and even with his blurred vision, he could see her pale cheeks burning with self-incrimination.
“No one fucked anyone, Vasya.” Anger and amusement competed
in Belphagor’s voice.
“Then why is the suka in bed with you?”
He had pushed Belphagor too far. Anger clearly won out;
Belphagor raked his fingers through the dark spikes of his hair in a
gesture with which Vasily was all too familiar. It was a diversion from an impulse to strike him.
“Watch your mouth.” Belphagor’s voice was a low warning.
Vasily was almost eager for a physical confrontation. “Or what?”
Belphagor stared at him for a long moment and then turned to
the girl. “If you need to use the toilet, do it now. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
She took the hint and wriggled out from between them.
Vasily glowered in defiance. “What do you mean, leaving? We
just got here. There isn’t a more secure safe house within five hundred miles of this place.”
88 JANE KINDRED
Belphagor crossed his arms over his chest. “After they got her so
drunk she could barely stand, Boris assaulted Malchik.”
Vasily tried and failed to hide his surprise. “Raped her?” He
whispered the word, as if giving it only half form made it less ugly.
“Not quite. I managed to stop him before he did more than
manhandle and humiliate her. But you can bet that little slip of an
angel has never been touched by a man before. And she certainly isn’t
going to be touched by me. I can’t imagine why you think I’d have sex
with a girl.”
Vasily smirked. “Some people do, Beli.” The name slipped out
unbidden, but to good effect, and Belphagor’s demeanor relaxed. “I’m
sorry,” said Vasily, something else that seemed to have escaped his
tongue without consent.
“So am I.” They were no longer discussing the current misunder-
standing.
The door creaked, announcing the angel hovering in the hallway,
uncertain whether to come in. Vasily broke the spell and went to the
door. She hung back, and he felt a bit ashamed of himself. Yesterday
she’d saved his life, and this morning he’d repaid her with a jealous
tantrum.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, uttering for the second time in a morning a
word that rarely passed his lips, and sidestepped her to take his turn at the outhouse. Between his hangover, the persistent numbness in his
limbs, and the fact that everything more than a foot away from him
was a formless blob of color, he was sure he would find it eventually.
When he joined Belphagor in the kitchen to gather supplies, Boris
made an appearance to put water on for tea. “Must’ve had too much
vodka last night,” he said with chagrin. “Can’t even remember how
I got this.” He touched the swollen, purple mark on the left side of
his face. Belphagor rarely hit anyone in anger. Vasily was sorry he’d
missed it.
Belphagor stepped up into the other demon’s face. “Pashol na
khui.”
Boris reddened. “No, fuck you, Belphagor. You bring a damned
angel to the dacha, pretend she’s your ‘boy.’ What the hell are you up to?”
THE FALLEN QUEEN 89
“What I’m up to at the moment is saving your ass. I’m leaving.
And I was never here. And if you value your pathetic life, you won’t
mention this visit that never happened anywhere near demons or
gypsies—or anything else that happens to drop in.”
Boris didn’t back down. He clearly thought the advantage of
height made him more impressive, but he didn’t know Belphagor.
“Just what else might drop in?”
Belphagor pulled his shirt down from his shoulder, exposing the
blackened flesh. There was no need to explain what had done it. “Why
do you think Vasily can barely see?”
“You’re right,” said the bearish Nikita from the doorway. “You
were never here.”
A number of things had become clear to Belphagor since the
Seraphim’s attack. The stakes in this game were much higher than
he’d thought, the “usual suspects” of the underground were of no
use to them at this level of the game, and the supernal nurse hadn’t
contacted them as promised because she’d never intended to. In a
word, he’d been played. She had probably offered such a large purse to inspire the greed that would make him the perfect patsy, knowing he’d
attempt to get more. She hadn’t wanted the girl hidden, she’d wanted
her permanently lost.
The game had changed.
What they needed now wasn’t a quid pro quo with the terrestrial
players, but protection by the upper echelon of the demonic vory v zakone—like the Russian crime syndicate, they looked out for their own. The problem was that the higher up you went, the harder they
were to find. That is, unless you’d slept with one of them.
Belphagor headed for Moscow. From what he’d gleaned since
he’d been back, it was where his old friend Dmitri lived these days. He was the go-to vor, an influential member of the elite Grigori—and it had been too long since Belphagor had seen Dmitri’s lover, Lev.
Putting out feelers among the usual channels of the underground
had been a waste of time—time they clearly didn’t have. He was going
straight to the source. If they could find Dmitri before the Seraphim
returned and picked up their trail, and if Belphagor could persuade
90 JANE KINDRED
him to arrange for Grigori protection, they might have a chance.
They were on the road less than an hour when the car began to
sputter and shake in protest.
