Damn, she could play him with her smiles, and without even trying.
“Kolya!” Dariya whined through the door. “I can hardly stand up. You better get me out of here before you have to carry me.”
“Chert,” he muttered, reaching for the door.
“Hey, Batman.”
He turned back to Katya, brows raised.
“Thanks for the education.” She splayed her palm against her heart. “I got it all the way in here.”
He had an inkling she was saying good-bye. But, no, she couldn’t be, not without Lisko’s blood on her hands.
Chapter 23
With a nauseous lump of guilt in her throat, Katya watched Nikolai escort Dariya from the apartment, his whole bulk a crutch to the tall girl’s unsteady form. If things went according to plan, it was the last time she would ever see him, and she wished the regret would stop clouding her vision.
He wanted nothing to do with her revenge killing, and there was no other way. Of course, she’d love to believe Lisko’s women that she could magically live again. But Mr. Kulish’s book had been clear. One could not barter with a mara.
Katya had made her peace with giving the ghost what she wanted.
Chilled and brimming with anticipation, she’d begun to shiver. She crossed to the phone mounted on the kitchen wall. She tried to dial the number she’d memorized. Her hands shook and her clumsy fingers hit the wrong buttons over and over again.
It rang six times and went to voicemail. Shit.
She dialed again. Someone answered on the first ring. “Sonya Lisko.”
A storm of emotions churned in Katya’s human body, the mara’s agitation spinning like a whisk in her gut.
Kill Lisko. Avenge yourself.
“Hello. Is anyone there?”
“Who is it?” a man asked in the background. Him?
“My name is Katya Dvoynev, and I…”
“Oh! It’s her, Dima. Yes, Miss Dvoynev, I know exactly who you are. We’ve been hoping you would call.”
“I want to talk to Lisko.”
“Of course. He’s right here. I can put him on the phone.”
“No. In person. I want to see his face. I want to hear this apology he has to offer…”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Sonya’s voice took on a tinny sound, like she’d turned on the speakerphone. “Why not speak over the phone first? In fact, we can take care of the whole thing over the phone.”
“I’ll come,” said the man’s voice, more audible now, and also tinny.
“Not yet. I want to talk to her—” Sonya said.
“We have nothing to talk about,” Katya said. “It’s time Lisko and I settle this.”
“She’s right,” he said. “I’ll come to the apartment.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked. If I’m not here, I require blood shed exactly on the spot where you killed me. That’s how to materialize me.” Her teeth had begun to chatter, signaling she’d very likely go ghost before they arrived.
“Blood?” Sonya asked. “But Dima should just be able to touch you and you’ll become flesh.”
Katya didn’t want the man touching her, not for a second. She shivered with cold and revulsion. “I don’t know anything about that. The mara craves blood.”
“The mara?” Sonya’s voice had turned reedy.
Lisko chuckled, a deep sardonic rumble. “You’re a nightmare. Figures.”
“You were expecting something else? Casper the friendly ghost, maybe?”
“Yeah, I was expecting something else.” Lisko had the tone of a man who couldn’t be surprised by anything, weary not just of the world, but even of the splendors of the universe. “But blood for the mara it is.”
Good. Then there was only one thing that could go wrong. “Come right away, so we aren’t disturbed.”
“By Zurkov, you mean? I’ll have Yuchenko take care of him.”
Her stomach turned hollow and hard as a rock, her blood pumping thick and cold and slow. “If you hurt him or Dariya—”
“Christ. I’m not going to hurt them.”
“Then why did you send Officer Marchuk after her?”
“You what?” Sonya cried.
“I only wanted her to persuade him to introduce me to you.” His words came from far off, as if he’d turned his head away from the phone. Then he spoke into the mouthpiece again. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on her pink head. And I’ll just have Yuchenko keep Zurkov occupied.”
The ring of exhausted resignation in his words led Katya to believe him in spite of the many reasons she had to distrust him. And what choice did she have? “Give me your word.”
“Yes, you have it. No harm will come to Zurkov or his niece, on my word.”
Katya’s pulse pounded in her ears, a lazy, irregular beat. “Fine. Until soon—”
“Wait,” Sonya cried. “I want your word too, that you will listen to Dima, you will hear him out before you turn bloodthirsty on him.”
Her heart grew heavy, struggling to keep her alive even as the universe dragged her back to the ghost world. But that organ, attached as it was to Nikolai, was not immune to the pleas of another woman in love.
Kill him! the mara shrieked inside her mind, a skull-splitting sound. Katya closed her eyes, begged for her body to quit and go ghost so she would at least be free of the physical pain.
“Your word, Katya.”
She clenched her teeth, trying to push the pain from her skull. She could lie to them and say yes, then surrender to the mara and kill him on first sight. Surely then she would find peace.
Or she could fight her instincts for long enough to hear him out. He was a man, not all good or bad, as flawed and yet as capable of love as Fedir. He deserved the chance to tell his story, and it would in some small way honor her promise to Nikolai. Better to go to her eternal rest with a clean conscience.
“Yes, you have my word.”
