Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series) (32 page)

“Is there a fire?” asked Goldberg calmly.

“A fax,” panted Pavel. “From our colleagues in Novosibirsk. Take a look, please.”

“Tell me what it says,” ordered Papa. “Just give me the gist.”

“Well, well…Alexander Soigu. Year of birth - 1960. Place of birth – the village Sovietsky, Irkutsk Region…yada, yada, yada… In 1990 he was the director of a steelworks factory called Frunze…Um…In ninety-two he went missing. There’s a picture enclosed – feast your eyes on that!”

Pavel put the fax sheet on Goldberg’s desk with a triumphant look on his face. The quality of the picture had been badly degraded by the fax, but it was clear to Marisa that it was Soigu’s photograph.

“So, you ask?” said Volsky victoriously. “In my opinion it’s all really quite banal and straightforward. This man kept to himself, never bothering anyone. Then he was bitten by a werewolf and became one himself. Now he’s in Stockholm, having made himself into a major player. But he keeps killing people. And raping them at the same time.”

“So then why hasn’t everyone Soigu’s bitten turned into a werewolf?” Marisa butted in.

“Well, first of all, we wouldn’t have found them dead if they had,” parried Pavel. “And second of all, the bodies that we did find had been eaten away to the bones.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Marisa.

“So you’re his backup, are you?” Goldberg asked Marisa. “Are you definitely on his side now?”

“I always was and always will be on my side,” replied Marisa even a bit more sharply than she herself wanted.

Volsky, taking no head of her innuendo, was staring at Papa with flashing eyes.

“I hope that information from our colleagues can be assumed to have been obtained according to the correct
procedures
?”

Pavel delivered the last word as if it was a swearword.

“Listen here, Volsky, don’t get all huffy on me, alright?” Goldberg growled crossly. “If you want Soigu so bad, go and get him.”

Taking advantage of the strife between the men, Marisa quickly stole from the office while she could. It seemed that circumstances had yet again freed her from an unpleasant conversation with Pavel. But for how long?

Dalana looked at her watch. Vasilisa was late. Ever since Dalana had seen the Tengri shooting through the low stratum of clouds, the sensation of brewing trouble had intensified.

But is spite of this sinister foreboding, Dalana was generally satisfied after her examination of her country dwelling. It would do quite nicely, given the fact that she would only be in the Stockholm region for a day more. Tomorrow evening she would kill the kun-mus and fly to Canada, where relaxation, calm and a tremendous pile of money awaited her. Money she had earned through her own hard work. Victor had promised her that tonight a
Courier
would bring the documents and tickets for her trip to Canada and that this same
Courier
would collect the details of the bank and account number into which the second half of the fee for Vasilisa’s job had been deposited. This was the money that Victor must convert to Canadian dollars.

Dalana pretended to sip from a cup of already cooled coffeehouse sludge and again glanced at her watch. Where the hell was that girl? For a moment the suspicion that the transmog would begrudge her the remaining money crept into Dalana’s head. It was a definite possibility. Human greed knew no bounds, and in spite of everything Vasilisa was still very human…

At that very instant Vasilisa walked into the coffeehouse where they had decided to meet. The girl was thoroughly soaked from the rain and because of this looked even younger than usual.

“Hi. It’s pouring outside,” announced Vasilisa as she sat down opposite Dalana.

“I know,” replied Dalana disagreeably. “If you look a bit more closely, you’ll see that I’m sitting by a window. Why are you late?”

“Why, were you worried about me?” grinned Vasilisa, and merry mischief began to dance in her eyes.

“I asked you a question,” snapped Dalana, assiduously knitting her eyebrows.

“You know – I went to a movie,” said the transmog. “I suddenly felt the need.”

“And of course you couldn’t find a different time to go see a movie.”

“Actually, I would have been on time; I worked it all out,” Vasilisa began to explain herself. “It’s just, you finally let me leave the apartment…. Anyway, on the way here I got into a traffic jam. Because of an explosion. Can you imagine it? Someone set off a bomb in Sergels Torg!”

“I know,” said Dalana dryly.

