She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. She had clawed her way out of that life with every ounce of courage she’d had. She couldn’t go back. Not even to save her own life.
“No,” she whispered. “Just shoot me and get it over with.”
Victor laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Suzy. I’m not going to shoot you. That would be way too easy on you. I’m going to shoot these girls, one by one. Just the way I did your friend Skye Blue.”
• • •
“FINE,” Gregori said. “Let us assume I will figure out what to say to Jarilo, if in fact we can contact him. I have no idea how to accomplish such a thing. Do you?”
“How did you contact him when you were younger?” Bella asked. “Did you have some kind of special chant? Or maybe a magical talisman?”
“Bat signal?” Koshka interjected helpfully.
Bella gritted her teeth. “That’s it. No more television for you.”
Gregori shook his head. “None of those. My father would appear or send a message when he wanted to see me. That was it. I had no way to contact him.”
“Jeez,” the dragon-cat said. “No wonder you have daddy issues. I take back what I said before.” He turned his head to look at Bella. “Obviously, someone called on Morena, or we wouldn’t be dealing with this storm. If it was another witch, surely you can figure out whatever she did and do it yourself.”
“It’s not that simple,” Bella said. She plopped down on the couch with a sigh. “First of all, you need to know the proper incantation or summoning spell, or have a strong spiritual connection with a god or goddess in order to invoke one. I don’t have that. And second, it could have been a witch, but it might also have been some kind of shaman or priestess. Witches aren’t the only folks who can use magic, you know.”
Gregori left the window after one last lingering backward glance that regrettably still did not show Ciera returning home, and sat down in the chair opposite her.
“Did you say a shaman could do it?” he asked, getting a sudden feeling he was missing something obvious.
Bella narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Why? You just got a funny look on your face. Are you having another premonition?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. But I have been spending a great deal of time of late searching for my mother, who was a legendary shamaness. It would seem a strange coincidence if in fact it turns out there is some kind of shaman involved in causing this storm.”
“We don’t know that it was a shaman,” she said. “But I admit, one could probably do it. Did your mother have any connection to Morena?”
“My mother spent most of her life in Mongolia and Russia. She would certainly have known about Morena, especially after being involved with my father, Jarilo, although as far as I know my mother never met any of the gods other than him.” Gregori swallowed down a wave of bitterness. “Still, there was much she never shared with me, so it is certainly possible.”
“Why would your mother call down a storm on the Twin Cities, though?” Koshka asked. “Especially if she knew you were here.”
“She would not,” Gregori said, quite certain of that if not of much else. “Iduyan was a woman of peace. Her life was dedicated to healing and to deepening her spiritual bond with nature. She would no more inflict this kind of harm through the abuse of that bond than I would. It cannot be her, even if she is still alive, which seems unlikely.”
Bella’s expression took on a grim hue. “You said you’ve been actively looking for your mother. Is there any reason someone would want to stop you from finding her?”
Gregori’s mouth fell open for a moment before he recovered himself and snapped it shut again. “Are you implying that some unknown person called down this storm because of me?” The thought was appalling in the extreme. “How would this theoretical person even know I was looking for Iduyan, let alone care if I succeeded in my task?”
“I don’t know, Gregori,” she said. “I can’t think of answers to either of those questions. But like you said, it seems odd that you are searching for an ancient Mongolian shamaness and now we suddenly have an ancient Russian goddess who would have to have been summoned by someone who had both the knowledge of her existence and the wherewithal to invoke her. I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Gregori admitted. “Although we could be jumping to conclusions based on very little evidence. Either way, we cannot know right now if this storm has somehow been prompted by my presence here. We must focus instead on finding some way to contact Jarilo. Perhaps he would be able to discover the answers we cannot.”
“Agreed,” Koshka said. “And we need to do so fast, before this entire city is buried under snow and ice.”
“If you were going to attempt to summon a god,” Gregori asked Bella, “where would you start?”
She thought for a minute. “I have a spell or two that are used to summon lesser powers, like elementals. I might be able to alter the spells to invoke a god. But I’d want to do it in a place of power, to give the magic a boost—something to make up for the lack of connection that I’d normally want to have to that particular deity.”
She gnawed on the end of a lock of red hair. “A circle of standing stones would be perfect, but I doubt they have such a thing here, and even if they did, we’d never be able to make it there in this weather.” She mulled some more. “A temple of some sort, maybe. Sacred ground.”
“Ah,” Gregori said. “Would a monastery do?”
• • •
CIERA didn’t recognize the place Victor took her and the girls. It looked like some kind of a warehouse, although it was hard to tell in the dim evening gloom. There were a few lights here and there, just enough to allow for safe passage through the hulking stacks of boxes and crates and tarp-covered machinery. The large, echoing space had the stale feeling of a building not in regular use and she had no hope of their stumbling across anyone who would rush to their rescue.
Anyone they met would almost certainly work for Victor anyway, and no one in their right mind would go up against him.
She guessed that meant she was insane, since she intended to do whatever it took to beat him.