With a hand on the wall for support, she hung up the phone. Nikolai had left Fedir’s gun.
If she was going to go ghost, she would reappear in the bathroom—she needed to get the gun back there fast so it would be where she needed it. On icy, unsteady feet, she ran across the apartment and hid the weapon in the cabinet under the sink. Then she stumbled into his room and crawled into the bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for her body to go numb.
The mara thrilled, knowing her adversary was on his way. She frenzied inside Katya’s freezing body like a tempest trapped in a brittle ice shell. Katya tried to breathe in calm, to slow the tempest, but her lungs dragged.
Soon, she was going to kill a man. The man who’d killed her, who deserved to pay for her death with his blood.
But could she kill him? Could she put a bullet in his chest—a life for a life? She pictured that charming, crooked-nosed CEO and tried to imagine firing Fedir’s gun at him. The smell of blood and gunpowder, the last scent she’d ever smelled, filled her memories. The mara rejoiced, but Katya didn’t feel an ounce of peace or pleasure, her body shaking from cold until finally, she couldn’t feel a thing. Blessed relief.
Chapter 24
It was so warm inside Dariya’s friend’s apartment that Nikolai had to take off his jacket. The apartment was the same size as the one he shared with his niece, but two parents lived with three kids in this one. The place was stuffed with too much furniture and redolent with the odors of three different meals colliding—cinnamon, garlic, and coffee the most dominant notes. It was the sort of domestic chaos that made a bachelor itch, even though he was glad his niece had such a cozy sanctuary.
He shook Nadya’s mother’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“It’s no problem. We’ve missed Dariya. It’s so good to see her.”
He put the orange pill bottle in the woman’s hand. “Hopefully, now that she’s here, she’ll be okay. But if she starts to panic about being somewhere new, one of these will help.”
“Oh?” She turned the word into two syllables, the second dropping in pitch before her lips pulled tight. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“Just tonight, I hope. At most, two nights.” He made up the numbers to reassure her, because truth be told, he had no idea how long it would take him to guarantee Dariya’s safety, or find a new place for her to go. She might have a full-blown panic attack if he put her on a plane to her father in Siberia. But he would if he had to. He’d promised Sofiya he’d keep her safe, and so far he’d done a shitty job keeping his word.
“You have my cell number. Call me if anything comes up. And please just keep her inside—she might start hyperventilating and think she’s dying if she tries to go out.”
Nadya’s mom’s eyes had widened, perhaps only now realizing what she’d committed to. He better split before she changed her mind.
“Excuse me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone as if it had buzzed, angling the inert screen so she couldn’t see. “I need to take this. It’s about the case. Zurkov here.” He pointed at the door, nodding and mouthing thank you to the woman.
She seemed frozen, unsure whether she should try to stop him.
He closed the door quietly behind him. Then, instead of waiting for the elevator, he ran for the stairs and hauled ass down them until he hit the street. Even then, he didn’t stop until he rounded the block out of sight of the apartment building where he leaned against a wall to catch his breath. Good. Dariya was safe.
Now back to Katya. Or should he stop by a church, offer a priest a wad of cash to come exorcise the mara? He tried to imagine convincing a holy man in a black robe that he wasn’t crazy…
Yeah, that wasn’t going to work.
He walked north, looking over his shoulder to scan the street behind him for taxicabs. At this time of day in a residential neighborhood, they were few and far between.
Thump. He’d walked into something or—given its general size and warmth—someone. Before he could step back, strong arms seized his elbows on both sides.
“Nikolai Zurkov, you’re coming with us.”
Chert. Notably absent from that introduction was the declaration of prisoners’ rights. From what he could see, the men holding him were big. Both wore black suit coats and dark jeans with steel-toed boots. There was no way he could pummel them both, and even outrunning them seemed unlikely.
He relaxed in their grip, tried to play it cool. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out.”
A third man in a matching uniform opened a town car door. Before they shoved him inside, he saw a man’s legs in the far seat. Lisko?
But, no, it was the boyish Yuchenko.
Nik’s lip wanted to curl up in a predatory snarl. This man had endangered his niece, had protected the one who’d hurt Katya, probably even covered up her murder. And Nikolai had been foolish enough to trust him.
But the scales had fallen from his eyes, and he could see clearly now, see forward to several possible futures, almost all of which guaranteed him dead. Hell, would he ever make it out of this car alive, or would they spare the upholstery by driving him somewhere, tossing him out, and shooting him in the back of the head?
He sat down in the empty seat and found a sharp-featured woman angling herself toward the back seat. “So you’re Zurkov? Dima made you out to be so much more menacing. What’s with the vest? You look like an extra in that movie Newsies.”
When she stopped, he wished she would keep talking—surely she would just grow more annoying, and he could default into hating her.
“He’s a journalist, Anya, he has to dress the part.”
“You’re Anya Truss?”
“Anya Yuchenko, actually,” said her cop husband.
“Great. I was hoping to meet you. I wanted to know how a person who’s been through what Katya has could possibly ally herself with Lisko?”
She grinned at Nikolai, then Yuchenko. “He’s a straight shooter, huh?”
