The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) (4 page)

Message received, Quince boy. A scarlet crane, paid for with your blood.

He focused on Bentley. “Quince died as a direct result of his investigation. We have no evidence he made contact with the source. We don’t know how his attackers learned he was in-country or how they tracked him. Agent Piper’s most likely right in his interpretation of the picture. We need to pick up where Quince left off.”

Bentley nodded and took a minute before answering. “Agreed. You and Stony have tickets to Hanoi tomorrow morning at nine. Find out what’s going on, and shut it the hell down.”

Moscow

The Russian Federation

The next morning Anya rose early and followed her nose to the kitchen. She found
tetya
Masha kneading dough in a steamy kitchen. Two other women were cooking eggs and stirring kettles of oatmeal.

“
Dobroe utro
Anya. Sleep well?”
tetya
Masha asked.

“
Da, tetya
. The bread smells so good!”

“Here, while you wait.” She gave Anya a piece of warm bread and pointed with a floured hand to a chair tucked next to the stove. “You can sit over there.”

Anya rushed to the seat, raised the black bread to her nose and inhaled. The heady aroma of yeast made her mouth water. She bit down and tore a bite free. “Best ever,” she mumbled through a full mouth.

Other kids drifted in and out for bread treats. Anya stayed and chatted with the babushkas while they cooked. When everything was ready, they transferred the food to the adjoining dining hall and let Anya bang a large iron triangle that hung from the wall.

Two rows of tables and benches filled the center of the room. The shelter’s rules were drawn on one ivory wall in bright blue letters. The food, pitchers of water and milk, stacks of compartmented trays, and piles of thin metal forks sat on tables along one wall.

A line of chattering people formed at the food stations and wound around the perimeter of the room.
Tetya
Masha and the other women stood next to the pans, helping when needed, cautioning that only one portion should be taken.

Anya held back, searching for her mother. Finally she saw her, moving slowly, her hair a greasy bird’s nest. Her mother looked at the line, grimaced, and took a seat at the empty end of a table. Anya worked through the line, explaining that she was taking food for the two of them. She sat opposite her mom, who grabbed the tray, pulled it to herself and bent to the food, never looking up, shoveling it all into her mouth.

Embarrassed, Anya looked away and saw
tetya
Masha watching her from across the room. She beckoned. Anya scuttled over to the friendly old lady who whispered, “Go again. This bread is fresher anyway.”

Her mother had finished by the time she returned. Food and spittle spattered the table. Anya began eating and discovered that the food tasted even better than it smelled, and she’d never smelled anything so wonderful.

Her mother glared at her. “I hate this place. How they look down on us. We’re leaving.”

Anya stopped, swallowed, and returned her mother’s anger. “I don’t care what you do, mama, I’m staying.” She resumed her breakfast.

“You ungrateful little bitch!” her mom shouted. “I warned you that I’d force you to come with me, even if I have to get you thrown out.” She stumbled up from the bench, turned, and encountered a frowning Pastor Chuikov.

Anya realized that all conversations had ceased; she felt as if all eyes were on her, waiting to see what would happen next. An itchy heat spread from her neck to the top of her head.

The pastor nodded at her mother, his frown deepening into a grimace. “Leaving is an excellent idea. Do so immediately.”

“Go to hell,” Anya’s mother screamed. “I’ll leave, don’t worry about that.” She turned toward Anya. “Get up, we’re—”

Chuikov gazed at Anya. “Do you wish to remain with us?”

Anya nodded, holding her breath. “More than anything.”

“Good.” The pastor turned to face her mother. “My wife will have your coat and a bundle of food for you at the door.”

Her mother stood speechless for several seconds before storming from the room. There was a brief pause, then a string of curses from the direction of the entry. A moment later the door slammed, causing the shades of the dining room likes to rattle like a chime in a soft breeze.

Within two breaths the disruption was forgotten and the swell of excited conversations filled the air.

Anya finished eating—too hungry not to, in spite of her churning stomach—and helped the other kids clean up. She wandered into the day room, where she found a group of kids sitting on the floor facing each other. Three pairs of lavender eyes looked up at her.

