Legacy in Blood (Book 1 of The Begotten of Old Series)

by Dark, Masha

  Yesterday, right after Dalana had thoroughly washed off the sewer stench in a hot bath, she once again had a bad feeling. The Begotten of Old’s intuition suggested that it was time to quit the apartment and get to her place in the country. It was possible that her apprehension was premature, but Dalana was not about to risk it. Nor was she going to risk returning to the apartment. While Vasilisa slept, Dalana gathered her things and wrote the transmog a note. All she could do was hope that the quarrelsome girl would take her instructions to heart.

  Dalana headed for her new suburban haven. She needed to properly study the area and feel it out. After all, the Lord helps those who help themselves.

  After this Dalana planned to return to Stockholm and conclude her business with Vasilisa.

  Dalana took her foot off the gas and tried to breathe deeply. She even turned the radio on. But she just could not relax.

  The restless feeling grew with every minute.

  Heavy grey clouds were gathering in the sky, promising rain. In her peripheral vision Dalana saw the one her homeland knew as Dolon scudding across the sky. Dolon was one of the seven Tengri of the stinging western wind and he had control over the cold autumn rains.

  His appearance was an unspeakably bad omen. Dalana was aware of this.

  Now and always, Dolon was the harbinger of catastrophe and evil fortune. Moreover, you never had to wait very long for the catastrophe to arrive.

  3.

  The heart is forever making the head its fool.

  Francois de La Rochefoucauld

  Upon her arrival at the office, Marisa found Volsky in an extremely bad mood. Arvid and Genaro also had expressions on their faces that were far from happy.

  “Is it still alive?” Arvid asked sullenly.

  “You mean my car? No. It died.”

  “What a shitty day,” Genaro said laconically.

  “What changed while I was on my way here?” Marisa asked. “Or did someone else lose a car today?”

  “Someone …”

  Volsky raised his finger upwards in an illustrative gesture.

  “…upstairs is of the opinion that the latest evidence in the Soigu investigation was not obtained according to the correct procedures.”

  “That someone is absolutely right” Marisa said, shrugging her shoulders. “What of it?”

  “That’s what I say – what of it?” Volsky bristled. “What are we, regular beat cops? We just catch the small fries and ignore the big fish? You wanted proof that this degenerate was a werewolf. So take it!”

  “It’s clear they’re passing the buck to us. They want to cover their asses,” Marisa frowned.

  “They’re trying,” nodded Genaro. “But Papa says that if there’s a shakedown, he’ll shoulder all the complications.”

  “Well, I have faith in Papa,” reasoned Marisa.

  “They hope to make a mess of tomorrow’s operation,” snapped Pavel. “I’d like to shove it up their asses along with their procedures!”

  “Don’t waste your strength, Pavel,” said Arvid with a smirk. “Who the hell knows what that monster will come up with tomorrow? You know he’s probably waiting for us.”

  “I’m sure he’s counting the moments, just like I am,” said Volsky.

  “That’s enough,” he said then he turned to Marisa “What is it you have to share with us?”

  “I found the thing that ripped open my informant’s throat,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  “How’d you find him?” asked Arvid.

  “He left a trail behind him. I’m not exactly sure why, but it seems that after the murder he wiped his hands with a receipt from a supermarket.”

  “A complete moron,” concluded Arvid.

  “Were there fingerprints?” asked Genaro. “Maybe we’ve got something on else on him?”

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get any fingerprints. They were so smeared that the system wouldn’t recognize them.”

  “So you’re going to get him? When?” demanded Arvid.

  “I’m going to get him today. First I’m going to run down to Papa with a report, then I’m going to take a pair of brave young men and then – it’s into the trenches. Straight to his lair.”

  “And are you really sure that he’s still there?” asked Genaro doubtfully.

  “Well sure, I’m not sure…but my instinct tells me he’s still there. He’s sitting there twiddling his thumbs with no thought that I’m coming for his soul. I can sense it with my nose – that’s how it is. Like Pavel yesterday with that razor.”

