The city, now the domain of beasts, erupted with fevered cries. Then, from the side streets, the Polenitsy emerged. Wolves, howling and snapping their yellow fangs, ran at them. The Jeep’s one unbroken headlight lit a bright path along the road, straight to them. The wolves wove in and out of the darkness. Billi’s hand fell on her bow and a handful of spilled arrows, but not the one she wanted. She needed the stone-tipped one, and began searching. Where was it?
“Billi.” Ivan tapped her shoulder, the arrow in his hand. “You should keep a closer eye on your gear.”
She could have kissed him. Instead she snatched the arrow and put it to her bow. The witch was over forty yards away. She needed to get a lot closer.
Billi glanced at her dad as he stepped out between the wolves and the car. He’d cast off his coat so he could fight freely, and the Templar Sword rested comfortably in his hand. Lance stood beside him, slowly turning his two swords, loosening his wrists.
“Billi!” shouted Ivan as the gunfire exploded.
Armed men ran down the road toward them. Koshchey led, flanked by two Bogatyrs, rifle in his hands. The other men drew hand weapons and met the werewolves, their steel against the lycanthropes’ claws. Koshchey pointed at them, and a group of Bogatyrs broke into a run.
They’ve come for Vasilisa, thought Billi. She glanced at Ivan. And revenge. Koshchey had been humiliated and Ivan was still alive.
“Come on!” Ivan grabbed Vasilisa and Billi, and they fled into a building across from the plant’s main gate while Arthur and Lance fought back-to-back.
The moon’s light shone through the broken wall of the single-story office they’d entered. Billi stepped deep into the shadow, but the moonlight shone into her soul, on the Beast Within.
The arrow clattered on the wooden floor.
Her fingers curl. Billi stares, breath caught, as black hairs push through her skin and begin to cover the backs of her hands. She screams until her throat is torn and hoarse as her spine stretches against the mail. She wants to tear at the armor, desperate to rip it off, for the metal burns her and the clothes smother.
Ivan grabbed Billi’s arms and held her up. He stared at Billi, but her eyes filled with a red haze, and his face faded. She could see the heat rising from his exhalations, hear the warm blood running through his body. She smelled the adrenaline, the fear, and the desire that soaked him.
“Stay with us,” he urged. “You are not a beast.”
I am not a beast.
She repeated it over and over.
The floor trembled, and long cracks broke along the wall and ceiling. Brittle plaster sprinkled down, and the floorboards under their feet splintered. Vasilisa curled up and sobbed.
“The goddess is here.”
The fighting had stopped. Billi shook her head, trying to focus. The trees outside creaked, and the wind rustled through the empty streets.
Billi’s hair flickered as the breeze rose. The office quivered and the desks and chairs rattled and slid across the room.
Deep long cracks opened along the walls, and the roof rattled its tiles loose. The floorboards bent and snapped one by one. Then the walls exploded. Billi threw herself toward Vasilisa, but something fell from above, knocking her aside. Ivan shouted, but was drowned out as the building crumbled. All Billi could do was cover her head with her arms as the ceiling collapsed and she vanished under the avalanche of tiles and timber. She choked on the dust that filled her lungs, and a deep drumming echoed in her ears.
The avalanche seemed to go on and on. Billi, submerged in debris, had managed to crawl under a gap made by two cupboards landing on each other.
Where’s Ivan?
Where’s Vasilisa?
She tried to call out, but could only cough. Eventually, when the noise had subsided, Billi began to drag herself out. A layer of broken roof slates covered the rubble, and Billi started sliding them aside.
“Vasilisa?” Billi called.
A deep black mass rose from the ruined building. Tap tap tap wenta staff on the cracked concrete and rotten wood. Black eyes, old and so full of evil, glistened with victory. Baba Yaga used her claws to dig through the rubble. She tossed large lumps of brick and block behind her like packing foam.
“Vasilisa!” Billi cried as she struggled to push herself free of the debris.
Baba Yaga reached into the dark pit and dragged Vasilisa out of the devastation.
