The Volk Advent (8 page)

Oh, no, my mind screamed at me to do something. Chobo's probing nose flipped the journal over and gave it a good sniff. I hustled toward her, but Chobo was quick. She snatched up Kirill Volkov's diary and pranced away, obviously thrilled to have grabbed something I desperately wanted back.

“Come, Chobo, bring it here.”

Chobo plopped her head on her paws and stuck her behind up in the air, wagging. I took a step toward her. She bounded away and looked back, a doggy smirk on her furry face.

As she pranced away I shouted out the only command I had ever seen her obey. “Snack time!”

Chobo turned, crouched in the tunnel, and growled around the journal. She did not drop it. Instead, the furry thief bounded away with her head high and her tail curled over her back at a jaunty angle.

Right then, I remembered what an abysmal failure Barbie had been at fetch.

I snatched up the fallen papers and hurried down the tunnel until I found the stair. Close to the top, I remembered seeing a drain next to the faucet that Kirill Volkov would have used in the summer to water his overgrown garden. I tore the papers to shreds and stuffed them and my mother's ID down the drain.

I flipped through the photo album trying to take mental snapshots to save. My parents loading up our stuff in the small plane. The pilot, giving us a lecture on the history of Siberia. Barbie/Chobo thundering all over the floor and the seats and our in-flight snack. I bit my lip and stuffed the photos down the drain as well.

Then I slipped back into the tunnels and hurried after my ill-mannered dog. Liev might have raised her all these years, but she had been my puppy. Chobo would want to show me that she had the journal. She would find me so that she could prance just out of reach with the prize held proudly in her jaws. This time she was not getting away with it. At the first hint of a woo wooo woooo, I would tackle that fat puffball and destroy the evidence of Kirill's crime.

If I didn't, I was headed for a Siberian prison just as surely as if I had actually killed the man.

12

My Television Debut Goes Horribly Wrong

I couldn't find Chobo. I wandered the tunnels long enough that my plan changed from “locate fat, thieving dog” to “find the surface before this underground maze turns me into a raving lunatic.”

Finding the surface was almost as difficult. There didn't seem to be that many actual tunnels. I mean, who could afford to hack at the permafrost long enough to create an unnavigable maze? There was one main corridor and a few smaller offshoots, but it got twisted around so much they all looked the same.

Finding the stairway to the surface seemed about as impossible as teaching Chobo an actual useful-type command.

It wasn't, though. I found the stair and the rotating wall, eventually. But I hiked long enough that I had actually begun to thaw, which was the Siberian version of getting all hot and sweaty.

I slid my mitten over the frosty wall until my hand sank into the slight depression. I put my shoulders and back behind the action and shoved. With a crack and a growling groan, the stone wall scraped across the icy floor. I sagged against the heavy wall to catch my breath and then trudged up the stairway.

The courtyard was empty except for a large lump of fur sprawled near the center. After a moment, the furry heap rolled back and forth, scratching its back on the ground and making happy sounding snarls and woo woo woos. The mound of fur tossed a book into the air, caught it, leapt up, ran around in a circle, flopped down again, and from all appearances decided to take a nap right on top of Kirill Volkov's incriminating journal.

I narrowed my eyes and evaluated my quarry. Was it better to sneak up on Chobo, or launch a sprinting attack? I decided on the best of both worlds. I crept over the empty courtyard, walking on my toes and placing each valenki with care.

Chobo's tail paused its wagging and she froze, apparently listening.

I thundered forward. Before the heavy hound could dance away, I flung myself through the air and landed smack on top of her. The air wooshed from both our lungs.

I groaned.

Chobo had started her howly greeting and the noise that resulted was a kind of woo wooooooipe yipe yip.

I hardened my heart, wrapped my arms around her furry neck and seized the book.

Her teeth clamped down and the woooyip turned into an enthusiastic snarl. I threw my whole body into the attack. I slammed Chobo onto her side and grabbed the book with both hands.