She asked, “Can I join?” They scooted around and made room for her.

The girl on Anya’s left smiled. “I’m Nonna. Here by myself. Did Pastor Chuikov talk with you about Transition yet? We’re comparing stories.” She had curly blond hair, cut short and framing her face, as if she’d been to a salon. And boobs, like she was done with puberty, not just starting.

“I’m Anya. I’m here with my mother. Or I was. You met her at breakfast.” An understanding laugh swept the circle.

Nonna shrugged, “Some don’t have mothers. Some wish they didn’t.”

Anya nodded. “Haven’t had the talk with the pastor yet. Supposed to be this morning.”

“It’s not much of a talk,” the boy sitting opposite Anya said. He spoke with a quiet voice and a slight lisp. “I’m Vlad, also here by myself. It’s just the usual shit—Transition starts sometime near puberty, lasts a lunar month. Magic’s impossible because it has to be unique, blah blah. He talks a lot about how you’ll die if you try it.” A web of blue veins was visible under Vlad’s translucent skin. He had thin rosy lips, an overbite, and chopped black hair over his eyes.

Cute street vampire.

The girl on Anya’s right spoke up. “I’m Irina, here with my mom too. None of us believe that part. About dying. I mean we all know kids who’ve died, but who knows why? Maybe they just didn’t do it right or something else killed them.” Irina had a narrow oval face with a long skinny nose, long arms and hands more bone than flesh, thin legs folded under her like an insect. Her voice was a scratchy whine.

Anya whispered, “Did he tell anyone the words you need to use to make magic work?”

“
Nyet
.” Vlad matched her whisper. He wasn’t exactly frowning, but it looked like his pale face would crack if he smiled. “Why? You wanna do magic?”

Anya nodded.

Vlad said, “No one here knows the words. I asked the other kids in Transition plus a couple who’ve finished it already.”

“Besides, no one here would have the balls to try magic even if they did know the words,” Nonna said. “If you’re serious, I think I can help. There’s this guy who has his own place near here with a computer and the Internet. Wanna go see him?”

“
Da,”
Anya said
.

* * *

Anya had her talk with Pastor Chuikov. He surprised her with an offer to let her stay in the shelter until she was out of Transition and told her the other kids in Transition could stay also. She didn’t know what to say in the face of his compassion. Her eyes filled and she choked a thank you.

She left the shelter after mid-day. The others had gone first, one at a time, to avoid attracting attention. The wind slid around the buildings and down the street, stealing the warmth from a bright sun. Anya pulled up her coat’s collar and shivered her way to the north side of the church.

She caught up with the group and gave them the news. “The pastor said we could all stay at the shelter until we finish Transition.”

“Great!” Vlad said. “I’ve got three weeks to go and I’ll take all the time in the shelter I can get.” Irina and Nonna agreed they’d stay also.

Irina asked Anya, “Does this change your mind?”

“
Nyet
,” Anya said. “I want off the streets forever, not just for a week.” She turned to Nonna, “Who’s your friend we’re going to see?”

“Oleg. He sells drugs for the
mafiya
,” Nonna said. “He’s an old guy, about twenty-five. He worked his way up from the streets. He’s got this great apartment about forty-five minutes from here. Sometimes I deliver drugs for him, sometimes I blow him and his friends. He pays good. He can find the Transition words on his computer.”

“What makes you think he’ll be there?” Vlad asked.

“He’s always there during the day,” Nonna said. “At night he goes clubbing, but he’ll be there now.” She shrugged. “Why, you got something better to do?”

A thirty-minute march brought them to the doors of a tall glass apartment building that occupied half a city block. A burgundy awning over the locked entrance flapped in the freezing wind. Anya and her new friends peered through the doors into a lobby with a high ceiling, a pair of brass elevator doors, and a jungle of plants scattered about in brass pots.

“See? Oleg is an important guy,” Nonna said. She pressed her nose against the door. “Those plants are real. This place is unbelievable.” She punched a four digit code into an intercom panel beside the doors.

