ã€ŠSecondhand Sorceryã€‹


 I. Opportunity (Nadia)

    ¡°Visitor! Visitor!¡±

    Nadia looked up from her book and sighed. It was a chilly day in Thessaloniki¡ªfour days before Christmas¡ªbut the sun was high, the light was good, and she¡¯d just come out here and sat down on her favorite bench against the chapel wall. Her reward for finishing lessons early. But there was that stupid Ruslan in his usual panic, clattering down the steps from the walltops where he¡¯d been looking out over the town.

    ¡°Visitor on the way! Hide!¡± He flailed his arms as he hit the bottom, nearly tripping on the final step. Did he even see her, or was he screaming for the whole base to hear him? But that was Ruslan for you, she thought as she snapped her book shut and got up from the bench.

    There was no hurry; he had to have seen the visitor coming a mile away from up there. Visitor protocol meant going to the nearest restricted area on base and hiding there until an adult came with the all-clear. In her case, that was the chapel right behind her. She looked back with her hand on the door and saw Ruslan scuttling off to hide himself.

    The chapel was even better than restricted, these days; Nadia was pretty sure she was the only person to set foot inside it since they set up base here, seven months ago. Yuri had no interest and Papa Titus would never allow a priest inside this place. Not because he didn¡¯t believe (though he didn¡¯t). Because it was a security risk. Nadia tried to dust the place off every now and then, but it still looked grubby and forlorn. It was a pity; it must have been a lovely little church once.

    She might have kept reading The Dark is Rising, but you were supposed to stay away from windows under visitor protocol, and light was bad in here. It wasn¡¯t a game, either; last August Ruslan had tried to snoop on a visitor, and got spotted himself. That earned him three whole minutes with Yunks for a punishment, and for the next three days he couldn¡¯t do anything but cry and babble in Uzbek. Now he took it too seriously¡ªbut he¡¯d always been timid. He was fifteen now, three years older than Nadia, and she knew she already had more spine than he ever would.

    Well, if she couldn¡¯t read ¡­ she tiptoed forward, careful not to stir up too much dust, until she stood before the image of Christ on the iconostasis screen before the altar. She had no candle to light. The only question was who or what to pray for. For Papa Titus, she guessed, though she didn¡¯t really want to. For Yuri, Hamza, Fatima, Ruslan, the staff ladies, the little Metic kids¡ª

    The Metics. She grimaced. She was still a Metic herself, really. Not properly part of the family. They let her call herself a Marshall because she was Yuri¡¯s sister¡ªhis real, blood sister¡ªand he was in, and they¡¯d joined before Papa Titus changed the rules. But she wasn¡¯t really a Marshall until she got her familiar, and she¡¯d already failed once, and if she didn¡¯t get one soon she would be too old and that was what she really wanted to pray for but was it right to pray for that?

    She didn¡¯t know, and there was nobody to ask.

    But that didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t pray. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu ¡­ she felt herself rocking back and forth on her feet as she repeated the words in her mind, keeping her eyes shut. Nadia knew there was a special way you should breathe, too, when you said the words, but nobody had ever taught her.

    She startled at the sound of a knock on the chapel door behind her. Was the visitor gone already? It couldn¡¯t have been ten minutes. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Nadezhda Titovna,¡± boomed the harsh voice of Varvara, the oldest of Papa¡¯s three serving-women. ¡°Your father is calling for you.¡±

    For a moment, her heart stopped beating and her mind went blank. But her body knew what to do without either: ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Coming.¡± Nobody kept Papa Titus waiting. She was already on her way to the door as she said the words.

    Varvara frowned at her as she came out, but Nadia didn¡¯t care. Varvara frowned at everything. ¡°Is it time, then?¡± Nadia asked her. ¡°My time?¡±

    ¡°Do you think he tells me?¡± Varvara snapped back. ¡°Don¡¯t dawdle.¡± And she limped off toward the north end of the yard, leaning heavily on her cane. Varvara had been with the family longer than anyone but Hamza, and Papa Titus trusted her to run everything he didn¡¯t feel like dealing with himself. He called her his Grand Domestic. Nadia thought it was a joke, but she didn¡¯t get it. She didn¡¯t believe Varvara got any jokes at all. Old cow.

    Base¡¯s real name was Eptapyrgio, ¡°seven towers,¡± even though it had ten. The Greek Emperors built the castle at the highest part of Thessaloniki, centuries ago, and then the Ottomans used it as a jail, and when the Greeks won their freedom again they¡¯d turned it into a museum.

    Then Papa Titus came along and took it for his base, saving the oldest northern towers for his private quarters and offices. Staff and Metics got to stay in the more recent jail facilities scattered around the courtyard. It was not a pretty place; the stones of the castle walls were mostly grey with an ugly freckling of browns and whites, the trees in the courtyard had bare branches, and the whole thing looked like the dungeon it basically still was.

    Nadia looked behind her, and saw Zeinab chivying Ruslan out of his own hidey-hole. She trembled; Ruslan was the second part of the plan. Was this the day? Was it finally going to happen?

    They passed Yuri on the stairs, and that sealed it. Yes, it was finally time. Yuri smirked and clapped her on the shoulder as they passed; he was on his way to do his part, and he would enjoy it. Normally that worried her, how much Yuri loved his work, but now Nadia was too frightened and anxious to feel more than a twinge of annoyance.

