Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (28 page)

“I get a thousand a night,” said the girl.

Now she was one small step from the womb of the car, which was at the same time an arm’s length from Dalana.

“How long do you want me?”

“Forever,” said Dalana.

And then she broke into a wide smile, displaying all her teeth. Each and everyone one.

3.

 

Hoc erat in fatis.

Thus it was bound by fate.

 

“You are really quite daring, Dee. You drove that junk heap with a corpse in the backseat to the center of Stockholm. Bravo! Even I wouldn’t think to do such a thing.”

Squatting on her haunches next to the spread-eagled corpse of the prostitute, Vasilisa looked like a surrealistic painting come to life. The transmog had finally drained the circulatory system of the murdered girl, whose brittle, fragile body looked even smaller than it had before. As a rule a very hungry vampire could drain its prey dry. Once drained, the victim lost a lot of mass, in a sense drying up like a mummy. The strange thing was that on average one transmogrified vampire killed more humans a year than a Begotten of Old did over the same period of time. Bedeviled by hunger pangs – though even when they weren’t hungry, they were far from restrained – transmogs became insatiable monsters. Their hunger flamed up sooner and it was more difficult to appease. If the transmogs fully possessed the vital potential of the Begotten of Old, the destiny of humanity would be in danger. But, fortunately for humans, transmogs all died sooner or later.

“As for the first part of your observation, in the majority of civilized countries people couldn’t care less what kind of car you have,” replied Dalana. “The obsession with automobiles, as well as a host of other snobbish pretentions, is the domain of the Russians and Americans. Europeans and Asians pay almost no attention to what you drive around in. All the more so if you allow yourself to buy a really expensive suit.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get nasty. I get it. A run-down car…what kind did you steal this time anyway? No one would bother search for it, of course. And thank you for the suit.”

And before Dalana had time to think of a reply, the transmog stepped up to her and, as a sign of gratitude, pecked her on the cheek.

“I’m going to go try it on,” said Vasilisa and she walked off to the bedroom.

And concerning your second point,
Dalana switched to mental dialogue,
when I bought the suit she was still alive. Just in a trance. I broke her neck when I got to the building’s front door. Or do you have something against that? Did you want to kill her yourself?

Touché!
answered Vasilisa from the bedroom.
I thank you both for the clothes and for dinner.

“Goody,” growled Dalana aloud. “And where is your tom?”

“She’s a queen, not a tom. She’s here on the bed. She’s finished playing for the day – she’s still little.”

And here I was thinking that you’d eaten her.

Dalana simply couldn’t resist teasing the girl.

Not funny,
snapped the transmog.

Even though she honestly believed that she had a sparkling sense of humor, Vasilisa rarely understood or accepted jokes directed at herself.

She appeared in the living room a moment later, dressed in a dark blue suit and pretty as a picture.

“So, how do I look?”

“You look wonderful,” said Dalana.

“Thank you,” Vasilisa smiled. “I finally feel like a lady. And not like a beggar…”

“Don’t get too relaxed,” warned Dalana. “We still have to get rid of
that
.”

And she pointed to the desiccated girl lying on the floor.

“Should we summon Gal again?” asked the transmog.

“Indeed we should not,” spat Dalana. “We’ll manage.”

Of course, before she had snapped the unfortunate prostitute’s neck and fed her to Vasilisa, Dalana had put the girl into a trance and completely mastered her consciousness. Everything was falling into place with the shapeshifter Soigu. The pictures she’d drawn from the girls’ primitive consciousness, though graphic, were extremely telling. And Dalana was definitely concerned about that enigmatic Black Lady…

“But what will we do with her?” asked Vasilisa with bewilderment.

“We’ll tie her up in a bag and dump her,” explained Dalana. “In the Norrstrom River.”

“In the Norrstrom?” asked the transmog.

“Well, we could just toss her into the water off Nybrokjan and the Radisson Hotel,” said Dalana with slight irritation. “Or just opposite the Grand Hotel so that half of Stockholm sees us. Or even better, we could display her in the stairwell.”

Vasilisa burst into laughter.

“Great idea,” the transmog said.

“Bring the garment bag out here,” Dalana ordered sternly.

