Sleight of Fantasy

by Dima Zales

  Instead of flirting, she too grabs him by the throat, then almost playfully tosses him at the inn’s wall.

  The wall breaks into shards, and the horny leshy flies a few more feet before landing in a heap inside a chicken coop.

  Kit says something in Russian in the booming voice of a leshy.

  “Anyone else wants to mess with me?” Felix translates, but I could’ve guessed as much.

  Kit’s threat calms everyone down.

  The waitress bows almost to the ground and runs away.

  I look at my gun in confusion.

  “There’s a reason some Otherlands are stuck in medieval times,” Felix whispers. “Sometimes, gunpowder doesn’t work right in those places, and other times, something else is wonky, like electricity.”

  “Must be those differences in the laws of physics Dr. Hekima mentioned at Orientation,” I whisper back.

  Felix nods, and we sit for a few minutes in an extremely uncomfortable silence.

  Eventually, the waitress comes back, carrying a small Fabergé-style egg in her hands. I have no idea what real duck eggs are supposed to look like, but I bet this is an artist’s interpretation.

  Kit turns back into her usual shape and takes the egg. Then she says something to everyone in Russian and heads for the missing wall.

  Felix and I sprint after her as if the kikimora is about to leap at us—because that’s probably the case.

  “I’m sure glad I asked Kit to tag along,” I whisper to Felix. “If it were just us, we’d be digesting inside that leshy’s belly.”

  “I doubt you would’ve gotten farther than the cat,” Kit says, then pockets the egg and turns back into a horse.

  Felix and I get back on, and we gallop back.

  Mere minutes after we pass the still-raging battle with the giant head, a whole battalion of bogatyrs starts chasing us.

  “Where did these come from?” Felix mutters in my ear, holding on to my sides for dear life as Kit swerves off the road and picks up speed.

  “Maybe they’re the backup for the head-killing crew,” I say, trying not to bite my tongue as we jump over a boulder. “Could’ve decided we’d make better sport.”

  Felix tightens his grip on me. “Maybe. Could also be a squad specializing in people who came to steal the only weapon that can hurt these dudes.” He sounds like he’s about to pass out.

  Kit leaps over a ditch at full speed, her hooves pounding the ground like a drum.

  The bogatyrs are still catching up.

  An arrow whooshes by my ear.

  “Kit, this isn’t good,” I shout over the battle cries and the hammering hoofbeats. “I hope you have a plan.”

  A firebird egg explodes two feet away from us, the heat wave nearly singeing my eyebrows.

  If we could just make it to the giant forest in the distance, we’d have a chance.

  Kit must’ve come to the same conclusion because she speeds up so much it feels as though she’s flying.

  Which is when I see countless bogatyrs come out of the forest in front of us, blocking any chance for escape.

  Stomach sinking, I glance back at our pursuers—and wish I hadn’t.

  Dozens of firebird eggs and enough arrows to blot out the sky are flying our way.

  This is it.

  We’re about to turn into well-done shish kebabs.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  This is when I realize that it doesn’t just feel like Kit is flying.

  She is actually flying—a fact highlighted by the frantic beating of her giant wings.

  “Is she one of those Great Eagles from Lord of the Rings?” I mutter as I watch us fly above the projectiles.

  “No,” Felix whispers in a petrified voice. “I think she’s the roc.”

  I look at Kit’s wingspan.

  Yep.

  She could easily be the roc—an enormous bird of prey from Middle Eastern mythology. Like with the firebird, the legends about the roc must be based on something in the Otherlands.

  Those pre-Mandate Cognizant must’ve loved to brag. Especially about weird birds.

  “I didn’t realize Dwayne Johnson was one of the Cognizant,” I say, hoping that a bad joke might calm Felix and myself down. “Nor did I know The Rock could fly.”

  Felix squeezes my midsection without so much as a chuckle.

  I allow myself a breath of relief when we fly into the forest.

  Miraculously, we dodge all the trees in our way.

