by Dark, Masha
When Marisa came back to her senses, she discovered that she was sitting on a cot in the department head’s office. The personnel had tactfully decided to leave the young woman alone with her pain. Beyond the window it was already dark. Marisa felt dead tired, exhausted to the bone. There were also some strange sensations in the region of the back pocket of her trousers. A moment later, Marisa realized that this was her blackberry trying to get her attention, desperately vibrating. A new email.
In the text of the email a certain sender Z, who Marisa knew quite well, informed her that hundreds of vampires had long been happily residing in one of the communities in the suburbs – the ghouls had arranged a coven there, or in modern parlance, a night club. They were, of course, as always, sure of their impunity and could not imagine that someone might betray the location of their lair.
The tears in Marisa’s eyes dried instantly. She pulled a cell phone from her other pocket and dialed Pavel Volsky’s number. He answered in a matter of seconds.
“Volsky here.”
“Hi, Pavel.”
“Marisa,” Volsky replied. “I heard about Rus. Please accept my condolences; we’re all very sorry. You hang in there.”
News, the good as well as the bad, spread instantly within CRUSS.
“Thanks,” Marisa replied dryly. “Tell me, are you and your team available right now?”
“Well, I – yes,” said Volsky. “At least Arvid, Genaro, Okahito…”
“How many men?” Marisa interrupted him.
“Well, about twenty…but what happened?”
“My informant sent me a tip,” announced Marisa. “We have a large sweep ahead of us.”
“I see. How many?” asked Volsky in a businesslike tone.
“Two hundred at the most,” said the young woman.
“That’s not so many,” Pavel said. “We can take care of two hundred in half an hour. Ten for each of us. No sweat. They’re teenagers?”
In CRUSS young vampires, those who were no more than one hundred years old, were called ‘teenagers.’
“I suppose,” she replied.
Although young vampires were considered comparatively easy prey, Marisa by no means shared Volsky’s good cheer.
“Pavel, we need to hurry.”
“Don’t worry, I get it,” Volsky assured her. “Take no prisoners, right?”
Marisa just laughed spitefully in reply.
“Okay, get on over here,” Pavel said, and he hung up.
Marisa could always rely upon herself unconditionally. Just as she could rely on Ruslan. Somewhat less on Papa. Volsky was the next person after Goldberg upon whom Marisa could sometimes rely. But in this she was certain – she could rely on him to be ready for this operation. Sweeps were a passion for Special Agent Pavel Volsky and his team.
The employees of the Homicide Division of CRUSS did not strictly specialize, brilliantly combining the roles of both field agents and analysts simultaneously. Some, it is true, would have rather worked exclusively in one field, but the majority successfully coped with the office routine, as well as with fieldwork. The agents worked with partners or in teams. The trainees, the young graduates of the Academy, became agents after an initial performance review, which was essentially a ‘trial by fire.’ The addition of ‘Special’ to their title gave agents a series of privileges and perks, which mainly revolved around the agent’s work situation. Pavel Volsky, a handsome man and in the past an excellent cadet, who incidentally had driven a good half of the female student of the Academy crazy, preferred to work in conjunction with a team of highly skilled professionals. These were thirty men, individually selected by Agent Volsky and instructed by him ‘in his own image.’ As far back as Marisa could remember, Pavel constantly mocked her and Ruslan, regarding them as unequal partners, who labored under the secret motto, ‘the broken horse carries the load’. By ‘broken horse’ he meant Marisa, insinuating that Ruslan had broken her in and was profiting from Marisa’s benevolent attitude towards him. The young woman frequently disagreed with Volsky. Once, long ago, at the very beginning of her training at the Academy, she had been in love with Pavel. But her feeling had quickly faded, yielding to life’s more serious challenges. Now, as professionals, they maintained an excellent collegial relationship, apart from the occasional moment of tension during an operation. Pavel dealt with Ruslan rather poorly, but they both managed to conduct themselves within the constraints of departmental propriety.
