by Jane Kindred
By the time the others had gone to bed, the sun had already risen, so Love went out again and walked to the nearest twenty-four hour Internet café on Nevsky Prospekt to check for a response from Nadja. The tone of her sister’s reply was no surprise. Nadja rebuked her for selfishly disappearing without a word and for refusing to do as the family asked when Ola’s presence first came to their attention.
They’d insisted Ola was a danger to her and to the Roma and had ordered Love to surrender her to the Malakim. Not believing in angels or Heaven, Love had thought the Malakim nonsense. She couldn’t imagine how her family, dysfunctional though they were, could possibly think these charlatans were a divinely inspired anything. Believing Anazakia to be a wealthy heiress on the run from an abusive, powerful family, Love wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone’s power or riches—and certainly not for the purpose of separating a mother from her child.
Now, of course, she saw the reality of the situation, as far-fetched as it would once have seemed to her. But the family was still wrong. The Malakim were the agents of the queen and they were no friends to the Roma. If she could get their followers to understand, she might have a chance to repair the damage the Malakim had done to Traveler–Fallen relations.
Nadja was online, and Love sent her a message to tell her she’d arrived.
How long have you been here? Nadja demanded. Why didn’t you call?
I don’t have my phone. In the momentary pause, Nadja’s angry disbelief was almost palpable. Love without a phone? It was like Russian tea without sugar.
Are you still babysitting that Arkhangel’sk girl?
No. Love didn’t elaborate.
Well, that’s good riddance. Micah says there’s a prophecy about her, and it isn’t good.
Who’s Micah?
We should meet for lunch tomorrow. Come to Literaturnaya Café at noon and we’ll talk. Nadja waited another deliberate beat before adding, And don’t flake on me, Lyubov.
Love shut the chat client with an angry click. Nadja knew she hated the name. She used it deliberately, to make Love feel small and stupid.
On the way back to her room, she passed Belphagor’s door and was alarmed by the sound of a scuffle inside. Hand raised to pound on the door, she paused at the sound of Loquel’s voice, though he was speaking Russian.
“Da, gospodina! Ya obeshchayu byt khoroshim malchikom.”
Love’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the closed door. Loquel had just promised to be a good boy. She knew Belphagor called Vasily his boy with the deepest devotion. How could he just carry on with someone else in that role the moment Vasily was out of sight? She leaned in closer. Maybe she’d misunderstood Loquel’s accent.
“Ochen khorosho, malchik milochki.” There was no mistaking Belphagor’s reply. He’d called the Virtue “darling boy.” Love’s face burned with embarrassment and anger as she crept away. Leather-daddy demon or not, he was going to get a piece of her mind tomorrow.
Her opportunity came at breakfast when she and Belphagor were the first downstairs to partake of the buffet. She wasted no time, stepping between him and the food before he could even pick up a plate. “What’s going on between you and Loquel?”
“And a dobroe utro to you, too, my dear.” Belphagor reached past her for a plate.
“I heard you last night.”
“Did you really?” He raised his pierced eyebrow at her, and Love couldn’t help but notice he’d gotten his earthly “product” already somewhere, spiking his short, dark hair up into points as he used to when they’d been at Arkhangel’sk. “And what I did to him I thought I’d done so quietly. He was forbidden to cry out.” He began filling his plate with bulochki and sausage as if the conversation were over.
Love got her breakfast and followed him to his seat, setting her tray down with a bang.
Belphagor sighed. “Listen, devushka. What I do behind closed doors is none of your business.”
Love was taken aback. He’d called her “girl”—a perfectly acceptable address in Russia no matter the woman’s age, but not one he was in the habit of using.