    A pair of Papa Titus¡¯s gun-toting Lictor bodyguards flanked the door to his office. Varvara didn¡¯t bother to acknowledge either, but knocked on the door, waited for an ¡°Enter,¡± then shoved Nadia inside and shut the door behind her¡ªthe same way she would throw meat into a lion¡¯s cage.

    Papa Titus was standing perfectly still in the at-ease position. He didn¡¯t look worried or impatient, but he never let himself look any way at all without meaning to. He was in good shape for a man pushing sixty, even if he was bald and wrinkled, and his beard all grey. His mask was laid on the table in front of him, between his beat-up copy of Bellum Gallicum and a map of Istanbul with notes scribbled all over it. His quick black eyes followed her as she marched in, threw her arm out in salute, and stood silently at attention.

    ¡°You know why you¡¯re here?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°The emissor died sometime this morning. French. Confirmed 0900 around Tarabya. Where is that?¡± Nadia¡¯s hand whipped out at once, pointing at a spot midway up the European coast of the Bosporus. She¡¯d been studying a similar map every morning since they moved here. ¡°Good. Ruslan will drop you off along the north coast while he holds the sky over the airport. Yuri will move in ahead of you to strafe the main front. Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± And she did. Familiars liked to be near people and away from other familiars. The Russians had the Fatih district¡ªold Constantinople¡ªheavily fortified, with at least three masters backing up their regular forces. It wouldn¡¯t flee south towards them, or cross the Bosporus.

    To the west was a big forested park, low population. The familiar would naturally drift north, then west along the coastline when it hit the Black Sea. Ruslan¡¯s familiar at the airport would keep it from going too far west, and whatever Yuri did would get the Russians¡¯ attention and possibly scare the familiar into moving a little faster towards Nadia. Like a dog flushing game out for a hunter.

    Only one thing worried her. ¡°Sir. How many kilometers do I have to cover?¡±

    ¡°Could be twenty or more. It won¡¯t move quickly by daylight. Yuri has orders to drive northeast if he can.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She stared at the map, hard. She¡¯d been jogging around the courtyard every day, but that was a long hike. ¡°Do the Russians¡ª¡°

    ¡°It was some kind of hidden mine that killed him. The Russians, or the Turks, have no reason to hunt for lost puppies in the area, unless their spies in the French army are better than mine. Even if they were ready to do it, which they aren¡¯t.¡± He looked her over. She¡¯d just dyed her hair black again last week, and she¡¯d been applying tanning lotion. Nadia would look Turkish enough from a distance. ¡°Can you do this? I need to know now.¡±

    She looked right into his hard black eyes. ¡°Yes, sir. I can.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t like what happens if you don¡¯t.¡±

    She thought she saw something flicker in the air over Papa Titus¡¯s shoulder, something that might have been the faintest outline of his Yunks. It was an old trick of his, to remind you who was in charge, and Nadia refused to flinch or even look. ¡°Yes, sir. I can do this.¡±

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    ¡°Good. Any more questions?¡±

    ¡°Do we know what it looks like, sir?¡±

    ¡°Not very well. Mostly human, probably female. Are you seriously worried you won¡¯t recognize it? No? Then go change, you leave in five.¡±

    She saluted and went down the stairs at a run. She kept her waif outfit in her room, crumpled up in a bag so she¡¯d look extra-pathetic, and all her tools and supplies with it. Right down to a tattered scarf for hijab, and a bandanna over her nose and mouth. In less than two minutes she was out at the front gate, where Yuri and Ruslan were waiting in the back of a decrepit sedan.

    The car went roaring down the road as soon as she shut the door, and she hurried to buckle herself. There was a shaded glass between their compartment and the front; after a couple of minutes, it popped open and a hand passed back a sheathed knife and a nine-millimeter. Nadia made sure the gun was empty, then stuffed both weapons down her shirt in the special places sewn to hold them.

    Then there was nothing left to do, for the rest of the ride, but sit back and concentrate on breathing slowly while she repeated her silent prayer to herself. She shouldn¡¯t discuss anything important where the Praetorians in the front might hear, her voice would shake, and besides, she had nothing to say. Yuri would only tease her and she didn¡¯t want Ruslan¡¯s fumbling reassurances.

    It wasn¡¯t a long trip; the airport was fifteen minutes away and the sedan had a siren. Their two planes were already getting ready for takeoff when they got there, and nobody in Thessaloniki was stupid enough to get in the way of Marshall Family business with nosy questions or pre-flight security. All five of them were in the air¡ªYuri and one Praetorian in one plane, Nadia and Ruslan in the other plane with the driver¡ªless than an hour after Ruslan had come screaming down the stairs with his warning.

    All planned ahead for months, executed without a hitch so far. Nadia simply couldn¡¯t believe it was happening now. They¡¯d be approaching Istanbul in less than two hours. Six hundred klicks, as close to the front as Papa Titus dared to linger.

