by Masha Dark
Towards noon the crusaders suddenly started scurrying about. Someone from the very top of the Coalition had ordered the agents to get away from the businessman’s residence. Soigu must have sniffed out their presence and disposed of the irritant through official channels.
Dalana heartily rejoiced as she watched the van drive from Soigu’s house because it was suddenly clear to her that she was not the only one clued in to the departure of the crusaders. Dalana’s keen preternatural vision, magnified by a pair of binoculars, allowed her to see the features of a frail adolescent boy standing in a window on the second floor. The boy could not be older than fourteen. He stood there, pressing his forehead against the glass and gazing mournfully after the departing CRUSS van.
This was Alexander Soigu’s son. Dalana could see him quite well from her hiding place.
And then she heard him.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this boy was the son of a Begotten of Old. He could already ‘hear’ others, although so far all his attempts to establish mental contact with other living creatures were confined to weakly intercepting the aftermath of thoughts. It was his presence that Dalana had felt while she observed the crusaders. It was astonishing that he was able to do even that at his age, being half-human. This immature strength cautioned her to keep her distance. Nonetheless, she was still able to draw something out of him. The boy was called Jan and he hated his Begotten of Old father with a passion, though he did not know who his father really was. He sincerely regretted that the humans from the Coalition had given up their observation of the house. He sensed strange abilities in himself and was afraid of them, because of which he hated his father even more. And he pathetically and tenderly loved his dull-witted mother, who at this moment was holed up in her bedroom methodically downing alcohol after her most recent row with her husband. Dalana also heard the message that Soigu left on the answering machine. He did not plan to spend the night at home. Stella and Jan could only guess where Soigu might spend the night. But Dalana knew what they did not – thanks to the disk Star had given her. Soigu would be at the Centralbadet Bathhouse, especially at the end of the work week, and Dalana also planned to pay it a visit this evening. But she required rest first because such a risky step would demand her utmost concentration and extraordinary caution. She had to build up her strength.
Meanwhile at CRUSS headquarters, five agents and two special agents were sitting at a long table in the Homicide Division cafeteria, devouring their meals and discussing the surprise Soigu had arranged for them.
“Bastard,” cursed Volsky through his teeth. “Perverted freak. Not only did he line his pockets with bribes, he’s a fucking werewolf too.”
Marisa, who was fairly hungry by this time, was concentrating on a potato and mushroom pie, accompanied by Pavel’s unending flood of curses.
“I absolutely agree,” Bumblebee spoke up, sluggishly poking at his battered perch with his fork. “I mean, was all that time spent fiddling with their pipes for nothing?”
Marisa was trying not to disengage from the conversation, but she was busy digesting not just the food, but also everything she knew regarding the Zemfira investigation. There was something off about this business with the expertly cut glass and the ripped out trachea of the medium. First, the murderer got to the fourth floor, cut himself an improvised door and snuck into the apartment. Next he pulled apart Zemfira’s throat. Then he stupidly took a receipt from his pocket, wiped off his blood-stained fingers and tossed the paper on the floor? No, the first part of that crime scenario definitely did not tally with the second. A seasoned professional broke into Zemfira’s apartment. But an utter amateur left that cold corpse on the bedroom floor. Who really killed Zemfira – the professional, the amateur, or some third person – remained unclear. But Marisa was quite sure of one thing: her professional instinct told her that some non-human was mixed up in all this. The question was – was it a vampire or some other beast? Unfortunately, so far it was a question without the prospect of an answer.
Marisa was not particularly surprised at Soigu’s trick with the surveillance crew. He was a ferocious animal: of course he would eventually catch wind of the fact that he was being shadowed. Powerful in this world, with the right connections in the political machinery, he naturally fixed the problem quite effectively. It was provoking only because it had happened far too soon.
“So did Papa actually come out and say that he couldn’t do anything?” asked Arvid.
Volsky only nodded glumly, evidently tired out from the fury of his own imprecations. He didn’t even glance at the salt-fish stew that was now cooling in a deep bowl. Everyone else was enjoying theirs.
“They’re probably pressuring him,” Genaro commented on the current situation. “And not just him, I suppose.”
“I get the feeling that this asshole is some kind of demon,” Graham said, entering the conversation.
“Demon or not, he’s definitely a sadist,” Stefan – a short, sturdy fellow with a goatee – nodded in agreement. “I touched base with that Otuzan today…”
“Alright,” said Volsky, chuckling. “What did Otuzan have to say?”
“He says that Soigu regularly smacks his wife around,” continued Stefan.
“Does the entire community know?” asked Pavel incredulously.
“No, the neighbors don’t know,” replied Stefan. “They have their own skeletons. It’s just that this Otuzan was at their house a couple times when he bought that book of Soigu’s wife’s for his series. He said she wore dark glasses during his visits – both times.”
“So what? Maybe her eyes hurt.”
Bumblebee was doing his best to play devil’s advocate.
