"THEY'RE FROM A SMALL SETTLEMENT ON THE BORDER of Ukraine and Poland," Evdokia said. "Zeleniy Hutir. It has been a bad place to live since antiquity. The border there jumps back and forth; one generation they'd be Polish, the next Russian, then Turkish, then something else. Legend says, in savage times, back when Ukraine was home to Slavic tribes, they made war with the Khazarian Empire to the east. During one of those raids, all the men from the village were taken. Magic was still in the world back then, although it was growing weaker, and the old ways were strong in the area. The women worked a charm on themselves, the power of enchantment, to make people want to please them. They got their men back. The power came with a huge price--most of them went barren after that--but if they wanted the shirt off your back, all they had to do was smile and you'd give it to them. That's where your mother's power comes from."
That sounded suspiciously familiar. "There is a woman working for the People. Her name is Rowena."
Evdokia nodded. "I've seen her. Same ancestry, but watered down. Her magic is like a fireplace; if you stand real close, you'll feel the warmth. Nothing to write home about. Your mother's magic was like a bonfire. It didn't just warm, it burned."
That would be a hell of a power.
"A lot of us, the old families that came over here from Russia and Ukraine, have known we were magical," Evdokia continued. "Even when the technology was at its peak, just before the Shift, a tiny trickle of magic still remained in the world and we saw its effects and we used it, in the small ways. The old women would spell a toothache away, find the drowned bodies, or meddle in people's love lives. I had a friend whose mother once dreamed that their house would catch on fire. Two days later her senile grandfather poured kerosene into their stove to get the fire going. Almost burned the whole place down. Small things like that.
"Your grandmother had the power but didn't use it. She got a doctorate in psychology and didn't truck with any of the old superstition, as she called it. She pushed Kalina the same way, except by the time your mother finished all her degrees, the magic was here to stay and she'd come into her power. She was very good at what she did. She used to lecture all over the country. Universities, military, cops. She did all that."
A light went on in my head. That had to be how she met Greg, my guardian. "Did she work with the Order?"
Evdokia nodded. "Oh yes. They tried hard to recruit her, too. Then she met your father, your real father, and all that went by the wayside. She vanished." "Do you think she loved him?"
"I don't know," the old witch said. "We were never too close. Kalina's magic leaked, even when she kept it in check, and I don't take kindly to having my emotions jerked around. I'd seen her once since she went to stay with Roland--she'd come back for her mother's funeral. She seemed happy. Secure, like a woman who is well taken care of, loved, and isn't too worried about tomorrow."
I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "That didn't last."
"No, it didn't. She must've been desperate to save you."
"She was. She stayed behind and sacrificed herself for my sake, because as long as she lived, Roland wouldn't stop chasing her. Voron took me."
Evdokia grimaced. "And that is the root of it all. I would do anything for my child. Kalina would do the same. Any sane woman would. She was trapped and with child, and she knew Roland would keep looking for her even if she ran to the ends of the Earth. She had to find someone to protect you, someone strong who knew how Roland's brain worked. She found Voron. He was strong and ruthless, but he was loyal to Roland."
The witch's blue eyes brimmed with regret. "She fried him, Katenka. She had time to do it, and she cooked him so hard, he left Roland for her and spent the last years of his life raising you. I should've seen it sooner, but love is blind."
No. No, they loved each other. Voron loved my mother. I'd seen it in his face. When he spoke of her, his whole demeanor changed. He became a different man.
If Evdokia was right, my mother would've worked on him for months, adjusting and realigning the emotional patterns just right, so that when Voron and I were alone, he wouldn't carry me back to Roland or throw me into some ditch.
In my head, my mother was a god. She was kind and wonderful, beautiful and sweet; she was all those things I wanted in a parent as a child. All those things that were ripped away from me. Unconditional love. Warmth. Joy. My mother was guilty of nothing except being naive and falling in love with the wrong man. She found herself trapped, and Voron saved her, because he loved her.
