Moscow Mule: Phantom Queen Book 5 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  The question surprised me, not because Rasputin had asked it after basically guaranteeing my death only moments before, but because I wasn’t sure I had an answer. What was my purpose in life? Once, I might have been flippant and cracked a joke about being able to outdrink or outfight all comers. But lately, I realized, I’d been wondering the same thing. What was I willing to sacrifice everything for? A cause? Something noble and fine, like love. But no, I knew better than to pin my hopes on love or virtue.

  In the end, I glanced down at my feet rather than meet Rasputin’s intense gaze and saw again the soldier I’d killed. Even with half his face missing, I could see the violent potential he’d once represented. It was there in the scarred brow, the large hands, the aggressive build. And I’d ended him, not because I hated him, but because he’d been too dangerous to leave alive. Because out there, somewhere, were children who would only be safe once everyone who wanted to hurt them—people like this—were dead.

  Suddenly, I knew the answer to Rasputin’s question. I knew my purpose, my calling. Maybe it would change one day, I thought, but I doubted it; in some ways, this particular brand of justice was all I had to live for. I looked up, meeting Rasputin’s gaze, reflecting his intensity with my own. I opened my mouth to respond—to say that one word which would define my path in life, which would always define me—but I never got to say it.

  Because help had finally arrived.

  Chapter 44

  I ended up on my ass staring up at the creature, at the perfect angle to see that, not only was it faceless, but genderless as well. If it weren’t so ridiculously grotesque, I’d have jokingly referred to it as a Ken doll. From where I lay, I could also see the creature struggling, hands thrust behind its back as if trying to scratch an impossible-to-reach itch. If it’d had a mouth, I knew it would have been screaming; nothing moves like that without being in immense pain.

  I rolled to my feet and scrambled away, as far from those hands as possible. Rasputin, I noticed, was irate, screaming at his pet monster to kill something. “Kill it!” he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. “Do as I command! Kill it!”

  The “it” turned out to be Jimmy. Once I was far enough away for my own comfort, I was able to see that my former lover had shoved his forearm into the creature’s back, much as I’d seen Dimitri do earlier to one of the werebear soldiers. Except, instead of going for the thing’s heart, it seemed as though Jimmy was more than content to leave his clawed hand inside the horrific body, likely clutched around the creature’s spine. In a way, it was the perfect strategy; if Jimmy removed his hand, the creature would simply heal and move on. But, no matter how quickly it recovered, Jimmy’s grip on its nerve centers represented an insurmountable problem. The fact that it was too muscular to reach back and grab the Silver Fox made the whole scene almost comical. Almost.

  I looked around to find my friends and allies gathered around us, most still standing, to my relief. Othello had Vitaly hoisted up with one of his arms around her shoulders, but at least he was alive. The others had surrounded us, just outside the creature’s reach, including Hilde, although I noticed she seemed to lean more on Leo than she probably would have if she hadn’t been knocked unconscious earlier. Serge was in human form, wearing pants he must have stolen off one of the guards. Dimitri and his vampires were huddled together outside the circle, far enough away that all I could make out was the fact that they seemed to be mourning something, or someone. Everyone in sight bore wounds of some kind, ranging from small to potentially life-threatening. I knew if we made it out of here, Lisandra would have her hands full.

  Rasputin turned away from his pet monster to look at those of us who remained. “You have killed my men?” he asked, sounding mildly put-off at best.

  “I wouldn’t worry. Their families will be taken care of,” Othello said, then spat into the dirt.

  “You know I will have to answer this,” Rasputin replied, staring at each of us in turn, sounding inexplicably tired. “Many of you will have to die.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Leo said, “we’ve won.”

  Rasputin looked amused. “I have been bested before. Dimitri and his nobles saw to my public downfall, many years ago. And yet, here I remain. Here I will always remain.” He met Othello’s eyes. “I have heard you are like me. Unable to die. What deal did you make, Anichka?”

  Othello glanced at me in surprise. I shrugged. “I needed to keep him talkin’, and I ran out of ideas.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not immortal, Quinn.”

