Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (30 page)

After dancing at the club – where Dalana, regardless of the din and the overarching atmosphere of enervation there, managed to think over the details of tomorrow’s plan to kill Marisa – it was necessary to return to the matter of the kun-mus Soigu or rather, to the matter of finding an expedient and effective way of killing him.

A kun-mus could be incinerated. Unfortunately for Dalana, only with the assistance of a controlled flame, that is to say – with the direct involvement of Gal. Dalana found it unlikely that she would be able to enlist Gal’s aid yet again, even if she could convince him of the necessity, which was also unlikely.

It was also possible to drown a kun-mus, but again, only with the assistance of the Noyan of the Water Element – Ukha Loson. Dalana couldn’t imagine how she would come to an agreement with the Khan of Water and besides, there were no natural reserves of water in the immediate vicinity of Soigu’s lair.

Thus, only one surefire means of destroying a kun-mus remained to her – she must poison him. Sadly, very few poisons would be lethal for a shapeshifter, especially one as strong as Soigu apparently was. There was only one that would definitely work, but it wasn’t for sale, not even on the black market. Dalana had no other option for procuring the poison than to get it herself.

So now the Begotten of Old was shuffling along, up to her knees in fetid water, endeavoring to find the source of the poison she needed.

In the pocket of her jeans, which Dalana bought specifically for the trip through the sewers, was a small, opaque container made of an impervious material.

Dalana hoped she would find the source soon. A similar attempt of Dalana’s in the London sewers had been crowned with success. True, that was nearly one hundred years ago and in London, not Stockholm, and of course at that time she had no need for the poison at all, which was always the case, wasn’t it? But on the other hand, in what way did the Stockholm sewage system differ from London’s? It was a smaller, not as roomy, but they had the same stench, the same gloom, the exact same slime on the walls, and one hundred years is only an impressive amount of time by human standards…. Really, the need for the poison was just a minor detail.

Suddenly Dalana detected movement behind her. She turned around just in time to grab a twisting one and a half meters of serpent, which surged up out of the sewage in an attempt to bite the scruff of Dalana’s neck with its formidable fangs. The serpent was incredibly slippery and elusive. Its scaly body desperately resisted capture, and Dalana was called upon to squeeze the flesh of the creature more firmly.

Furiously snapping its razor sharp fangs, which were curved like scimitars, the beast suddenly yanked its vigorous tail out of the water and turned out to be yet another meter longer. The serpent’s tail struck Dalana in the face with a sweeping, scathing blow that cut deeply into her cheek and the bridge of her nose. Unable to keep her balance under this onslaught, Dalana fell into the pestilent slurry with a resounding splash.

In the fraction of a second before the filth devoured Dalana, she managed to close her mouth, squeeze her eyes shut and clench her hand into a viselike stranglehold that deprived the beast of any hope for escape. Blowing air out though her nostrils, Dalana sank into the morass, but she immediately drew in her knees and with inhuman strength pushed off from the floor, compelling her body into an upright position once again. At the same time, growling wrathfully, she spun the creature in the air and launched it like a shot-put into the gloom of the tunnel. Reeling from pain and fear, the serpent flew several meters and hit the wall with a smacking sound. Then it slithered down into the muck, stunned and unable to slip away.

Dalana rubbed the back of her hand across her face with antipathy. The wound the creature had inflicted on her burned, but that did not worry the Begotten of Old. Her immune system could repel any of the infections swimming here.

In the meantime, the beast was clearly coming to its senses. Dalana jumped towards it as swiftly as lightening, bridging the distance that separated them in a single bound, and grabbed its slippery body with both her hands.

It was time to bring a different kind of force to bear on the creature.

Submit!
commanded Dalana.

The creature began to squirm less violently, but its aggression still resisted giving way to its fear of a being that was clearly more powerful.

Submit or you will perish!

To reinforce her command, Dalana lightly squeezed the puny brain of the creature with the strength of her own thoughts. This expedient, already tested on thousands of primitive minds, did the trick. When she had been in the London sewer, at this point Dalana had quickly polished off the beast, but today Dalana needed the scaly serpent alive.