Her head was still reeling, not just from the pistol-whipping, but from Victor’s shocking announcement claiming responsibility for Skye Blue’s death. Could it be true? If so, that meant he was a lot higher up in the drug cartel than she had ever known. It was possible, she supposed. He had always had a lot of secrets.
It would certainly explain his comment about her poking her nose into things, if she had actually been getting close to uncovering that information. But it just boggled her mind that she might have known her mentor’s murderer all along. Her fists clenched at her sides as involuntary fury swept through her, wiping away any remnants of fear that might have stood in the way of her fighting back.
Not that she wasn’t afraid—mostly for the girls, but also for herself. But right this very minute, if she could get the teens to safety, she would gladly face Victor for the chance to avenge both her friend and herself. She didn’t have many advantages in this scenario, he’d seen to that, but she did have one important piece of information Victor didn’t. His frightened, weak Suzy was long gone, and nothing he did would bring her back. Ciera was stronger now, and there would be no more running away. One way or the other, only one of them was coming out of this alive.
CHAPTER 23
GREGORI debated with himself all the way back to the monastery while Bella clung to him like a limpet and Koshka muttered dire curses in Russian, squashed in between them. It took almost all of Gregori’s strength and attention to get them there in one piece, as even his magical steed struggled to stay upright in the snow-filled streets with the wind gusting back and forth through the buildings like demented invisible giant children playing tag.
But what small fraction of his brain wasn’t spent maneuvering the Ducati to the monastery was preoccupied wi
th the question of what they would do when they got there.
If he understood Bella correctly, being in a place that was the focus of so much spiritual work should help boost whatever call they put out to his father. But she was not at all certain that this alone would be enough, which left him with a difficult decision to make. One that could easily blow up in his face and ruin any chance he had at staying at the monastery after this was all over.
Of course, if they could not summon Jarilo to stop Morena’s storm, there might not be a monastery when it was all over. In the end, there was really only one option.
As if the journey were not already difficult enough, as they rode through the blizzard Gregori’s eyes began to play tricks on him. At first he thought the blowing snow was obscuring his view through the visor of his helmet, as the scene before him seemed to shift and change from minute to minute. Then he realized that the reality in front of him was being overwritten by his terrifying reoccurring vision, flickering on and off, on and off, as if a faulty movie projector were aimed at the streets three feet ahead.
One minute the snow would be white, and the next it would run with blood; the streets would be empty, then filled with screaming people seemingly running right at the bike. The first time it happened, he actually swerved to miss an illusionary man, almost toppling the motorcycle as its back wheel wobbled in an attempt to compensate for his sudden move. Bella let out a tiny, high-pitched screech that could be heard even over the howling of the wind.
After that he did his best to ignore the visions, there and then not there, flashing across his eyes like a metronome’s beat. On, off. On, off. Not quite sure what was real and what was not, Gregori prayed the entire remaining length of the journey, hoping to cling to his sanity until he could deliver his passengers safely. Hoping that none of the things he assumed were illusions turned out to be solid and real.
Finally, the gates to the monastery loomed up in the beam of the bike’s single headlight, more welcome than water in a desert. By the time Bella and Koshka had hopped off the back, Gregori’s whole body was shaking from the effort of fighting off the visions, and moisture puddled underneath his layers of clothing in spite of the chill night air.
Perversely, the haunting images seemed to disappear as soon as his feet hit solid ground, but he still wobbled a little as he dismounted and pulled off his helmet.
“Are you okay?” Bella asked, concern written across her face as she handed him the spare helmet to tuck away in his saddlebags. “You don’t look so great.”
“I am fine,” he said. “I had some difficulty on our way here, but everything is all right now.”
Koshka made a coughing noise that sounded a lot like, “Bullshit.” Gregori ignored him.
The dragon-cat was right, of course. Gregori was far from fine. But there was nothing he could do about his problems right now, and they had bigger issues to contend with.
They walked up the path to the main building, passing a monk wearing a parka over his robes while he shoveled in a meditative rhythm. Once inside, Gregori stopped a young novice in the hallway.
“Do you know where the abbot is?” he asked. “I need to speak to him.”
The boy, barely out of his teens, stared at Bella and Koshka, but thankfully didn’t ask what on earth Gregori was doing bringing a woman and a cat into the monastery at this time of night. Women were allowed into certain meditation sessions that were open to the public, but otherwise it was men only. And no giant forty-pound cats.
“Uh, the last I knew he was in his study,” the novice said. He pointed down to their left. “He said something at dinner about trying to figure out the best way to allocate our resources to help the most people possible.”
The thought of dinner—which they had all missed—just made Gregori’s stomach turn over. He nodded his thanks and hurried Bella and Koshka along. If he was going to attempt the impossible, he would just as soon get it over with as rapidly as he could. Especially if he was going to end up having to come up with a plan B, if their already unlikely plan A failed.