She scrambled to her feet and jerked back on the book, snarling and wagging and dragging me across the tiles of the courtyard on my stomach. Icy chunks sneaked through the gaps in my coat. I twisted and flipped. Chobo yanked me forward with several strong jerks. As the icy bits hit my skin a chill swept through me. I scrambled up and surged forward. I landed on the furry miscreant. Yip! Finally, I shoved my mitten into Chobo's mouth and pried her teeth open with my hands.

Both Chobo and I fell back, panting.

I crammed the journal into the deep outer pocket of the coat and sucked in several shaky breaths. I brushed the ice and snow off my mangled furs and looked up. My gaze met the flat, golden eyes of a large, gray wolf.

He didn't growl or howl or snarl. Instead, he crouched low and eased forward with a lean and graceful confidence that told me that Mr. Fluffy here knew exactly what he was about.

I backed away, but a soft noise behind me sent shivers zipping up my spine. A glance back showed another wolf, tall and lean. Three more wolves slipped into the courtyard and took up positions on either side of us.

Finally, Chobo noticed that something was up. She didn't woo or wag or prance around. Chobo's fluffy tail drooped and she hunkered down behind me.

“Chobo!” I shouted. “Snack time!”

Chobo lifted one corner of her lip in a feeble snarl, then tucked her tail and bolted.

My shouted commands drew the attention of the wolves.

Chobo made her escape while the wolves ghosted nearer.

“Good, good. I like your energy, girl, but you're standing too tall. These slavering beasts are about to tear you limb from limb. Show me just a touch of mind-numbing fear and a dash of terror, all right?”

I jumped at the sound of the strange voice.

The wolves slunk closer.

I stomped my feet and clapped my hands, trying to appear as threatening as possible.

They backed up a pace.

“No, no, no. Try cowering a bit. I want the audience to feel your fear, to imagine the snarls of wolves in their ears and to feel the crunch of teeth against their bones. Take two!”

Finally, I spotted him.

Rhys Adaire, standing next to a camera man who filmed safely from the wall above. Wow, so this was what he had wanted to pay me to do. I was glad I'd had the sense to say “no.” Although it looked as though this guy hadn't let my refusal sink in too deep.

“If you could lower a rope from the wall or make a loud noise or shoot them all with tranquilizer guns, that would be really helpful, Mr. Adaire.”

“Nonsense, girl. You're doing fine, just fine. Their trainer has everything in hand, I assure you. We worked everything out days ago. This is perfect…except. Jean Claude, see if you can do something about her hair before we do the chase scene.”

I tried a different tack. “It's not even dawn yet. Why don't we take a break until the lighting is better?”

“No no, the real attack happened at night. This is perfect.”

The filming continued. Apparently they had the proper equipment for shooting at night.

I swallowed. My throat felt small and tight.

The wolves ignored Adaire. They crept closer and I noticed that all seven pack members had joined the party.

Something brushed the back of my neck. I screamed and flinched away.

Someone yanked me back by my braid. A harsh rasp and tug against the tender hairs at the base of my neck was followed by the empty blowing of wind against my bare skin. A thick, blonde braid fell into the snow at my feet.

I cried out again, this time in anger. That was a terrible mistake.

For when they heard the tears in my voice and the unmistakable sound of pain and distress, the wolves attacked.

13

Not Recommended For the First Time Pet Owner

Eurasian wolves do not make good pets. Even though these animals had been coddled literally since their birth, bottle fed and everything if the stories in town were true, at the end of the day they were still wolves. An apex predator does not blend well into the schedule of one's home. An apex predator, well, they have plans of their own.

My yelp of horror as the TV guy cut my hair was just the show of weakness that the wolves had been waiting for. I was their Christmas feast.

They lunged forward, low and snarling. Anyone who has witnessed a dog fight will tell you that it looks terrible, but most of the time the dogs are just fine. When dogs are simply scuffling, they bite all over each other's head and neck, sounding ferocious. It is a show of force and rarely results in bloodshed. But if a dog means business, it will bite at its opponent's legs and belly, because that is how true injury occurs.

The wolves went straight for my legs.

I was not cool with that. I leaped back kicking and striking out in any way I could. They got a hold of my valenki boot, but I yanked it free and scrambled back.

