Succubus Ascendant: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 4)

by BR Kingsolver

  “We’re in St. Petersburg,” Rhiannon explained. “I won’t get the same kind of deal on amber in Moscow. Besides, Vasily can afford it, and winter’s coming, so I need a warm coat.”

  Vladimir objected to Rhiannon going into Gorbachev with the turncoat.

  “What if they figure out that he was on Galina’s payroll? They may take the disk and shoot him in the head,” Vladimir said, continuing the litany of reasons he’d offered for changing the plan.

  “So they shoot him,” Rhiannon said. “They aren’t going to shoot me.” She batted her eyes. “I’m just an innocent bimbo he picked up. I have no idea what he’s doing, or who he’s doing it for. I just want to party and he showed me a good time. I’m flexible. If he dies, I’ll let someone else show me a good time.”

  “And what if that someone wants you to really show him a good time?” Vladimir asked.

  “Why, Donald, are you concerned about my virtue? That’s sweet.”

  Watching the exchange, Irina giggled. “It really is sweet. Donald, are you concerned about my virtue, too?”

  He cast a disgusted look at her. “I’m not worried about your virtue, something I suspect fled long ago. I’m worried about your safety.”

  “Did he just insult me?” Rhiannon asked. “I think he called me a slut.”

  Vladimir’s face turned bright red. “I didn’t mean that at all. Dammit, you know that isn’t what I meant.”