    There were only twelve seats inside the little plane, ten of them empty now. Ruslan, sitting across the aisle from her, put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Hey. We¡¯re lucky so far, right?¡± His voice cracked, very slightly. Nadia bobbed her head, feeling queasy in a way that had nothing to do with the motion of the plane.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get there in the late afternoon. You¡¯ll have time to get in position before night falls and it starts moving around. And it¡¯ll have cover to hide in, and people around to keep it stable. A way better chance than ¡­ you know.¡±

    Yes. She knew. A better chance than last time, when she¡¯d been ten, and the emissor died at twenty-hundred and they didn¡¯t get the news for more than ten hours. Nadia was on the ground at ten the following morning, found the familiar five hours later¡ªand it was already too degraded to salvage. She¡¯d tried anyway, begging and crying while it disintegrated before her eyes in the bright summer sunlight. It was all she could have done, and Papa Titus had still been angry with her.

    This time would be better. It had to be.

    She switched to the window seat to watch the Greek coast flit by beneath them. The plane was one of Papa Titus¡¯s custom couriers, coated in some kind of radar-blocking paint or material, Nadia didn¡¯t know what, and flying low and fast. Yuri¡¯s plane would be taking a parallel course to their south; it was stealth-coated too, but it would not be Yuri¡¯s job to be inconspicuous.

    He would probably kill a number of people with his diversion. Ruslan, too. And they wouldn¡¯t all be soldiers who died. Nadia knew she ought to feel bad about that, and she did, but she also knew that Papa Titus would be waiting for her to come back successful.

    She had heard all the stories, growing up, of the men and women who faced down the Soviets and earned a bullet for it, dying for Christ or their country or the simple right to tell the truth. Nadia hoped she might have been brave enough to take a bullet, but she would never be brave enough to handle Yunks. Nadezhda Titovna Marshall, dutiful daughter and coward. But wasn¡¯t everybody? Nobody else was trying to stop Papa Titus either. They were all cowards together.

    And it was no good to think of escape. She had seen everyone¡¯s faces, knew too many things people outside would be happy to learn. Those people could not protect her from Papa Titus, and she did not trust them any further than she trusted him. They would all be the same kind of person. And of course a twelve-year-old girl had no chance on her own.

    But she would not be on her own for much longer, if this went well. After today, she would never be helpless again. There was no way any familiar she brought back would be a match for Yunks, but anything would be better than the situation now, wouldn¡¯t it?

    Ruslan tried to push food on her, packaged meal bars from the plane¡¯s locker. She didn¡¯t feel hungry, but ate what she could, knowing she would need the energy. All too soon the plane was veering north to circle around from the Black Sea. The area northwest of the city was still Coalition-held. All Papa Titus¡¯s allies, or people who thought they were, because they were stupid. He would have let them know he had two planes on the way, to do his part for the war effort.

    A final check, hands shaking. Water bottle, not as big as she¡¯d want but water was heavy. Four more meal bars. Dowser, fully charged and working. Bolt cutters, flashlight, and multitool. Three magazines for the pistol, which she hoped she¡¯d never need. A good amount of money in lira and euro bills, divided into several wads and hidden all about her body. It was little enough, but still a lot of weight to lug around. Most of it went in an artfully shabby satchel she slung diagonally across her body, to make it harder for any actual vagabond scavengers to steal from her.

    When she was done, she dimmed the lights. Ruslan was still in his seat, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It would be hard enough to do this normally, when he was not stuck in a plane several hundred feet up with only two other people around to feed his Red King. And Ruslan would not want to take too much from the pilot, or from her. He was already starting to cry as the plane faded out around them.

    She knew what he was seeing, because she saw it too, as she saw it every time the King appeared: the bandaged child, half her age, looking tiny on a camp cot cluttered with used syringes and soiled instruments and dark matted red-brown gauze, bare sand and dust underfoot. The imam in the corner, praying unheard, as her hands¡ªthe hands of a grown man, dirty and bloody¡ªshook and clutched at the air, at her clothes, her hair, each other, not knowing where to go. The tent was flimsy and hot, and flies buzzed in through the open flap, through the torn netting. She tore it further running out, but there were only more tents outside, tents and tents stretching on to the horizon, and unwashed people trying to hide from the sun.

    The camp vanished, the butcher¡¯s hand was sure, and the curved blade went through the bull¡¯s throat quickly. The life poured out of it in one sudden flood, the beast sank to its knees. The drumbeat within it slowed to silence. Its death seeped into the soil, and filled it with power. The seeds took it and sprouted and life did not end, it only changed, as regular as the tides, in and out, up and down, back and forth. Black buzzards landing on the rich black soil.

    Guryev was burning again, the lights flashing in the sky. Thunder cracked and towers fell. Men and women screamed and died, her parents among them, and even as she wept for them she knew their death was good and true. Fire clears out the underbrush, ash settles to the forest floor and feeds the new growth. On the high desert the eagle strips flesh and cracks bones, and not a drop that falls is wasted on the thirsty ground. When the eagle dies his children will eat him in turn.

    Slowly the vision released her. Nadia opened her eyes again¡ªshe had not known she closed them¡ªand saw Kizil Khan standing there, their beautiful dark benefactor, somber and majestic, his half-opened wings touching either side of the plane. The great eagle stretched out his neck and gave a mournful cry that rattled in his throat. Then he slumped, the wings fell, and the long brown-black feathers drooped to brush against the deck.

    There was a strong smell of blood in the air; Nadia put out a hand to touch his neck, and it came back damp and sticky with the gore that came spurting eternally out of his body to dribble down his plumage. Kizil Khan shuddered and groaned at her touch, and he turned his face toward her. The enormous beak opened wide until she could see his other face, the eyes and nose and mouth of a man carved out of hard black stone, meeting her gaze from halfway down the eagle¡¯s throat. Nadia always had the feeling that he was just about to smile, but he never did. A wisp of white ectoplasm floated out of her mouth and into his.