42
ARTHUR AND LANCE WERE SURROUNDED BY WOLVES. A Bogatyr charged Baba Yaga, his rifle blazing. The bullets merely sparked against her skin. With one hand she snapped her fingers around his neck and popped his head off. The body stumbled another two steps, then slumped, its neck pumping scarlet into the dirty snow. Vasilisa screamed as Baba Yaga dragged her away from the collapsed building.
The Bogatyrs were retreating. Men and wolves lay dead, some killed fleeing, others locked in their death fury. But the wolves were slowly gaining the upper hand. Billi watched as two werewolves broke through a gap and launched themselves at her father. His sword took one in the gullet, but the second knocked him down. Lance’s swords stabbed into the wolf’s side, and the monster was tossed away.
Gwaine, Mordred, and Gareth came charging down the street. Their arrows all spent, they launched into the melee, Gwaine swinging his ax in great skull-smashing arcs as they fought their way to the Templar Master.
Billi tried to heave herself up, but every muscle felt shredded. She managed to slide a beam far enough to crawl out of the rubble. Her armor was in tatters, and blood dripped from a cut on her forehead. The taste of it stung her lips.
Baba Yaga took her prisoner away from the ruined building as Vasilisa screamed and struggled in the old crone’s grip.
Red leaped across the broken rubble. She sniffed the ground and her emerald eyes rose to meet Billi’s.
Rage filled Billi’s heart. Her head swam with fury.
“Get out of my way,” Billi snarled.
Red stalked closer. Then the broken concrete between them parted, and Ivan reached out, revolver in his hand. He fired at Red, point-blank and straight into her belly. She stumbled back as he put two rounds into her.
But she did not fall.
Ivan rose to his feet, both hands on the gun, as she sprang. He pushed the revolver barrel against Red’s stomach, and two muffled explosions went off in rapid succession. Red rammed her claws into his chest as she roared with savage hatred. Ivan tilted backward, firing again and catching the werewolf in the chest.
Red spasmed, and bright blood spilled from her abdomen as her body changed. The hair began to sink away into her pale flesh, and the limbs twisted under the pulsing skin. Ivan lay on his back, fingers still locked around the gun, his chest torn and bleeding heavily. Billi stepped toward him and touched his face. His eyes closed and he sighed.
Then nothing.
“Ivan?” She put her fingers to his still lips. “Ivan!”
No no no. Not again. Billi pressed her fists against her head, though she wanted to scream.
“Billi!”
Vasilisa raised her head. She stared at Billi, eyes gigantic with terror. Baba Yaga lifted the girl and licked her great iron fangs. Her jaw ground like steel plates as she opened her mouth wider and wider, almost bending her head back like a mantrap.
Billi looked once at Ivan, then searched the dusty ruins frantically. She got on to her hands and knees and looked among the broken slabs and bricks for her weapon. Then she saw it, wedged under a fallen cupboard.
Somehow the bow had survived. A long crack ran down the wood, but the string was still wire-taut.
The arrow lay beneath two slabs a yard away. Billi spotted it through a narrow gap that had been left as the wall and roof collided. Vasilisa screamed and Billi glanced back. The little girl was trying to fight, but couldn’t resist the strength of the ancient crone. Vasilisa kicked furiously as she was lowered headfirst into the old monster’s maw.
The moon was full, and with one snap of her jaws, Baba Yaga would
consume all of Vasilisa, her flesh, blood, and her powers.
Billi wanted to run and tear at the witch, but she fought the mindless urge. She screamed in anger and frustration as she reached through the gap, her fingers outstretched, vainly reaching for the arrow. A tremor ran across the ground, and the slabs slid closer together and pinched Billi’s arm. If they moved much more, it would be severed.
Billi watched the two avatars. One ancient, decrepit, wise, and evil; the other a frail child. She pushed her shoulder into the hole and stretched her fingers as far as she could. Dust fell over her as she wormed deeper into the rubble. The slabs slid another inch closer together.
She touched smooth wood and jerked her hand out as the two huge chunks of concrete slammed together.
Billi raised her bow and notched the arrow.
Thumb ring hooks around the string, and she pulls with the right as she pushes with the left. Her arms and shoulders shake under the strain. Baba Yaga is twenty yards away, holding the small girl above her, and her teeth begin to close around the girl’s head.
