Legacy in Blood

by Masha Dark

  “Don’t laugh at me,” continued Vasilisa, somewhat rattled. “I’m offering you five million dollars to find the cops that raided Wing and as much again for the head of their leader. Altogether that’s ten million bucks.”

  “That’s quite a lot of money,” Dalana said slowly. “Just out of curiosity, where will you get it? Have you ever, even once, held such a sum in your hands?”

  “You can’t hold that much money in your hands.”

  “That’s true,” grinned Dalana. “And still, I doubt that my services will be easy on your pockets.’

  “Apparently, during our last conversation you only listened to yourself,” said Vasilisa sharply. “I told you that our family is rich.”

  “Yes, but are you certain,” Dalana objected calmly, “that you have ten million dollars? I don’t take checks and I am not interested in jewelry or other valuables. Only money. Besides which, if I say yes, you will have to lay out half ahead of time. This is the advance, and it is never returned under any circumstances.”

  “You’ll tell me yes,” asserted Vasilisa. “Or else I won’t get off your back. Today I lost the most precious peo…” Vasilisa faltered but immediately found a way out. “My brother and sister. I don’t have anyone else and I have nothing to lose. But I want vengeance for them. For the sake of that I am ready to do whatever is needed.”

  “So do you have ten million dollars handy?” Dalana asked again.

  “The house, the cars, our hereditary jewels,” Vasilisa said dispassionately, “all of that is now lost. But the main assets remain untouched. The money is split into several portions. The largest portions are here in Stockholm, in an account and in a safety deposit box. There’s also an off-shore account… Mama always said that there’s no point putting all your eggs in one basket…”

  “Stay on topic,” advised Dalana.

  Blinking, Vasilisa, who had just about embarked upon a lengthy remembrance, returned to the fundamental issue.

  “Uh…yes…well, all told there is a bit more than ten million dollars, but I want to keep the remainder for myself…”

  “Stay on topic,” Dalana repeated.

  I’m not interested in the specifics – how, what and why. All that I want to know is – can you provide me with five million dollars within twenty four hours of my agreement, that’s one; and can you give me the remaining portion upon completion of the commission, that’s two.

  “I can,” Vasilisa willfully nodded her head. “Does that mean you agree?”

  Moving along, Dalana ignored Vasilisa’s question. What is this about a leader, whose death you so covet?

  Vasilisa shifted in the armchair. A pair of baleful embers began to dance in her eyes.

  “A little bitch of a cop, the leader of those degenerates. She was in my house today. There’s a strong possibility that she was in control of the raid on Wing. I caught her name. Marisa.” Vasilisa spat out the last word with loathing.

  “What did you say?” asked Dalana in surprise. “Marisa? Are you certain that was the name?”

  “Absolutely,” asserted the girl.

  The events of the past three days flew before Dalana’s eyes like a whirlwind. There she exited the airport terminal and threw away her cellular phone… There she flew over the thicket with Vasilisa, feeling the aggressive breath of their pursuers on her skin… So, that blue-eyed beauty that she saw in the airport killed Vasilisa’s family. Marisa… How cramped the world is, after all! It turns out that the crusaders attacked both Vasilisa’s house and Wing. And was it this very same Marisa who pursued them that night? No doubt. Dalana remembered that she had ordered the amoeba beast to kill the girl’s partner. It was nothing personal; she just needed to save her own life. Now Vasilisa was offering her a hefty sum for Marisa’s death, and once again it was nothing personal.

  “Your friends and family weren’t killed by run of the mill police,” said Dalana aloud. “They were a special international organization created expressly for eradication of every kind of… They’re hunters of the otherworldly, in a broad sense.”

  “How do you know?” Vasilisa asked.

  “I’ve heard of this Marisa,” Dalana answered.

  “Do you think her fucking scalp is worth more than five million dollars?”

