back to fight her fellow werewolves. “What about Gwaine and the others?” she asked. Arthur wiped his sword with his sleeve. “They’ll meet us at the rendezvous.”
“
“Show me your arm,” he said.
Billi rolled up her sleeve and looked at the wound.
Black lumps covered the bite marks, and thick veins pulsed just beneath her skin. The wound itself smelled of damp, rotten earth.
Arthur drew a sharp breath.
“What d’you think?” Billi asked. She felt sick looking at the bite marks. It was like she had the plague. The skin around them was hot and red, feverish.
Arthur said nothing, but reached under the seat and pulled out a plastic box. The moment he took the lid off, Billi sighed with relief. Elaine’s stinking poultices. The smell made her eyes water, but right now the musky odor was sweeter than any perfume.
“We’ll patch you up right and proper,” he said, but Billi could hear the tension in his voice.
Was it too late?
Just then Billi caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. A tree-a thick oak-tilted. It twitched, shaking snow off its branches as though it were awakening. The pavement around it cracked and rose up in a shower of dirt and concrete as it leaned over. The boughs swayed, groaning as they bent like reeds, sweeping toward the approaching car.
A massive branch slammed across the side of the Jeep, catapulting it into the air. Billi was tossed around as the Jeep rolled over and over. The windows exploded and the metal frame screeched, flinging Billi against the back, then she was hurled forward, caughtby the seat belt. She grabbed hold of Vasilisa, trying her best to cover the little girl’s body with her own.
Then the car stopped. Billi hung upside down as it came to rest on its roof. Her ears buzzed, and she tried to shake the fuzz out of her head. It took a few seconds for her focus to come back.
Outside, Baba Yaga slammed down to the earth. The ground around her cracked, and shock waves spread out across the snow. She looked over at the upturned Jeep, moonlight catching on her grinning teeth. She bent her arm, slowly flexing her fingers. The tree branches responded, bursting through the glass and piercing the car’s bodywork. Baba Yaga pressed her hands together and pushed the Jeep deeper into the ground.
Vasilisa lay on the ceiling, crying. Loudly.
That’s good, Billi thought. She sounds very much alive.
Shouting. People were shouting. Billi fumbled around for the belt catch and dropped out with a click.
Arthur reached in and grabbed Billi’s hand.
“Are you okay?” He stared at her, terrified. Billi nodded.
“Vasilisa…” she said. Arthur understood. Billi crawled out as he wrenched the passenger door open. The metal buckled as the tree leaned its thickest boughs into the steel frame. Arthur lifted Vasilisa out.
“I’m okay.” Her smock was torn and she had small cuts on her hands and knees. Her necklaces and jewelry hung in tatters.
“Ivan?” Billi lay on her belly and desperately looked for signs of life.
Ivan groaned and unbuckled his seat belt. He dropped out of the Jeep and yelled in pain upon landing. “This is becoming a habit,” he muttered. Billi helped him up.
“Thank you,” he said. His sleeve had been ripped to the cuff, so he took off his coat and threw it aside. His white shirt clung to his sweaty chest as he flicked open the gun barrel and checked that the revolver wasn’t damaged.
Lance crawled out the opposite side, pulling his sword out after him. He held up Ivan’s own sword. Ivan shook his head.
Lance took a sword in each hand and joined Arthur to face the ancient witch.
Baba Yaga stood at the far end of the street, and cried in victory as the Jeep bent double under the pressure of the tree. The hood popped and folded like a book. Oil and gasoline spewed out as the engine cracked. Baba Yaga shot up her arm, and the oak tree sprang up straight. The branches shivered, then settled. They weren’t getting away from her again.
The ancient witch flicked back her cloak and banged her stick on the icy ground. The sound echoed between the concrete walls and spread out across the still night sky. In the near distance it was answered by howls. The Polenitsy were on their way, coming from all directions. Baba Yaga lifted her stick and cried out to her werewolves.
Billi took a few steps before falling down. Her head felt heavy and swollen. Ivan slung his arm under hers and brought her to her feet. She rested against him, her head throbbing.
“Bloody hell,” whispered Billi. The moon rose, fat and full, bathing the tomb of mankind’s nuclear folly with its dead light.
Chernobyl.
The old reactor was encased with huge concrete blocks. Millions of tons had been used to bury the radioactive heart of the disaster, and the sarcophagus was nearly a hundred feet high. Dark patches of leaked contaminants smeared the sides of the walls, and some areas had been crudely patched with steel panels, themselves now deeply corroded. The perimeter walls were topped with rusty barbed wire.
The city, now the domain of beasts, erupted with fevered cries. Then, from the side streets, the Polenitsy emerged. Wolves, howling and snapping their yellow fangs, ran at them. The Jeep’s one unbroken headlight lit a bright path along the road, straight to them. The wolves wove in and out of the darkness. Billi’s hand fell on her bow and a handful of spilled arrows, but not the one she wanted. She needed the stone-tipped one, and began searching. Where was it?
“Billi.” Ivan tapped her shoulder, the arrow in his hand. “You should keep a closer eye on your gear.”
She could have kissed him. Instead she snatched the arrow and put it to her bow. The witch was over forty yards away. She needed to get a lot closer.
Billi glanced at her dad as he stepped out between the wolves and the car. He’d cast off his coat so he could fight freely, and the Templar Sword rested comfortably in his hand. Lance stood beside him, slowly turning his two swords, loosening his wrists.
“Billi!” shouted Ivan as the gunfire exploded.
Armed men ran down the road toward them. Koshchey led, flanked by two Bogatyrs, rifle in his hands. The other men drew hand weapons and met the werewolves, their steel against the lycanthropes’ claws. Koshchey pointed at them, and a group of Bogatyrs broke into a run.
They’ve come for Vasilisa, thought Billi. She glanced at Ivan. And revenge. Koshchey had been humiliated and Ivan was still alive.
“Come on!” Ivan grabbed Vasilisa and Billi, and they fled into a building across from the plant’s main gate while Arthur and Lance fought back-to-back.
The moon’s light shone through the broken wall of the single-story office they’d entered. Billi stepped deep into the shadow, but the moonlight shone into her soul, on the Beast Within.
The arrow clattered on the wooden floor.
Her fingers curl. Billi stares, breath caught, as black hairs push through her skin and begin to cover the backs of her hands. She screams until her throat is torn and hoarse as her spine stretches against the mail. She wants to tear at the armor, desperate to rip it off, for the metal burns her and the clothes smother.
Ivan grabbed Billi’s arms and held her up. He stared at Billi, but her eyes filled with a red haze, and his face faded. She could see the heat rising from his exhalations, hear the warm blood running through his body. She smelled the adrenaline, the fear, and the desire that soaked him.
“Stay with us,” he urged. “You are not a beast.”
I am not a beast.
She repeated it over and over.
The floor trembled, and long cracks broke along the wall and ceiling. Brittle plaster sprinkled down, and the floorboards under their feet splintered. Vasilisa curled up and sobbed.
“The goddess is here.”
