Legacy in Blood

by Masha Dark

  The passport control official, together with a dozen other rubberneckers, watched the proceedings with interest. Two other agents bent down, and while one rudely grabbed the man by the hair to hoist up his head, the other slapped handcuffs on his wrists. After that the one who was holding the arrested man by the hair suddenly slammed his face against the floor. There was a wet crunching sound then blood began gushing from the nose of the restrained man. Dalana reflexively noticed that the blood was a very bright and saturated red.

  “That’s it, Acrobat,” merrily declared the first cop, who was obviously the leader of this foursome, “You won’t run from us anymore. Now you’ll rot in prison until you die of old age.”

  Acrobat just whined despairingly in reply.

  “Boys, take this little shit away,” commanded the leader.

  The other three grabbed Acrobat by the arms and jerked him to his feet.

  “Let’s go,” said the one who had handcuffed him. He clapped the prisoner on the back and added: “We’ve already got a spot prepared for you.”

  A white-collar criminal, Dalana realized. The relief that she had experience the moment it became clear that the quartet of goons had not come here for her defied limits. Her ears were still ringing and her weak knees were shaking. Even the pain from the wound had retreated for a few moments.

  “Well,” drawled the official, peering after the departing men who surrounded the offender in a dense ring. “That was exciting. Quite a commotion.”

  “Yes, exciting,” said Dalana.

  “So, what’s your kitty called?” the passport control agent asked.

  Dalana realized that she hadn’t yet come up with a name for her new pet. What should she call her? If she took into account the confluence of extraordinary events that led to this cat being under her guardianship…

  “Vasilisa,” said Dalana after a brief pause.

  “A regal name,” the official said.

  Later, when she was sitting in her seat aboard the airliner, holding the purse with the false bottom in her lap, she thought about how the passport control official would never know how close he had come to death. Well, blessed are the ignorant.

  Leaning back against the headrest, Dalana put on her headphones. She searched for Glamour FM, which by this time annoyed her to the point of nausea, and applied herself to listening attentively to the affected voice of the repugnant DJ. Now that Dalana’s life was relatively secure, she could turn her thoughts to money once again. On the one hand the customer…whoever he might be…had clearly saved money. He had bought black caviar for the price of herring in tomato sauce. But there was also another side of the coin. Dalana hadn’t really sold him black caviar. She had only destroyed the mask, the cage, the shell called Alexander Soigu – and it wasn’t really she who destroyed it in the end. Regardless, Arkhan was still alive. True, he had departed this world for another, the Underworld, and Dalana sincerely hoped he would never be able to return. But really, didn’t the one cancel out the other, and vice versa? Indeed, how was it possible to kill someone who was immortal? And also ten million dollars was, in principle, far from herring in tomato sauce…

  It took her fifteen minutes to detect and analyze the pattern of numbers and symbols encoded by Star– a code that would eventually lead her to the remaining portion of her fee for the life of the immortal Mankhus Arkhan.

  “May I?”

  Dalana took off the headphones and stared at the person who was talking to her. A haughty, fat, self-satisfied popinjay slightly past fifty was looking at her with burning eyes, and in his head swarmed versions of various sexual acts featuring Dalana and other indistinct silhouettes of ambiguous gender. Dalana was sitting by the window and this pervert could very well have taken his seat without bothering her. But he was intentionally trying to start up a conversation.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have stunning legs?” continued the man, grinning lustfully.

  This chick’s legs go all the way up. And her as! Only, she is somehow very pale.

  “You discerned this through my trousers?”

  “Oh yeah, you have sharp teeth,” smirked the man. “I’d love to break you in. I think that when I get those trousers off you, you’ll be even hotter.”

  And the man, wheezing slightly, squeezed his fat ass into his chair. A woman sitting across the row had heard his reply and was staring at them with furious eyes.

  You pay two thousand dollars for a ticket in business class and you still have to deal with randy creeps.