Vasilisa screams.
Billi shoots.
43
THE ARROW FLIES.
44
BABA YAGA STUMBLED BACK AND LIFTED HER HAND to her throat. Vasilisa fell to the ground, motionless.
The old crone coughed. It was a small weak noise, as if she were shaking a seed out of her gullet.
Her hand touched the arrow shaft jutting out just under her chin. She snapped it and tossed it to the ground, then sank to her knees. One by one the werewolves paused in battle.
The blood was flooding out of Baba Yaga’s neck, great gushes with every heartbeat, spraying over Vasilisa’s limp and exhausted body. The young girl blinked, awake.
Billi stumbled over the broken wall to try to reach her.
Vasilisa slowly rose and wiped the blood out of her eyes. Then she saw Baba Yaga.
“I am here, Babushka,” she said.
Baba Yaga hissed as she lowered her head; blood covered most of her chest. Vasilisa reached up and stroked the monster’s face, carefully drawing the broken arrow out.
Billi cautiously made her way toward them. She could hardly breathe after having been crushed under the collapsed roof, and her head swam with exhaustion and pain.
Blood formed soapy bubbles around the old crone’s mouth. Baba Yaga stretched out her fingers, and Vasilisa put her hand in the Dark Goddess’s.
“Vasilisa, get away from her!” Billi dropped her bow and began to run toward them.
“Child …” said Baba Yaga. She gazed at her huge palm. Then, through the crevasses of wrinkled skin, a thin green shoot unfurled itself. Baba Yaga gasped.
The green veins spread along Baba Yaga’s fingers and up her arm. Billi watched as a string of flowers sprouted across the witch’s fingertips. Vasilisa kept her small hand in Baba Yaga’s even as it began to transform, her skin thickening into deep wrinkled bark. Her arms turned into thick, long boughs, and her fingers burst with bright green leaves until her body was covered in lustrous foliage. Baba Yaga’s black eyes flowered with purple irises. Her iron teeth closed forever, and her blood turned to moss.
A wolf crept up to the bent oak tree. It sniffed around the trunk. It whined and molded its body from wolf back into human. Others gathered around, some as wolves, some in human form. Olga was nowhere to be seen.
“My God. It’s over,” whispered Billi. Baba Yaga was gone. Vasilisa stumbled toward her, and they hugged. Billi bent down and cupped Vasilisa’s bloody face. “We did it, Vasilisa. We-”
Koshchey strode toward them, surrounded by what remained of his army-ten or so men. The Bogatyrs had been decimated in the battle, it seemed. They stopped six or seven yards away, and Koshchey pointed his pistol at Billi.
“Give me the girl,” he said.
No, not after all this. He was too far away for her to attack, and at her first move he’d put a bullet in her head. But she didn’t care. “Forget it, Koshchey. You can kill me, but you won’t get a dozen feet before the werewolves rip you to pieces. If they don’t, the Templars certainly will.”
“You have cost me too much, Templar, for me to walk away empty-handed. I have lost half my men getting here. Give me the girl. What I get from the vampires for the Spring Child will barely cover expenses.”
“You will not have her.” Billi’s heart pounded in her chest, and hot blood began to course through her body, filling her muscles with fiery strength. The Beast Within sensed victory.
Koshchey gazed at her, then at the werewolves gathered around him. Nobody would come out of this a clear victor. The bloodbath wasn’t over yet.
Koshchey nodded. “You are right, Templar.” He raised his pistol. “But if I can’t have her, no one can.” A shot rang out, and Billi gasped. Vasilisa let go of Billi and put a hand to her chest. She looked quietly surprised. A red spot grew on her white smock. She tilted away and fell.
Koshchey fired once more, and Vasilisa twitched. Then stopped.
“She’s all yours,” he said.
45
WHAT?
What?
Billi stared at Vasilisa. Then at Koshchey.
What?
Adeep, threatening growl rumbled in her throat as she stood and turned toward him. Koshchey backed away into the protective circle of his Bogatyrs.
“Do not try it, little Templar.”