The TV guy was not as fortunate. He gasped in pain. He'd fallen when I slammed backwards.

Rasia Volkova was running toward us.

I bent and seized the TV guy under the arms.

Rhys Adaire screamed into the crisp morning air, somehow thinking that someone, somewhere had control over the roving pack of wolves. “Jean Claude! Where is that trainer? Call them off. Call them off.” What had he imagined would happen during the big reenactment?

I yanked Jean Claude toward the revolving wall.

Rasia dropped several of the wolves with a tranquilizer gun and rushed to help me.

“This way.” I muttered through clenched teeth.

Instead of accusing me of murder, she slipped Jean Claude's arm over her shoulder. Together we ran for the tunnel. I yanked Jean Claude through the gap while Rasia shoved him from behind.

The wolves had regrouped and she turned to shoot another dart. They rushed forward.

“Don't, just come.” I grabbed her arm and pulled, but I was just a breath too late.

Rasia screamed.

I heaved on her arm, not caring how it must hurt. The wolves had her leg and lunged back. I yanked harder and Ms. Volkova paled. I stopped, but she shook her head. I ground my cheek between my teeth and heaved back on her arm. She stumbled through the gap and I slammed my shoulder against the small depression in the wall. The wall ground back into place.

The wolves yipped and scrambled back.

Our breathing echoed in the darkness. I clicked on my flashlight.

Rasia was shaking.

Jean Claude looked much too pale.

I knelt on the icy floor of the tunnel to examine him. I ran the light over his injuries, not too bad considering the source. He had puncture wounds around his ankles and a small amount of blood had soaked into his socks.

There was blood on the floor beneath us.

A chill slid across my skin as I turned to Rasia Volkova. She didn't look up.

I ran the light down her limbs looking for the wound. Her heavy winter pants were shredded from thigh to ankle and the fabric was black with blood. I yanked off the thin, orphanage sweater beneath my furs. Buttons fell to the floor like dice in a game of chance. I straightened Rasia's left leg. She continued to tremble, but didn't make a sound. She should have been screaming. The girl must have been in shock. Blood continued to seep into the permafrost. The back of her thigh was shredded.

The wolves had tried to hamstring the young heiress. They'd done a pretty good job of it too, although the thick artery along the inside of her thigh had been spared. That had saved her life.

I used the heels of both hands to apply my sweater to the wound. When the bleeding finally slowed, I turned and yanked the festive, red scarf off Jean Claude's neck. I tied it tight around Ms. Volkova's leg and sat back on my heels to asses my accuser.

The girl was in bad shape. I needed to get Rasia Volkova to a doctor immediately, or I actually would be a party to murder. I hadn't released the wolves, but I had locked them inside the castle wall. Rasia had been rushing to help us.

Panic pressed against my chest and throat. I shook Jean Claude's shoulder. “Help me.”

He was dabbing at his bloodied ankle with a mauve handkerchief, but looked up, confused. I pointed at Ms. Volkova, met his gaze and held it. I would not let this happen.

Rasia Volkova thought the worst of me and yet she had tried to save us both. We would get her to a doctor.

“Stand up and take her arm.”

He hesitated.

“Now!”

Jean Claude looked down at his ankle, met my gaze for another moment, and then heaved himself to his feet. Yes, he could do it, he just hadn't realized. Both of us took one of her arms and slowly helped Ms. Volkova hop down the tunnel.

This was impossible. But despite that knowledge, I forced us all to hobble forward. Who was I to say that we would fail?

14

Liev Delivers the Mail

We started toward the castle. After only a few hobbling steps, I let Rasia lean against the tunnel wall and turned to Jean Claude. “Is there a doctor at the castle?”

He stared down at me for a few seconds, still panting after our run from the wolves. “No, only the catering staff and a few people decorating the main hall.”

I turned us in the opposite direction. Hauling Ms. Volkova through the warren of ruined corridors in the lower levels of the castle would do her no good. We had to follow the tunnel out of the castle grounds and all the way to the church. I bit my lip and pulled Rasia's arm tight across my shoulder. This would not be easy, but it was the only chance she had.