  Dalana had never before so regretted that pigs like the one next to her could not climb into her consciousness. If he could read her thoughts, he would instantly start trembling in fear. But the man just kept examining Dalana, his mind gushing truly pornographic images. What can be done about it – you meet lascivious freaks even among business-class passengers. However, Dalana supposed that it could be said that it was only among business-class passengers that you encounter them…

  That’s it – enough of all these annoyances. She’d dabbled in democracy, and she was done with it. Dalana planned to charter a private jet at Orly Airport. She just hoped she could make it to Paris without any incidents.

  The private jet would fly her straight to Quebec. By that time Victor should have resolved the matter of the remaining portion of her fee and converted the money into local currency. Dalana could count on this at least.

  Upon arrival Dalana would again cross paths with the Tengri of the Cloudless Sky. He would bring her what she needed to mimic a true Canadian as promptly as possible. Who knew how much time she would have to spend there? A year? Maybe two? Or perhaps a decade or so until the validity of the new passport expired? It all depended on how much time she needed to cover her tracks. Dalana solemnly promised herself that for the next five years she would not undertake any commissions. Relaxation – and that’s all. She had earned it. She would live in Canada for a while and then perhaps she would visit Yuriko. Her money would last her long enough that she could take the liberty of a sabbatical at her own expense. It was too bad that she couldn’t take a trip to Buryatia right now to visit her native land. So it goes… But for the Begotten of Old a decade is not a long time. She would one day return to the land where she had drawn her first breath.

  The most important thing was that she was still alive after all these misadventures.

  Dalana tried to count how many times she had cheated death in the last ten days. First there was that transmog from New York. Who could have guessed the FBI was monitoring him? As a result – a massive financial loss and ‘the delegation with flowers’ at the airport. Then those humans from CRUSS – Dalana had completely, decisively underestimated them. After that, the Father of Lies had brought her into the family of transmogs, where she’d had it up to her ears with their infighting. Granted, thanks to Vasilisa Dalana had managed to recover all that she had lost because of the blunder with the previous mission. But was it worth it – that was the question. Dalana hadn’t become so strongly attached to anyone in the last hundred years. But now the girl was dead, and all Dalana had left of her was a kitten she’d decided to name in her honor. Such is Fate…. But could Dalana have really guessed that her target would turn out to be Mankhus Arkhan? She had flown in to kill Alexander Soigu. The target had turned out to be a surprise in the best, or rather, the worst traditions of Pandora’s Box. Dalana shivered. She would have met her own death at the hands of one of the most fearful Gods on earth had not Mayas-Chara herself interfered in the matter. Indeed, the Great Black Mother had arrived just in the nick of time.

  But why had all this befallen her specifically? She’d gotten into scraps before, but never anything like this.

  I’m getting old, thought Dalana. My intuition is not what it was, and I get tired quickly.

  That meant she just needed to temporarily hang up her hat.

  Still…something told her that her Stockholm adventure was not really over. She would return. After all, the life of that girl from CRUSS was
worth five million dollars, and the client had paid in full.

  Dalana again thought about Sukhostat’s miraculous escape from death. Miraculous…or coincidental? How could the explosive device under the madman’s jacket have gone off before Marisa came to her car? Theoretically, there could have been some sort of malfunction. Or someone might have decided to steal a dark blue Dakota parked next to the statue on Sergels Torg at exactly the right moment. The only dark blue Dakota in all of Stockholm that belonged to Special Agent Marisa Sukhostat of CRUSS. Just at the moment when a mortally ill suicide who was under the influence of a powerful suggestion decided to blow himself up. Though bizarre, it definitely was an alternative explanation. And why not? The carjacker could easily have been taken for the driver, especially as she’d given no concrete instructions concerning external appearance.

