by Masha Dark
“But what will we do with her?” asked Vasilisa with bewilderment.
“We’ll tie her up in a bag and dump her,” explained Dalana. “In the Norrstrom River.”
“In the Norrstrom?” asked the transmog.
“Well, we could just toss her into the water off Nybrokjan and the Radisson Hotel,” said Dalana with slight irritation. “Or just opposite the Grand Hotel so that half of Stockholm sees us. Or even better, we could display her in the stairwell.”
Vasilisa burst into laughter.
“Great idea,” the transmog said.
“Bring the garment bag out here,” Dalana ordered sternly.
While Vasilisa, huffing noisily, stuffed the remains of her repast into the garment bag, Dalana tried to recall everything she knew about the kun-musa – a race of shapeshifting Begotten of Old who resided in the dark palaces of the Underworld. That is, this band of malicious man-eaters that could transform their loathsome native visages were called the kun-musa in Dalana’s homeland. Alexander Soigu appeared to be just such a creature.
Like many of the spawn of the Underworld, the kun-musa were not held in esteem by the rest of the Begotten of Old. In the Beginning, all the ‘underworlders’ had been forbidden to pass beyond the boundaries of their domain, but Dalana was aware of a great many instances when that ancient interdiction had been transgressed. Among the rebels who dared to oppose the taboo were the kun-musa – humanoid leviathans covered in fur or in scales, with powerful jaws and claws as sharp as razors. These creatures were, in a certain sense, invulnerable because of their astonishing regenerative capabilities. The mutilated flesh of a kun-mus healed instantly, which eliminated almost any possibility of a fatal injury. It is no wonder that Soigu with enviable fortitude endured bullet wounds from sniper rifles, car explosions and other contrivances of hired ‘hatchetmen’. The kun-musa also did not fear fire. They were able to hold their breath for a long time and were noted for their pathological aggressiveness. Obviously, they only became man-eaters once they had broken through the boundaries of the Middle World. Each individual cell of a kun-mus was able to imitate other cells and, as an aggregate of all these cells, the entire organism could do likewise. They possessed cunning and elusive minds, and they preferred to take on the appearance one of the most prolific creatures in the Middle World – humans, and even their own wives, human women, often did know the truth about their spouses. If such shapeshifters begat children the gender of the infant determined its subsequent fate in the Middle World. Girls inherited the monstrous appearance of their fathers and for obvious reason always became pariahs among humans. Boys were a bit luckier – they acquired the human appearance of their mothers, as was the case with Soigu’s son. However, both the daughters and the sons of the kun-musa inherited a series of boons from the Begotten of Old, including access to the Underworld, the native haven of their fathers. Further, upon reaching adulthood, the half-bloods could choose where they would live. There was not a direct correlation between the aggressive tendency towards cannibalism and the half-blood’s gender – quite the contrary, these tendencies were absolutely individual. The kun-musa were unbelievably strong even in their human guises, and their astonishingly developed minds made these brutes deadly opponents. But they were not immortal. There did exist a means of getting rid of Soigu. And this means was known to Dalana. Regrettably, it required considerable expense on her part, and that meant that the customer would have to pay extra, which in turn meant that Dalana would have to contact Star once more. However, this time she hoped to confine the contact to a coded message played on ‘Glamour FM’. There was an additional ‘tariff’ for the murder of a kun-mus – Dalana generously added another two million to the previous figure so as to make it a nice round sum. She considered her demand entirely just. When it came down to it, Dalana was certain that she was the only one of her profession who would be able to destroy this fairly brazen beast from the Underworld. But that gratification was far from cheap, and the customer should foot the bill. Now all she had to do was wait for evening show ‘Djinn’, then she would have two listeners called Kun and Mus call in a request for a ‘A Million Scarlet Roses’ twice – at the beginning and end of the show. All this idiocy was naturally addressed to Star, who would get in touch with the client and inform him of the new terms of the