  “Do you need help?” asked Volsky, shaking himself free of his consternation.

  “What are you talking about Pavel? You boys are too good for such crap. I’ll cope myself. I’m taking a couple of trainees with me, so you all should conserve your strength for tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, I…” said Volsky, but he stopped.

  “I mean, we’ll have a talk later, right?” he finished lamely after a moment.

  “Yup,” she responded briskly. “Is Bumblebee here or has he still not recovered from yesterday?”

  “He’s here,” said Genaro. “He just stepped out for a minute. Did you want to ask him about the package? Well, we already asked him. He says he has no idea who would send such a thing to him.”

  “Clearly,” drawled Marisa. “But I actually need to see him for a different reason. I got a peculiar email this morning.”

  “Peculiar?” asked Arvid.

  “Peculiar,” affirmed Marisa. “I was wondering if there was something wrong with my computer.”

  “Like a virus or something?” asked Genaro sympathetically.

  “Something like that,” said Marisa, frowning.

  “Well, then it’s definitely a job for Bumblebee,” said Arvid with a grin. “Nobody’s his equal when it comes to all this programming and hacking nonsense. Go see him – he’s in his closet. Where else would he be?”

  “Okay,” Marisa nodded. “But first I am off to see to Papa. I’m going to deliver a written report on my adventures.”

  Here she could not restrain a smile. Her ‘report’ amounted to a sheet of paper that she scribbled on while she was riding in the taxi.

  “See you all later,” Marisa said as she headed for the exit. “If everything works out okay, we’ll see each other this evening.”

  “Be careful,” the men replied almost simultaneously.

  Marisa slipped out the door, heartened by Volsky’s gloomy preoccupation. The last thing she wanted right now was a conversation about their ‘relationship’. She still hadn’t thought about the wording of her explanation. However…could it be that Volsky wasn’t determined to have a relationship with her? So they had made love, and that’s that. What’s the use of complicating everything? They had satisfied their desire, and now they would forget about their little nocturnal adventure.

  But something told Marisa that she wasn’t going to get away with laughing it off.

  Goldberg rose from behind his desk to meet Marisa as soon as she entered her superior’s office.

  “How are things, dear?” he asked in a fatherly manner when Marisa decorously placed a sheet covered with uneven handwriting on the edge of his desk.

  “I brought you a report,” declared Marisa, masking her smile.

  “I wasn’t asking about that,” Papa said, dismissing the report with a wave of his hand. “How are things with you?”

  “Tolerable,” said Marisa laconically. “True, my car did explode. Luckily, without me inside it.”

  “That is indeed a good thing.”

  Goldberg nodded his head and pointed at the sheet of paper covered with chicken scratches.

  “I’ll take a look at it.”

  Volsky burst into the room as tempestuously as a hurricane.

  “Is there a fire?” asked Goldberg calmly.

  “A fax,” panted Pavel. “From our colleagues in Novosibirsk. Take a look, please.”

  “Tell me what it says,” ordered Papa. “Just give
me the gist.”

  “Well, well…Alexander Soigu. Year of birth - 1960. Place of birth – the village Sovietsky, Irkutsk Region…yada, yada, yada… In 1990 he was the director of a steelworks factory called Frunze…Um…In ninety-two he went missing. There’s a picture enclosed – feast your eyes on that!”

  Pavel put the fax sheet on Goldberg’s desk with a triumphant look on his face. The quality of the picture had been badly degraded by the fax, but it was clear to Marisa that it was Soigu’s photograph.

  “So, you ask?” said Volsky victoriously. “In my opinion it’s all really quite banal and straightforward. This man kept to himself, never bothering anyone. Then he was bitten by a werewolf and became one himself. Now he’s in Stockholm, having made himself into a major player. But he keeps killing people. And raping them at the same time.”

  “So then why hasn’t everyone Soigu’s bitten turned into a werewolf?” Marisa butted in.

  “Well, first of all, we wouldn’t have found them dead if they had,” parried Pavel. “And second of all, the bodies that we did find had been eaten away to the bones.”