    Then the beak snapped shut, and the ramp at the back of the plane opened up so the howling wind sent the red blood flying all over the walls. Nadia ignored it, even the splashes that landed on her face and soaked into her clothes. They would vanish as soon as she was clear of his halo.

    She looked to Ruslan, but he was still bent over in his seat, and she knew not to distract him; she didn¡¯t need her ride down to disappear now. So she cinched her satchel a little tighter, and stepped close to the great bleeding beast so she could wrap her arms around his neck. It wasn¡¯t clear to her how they would make it out the back ramp together, but it wasn¡¯t like that kind of detail mattered to a creature like Kizil Khan.

    One moment she was inside the plane, feeling his hot blood wash over her. The next they were free, and she bit back a gasp as the two of them plunged toward the Black Sea.

 II. The Road (Nadia)

    The mighty wings of Kizil Khan stretched out across the sky, and the waters and the sand swept away beneath them like a thing already forgotten. Fear, too, was forgotten now, left behind on the plane. Nadia was in the Red King¡¯s own talons, and he would not allow any other story but his to be told here. Life and death came as they would in his kingdom, and she would feel nothing but sorrow and wonder.

    The hills rose up, lightly forested, and then passed away as they turned east. There were roads below as well, but Nadia saw only one or two cars, the odd house tucked away in a corner. The outskirts of Istanbul, too scattered to call suburbs. To their right was a forest at least ten klicks across, divided into any number of parks. It was a perfectly safe area¡ªthe biggest Russian guns couldn¡¯t shoot so far, even if they wanted to blow up someone¡¯s country cottage.

    But this was no familiar¡¯s country; such an empty space couldn¡¯t hope to feed anything the size of the blood-drenched god of a monster holding her up. Dogs barked and howled as they passed, hearing the King¡¯s call in their own way. Their owners would have fallen to their knees to cry, suddenly remembering loved ones they had buried years ago. But it wasn¡¯t enough to satisfy his hunger.

    The sun at their back was half-hidden behind clouds, and still too bright. She could see Kizil Khan¡¯s feathers blurring at the edges where the natural light burned the ectoplasm away. Lower and lower he sank, straining to reach the more settled places ahead, where food would be plentiful¡ªwhere Nadia knew he must not go.

    The French familiar was somewhere in a broad arc in front of her, south and east. With its emissor dead it would be weak and vulnerable. It would flee from Kizil Khan, and if it could not flee Kizil Khan would just absorb it once he got close enough. Which was why Ruslan¡¯s plane hadn¡¯t kept up with them; the familiar could tug at the cable if he liked, but a fifteen-year-old boy was still his anchor on reality, and that anchor would be circling the airport by now, kilometers away.

    Down, down he sank, feebler and feebler, toward the narrow streets of a small town, and the horses and cattle in the farms around it moaned and screamed as they felt the very outermost edge of his halo pass over them. Nadia thought she might have heard a few babies cry as well. The town would be lucky, if that was all he did; Kizil Khan was never happy unless he was free to play his little game of give-and-take. If there was a very ill child in town, it might get better, but its grandfather would die for it.

    At last the talons let go, and Nadia tumbled down a grassy slope at the edge of a small wood to the town¡¯s north. The great eagle was already hurrying back to its master by the time Nadia got to her feet to look. She watched her sleeve carefully, until all the blood soaked in had evaporated, then waited a few seconds more before she pulled out her dowser. She couldn¡¯t see any locals, and anybody nearby would be too busy recovering from the presence of the King to bother over one little girl in rags.

    The dowser said it was 15:49, less than two hours till sunset, and its GPS claimed the town was ¡°G¨¹m¨¹?dere,¡± a name she thought she remembered from the map. The names were tricky. She didn¡¯t speak much Turkish, and the bit of Kazakh she remembered wasn¡¯t exactly the same. All the more important for her to keep out of sight.

    She hurried into the woods before setting the dowser proper to search; it was a little confused by Kizil Khan¡¯s presence, but after a moment reported something to the southeast, just as expected. It didn¡¯t mean the familiar was still alive¡ªit might be past recovery at this very moment, and disintegrate before she got anywhere near it¡ªbut there was still enough of it for the dowser to spot, and that was encouraging.

    Less encouraging: it really was twenty klicks to Tarabya, where the emissor was reported dead. If his familiar hadn¡¯t moved north much since he died ¡­ she shook her head, tucked the dowser away where nobody would see it, and made for the nearest road at a jog. She might be spending the next three hours on the move, and she didn¡¯t know if the thing she was hunting could last that long.

    It was much harder than she expected just to get up and walk to the road. She might tell herself, logically, that she looked like nothing more than some lost Turkish schoolgirl. Not all the locals had fled the war zone, and many of them would still be living and working as well as they could, even in the areas under siege. It had been much the same back in Guryev¡ªbut then, she had really belonged in Guryev! And look how that had turned out ¡­

    There was nothing to do but put one foot in front of the other. Face down, quick walk or slow jog but not too quick. Running flat-out would attract attention, people trying to help a girl in danger. Walking too slow would waste time and maybe make her look lost.