Nobody was like that. People weren't like that. I knew this wasn't how the world worked. I wasn't a child anymore; I'd seen the grit, savagery, and cruelty; I'd tasted my fair share of it and dished it out.
So why had I never doubted this rosy picture before? Why did I think my mother was a princess and Voron served as her knight in shining armor? I'd never questioned it. Not once.
Evdokia was talking. I barely heard her. The bright and shiny temple I'd built to my mother in my mind was falling to pieces and the noise was too loud. ". . . what she did is forbidden for a good reason. It never ends well. Kalina was conscientious. She must've felt it was the only way."
I held my hand up. The older woman fell silent.
Bits and pieces of forgotten memories floated to the surface: Evdokia's face, much younger. The little black cat. Going to a party in the woods, wearing a pretty dress. Some woman asking, "How old are you, sweetie?" My own voice, tiny and young, "I'm five." A little doll someone gave me, and Evdokia's voice, "That's your baby. Isn't she pretty? You have to take care of your baby." Voron, taking away the doll. "We have to go now. It's extra weight. Remember, only take what you can carry."
My whole childhood was a lie. Even Voron's thirst for vengeance wasn't real. It was implanted in him when my mother's magic had seared his brain. Was there anything at all real in my past? Anything at all would do at this point.
So pathetic.
All those times I drove myself into exhaustion to please Voron. All those times I did as I was told. People I killed, things I mourned, all the shit he put me through. All of it was so when my father and I met, we could kill each other, and Voron would have the last laugh.
Fury exploded in me in a raw torrent. I wanted to rip his grave apart, pull his bones out and shake them, screaming. I wanted to know if it was true, if all of it was true.
"I warned you," Evdokia said softly.
"He is dead," I said. My voice had no inflection. "He's dead and I can't hurt him."
"Now, don't be like that," Evdokia murmured. "He was human, Katenka. He was proud of you in his own way."
"Proud of what, an attack dog he made? Point me in the right direction, take my muzzle off, and watch me rip things apart for a meager crumb of praise."
Evdokia reached over and held my hand.
I was the biological by-product of a megalomaniac and a woman who magically brainwashed others into doing her will, and I was raised by a man who reveled in the knowledge that my biological father would one day kill me. All those years, my life, my accomplishments, any feelings I had for him, everything I was, Voron would've traded all of it for a chance to see the look on Roland's face when he slit my throat. And my mother made him that way.
Magic splayed from me, fueled by my rage.
On the porch rail the cat arched her back, her fur standing on end. The floor beneath my feet shuddered. "Easy, easy now," Evdokia murmured. "You're scaring the house."
Get over it. Just get over it. Put it away, shove it aside, so you can deal with it later.
The magic filled me, threatening to burst out. The house rocked. Cups clicked against each other on the table. Evdokia clenched my hand.
I had to get out of here alive. If I let it all go now, Evdokia would fight me to save herself. I needed a clear head.
Put it away.
I could do it. I was strong enough. I had Voron to thank for it.
I pulled the magic back. All the anger, all the pain, I collapsed it on itself and stuffed it away. It hurt.
I took my hand out of Evdokia's fingers and picked up my teacup. Lukewarm tea touched my lips. "It's cold. I think I need a refill."
Evdokia looked at me for a long moment. That's right. Barely human, you got it. I had a chance when I was five. Now it was too late.
"You never said what you would do about your father," the witch said.
"Nothing has changed. It's still him or me."
"You're not strong enough," Evdokia said. "Not yet. I can make you stronger."
"At what price?"
She heaved a sigh. "No price, Katenka. You are one of our own."
"If I'm one of your own, why did you wait till now? Why didn't you help me when my aunt almost murdered me?" Where were you when Voron died and I had no place to go?
Evdokia pursed her lips.
I fixed her with my stare. "What do you want from me?"
The witch's magic flared. She set her cup down. "Sienna has foreseen a tower over Atlanta."
Towers were Roland's trademark. "Sienna of the Witch Oracle? Does the Oracle know who I am?"