His face softened a bit. “‘Beli’s boys’—yes, I know about the little name you and Nazkia gave them—are a rather fragile lot, emotionally. When the field marshal beheaded the rest of their platoon in front of them and let them live, it was bad enough. They were honor bound to take their own lives, and would have, had they not been shackled hand and foot in Gehenna’s dungeon. But to be beaten in front of one another—and in front of strangers—as they were, was an even greater dishonor. If I, as one who witnessed his shame, can give Loquel something of his honor back by posing as his master, I will do it gladly. And yes, it is mutually satisfying, I won’t deny it.” Belphagor picked up his tea and glanced over Love’s shoulder. “Here they are now,” he murmured into his cup. “So that’s the end of it. And while it’s hardly your business, though Loquel did spend the night with me, it wasn’t in my bed. He slept at the foot of it.” He winked at Love mischievously as the arrival of the Virtues precluded any further discussion, raising his voice to a conversational tone. “So when are we going to do this thing? When do we meet this ‘possessed’ friend of yours?”
Love tried not to stare at Loquel as he sat beside Belphagor. “We don’t meet him. That’s how he maintains contacts with both sides of the underground. No one can blackmail him into giving up people who don’t want to be known.”
“Then how does this happen?” Belphagor’s brow creased with concern. “Are you sure he’s a friend?”
“As sure as I can be. I know you don’t put much store in Lively’s Chora, but she says they can’t lie, not even if the sender attempts to send an untruthful message. The last I had from him said he could put us in touch with the…with the Parliament of Night Travelers.” Love felt a little foolish saying this aloud. The Night Travelers were said to be the keepers of the “secrets of the shadows.” They were the Roma who’d forged the ancient alliance with the Fallen. As with the Fallen themselves, Love had always dismissed such stories as folk tales.
“And why should we expect anything other than an ambush from them?”
“Travelers don’t ‘ambush,’” said Love somewhat tersely. “They’ll either meet with us or they won’t.”
“Travelers don’t make alliances with angels, either, but they have now, haven’t they?” Belphagor sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to see what they make of our boys.” He winked at Loquel and the pale-skinned angel blushed within his hooded jacket. “This time we have angels of our own.”
Love hadn’t bothered to tell Belphagor of her meeting with Nadja. If it proved productive she could tell him then. She stopped by Cafemax to check her e-mail on the way to Literaturnaya Café, but there was nothing yet from possessed85.
At the restaurant, though it was five minutes before noon, Nadja waited with a pot of tea as if Love were late. She frowned as Love sat. “You’re looking a bit skinny.”
“Being held prisoner will do that to you.”
“Prisoner?” Nadja poured the tea. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the eight months I spent locked in a room with Ola after we were kidnapped as pawns in the celestial war.”
“Now suddenly you believe in a celestial war?”
“It was kind of hard not to once I was actually in Heaven.”
Nadja laughed. “You were in Heaven. Please, Lyubov. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but this is serious. You like to mock the faith the rest of the family holds dear, but we’re living in the end of days, and your little Ola is at the heart of it.” She dumped sugar into Love’s cup and stirred for her as if she were a child. “Micah says she’ll be the catalyst for hell to break loose into the world and into heaven itself. He wants to talk to you.”
Love sipped her over-sweetened tea. “To me? How does he even know about me?”
“I told him you were her nanny and he was concerned. He’s been good to our family and he wants to help.”
Love sighed. She’d had some insane idea she could change her family’s mind about the Malakim, but this Micah was obviously one of them and already far more trusted than Love had ever been among her own family. This always happened; she’d been foolish to expect otherwise.
Downing the rest of her tea, she stood and dropped a few rubles on the table. “It’s been nice seeing you.”
“Where do you think you’re going? Why is it always some big drama with you?”
“Good-bye, Nadja.” Love left her sister staring after her.
Outside, she turned toward Cafemax to check her e-mail again and bumped into a man standing in the middle of the busy sidewalk. He wore the robes of an Orthodox monk and for an instant she thought it was Kirill, but of course that was impossible.
“Excuse me, Brother.” She moved to step around him.
He smiled when she glanced up and there was something odd about his eyes. “You must be Lyubov.” He held out his hand. His speech was lightly accented.
“I’m sorry?” Love took an unconscious step back. “How do you know me?”
“There you are.” Nadja exited the café behind her. “Micah, this is my sister. The one I told you about.”