“You know everything,” said Vasilisa with warmth in her voice. “So it turns out that I’m really not to blame at all. And I could not get in touch with you – you don’t even have a cell phone…. But…all the same, please forgive me for being late, Dee. I was worried about you by the way…”

“You should have started with the apology,” Dalana interrupted the girl rudely. “Where’s your bag?”

“What bag?” Vasilisa asked.

Dalana rolled her eyes angrily.

“O, Gods, grant me patience. What, didn’t you find my note this morning? I know you did, though, because you are here.”

“Ah, this is about the note,” said Vasilisa as she shook out her rain-soaked hair. “Why all this raving, Dee? What things would I take with me? And why should I leave the apartment? What, have they found us out?”

Vasilisa was talking fairly loudly. Dalana noticed that some of the coffeehouse patrons were turning their head in their direction.

Can’t you be quiet?
Dalana ‘yelled’ wrathfully, switching to mental conversation.
If they had found us out, both of us would have had our brains kicked in a while ago. Definitely yours, at least.

“Sorry,” mumbled the transmog, nonplussed. “But I really don’t understand what the point of all this is? And why couldn’t you just wake me up?”

“I didn’t want to,” confessed Dalana. “You were sound asleep and I…I returned in the morning all covered in shit.”

“What do you mean, covered in shit?” Vasilisa said, once again raising her voice.

“Stop yelling,” said Dalana. “It would take too long to explain. Let’s just say I fell down a manhole and leave it at that. I could hardly wash it all off.”

“What do you mean you fell down a manhole?” Vasilisa had no desire to let it go. “But I see – there was this really nasty smell in the apartment this morning, and it wouldn’t go away. For the life of me, I couldn’t…”

“That’s enough,” snapped Dalana. “No more on this subject.”

Dalana knew quite well how Vasilisa would have reacted if she had caught the Begotten of Old when she had returned from her ‘outing’. For this reason Dalana had not bothered to wake the girl, instead just confining herself to a short message, which of course the transmog had regarded with her usual unconcern.

As for the smell in the apartment, Dalana had hoped that she had succeeded in getting rid of it. Apparently, she had been mistaken. However, it no longer mattered.

“Was the movie at least interesting?” asked Dalana, pushing the conversation into a different direction.

“It was complete trash,” declared Vasilisa categorically, but then she immediately added: “True, the cinematography made a lasting impression on me. Completely incredible camera angles, a distinct style, vivid compositions…in a word, bravo!”

Unable to hold it back, Dalana burst into laughter.

“It suits you really well when you laugh like that,” remarked Vasilisa. “What I mean is, when you laugh naturally, like right now. And you look beautiful today.”

“A backhanded compliment,” muttered Dalana, shaking her head reproachfully. “I was striving for the exact opposite effect. I call this disguise ‘little grey bird’.”

Dalana had spent forty minutes and an entire tube of light foundation on her current disguise. Her hair was pulled up with a simple clasp, her expertly drawn lips displayed not a trace of their former plumpness, she’d created artful shadows beneath her eyes – all this should have transformed her into an extremely commonplace young woman. One of the crowd. But now it turned out that she was ‘beautiful today’.

Vasilisa began to elaborate.

“No, Dee, no matter how hard you try you cannot turn yourself into an ordinary girl. You know, Nicholaus loved the saying – Even in shit, gold shines…”

“You’re talking about shit again?” Dalana interrupted the girl sternly. “I told you: that subject is closed.”

“Oops, forgive me, please, it was accidental,” Vasilisa babbled uneasily. “But I have to tell you, I don’t remember the last time I slept so soundly. It seemed like it was even without nightmares, like when I was a human, when I was living my last day, damn…”

The last word was in response to the approach of a waitress who had been drawn to their table by Vasilisa’s histrionic speech.

“Two tiramisus and another coffee,” said Dalana, depriving the curious waitress of the opportunity to warm her ears.

Nodding disappointedly, the young woman walked away.

“Funny,” said Vasilisa, noticeably lowering her voice. “Tiramisu…”

Such melancholy yearning flashed through the girls’ eyes that Dalana became ill at ease.

“Well, alright,” continued Vasilisa, sighing. “At least I’ll know what it looks like.”