Evdokia nodded. "Yes."
"Who else knows?" The list of people to murder was getting longer and longer.
"Just us." Evdokia matched my gaze. Her blue eyes turned hard. "We've kept it to ourselves, too." "Why?"
"Because we govern ourselves. Nobody tells us what to do."
I smiled at her. It wasn't a pleasant smile. The cat leaped off the porch rail into Evdokia's lap and growled, puffing its fur.
"I get it. You have power. Status. Respect. You know Roland is coming one way or the other. And Roland doesn't tolerate any government except his own. He doesn't have allies or friends. He has servants."
Evdokia narrowed her eyes. "That's right. I've earned my place in this world; with backbreaking work I've earned it. I won't be bending my knee to anyone, not to a government, not to a judge, not to that cursed tyrant."
I rose and leaned against the porch post. "I'm your best bet to keep Roland from taking over."
"Yes."
"Young, in need of being taught ..."
Evdokia crossed her arms. "Yes."
"Easily manipulated? Emotionally compromised? Are these my best qualities?"
Evdokia threw her hands up in exasperation.
"I would just like to know the score from the start. So I have no disappointments later."
"Boginiya, pomogi mne s rebyonkom."
"I doubt the Goddess will help you with this child. The last time I came across a goddess, she decided she didn't want any."
Evdokia shook her head. "You are what you are, Kate. You can't run away from yourself. Do you think your lion didn't consider who you were before he swept you off your feet? All those years, all those women, and you are the one he mated with. He was interested in more than your bed, I can tell you that."
Ouch. "Leave Curran out of this."
"The man isn't a fool. And neither are you. Now is the time to build alliances and learn, because when your papa shows up here, it will be too late. I'm offering power. Knowledge. Things you will require. I can help you. You don't even have to do anything in return."
I would take her up on it. I would come back here, and sit, and drink tea, and eat cookies. I'd bring Julie with me and watch her play with the mutant cat-rabbit-duck thing. But not yet. Not now. I took the picture of de Harven's body from my pocket and passed it to her. Evdokia glanced at it, spat three times over her left shoulder, and knocked on the wooden rail.
"Chernobog's volhv. Grigorii. That's his work."
"This picture was taken in the workshop of a Russian inventor. Name is Adam Kamen."
"Ah! Adam Kamenov. Yes, I've heard about that. Smart boy, no common sense. He was building something vile. Had all the elder volhvs tied up in knots. Whatever it was, they told him not to build it. I gather he built it anyway."
"He's missing."
"They have him, then." Evdokia shrugged.
"The volhvs sacrificed someone to teleport him out."
The old witch grimaced. "It doesn't surprise me. They are men. They solve things directly. Grigorii needed power, so he took it. Give me a coven of thirteen witches and I could've teleported him too, and without blood. We'd channel the magic through us, pull it from nature through our bodies and focus it on the target. Grigorii's way is to take everything from one. Our way is to take a little bit from each of us, so everyone can recover."
"I need to find Adam."
She raised her chin. "I'll ask around."
She wouldn't do anything that put her in conflict with the volhvs. She would teach me, and she might throw me a crumb of information now and then, but she wouldn't fight my battles for me. That was fine.
I started down the porch stairs. "Thank you for the tea."
"Don't mention it."
The house crouched down and I stepped onto the path. The moment my feet touched the ground, the porch rose back up.
"Think about what I've said, Katenka," Evdokia called from above. "Think carefully."
WHEN I WALKED OUT OF THE WOODS, A MAN STOOD by my Jeep, leaning on a tall unfinished wooden staff with a thick top. It looked like he had just cut a thick sapling, haphazardly chopped off the branches, stripped it of its bark, and made himself a walking stick.
A black robe hung from his shoulders down to just below his knees, revealing leather boots. Silver embroidery ran along the wide cuffs of the robe and along the hem. A wide leather belt caught the robe at the waist, and small canteens and charms dripped from it on chains and cords. A deep hood hid most of his face.