deal in view of recently discovered circumstances. The client, of course, might well decide to be tight-fisted and to reject Dalana’s offer. In that case, the shapeshifter could run rampant through the Middle World for all she cared, but Dalana would happily fly off to Canada together with the money received from Vasilisa and the advance paid for Soigu. But the hand could be dealt the other way as well – the client might agree to the price hike and Dalana would have to implement a fantastically complicated combination of plays so that all the cards fell her way. In both scenarios, however, it made sense to take care of her exit strategies. She needed documents – a passport and a Canadian visa, or some combination of passports and visas. Dalana had thought long and hard about it and decided to turn to Victor for help after all. She had already sent him an email asking for his assistance ten minutes ago. The reply came almost immediately. Naturally, Victor would help. Not personally, of course, but through a Courier. The very same one from the Upper world that would take her money to Canada. Everything would be fast, dependable and secure. The best assistance is assistance rendered in time. Dalana bit her lip. She’d had to ask for help far too often in recent days – the transmogs, the forest Edzen, Gal, and now Victor… Somehow from the very start everything had gone out of control. She’d never had such difficulties before. The devil take these international intelligence agencies! They were like a giant octopus, and everywhere you looked – they had a tentacle…
“Ready,” proclaimed Vasilisa, ostentatiously lifting the load. “And it’s not too heavy.”
“That’s great,” answered Dalana. “Because you’re going to carry it. Oh, and put on a wig. So we can avoid any unwanted attention.”
“That monstrous red thing again?” said the transmog. “I won’t put it on. I categorically refuse to wear it. It makes my head sweat.”
“I don’t care – you don’t have to put the red one on,” said Dalana, relenting. “Try the shorter one. The blonde.”
“The one that’s ‘ala Roxie Hart’?”
“That’s the one,” said Dalana, slightly surprised. “How do you know about Broadway musicals?”
“Well, I saw the movie,” declared Vasilisa with a hint of haughtiness. “Don’t take me for an idiot. Everyone knows about Chicago
“Okay,” muttered Dalana, exasperated. “Put on the wig and let’s go. We need to get this done quickly.”
It took several minutes to transform Vasilisa into a bobbed blonde. Then they went down to the car. They put the ‘package’ in the trunk, and then Dalana sat behind the wheel and opened a road map she had bought earlier.
“I never thought,” began the Begotten of Old, chuckling, “that I’d need such a thing. It always seemed to me that I knew this city pretty well. After all, I used to come here often.”
“It’s been over fifty years since you’ve been here – I’m surprised you recognize anything,” remarked Vasilisa reasonably. “There’s been a ton of changes. But if we want to toss this load into the river with minimum risk of being noticed, then I think we’re better off getting onto the Folkungagatan. We cam dump the body under the bridge.”
“I’m beginning to feel like a geographical cretin,” admitted Dalana as she turned on the car. “But why under the bridge?”
“Oh, there was this nightclub not too far from there,” the transmog said, fluttering her hand in the air wistfully. “A private club, close to the bridge; what a wild place it was, filled with those who lived on the edge…just the type that no one would miss. I used to hunt so gloriously there.”
Vasilisa dreamily ran her tongue over her fangs.
“I’d pick someone up and lead them to the lonely, empty spaces near the water
with the pretense of wandering along the shore by moonlight. You know, romance…and then I suck out the last drop of their blood and drop the body in the river. No one ever spotted me!”
“Now you get to repeat all that. Just without the romance,” Dalana said sarcastically.
“Why don’t we just toss it in the trash?” asked Vasilisa.
“We could easily part ways, and then you can do as you wish,” threatened Dalana. “You can toss her in the trash. Hell, you can even go back to your home and toss her in the herb garden for all I care.”
“I don’t have a home anymore,” Vasilisa grumbled sullenly and retreated into herself.
Seizing the opportunity for some breathing room, Dalana again turned her thoughts to the kun-mus Soigu. Even though he was strong and cunning, the target could be killed – he could be poisoned. Not by arsenic or cyanide or anything like that, but by a certain poison that Dalana still had to obtain.