“I figure I don’t have anything to lose. I’m dead no matter what.”
She chuckled. “Man, I think you’ve seen too many movies.”
“Or perhaps you haven’t read enough newspapers.”
“They were rather difficult to come across during the half-century I spent as a ghost.”
Touché. He had no response to that.
“Listen, take me to Lisko, shoot me, dump me in a river, whatever. But my niece doesn’t know a thing. She hates Lisko Enterprises because of her mom, but she doesn’t know Katya’s a ghost, or anything about her murder.”
“Manslaughter. Fedir was premeditated. Katya was accidental.” Yuchenko had leaned against the corner where the seat bench met the side of the car, his arms crossed, watching Nik exchange words with his wife.
Wife. This man got to keep his ghost. For some reason, the thought honed Nik’s hatred for him.
“I know this is going to be hard to swallow, Zurkov,” he said. “But Dmitri’s not who you think he is.” He passed over a thick folder.
“What’s this?” Nik had already flipped open the cover and found a letter.
To the victims of radiation poisoning in Ivanikyn Raion.
From Dmitri Lisko, CEO Lisko Enterprises.
Internal investigations have proved our company willfully neglected the monitoring of radiation in your village, for which we were contractually obligated. I am deeply ashamed and wish to pay reparations to the families who have suffered. Additionally, we will pay in full the resettlement fees for all citizens of the town, and devote staff to helping the resettled men and women find new jobs.
Lisko Enterprises has set aside five hundred million euros for the victims, in addition to resettlement and reemployment costs. I know that no amount of money can bring back loved ones, but with these payments, we accept responsibility and make known our sincerest regrets.
Internal investigations continue. If we uncover other cases of neglect on the part of Lisko Enterprises, we will pay reparations for our sins, even if it bankrupts the company.
Nikolai looked up to find Yuchenko watching him. “This is a joke. A prank you’re playing on me. Or maybe you think it’s merciful. Let the guy think he’s won before you kill him.”
Yuchenko shook his head. “Call your office. A press release went out an hour ago. Keep looking.” He pointed at the file. “All the complainants on the lawsuit have those checks headed their way.”
Nikolai flipped through the pages and saw the astonishing sums.
“Why would he do this? He was going to win. No one in power was going to let the company be held responsible.”
“He did it because he’s trying to make things right. He’s not a bad guy, Zurkov. Like you, like me, he wants justice.”
“He’s a thug, a hit man who killed an innocent woman.”
“He was those things once. But not anymore. And I knew him then too—he always had honor.”
“There is no honor in a world built on exploitation and corruption.”
“That’s why he got out. He—”
“Tell me about your ghost,” Anya interrupted her husband, twisting around to look at Nikolai. Her pregnant belly became visible in profile. “Does Katya have a sexy siren voice?”
“Yes,” he replied, though he didn’t want to tell her anything. Her presence confused him. Why would a murder victim marry a corrupt monster or his dirty cop pal?
“It comes in very handy, the voice. Did she seduce you with it?”
He swallowed down the truth. “No.”
She tilted her head, her gaze as sharp as her angular, pretty features. Clearly, she sensed his lie. “Did it make you fall in love with her?”
“No.” He’d fallen in love with her entirely apart from her voice.
“What’s she like?”
Like a flower cut before it bloomed, he thought, then deleted it just as quickly. That shit metaphor wouldn’t even fly at the culture desk.
“She would have lived an amazing life.” She would have found her way, found someone to love her the way she deserved, someone on whom to bestow all that passion she’d only just untapped. “Lisko stole it from her, like that radiation stole my sister’s life, and hundreds of others.”
“I see. Now, this is important, Zurkov. Do you know what kind of ghost she is?”
“Kind? There’s more than one?”
“Sure. For one thing—she’s some kind of siren. So was Sonya, so am I.”
“Am?”
“Long story. The difference is, Sonya was a rusalka and I’m a vila.”
“Am I supposed to know what those are?” Katya would, of course, from her Ukrainian studies or all Mr. Kulish’s books.
“Water nymph, wind nymph—always females out to take revenge on the men who hurt them.”
“Or any other hapless male bystanders,” Yuchenko added.
“Right.” Nik scratched his stubbly chin, rubbing that raw spot where he’d sliced his cheekbone. Because he’d been whistling after that steaming hot dream. “She’s a mara. A nightmare.”
Anya gasped. “I should have known, with Dima’s nightmares. This is good news.”
The cop raised his brows. “Is it?”
“There has to be something you can do. Zurkov, my husband is a zmora. A nightmare demon-slash-incubus.”
“Half a demon.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re like Katya’s demonic cousin.”
“Incubus?” Nik couldn’t have heard that right.
“Have you seen the way women look at him? It’s pathetic.”
Nik had seen, but still, his every instinct was screaming that the pair was bat-shit crazy. But Anya knew about the siren voice and had a birth certificate that said she was over eighty years old.
“You told her she could live again.”
“That’s right. We think so, at least, if she’s like us,” Anya said. “And I hope so, for Dima’s sake. I think the guilt will kill him otherwise.”
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