He knocked on the door at the end of the hallway and entered when told to do so. The abbot looked up from behind a simple bamboo desk covered with tidy assorted files and maps of the city, where he was writing notes with an old-fashioned fountain pen. The rest of the room was spare but lovely. One wall was covered with bookshelves, and there was a seating area to the side with four crimson cushions surrounding a low, round teak table. A few scrolls hung on the other three walls, depicting scenes from Chinese and Tibetan mythology, or Buddhist sayings drawn in elegant calligraphy. In one corner, a small iron kettle steamed gently on a warming plate.
“Gregori Sun,” the abbot said. “This is a surprise.” His eyes widened slightly when Bella and Koshka entered the study behind Gregori, but otherwise his calm demeanor never wavered. “Surprises plural, I see.”
He waved one slim hand to indicate they should come to stand in front of his desk. Gregori had no idea how old the abbot was—he had one of those Asian faces that could have been anywhere from fifty to eighty, with only a few wrinkles and tiny lines around his dark eyes, and a shaved head. But Gregori thought he had the aura of great age and wisdom. Hopefully, he had an open mind as well.
“I do not know what this is about,” the abbot said in a polite tone. “But perhaps whatever it is can wait for a more auspicious time? I am quite busy trying to cope with the effects of this storm.”
“Actually, the storm is the reason we are here,” Gregori said, putting his hands together in front of his chest and bowing low. “There is something about it we wish to discuss with you. I assure you it is quite urgent, or we would not interrupt your work.”
The abbot raised one feathery black eyebrow. “Indeed. Then perhaps you will introduce me to our guest.”
“Khen Rinpoche, this is my friend Bella Young. Bella, may I present Khen Rinpoche, the abbot of the monastery.”
Bella imitated Sun’s bow and said, “I am honored, sir.”
“The honor is mine,” the abbot said, returning her bow.
“And this is Bella’s companion, Koshka,” Gregori continued.
Koshka stretched his front legs forward and bent his body down in something that looked a great deal like a bow too. “Good evening, Abbot,” he said. “Namaste.”
The abbot blinked. “Your cat talks.”
Bella and Gregori exchanged startled glances.
“You can understand him?” Bella asked. Normally, anyone other than the two of them would have merely heard meowing. She narrowed her eyes at Koshka. “What are you up to?”
Koshka displayed impressive fangs in a wide yawn. “Gregori was about to spend the next twenty minutes trying to convince the revered Khen Rinpoche that the storm is supernatural in origin and so are we. I thought I’d save us some time by convincing him from the start.”
Gregori ventured a glance at the abbot to see how he was responding to all this. As usual, the man’s broad, calm face showed courteous interest and little else. At least he hadn’t kicked them all out of his study yet. In fact, he waved them over to the seating area and put the kettle on a pad in the middle. After a brief hesitation, he added a fourth tea bowl to the others he had gathered and brought them to the table as well. Bella and Sun took off their dripping boots and put them by the door before taking their seats.
“It seems you have a long and interesting tale to tell me,” he said. “I suspect we could all use some tea as you tell it.”
“I prefer my tea with milk,” Koshka said. “If you have it.”
The abbot blinked again, as if he had thought perhaps there was some possibility he had been mistaken the first time he heard the cat speak and now there was no denying it. He shook his head. “I am sorry, I do not. I could call to the kitchen to bring some, if you like.”
Koshka put out his tongue and lapped delicately at the top of his cup. “Laps
ang souchong,” he said. “I’ll make do without.”
“How long does it take to get used to the fact that he talks?” the abbot asked Gregori. “Just out of curiosity.”
Sun bit back a laugh despite the dire circumstances. “I could not tell you,” he said. “He has always talked to me. Perhaps I should start at the beginning, in as much as there is a beginning.”
“That might be good,” the abbot said. “I confess I am already quite intrigued.”
“See?” Koshka said, a trifle smugly. “Always lead with the talking animal. Gets their attention right away.”
“Perhaps I should introduce myself properly,” Bella said, nudging Koshka warningly with her foot. “As Gregori said, my name is Bella Young. I am also known as Baba Yaga. Perhaps you have heard of us?”
The abbot’s eyebrows went up. “Baba Yaga? The legendary Russian witch?” He paused. “You will excuse me, but you do not look like the Baba Yagas in the fairy tales.”
“Give me another couple of hundred years,” Bella said with a laugh. “But in the meanwhile, there is always this.”
She made a swirling motion with one hand and muttered a couple of arcane words. The pretty redhead disappeared and suddenly an old crone with wild white hair, a beaky nose, and abundant wrinkles sat on her cushion. “Might I trouble you for some more tea, young man?” the crone said in a quavering voice. Then she reversed the motion and the young woman reappeared.
“Goodness,” the abbot said. He rubbed one hand across his eyes. “And did you say us? There is more than one Baba Yaga?”
Bella shrugged. “About twenty, in the whole world. There are three of us who are responsible for the United States: me, Barbara, and Beka. We guard the doorways to the Otherworld and help to maintain the balance of nature.”
“Ah,” the abbot said. “I suspect that means this storm has something to do with why you are here, then.”
“Exactly. Gregori called me in when he began to suspect that the blizzard had supernatural origins.”
Dangerously Divine Page 21