Soigu’s,” replied Pavel and he grinned wolfishly.

Arvid was the first to say what they were all thinking.

“How can you be sure that this is definitely Soigu’s stubble?”

“Yeah, Pavel,” Genaro said, nodded in agreement. “In my opinion this time you’ve overdone yourself a bit with the abstract reasoning.”

“Explain your point of view,” demanded Stefan.

“Let’s all just write off my phenomenal intuition and the professional instinct of the best special agent of the Coalition,” said Pavel with a hint of gentle narcissism. “Don’t torment me with questions; let’s just get this matter into Krook’s hands ASAP. I feel like we are only two steps away from success, and we can’t afford to waste time.”

The shaver was promptly sent to Krook for analysis. Once she got past her initial doubt, Marisa wasn’t at all suspicious of Volsky’s hypothesis. And once she accepted it, she was overcome by a hybrid emotion. On the one hand Marisa was even more proud of Volsky, and she admired him more and more, but on the other hand she was vexed by the thought that it was not she who had first hit upon such a brilliant guess.

But now, sitting in her car, Marisa felt her physiology slowly but surely gaining on her vanity. She could spit on the fact that Pavel happened to be more inventive than her. Marisa just passionately desired this man, but she was afraid to confess her feelings to him, so her desire blazed ever more intensely.

After they had dealt with the contents of the mysterious package, the evening of surprises did not come to a close. Pavel’s car would not start. Pissed off, Volsky kept turned the key in the ignition, grinding the engine in his frenzy, but the car only sputtered and growled and would not budge.

“Leave it,” Marisa said. “I’ll take you home.”

And now they were two steps away from Pavel’s apartment, desperately wasting valuable time discussing the weather.

“You know, there’s a new genre in mass-market fiction,” announced Marisa, still not looking away from her dashboard. “It’s called homo-fantasy.”

“Uh huh, or crap-fantasy,” Pavel snorted. “Why are you suddenly talking about books?”

“It’s just that Papa sent over a new selection today,” she said, grappling with her shaky voice. “Fifteen books. I’ve been ordered to read them. So far I’ve managed to glance at the back covers.”

“And did you find anything worthwhile?”

“There’s nothing worthwhile. Homosexual vampires in the modern metropolis.”

“I think you can risk limiting yourself to reading just the back covers,” advised Volsky, frowning in distaste.

His tone didn’t sound at all tender, nor even friendly. Perhaps Marisa was waiting in vain for him to make some kind of move. Perhaps his interest in her had already faded. Or maybe there never was any interest.

“I didn’t know that you were a homophobe,” Marisa said out of pique.

“I’m not a homo, and I’m not a phobe,” sniffed Pavel. “I’m an ordinary guy. I just can’t stand Goldberg always forcing us to read all this trash.”

An ordinary guy!
thought Marisa vehemently.
Then why do you sit there like a statue?

“Experience is a great thing,” continued Volsky. “Theory is nothing. But Papa with his old school ways doesn’t always understand that.”

“You know, I should really go,” Marisa said, having finally succumbed to the inevitable. “Have a good night.”

“Wait,” said Pavel unexpected tenderness.

Then he rested his hand on Marisa’s knee. She trembled, helpless to check the emotions that engulfed her. She finally shifted her gaze to Pavel.

“Last time I screwed everything up,” said Volsky. “But this time I won’t let you go. You and I are the best, do you understand that? If Krook confirms my hypothesis tomorrow …and I am sure that he will….all that will remain for us to do is put the pieces together and take Soigu into custody…”

“He might evade us,” Marisa objected weakly, thrilled at Pavel’s gaze.

“I really doubt that’ll happen. Anyway, I’m sure it’ll work out, though my boys have never raided a place like his on their own. I’ll be going with them to arrest him. By God, I will not deprive myself of the bliss of slapping handcuffs on him.”

Marisa was examining Volsky without any embarrassment at all. He was a smug turkey, but oh how fine he looked in the heat of his ambition!

“The first werewolf of my career,” said Pavel dreamily. “But far from the last, I think.”

Marisa realized that it was time to take matters into her own hands.

“Volsky, why do I want you so badly?” she breathed ardently. “Here you sit and go on about how you are going to get Soigu, while I’m just sitting here wanting you and getting even more turned on by your words…”

Volsky impetuously pressed against Marisa and covered her lips with his own. After some time they drew apart.