Nevertheless, now Marisa chose Volsky and his people. There were nine such immediate response teams in Goldberg’s department. Almost three hundred agents and professional soldiers were ready around the clock, seven days a week, for the most unpredictable situations in the name of international security. But Volsky’s team was the best. And Marisa knew this.
A picture of Ruslan’s disfigured body swam into Marisa’s overwrought mind, followed immediately by the beautiful, smiling face of that beast in the airport, winking at her. Well, tonight her brotherhood would get it good.
2.
In hostem omnia licita.
Everything is permissible with regard to an enemy.
An ancient Roman law.
The club to which Vasilisa brought Dalana had the annoyingly appropriate name, Bat Wing, though this was usually – thankfully – shortened to Wing. The owner of the club, a transmog with two centuries of ‘life baggage’, according to Vasilisa, apparently did not excel in originality of thought. Many Goths gathered in this nightclub, but every now and then members of other youthful and not so youthful subcultures also stopped by. One thing united the crowd of Wing – they were all vampires, without exception, and Dalana was sure they were all transmogs, though she had yet to verify that. Wing was a ‘members only’ club.
They pulled up to the doors in a stylish, sporty, mulberry-red BMW. Dalana decided to give the girl her due; she did drive quite well, if daringly, but she couldn’t keep herself from pestering Dalana with questions during the drive.
“Can you read the thoughts of everyone around you?”
Yes, when I want to. And it would be more accurate to say ‘hear thoughts’.
Dalana decided to switch fully to telepathic communication. Many transmogs, especially those who were older, were almost pathologically afraid to converse mentally. Others, on the other hand, thought that discoursing mentally was chic. But either way, it was extremely difficult for converted vampires to forgo human speech altogether.
“Wicked,” Vasilisa said. “We can only hear each other. Well, sometimes we can hear humans, but it’s not really all that coherent. But we get by usually.”
Indeed, to begin to have control after eight hundred years! Dalana replied skeptically.
But we do! Vasilisa cried mentally. Don’t you hear me right now? And I hear you. Oh, and we can also close each other out, though poorly.
No doubt, Dalana smirked, with still greater skepticism.
“Oh no,” said Vasilisa aloud. “So that means you heard our entire conversation about you?”
Your sister, I must say, has a healthy temper.
“Screw her. She’s always been a hypocrite.”
And your brother is vulgar.
“That’s not news to me,” snorted Vasilisa. “But I, on the other hand, would never let myself be that vulgar.”
Oh, you lie.
But you are so beautiful…
Watch the road.
The girl pursed her lips – she was offended. But she wasn’t silent for long.
“Well, does anything about our home please you?” asked Vasilisa with hope in her voice.
I rather like the coat of arms, acknowledged Dalana after some thought.
“Yes, many people have commented on it.” Now Dalana noticed the hint of pride that clearly bled through the girl’s voice. “Incidentally, it’s not only on the gates.”
“Yes, I noticed,” said Dalana aloud.
“It’s on our cell phones, it’s even on the soap,” continued Vasilisa. “What else? Oh,
I know, I’ll show you!”
And the girl reached for the glove box, not forgetting to graze Dalana’s knee slightly in passing. Dalana pretended that she did not notice the touch. Vasilisa opened the glove box and extracted a chubby little book as large as her hand.
“Here, take a look,” said the girl.
“An address book?” guessed Dalana, taking the thing into her hands. The smooth leather of the binding was pleasant to the touch.
“Uh huh,” answered the girl. “Our emblem is on it, too.”
Truly, the emblem was there. The small mark shone dramatically in silver from a corner of the booklet. A silver emblem on smooth, black leather…
“It’s not human,” Vasilisa hurried to assure her, catching Dalana’s glance. “It’s calfskin. We’re not barbarians.”
“Well, the calf probably thought differently,” Dalana said.
