Dark Goddess

saw that the front pages bore pictures of the still-smoking Vesuvius.

Bronze statues of heroes of the Soviet era lined the platform. Noble soldiers, proud peasant women, handsome engineers and scientists, all striving forward as part of Stalin’s great experiment.

Awoman rubbed the nose of a bronze guard dog. The sheen had come off, leaving its nose a light golden color. Obviously she wasn’t the first to rub its nose.

“For good luck,” said Lance.

Couldn’t hurt, thought Billi. Taking off her glove, she ran her hand over the Alsatian’s muzzle. She could do with all the luck she could get.

A short train ride later and Billi was gazing over Moscow from up on high. Dominated by the gigantic Moscow State University building, Sparrow Hills rose over the southwest of the city and allowed Billi to grasp the enormous scale of Russia’s capital. It spread out to the far horizon, full of gothic towers, billboards, and bridges whose lights sparkled on the broken ice on the river, which wound in huge loops through the city.

Golden towers blazed against the dark blanket of the night sky, marked onlybya hazy, waxing half-moon. Below the wide boulevard spread the woods of Vorobyovy Gory Nature Reserve, woven through by lamplit paths, descending down the slope to the Moscow River and the vast oval of the Moscow Olympic Stadium.

Engines roared behind Billi. Cars lined the ulitsa Kosygina, hoods popped and engines screaming for an audience. The wide curving road in front of the giant university building was the place for road racing among the bored rich sons and daughters of the new city elite, the oligarchs. Hundreds milled on the street and snowy square, and music boomed from the open windows of the prowling roadsters. Some even bore flags, gang signs of the various racing teams. Young men in leather jackets crowded around the rumbling cars while their girlfriends, dressed in furs and miniskirts, huddled in their own cliques.

This was where they’d find the Bogatyrs? What had she expected? A bunch of guys in plate armor, riding war-horses? If they were anything like the Templars, they’d be low-profile and discreet.

A chunky, growling Hummer mounted the pavement. A blazing firebird covered the hood. Its feathers were sweeping red-and-orange flames, and its eyes golden drops of lava. The headlights lit the hordes like a supernova, and the crowds backed away reverentially as it lumbered along the pavement.

The passenger door opened and a young man jumped out. He had short-cropped dark hair, wide cheekbones, and a broken nose that only enhanced the icy look of his aristocratic face. He swept his hand across a nonexistent crease on his black coat, a coat that probably cost more than most of the cars on the street. He spotted one of the posing girls, and a smile flickered over his lips-easy, charming, and arrogant. Her boyfriend moved instinctively in front of her, glowering back. Billi half expected them to start beating their chests at one another, the rivalry was so animal. Instead the young man touched the diamond stud in his left ear and turned away, dismissing them both. He had the confidence of a person who’d found life way, way too easy. Gorgeous, and didn’t he just know it. His driver leaned against the door, lighting up a smoke. Tough and nasty. Definitely a bodyguard.

The young man gazed around the crowds like he owned them. Like he owned Moscow. Their eyes met, and he stopped. Billi must be something new.

Unlike London, with its kaleidoscope of cultures and races, Moscow was pretty homogenous. She’d seena few oriental faces, mainly Mongolian, but otherwise the population seemed overwhelmingly Caucasian. Maybe he didn’t get to meet many Pakistani, or half-Pakistani, girls.

The guy’s attention was uncomfortably intense. But Billi wasn’t going to flinch. She watched him spread his gloved hand out, and he lowered his head to give the slightest of nods, but his eyes never left hers. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile, as if that would be too much. Billi’s heartbeat went double time as she watched him straighten, hand still out.

“Anything?”

Billi twisted around, and Lance peered past her at the young man. Their interaction had lasted a fraction of a second, but Billi was embarrassed. She was here for a reason and it wasn’t to check out the local talent. She shot a quick look back: he was gone.

“Nothing.” She turned her attention back to the job at hand and inspected the crowd again. How would they spot a werewolf if it was in human form? The single eyebrows and hairy palms were just myths-not that they’d be any use here, with everyone wrapped up head to toe.

Billi caught a scuffle on the edge of the square. She was already crossing the road when a man stumbled out of the dark enclave of trees, clutching his throat. He took a few wobbly steps. People stepped away, thinking he was just some fool who couldn’t handle his vodka, but then he fell to his knees. Someone screamed.

19

THE MAN THRASHED ON THE GROUND, BLOOD streaming from his throat, staining the snow scarlet. him, and a young woman gagged as she tried to staunch the flow.

Billi ran up and scanned the trees, followed closely by Elaine and Lance. Everyone was moving toward the commotion.

Everyone but a bloke in a parka.

“You!” Billi shouted.

He spun, and Billi saw the blood-smeared mouth. He snapped his jagged fangs at her. Then he exploded with speed. He shot through the trees and leaped across the road in a blur. Cars screeched to sudden stops, and one spun around and around on a patch of ice while people scattered. The ghul darted through the chaos with preternatural grace.

A fang-face. The throat rip was a signature move.

Bite and pull for a quick, easy kill. The blood-drinker just couldn’t control himself.

All the more reason to kill him.

Billi saw the ghul dive over a wall and into the woods that covered the steep slopes of Sparrow Hills. Billi barged through the confusion and, jumping onto the hood of a parked car, got the height she needed to clear the wall. She hit the snow and tumbled. Lights whizzed around her and snow crunched in her face. Her heels slammed into a tree trunk, and that was enough to halt her chaotic landing. She rose quickly, straight into a run, shaking herself free of the powdery snow.

The noise and chaos of the main drag faded away, and the silence deepened. Off the winding path the lamplight was swiftly consumed, and soon Billi was making her way into the dark woods. She pulled off her hat and turned slowly, listening.

She heard a thud and a grunt up ahead, followed by the muffled bang of a gunshot. Something snarled and a man swore in Russian.

Billi flicked back her coat as she ran, and drew out her kukri. She reached a clearing and saw two figures wrestling on the ground. She charged forward, surging through the snow as one of the figures revealed himself in a patch of moonlight. The ghul. His blood-smeared teeth widened as he twisted the other man’s head, exposing his neck.

“Deus vult!”

Billi grabbed the ghul’s hair and pulled it back, dragging him away. She swung her blade into the monster’s neck.

Black blood spurted from the deep gash in the side of his throat, spraying out over the other man’s face. He coughed and shook his head, then kicked the ghul backward, taking Billi with it. The creature screeched and twisted around. He raked his long nails across Billi’s stomach, ripping open her coat. He tore away at it, burrowing through the dense material toward her flesh. Billi tightened her grip on the ghul’s hair and struck again. A torrent of viscous blood poured from a deep shoulder wound, and the ghul collapsed.

Billi sank into the snow, chest heaving. The ghul twitched beside her, its teeth gnashing in impotent fury for a moment before it went limp, its jaw hanging slack. The young man stood over them both.

“Chort!” he cursed.

Billi looked up at him. She was shocked to see the face of the flash young man that had got out of the