Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (33 page)

“…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,” she 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 kitten,” 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.”

“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.