“I know what you are thinking right now,” said Volsky gruffly. “That all men are dogs.”

“That’s obvious,” said Marisa voluptuously. “But I’m a little too preoccupied at the moment to care…”

“But all the same you must admit,” Pavel interrupted her, still pressing her firmly against his muscular torso. “The sleight of hand with the car was pretty clever.”

Marisa needed a moment to comprehend and process what he had said.

“Let’s go inside,” she said, smiling invitingly. “That’s enough talk for tonight.”

While Marisa and Pavel were abandoning themselves to passion, forgetting about everything else on earth, another individual was as far as could possibly be from the delights of love.

Alexander Soigu, who’d returned home to his country retreat, was in the most abominable mood.

At home everything was the same: Stella was in alcoholic oblivion below, while Jan slept with troubled dreams above. The servants were in their rooms. The
Sentinel
, who could always be counted on, guarded its master’s lands.

Soigu locked himself in his study, rejoicing in the fact that at this late hour none of his family or staff, who had all become repulsive to him, would infringe upon his repose.

So, he had overplayed his hand. He had shed his fear. He had transgressed the boundaries of what was permissible. So
She
reckoned.

And now
She
was watching every step he took. The unpleasantness with those Chaldeans in the Coalition seemed like the stinging of a mosquito compared to her constant regard.

Of course, he could leave. He could change his appearance. Or if he wanted to call things by their proper names, he had the ability to replace his human shell. Once he did CRUSS would never find him. Neither could the FSB, the CIA, the FBI, or even the infamous Mossad. Alexander Soigu had the ability to conceal himself, to disappear without a trace from any intelligence agency, even the most sophisticated and powerful.

But he didn’t have the faintest clue how to hide from
Her
. From the Black Mother.

The trouble was that it was impossible to hide from the Black Mother.

But it was possible to fight for his existence here in the human world. To defend and assert his right to live the way he desired. And he could give a toss for all those interdictions and human laws. It was obvious that they were not written for him.

Something else was also obvious: he was still going to have to replace his body. The human shell by the name of Alexander Soigu had outlived its usefulness. It had served its purpose. He would find a new one. Even better, even handsomer, even more convenient.

And he would begin a new life.

Chances were he’d have to kill his dear wife, Stella. Just like Soigu’s body, Stella was already past her expiration date. Well what else? Dealing with the servants would be simple – he’d just kill them all quickly. He’d send the
Sentinel
home. He could leave the house as it was. Or maybe he should tear it down. Soigu decided to return to that issue later.

Soigu still did not know how he should deal with Jan. Ultimately the decision depended heavily on Jan’s conduct. If the boy made the right choice, they would start a new life together. If not, well, then, alas and alack…

However, he would deal with all of that once he’d organized a farewell supper for those officious little humans from CRUSS
.
A very
merry
little farewell supper
.

Soigu settled down to think about the specifics of the forthcoming enterprise. His man on the inside was industriously reporting any changes in the investigation, so Soigu didn’t have to worry about the specifics of how and when his arrest would happen.

There was one thing Soigu didn’t know about yet. He didn’t know that several hours ago his favorite shaver, a recently released Shpilips, had furtively disappeared from his house. He didn’t know, but he would soon.

2.

 

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

Friedrich Nietzsche

 

It seemed that the uncanny stench that permeated the sewage system could kill any living creature.

But Dalana knew that this façade was a lie. The sewage system was alive. It lived its own individual life, kept secret from outside eyes under the weight of asphalt and the veil of noisome darkness.

Thanks to her impeccable vision, Dalana was able to observe how the disgusting grey-green slime slid down the walls. The slime was not hazardous to Dalana. Naturally, this repulsively squishy substance was toxic, but here in the depths of the Stockholm sewage system dwelled creatures that were far more poisonous and dangerous.

At this late hour Dalana was trying to encounter one of these creatures. Really, it was the extra two million dollars that had forced her to take such a step.

The past day had been far too eventful. Fortunately, Dalana effortlessly held within her mind the entire series of events, masterfully coming up with new decisions and conclusions as the situations arose. The only thing that Dalana stubbornly refused to think about was the Black Woman. Even though she was exceedingly interested in the identity of Soigu’s odd guest, she regarded this question as secondary to her other occupations.