Vasilisa did not know what to say to that.
“The quality is not modern,” continued Dalana, inspecting the item.
“Yes,” the girl acceded readily. “It’s a hundred years old. I acquired it as soon as we got a telephone.”
Dalana smiled to herself. She had a vivid recollection of the first telephones. They had evolved from what they were at first, but Dalana suspected that cellular telephones, too, were far from the limit of the genius of progress. But this address book, bound in calfskin, had preserved its pristine appearance. It, like its owner, had passed through the entire evolution of the telephone apparatus from the first dinosaurs to today’s flashy mobiles.
“And how often have you crossed out numbers opposite names?” asked Dalana.
“I’ve crossed out quite a few, the entire book really,” answered Vasilisa. “This booklet is history, so I cherish it.”
For sentimental reasons? asked Dalana, returning to their mental dialogue.
“Many who are there no longer exist, while others are far afield,” said Vasilisa, somewhat lyrically.
“And everything stems from that coat of arms,” smirked Dalana. “I think I’ll put it back, or else your trip down memory lane is going to spoil the entire evening for me.” With these words, Dalana returned the booklet to the glove box and slammed it shut.
She suddenly realized that she was bored by the monotonous scenery outside.
Is it much farther? inquired Dalana.
“We’re almost there,” Vasilisa told her.
Just as Dalana expected, the club was a private, modern-style villa of fairly stately dimensions, concealed behind a wall just like Vasilisa’s house. The guard dogs here were not Dobermans, but pit bulls. And the security system really left a lot to be desired.
Feeble, Dalana shared her impressions as they walked through the courtyard. Aren’t they afraid that the humans will catch them unprepared?
It is they who should fear us! And there is no way they could know about this place.
Never say never, admonished Dalana.
But Vasilisa only snorted contemptuously in reply.
Such confidence, particular to transmogs, always irritated Dalana. And to be sure, they often paid for their overconfidence with interest. But right now the last thing Dalana cared to do was comment on her companion’s attitude. If she had learned nothing after seven hundred years of life, it was unlikely that Dalana could correct her now. And why should she?
They went inside. It was nothing special, a common club like hundreds of thousands of similar establishments.
“Well, how do you like it?” asked Vasilisa.
Just as one would expect, cheesy, modern, energetic music pumped through the club. And it pumped loudly, so almost everyone here was conversing telepathically. The droning buzz of all that inane chatter was incredible, but nonetheless Dalana decided to probe the members of Wing. Considering all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, it would do her no harm to exercise caution.
Not at all.
Are you always so arrogant?
Despite the comical results of Vasilisa simultaneously trying to unite two essences within herself – an Old Russian noblewoman and a modern teenager – Dalana was not going to rise to the bait and answer the question. She studied the crowd. Of course, it was comprised mostly of vampires, but not exclusively.
You, the Begotten of Old, are probably all like that, I suppose.
Dalana counted dozens of the deceased, who had clearly stumbled in on this crowd by accident and were accordingly dissatisfied by the lack of the ‘eternal attributes of normal human society’. The souls floated amidst the dancing transmogs who could not see them, in a futile effort to find the feast they expected from death. But here there were no splendid tables full of choice food. In this home they did feast, but somewhat differently than today’s chance guests of the vampiric gathering were accustomed to.
For a wonder, a creature resembling a black toad with venomously yellow eyes had snuck in here also. It sat in the gloom under the stairs that led to the second floor. It was a Creature from a realm of the Middle World that was scarcely safe from human vision. That is to say, theoretically humans could see it, providing, of course, that it did not merge with the darkness, becoming invisible for all intents and purposes with the exception of those nightmarish yellow eyes. Just as now. The creature usually lived in dark, cold, fetid places…and it was notable for its excessively malevolent disposition.
Perhaps you’d like to dance?
Vasilisa was bashfully trying to capture Dalana’s attention.