The waitress brought the coffee and the tiramisu. While she was arranging the dishes on the table, Vasilisa did not utter a single word. Once the inquisitive barista had departed, the transmog nipped a piece off with the side of her fork. Then she spiked it with the tines and carefully brought it to her mouth, placed it on her tongue and swallowed it. Her movements were all comical and awkward, as if Vasilisa had not held a fork in her hand for a long time. However, that was actually the case.

“My God,” said the transmog, pushing the cake towards the center of the table. “How many years has it been since I’ve used a fork? Although the answer to that question is obvious – just as many as I’ve been a half-baked vampire…. Tiramisu…I can’t taste it of course, but the sight and smell tell me this is nothing more than sponge cake.”

Dalana shrugged her shoulders in agreement.

“I’d forgotten how it feels to hold a fork,” continued Vasilisa. “But Lucinda, she…she used utensils everyday…. She so wanted to at least look like a human from the outside…. But who was she trying to deceive? We never even had any guests at our house…not before everything happened…”

The transmog tried to smile but the smile came out pitiful and thin. Dalana tactfully held her tongue, understanding that any reply from her in the present situation would be superfluous. It was astonishing, but Dalana couldn’t find a way to turn the conversation to the topic that was the reason she had allowed Vasilisa to become a part of her life for a short time. Yet now, when it was all over, they sat and talked about a movie, about a cake and about the heavy destiny of transmogrified vampires.

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” said the transmog after a short time.

It’s about time
, Dalana thought with relief.

“Your commission has been accomplished,” she said aloud. “Marisa Sukhostat is dead.”

“What, did she just up and die?” asked Vasilisa incredulously.

“If you want to be exact, she was killed in today’s explosion,” clarified Dalana.

“This…”

Vasilisa stopped short and after a moment continued, but no longer aloud.

So it was you who arranged that explosion? You arranged a terrorist attack just to kill that rotten bitch?

Why are you so upset?
Dalana replied.
You wanted her death – you got it.

Indeed I did, but other humans died there, humans who had nothing to do with the murder of Lucinda and Nicholaus!

You feel pity for humans?
Dalana’s eyebrows flew upwards from shock.
Since when?

Since now!
‘screamed’ Vasilisa.
I know what you’re driving at, but that is not the same! We doomed those humans to a massacre. No one gave us the right to do that!

Alright, calm down,
ordered Dalana.
It didn’t happen the way you imagine it did. That explosion would have happened one way or another. It was Fate, do you understand? And I simply made it so that the scheduled explosion played into my hand. Or rather, into yours. And, by the way, thanks to my intervention far fewer humans died than would have if I hadn’t intervened. And bear in mind that usually I, as I mentioned earlier, don’t intervene where I shouldn’t. Do you get the message?

No,
Vasilisa admitted.

Well, just take it under advisement,
Dalana concluded.
And next time don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Because experience has shown that your conclusions are almost always mistaken.

Vasilisa was clearly still reeling from what she had heard about the explosion.

“I hope there won’t be a next time for me,” she said.

“One never knows,” Dalana shrugged her shoulders.

Vasilisa took a folded piece of paper from her pocket.

“Here,” she said. “The remaining half of your fee. I hope that bitch was blown to bits.”

“Rest assured,” responded Dalana perfunctorily.

Dalana unfolded the slip of paper. A fraction of a second passed while she memorized the bank and the account number. Just a few more were needed to do away with the evidence with the aid of a lighter.

Vasilisa glanced at the handful of ashes in the bottom of the ashtray.

“Gal has helped us once again,” she said.

“Don’t remind me,” Dalana frowned. “I don’t know what’s in store for me as a result of that little incident.”

Dalana looked out the window then listened to the patter of rain on the street. The rain seemed to be abating. Her watch showed just past seven. It was time for her to return to her cottage or else she might miss the
Courier.

“Well, that’s it,” said Dalana, drumming the tips of her fingers on the table. “Let’s take our leave of each other.”

“Listen, Dee…”

Dalana inquisitively raised her eyes. In the fraction of a second before the girl spoke the second half of the sentence, Dalana already knew what she planned to say.