  When we eventually reach the meadow hub and land, the giant cat looks at us with opened-mouthed fascination.

  The roc is clearly not native to Buyan.

  We get off, and Kit turns back into herself.

  Massaging my aching posterior, I give myself a solemn oath to never, under any circumstances, get on top of a horse, or a reindeer, or a bird, or Kit, ever again.

  “Here.” She hands me the Fabergé egg. “You earned it.”

  Hearing angry shouts of the approaching bogatyrs in the distance, I decide it’s best to drag the still-hyperventilating Felix through the gate and let him recover on the other side.

  Once he’s able to breathe normally, we traverse our route backward through the hubs at a brisk pace.

  When we finally exit in JFK, I turn my attention to the egg.

  The latch to open it is easy to spot for my escapist-trained eye.

  Inside the egg is an intricate needle made out of some silvery metal.

  “A needle,” Felix says, wiping away the sweat from his forehead. “That makes more sense than a neem or a neep.”

  “I was thinking he was about to say something related to food or an inn,” I say defensively. “Needles do not have anything to do with those things.”

  “What do we do with this?” Kit asks, studying the needle as she takes the open egg from me to pocket it again.

  Felix pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times.

  “According to Yandex.ru and assuming our Koschei is in any way related to the one from Russian legends, we might want to break the needle.” He waves his phone. “Though I’m not sure how much we want to trust such a source.”

  I take the needle and try to snap it in half.

  It doesn’t even bend.

  “Let me try,” Felix says and takes the needle from me.

  He can’t break it either.

  “Can I try?” Kit asks, and by the time I hand her the needle, she’s turned herself into a giant orc.

  The orc tries to break the needle.

  No luck.

  She puts the needle in her mouth and crunches on it.

  No result—which is impressive, considering an orc once bit through my gun.

  Kit turns back into herself and hands me the needle. “Ask Nero to break it,” she says. “His strength is legendary.”

  “Good idea,” I say and pretend to swallow the needle in the same manner as during my needle-swallowing effect.

  Kit looks stunned, so I open my mouth to let her see it empty.

  “You hid the needle inside a specially designed hollow tongue piercing,” Felix says without looking inside my mouth. “When did you swap it for the usual set of lock picks you carry there?”

  Kit spots my tongue jewelry and looks disappointed.

  I resist both the desire to choke Felix for revealing two of my most cherished secrets and the urge to beg him to tell me how he could possibly know what no one was supposed to ever find out.

  Best guess—Felix somehow hacked the computer of my guy in Vegas. We’d agreed he wouldn’t keep any copies of the designs, but the greedy weasel must’ve done so anyway.

  Looking smug, Felix strides to the hub exit.

  I take out my phone and let Thalia know we’ll be out soon.

  On the screen are over a dozen messages and voicemails from Nero, the timestamps on which make no sense until I look at the clock and realize something.

  Otherland time dilation has played a cruel trick on me.

  It’s already late Monday morning.
r />   I’m supposed to be at work.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  A reply from Thalia arrives as I start checking Nero’s messages, most of which amount to, “Call me ASAP.”

  Nero wanted you in the office half an hour ago, Thalia’s text says.

  Sure enough, that’s what Nero’s latter messages and voicemails are about.

  I make everyone jog to the limo, where Thalia and I agree that the situation calls for serious speeding to work.

  “Sashimi, anyone?” Kit asks after loudly rummaging through the food bar in the limo.

  “I’m not eating raw fish from a car that circled JFK all night long.” Felix wrinkles his nose. “Not everyone can turn their stomach into that of some kind of carrion eater.”

  Kit chuckles, then bravely gobbles down the sashimi.

  I make myself and Felix a bagel with peanut butter and jelly, and by the time we’re done with breakfast, the limo stops next to my work building.

  To the shock of employees passing by, Nero personally opens the door for me—a billionaire turned valet.

  “My condolences, again,” Nero says to Thalia with genuine emotion on his face. “Once you drop off Kit and Felix, please take as long as you need to grieve. I’ll watch over Sasha personally in the meanwhile.”