Is there a bog somewhere nearby?
“What?” asked the girl, slipping back into human speech.
Look. There, under the staircase.
“What’s there?” Vasilisa peered intently into the darkness under the stairs. “I don’t see anything.”
Of course. The creature had concealed its incandescent eyes under its heavy, misshapen eyelids and become invisible.
Show yourself, Dalana ordered it.
Unable to oppose her will, the creature cracked open one eye. But only for a moment and then it immediately closed it again.
“What is that?” screamed Vasilisa.
Her cry was lost in the pounding of the latest electronic pop hit.
They drained my House.
The creature was addressing Dalana. To all appearances it had not spoken with anyone for a long time.
There is a basement. It is damp. But not as it was before. Every night I think. Of vengeance.
Progress. It reigned high and low. The humans cut down the forests to build their dwellings, and the transmogs drained a bog with the same goal.
I can’t help you.
“Is there someone there?” asked Vasilisa. “I’m frightened.”
“But you told me you weren’t frightened of anything.”
Oh no, she was definitely frightened. Dalana felt waves of fear flowing from the girl.
“I said I wasn’t afraid of humans,” the girl quickly corrected her. “But that over there is not a human, is it?”
…yet it will be. Before long.
“Forget about it. There’s no one there anymore,” Dalana comforted the girl.
“You are cunning,” said Vasilisa.
And you aren’t? Women are generally cunning creatures.
The girl moved closer to Dalana.
I’ll say. So, will you show me your fangs?
And again a strange, unaccountable feeling of anxiety intruded into Dalana’s consciousness. It was similar to the feeling she’d had today when the plane landed. At that time the foreboding had proven to be accurate. Unfortunately. And what about now? Was she being followed again?
Behind a false bar, obviously built only for appearance’s sake, a pair of male transmogs were trying to predict the outcome of today’s soccer match. In one part of the club, a group was discussing some new film about vampires with the asinine title Dark Debauch. The opinion was unanimous: the film was the bottom of the barrel. In another room an orgy was taking place. No one was talking on the dance floor – instead they
swayed and hopped to the beat of the music. On the second floor they were talking about stock market quotes, oil rigs and some other nonsense. She did notice that the “Stockholm Street Style” was the fashion choice of the patrons—wonderfully weird hats, shorts, workboots and acid-washed jeans seemed to be the uniform of the day. Not her cup of tea, really, but interesting nonetheless.
She came to the conclusion that no one was tracking her. But the anxious feeling did not lessen; it only strengthened with each passing second.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Dalana.
“What? Already? But we haven’t even danced yet.” Vasilisa was upset.
Something was happening outside. What exactly that was, Dalana could not yet determine.
“I see, you think this is all very boring,” said Vasilisa, pouting.
“That’s not it.” Dalana winced, then immediately thought: Although it is true.
But Vasilisa would not relent.
“Can I introduce you to my friends? They’re right over there, see?”
She pointed at the covey of transmogs discussing mounting a collaborative cultural campaign in modern cinema.
“I tell you, we have to leave,” answered Dalana severely.
Oh really, how dare you tell me to do anything?
The girl responded to Dalana with a whirlwind of boiling emotions that began with being peeved that she had not managed to boast of her new acquaintance in front of her friends and ended with a balky desire to remain at the club.
But from outside someone suddenly felt pain, severe pain – the abrupt wave of pain burst into the club and nearly swept Dalana from her feet. Someone was dying or, rather, being killed. The dogs, guessed Dalana.
…came to our home, accepted the best we have to offer, Vasilisa continued to rage. You are simply an ungrateful wretch!
Dalana realized that the girl was about to burst into tears, but she didn’t care. At that second the agony of the dying animals was replaced by a wave of human aggression.
They had to leave quickly.
What feeble security these assholes have.
It’s doubtful they’ll have time to regret it.
Flee, flashed through Dalana’s head. Someone is attacking the villa.