A volhv. If the staff hadn't given him away, the charms on the belt would have. Judging by the embroidery, not a lightweight, but not one of the really old ones either. The younger volhvs couldn't afford hand-stitched silver, and the older ones didn't bother with it.
"I have a real problem with people in hoods," I said.
"That's too bad." He had a rich voice, deep and confident. Yep, a fun and exciting storm of magic was about to come my way. Why was it I never got a tech shift when I needed one?
The volhv pulled the hood back. Large eyes, dark like molten tar and framed in thick black eyelashes, looked at me with wry amusement. His features were well cut: high cheekbones, strong masculine jaw, and an aquiline nose, made more prominent because the hair on the sides of his head had been shaved off past his ears. The rest of his jet-black hair fell down his back like a horse mane. His mustache was black, too. His beard was nonexistent, except for a carefully trimmed goatee that met his mustache on both sides of his mouth. His full lips curved into a half smile.
The overall effect was decidedly villainous. He needed a black horse and a barbarian horde to lead. That or a crew of cutthroats, a ship with blood-red sails, and some knucklehead heroine to lust after. He would fit right into Andrea's romance novels as some evil pirate captain. If he started stroking his beard, I'd have to kill him on principle.
"Grigorii?" Probably not.
"Grigorii doesn't bother with the likes of you."
As expected. "Look, I've had a bad day. How about you just walk away from my Jeep?"
The volhv smiled wider, flashing even white teeth. "You went to see the witch. What did she tell you?"
"She said your dress was so last season."
"Oh? Is that so?" He raised his hand to his goatee.
That does it. "Yeah. And what's with the beard and the horse mane? You look like Rent-a-Villain."
The volhv's eyes widened. He waved his hand at me. "Well you don't look ... female ... in your pants."
"That's a hell of an insult. Did you think of it all by yourself or did you have to ask your god for help?"
The volhv pointed at me. "Now, don't you blaspheme. That's not nice. Tell me what the witch said, hmm? Now, come on, you know you want to tell me." He winked at me. "Come on, share. You tell me, I don't kill you right away, everybody's happy." I pulled Slayer out of its back sheath.
The volhv blinked. "No? Don't want to tell me?"
"Step away from my vehicle."
"I didn't want to do this, but fine." He raised his staff and struck the pavement. The thick wood at the top of the staff flowed, morphing. A vicious wooden beak emerged from the shaft, followed by savage round eyes.
"Safety's off," the volhv said. "Last chance to tell me what the witch said."
In my head I charged, Slayer ready to strike. But my knee popped with a dry crunch, my leg snapped, and I rolled onto the pavement just in time to see the end of the volhv's staff as it punctured my chest. Great. No running. Doolittle had performed medical miracles and the knee didn't hurt, but I didn't want to take chances. I needed to save the leg for the close-up fighting. I'd have to rely on magic until I got within striking range. And if I did kill him, I'd have a volhv stampede on my doorstep. They'd race each other to take a shot at me. I'd start the war between the volhvs and the Pack and kill Adam Kamen with one fight. Oh goody.
I strode toward the volhv, broadcasting as much menace as I could muster. Maybe he'd panic and drop to his knees with his hands in the air.
Fat chance.
The volhv watched me. "Hurry up. At least put some effort into it!"
"For the likes of you? Why bother?"
The volhv spun in place, his staff slicing through the air. The wooden beak gaped open with a creak and belched a swarm of tiny black flies. Probably poisonous. Great. This fight was in the bag.
I jerked a bag of rosemary powder from my belt and ripped it open, chanting under my breath.
The swarm shot to me.
I tossed the dust into the air. My magic clutched it and it hung motionless like a cloud frozen in midmotion. The swarm pierced it. For half a second, nothing happened and then the flies and rosemary rained to the ground.
Sweat drenched my hairline. That took a wallop of magic. I kept walking.