  “If ye say so. All I know is ye died and came back to life. Far as I can tell, that’s what immortal means.”

  Othello sighed. “It’s not immortality. It’s more like an...anniversary present.”

  Even Rasputin seemed genuinely surprised by that comment. “Explain,” he demanded.

  “A woman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Othello replied, and suddenly I knew exactly what—or rather who—she was referring to. In fact, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I laughed, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of what had happened.

  “He didn’t,” I said, once I could draw breath. “Isn’t that against the rules, or somethin’?”

  Othello blushed, but didn’t deny it. I shook my head, realizing that, basically, Othello had been given a Get-Out-of-Death-Free Card by—you guessed it—the Horseman of Death himself.

  Talk about a relationship perk.

  “I have known you for most of your life, Anichka,” Rasputin said, speaking so low I almost didn’t hear him over the sound of my own wheezing laughter. “But I do not recall you ever having trouble telling me your deepest, darkest secrets. What’s one more between us?”

  My laughter died as abruptly as it had begun.

  “I will kill you,” Othello whispered.

  Rasputin shrugged. “You may try. You may all try. But this creature is not the only one I can raise to do my bidding.” Rasputin began to raise his hands, chanting, and a golden light began to swirl around him, pulsing in time to his words.

  “Someone shoot him!” I shouted, but of course no one had a gun.

  “No,” Lakota said, stepping out from between Hilde and Leo, both of whom reached out as if to grab her by the shoulders. The girl looked back at her superiors, and whatever they saw in her face shocked them enough to keep them from touching her. She resumed her walk, approaching the chanting maniac with a sure, even stride that looked nothing like Lakota’s usual aggressive strut.

  “Lakota,” I hissed, “what are ye doin’?”

  The Native American girl ended up so close to Rasputin that the golden light passed through her, illuminating her skin, her eyes. She held out a hand, let it hover over Rasputin’s face. “I am giving him back his soul,” she replied—though if I hadn’t seen her mouth move I would have assumed it was someone else speaking. There was an eerie quality to her voice, as if utterly lacking inflection of any kind, not even the faintest trace of personality or accent.

  “I don’t—” I began.

  Jimmy’s sudden snarl made me jump, and I saw something cautionary in those inhuman eyes. A warning, maybe. Or maybe it was just Jimmy, telling me to shut the fuck up and let someone else save the day, for a change. Either way, I nodded. “Fine, knock yourself out,” I said.

  Lakota smiled, the briefest flicker, letting me know she was still in there. “Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin,” she said in that same, haunting tone. Rasputin’s eyes snapped open, and the chanting died. The gold light flickered, then dispersed altogether. “I call your soul home,” Lakota said.

  “No,” he replied. “No, no you cannot. No. No!” True fear blossomed in Rasputin’s face. He stumbled backwards, unsteady on his feet. “I do not want it!”

  “You fear it,” Lakota replied. “But you do want it. Deep down, even you long to be judged, to find out if what you have lived for, what you have given up, has earned you a place among your God’s chosen.”

  Tears fell down Rasputin’s cheeks, spil
ling from those owlish eyes like overflowing water. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Then take this gift. I will offer it only once.”

  Rasputin looked so uncertain, so terrified, that even I felt something for him. Not pity; I could never pity someone as monstrous as he’d become. But empathy, maybe. To have given up your soul for an ideal, any ideal, would be hard enough. But to be given the choice a second time, when you’d lost all hope of ever finding redemption, that I could understand. “If I say yes, then everything I have done will be for naught,” he said, finally.

  Lakota’s smile was sad, almost forlorn. “After everything you have seen, do you still think everyone deserves a place in Heaven? Truly?”

  Rasputin looked away, unable to meet Lakota’s knowing gaze. Never kid a kidder, and never lie to a seer, I thought. “No, it has been too long since I believed that,” he admitted, finally.

  “Then give up,” Lakota urged. “Be at peace. Rest.”

  “Rest,” Rasputin echoed, glancing back up. “Yes. I am so very, very tired.”