  Thalia nods solemnly.

  I get out, and Nero shuts the limo door.

  “Buyan?” He turns toward me, his expression quietly furious. “Really?”

  I shrug. “We had Kit with us, and it’s not like you would’ve helped anyway, with your precious contract and all.”

  His jaw flexes violently; then he seems to take himself in hand. “Tell me everything,” he orders, shepherding me into the building. “I need to know exactly what happened, so I can figure out who blew up that car and why.”

  I describe everything that happened from the pier onward as we walk to the elevator; then, at his urging, I tell him in detail about our trip through the Otherlands.

  I’m so absorbed in narrating our bizarre journey through Buyan that I don’t realize where Nero’s leading me until he herds me into my new safe/cell/office.

  “This place?” I glare up at him. “After everything that’s happened, you’re going to lock me up again?”

  “I never should’ve let you out,” he says darkly. “You’re lucky to have made it out of Buyan alive.”

  “Are you from there?” I ask on a hunch. “Is that how you know how safe or unsafe the place is?”

  Without answering, Nero starts to slam the door.

  “Wait.” I grab his arm. “Can I just give you my stock recommendations and go home without being held prisoner?”

  He looks at my hand with such intensity that I yank it back. “No.” He locks the metal door, shutting me in.

  “Well, my recommendation will be the Asia Tigers Fund,” I say, in case he’s got his ear to the metal door on the other side. “Their stock ticker is GRR.”

  Nero doesn’t come back—not that I expected him to.

  Annoyed I’m about to do exactly what Nero wants, I nevertheless sit down to have a vision.

  It’s been a while since I’ve checked on Vlad, so I might as well do it.

  Shuddering at the memory of the last time, I attempt reaching Headspace.

  I fail.

  Must still be out of juice from the last marathon.

  Getting comfortable on the cushion, I meditate, then use the Jacuzzi, eat another gourmet meal, and take a nap.

  When I test it again, I find my power is still recharging.

  Pacing the stupid cell, I deeply empathize with criminals kept in solitary confinement. This is as close to torture as I’ve ever experienced.

  After what feels like two days, my attempt to reach Headspace finally succeeds.

  Once inside, I focus on Vlad.

  The result is a cloud of similar shapes—meaning I’m about to get a more traditional vision of a single event pertaining to Vlad.

  A very creepy-sounding event, with music that grates on my nonexistent nerve endings.

  Oh well.

  I have to know what he’s about to do.

  Cringing metaphysically, I touch the shape closest to me and fall into the vision.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Vlad strides up to the chicken-leg-adorned entrance of the Izbushka restaurant.

  Dressed in a black leather coat, tall boots, and dark shades despite the setting sun, the vampire looks ready for The Matrix cosplay.

  Two burly bouncers block Vlad’s path.

  “The restaurant is closed,” one says in a booming voice.

  “Our vendors failed to deliver anything today,” says the other. “The dancers didn’t come, the—”

  The first bouncer gives the talkative one such a baleful glare that the man shuts up and channels his anger into giving Vlad a dirty look.

  Vlad lifts his sunglasses, revealing mirrored eyes. Before either can say or do anything, he orders them to sleep.

  They take an instant nap, and he steps over the bodies and whooshes inside.

  The marble floors look extra polished today, and someone has added a few blingy candelabras throughout.

  The bouncer didn’t lie. The place is empty of patrons. There are just some members of staff cleaning, and mobster-looking dudes walking about looking bored.

  Still, someone must’ve wanted to have fun: the disco ball above the center stage is spinning, the laser show is turned on, and Russian music is blasting through the giant speakers.

  The song sounds like the Russian-language version of the one by t.A.T.u. that Felix made me listen to a few years back—All the Things She Said.

  A few heads turn in Vlad’s direction as he takes out a shotgun and an Uzi from under his coat.

  His Uzi sprays bullets at the nearest goons.