  They laughed him out of the room. But in the end, he went along with her to Moscow. He won by calling Brenna, who overrode Rhiannon and ordered security on her heir. The rest of the O’Neill Protectors would provide out-of-sight security. Half of Andrei’s Protectors returned to Moscow the day before Rhiannon and Vasily did and restored O’Donnell’s presence in the capitol.

  ~~~

  They booked private compartments on the overnight train from St. Petersburg to Moscow. As soon as they boarded, Rhiannon put Vasily to sleep on one of the bunks. She tried to sleep herself, but was too keyed up. Sending out a tentative mental probe, she found that Vlad/Donald was still awake next door.

  She knocked and he slid back the door, dressed only in boxer shorts and holding a pistol.

  “I can’t sleep,” she said.

  He stepped back and with a wave of his arm invited her in. He had made up one of the two bunks. A paperback book, a classic American science-fiction book translated to Russian, lay open there. She sat on the other bunk.

  “And what can I do for you, my lady?” he said, reaching for a bottle of juice and pouring some in a teacup. She nodded at his raised eyebrow, and he filled the other teacup on the small table.

  “I just figured that if we were both awake, perhaps we could keep each other company,” she said. “We’ve never really gotten to know each other.” She hoped he didn’t take that the wrong way. His body was even better without clothes, but as tasty as he looked, she wasn’t trying to seduce him.

  Flashing her a lop-sided grin, just short of a leer, he plopped down on his bed. “You’re looking for small talk?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’ve read that in English,” she said, pointing to the book.

  “So have I. I was curious to see how well they translated it.”

  They talked for almost two hours, telling each other about their lives, their personal histories. She grew up in a small telepathic town in Wales, while he grew up in Belfast during the Troubles. She went to Oxford and he went to the University of Edinburgh. He had been engaged once, but his fiancée had been killed in an automobile accident. She, a bit uncomfortably, admitted that she’d never had a relationship that lasted more than three months. Even then, she hadn’t been very serious about it.

  At times, when the conversation flagged, the atmosphere became a bit uncomfortable. He was almost nude, and she wore only an old t-shirt and jogging shorts. It was slightly embarrassing that her nipples had tightened when he first answered the door, and she couldn’t seem to get them to settle down. Her face warmed a bit every time he glanced at them.

  “Well, I guess I should try to get some sleep,” she said, standing to go. “Who knows what the hell our day is going to be like.”

  “You’d rather sleep with Vasily than stay here?” he teased.

  “I think I’m probably safer with Vasily. Good night, Donald.”

  As she locked the door to her compartment, she reflected that it wasn’t Donald she was worried about. She didn’t trust herself if she stayed with him. He did things to her that made her feel nervous and tingly and warm in uncomfortable ways. And there was an undeniable charge any time they happened to touch each other, however inadvertently. But it had been a long time since she was comfortable with quick, easy sex.

  Undressing, she turned out the light and crawled between the sheets. It seemed only an instant before she heard a soft knock on the door. Donald’s voice softly called, “It’s time to get up. We’re on the outskirts of Moscow.” Glancing at the window, she saw it was morning.

  Telekinetically unlocking the door, she slid it open a few inches. Donald stuck his head in. She was sitting up, covered only by the thin sheet, and she saw his eyes light up.

  “That telekinetic stuff is neat,” he said. “I could think of a use for it right now, if I had it.”

  Her face grew warm and her nipples betrayed her, presenting sudden peaks in the sheet.

  “Get out of here and let me get dressed,” she said.

  Donald looked at Vasily, still asleep in his clothes on the other bunk. “Why is he privileged to attend the show and I’m not?”

  “Do you really want to know? I’m actually going to wake him up and let him watch me. I want good, fresh, real memories in his mind. Hopefully, if anyone reads him to find out information about me, the images will distract them from probing deeper.”

  “You don’t trust the construct Rebecca planted?” he asked, his forehead furrowing with sudden worry.

  “Yes, but reinforcing the artificial memories we planted won’t hurt anything.”

  Donald withdrew and Rhiannon threw back the sheet. Waking her companion, she rose and began choosing her clothes for the day. In the process, she showed Vasily views of her anatomy that only her lovers had ever seen. A lump grew in his trousers, but she ignored it. He was completely under her control and his physiological reaction confirmed that he would react naturally in spite of the construct and the compulsions Rebecca had set in his mind.

  After a few minutes, she leaned over him, her breasts bobbing in front of his face. “Why don’t you go to the washroom, use the toilet, and brush your teeth? Straighten yourself up so we can leave the train.”

  Obediently, he left the compartment. Following him with her mind, she confirmed that he did exactly as she had ordered. By the time he returned, she was dressed and ready to go. They disembarked with their luggage and walked through the station. Vasily called for a limousine and gave the driver his address.

  Vasily owned a flat in one of the Seven Sisters. The baroque-gothic Stalin-era skyscraper was one of the most prestigious addresses in the city, overlooking the Moskva River and the Kremlin. The flat was spacious by Russian standards and furnished with heavy, nineteenth century elegance. Rhiannon took possession of the master bedroom, clearing closet space by taking all of Vasily’s clothes that she didn’t like and throwing them in the rubbish bin downstairs. Donald was relegated to the guest bedroom.

  “You’re going to continue sleeping with him?” Donald asked with a mournful, hurt expression.

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone,” she answered. “He’ll sleep on the floor, across the doorway to ensure my safety from sleepwalking marauders. A girl has to protect the tattered remains of her virtue, you know.” She smiled, trying to project a bright, flirty, sickly-sweet countenance.

  “I’ve never sleepwalked in my life. Anytime I maraud, it’s entirely intentional,” he said, drawing a laugh from her.

  They sent Vasily and the video disk off to talk to his boss. Vasily was a tall, well-built man, hand