A half minute later, an out of breath voice answered. “What?”

“It’s Nonna. Let me in.”

“Okay, But give it a couple of minutes before you come up,” Oleg said. He buzzed them into the lobby.

Irina walked from plant to plant, feeling the smooth surfaces of the leaves. “These aren’t real. They’re plastic.”

Nonna huffed over to a plant, lifted the moss from around the base, pressed her fingers into the soil beneath, and jammed them under Irina’s nose. “Plastic plants in dirt?”

Irina scowled, her face crimson. “They have to use something to hold them up. Why not dirt? It’s cheap.”

Vlad bent over, bit a piece out of a leaf, and held it out on the tip of his tongue for inspection. He spit it on the floor. “They taste real. Kind of like cabbage.”

Their laughter echoed from the plaster walls.

“Let’s go,” Nonna said. She led them onto the elevator and pressed for the fifteenth floor. “When we get to Oleg’s floor you wait down the hall while I go tell him why we’re here.”

“I’m scared,” Anya blurted as the elevator climbed into the heart of the building. She hated herself for admitting it, but Irina and Vlad looked like they agreed. “Drug dealers are lunatics.”

“Oleg’s okay. He’ll either do this or he won’t. No hassle either way,” Nonna said.

Anya jumped at the loud ding announcing their arrival. They slinked into a darkened hallway lit by red sconces above each apartment door.

“Wait here.” Nonna strutted along the dense burgundy carpet to the end of the building, where she twisted a doorbell. The door opened and a woman left the apartment as Nonna slipped inside. The woman wobbled toward the elevator on gold stiletto heels, hips swaying under a long fur coat, gold bangles bangling, and gold purse swinging. Anya and the others stifled laughter. The woman ignored them, sashayed into the elevator, and disappeared.

Nonna was back in five minutes. “Come on, he’ll help, but he’s in a hurry. He’s getting on the Internet now.”

“Will he want to be paid?” Anya asked. “I’m not going to blow him.” She’d never done a blow job, but didn’t want to sound inexperienced in front of the others.

“No need,” Nonna said. “Apparently Goldi left him a little tired.” They all laughed.

They hustled down the hall and into the apartment. A short entry opened into a room with a wall of windows, a sofa, one chair, and a dining room table. Boxes of electronics were stacked on every surface, leaving narrow pathways. Stale cooked onions and cheap perfume floated on stifling air.

“In here,” Oleg called from a room to their left.

He was surfing porn. A pistol lay on top of the printer to the right of the computer. Rock music blared; posters for the band Lumen were tacked to the white walls. Nonna gave him their names. Oleg didn’t bother looking at them.

He’s a bear, Anya thought. Big belly, barefoot, bare chested, and so hairy that you can’t see his skin.

Oleg said, “There’s a web site called Transition Web that’s run by kids. It has what you’re looking for. You have to say certain words in the right order for magic to work. I made you a copy.” He passed the printout to Nonna without looking back. “Now beat it, I’ve got stuff to do.”

They scrambled back into the hall and to the elevator. As they dropped to the lobby, Nonna handed the paper to Anya who glanced at it and passed it around. “I guess it’ll work if I just read it,” she said.

Once back on the street the others huddled around Anya, all of them jumping up and down to stay warm.

“Well,” Vlad said. “You going to do it?”

“Yeah,” Anya said.

“Don’t you want to tell your mom first?” Irina asked. “I’d want to tell my mom.” She wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve.

“Why? The only thing my mom cares about is pimping me. Besides, she’s bailed already. I just need to find a private place where I won’t be interrupted.”

Irina pressed. “Do you even know what you’re going to use magic for?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” Anya said. She turned and paced down the sidewalk, looking for a break between the buildings. “Let’s find an alley so I can get this over with.”

“I got a better idea,” Vlad said. “I live in an abandoned building down past the shelter. You can use it— no one’ll be there during the day.” He hesitated. “Can we watch?”

Anya folded the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. “Cool, that’ll work. And I don’t care if you watch.”

* * *