  Lakota nodded. “I know.”

  The seer pressed her hand against the conjuror’s chest, and the world exploded.

  Chapter 45

  By the time we all managed to struggle to our feet, the creature was gone. Rasputin, too, although his body remained. We gathered around it, marveling at what was left of him. The conjuror’s corpse appeared horrifically mangled, as if it had been shot, stabbed, burned, and broken so many times that it no longer even resembled a person. It was so bad no one even bothered gloating over the remains, or saying a prayer, or anything really. In fact, Lakota was the only one who stayed by the body, although I noticed Jimmy—returned to his human self, his pants so torn he looked like a black Bruce Banner fresh from saving a damsel in distress—had stayed back to comfort her, his arm wrapped around her narrow shoulders like a big, imposing brother.

  It wasn’t until I turned away from them both that I became truly aware of our surroundings. The encampment was a disaster. Several of the canvas tents had been torn down, others so shredded and full of bullet holes that they’d never function again as they were intended to. Bodies lay everywhere. A few wore tell-tale orange jumpsuits, or all-black suits, but most were dressed in uniforms—either those of the Russian soldiers, or Rasputin’s men. And then, of course, there were the survivors, most of whom had spread out to lick their wounds and mourn their dead.

  I went to Christoff, first.

  The middle-aged Russian man was in poor shape, propped up against one of the few undamaged concrete bunkers. Leo and Hilde sat with him, the Valkyrie resting her head on the Special Agent’s shoulder. For the first time, I wondered if there was more between the two co-workers than mere mutual respect. Honestly, I hoped so; after whatever hell Hilde had been put through, it was comforting to think she might have someone to confide in, someone who made her feel safe. Of course, that left Christoff alone with his thoughts, staring up at the night sky searching for stars he would never see thanks to the floodlights.

  I took a seat next to him. “I’m glad you’re alive,” I said, inadvertently leading with the tritest shit I could think of.

  “I am glad to see you, as well, Quinn.” Christoff turned to look at me with haunted eyes. “Where are my children?”

  “Your kids are safe,” I replied. “We put ‘em in a school for shifters. A good school, run by someone Othello trusted to keep ‘em out of harm’s way.”

  A tension eased from his shoulders, as if he’d been expecting me to say something much, much worse. “Their mother is dead,” he said, finally, his voice flat and emotionless. “She caught an infection in the prison and did not recover.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Everything I thought of sounded arbitrary and pitiful. “I’m sorry” is something you say when someone tells you their car broke down or they lost their job, because only then does it make a damn bit of difference. It definitely isn’t something you say when someone tells you they lost the love of their life in a horrible, tragic accident. To do so would be, frankly, totally inadequate. Instead, I reached around and drew the man towards me in a half hug, letting his head rest on my shoulder—something I would never have ordinarily done.

  I tended to put an absurdly high premium on my personal space.

  But right now, Christoff needed comfort, and I simply wasn’t good at that sort of thing. The best I could do was shut up and let him know I was there for him. Which is why, when he began to cry, to sob, I let him do it. Because sometimes being a friend means saving the day, but—more often than I cared to admit—it means helping someone pick up the broken pieces. I ran a hand over his shaggy mane of greying hair and whispered the lie you always tell people who are suffering—it’ll be alright—over and over again. We both knew it was a lie, of course, but then sometimes lying to yourself is all you can do.

  Once the sobs stopped, and Christoff finally stilled, he drew away from me. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears. Instead, he drew his knees to his chest and hugged them, his once powerful body looking worn and frail, his jumpsuit loose and ill-fitting. I could see he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, so I stood, but he reached out to grab my hand, giving me the full weight of his gaze for just a moment. “Thank you, Quinn,” he said.

  “What are friends for?” I replied.

  He smiled and let me go, withdrawn once more. As I turned to leave, I found Leo rising, squeezing Hilde’s hand in the process. The Special Agent fell into step alongside me. “Looks like you didn’t need us after all,” he said, gingerly stepping over the outstretched hand of a fallen soldier in his path.