some in a brutish sort of way. A dapper dresser, he was a mid-level thug in the Gorbachev Clan hierarchy. A member of the KGB when the Soviet Union fell apart, he had been assigned to work for a normal human in St. Petersburg. That official was now President of Russia and Vasily had transitioned into a job for the FSB, the Federal Security Service. His rank was Deputy Section Chief, and he oversaw the President’s security detail. Yuri Gorbachev, his boss, was one of the highest-ranking telepaths in the FSB.

  Vasily was fairly intelligent and highly ambitious. However, his two failed attempts at kidnapping Irina in London had not been well received by his superiors. That, combined with the fact he had been missing without contact for a month, worried Rhiannon, and worried Donald even more. It was a major hole in their plan.

  Rhiannon rode in Vasily’s mind as he entered the Lubyanka, the infamous headquarters of the Soviet KGB. Seemingly unconcerned, he sought out his boss.

  “My, what a pleasant surprise,” Yuri Gorbachev, Sergei’s nephew, said. “I thought you’d defected, or maybe run off with a rich heiress.”

  “My apologies,” Vasily said. “I ran into some difficulties in St. Petersburg and was detained.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Yuri thundered.

  “I told you, in St. Petersburg. Alexander Romanov has died. The succession battle was very nasty, and every telepath in the city, at least those with any brains, kept their heads down.”

  “You’ve been gone for weeks. Don’t tell me that all of the phones in St. Petersburg were blocked.”

  At that moment, three men walked into Yuri’s office, men that Vasily recognized, and Rhiannon felt his fear explode in the portions of his mind behind the construct. One of them battered down his shields and took control of his mind. Of course, he only saw the construct. At least for a while, Rebecca’s carefully detailed creation held. It all depended if his interrogators believed what they read there. It became obvious very quickly that they didn’t.

  “I think he’s wearing a construct,” one man finally said.

  “Get Gennady,” Yuri replied. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

  While they waited for Gennady, Yuri took the video disk and slipped it into a secure reader. When he finished viewing it, he said, “When Gennady gets here, take Vasily to the house in Odintsovo. I’ll be there.” Then he took the disk, put on his jacket, and left.

  “Shit!” Rhiannon said. She had been broadcasting what she saw and heard from Vasily, and Vladimir raised an eyebrow.

  “I think things are going quite well, don’t you? They read the disk, and Sergei’s Moscow residence is in Odintsovo.”

  “Things aren’t going as direly as you predicted,” Rhiannon said. “They haven’t shot him.”

  “Yet. Don’t you think we should get out of here?”

  “No, they’re preoccupied. They may think about us later, but so far, no one has said anything about checking his flat. Besides, I’m not worried about dodging anyone they might send here.”

  “Oh? Can you fly?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Damn near. But if we have to jump out the window, behave yourself. I’ve been known to drop things when I get distracted.”

  She thought through the possible scenarios, then went to the wine cabinet, opened a bottle, and poured two glasses.

  “Why don’t you call O’Donnell’s office and ask them to send a couple of people around to collect our luggage. I’d hate to lose that coat if we have to leave here in a hurry.”

  He smiled. “You forget. We have fifty Protectors surrounding this building.”

  A few minutes later, he went to the door and opened it. People Rhiannon recognized came in and collected their bags and Rhiannon’s coat.

  After they left, she said, “Donald, if we do get in a scrap, stay out of my line of fire. And tell your people, also.”

  She saw his jaw tighten as he nodded. He was probably remembering the night at Viktor’s, or maybe the tales of Ayr.

  “So, what are they doing?” he asked.

  “Still waiting for Gennady. They’re sifting through his mind, or rather the construct. It appears they’re spending most of their time looking at the fake memories we planted of him having sex with me. Sort of watching a psychic porn show.”

  “Any chance of sending that to me?”

  She scowled at him.

  “I didn’t think so. Let me know if anything interesting happens.”

  Gennady took over an hour to get to the Lubyanka. Almost immediately, he pronounced that Vasily did have a construct implanted. There was some discussion about collapsing the construct, and Rhiannon held her breath. But whoever had the most authority decided they weren’t authorized to do that. Yuri had said for them all, including Gennady, to go to Odintsovo, so they should wait.

  They loaded Vasily into a car and the group took off for the country.

  “And what do we do now?” Vladimir asked.

  “Sit tight. I can read him as well from here as I could if I was sitting next to him. More comfortable and safer here.” She took a sip of her wine.

  They waited. Vladimir had one of his men bring them some food, and he and Rhiannon finished the bottle of wine.

  When the FSB men finally dragged Vasily into the Gorbachev compound, Rhiannon started paying attention again. They took him to a room in the basement and waited. After some time, Yuri came in with two other men. Vasily recognized them as Boris Gorbachev, one of Sergei’s sons, and Georgy Kalugin, the Clan’s head of security.

  “That was an interesting disk,” Yuri said. “So, Alexander’s dead. And who is the new Clan Chief?”

  “Galina,” Vasily said. “Both Viktor and the younger Alexander are dead.”

  “And how did you come to be in possession of the disk? How did you get so friendly with Galina Romanova? And why in hell should we believe anything you say?” Yuri said. “Remove the construct. Let’s see if we have a traitor or a fool.”

  Rhiannon withdrew from Vasily’s mind.

  “What’s going on?” Vladimir asked.

  “They’re going to collapse the construct,” Rhiannon said. “Rebecca booby trapped it, and she said it was completely undetectable. When the construct is collapsed, it will trigger a command to wipe Vasily’s mind. She says it will also wipe the minds of anyone who is in his mind at the time. That will get the construct artist for sure, and the psychic backlash might damage anyone else who’s close.”

  She took a deep breath and stared into her glass. Abruptly, she downed the wine and rose, striding to the wine cabinet and pulling out another bottle.

  “At least a couple of them were in his mind when I pulled out. Goddess, Vladimir, he was terrified. He knew he was going to die. It was so hard to watch.”

  She uncorked the bottle and poured her glass full with a shaking hand. Then her head snapped up and she froze. Putting her hand out to the counter in front of her, she braced herself and then slumped.

  “He’s gone. I could still feel him up until a few seconds ago, but he’s either dead or mind wiped.” She took a deep drink of her wine. “Well, what do you think we should do now?”