  Dalana understood: it was time to make a decision. She was at yet another crossroads. The common sense of a professional suggested that, the situation being what it was, it would not do to take on yet another job, let alone a job that involved more than one task. The robust greed that resided in Dalana’s soul insisted that the quoted figure was far from trifling, especially considering the recent financial worries she had experienced because of that debacle with Meyering. Her wounded pride whispered to her that someone must pay for the unheard of insult that had led Dalana within death’s reach twice in the past day. Her avid curiosity unceasingly spoke of the unique opportunity of investigating the crusaders, all the more so since he who is forewarned is forearmed. Her excitement in the face of danger whipped up her hunting instinct, maintaining that she could kill two birds with one stone, simultaneously securing a substantial fee and getting the crusaders off her back. Her somewhat apathetic compassion adamantly declared that Vasilisa would probably take a refusal quite poorly and then she would be constrained to eliminate her. And finally, she was in Stockholm after all and she did have some relatively free time…

  “I accept your proposition,” replied Dalana. “Let’s shake on it.”

  Vasilisa’s eyes once again flared up, this time with joyous, youthful hatred. Even now, with her hair not quite dry, she was seductively fair. Dalana caught herself thinking that she was a delight to the eyes. No, she could not kill such a beauty. So, she had to answer her with agreement. However, the number one priority was still the money. No matter what, money was almost always the number one priority.

  “So, you must give me the advance within twenty-four hours. Time’s wasting,” said Dalana.

  “Hang on,” said Vasilisa. “I also have conditions.”

  Dalana jumped up from her seat and in the blink of an eye landed beside Vasilisa. Grabbing her by the arms, Dalana abruptly pulled her up out of the armchair.

  “Really?” She grinned rapaciously. “And what might those be?”

  It might just be simpler to kill this impudent transmog.

  “I want you to stop addressing me so rudely,” said Vasilisa in a slight trembling voice. “It’s not necessary to call me Your Excellency, but…”

  Dalana burst into laughter. The little chit angered her and at the same time amused her with her directness that bordered on insolence.

  “Also,” continued Vasilisa less confidently, “we shook hands; we made a bargain. That means I’m your employer…”

  “Indeed, then you should know,” Dalana hissed in a low voice, “that I killed several of my employers right after I received the advance.”

  That was the honest truth. Dalana’s complicated trade oftentimes required her to make instant and bold decisions when certain circumstances arose. That was why the majority of customers preferred to act through third parties – the contacters.

  “B-but you haven’t yet received it from me,” replied Vasilisa.

  Not a trace of her former confidence remained. Fear was slowly raising its head in her mind.

  “Precisely,” Dalana nodded.

  The sheet, which had until now been clasped around Vasilisa’s shoulders, slipped to the floor with a soft rustle. The girl was completely naked underneath it, which did not surprise Dalana one bit. That the girl was wonderfully built, as if designed by a consummate artist, also did not surprise her.

  “You have twenty four hours to track down the agreed upon amount. Although, no, it’s already a bit less than twenty four,” said Dalana as she released Vasilisa’s arms.

  “I’m beautiful, aren’t I?” asked the girl, looking at Dalana without a shadow of constraint.

  Vasilisa was absolutely sure of her own irresistibility, and the fear i
n the depths of her mind had already yielded to her vanity.

  “And that’s why you’re still alive,” sneered Dalana. “Otherwise, you would be putrid jelly in the belly of that beast.”

  Vasilisa trembled, but she did not retreat.

  “I wonder, how many lovers have you had? Over such a long life?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” said Dalana, once again baring her fangs. “But I hope that you have finally realized that regardless of whether you pay me or not, I am in charge, and that’s final.”

  Vasilisa shivered uncomfortably, then stooped and picked the sheet up off the floor to again wrap herself in it. It is unlikely she knew that Dalana could strike at her mentally, and indeed Dalana was not about to employ such tactics, since, as opposed to the amoeba, Vasilisa would probably not survive such an assault. The slightest effort of will on Dalana’s part would be enough to make the girl stop wanting to toy with her. With a hiss, Vasilisa moved towards the doorway, apprehensively glancing back at the Begotten of Old.