Dalana turned on the radio and just barely tuned it to the station ‘Glamour FM’. Just in time – she came in at the end of the program called ‘Djinn’, an all request show.
“…What do you know,” the host said through monstrous amounts of static. “Yet another listener has left us a request on our website. He’s asked that we play ‘A Million Scarlet Roses’ at the end of our broadcast, performed by that unfading rose, that prima donna of the Soviet and Russian stage, Alla Pugacheva! Time goes by, but you are in as high demand as ever. This is for you, Mus!”
“What, have they gone out of their minds?” muttered Vasilisa indignantly and she reached for the radio with the obvious intention of changing the station.
“Leave it,” ordered Dalana.
“Whatever,” said the girl, shrugging her shoulders.
The glance she bestowed upon the Begotten of Old was definitely insulting, but Dalana was concentrating on more serious problems and didn’t notice. Most of all she worried about the unknown individual from the bathhouse – the woman with the black skin who’d frightened the unfortunate prostitute no less than the shapeshifter had. Who could this be? Or rather, who would be interested in a kun-mus that had escaped from the Underworld?
“Listen, Dee…”
Dalana resolved to be distracted for a while from her dilemma.
“I’m listening,” said Dalana.
“I just wanted to ask…well, I more or less understand about these Edzeni and Khans. Then there are humans and creatures like me and those like you, but…are there any others that exist?”
“On this earth there live such a vast quantity of different creations that even I get lost when it comes to matters of classification,” Dalana replied. “There are mortals and immortals; there are even certain creatures that are halfmortal. There are creatures of every kind.”
“Well, sure,” the transmog said “Anthropomorphic and zoomorphic, carnivores and herbivores, chordates and invertebrates… I suppose there are even creatures in the intestinal tract. But are there any you could not master?”
“Yes, I’m up to my ears in them,” admitted Dalana.
“And what would you do if you suddenly came across one of them?”
“First I’d have to come across them, and then I’d have to see,” said Dalana laconically.
“But you made quick work of that troll,” said Vasilisa pensively. “It’s all strange somehow …”
“Even though I am not listening in on your thoughts, I can predict what you’ll say next,” said Dalana, smirking. “You thirst for blood. Well, you will get it.”
“When?” demanded Vasilisa. “When will you bring me the head of that bitch?”
“Haste makes waste. And also, don’t count on me to actually bring you her head. It’s too bothersome and unsanitary.”
“Don’t worry, that was a figure of speech,” said the transmog. “I just want her die as soon as possible.”
“I know,” nodded Dalana, unable to find a more meaningful response.
Now that the identification of Soigu had been successfully completed, it was time to deal with that beauty from CRUSS. What Vasilisa did not know was that Marisa Sukhostat had less than twenty-four hours to live. Dalana had no desire to please the girl ahead of time. According to her masterful plan, Special Agent Sukhostat would be led to Sergels Torg tomorrow at ten in the morning with the assistance of the suggestible agent and the communication channel that Dalana had charmed out of the fortuneteller. This comprised the first and most important part of Dalana’s plan – to draw the target into a populated area. The crowds of people, the mass of traffic, the profusion of shops, the tourists, drug dealers and demonstrators, the commotion… Any unfortunate incident, from a car crash to an industrial disaster, could theoretically be written into the confines of such a place.
“Turn there,” said Vasilisa, as they crossed the bridge. “Drive in there behind the trees.”
They got rid of the evidence in a matter of seconds. Usually indolent and careless, Vasilisa displayed her true agility. With a barely audible splash the garment bag, weighed down with the girl’s remains and a sufficient number of rocks, sank to the bottom of the river. The black deeps of the river once again concealed all traces of the vampire’s crime.
“Well, that’s it – I’m so over her,” announced the transmog as she came back to the car. “A surprisingly deserted place, isn’t it? You can’t really find many such places in the center anymore.”
Dalana started the car and turned the radio up as high as it would go.