  ~~~

  Rhiannon contacted Andrei in St. Petersburg. *Do you have a mole or two in the Lubyanka?*

  *One or two. Why?*

  *I’m curious as to whether Yuri Gorbachev shows up for work tomorrow. He had a construct artist collapse Vasily’s construct and I wonder how well Rebecca’s booby trap worked.*

  She told him what had happened since they arrived in Moscow.

  *I think we should move Irina to Moscow,* Rhiannon sent. *I don’t know if Sergei is here, but that video certainly got their attention.*

  *Galina will loan us a plane,* Andrei sent. *We can land at Domodedovo and take her to a dacha we own near there.* Domodedovo is one of two international Moscow airports and lies south of the city. *I think it’s safer than having her in the city itself.*

  *Andrei, do you have someone who can change a property registration? Vasily doesn’t nee
d this flat anymore, and it’s a prime location. Are my papers legitimate? My passport and propiska?*

  *Yes, you’re a legal Russian citizen. Should I put it in your name and have your propiska transferred? How much should we use as a purchase price?*

  *Register it in my Ekaterina Kuznetsova name. Record the purchase price as thirty million rubles. That’s way under value, but enough to make the sale look realistic.*

  “Vladimir, I’ve been thinking,” Rhiannon said. “You may be right. Perhaps we should relocate.”

  “The O’Donnell safe house?”

  “I was thinking more of that fancy new hotel next to Red Square.”

  “Your expense account is better than mine.”

  Rhiannon laughed. “No expense account. I took thirty million rubles out of Vasily’s account in St. Petersburg. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

  Vladimir whistled. “Goddess, that’s almost seven hundred thousand euros.”

  “A drop in the bucket. His Swiss and Cayman Islands accounts held about forty million euros.”

  “Held? Past tense?”

  She smiled. “Like I said, he doesn’t need it anymore.”

  Laughing, he said, “You’re a goddamned thief!”

  “No, I’m not, and I’m deeply offended at your implication. I’m an international financier,” Rhiannon said with a flip of her hair. “I’m simply continuing in one of the family businesses. I deposited it in my grandfather’s bank in Switzerland. Now, do you want to quibble, or do you want to check into a fancy hotel and go have a steak dinner on Novy Arbat?”

  Sipping cocktails after they ordered dinner, Vladimir said, “What are the other family businesses?”

  Rhiannon felt her face grow warm, and then became angry with herself. She wasn’t ashamed of how her family earned their money, at least she never had been. Thinking about her reaction, she realized it wasn’t shame but shyness. Vlad/Donald confused her. He irritated her and attracted her, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with him.