  “Good night,” said Dalana with a smile. “And try not to test my patience further.”

  Vasilisa froze in place as if something had suddenly dawned upon her.

  “Just one more thing,” the transmog said timidly.

  “Well, go ahead,” said Dalana, still smiling.

  “I might have a few problems getting you debit cards,” said Vasilisa dismally, “now that my face is plastered on every wall…”

  Dalana bided her time, watching the girl. She wavered under that regard.

  “Well, so…how would it be…can you take cash?”

  Dalana mused on the problem. On the one hand, she was more accustomed to debit cards, and they were often more convenient. But on the other hand, cash also had a series of undeniable advantages. For one thing, it could never be frozen, as was often the case with accounts, and it was more efficient to form strategic reserves for the future from cash. She would have to find some place to settle it, eventually forwarding the money via Courier to some distant spot on the globe, but she would not have to fear either the crusaders or hackers. But to do this, Dalana would also have to reacquaint herself with an old friend to whom she had not spoken in quite some time. Well, so be it, especially as this friend, according to her intelligence, was now based in Stockholm.

  Vasilisa was looking closely at her, waiting for her answer.

  “Okay,” said Dalana. “Let it be cash.”

  2.

  Omnia mutantur, nihil interit.

  Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.

  Marisa’s morning had been relatively quiet. Although she’d been as busy as a bee, receiving and analyzing an endless stream of information regarding both the fugitive vampires, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  Towards midday, Marisa peeked into the cafeteria reserved for agents of CRUSS’s Homicide Division. Once there, she decided to stay and have lunch with Pavel, because she hadn’t yet managed to catch him in the corridors of the Coalition’s headquarters, but he had left a message for her that he would be here. Deep in thought, Marisa missed Volsky’s entrance: she only came to herself when Pavel flopped down in a nearby chair. He looked haggard, but the healthy fervor of a professional bloodhound burned in his eyes.

  “I was just with Papa,” said Volsky. “He chewed me out good – my head is about to explode.”

  “Yeah, your head’s about to explode, but I… We lost two of your men yesterday, Pavel,” she confessed darkly. “It’s my fault they died.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Pavel rapped out. “It’s all part of the job, damnit. They’re in heaven now…if it exists, of course…both Andre White and Dennis Kameus. They were good men. Good soldiers, comrades…”

  For a short while they sat silently, attending only to their own thoughts. Marisa thought of Andre, who had fallen under a hail of bullets, and of Dennis, who was probably caught off guard by the fleeing beast, and, of course, of Ruslan, though she tried to think of him least of all. True, she didn’t manage that all too well…

  “Marisa…”

  Pavel was calling to her. Marisa shuddered. She needed to take herself in hand. She must not get sluggish. Not on any account.

  “Sorry, I was thinking,” she excused herself. “Did you say something?”

  “Yeah, I asked you if you’d had lunch yet,” Volsky said patiently.

  Marisa shook her head no.

  “Well, that’s great,” said Pavel. “Keep me company. I’m as hungry as a dog; I haven’t had anything but dewdrops in my mouth since morning.”

  “Go easy on the metaphors,” smiled Marisa. “It’d be better if you told me in detail what you’ve been working on.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll eat first,” said Volsky. “Some of the photos were so bad that even I almost threw up. So, what’ll we have?”

  “Let’s get the set menu,” suggested Marisa.

  Nodding to her, Volsky gave the waitress a sign, the meaning of which was known to all employees of CRUSS – both those who worked in the cafeteria and those who were accustomed to eating there. A minute later a couple of trays were on the table, on them two orders of the set menu. Marisa stared at a deep bowl containing soup with astonishment: the green substance did not inspire confidence in her, despite the pleasant aroma wafting from it.

  “What is this, anyway?” she asked Volsky.

  “You’re out of touch, my friend,” claimed Pavel. “We’ve had a new chef for a week.” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And this is his signature dish – creamed celery soup with turkey.”