    She did not think much of G¨¹m¨¹?dere, which from the ground was nothing more than a collection of quiet streets and country lanes, with houses appearing just often enough between the trees and fields for the place to call itself a town with a straight face. The two-lane highway she was currently on was nearly deserted, perhaps one car passing for every minute of walking, and so bare of cover that she had to walk twenty meters out of her way to find a stand of bushes each time she wanted to pull out the dowser. Some ragbag girl carrying such expensive-looking gear would be suspicious¡ªand actual thieves would lust for the thing.

    Nadia got into the ¡°dense¡± part of the town¡ªwhere she could have thrown a rock from a window in one house and hit any of its neighbors¡ªby 16:11. She was making wretched time, and she knew it¡ªbut what could she do? She had no idea when the familiar might become mobile again, and she didn¡¯t really know her way around. The dowser kept pointing her south by southeast, but couldn¡¯t give her anything more definite.

    She could feel eyes staring suspiciously at her out of every window. The trouble with these small towns was that everybody knew everybody else in them, and she was not a regular sight on these streets, was she? There was a teenage boy walking her direction from some distance away¡ªabout sixteen, t-shirt and faded jeans. She took the next right turn, trying hard to make it look like what she wanted to do anyway.

    What was a local boy that age doing out of uniform? Nadia thought the Turks had lowered the local draft all the way down to her age by now, seven or eight months after the invasion. They¡¯d lost a lot of men in stupid attacks on Fatih, had the Russian bear gnaw them to bloody bits¡ªand here she was, a lone girl with a Russian accent who knew a few stock phrases of Turkish! What would that boy do, if he decided to come after her, and caught her, and heard her voice?

    Without meaning to, she broke into a run, and dashed the next hundred meters, making random turns and checking over her shoulder as seldom as she dared. But the boy did not follow, and two other people she saw looked at her curiously, and the heavy bag banged against her hips as she ran, so after a minute she made herself stop and duck into an alley to see it was 16:25.

    Half an hour since landfall, and she hadn¡¯t made much over a single kilometer in a straight line towards Tarabya! That had to change. She risked a furtive glance around, and spotted what looked like a market down the street. Yes. A brisk walk¡ªthe kind a girl would use when going to pick up yogurt and floor cleaner from the store before it closed¡ªand she was around the back of it, in a bare side street where some stock-boy or clerk had attached his bike to a pole with one of those silly cable locks.

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    Nadia whipped out her bolt-cutters, and her second-largest stack of lira bills. She hoped that would cover it, but she had no idea how much a bike cost here. Papa Titus had meant those stacks for last-resort bribes, so she was probably fine.

    By 16:40, the little town was behind her, and her biggest worry was keeping her ratty hijab from blowing off her head as she pedaled down the road. The familiar was still there, and she was making much better time. With a bike, she could cover ten klicks in an hour with no trouble, leaving her plenty of time to stop and check the dowser.

    There was a roll of thunder in the distance¡ªor was it thunder? Off ahead and to the right. She caught a flash like lightning, too. It might be a storm; more likely it was Yuri at work, setting his Shum-Shum loose to devour another chunk of the suburbs to make a deadly distraction for his sister. Hopefully it would not need to go on much longer, at the rate she was going¡ª

    Nadia looked down the road, and some of Yuri¡¯s favorite Kazakh swears slipped out of her mouth as she slammed on the bike¡¯s brakes. Soldiers.  Two soldiers in a jeep, inspecting a car before it went under the North Marmara Highway. The road was not very busy, but there were three cars backed up behind the one being checked, and not much traffic the other direction. There would be another checkpoint on the other side of the underpass, she was sure.

    Nadia permitted herself a single minute, no more, to cry with her face on the handlebars. Then she left the bike by the side of the road and set off across country, trying to look casual. A girl wandering aimlessly around the countryside near sunset might simply be crazy or stupid. A girl struggling to get a bicycle over railings and rough country and up a steep highway embankment, on the other hand, was obviously trying to get around the checkpoint. She would be much too interesting and memorable to look at.

    She was making the right decision, she told herself sadly, as she ambled along the highway to get out of the sight of the waiting motorists before she crossed it. Possibly somebody would report her anyway, but she would be less conspicuous without the bike.

    17:12, and the sun was brushing against the horizon. She drank half of her bottle down after crossing the highway, then stumbled down the hill and into the outskirts of the once-wealthy suburb of Uskumruk?y. The familiar was not too far now, but her feet and legs were sore. She thought she might have blisters starting.

    Soldiers stood guard at crossroads here, their military vehicles parked in random roads. She thought she caught snatches of French, but she did not know much French, or any western language besides English. She walked briskly past them with her face down, and they ignored her. Just another wretched Turk brat roaming the streets. They had larger problems.

    The light faded, and on she walked past half-empty strip malls and fast-food joints with military vehicles in their drive-throughs, ducking into alleys to check the dowser, or simply to sit down and rest. How much longer could the familiar hold out? Was it dying already? If she didn¡¯t get to it in time, could she throw away the dowser and disappear?

    She didn¡¯t want to leave Yuri behind, or to live with him as a dead weight, his kid sister the overgrown Metic. And she didn¡¯t know what Papa Titus would do with her if she couldn¡¯t get it done this time. There would be no third chance. He might make her staff like Varvara if she was lucky, but he really didn¡¯t need another babysitter. If he didn¡¯t need her, and couldn¡¯t let her go ¡­ she shuddered, and got back to her feet.