  Dalana caught herself thinking that the extra five million dollars would never give her peace – it cut to the heart of her professional pride. Granted, it no longer mattered to Vasilisa, but Dalana lived according to her own code. And now that she and Marisa owed each other nothing…

  Dalana suddenly realized that because of her reflections she hadn’t noticed that the airplane had taken off. She searched for Vasilisa in the hold, making sure that she was alright. Everything was in order. The kitten was already so accustomed to her surroundings that she had dozed off, not at all fazed by the droning of the engines. Dalana momentarily envied the kitten her brief, unpretentious life, her intellect that was subject to primitive reflexes…

  “Do you want something to drink?” asked the flight attendant, smiling.

  Dalana decided to leave her thoughts for the time being. She quickly probed the other passengers of the airplane. There was nothing dangerous, just as there was nothing special. The usual number of Lus and phantoms, of course. And humans, humans all around…eating, drinking, talking, watching a movie. Another one about vampires, it seemed.

  “No, thank you,” Dalana replied to the flight attendant…but in the next instant she realized what it was she did want.

  “Cognac,” said the man, and the stewardess joined the orgy in his inflamed imagination. A large blue vein in the man’s neck began to pulse violently.

  Watching the vein, Dalana suddenly perceived the pain leaving her body. The poison of the Mankhus’ Sentinel decayed into harmless chemical compounds. The hemorrhaging of blood stopped. The fever subsided, the shakes all but ceased. The regeneration of flesh commenced. Her body had expelled the affliction.

  And a completely different sensation now swept over Dalana. She had been acquainted with this feeling for many years now, it was a feeling granted to her on high from Mother Nature herself, it was a feeling inherited from her forebear, the Red Tengri – it was the feeling of hunger.

  Dalana breathed in the scent of the man. All her senses gradually normalized – that is, they became sharp, as it had always been with Begotten of Old vampires when they embarked on the hunt.

  Dalana deliberately touched the man’s thigh with her fingers. He jumped from the unexpectedness and the vein in his neck began to pulse even more violently.

  “Do you have any plans in Paris?” asked Dalana, smiling.

  Oh yeah, you DO have sharp teeth.

  Dalana smiled very cautiously. She by no means wanted him to be able to see just how sharp-toothed she really was. For the time being.

  2.

  Fas est et ab hoste doceri.

  You can learn from anyone, even your enemy.

  Ovid

  Marisa blithely narrowed her eyes, exposing her face to the sun’s rays. May had set in with an unusual heat wave. And if in the city – in that stone frying pan – the asphalt had fused, and people were going out of their minds from the sultry weather, then here at headquarters the genuine grace of God prevailed.

  Marisa was sitting on the grass, which still had the softness of early spring, but had grown sufficiently thick.

  “Marisa!”

  Marisa grudgingly opened first one eye then the other. Jan was rushing towards her through the grounds, joyfully swinging his arms. Marisa noted that in two months – the amount of time since they’d last seen each other – the boy had matured and noticeably gained muscle. His leg had made a full recovery; there was no longer even a trace of a limp. Marisa’s fracture still bothered her at times, especially when it rained and in damp, cold weather. Her hair, of course, had been growing out for a long time.

  Ten months had passed since that terrible night. Of course, Jan had not yet fully recovered. But was it really possible for him to recover from the death of the person closest to him – his mother? Marisa hoped that with time his pain would lessen and in one splendid moment, perchance, it would depart entirely. At least now Jan had things to do. He was occupied and so he thought about his pain less.

  Marisa got up the instant before Jan flung his arms around her neck. The boy already had an iron grip. He would only get stronger…

  “Why didn’t you come to see me?” Jan began aggrievedly as he finally pulled his arms from Marisa’s neck. “For a whole fifty-eight days?”

  Poor thing, he’s counting the days, thought Marisa. What a nasty piece of work I am still.

  “I was so bored without you,” added the boy. “And why are you a nasty piece of work?”

  “Are you reading my thoughts again?” asked Marisa, intentionally severe.

  “Sorry, I…it was on accident,” said Jan and he blushed to the roots of his hair.

  Marisa tousled his bangs affectionately. The boy’s answering gaze made her feel uneasy. Marisa averted her eyes.

