Dark Goddess

by Sarwat Chadda

  Billi promised herself an outfit just like this for her next birthday.

  Gwaine came over. “Leave the rough stuff to the Russians. If they’re right and this place is crawling with Polenitsy, they won’t give Vasilisa up without a fight. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “We get her alive, understand?” said Billi. This was their chance, and she wanted everyone to be of the same mind. Vasilisa could be saved.

  “I don’t need you to tell me my job, squire,” was Gwaine’s reply.

  Billi glanced at Lance, who nodded. “We save the petite fille.”

  They were set.

  “Where’s Elaine?” Billi asked.

  Lance gestured upstairs. “Koshchey showed her the Bogatyrs’ library. It is like she’s gone to researcher heaven. Maybe she might find something on Baba Yaga, oui?”

  As Lance and Gwaine discussed tactics, Billi went into the corner of the lobby and took out her mobile.

  “Dad. You there?”

  The line crackled, but then she heard her father’s familiar voice.

  “Billi?”

  “Dad? We found her.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “You sure? How?”

  “The Bogatyrs found her. She’s being held not far from here by the Polenitsy. We’re heading over there right now.”

  “I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I?”

  Billi looked around at the soldiers armed to the teeth. There was enough firepower here to conquer a small country. “I think we’ve got that covered.”

  “Praise be to God,” said Arthur. “We’ve drawn a blank here.”

  “Did you find Vasilisa’s granny?”

  “She’s gone into hiding. I suspect the Polenitsy have come for her. We’re still looking, but Karelia’s a big place. But we’ve picked up some interesting legends about Baba Yaga.”

  “Like what?” Billi’s attention was pricked.

  “Baba Yaga vanished a hundred years ago. There were no more hunts for Spring Children-the werewolves just stopped. The local wise women say that’s because Baba Yaga was hurt in the early twentieth century, and went to sleep deep in the earth to recover. Now she’s back and she’s hungry. That’s why the Polenitsy have returned.”

  “How was she injured?”

  “Wish I knew.” Arthur coughed. “You just get Vasilisa to Jerusalem.”

  “Bilqis.” Lance came up. “They are waiting.”

  “Dad…”

  “I heard.” Arthur’s tone deepened. “Give them hell.”

  “Come,” Ivan said to Billi as they stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage. “You will stick close to me, Dimitri, and Yuri.” Another Bogatyr fell into step with them. Two beady black eyes glistened from beneath a thick, bushy eyebrow that ran straight across from ear to ear. Tattoos covered his arms, neck, and ears. His tattoos had tattoos.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Billi.

  Yuri smiled, exposing a fortune in gold teeth.

  A silver BMW growled as it crept along the snow-covered drive, leading a line of big shiny four-by-fours. Billi and Ivan took this car, with Yuri up front with Dimitri. Lance and Gwaine took the next.

  The car slipped out onto a main road. Snow trucks rolled along to the road, but otherwise the traffic was pretty light. Billi settled herself into the soft leather seat.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Ivan. He held out a lacquered wooden box. “A present.”

  It was made from dark red wood, and had a lid decorated with an inlaid pattern of silver.

  Billi’s fingers touched the case, then she raised the lid slowly.

  A pistol lay on a white cushion. A fan of silver bullets had been arranged around it. It was a matte black color, simple-looking and plain, but as Billi put her hand on the cold surface, she could see that the gun was elegant in its simplicity. The best weapons always were.

  “You do know how to shoot?”

  “Point and click.”

  “Glock 26,” Ivan said. He held one of the silver bullets between his thumb and forefinger. “Ninety-nine percent pure. Just in case.”

  Despite the three bladed weapons buckled to her armor, Billi picked it up. It was light and not much bigger than her palm, with a stubby light fixed to the underside of the barrel. Ivan took the magazine and, one by one, clicked in the rounds.

  “Fashion is all about the accessories,” he said.

  Billi turned the pistol over. She’d used one for target practice, but this was very different. Despite the contempt the Templars had for such weapons, she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around the butt and lightly touching the trigger. Her thumb felt along the safety catch.