    17:50, and only half the streetlights were working. Saving power, or just in bad repair, she didn¡¯t know which. A lot of the businesses here were boarded up. Nobody could run a restaurant for tourists and vacationers at the edge of a battlefield. Half of the citizens had fled. She noticed men with guns walking the rooftops, clusters of spotlights with backup generators, and European dance music drifting out of apartment buildings.

    At a crossroads three white soldiers lounged around a little fort of sandbags, smoking cigarettes and eating kebabs while their belt-fed machine gun pointed straight up at the sky. Zit-faced local conscripts marched down the sidewalks in ranks, patrolling their hometown. One or two leered and whistled at Nadia from a distance, but didn¡¯t follow up when she kept walking.

    All the people out of uniform had cleared the streets now; there must be some kind of curfew after dark, or else they were frightened. Still she pressed on south, sprinting between stands of trees a stone¡¯s throw from the highway even though her feet were so very sore and she didn¡¯t know if there was a salvageable familiar at the other end. But the dowser said there was still enough for it to find.

    18:05, and she was still limping along, too sore even to dash anymore. Could she have kept the bike after all? Too late now. The familiar might have been orphaned for a full twelve hours. It would already be breaking down into loose ectoplasm, sunlight or not.

    18:22, and she hardly had the energy to hide. She had passed on into Zekeriyak?y now; soon she would be within the extreme range of Russian artillery. Still the dowser pointed persistently south and a little east, without a wobble. The familiar, it seemed, had gone to ground. All she had to do was find it in time, and all would be well.

    18:37. It was dark, and cold. But the dowser said the familiar was still there ¡­ and it was pointing to a building at the end of the street she was on, a small two-story structure surrounded by road on three sides, with whitish siding and a tall, thin tower rising out of its roof.

    A mosque? It wouldn¡¯t surprise her. Familiars were often attracted to places of worship. There was no door on this side of the street; peering around the corner, she saw a small crowd gathered around the far side, making a commotion. It was Friday, she suddenly remembered, but long past time for the big Friday prayer. If she listened closely, she thought she could hear an argument, and poking her head just a little further she caught a glimpse of fatigues and a rifle.

    The soldiers had sealed off the mosque, and the locals weren¡¯t happy. Nadia couldn¡¯t blame them. But she needed to get in. There was a tiny strip of decorative shrubbery on her side of the mosque, behind a short iron fence and a gate; she slipped inside to examine the ground-floor windows. Both locked, but one had a small tree in the way, good cover.

    She spread her jacket across the glass, then waited for the argument on the door side to get a little louder. As soon as she heard a shout, she asked God¡¯s pardon on the off-chance His name was Allah after all, and swung her bolt-cutters into the covered glass as hard as she could.

 III. èŒ…zarine (Nadia)

    It was brighter inside the mosque than Nadia would have expected; the interior was mostly done up in white, and its windows let in plenty of light. She still blinked in the sudden gloom, and gave herself a minute for her eyes to adjust. Then she stepped forward, carefully, onto the tiled floor. ¡°Hello?¡±

    There was no good place to hide in this tiny mosque, and Nadia didn¡¯t think it would want to hide from a human anyway. But as soon as she spoke, a light appeared in the little bay in the wall¡ªshe forgot what Muslims called it¡ªthat showed the way to Mecca. Was it hiding, or only sheltering in a place people had strong feelings about? Nadia edged closer, shaking with every step.

    There wasn¡¯t much of it left to see, and what there was, was mostly ¡­ hair? Yes, hair. That would be inky-black hair, head-to-foot, when the familiar was strong enough to see clearly. Right now it was saving its strength. No. Her strength. ¡°Mostly human, probably female.¡± Those had been Papa Titus¡¯s words. Nadia thought she could see something like the ghostly shape of a woman¡¯s figure, behind it all. Her skin, where it peeked out, was a brilliant gleaming white, like snow under moonlight.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she whispered. The familiar gave no answer. The argument at the door had quieted down; some of the familiar¡¯s light might be shining through the windows. Possibly there were Turks peering through those windows now, wondering why the French soldiers had let some grubby-looking girl in and not them. Let them wonder. Nadia did not mean to leave this building alone.

    If only the familiar would help her out! Nadia could make out one white arm clutching at the long dark tresses, maybe a bit of a cheekbone, and the edge of both hips, but the rest was covered up and refusing to show itself. But it was not as if she could expect her to talk, anyway ¡­

    Nadia took a deep breath, trying to ignore the renewed clamor at the door behind her. It wasn¡¯t easy; apart from distracting her, all that uproar would be bothering the familiar, if that wasn¡¯t the valence she was used to feeding off. And that, Nadia supposed, was something: she knew that, whatever story this strange almost-woman wanted to tell, it probably wasn¡¯t related to being indignant at getting shut out of a place you belonged. Which only left every other kind of feeling a person could have as a possibility.

    That was the trick of synnoesis, the trick she hadn¡¯t been able to pull off before as a silly ten-year-old with a half-dead spirit. Nadia had to get herself thinking along the same lines as this long-haired ghost to earn its trust. Not just the same feelings, but the same story about the feelings.