  My God, he’s nothing more than a child, she reassured herself. A twelve year old boy who has been left without his mother. He’s just trying to fill in the void with me. If not me, then anyone else he might have run into…

  “I’m not a child,” said Jan adamantly. “Why don’t you want to understand that we didn’t meet accidentally? And what does a void have to do with anything? God has a plan for everyone. Our meeting happened because it was planned so…”

  “Stop doing THAT,” said Marisa roughly. “Or else I’ll turn around and leave this instant, you understand?”

  “Please don’t,” said Jan as he nestled up to her. “I won’t do it anymore, just don’t leave.”

  “Oh, Jan…I’m sorry that I snapped at you,” said Marisa, once again feeling like an utter bitch. “I’ll try to keep myself in hand. But you also have to try not to crawl around in my thoughts anymore, okay?”

  “I promise that I won’t listen in on what you are thinking anymore, never again. Honest.”

  He looked at her with his deep eyes full of trust and…and something else. Marisa banished her thoughts about this something else.

  “Let’s go,” she said and took Jan by the hand.

  The boy squeezed her hand in reply. He was on cloud nine. Together they began to walk across the grounds to the central building of CRUSS headquarters.

  Marisa was pissed off at herself. Of all people, she knew that Jan was not a normal child. He was the biological son of that monster, the son of one of those Begotten of Old…. So She had said. Begotten of Old…words that had not so long ago been just words, empty sounds, had now become an incantation, the mysterious and ancient significance of which Marisa tried to perceive day after day.

  Jan grew and developed much faster than normal children of his age. The first time she had noticed that intent gaze of his had been as early as the end of autumn. For a long time Marisa tried to tell herself that the boy was simply projecting onto her the feelings that would have rightly fallen to his mother were she alive. But one day it became clear that this was not the case. Jan was in love with her to the point of distraction. And she couldn’t do anything about it.

  They had reached the main entrance when Marisa caught sight of Volsky.

  “Hi, Uncle Pavel,” said Jan.

  Marisa felt how tense he became.

  “Hi there, my little nephew,” said Volsky. “But w
hat are you doing here? Don’t you have classes?”

  “I’m going,” said Jan. “I have two left today. Will you wait for me until then?”

  This last he said to Marisa. She nodded in reply. Casting a frown in Volsky’s direction, Jan disappeared through the doors of the building.

  “So, why so silent?” asked Volsky after some time had passed and, without waiting for an answer, he added: “You’ve got a fine fellow there.”

  “Pavel, don’t,” Marisa began.

  “Don’t what?” Volsky shot back. “Don’t bother, Pavel. Right? Isn’t that what you mean?”

  The empty left sleeve of Pavel’s shirt hung like it was lost, occasionally shifting in a gust of spring breeze. Marisa’s heart hurt. Not only Jan had pain left over from that night.

  “You found yourself a fellow with two arms,” Pavel continued belligerently.

  “Stop it!” said Marisa loudly, even a bit more loudly than she would have liked. “He’s just a kid, and it’s not what you…. Damn it! I can’t even believe that I’m saying such ridiculous things. Just leave him out of it!”

  “By Jove, I think she’s angry,” Volsky smirked. “Just a kid, you say. Indeed, even Papa knows the kid wants you.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” yelled Marisa and with all her might slapped him across the face.

  And hugged him a moment later.

  “Sorry,” said Marisa fervently. “Forgive me. But he’s just…damn platitudes again …”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve heard them all already. We know,” spat Pavel. “A child, a twelve year old child whose father killed his mother right in front of him.”

  “Why so much rancor, Pavel?” wondered Marisa. “You know what it’s like to be an orphan.”

  “I know, and that’s why I don’t put much stock in it, unlike your little Jan. And I tell you what. He’s a little degenerate whose father was a werewolf. He’s a little monster whose father ripped off my arm. After which you, sweetie, gave me the shaft,” Volsky said bitterly, pulling away from Marisa.

  “Pavel, that’s not it, and you know it.”