  I shook my head. “If ye hadn’t shown up when ye did, we’d have given Rasputin what he wanted. And, believe me, we didn’t want to give him what he wanted.” I shuddered. “What happened to ye lot? How d’ye escape?”

  Leo and I kept walking while he considered his answer. “After Rasputin took us, we ended up in a transport vehicle. Then in cells. They didn’t try to isolate us, which was their mistake. Once we’d scoped out the layout of the place, we were able to track down Christoff and Hilde. After that, all we had to do was contact Warren and get Lisandra to break us out.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “That’s all there was to it?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “Hell no. The plan went to shit, we ended up having to lead a rebellion, break Christoff and Hilde out, and so on. But it amounts to the same thing. Once we’d trashed the wards, Warren and Lisandra came and we escaped, taking a few of Rasputin’s prisoners with us.”

  “An FBI agent breakin’ out a bunch of prisoners? I hope ye don’t plan to put that on your résumé,” I joked.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Leo said, sounding tired. “So, what happened to you?”

  I gave him a brief rundown of our last several days, including my own prison break, our trip to another realm, and how we’d managed to free a goddess. I didn’t go into too much detail, just the highlights, but it was enough to appease Leo. In fact, I hadn’t even finished before he waved his hands in surrender. “Enough, please. I’m almost sorry I asked.”

  “Too much for ye to handle?” I asked, grinning.

  “Some days I think my life is tough,” Leo said, his face suddenly serious. “I see some weird, awful shit. They only bring us into cases that no one can solve. But your life…” he shook his head. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t trade places with you.”

  “Gee, t’anks,” I said, lightly punching the FBI agent’s shoulder.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, smirking.

  “Aye, I know exactly what ye mean,” I replied. And I did. Even I knew how batshit crazy my life had become. Hell, I hadn’t even mentioned meeting my mother’s ghost in a realm that overlooked the cosmos; I was pretty sure that would have thrown even someone as well-versed in weird as Leo for a loop. Add in all the other shit—my mysterious paternal figure, my immortal mother, my burgeoning powers, and all the random commitments I’d made to various people and m
onsters—and I was fairly certain a Freaky Friday exchange would have Leo curled up in a ball somewhere, whimpering like a beaten dog.

  Frankly, there were days when I felt that way, myself.

  I squeezed his arm. “I’m goin’ to go find Othello, make sure she’s alright. Go back to Hilde and keep an eye on Lakota. Whatever the fuck happened back there, we owe her our lives, I t’ink.”

  Leo nodded, frowning. “I’ll look after them, but something tells me Lakota won’t make that easy.”

  “Too rebellious?” I joked.

  “Too powerful,” he replied. Leo shook his head, then smiled, revealing a flash of those perfect teeth. “Anyway, don’t worry about us.”

  I glanced back at Jimmy and Lakota only to find they’d left the body behind and had begun walking towards Hilde. Jimmy saw me looking and smiled, waving one very large hand. I waved back. “And by us, d’ye mean Jimmy, too?” I asked out of the side of my mouth, smiling back as best I could.

  “He saved our asses a few times,” Leo answered. “Cool head under pressure. Strong, durable. Smart. Until Hilde gets back on her feet, we could definitely use him. Maybe even after, if he’s got a knack for the job.”

  I nodded, though part of me was sad to hear it. I think, deep down, I’d hoped Jimmy would fail to live up to Leo’s expectations. That he’d remain in Boston, a mere detective, forever. Selfish, but true. “I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

  Now it was Leo’s turn to squeeze my arm. “Liar,” he whispered before making his way back to his team.

  “Rude,” I muttered. I turned, not waiting to see Leo and the others interact with one another; I had my own people to track down, after all. I resumed my original path, scouring the landscape, looking for Othello. I finally found her not terribly far from Rasputin’s body, sitting in the dirt next to a standing Serge. She looked stricken, sad, and I realized she was staring down at the two bodies of her fallen skinwalkers. Serge loomed over her like a silent shadow, refusing to look down at the corpses of his companions, though I could see pain written across his face.