Mine is…to agree.

It instantly went limp in Dalana’s hands. But Dalana was not about to release her captive.

What is…to need yours?
asked the creature dispiritedly.

Dalana relaxed her grip, but she still held the creature at arm’s length and kept a watchful eye on its dangerous tail.

Mine is to do all!
said the beast.

Dalana grinned. Now they could talk business. But she would not forget her wariness, not even for a second.

Marisa opened her eyes and looked at the clock. Eight in the morning, what a fine state of affairs! She’d overslept. And she supposed that she would have continued to sleep even longer if not for the annoying sound that woke her. On the bedside table a small computer was buzzing assiduously, trying to get Marisa’s attention.

“The morning mail,” grumbled Marisa and she stretched out her hand towards the device.

The email came from an unknown sender who informed her that he or she needed to meet with Marisa on a matter of some urgency – the sender had information concerning her fugitive vampire. Really now, yet another nameless well-wisher? Maybe it was the same one? Or was it just the usual bullshit?

A skeptic by nature, in such situations Marisa was always inclined to favor choice number three. And she would have had no problem regarding this as someone’s practical joke if it weren’t for one thing – this was a ‘dedicated channel’, an email address known exclusively to Marisa’s informants. This was the exact channel of communication that the deceased Zemfira had used to get in touch with her. Consequently, the unknown person’s information might actually be genuinely important.

She needed to hurry. In two hours person X would be waiting for Special Agent Sukhostat at Sergels Torg.

When she got to her car, Marisa remembered what had happened with Pavel. They had parted only a few hours ago, in the small hours of the night. Exhausted and worn out by the passionate sex, Marisa had nonetheless managed to leave Pavel’s apartment. She had covered her departure by claiming insomnia that allegedly tormented her if she spent the night in a bed other than her own.

Pavel could not conceal his frustration. He had hoped that Marisa would spend the entire night with him. But she was adamant in her decision and there was nothing Volsky could do but acquiesce.

Now – with a more or less clear head – Marisa attempted to analyze recent developments. Volsky truly was an excellent lover and in no way did he disappoint her expectations. He did not make superfluous gestures before, he did not speak nonsense during, and he did not badger with questions after. Last night’s sex had probably been the best in Marisa Sukhostat’s life.

And yet…Marisa had fled from Volsky. Because all that inclination, admiration and awe she had felt for Pavel had evaporated with her last convulsive orgasm. It was as if she had received something she had wanted for so long and the moment she got it she realized that she would cease needing it from this day forward. Moreover, when Pavel had tried to kiss her goodbye, Marisa had shivered with antipathy. Volsky had thought she was shivering for an entirely different reason. Needless to say, happy are those who do learn the underlying causes of things. Or maybe it was just the opposite: Those who learn the truth instantly should be considered happy. Marisa thought about this for a while then decided that it was a matter of opinion, a personal preference that each individual resolved in his own way.

However, why dance around it? She’d got what she wanted from Pavel, and now she would have to tell him that she had no more use for him as a lover. Yes, in all likelihood that was exactly what she would have to tell him.

Not a woman, but a bitch of a she-wolf
, Marisa cynically thought about herself as she bared her teeth at her own reflection in the rear-view mirror. The reflection did not fail to grin in reply.

Marisa parked her car close to the pedestrian stairs that led down to the Platten, the huge sunken plaza. The unknown sender of the email had promised to meet her at her car.

That works for me, my dear fellow,
thought Marisa, yawning.
I’ll just wait here until you come, if you plan on coming at all.

Dalana had an excellent view of Marisa’s approaching car from her improvised shelter near a coffee shop. The location, considered and chosen earlier in the day, allowed the Begotten of Old to both see and hear her prey. However, the latter was not all that important.

So, the easily suggestible Bumblebee had executed his task – he had led the girl to certain death. Now the business depended on the second part of the plan. Dalana needed a delegate – a person who would directly bring her plan to fruition. But who would kill Marisa?