    Being able to tell what she looked like would be a valuable clue. Shape and valence were supposed to be related. ¡°May I touch you, please?¡± she asked, reaching out a hand. The familiar shrank back deeper into the alcove, and Nadia pulled her hand back.

    Well, the familiar was probably a woman, with very long hair, and she didn¡¯t look like she was wearing any clothes (not that many familiars did), so did that tell her something? She couldn¡¯t think what. Was it just ¡­ no, it couldn¡¯t be just that, could it? It seemed too simple. If the emissor had been a man ¡­ it still didn¡¯t sound quite right, but she supposed she¡¯d better try it.

    Reluctantly she shut her eyes, very tight, and thought as indecently as she could of men from magazine ads, and of the one Lictor with the red-blond curls and the strong jaw. She was much more relieved than disappointed when she cracked an eye open again and saw that the familiar hadn¡¯t moved at all. Possibly she only responded for longing after women? But (she felt her cheeks heat up still further as she thought it) nobody could expect Nadia to manage that.

    Enough. What did the familiar want? Did it have something to do with fear, maybe? Nadia made herself think of Yunks, of that horrible feeling she got when the monster came out to loom over her, when the heavy paws reached out to clutch at her shoulder ¡­ no. No good. No change.

    This was probably a pretty kind of spirit when it was healthy, so it might be something positive. They did have actually pleasant valences sometimes¡ªthat would be nice. Nadia tried to think of the satisfaction she got from finishing the trim on a skirt, of a good fire on a winter night with a quilt wrapped around her legs, of her real father swinging her about upside-down by the legs and the way she had cackled till she nearly choked. But the familiar was not impressed.

    Sorrow? She had plenty of that to work with. A whole city¡¯s worth and more. She thought back to the ashes of Guryev. Bright flashes in the sky, a hideous noise, fire and lightning ripping through block after block while Yuri took her hand and ran and the sanctuary of the church came smashing down when they were still two blocks away. Mother, gone. Father, gone. The corner store, her favorite swings at the park, old Mrs. Belyaeva two doors down who¡¯d first taught Nadia to sew ¡­ all gone.

    Still the familiar did not move.

    Envy? Nadia tried to think of the Greek girls she had seen from the walltops with a telescope, walking freely around Thessaloniki with their friends while Nadia was trapped in her jail of a house with a ghoul for a father. Did those girls even appreciate what they had? Or Fatima, who was rude to Papa Titus and got away with it? Why was she allowed so many privileges the rest of them didn¡¯t get?

    The familiar began drifting forward, and for a second Nadia thought she had done it. But the spectral outline of a woman only kept moving, passing clean through her towards the doors. Frantically Nadia tried to summon up a new feeling, but all she got was panic, and that wasn¡¯t what the familiar wanted. Slowly, slowly, she drifted toward the doors, where the crowd outside was starting to shout in anger, and then to scream in terror. At the first scream the familiar halted, wavering in place. Nadia thought she might have gotten slightly dimmer, but she wasn¡¯t sure.

    Had the crowd attracted her, maybe? Something had changed about the way the crowd felt, or the soldiers, and the ghost had moved towards them, then stopped when they changed to being afraid. Afraid of what? Nadia tried to imagine it from their perspective, seeing it through the windows: the outline of some girl against a glowing spot in the wall¡ªan important spot to Muslims. Then the familiar moved toward whatever they¡¯d felt then, and they saw a glowing naked ghost and felt nothing but fear.

    So what had they felt first? A strange girl poking around their mosque while they were kept out. Did they think something blasphemous was going on? Nadia made herself think of feet stepping on icons, of a mob beating a priest, spilling the sacrament on the ground. The familiar drifted back towards the bay in the wall. Nadia stamped her foot and shouted, ¡°Damn it, what do you want from me?¡±

    At once the ghostly woman stopped, spinning around to face Nadia. Her shape abruptly sharpened, and the hair flew back from a perfectly proportioned face, oval and lovely, with two night-black pits where the eyes should be. Not just ordinary holes but pits, flat dark spaces you could shine a flashlight into and still see nothing at all.

    For half of a second Nadia felt only horror, then excitement as her mind caught up and she understood what had happened. The familiar blurred again, her hair sweeping like a curtain over her face. Nadia trembled, started to beg¡ªbut you did not beg a familiar¡¯s friendship. What had she done? What had she felt? What had she said?

    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± Nadia repeated, as loud and confident as she could. The familiar froze, but did not get any clearer. The words were right, but not the feeling. Nadia had stamped her foot. Anger. This beautiful woman, with her empty nightmare skull-socket eyes, wanted to talk about anger. The only question was what she wanted to say.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°I can be angry,¡± Nadia told her. ¡°About Papa Titus. About Yuri, and Varvara. About ¡­ about the soldiers, blocking the road when I¡¯d only just got the bike! That wasn¡¯t fair, was it?¡± Again the black hair parted, and the forever-deep sockets looked out. Nadia had her attention now. She swallowed down her excitement. ¡°None of this is fair! I¡¯m twelve! I should be in school, hundreds of miles away from here!¡±

    The familiar cocked her head. No, this wasn¡¯t quite right. Not quite. Nadia reached out to grab her by her shoulders¡ªthey were real enough to touch now¡ªand snarled for the third time, ¡°What do you want from me?¡±

    A light might have flashed, or something like a light, deep inside the darkness of those eyes. It was only there for a second before the mosque, the night, and the dismal world outside all vanished, and it was mid-afternoon, and Nadia was in an upscale restaurant full of well-dressed men and women enjoying a late lunch.