“Of course they hurt,” Stefan dipped a piece of bread in the fragrant sauce. “And her neck hurt too – it was covered in bruises. That’s why she never leaves the house.”
“And why should she leave the house?” parried Arvid. “If I had that much money, I’d stay at home too. I would surround myself with masseuses and manicurists and stay put!”
“It seems Madam Soigu doesn’t evoke much sympathy here, does she?” Stefan said lazily.
“Hardly,” said Graham with a full mouth. “She’s a nut job; she should be institutionalized. She’s got to know that something’s not quite right her husband. But she stays with him anyway. For the money. So that means she’s a fool, an idler and a freak of nature. Perhaps she even likes it when he beats her. Birds of a feather, you know? It’s a madhouse there.”
“A madhouse, that’s it exactly,” Volsky cast a gloomy look around the entire table. “Last night we let him get by us and by morning he was able to stop us cold.”
“Well, if even Papa can’t do anything…” Graham raised his hands in dismay. “I say he’s a devil, this Soigu.”
“It definitely seems like he has a personal politician,” Marisa observed somberly as she finished her stew.
“Hey, I’d call it a pocket politician,” said Arvid as he took a bite of compote. “Anyway, what the hell are we whining about? We still have his genetic material. So the investigation depends on Okahito and whatever shit he can dig up.”
The remainder of the lunch hour passed by in tense silence.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1.
Everyone has a gift.
When she returned to the apartment, Dalana found Vasilisa in front of the television screen. The girl was tormented by idleness, unable to go outside, so all she had to do was either lounge around in the bath or try to find something interesting on the television. A couple of times she begged permission to go online, but Dalana had strictly forbidden her to touch her laptop. Vasilisa did not dare contravene her refusal.
The transmog was playing with the kitten and occasionally glancing at a sentimental cartoon about young dinosaurs. The cartoon was clearly meant for primary school children. Dalana noticed a box of tissues near Vasilisa.
“Just don’t tell me that you enjoy crying over cartoons,” said Dalana instead of a greet
ing as she entered the living room.
“Not just over cartoons,” declared the transmog without a shadow of restraint. “I really love film. It’s the most important of the arts. I remember what shock we were all in when we saw our first film. It was like a gift from God. Were the Lumière brothers also Begotten of Old?”
“I don’t know,” Dalana shrugged her shoulders. “Anything is possible. The Lumières, the Pathé brothers…. Speaking of which, I also love film.”
“You would love it even more, if you’d sat in front of a rush light for four hundred years like I did,” asserted Vasilisa. “But how could you admire moving pictures when the forest itself will provide a hurricane at your command?”
“Are you deaf?” Dalana was getting annoyed. “I said that I love film. And it was not a command that time in the forest; it was a request. A request on behalf of your life, if you recall.”
“I’d be happy to forget about it, but you won’t let me,” snapped the transmog.
But after a moment she continued in a milder tone: “Are we fighting again? Let’s not. Yes, I like to cry over films, and why shouldn’t I?”
“You astound me,” Dalana confessed sincerely.
This girl kept transforming before her eyes, displaying the smallest facets of her nature. Now she pitied a kitten that had been tossed out into a stairwell, and she wiped away tears, sympathizing with the destiny of animated dinosaurs. But just five minutes later she could kill with ease, and not just kill, but cold-bloodedly and serenely dismember her prey. She was a raptor with a delicate soul. But it was not only this, or rather it was not even this that Dalana found so astonishing. With every hour they spent together, she could discern ever more clearly her own traits in Vasilisa. She was insolent and cruel, and at the same time tremulous and wounded. Such polarity roused absolutely contradictory feelings in Dalana’s soul – from extreme wrath to perfect tenderness. This last, naturally, she concealed. The mistake she had once made with Victor did not bear repeating under any circumstances.
Dalana stretched out on the floor and released her consciousness. The energy of thought flowed away and vanished almost to nothing, as if someone had yanked the plug out of a bathtub full of water. Right now Dalana was very vulnerable, but neither Vasilisa nor the kitten playing next to her would know to take advantage of her condition and harm her. This was the method she usually used to get rid of the mental slag that tended to accumulate in the labyrinthine minds of the Begotten of Old.
Vasilisa looked at Dalana with curiosity.
“And now it is you who are astounding me,” said the transmog. “Should I leave?”
You can remain.
This is how you rest, isn’t it? Vasilisa guessed.
I would put it a different way. I disengage. As you can see, I don’t need a soft bed for this. Usually I don’t lie down at all, but today my muscles are sore.
As if in corroboration, Dalana stretched out her limbs.
“And conversation is not intrusive?” asked Vasilisa.
With you, no.
“Well, thanks,” the girl said as if insulted, apparently interpreting Dalana’s words in her own way. “Do you really consider me so primitive?”
Let’s say, I’ve met far more primitive creatures, replied Dalana.