Belphagor managed to keep the engine running until they reached
Novgorod proper, but the verdict from the mechanic when they finally
found one wasn’t encouraging. The alternator needed to be replaced
and the part had to be ordered, which might take a week. Or a month.
Neither bribery nor influence changed the mechanic’s answer.
All they could do was lie low while they waited, and not get
noticed. Belphagor cursed the Soviet-era bucket of bolts. Being
stranded in the middle of a quaint Russian berg was the last thing they needed. The Seraphim might regenerate and return to the world of
Man at any moment. The only thing they had going for them now was
that since no one knew they were here, the Seraphim had no way of
tracking them.
In the meantime, he’d have to see if he could make discreet
inquiries about the local underground. It was the only way to get
word to Dmitri; there was no phoning someone in the top tier of the
terrestrial Fallen—not even if you’d slept with him.
They found a comfortable hotel, where Belphagor used simple
misdirection to pay for the room with sheets of newsprint cut to the
size of thousand-ruble bills. The trick wouldn’t have worked in St.
Petersburg, but here there was less suspicion, and less vigilance. But it wouldn’t work for long.
White, classical columns framed windows overlooking the
Volkhov River and the red walls of the ancient Dyetinets, the fortified kremlin of the old city. Lunch was being served on the upper veranda,
and Belphagor secured a table with a view for the three of them,
realizing after they sat that a view would mean nothing to Vasily. He
watched with a certain sense of possessive pride as Vasily’s wild hair and piercings drew curious looks from both staff and visitors. The hair hadn’t been quite so red or so wild when Belphagor had first met him,
but he’d always stood out in a crowd. So much so that his attempt on
Belphagor’s purse had been absurd—though Belphagor had always
suspected, or at least hoped, Vasily knew and had picked him anyway.
Vasily sat back in his chair with his cup of tea. “What are you
THE FALLEN QUEEN 91
staring at, old man?”
“Same thing everyone else is.”
“Do you think I’m putting us in danger?”
“I might have picked a less conspicuous traveling companion,” he
admitted. “Just try to resist the urge to fling your eggs at the heads of little old babushki or dance naked on the table.” He grinned at the mental image of the latter. “Seriously, though, I doubt anyone will be looking for a person of your description. I’m sure they think you’re
dead.”
“I thought I was, for a bit.” Vasily leaned forward across the table.
“Malchik, on the other hand,” he said quietly in Russian. “They have
positive confirmation now that we brought her to the world of Man.
And they know what she looks like. They’ll be looking for a boy.”
The angel watched them, Belphagor noted, aware of being talked
about.
“I’ve thought about that,” Belphagor replied in the same tongue.
“But I’m not sure what we can do about it. For the moment, I think
she’s better off as a boy.”
“Or maybe you like her better as a boy.”
“Bozhe moi. I am not interested in Malchik.”
Intent on spreading jam on his toast, Vasily was making a poor
attempt to hide a smile. He was obviously trying to get a rise out of
Belphagor; it was a nostalgic feeling.
“But she’s interested in you.” Vasily lowered his voice, though the
angel couldn’t understand the Russian words.
Belphagor made a conscious effort not to look in her direction.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re her hero now. Haven’t you noticed the way she looks at
you?”
Belphagor laughed. Vasily was toying with him. “You’re being
ridiculous.” But Vasily looked serious. “Come on, now, Vasya. She’s
scared to death of me. I stripped her and shaved her head and dragged
her away from everything she knew to hold her for ransom. I’ve been
nothing but authoritative with her. She couldn’t possibly… ”
“Some of us prefer authoritative,” said Vasily.
“Bozhe moi.”
92 JANE KINDRED
§
The following day, Belphagor took Vasily, despite vehement
protests, to a doctor of ophthalmology. If they were going to be hostage to the mechanic and the faulty alternator, they might as well make use of the time. The doctor declared the firespirit permanently myopic and gave him a prescription for spectacles, which Vasily vowed not to wear.
Belphagor kept a wary eye on the angel over the next several days
while they holed up in the room to avoid attention. He picked up some
playing cards to pass the time and discovered the girl had learned a
trick or two in her time in Raqia. She was unfamiliar with poker, but
once he’d taught her the rules, she could hold her own against both of them, winning more hands than he expected. But she stayed close to
Belphagor, looking to him for approval and attention. Vasily was right.
Belphagor also kept an ear to the ground, and so far there was
no indication the Seraphim had returned to the world of Man. He’d
slipped a crystal facet to the bellboy in exchange for news of the
unusual, along with discretion about who was staying in the room.
He had rightly surmised the boy had gypsy blood, and though his
people weren’t part of the underground, the boy knew of the secretive
organization and managed to arrange a meeting with one of them on
the eve of Ivan Kupala.