Micah took Love’s hand, though she hadn’t offered it. “Your sister has told me so much about you. I would have known you anywhere.” He raised his other hand toward the street as if hailing a cab while continuing to hold hers with more force than a greeting warranted. “Come, now, Lyubov. Let’s get acquainted.” She recognized his accent as British.
A black sedan pulled forward from somewhere and Micah drew her toward it.
“Let go of me.” Love jerked against his hold, but he opened the door to the backseat and pushed her into it.
“Stop being so difficult, Lyubov.” Nadja lit a cigarette while she watched from the sidewalk. “He just wants to talk to you.”
“No!” Love struggled, and Micah’s eyes flashed solid black for an instant before returning to their cerulean blue. She fell back into the seat. She’d seen eyes like that only once before—on a Nephil named Zeus.
Micah climbed in beside her and closed the door, and the driver pulled away from the curb into the busy traffic of Nevsky Prospekt.
§
Love hadn’t returned from the Internet café.
Belphagor had let the morning get away from him, training Loquel. The angel had asked Belphagor to help him toughen up, mortified by how quickly he’d broken under Kae’s pleti at Gehenna, and he’d been all too happy to oblige. He’d begun by teaching the angel to bear humiliation. Personal experience had taught him almost any amount of pain could be borne if one were inured to humiliation, and it didn’t take much to humiliate a Virtue.
He left Loquel kneeling naked in the corner of his room and went down to the café to find out what was taking Love so long, but found no sign of her. It wasn’t like her to go off on her own without telling anyone, particularly when they were waiting for such an important message. She’d created an account for Belphagor and he remembered possessed85’s address from looking over her shoulder, so he decided to contact the gypsy himself.
As soon as he’d sent his message, he received a reply saying it was an honor to communicate directly with the Prince of Tricks. His reputation had preceded him. Possessed85 had sent word to “lovelygirl” this morning, he said, but had heard nothing from her all day.
He repeated the message for Belphagor: The Night Travelers will meet you in Lazarev Cemetery at Alexander Nevsky Lavra at full dark. If you can persuade them to reassess their alliances, I can pass that desire along to various favorable contacts among the terrestrial Fallen. Good luck, Belphagor. There are many of us already behind you.
He wasn’t certain exactly when full dark was this time of year, but getting into a cemetery at that hour wouldn’t be an easy matter. He only hoped he’d be able to find Love before then.
§
“You’re not a Malak.” Love regarded Micah with disgust as she rode beside him. “You’re one of the Angliski Nephilim.”
“And you’re not half as stupid as Zeus said you were.”
Love’s stomach, already churning, clenched with foreboding.
“Oh, don’t worry, Lyubov. He hasn’t resurrected. Nephilim can do a lot of things, but we can’t do that. You and your companions killed him good and dead.”
“What do you want with me?” She tried not to show her relief at the stilling of that irrational fear. “What have you been doing with my family?”
“Just keeping an eye on them.” Micah smiled. “We figured you’d get in touch with them sooner or later. They’ve also been very useful in spreading the cult of Aeval among your people.”
“The cult of Aeval? I thought you were part of the revolution.”
“Ah, but what better way to keep the terrestrial forces ineffective than to sow discord between the tsigane and the Fallen? As long as your people side with the queen and her Malakim, the ties between the two sides remain severed, and the Fallen are driven even further toward the cause of freedom.” Micah loosened the buttons at the top of his podryasnik as if the high collar were irritating him. “As for you—” The smile on his face disappeared. “We want to know where the children are.”
“The children?” Love was starting to feel flushed and her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. Perhaps the sweet, hot tea hadn’t agreed with her.
“Don’t play stupid, Lyubov. They disappeared from under Helga’s nose just as you and Belphagor left Heaven. Obviously, you didn’t bring them with you, but you know where they are, and you’ll tell us, one way or the other.”
Ola and Azel were missing? Love hoped Vasily had found them. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, willing the hot flash and nausea to subside, and murmured to herself. “Why does everyone insist on calling me Lyubov?”