“Hmm, you really are a boor and a vixen,” said Vasilisa good-naturedly. “But I like you anyway. Listen, Dee…”
Yes?
“It’s queer,” said the transmog. “I think that’s the first time I’ve called you by name…. Well, by the first letter, at any rate.”
So you have more questions? Dalana anticipated Vasilisa’s next request.
“Well…yes,” nodded the transmog.
Then ask away. Just not about Good and Evil – I’m bored to death of that.
“Alright, I won’t ask about that,” Vasilisa replied. “Although I am insanely interested in that too… Okay, tell me, what does ‘God’ mean? ‘God’, ‘Divinity, ‘Gods’ – who are they?”
Divinity and Gods – these are your human words. But personally I use them because it is so much simpler for me. Speaking conventionally, a Divinity is a creature endowed with the power to live in several worlds.
“In several worlds,” repeated Vasilisa. “So if we take that to its logical conclusion, you are not a Divinity.”
I am not a Divinity, but the offspring of a Divinity.
“So that means you’re a half-blood?” asked the transmog.
No, it does not, replied Dalana sharply. My race did not interbreed with humans. At least not in my lineage.
“I retract the question,” Vasilisa rushed to skirt round the stumbling block, but at that moment she thought: In your lineage everyone screws only those like themselves.
Realizing that Dalana had heard her last thought, the girl blushed.
“Pardon me,” she added immediately.
Dalana, contrary to her own expectations, did not get angry. Apparently, the sensation of blissful emptiness in her consciousness was suppressing other emotions.
Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that.
“Thank you,” said Vasilisa, laying her palm against her crimson cheek. “What is the manner, I mean, how does it work when humans are transformed into vampires?”
Are you interested in this process from a bio-chemical perspective?
“Well…” said the transmog eloquently.
I don’t know, admitted Dalana. I’m really not a specialist in that area. I only know that the transmogs are a kind of hybrid, and not a very successful one at that. The stronger genes – ours – crush the weaker human ones. As a result the original organism is transformed into something completely new. The cardiovascular and nervous systems are reformed. The hematopoietic system changes.
“I knew all that without you,” said Vasilisa with a hint of discontent in her voice.
You shouldn’t think that I’ll be able to give you answers to all your questions.
“Well, alright, and if a creature like yourself gave birth to a child from a human – what then?”
Vasilisa was seriously interested in the issue of reproduction among the Begotten of Old.
That wouldn’t happen, Dalana answered laconically.
“Why?”
Because I am a non-human.
“But the Edzeni are also non-humans,” blurted out Vasilisa. “But you say that they have children with humans.”
The Edzeni are Divinities, explained Dalana. They can take on human form. That is, they can put on a shell, a disguise of sorts that in practice makes them human. I cannot do this. But Ata Ulan – the Tengri from whom I was born – is able to do so. And there are other such creatures on earth. They are my brothers and sisters. Although, to a certain degree all creatures are related to each other.
“Yeah,” grumbled Vasilisa, “that’s as clear as a mud-spattered window. It’s too bad that I can’t taste alcohol anymore. I could really go for some mead right now.”
Do you still remember what this drink tastes like? wondered Dalana.
“Not really. No,” said Vasilisa with melancholy. “Now I only remember the names of such things from my former life…mead, kvass, sour cream sauce with horseradish, zalom…”
Zalom? asked Dalana.
“Zalom, zalom. It’s a kind of herring,” explained Vasilisa. “Once it seemed to me that there was nothing tastier on this earth than a fillet of zalom with blintzes …and eating the leftover blintzes…. We so loved blitzes!”
Vasilisa sighed.
“Where did it all disappear to? Now everyone sits down to a cup of green tea, and I don’t even want to know what that tastes like. On every street corner there’s sushi, sashimi, tofu – none of it beckons to me. But I won’t go on …”
Have you thought up a name for your tomcat yet? Dalana asked, trying to guide the conversation into a different channel.
“She’s a female, not a tomcat,” Vasilisa corrected her. “She’s a calico. I still haven’t decided what to call her. Until I d
o she’s simply ‘Crumbcake’.”
All the best nutritionists recommend a light breakfast of Crumbcake, Dalana thought unwittingly.
“I already asked you not to joke like that,” the transmog said, frowning. “And since you already started talking about it first, I’m extremely interested to know what you are planning to feed me.”
Well, definitely not blintzes with herring.
Dalana smiled at her own thought.
“I’ve really had just about enough of your jokes,” the girl rebuked her acidly. “But really?”
Frankly speaking, I don’t intend to feed you at all. It’s not part of our contract.
“Great,” spat Vasilisa. “I’m not allowed to leave the apartment. Are you trying to kill me? I’m going to die in this box of a room wearing your castoffs.”
This may not be a country estate, but all the same it’s not a dump. Or do you want to go back to that basement? And you aren’t in danger of a starvation yet. At the very least it would take you three months. So stop whining, commanded Dalana.