Billi stepped forward. It really didn’t matter now, but she was still going to kill him. Koshchey pointed the pistol at her head. At this distance he could hardly miss.
“I will warn you only once.”
Billi had one weapon left-her dagger. She pulled it out and held it in her fist. If she died, she’d make sure she took him with her. The power racing through her meant she’d leap the few feet between them easily.
“BILLI.” A hand, wet and sticky, touched her arm, and she turned. “STEP AWAY.”
Vasilisa stood in the red snow. She was covered in blood and there was a burn hole in the center of her smock. She looked up at Billi and smiled, a guileless child’s smile. But the eyes were aged, not just a few years, but many, many thousands. They were black and as deep as eternity. Billi glanced at the Bogatyrs, then stepped away, retreating from the young girl who’d now become so much more. Baba Yaga had tried to consume Vasilisa, but instead Vasilisa had consumed her. All the Spring Children now inhabited the body of a nine-year-old. And so did all their powers.
Vasilisa stepped forward and faced Koshchey. “KOSHCHEY THE UNDYING,” she said in a chorus of countless souls.
Koshchey fired. His men fired. Bullets shattered against Vasilisa’s body as she held out her arms. Billi ducked behind a rusty car as the bullets rebounded off the invulnerable avatar. The gap between them filled with smoke and the stench of gunpowder. When Vasilisa lowered her arms, Koshchey was staring at her in mute horror.
Vasilisa looked to the surrounding Polenitsy. “COME, DAUGHTERS, FEED ON MANFLESH.”
“Wait!”
The command was clear and imperious. Ivan hobbled out of the rubble. His chest was a mess of tattered cloth and blood, and he dragged his leg as he walked.
“Ivan?” Billi blinked. He was alive. She reached for him, but his eyes were on Koshchey. Her heart trembled. Koshchey’s men outnumbered him-he would lose. Couldn’t he see that? Billi bit her lip and stopped. She wanted to run to him, help him, but this was not the time. He had a score to settle. All she could do was stand by and watch.
Vasilisa raised her hand, stopping the Polenitsy.
“TSAREVICH.” She acknowledged his presence and his right.
Smashed and battered as he was, there was almost demonic determination in Ivan’s eyes as he gazed at Koshchey. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
Koshchey’s eyes narrowed. “A duel, perhaps? For what, Tsarevich?”
“If you win, then you go free.”
One of the Polenitsy shouted, but Vasilisa nodded in Ivan’s direction. “SO BE IT.”
Koshchey
laughed. Hands on hips, he threw back his head and bellowed.
“You want to fight me? You can barely-”
The gun boomed once, and Koshchey fell. The thunder of the gunshot echoed across the city. Ivan stood, the big revolver perfectly still in his hand, the smoke whispering out of the long, shiny barrel.
“I want you dead,” he said. “And that is all I want.”
The Bogatyrs stared at the body of their leader. Then back at Ivan. They were a tight unit, but suddenly they looked lost and not a little frightened.
“Go now,” he ordered. He tossed the empty gun aside and cleaned the sweat from his forehead. The Bogatyrs, throwing their weapons away, fled.
Billi ran forward into his arms. “Thank God. I thought you were dead.”
“Me? Dead? Do you know who I am?” Ivan winced. “I am Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Romanov. It would take more than a couple of scratches to kill me.” He wobbled and would have fallen if Billi hadn’t hung on to him. “Not much more, though.”
One of the wolves howled. A woman climbed onto a wall and cried at the moon. The victorious Polenitsy gave full voice to their joy, and the city echoed with their feral calling. The sound trembled in Billi’s soul, and her ears pricked at the cries of celebrating beasts.
She sighed and stepped back from Ivan. She raised her head and stared at the moon. The brightness of it hurt her eyes, but she didn’t blink.
The Beast Within stepped out of its cage.
She pulled off the broken remains of her mail armor.
Ivan took hold of her arm. “No. Not after all this.” He shouted at the Templars. “Quickly!”
Billi twisted, but he wouldn’t let go. She stared at her coat, bloodstained and ripped. She drew her long sharp nails-talons now-peeling it off.
Dark Goddess Page 25