The volhv planted the staff into the pavement and let go. It remained upright. He jerked a twig charm off his belt, snapped it in half and tossed one part into the street, clutching the other in his fist. The twig exploded into thick black smoke and coalesced into a mastiff-sized dog. Rivulets of smoke slid and curled along its sable fur. Pure white eyes stared at me, like two stars caught in a storm cloud. I fed magic into my saber. The opaque blade shimmered slightly and hissed, perspiring. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from the blade.
The volhv's eyebrows rose. He snarled a single word. The dog's maw opened, releasing glowing fangs. The smoke beast charged.
It came at me, massive paws pounding the pavement. I stepped into its charge and sliced. Slayer's blade severed the dog's neck in a clean precise cut. No resistance. Shit.
The smoke along the cut swirled, sealing it. The dog snapped at my left leg, but I was already moving. The glowing fangs barely scraped my jeans just above the knee. A thin line of pain cut my thigh, like a hot wire. Wet heat drenched my skin--blood. I spun and sank Slayer's blade into the dog's molten eye. The enchanted saber slid halfway in. Nothing. I jerked it and danced away as the dog's fangs clicked closed a hair's breadth from my arm.
If only I had a portable fan with me, I'd be all set. Maybe if I huffed really hard, it would disperse.
A hot dark stain soaked my left pant leg. I was bleeding like a stuck pig.
The volhv moved his fist. The dog backed up, snapping its teeth. He was controlling it like a puppet with the other half of the twig in his hand.
"Ready to talk?" the volhv asked.
"Not a chance."
The volhv jerked his fist. The dog rushed at me, smoke paws striking tiny wisps of steam from the pavement.
I stuck my hand into the cut in my jeans. It came away slicked with crimson. My blood's magic prickled my skin.
I had only a fraction of a second to pull this off.
The dog leaped. I shied right and stuck my hand deep into the coils of smoke on its side. Magic pulsed from my hand, bristling my blood into a dozen sharp needles. Crimson spikes pierced the dog. Across the street the volhv screamed, cradling his fist with his other hand. The twig rolled from his fingers. The smoke collapsed on itself, sucked into a small twisted branch on the ground. I stomped on it, crushing it into pieces.
The spikes shriveled into black dust and fell off my fingers, melting into dust. My hand felt like I'd stuck it into boiling water.
"Fuck, that hurts." The volhv bared his teeth at me.
Twenty feet between us. I ran. He spun his staff, chanting.
Ten feet. I flipped Slayer in my hand, reversing the blade.
Six.
The volhv swung the staff, aiming to hit me from the left. I blocked the strike with my sword, grabbed his right wrist with my left hand, forcing the staff sideways, and smashed the dull edge of Slayer's blade into his right side. Ribs crunched. I bashed the volhv's right arm with the flat of the blade. He dropped the staff. I let Slayer slide from my fingers, dropped into a half crouch, pulled my arms to the sides of my body, and straightened my knees, driving both fists up into the soft underside of his jaw. The volhv's head jerked back, his body wide open. I sank a punch into his solar plexus. All of the wind rushed out of his lungs in a single, painful breath. The volhv doubled over, and I grabbed his left arm, jerked him forward, and swung my right arm in a wide arc, smashing my fist into the back of his head. The volhv's eyes rolled up and he went down.
I danced back on my toes, light and ready, in case he decided to get up.
The volhv lay still. His staff snapped its beak at me in impotent fury.
It was over. I still had all this anger to work out, but it was over. Damn it.
I stopped dancing and felt his pulse. Alive and well. Sleeping like a baby, except babies didn't usually wake up to a world of hurt.
I swiped Slayer off of the pavement. "Sorry."
If the sword resented being used as a stick, it didn't say anything.
The magic drained from the world. The ferocious monster on the volhv's staff faded back into ordinary wood.
I raised my arms and stared at the sky. "Really? Now? Would it have killed you to end fifteen minutes ago?"
The Universe was snickering at me.
I sighed and headed to my Jeep to get medical supplies, rope, and gasoline. My blood was all over the street, screaming my identity to anyone who'd cared to listen, and I needed to set it on fire.