wonder humans are driven mad, in this pandemonium of hateful sounds and lights. The human woman laughs and the babe in her arms wails.
Billi reaches for the door. Her hands, covered in glossy black hair, touch the cold brass handle, and her claws click together as she turns it.
Four humans gaze at her. The woman screams now, clutching the baby close to her chest. The boy stares, eyes blank with terror, and the acid sting of urine rises as he wets himself.
The man reaches for the poker beside the fire, though his hand trembles.
“Manflesh,” Billi growls. She and her sisters will feed well.
She leaps.
“Billi!”
Billi woke. Ivan was staring anxiously at her. Her head was on his lap now.
God, she was boiling: sweat soaked her clothes, and her hair stuck to her scalp.
“Are you okay?” He held her tightly, and his face was close to hers.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just a bad dream.”
Thank God.
She was tossed and bounced as the van rattled across the countryside. Billi saw the lights of a convoy through the rear window; a dozen or so vehicles followed while wolves chased after, weaving in and out of the dense forest on either side of the road.
But where was Vasilisa? Billi caught a glimpse of something above her: a huge, cumbersome bat-shape that darted through the whirling snow. Ribbons trailed from the edges of its cloak, and a scream of wild joy pierced through the wind.
Baba Yaga rode the storm.
Billi desperately fought the primordial feelings threatening to take her over forever. “You’ll make it, Billi,” whispered Ivan. “No I won’t,” she answered. He wanted to reassure her, but she knew she didn’t have long. “Listen, you know where the stone is.” She nodded to her left trouser pocket. “If I change tonight, I’ll need you to take it and use it.”
“You’ll make it. I know you will.” He stroked her hair while Billi hugged him, putting her head against his chest and closing her eyes. She listened to the steady beat of his heart and tried to forget the hunger she’d felt in her dream when she’d walked into that room.
This wasn’t over yet.
The long night wore on, and Billi sweated and shook with lycanthropic fever. The weather worsened, and the only relief came when the moon went behind snow-stuffed clouds. Ivan stayed beside her, never sleeping, murmuring to her in Russian. Billi leaned her head on his shoulder, focusing on his gentle voice.
The engine rattled and gears screamed as the van came to a halt. Billi’s eyes snapped open.
Olga turned the ignition off and on, but the noise was getting even worse, as though the entire vehicle were having a seizure.
The big Swede swore and jumped out of the passenger door. Olga got out too.
The storm had lifted, but snow fell heavily from a dull, colorless sky. The sun was up, somewhere behind the clouds, and Billi was washed over with relief; she could rest now that the moon was no longer in the sky.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Ivan twisted his head and looked out. “We’ve lost the others. Storm must have broken up the convoy.”
The Swede hauled out his tool kit as Olga popped open the hood. She held up a flashlight while the man rummaged around in the grease and steel. He leaned farther in, complaining that Olga wasn’t directing the flashlight properly.
Olga slammed the hood down on him.
He groaned and she did it again, making a hollow, clunking noise. The man’s legs gave out, but he was still conscious. He swung his arms, but Olga stepped back, then struck him across the forehead with the heavy metal flashlight, just to make sure. He hit the ground with a thud.
The rear door opened and Olga addressed Ivan. “Tsarevich, I am going to have to trust you.” Ivan said nothing, but his grim gaze spoke loudly enough. Olga sighed.
“I killed your father, but I meant him no ill will. It is war and that is the way of things. Do you understand?” Billi hadn’t noticed, but Olga wasn’t wearing her tribal outfit anymore; she wore instead a wool tunic and jeans tucked into a pair of stout boots. Her gray hair was loose and swayed in the wind.
“I understand my father is dead.”
“We will
Ivan pulled himself out, never taking his eyes off Olga. Eventually he gave a curt nod.
“We will settle our differences another time,” he said.
Olga and Billi made their way to the front of the van, beside the unconsicous Scandinavian.
“Take his legs,” Olga said, and together they rolled the big man into the verge.
“What made you change your mind?”
Olga watched the man slide through the deep snow and come to a stop at the bottom. “My first duty is to the Polenitsy. I managed to speak to the Spring Child alone after seeing you. She is truly innocent and has no guile in her. If the Spring Child says it is so, that Baba Yaga plans to kill us all with Fimbulwinter, then it is so.”
“Thank you,” said Billi. “What about Vasilisa?”
Olga pointed back down the road behind them. Two weak headlights shone through the snow as a hulking Humvee lumbered toward them, part of the convoy that had fallen behind. Olga went to the glove compartment in the van and pulled out a heavy revolver. The chunky Smith &Wesson’s barrel was over seven inches long, and it looked like it had been built to hunt elephants.
“Ambush?” asked Billi.
“Ambush.”
Billi slid a foot or so down the verge and waited. Olga waved her flashlight at the approaching vehicle.
The car stopped, its engine still running. Peeking over the embankment, Billi saw a man jump out of the backseat and approach Olga, smiling. He was still smiling when she swung the flashlight against his head.
Billi scrambled up the slope and ran to the driver’s half-open window. There was a woman at the wheel, one of the Polenitsy still in human form.
Vasilisa lay in the back, asleep under a shawl. Billi poked the long barrel through the window.
“I’ll take the Spring Child, if you don’t mind,” she said.
Vasilisa woke up as Billi opened the door. She screamed and backed away, frantically wrestling with the door handle.
“No, Vasilisa, don’t!” Billi reached out with her hand slowly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“You promised before and you lied.” She pressed herself hard against the far door, knees up against her chest and hand still on the door handle. Looking at her, Billi’s heart broke. She had been dressed for sacrifice. Someone had combed out her hair, and it shone like the gold necklaces that hung around her. Small wire armlets studded with gems covered her upper arms. Henna patterns had been applied around her eyes, spirals and delicate feather shapes that seemed to transform her into a fairy princess. Her dress was white and embroidered with gold thread; outlines of prehistoric animals and sorcerers covered the cloth.
Billi nodded; she had no answer. “Please, Vasilisa. I need you to come with me.”
Olga ordered the other Polenitsy out of the car and confiscated their cell phones. Billi put the gun down on the car seat in front of Vasilisa and raised her hands.
Vasilisa snatched up the revolver and pointed it at her.
That would be perfect, Billi thought. If Vasilisa blew my brains out. She smiled at the irony of it. She could take the gun from the girl, but she needed Vasilisa to trust her.
“You’re right to be angry, to not trust me, Vasilisa,” Billi said. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ivan limping toward them. “But you can either come with me, or go with them to Baba Yaga. The choice is yours.”
With a sob, Vasilisa dropped the gun. “Why, Billi? Why would you want to hurt me?”
There was no answer except that Billi was a Templar and that meant making life-and-death decisions. Maybe, if they survived this, Vasilisa would understand, once she too was a Templar.