  So small a thing. But there was something compelling in the object. A sword could be played with. There was pleasure in the physical act of wielding it, learning the moves, the cuts, the way it shone and flashed. There was art, beauty, in the sword.

  But gunpowder was pure destruction. The gun’s simple functionality made it want to be used…carnage called to it. Despite herself, despite the prejudices against such weapons, Billi wanted it. She slipped it into her pocket.

  “Is it true that the Templars don’t use guns?” asked Ivan.

  “We live in London, not Baghdad. Gunfights tend to attract a lot of unwanted attention,” Billi said. “Anyway, nothing says serious body trauma like an ax to the head.”

  Despite the advances in military technology over the centuries, old-fashioned swords and axes still did the job best. Besides, many of the Unholy needed beheading to be truly destroyed.

  The car slowed to a halt.

  “We’re here,” said Ivan.

  23

  THEY WERE IN A DERELICT PART OF THE SUBURBS, OUT past the huge, wild Izmaylovsky Park. They drove through a ghost town of empty garages, abandoned factories, and lonely single-story shops. All the buildings around them had been demolished, except for one old housing block that sat like a squat brick in the center of a wasteland of mud and concrete. The only thing that broke its shape was a tall, faintly smoking chimney. Otherwise it was five stories of identical windows, with a few satellite dishes to break the monotony of the design.

  Snow flurries tumbled chaotically around them as they stood outside the car. They’d parked down a side alley. Large industrial-sized bins lined the wall, stuffed with broken furniture, bits of carpet, and snow-sprinkled garbage bags. Ivan walked to the mouth of the narrow corridor and waited, watching the building opposite. His two companions were making last-minute checks to their gear. Yuri reloaded three times before finally leaving his pistol alone. Everyone had their own way of dealing with their pre-battle nerves.

  “Come on,” Billi urged. “What are we waiting for?” For God’s sake, Vasilisa was just across the road! Billi fought the urge to simply run over there shouting out her name.

  “Hush,” ordered Ivan.

  Two policemen crossed the street toward them. They’d been under the shelter of a boarded-up shop. One flicked his cigarette into the snow and shook Ivan’s hand.

  The three men conversed, and Ivan passed over a stuffed envelope. The two cops tapped their caps in thanks and wandered away.

  Yuri popped the trunk open, and inside sat a neatly stacked row of very new-looking Heckler & Koch submachine guns, all with built-in silencers. Just the thing for a house clearance. Dimitri took one, and handed another to Ivan, who slung it over his shoulder. He blew across the laser targeter, wiping the lens with his gloved finger, then switched the beam on. The red spot of laser light slid across the white snow, up the wall, and onto the building across from them. “Three families. All are Polenitsy.” He spat the last word.

  How he hates them. Billi almost winced at the intensity of his anger. Ivan checked his clip and slotted it in. “Are you ready?”

  “Lead on, Macduff.”

  Billi watched the first team of men sneak into the lonely building.

  Ivan nodded, and the four of them, Ivan in front, then Dimitri, Yuri, and Billi at the ba
ck, ran across the snow-covered street.

  Billi pulled out her pistol as she came through the entrance.

  The front door had been replaced with a hardboard panel, and Dimitri unscrewed the landing light, leaving the place dark. There was a small lift in front of them: the doors wedged open with a steel bin. The stairs up were bare concrete. A rag of carpet lay at the entrance, sticky with filth. Cigarette butts littered the tiled floor.

  This is where they’re keeping her? They were scum. Billi realized how tightly she was clutching her pistol, and slowly loosened her grip. Getting mad now wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Vasilisa. She sighed and put her hand on the door in the side wall.

  It opened to reveal a man wearing a thick woolen robe, yawning. He straightened his spectacles and stared at Billi. Yuri stepped past her and put the barrel of his pistol against the man’s chest. There was a muffled click and the man stepped back. He lowered his eyes to the wet stain spreading on his chest. He shook his head, confused, then sank to his knees. He put his hands on the floor, coughed, and finally collapsed, face down. Blood seeped out from under him, spreading to the newspaper on the floor, staining the white pages red.