  “That makes sense,” agreed Marisa.

  “So you’re his backup, are you?” Goldberg asked Marisa. “Are you definitely on his side now?”

  “I always was and always will be on my side,” replied Marisa even a bit more sharply than she herself wanted.

  Volsky, taking no head of her innuendo, was staring at Papa with flashing eyes.

  “I hope that information from our colleagues can be assumed to have been obtained according to the correct procedures?”

  Pavel delivered the last word as if it was a swearword.

  “Listen here, Volsky, don’t get all huffy on me, alright?” Goldberg growled crossly. “If you want Soigu so bad, go and get him.”

  Taking advantage of the strife between the men, Marisa quickly stole from the office while she could. It seemed that circumstances had yet again freed her from an unpleasant conversation with Pavel. But for how long?

  Dalana looked at her watch. Vasilisa was late. Ever since Dalana had seen the Tengri shooting through the low stratum of clouds, the sensation of brewing trouble had intensified.

  But is spite of this sinister foreboding, Dalana was generally satisfied after her examination of her country dwelling. It would do quite nicely, given the fact that she would only be in the Stockholm region for a day more. Tomorrow evening she would kill the kun-mus and fly to Canada, where relaxation, calm and a tremendous pile of money awaited her. Money she had earned through her own hard work. Victor had promised her that tonight a Courier would bring the documents and tickets for her trip to Canada and that this same Courier would collect the details of the bank and account number into which the second half of the fee for Vasilisa’s job had been deposited. This was the money that Victor must convert to Canadian dollars.

  Dalana pretended to sip from a cup of already cooled coffeehouse sludge and again glanced at her watch. Where the hell was that girl? For a moment the suspicion that the transmog would begrudge her the remaining money crept into Dalana’s head. It was a definite possibility. Human greed knew no bounds, and in spite of everything Vasilisa was still very human…

  At that very instant Vasilisa walked into the coffeehouse where they had decided to meet. The girl was thoroughly soaked from the rain and because of this looked even younger than usual.

  “Hi. It’s pouring outside,” announced Vasilisa as she sat down opposite Dalana.

  “I know,” replied Dalana disagreeably. “If you look a bit more closely, you’ll see that I’m sitting by a window. Why are you late?”

  “Why, were you worried about me?” grinned Vasilisa, and merry mischief began to dance in her eyes.

  “I asked you a question,” snapped Dalana, assiduously knitting her eyebrows.

  “You know – I went to a movie,” said the transmog. “I suddenly felt the need.”

  “And of course you couldn’t find a different time to go see a movie.”

  “Actually, I would have been on time; I worked it all out,” Vasilisa began to explain herself. “It’s just, you finally let me leave the apartment…. Anyway, on the way here I got into a traffic jam. Because of an explosion. Can you imagine it? Someone set off a bomb in Sergels Torg!”

  “I know,” said Dalana dryly.

  “You know everything,” said Vasilisa with warmth in her voice. “So it turns out that I’m really not to blame at all. And I could not get in touch with you – you don’t even have a cell phone…. But…all the same, please forgive me for being late, Dee. I was worried about you by the way…”

  “You should have started with the apology,” Dalana interrupted the girl rudely. “Where’s your bag?”

  “What bag?” Vasilisa asked.

  Dalana rolled her eyes angrily.

  “O, Gods, grant me patience. What, didn’t you find my note this morning? I know you did, though, because you are here.”

  “Ah, this is about the note,” said Vasilisa as she shook out her rain-soaked hair. “Why all this raving, Dee? What things would I take with me? And why should I leave the apartment? What, have they found us out?”

  Vasilisa was talking fairly loudly. Dalana noticed that some of the coffeehouse patrons were turning their head in their direction.

  Can’t you be quiet? Dalana ‘yelled’ wrathfully, switching to mental conversation. If they had found us out, both of us would have had our brains kicked in a while ago. Definitely yours, at least.