Micah laughed. “All right, then—Love. If it will make you more cooperative, I’ll call you whatever you like. But you must realize the Nephilim researched you before you were ever taken to Solovetsky.”
She opened her eyes and it felt like an effort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your friend Zeus knew precisely why the name bothered you.”
Love’s skin had gone from flushed to cold and clammy. Besides her family’s insistence on using it to belittle her choice of a name for herself, there was one real reason she hated it.
Micah leaned close to her ear and whispered intimately. “The only thing we couldn’t be certain of was whether it was hearing it on the lips of one stepfather or two.”
Love clutched her leaping stomach and grasped for the door handle, but Micah grabbed her wrist. When she tried to pull away from him, her head swam and her eyelids fluttered as if they were too heavy to stay open.
“What’d’you do?” The words slurred together as she tried to get them out.
Micah laughed softly. “Shouldn’t drink hot tea on an empty stomach, Lyubov. It isn’t good for you.”
Odinnadtsataya: Charms
from the memoirs of the Grand Duchess Anazakia Helisonovna of the House of Arkhangel’sk
Nothing of me remained in this room. Though the built-in shelves and mantel, the double-paned awning windows, and the carved ceiling were as familiar to me as my own skin, the rest was alien. Of course, anything that might have remained from before Aeval’s time would have been damaged in the fire, but our belongings she’d probably tossed out along with our bodies before they were cold.
And yet two of us still lived. Two who ought not to have escaped my cousin’s hand—two who had, in fact, died in a very real sense—still breathed the sweet air of Heaven. Since we’d reached Iriy, I hadn’t had a chance to dwell on what Misha had told me in the Unseen World beneath Lake Superna, but there was plenty of time to think about it now.
After first fleeing Heaven, I’d carried a desperate hope that my brother Azel might have survived. I hadn’t seen his body among the others. Believing he was alive gave me the will t
o go on, but Helga dashed my hope when I returned to Raqia, telling me she’d seen him lying dead in his bed. I was devastated at the loss of the last connection to my former life; the hope of finding Azel had been the one thing keeping me from despair. But Azel had survived after all.
That the child lived at all was incredible to me. I tried to remember the little blond-framed face that had looked up at me from the stairs in my dream, but I’d been too focused on getting to Ola. Had my brother’s shade within him recognized me in the dream? Did he remember himself at all? It seemed awful to think he might. How must it have been to experience such a terrible death and then to draw breath once more within an unfamiliar body, much less that of a small child? I recalled the moment in the tiny bathroom of a speeding train in the world of Man when I’d been reunited with my shade and experienced the pain of my own death. Had it been this way for Azel?
And now he and Ola were lost somewhere. I went to the window and looked down into the garden as if I might find them there. My head swam with contradictions, glad Ola was no longer trapped within the terrible oubliette, but terrified something worse might have befallen her. But they were together, at least, and if Helga didn’t have them, it could mean Vasily had somehow gotten them to safety.
Dusk settled over Heaven in a scattering of bluish light, like a soft blanket dropped upon the edges of the sky. The color deepened and permeated the space between objects as if it occupied space itself, like a moving, blue-grey shade. My Ola was lost in it, and so was I.
Lively hadn’t come at suppertime and my tray had been taken already, but she’d said she might be able to work her spell again tonight. I had little faith in her word, but I wasn’t about to sleep and miss the opportunity. I sat on the window seat and continued to stare out, watching lamplight begin to sparkle in the windows of the city, wondering where Ola was in that star-like canopy.
Near the Gulf of the Firmament, an unfamiliar series of even squares of light were visible, and I realized it must be the complex of Aeval’s most notorious Relocation Camp, for which the House of Correction where she’d once imprisoned me had been a prototype. These camps, established across the Firmament and within its neighboring principalities, Aeval billed as a kind of intermediate step for demon integration into angelic society. She claimed communities like Raqia only ghettoized the Fallen, but the camps amounted to nothing more than prison workhouses. “Undesirables”—those who managed to make a living outside the bounds of celestial law—were moved out of Raqia and into the camp to be retrained as productive citizens, but no one ever seemed to leave it once they entered.