  Yuri blew the smoke out of the end of his silencer.

  Billi clenched her teeth hard, holding in the scream. The man had just stepped out to get his paper. The burned gunpowder stung her eyes, raising tears. Ivan nudged the dead man’s head with his boot.

  “Clean up,” he whispered, and instantly Dimitri and Yuri swept past him into the flat.

  Cold blood. That man had been killed in cold blood. She shoved Ivan aside.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, grabbing her arm.

  Three families were in this building. Billi had only been thinking of getting Vasilisa, not about what would happen to the other people here. It seemed like the Bogatyrs were going to slaughter them all.

  “The Polenitsy are monsters, Billi,” said Ivan. The hate in his eyes transformed his face into something dark and ugly.

  “Let go of me.” This was not how Templars did things. She pulled her arm free.

  “Shh!” he hissed. Moving slowly, Ivan walked up to the half-landing, gun pointing up.

  Billi listened.

  Something sharp was scraping the wall on the floor above, like nails on a chalkboard. Billi gritted her teeth. She took the pistol in a two-handed grip and tripped the safety.

  A sharp edge clicked on the concrete above her. Then another. Billi held her breath and concentrated on the minutest of noises.

  There was a brief grunt, and a black beast launched itself from the floor above, diving across the stairwell and crashing onto the landing in front of Ivan. It grabbed the long silencer of the gun and twisted it away. Ivan instinctively pulled the trigger, but the trio of bullet holes popped the plaster. They wrestled for control of the submachine gun, and Ivan charged forward, sending them both over the banister.

  Howls and screams erupted from everywhere, swiftly followed by gunfire as Yuri and Dimitri came into the lobby. Sparks of light blazed above Billi. She saw a momentary tangle of Ivan and the werewolf wrestling on the floor. For a second she moved toward Ivan to help, then stopped. Vasilisa was what was most important here. Billi had to find her. The stairs were a dangerous place to be caught, so she rushed up to the next floor. She switched on her pistol light and swept it down the short unlit corridor that led off the staircase.

  Jesus, this is insane. Billi fought to control her breathing, and to hold the pistol steady; the light was jumping all over the place. Panic rose up in her chest. Vasilisa could be behind any one of these doors, and if Billi didn’t find her now, she might never get the chance again. She peered down the corridor and made out four doors. The stairs continued upward.

  Search or keep climbing?

  Adoor ahead of her creaked open.

  Billi booted it hard, and there was a yelp and a thud as someone fell backward. She pointed her light through the open door, and a werewolf leaped to its feet. Billi fired, but the beast was already gone, and all she shot was a curtained window. She heard screaming from one of the rooms in the apartment. A child’s scream.

  “Vasilisa?” Billi shouted. Oh my God, she’s in here. She’s here!

  Clawed feet scuttled across the tiled floor, and the werewolf darted in and out of sight. There had to be interconnecting doors. She should go back, wait for the others.

  But Vasilisa. She was so close. Billi couldn’t risk leaving her. She took another step into the apartment.

  The smell of damp heat permeated the air. A girl’s dress lay steaming on the radiator. The small spotlight from Billi’s flashlight showed her peeling wallpaper, spots of mold and flaking paint on the doors. The furniture looked like it had been collected from a Dumpster, a patchy sofa with threadbare seats and half-untangled wicker chairs. She checked the light switch. Nothing. The Bogatyrs must have cut the electricity.

  Billi squinted, trying to penetrate the darkness ahead. The flashlight was nearly useless; the beam was so narrow that it lit only a hand’s width of space.

  Billi could hear a child’s sniffling coming from somewhere ahead. Vasilisa was so close. Billi wanted to run toward the sound, but had to fight to keep herself focused on the job at hand. Her search was almost over. But almost wasn’t good enough.