  They fall, bleeding all over the glossy floors.

  Screams ring out, and the staff bolt for the exit while the gangster types reach for their guns.

  Vlad sends another burst of bullets at the gangsters.

  Most fall, but a few manage to fire at Vlad—and one bullet tears into his shoulder.

  Oblivious to the wound, Vlad keeps shooting until his Uzi runs out of bullets—at which point he tosses it at the nearest goon.

  As though propelled by a rocket, the Uzi smashes into the man’s skull, caving it in.

  Using his now-empty hand, Vlad lifts his sunglasses and stares at the remaining enemies with those ready-for-glamour eyes.

  “Sleep,” he orders over the sounds of music and screaming.

  Everyone within eyesight of Vlad’s reflective eyes drops to the ground.

  Two dudes at his back don’t fall, however.

  They raise their guns.

  Vlad must sense them somehow, because he launches into the air in a backward somersault.

  The goons’ eyes widen.

  Vlad lands behind them and punches one with his free hand while clubbing the other with the butt of the shotgun.

  Broken, the goons collapse on the floor.

  Which is when Lucretia, Ariel, and Gaius land as if dropping from the sky, surrounding Vlad from three sides.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Vlad reaches into his pocket and takes out a grenade.

  “At such close quarters, you’re just as likely to blow up as we are,” Gaius says, but steps back.

  His brooding face grim, Vlad removes the pin from the grenade and tosses it at his own feet.

  “Get back!” Gaius barks at Lucretia and Ariel.

  They obey instantly.

  The grenade doesn’t explode. Instead, thick smoke pours out.

  Gaius steps back in confusion.

  The smoke makes it hard to track Vlad’s movements. One moment, he’s standing inside the cloud; the next, he’s beside Gaius, aiming the shotgun at the vampire’s face.

  Gaius’s eyes widen. “Wait—”

  Vlad presses the trigger.

  Gaius’s head explodes.

  Vlad shoots
again, this time at Gaius’s chest, then keeps shooting until the shotgun is empty.

  Gaius’s aura goes away. I guess there’s a more practical way to kill a vampire.

  Ariel leaps at Vlad—proving that glamour works even after the vampire who cast it is dead.

  Lucretia grabs Ariel from behind—proving that the sire bond is broken.

  “Get her out of here,” Vlad grits through his teeth. “Both of you, leave now.”

  Lucretia drags Ariel toward the exit.

  Tossing the shotgun aside, Vlad takes out a machete and heads for the back of the restaurant.

  The smoke from the grenade reaches the ceiling.

  The fire alarm starts blaring over the beats of the song.

  Sprinklers turn on, but instead of water, they spray a viscous liquid that smells like gasoline.

  Hospital-gown-clad Johnnies run out and head for Vlad. They clearly got here in a rush. Some of them are not wearing sunglasses, exposing their black, Baba Yaga-controlled eyes.

  Vlad expertly halves two of them with his machete, like a hunter clearing away brush.

  Wiping gasoline from his brow, he narrows his eyes at something behind a dozen more Johnnies.

  It’s Koschei. He’s standing there, clutching a knife.

  Vlad’s machete rips through the remaining Johnnies like a hot spoon through ice cream.

  When he eviscerates the last Johnny, Vlad leaps inhumanly high and cleaves Koschei’s knife-wielding arm as he lands.

  Koschei screams.

  Vlad chops at his enemy, again and again.

  Koschei screams louder as he loses more body parts but somehow manages to stay alive.

  When there’s nothing else to cut, Vlad chops Koschei’s head off, waits for the resurrection, and repeats the grisly work with the enthusiasm of a kid pulling wings off a fly.

  When limbless Koschei is screaming and writhing on the ground like a snake for the tenth time, Baba Yaga walks out of the smoke.

  “Thank you for bringing me the Council seat on a silver platter,” she says in her androgynous, thousand-year-old voice. “Your seat was going to go to Gaius, but with him dead, your presence here greatly simplifies my plans.”