“But the journal got lost,” Shay pointed out.
“Lost until recently.”
Shay processed the entire bizarre story and shook her head. “Wait a second. He gave up all the original treasure.”
“Yeah, he did. And there’s no indication that it’s still in the area.”
“Then what the fuck does this Kalinin guy want me to find?”
Peyton tapped his chest. “The locket. That man was his direct ancestor, and he’s really into the idea that the locket represents the spirit of defiance of his family even under the harshest of conditions. it has something to do with him being in exile.”
Shay stared at Peyton. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe the story. Weirder shit had already happened, but it was hard to believe anyone would care that much about an otherwise useless artifact. Sentiment was as foreign to her as Light Elf language.
“And this locket is magical?” She let her doubt color her voice.
“No, not according to legend or the client. But he’s willing to pay three million for its recovery, and he’s willing to send us a copy of the map from the journal that he believes leads to it. So other than doing background research to double-check, most of the hard prep work’s already over.”
Shay pushed out of her chair with a frown. “Something’s fishy about that.”
Peyton laughed, but stopped when faced with her glare. “Wait. You weren’t making a joke about the vodyanoy?”
“No.” Shay ran a hand through her hair. “If he has a map, and it’s just some stupid locket with dried-up flower dust, why does he need a tomb raider? Even if he’s in exile, he could hire a kid to do it. Nice symmetry with the legend.”
“Yeah. That’s the tricky part. You’d be the fourth person he hired.”
“What?”
“Every other person he’s hired has been found floating dead in a river near the church ruins,” Peyton said.
“Yeah, that would explain the money. And no one finds this suspicious?”
Peyton shrugged. “Local authorities said they all looked like suicides. Kalinin has upped the price every time and gotten more selective about who he’s hiring. This time he’s looking for a top-tier tomb raider.”
Shay took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s assume some angry frogmen are guarding this locket.” Her gaze drifted to her holster. “Legend say these frog assholes are bulletproof?”
“The journals say the Russians managed to take one down with musket fire, and his friends dragged him off.”
“My Glock is a lot more impressive than some old-school musket.” Shay grinned. “I think I’m about to make an easy three million.”
Shay checked the GPS on her phone as she pulled the Burlak SUV off the road. The ruins of the church lay close to a small village only a couple of hours away from Moscow. She didn’t know if she was chasing bullshit or not, but the client coughed up a hundred thousand dollar deposit once he learned Shay’s cover name, Aletheia the field archaeologist would look into it.
Her false online identity served her well in protecting her, even if some, like the Professor, had seen through it. She wasn’t willing to burn it, given how she’d already built up a nice reputation focused around the name.
My reputation is starting to mean something. I like that. Eventually I won’t even need to hide so much.
Her vehicle shook as the terrain grew rougher. She slowed at the increased tree density. The ruins were only minutes away.
The plan was simple. She’d follow the map to the church, find the locket, and then haul ass back to Moscow to hop a supersonic back to America. If any frogmen dared showed their ugly-ass faces, she’d let them experience the joys of modern Austrian-made firearms.
It is kind of weird that they haven’t done anything about these ruins. There were some decent-sized towns nearby, and the local village is practically on top of this place. Then again, all that treasure is still in Lake Toplitz and people already had a good idea it was there.
The vodyanoy might be preventing the villagers from doing much, but that was nothing a few Russian soldiers with rifles couldn’t accomplish.
Shay slammed the brakes and yanked her pistol out, her heart pounding. Several seconds passed before she realized the bulbous-eyed frogman in front of her wasn’t an actual vodyanoy but a statue.
Damn it.
Thirteen stone statues formed a perimeter around the collapsed and mostly plant-covered ruins of the church. If she didn’t have directions and GPS, she could see how she might have trouble finding the place.
Shay narrowed her eyes. The gray statues lacked any plants on them or any signs of weathering. It was as if they were carved yesterday.
Fuck. For all I know, they were. Creepy. he locals wanted to scare kids away from messing with the church grounds. Or this is their way of trying to honor the frog boys and keep their ass away from the village.
Her stomach knotted, and she swept her gaze back and forth. No hostiles. At least none that she could see.
Shay got out of her car. The statues weren’t doing anything, and no actual frog monsters showed up. She pulled a loaded tactical harness, backpack, and her AR goggles out of the back.
“At least this shit isn’t under water,” she muttered.
She crept toward the ruins, her gun out. The statues continued to be unimpressive if ugly, but a sensation of being watched lingered as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her shoulders tightened. Something’s not right.
It’s 400 years later. I let that weird story get in my head. Just because a lot of magical shit in the past turned out to be true doesn’t mean it all is.
Vodyanoy might not be watching her, but there were plenty of other