They’d arrived in Novgorod just in time for the midsummer
festival—the feast of John the Baptist, according to the Orthodox
Church, but in reality, a celebration of a far older deity. The festivities would provide the perfect cover for a meeting in plain sight, and
it would do the girl good to get some fresh air. With young people
engaging in revelry and the odd bit of mischief about town, she might
have her only opportunity here in Novgorod to enjoy for one night
what others her age took for granted.
They ate at a restaurant inside the tower of the kremlin and then
walked about to digest their meal, blending in with the tourists who
came here from around the world to see the ancient fortress. The
silver cupolas of the whitewashed cathedral of St. Sophia glittered
in the twilight, and through the southern entrance to the kremlin,
the Volkhov shimmered beside the river beach, where people were
already gathering to celebrate. Belphagor bought honey mead from
THE FALLEN QUEEN 93
a concession booth, and they wandered along the bank while the
long sunset made its eventual way into the west. A bonfire glowed
across the river, and a few intrepid—and inebriated—individuals were
stripping down to their undergarments to wade out into the water to
cleanse their souls for another year.
Warmed by the mead, the angel expressed an interest in taking
a dip in the river, and Belphagor encouraged her. He ordered Vasily
to stay close to her while he took a trip to the restroom. It gave him just enough time to slip back inside the Dyetinets and meet the gypsy woman as arranged to give her a message for Dmitri Ilyich.
“Sanctuary,” was all he said. She took the message with a nod and
didn’t ask what he meant or who Dmitri was. Anyone in the gypsy
underground knew perfectly well.
The angel was coming back from the river when he returned.
She’d gone out without her cap, and her hair was growing out in a halo of honey-mead curls. They would have to get her to a barber soon to
shear that unmistakable color. His concern was further reinforced the
nearer she came. Shivering and slight, with her clothes pasted to her
skin, her true sex was obvious.
Vasily had waded out behind her to make sure she was safe, and he
plopped down beside Belphagor on the sand, spattering him with cold
water shaken from his locks. His sex was obvious as well. Resisting
the impulse to pull Vasily close and taste the wet skin, Belphagor
concentrated on the young people jumping over the bonfire.
“Who’s that?” Vasily grabbed his arm. “Is there someone with
Malchik?”
He followed Vasily’s squinting gaze. A young man was trying to
speak to the angel. Belphagor stood, muscles tense. Realizing she
couldn’t understand him, the boy took a garland of grasses and flowers from his head and put it on hers before walking away. Just a harmless
suitor—which confirmed Belphagor wasn’t the only one who had
noticed her appearance. She continued toward them, looking pleased
with her crown.
“You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Belphagor scolded her like a
protective father.
“I didn’t sp
eak to him. I just shook my head at him when he spoke
94 JANE KINDRED
to me, and he gave me this.” She sat next to Vasily, and he reached out and touched the fronds.
“A garland.” He confirmed the shape with his fingers. “If you put a
candle in it and set it afloat on the water, it’ll tell your future.”
She frowned. “I already know my future.”
“Perhaps not. Nothing is certain.” Belphagor regretted speaking
when her eyes brightened at his words. He had to be more careful not
to encourage her infatuation.
The encounter with the youth made him nervous, and he decided
it was time to call it a night. They walked back along the riverbank,
the settling darkness pricked with shimmering candles carrying young
girls’ wishes down the river in garland barges. The angel found an
abandoned candle, and Vasily lit it for her so she could set the garland out to sea. With the sunlight fully vanquished, the firespirit was nearly helpless, so Belphagor took his hand to guide him. It would not be
noticed in the dark. The silver rings on Vasily’s fingers pressed against Belphagor’s skin—a forgotten comfort.
Later, lying awake beside Vasily in one of the two narrow beds, he
stared at the ceiling. It was not yet midnight, but the angel had quickly fallen asleep after her invigorating swim. Vasily was quiet beside him, so Belphagor thought himself alone with his thoughts. He turned on
his side to look at the younger demon and found him staring back in
the dark.
“You’re looking at me again, aren’t you, old man?” Vasily whispered.
Belphagor’s breathing quickened. “I’d like to do more than look,”
he murmured against Vasily’s neck and teased his thumb along the
spikes, drawing a shiver from the other demon. “We never finished
this.”
“That was your choice.” Vasily’s lowered voice sounded huskier
than usual.
“Never,” Belphagor breathed, and dared to kiss him.
“Mudak,” Vasily swore, but his hand slipped under Belphagor’s
T-shirt, seeking the rings at his nipples. When Vasily found one and
lowered his head to tug at it with his teeth, Belphagor breathed in
sharply.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, though his own hand was at the
THE FALLEN QUEEN 95
buttons of Vasily’s fly.
Vasily sucked the ring into his mouth with the heat of the firespirit