While Vasilisa, huffing noisily, stuffed the remains of her repast into the garment bag, Dalana tried to recall everything she knew about the kun-musa – a race of shapeshifting Begotten of Old who resided in the dark palaces of the Underworld. That is, this band of malicious man-eaters that could transform their loathsome native visages were called the kun-musa in Dalana’s homeland. Alexander Soigu appeared to be just such a creature.

Like many of the spawn of the Underworld, the kun-musa were not held in esteem by the rest of the Begotten of Old. In the Beginning, all the ‘underworlders’ had been forbidden to pass beyond the boundaries of their domain, but Dalana was aware of a great many instances when that ancient interdiction had been transgressed. Among the rebels who dared to oppose the taboo were the kun-musa – humanoid leviathans covered in fur or in scales, with powerful jaws and claws as sharp as razors. These creatures were, in a certain sense, invulnerable because of their astonishing regenerative capabilities. The mutilated flesh of a kun-mus healed instantly, which eliminated almost any possibility of a fatal injury. It is no wonder that Soigu with enviable fortitude endured bullet wounds from sniper rifles, car explosions and other contrivances of hired ‘hatchetmen’. The kun-musa also did not fear fire. They were able to hold their breath for a long time and were noted for their pathological aggressiveness. Obviously, they only became man-eaters once they had broken through the boundaries of the Middle World. Each individual cell of a kun-mus was able to imitate other cells and, as an aggregate of all these cells, the entire organism could do likewise. They possessed cunning and elusive minds, and they preferred to take on the appearance one of the most prolific creatures in the Middle World – humans, and even their own wives, human women, often did know the truth about their spouses. If such shapeshifters begat children the gender of the infant determined its subsequent fate in the Middle World. Girls inherited the monstrous appearance of their fathers and for obvious reason always became pariahs among humans. Boys were a bit luckier – they acquired the human appearance of their mothers, as was the case with Soigu’s son. However, both the daughters and the sons of the kun-musa inherited a series of boons from the Begotten of Old, including access to the Underworld, the native haven of their fathers. Further, upon reaching adulthood, the half-bloods could choose where they would live. There was not a direct correlation between the aggressive tendency towards cannibalism and the half-blood’s gender – quite the contrary, these tendencies were absolutely individual. The kun-musa were unbelievably strong even in their human guises, and their astonishingly developed minds made these brutes deadly opponents. But they were not immortal. There did exist a means of getting rid of Soigu. And this means was known to Dalana. Regrettably, it required considerable expense on her part, and that meant that the customer would have to pay extra, which in turn meant that Dalana would have to contact Star once more. However, this time she hoped to confine the contact to a coded message played on ‘Glamour FM’. There was an additional ‘tariff’ for the murder of a kun-mus – Dalana generously added another two million to the previous figure so as to make it a nice round sum. She considered her demand entirely just. When it came down to it, Dalana was certain that she was the only one of her profession who would be able to destroy this fairly brazen beast from the Underworld. But that gratification was far from cheap, and the customer should foot the bill. Now all she had to do was wait for evening show ‘Djinn’, then she would have two listeners called Kun and Mus call in a request for a ‘A Million Scarlet Roses’ twice – at the beginning and end of the show. All this idiocy was naturally addressed to Star, who would get in touch with the client and inform him of the new terms of the deal in view of recently discovered circumstances. The client, of course, might well decide to be tight-fisted and to reject Dalana’s offer. In that case, the shapeshifter could run rampant through the Middle World for all she cared, but Dalana would happily fly off to Canada together with the money received from Vasilisa and the advance paid for Soigu. But the hand could be dealt the other way as well – the client might agree to the price hike and Dalana would have to implement a fantastically complicated combination of plays so that all the cards fell her way. In both scenarios, however, it made sense to take care of her exit strategies. She needed documents – a passport and a Canadian visa, or some combination of passports and visas. Dalana had thought long and hard about it and decided to turn to Victor for help after all. She had already sent him an email asking for his assistance ten minutes ago. The reply came almost immediately. Naturally, Victor would help. Not personally, of course, but through a
Courier
. The very same one from the Upper world that would take her money to Canada. Everything would be fast, dependable and secure. The best assistance is assistance rendered in time. Dalana bit her lip. She’d had to ask for help far too often in recent days – the transmogs, the forest Edzen, Gal, and now Victor… Somehow from the very start everything had gone out of control. She’d never had such difficulties before. The devil take these international intelligence agencies! They were like a giant octopus, and everywhere you looked – they had a tentacle…

“Ready,” proclaimed Vasilisa, ostentatiously lifting the load. “And it’s not too heavy.”