  “So it’s creamed, huh?” Marisa intentionally lengthened the word. “And there’s turkey in it…”

  “Hey, if you don’t like it, don’t eat it,” said Volsky, and it seemed to Marisa that he was truly offended on behalf of the new chef.

  He set to demolishing the signature soup with gusto.

  “Oh, okay, I was joking,” Marisa hastened to justify herself. “It smells great.”

  As it turned out, the soup of the new head chef rose to the occasion. For a time Marisa and Pavel devoured the contents of their bowls in utter silence.

  “Hey,” said Volsky after a long pause. “Why don’t you tell me what’s new with you?”

  “There’s nothing much to tell,” replied Marisa. “Today we received information from the heraldry consultants. That coat of arms is directly related to a family of Suzdalian princes, the Zavyalovy.”

  “Zavyalovy, Zavyalovy…Who were they?” asked Pavel with his mouth full.

  “An ancient princely family in Russia. Their roots don’t go back to Rurik, of course, but the family was fairly distinguished. They governed vast estates and kept company with the deputies of the Kievan princes.”

  Marisa finished her soup and tossed her spoon into the bowl. It made a ringing noise.

  “Oh, fuck,” she muttered angrily.

  “What’s with you?” wondered Volsky.

  “I was just remembering that that whore slipped away from me yet again!” Marisa said then started swearing under her breath.

  “You know, I quite like it when women curse,” Volsky grinned archly.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Marisa continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I set a PR storm on her yesterday – she won’t know what hit her.”

  “Oh yes, I saw that on TV,” said Pavel approvingly. “But why did you only send out debriefings on one of them?”

  “Oh, I’m going after the second as well, just not through those channels. You see,” Marisa pulled a steaming casserole full of the next dish towards her, “this Dutchwoman is a bird of an entirely different feather. She’s sharper than most we’ve come across. It’s unlikely that she’s holed up in a basement somewhere, hiding. Here a different approach is necessary.”

  “In other words, she’s more than a match for us.”

  “I guess, but the other one’s not really an idiot either,” Marisa tossed her head expressively. “She did manage to
stay off the police radar. It would be strange if she was suddenly caught standing around in the market, like a side of newly slaughtered veal. But you can be sure, the phone’s going to be ringing off the hook, so much so that you’ll want to stick your head in a noose. Half of Stockholm will call to tell us they saw someone who looks a bit like her here and there. That kind of headache isn’t so easy to deal with.”

  “Oh yes,” said Volsky significantly. “Run, run as fast as you can…. But what do we have on the second one?”

  Inside the casserole was a dish of beef brains in a sour cream sauce. Marisa picked up a fork and dexterously speared a delicious smelling morsel of the delicacy. Volsky followed Marisa’s lead and attacked the little ceramic dish in front of him. The process repeated itself – once again they were silent as they consumed their portions with delight, accompanied by the quiet rumblings of Volsky’s stomach and the energetic clinking of cutlery.

  “Don’t you think that she could have already fled from Stockholm?” Pavel asked Marisa finally, pushing the empty casserole away. “That sauce was delicious.”

  “It’s not bad,” agreed Marisa. “Yes, in theory she could have. I’m sure she’s already had new IDs made. She could have changed her appearance and hauled ass to another country. She could have gone anywhere, even to Madagascar. What can I do? Fuck it. I have no idea. But that is exactly why I think it’s a good idea to concentrate on that little bitch of a princess for the time being. This is her native land. But I won’t forget about Van Glek, or where she might be, for a second. It’s actually the only thing on my mind. And, you know, something tells me that she is still here in Stockholm. So the most important thing is to understand why.”

  “Why, oh why, oh why,” Volsky sighed theatrically.

  “Okay, Pavel, it’s your turn to talk,” declared Marisa, plunging a small spoon into a soft dessert – a strawberry mouse, abundantly strewn with shaved chocolate.

  “Can you wait until the food settles?” asked Volsky, glancing at the trays stacked on the edge of the table.

  “Oh no, lay it out for me.”