  “Sorry,” mumbled the transmog, nonplussed. “But I really don’t understand what the point of all this is? And why couldn’t you just wake me up?”

  “I didn’t want to,” confessed Dalana. “You were sound asleep and I…I returned in the morning all covered in shit.”

  “What do you mean, covered in shit?” Vasilisa said, once again raising her voice.

  “Stop yelling,” said Dalana. “It would take too long to explain. Let’s just say I fell down a manhole and leave it at that. I could hardly wash it all off.”

  “What do you mean you fell down a manhole?” Vasilisa had no desire to let it go. “But I see – there was this really nasty smell in the apartment this morning, and it wouldn’t go away. For the life of me, I couldn’t…”

  “That’s enough,” snapped Dalana. “No more on this subject.”

  Dalana knew quite well how Vasilisa would have reacted if she had caught the Begotten of Old when she had returned from her ‘outing’. For this reason Dalana had not bothered to wake the girl, instead just confining herself to a short message, which of course the transmog had regarded with her usual unconcern.

  As for the smell in the apartment, Dalana had hoped that she had succeeded in getting rid of it. Apparently, she had been mistaken. However, it no longer mattered.

  “Was the movie at least interesting?” asked Dalana, pushing the conversation into a different direction.

  “It was complete trash,” declared Vasilisa categorically, but then she immediately added: “True, the cinematography made a lasting impression on me. Completely incredible camera angles, a distinct style, vivid compositions…in a word, bravo!”

  Unable to hold it back, Dalana burst into laughter.

  “It suits you really well when you laugh like that,” remarked Vasilisa. “What I mean is, when you laugh naturally, like right now. And you look beautiful today.”

  “A backhanded compliment,” muttered Dalana, shaking her head reproachfully. “I was striving for the exact opposite effect. I call this disguise ‘little grey bird’.”

  Dalana had spent forty minutes and an entire tube of light foundation on her current disguise. Her hair was pulled up with a simple clasp, her expertly drawn lips displayed not a trace of their former plumpness, she’d created artful shadows beneath her eyes – all this should have transformed her into an extremely commonplace young woman. One of the crowd. But now it turned out that she was ‘beautiful today’.

  Vasilisa began to elaborate.
<
br />   “No, Dee, no matter how hard you try you cannot turn yourself into an ordinary girl. You know, Nicholaus loved the saying – Even in shit, gold shines…”

  “You’re talking about shit again?” Dalana interrupted the girl sternly. “I told you: that subject is closed.”

  “Oops, forgive me, please, it was accidental,” Vasilisa babbled uneasily. “But I have to tell you, I don’t remember the last time I slept so soundly. It seemed like it was even without nightmares, like when I was a human, when I was living my last day, damn…”

  The last word was in response to the approach of a waitress who had been drawn to their table by Vasilisa’s histrionic speech.

  “Two tiramisus and another coffee,” said Dalana, depriving the curious waitress of the opportunity to warm her ears.

  Nodding disappointedly, the young woman walked away.

  “Funny,” said Vasilisa, noticeably lowering her voice. “Tiramisu…”

  Such melancholy yearning flashed through the girls’ eyes that Dalana became ill at ease.

  “Well, alright,” continued Vasilisa, sighing. “At least I’ll know what it looks like.”

  The waitress brought the coffee and the tiramisu. While she was arranging the dishes on the table, Vasilisa did not utter a single word. Once the inquisitive barista had departed, the transmog nipped a piece off with the side of her fork. Then she spiked it with the tines and carefully brought it to her mouth, placed it on her tongue and swallowed it. Her movements were all comical and awkward, as if Vasilisa had not held a fork in her hand for a long time. However, that was actually the case.

  “My God,” said the transmog, pushing the cake towards the center of the table. “How many years has it been since I’ve used a fork? Although the answer to that question is obvious – just as many as I’ve been a half-baked vampire…. Tiramisu…I can’t taste it of course, but the sight and smell tell me this is nothing more than sponge cake.”

  Dalana shrugged her shoulders in agreement.