Dalana, who had arrived here long before her victim, was still painstakingly searching for a suitable candidate. She immediately dismissed the possibility of using any of the Begotten of Old in the plaza, which was swarming with people. Marishka must die as quickly and as painlessly as possible, but the most important consideration was that she must die for sure. Thus the lower creatures, such as the ‘amoebas’ who carried infectious diseases in the cells, would not do—they were too difficult to find here, in the open air. The transmogs, who hung out here in droves from what Dalana could see, were not the best candidates either. For the most part they were weakened, dirty vagabonds, any of which Special Agent Sukhostat could probably take out with her left hand.

That left the humans. But by what method? Dalana felt out the dozens of policemen as they paced up and down the square, but she discovered to her chagrin that the magazines of their automatics were empty.

And here in front of the entire world
, thought Dalana crossly.
Who thought up the idea of carrying around unloaded automatics for show?

She thought of orchestrating a car crash but it left all three of her criteria for Marisa’s death in doubt.

Dalana realized that she was beginning to lose her temper. Would she end up having to do this herself? It would be no problem – she could kill Marisa in the blink of an eye with the poison she had obtained last night in the stinking halls of the city’s sewer system, but that seemed like a waste, not to mention overkill. She hadn’t swum up to her neck in shit and pacified that denizen of the fetid abyss just so she could now use up her laboriously gained poison on a pitiful little human. No matter – she would find a delegate; it just meant she’d probably have to do away with the criterion about relative painlessness.

In the meantime, her prey’s attention had been drawn to a popular chocolate boutique, which was located about a hundred meters from the place where Marisa had parked. Scraps of the girl’s thoughts told Dalana about Marisa’s childish desire to try the chocolate of this celebrated little shop. Marisa, who was not really counting on a meeting with some unknown informant, planned to take this opportunity to buy some chocolate. After that she would wait around a bit longer just in case, and then she would return to the crusaders’ headquarters.

Dalana needed to pick up the pace. She cast an aggressive, sweeping net that breached the consciousnesses of all the nearby, unsuspecting humans, discovering hundreds of alien secrets and forgetting about them in the same instant because they were of no value to her. Marisa in the meantime had disappeared behind the door of the shop.

But all at once Dalana sensed a flood of thoughts that intrigued her. Despair, rage, fear and an onerous, impenetrable resignation predominated in the man’s mind. It only took Dalana a few seconds to realize with relief that he was exactly what she needed.

The isolated blonde man, who was dressed in an unseasonably warm coat and wore the haunted expression of a sick dog, was planning to blow himself up within the next half hour. Right here, in the center of Stockholm, in Segels Torg. It was an incredible piece of luck. The man had no connection to organizations like the Taliban, nor was he a ‘national patriot’. At one time he had been a soldier, a demolition specialist, and he performed his duties and fulfilled his missions irreproachably. He had been wanted by his country, his friends, his girlfriends…

Seven months ago he had been diagnosed with AIDS. A one-night stand, a fatal confluence of events. Now he was not wanted – not by his country, not by his friends, not by women, not by himself. In half an hour he planned to terminate his existence, and he would take dozens of innocent people along with him. People who were totally indifferent to his misfortune. The explosives that were concealed under the man’s coat were sufficient to blow apart the entire restaurant opposite him, for example.

The man was twisting his head from side to side in perplexity, striving to find an appropriate target for his wrath. It was at this juncture that his mind presented itself to Dalana; it was like clay that would allow Dalana the liberty of modeling any sculpture she pleased. Well, almost any.

The dark blue Dakota to the left of you,
Dalana insisted to the man’s consciousness.
As soon as the driver comes back, you will walk up to the car, as close as you can get, and you will fulfill your desire.

Dalana tuned out from the poor bastard’s mental stream and walked away from her hiding place. There was no sense in lingering – Dalana had no doubt that the delegate would bring this operation to a close. She was satisfied with herself. Once again she had managed to kill two birds with one stone. Thanks to the angle of approach, the main force of the explosion would be directed towards the road, which guaranteed a significantly smaller degree of damage to the people on the steps.