“That’s great,” answered Dalana. “Because you’re going to carry it. Oh, and put on a wig. So we can avoid any unwanted attention.”

“That monstrous red thing again?” said the transmog. “I won’t put it on. I categorically refuse to wear it. It makes my head sweat.”

“I don’t care – you don’t have to put the red one on,” said Dalana, relenting. “Try the shorter one. The blonde.”

“The one that’s ‘ala Roxie Hart’?”

“That’s the one,” said Dalana, slightly surprised. “How do you know about Broadway musicals?”

“Well, I saw the movie,” declared Vasilisa with a hint of haughtiness. “Don’t take me for an idiot. Everyone knows about
Chicago

“Okay,” muttered Dalana, exasperated. “Put on the wig and let’s go. We need to get this done quickly.”

It took several minutes to transform Vasilisa into a bobbed blonde. Then they went down to the car. They put the ‘package’ in the trunk, and then Dalana sat behind the wheel and opened a road map she had bought earlier.

“I never thought,” began the Begotten of Old, chuckling, “that I’d need such a thing. It always seemed to me that I knew this city pretty well. After all, I used to come here often.”

“It’s been over fifty years since you’ve been here – I’m surprised you recognize anything,” remarked Vasilisa reasonably. “There’s been a ton of changes. But if we want to toss this load into the river with minimum risk of being noticed, then I think we’re better off getting onto the Folkungagatan. We cam dump the body under the bridge.”

“I’m beginning to feel like a geographical cretin,” admitted Dalana as she turned on the car. “But why under the bridge?”

“Oh, there was this nightclub not too far from there,” the transmog said, fluttering her hand in the air wistfully. “A private club, close to the bridge; what a wild place it was, filled with those who lived on the edge…just the type that no one would miss. I used to hunt so gloriously there.”

Vasilisa dreamily ran her tongue over her fangs.

“I’d pick someone up and lead them to the lonely, empty spaces near the water with the pretense of wandering along the shore by moonlight. You know, romance…and then I suck out the last drop of their blood and drop the body in the river. No one ever spotted me!”

“Now you get to repeat all that. Just without the romance,” Dalana said sarcastically.

“Why don’t we just toss it in the trash?” asked Vasilisa.

“We could easily part ways, and then you can do as you wish,” threatened Dalana. “You can toss her in the trash. Hell, you can even go back to your home and toss her in the herb garden for all I care.”

“I don’t have a home anymore,” Vasilisa grumbled sullenly and retreated into herself.

Seizing the opportunity for some breathing room, Dalana again turned her thoughts to the kun-mus Soigu. Even though he was strong and cunning, the target could be killed – he could be poisoned. Not by arsenic or cyanide or anything like that, but by a certain poison that Dalana still had to obtain.

Dalana turned on the radio and just barely tuned it to the station ‘Glamour FM’. Just in time – she came in at the end of the program called ‘Djinn’, an all request show.

“…What do you know,” the host said through monstrous amounts of static. “Yet another listener has left us a request on our website. He’s asked that we play ‘A Million Scarlet Roses’ at the end of our broadcast, performed by that unfading rose, that prima donna of the Soviet and Russian stage, Alla Pugacheva! Time goes by, but you are in as high demand as ever. This is for you, Mus!”

“What, have they gone out of their minds?” muttered Vasilisa indignantly and she reached for the radio with the obvious intention of changing the station.

“Leave it,” ordered Dalana.

“Whatever,” said the girl, shrugging her shoulders.

The glance she bestowed upon the Begotten of Old was definitely insulting, but Dalana was concentrating on more serious problems and didn’t notice. Most of all she worried about the unknown individual from the bathhouse – the woman with the black skin who’d frightened the unfortunate prostitute no less than the shapeshifter had. Who could this be? Or rather, who would be interested in a kun-mus that had escaped from the Underworld?