“…and with you once again, it’s me, Romeo D’Armagnac.” Dalana heard the familiar voice of the DJ. “It’s great that our listeners haven’t forgotten about the Soviet stage. It was considered glamorous and stylish in its time. But nothing is forever, and I personally love ‘ABBA’, which had its own beautiful moment. We’re listening to our glamorous Swedish quartet and their timeless hit, ‘I Do’.”
Dalana smiled slightly – Star was in its element. Everything it did was quirky, but it was done without delay. She had her answer. The client was agreeable and had accepted the new terms. Now if – or rather when – everything went well, Dalana would be richer not by five million dollars, but by seven million dollars. She thought it might be nice to take the longest vacation of her career. Canada – Quebec, Ottawa… But all that would happen much later, and right now she had to earn her extra pay. Tonight Dalana was going to have to get her hands dirty and become acquainted with the Stockholm sewage system. The extra couple of million would smell especially vile.
“Hey, let’s kick back, have some fun,” Vasilisa suggested all of a sudden.
“What?” replied Dalana quizzically as she returned to reality.
“Let’s stop by a club.”
“No,” barked Dalana. “I’ve had enough of the local clubs.”
Vasilisa dove in for the kill.
“This is an ordinary human club. Listen, I’m serious, let’s have a little fun, what do you say? You’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a very posh place! I haven’t actually been there often but when I have, I’ve had a lot of fun – it’s called ‘Retro’. They usually play music from the forties and fifties, but they play music from before and after as well. Let’s go!”
“You’re deranged,” laughed Dalana. “There’s a search going on for you – have you forgotten?”
“They’re searching for you too,” retorted the transmog.
“Quite so. You said it. That’s just it. But it’s alright for me – in nine out of ten situations I’d be able to escape. As for you, I highly doubt it. Or do you naively assume that I will risk myself again to save your inquisitive butt?”
“Fuck it! If I have to die, I want to die where there’s music,” Vasilisa exclaimed cheerfully. “Of course they’re searching for us, but I doubt they’ll be searching for us there. Don’t worry – the place is too high-class. And in this wig I don’t even look like myself.”
“You’re not being very persuasive,” Dalana said as she shook her head.
“Oh, come
on,” begged the girl. “Just for a couple of hours, to dance and unwind. Hey, by the way, this is very nearly the only club where they play all the John Kander classics!”
Dalana’s eyes caught fire.
“Kander?” she repeated.
“Yes!” said Vasilisa victoriously, instantly guessing that she had cut Dalana to the quick. “From Chicago, and New York, New York and even Cabaret!”
Dalana mused. The twentieth century had brought into her life, as it had into the lives of many Begotten of Old, a flurry of delight mixed in equal measure with despair. Not a single preceding era had passed by so desperately and at the same time so cheerfully. Dalana had transplanted herself to the USA by that time, so she had seen it all and remembered much of it. That gingerbread city, Hollywood, had sprung up before her eyes; Prohibition had appeared then disappeared; the Great Depression oppressed then evaporated; Henry Ford set up his first assembly line…The smell and taste of ardent American blood, gangland chic and the international film beau-monde, who burned through their lives to the jazz improvisations of dark-skinned enchanters – those were the symbols of the first half of the twentieth century in the United States, far away from wars, hunger, poverty and ruin. Dalana longed for those times with an ache that was beyond measure. However, it had to change eventually. Still, even up to the beginning of the eighties America had seemed to Dalana like the best place on Earth.
“So you love John Kander, do you?” she asked Vasilisa. “And what about your patriotism? You’re just so Russian, aren’t you? You’d wander round in old felt boots, touting the virtues of bast shoes, and then suddenly – Kander…”
“Don’t be so rigid,” Vasilisa frowned. “Patriotism has its place, but I adore everything that’s made in Hollywood and on Broadway. There are pluses as well as minuses everywhere – that’s what you need to remember. ‘Life is a cabaret.’ It’s not all high-gloss and glamour.”
Vasilisa may have been woven from contradictions, at times irritating, at times entertaining, but she remained true to herself. Dalana smiled genially.