  A floorboard creaked next to her, and Billi spun, but a thick forearm crashed across hers, and her pistol flew away. The bestial roar was by her ear, and hot, offal-scented breath hissed across her face as she grabbed the black snout to stop it from tearing out her throat. Her fingers dug deep into the werewolf’s muzzle as she held it away, and the long fangs snapped only inches from her face. It lifted her high up against the wall, its claws slashing at her body armor while she kneed it in the stomach. But even as it cried out, it pushed its head steadily closer to her. Billi’s arms quivered, and hot spittle dripped on her cheek. She had her kukri, but needed to let go with one hand to grab it. The monster hissed; Billi couldn’t resist its primordial strength for much longer and it knew it.

  So close. So close. Vasilisa was on the other side of that door, and Billi had to save her. Her teeth locked into a feral snarl and she dragged up every ounce of strength she had, burying her nails into the fleshy snout, grinding them in. The beast flinched as she drew blood, but it wasn’t going to let its prize escape. She felt its body stiffen as it focused all of its power on tearing out her throat.

  “No,” Billi whispered. It couldn’t end like this. But it would. Her arms ached and she couldn’t hold it back anymore. She buckled under the relentless force, and the werewolf growled as it shook itself free of Billi’s grip. It opened its jaws and…

  Screamed. The knife went in through its jaw and slammed it shut as the blade buried itself in its upper palette. Blood frothed through its blacklips, and a snort of red foam burst from its nostrils. Ivan wrapped his arm around the monster’s neck and twisted his knife deeper. The werewolf tried clawing at him, but Ivan bent it backward, almost lifting the huge creature off its feet, so its attacks were wild and weak. Ivan pulled the knife out and plunged it back in. The werewolf’s scream rose into a high-pitched wail, then it went slack. Ivan stood and slowly released the body. The werewolf slid to the floor, its body shedding fur second by second. Bill stumbled across the room and snatched up her pistol. Then she turned back to the monster.

  It was gone. In its place lay a young woman. Her body was stone-white except for the scarf of crimson blood that ran from her jaw and down her chest. Ivan stood over her, panting hard. Then he straightened up and slowly wiped the sweat off his forehead, dragging his hand over his short dark bristles, leaving them spiky with blood. The red fingerprints left a long trail over his face.

  “You are a fool, coming in here alone like this,” he said. “But now we are even, da?”

  Still trying to catch her breath, Billi looked up into Ivan’s serious gray eyes and nodded. She would have been dead without him.

  Achild’s whimper suddenly pulled Bil
li away from her thoughts.

  Vasilisa. Billi jumped to her feet. “Vasilisa?” She went to the far door. There was a clown painted on it. Billi twisted the handle and heard a cry from inside. Locked. Ivan came up beside her. He hoisted the gun up and smashed the brass knob off with the butt.

  The bedroom was basic but clean. A chest of drawers stood in the corner, and next to it, under the window, was a child’s bed, the quilt patchy and faded. Someone huddled beneath it.

  Oh thank God. She’d made it. It had been worth it. Billi moved forward and gently pulled the cover away.

  “Vasilisa, I’m here.” She could take her back; it would all be okay. Billi’s eyes blurred, and the pistol light wouldn’t lie straight. The cover fell from the child’s face.

  The girl sobbed, clutching a clown doll. Her blond hair was bristly and unkempt, much like the woman’s who lay dead in the corridor. Her eyes were light brown; her teeth an even row of ivory needle points. She growled.

  No. It wasn’t Vasilisa.

  “Stand aside,” ordered Yuri. Billi spun around as he raised his gun, and she jumped in front of him. The smallest squeeze of the trigger and Billi’s guts would be decorating the wall. At this range, her body armor would be as useful as tissue paper.

  “Polenitsy,” he insisted.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Billi turned her back to him and looked at the girl, her heart tripping with fear. She put the Glock on the table and held out her hand. “Come with me.”

  The girl didn’t understand what Billi was saying, but she looked at her hand, then reached out. Her fingers were thin and cold, but her grip fierce. She stepped off the bed, and Billi held her close. She may not have found Vasilisa, but she wasn’t going to be responsible for this girl’s death.

  Yuri blocked the doorway. He raised his pistol and Billi blinked as the red laser spot rose to the center of her forehead. She looked at the Glock on the table. It was only a foot away, but it may as well have been on the other side of the planet.