    Nadia¡¯s arms were a man¡¯s arms now, burly and hairy, but they were still reaching out towards a woman. A fashionably dressed woman, in her early twenties, with short hair and nice jewelry and a cold smile on her pretty face. Nadia¡¯s strong hands clenched down on her bare shoulders, and for an instant the lady looked afraid. Then the sneer came slamming down over her face again, like a castle¡¯s gate, and Nadia heard herself say something angry in a deep voice. It was in French, and Nadia still did not understand it, but she knew what the man¡¯s voice was saying: ¡°What do you want from me?¡±

    The lady did not bother over the hands on her shoulders. She only curled her lip, and said something nasty in the same language. Nadia barked something back. The other diners were staring. She could see that she¡¯d knocked her meal, her expensive meal, onto the floor when she got up to teach this fool of a woman some sense, but she was still smirking and the water was dripping down onto Nadia¡¯s shoes.

    Her right hand let go, pulling back and opening up for a slap. The lady¡¯s eyes flicked toward it, but then she laughed and stepped away around the table, sidling out from under Nadia¡¯s grip like it wasn¡¯t even there. A waiter in a fancy jacket was pushing through the tables now, talking very fast, and the lady turned around with a final sneer and a few hard words as she marched toward the door.

    Another year, another woman. And another, and another, but none of them stayed. In and out of her life¡ªhis life?¡ªthey came, some haughty, some angry, some only silent and apathetic. In between, all the other snide little faces: clerks holding out endless sheafs of fresh paperwork, officers raising an eyebrow as if to say, Why is that my problem, soldier? Doors slammed shut, eyes rolled, disappointment and an endlessly pathetic existence that could never hope to match his expectations. Or anyone else¡¯s¡ªif only they would tell him what the hell those expectations were!

    Behind it all, one last woman, the woman, grey-haired and weary, looking out the window with a glum expression as her boy¡¯s childhood rolled past her and she could not be asked to care. Writing in her damned journals and gossiping with her frog-faced friends on the phone. She was every bit as dutiful as the law required. Three meals a day, all served with a shrug. He¡¯d known more love in the service.

    But all those women were gone now. Abruptly, the dead solder¡¯s memories left her, she was Nadia again, and there was another woman there, bright and clear and very real in the tiny mosque. Her skin still shone, but it was pale white no longer; now it was a gleaming chrome, glinting with rainbows around the edges, and her glorious black hair spilled down like a waterfall to cover her body, turning to a dark mist when it hit the ground.

    Only the empty eyes were the same, and they did not frighten Nadia anymore. Those eyes were not ugly; they only kept their secrets, from a world that did not deserve to know them. She was all beautiful, from head to foot.

    ¡°Your name is ¨¦zarine, isn¡¯t it?¡± The familiar did not change her expression, but Nadia knew she was right. ¡°And his was Claude.¡± And it was.

    Nadia had expected to feel excited, or relieved, or happy, but of course she didn¡¯t. Not now. She was in ¨¦zarine¡¯s halo, caught up in her valence, and everything else was muted. The halo extended outside, to where the people in the crowd were shouting, and loud voices were snapping back in French, telling them to move their worthless ingrate civilian asses before they got shot. All of it grated on Nadia¡¯s nerves, like a fly buzzing away in a corner she couldn¡¯t quite reach.

    She spun around to glower out at the braying crowd, and the nine-millimeter clunked against her ribs. The stupid thing was heavy, and why did she even have it? What kind of irresponsible lunatic sent a girl her age into a war zone with a pistol? A man like Papa Titus, of course. To hell with him. She pulled the gun out and threw it against the wall. Which was a moronic thing to do with a loaded weapon, and that only made her more angry, but she pretended not to care.

    ¨¦zarine came up behind her, wrapping Nadia in her arms. Fresh shouts came from outside the door, then a rattle of gunfire, a three-shot burst. How dare they? It was Friday, and this was a mosque. Those people had a right to be here. There was no good reason for any of this nonsense.

    Nadia was not conscious of giving her new familiar an order. For one instant, the two of them were in perfect agreement, and ¨¦zarine gave a shout and the door of the mosque exploded in a cloud of tiny splinters. She was through the door before the dust settled, lighting up the street with her terrible beauty.

    Nadia rushed out after her, caught a glimpse of her long black hair wafting out in a cloud of darkness to wrap itself around the nearest soldier. Then something flickered, ¨¦zarine was gone, and with a scream the man came plunging down from high up to slam into the ground. There was a horrid crunch when he landed, and blood splashed across the pavement.

    Nadia had not meant that to happen, but she could not be upset with ¨¦zarine, who was now floating regally back to the street. As for the soldiers¡ªpigs! So obsessed with keeping their country¡¯s secrets, even if it meant killing people, or leaving ¨¦zarine to die alone. Now one of the locals was lying on the sidewalk, clutching at her bleeding side where the bullets had gone in. Nadia wanted to help her, but she already knew that was not the kind of thing ¨¦zarine could do.

    The rest of the men were running away. They cursed and grumbled, but they ran. At least they could figure out that much. One of them stopped at the end of the road to shoot at ¨¦zarine (did these clowns think they could hurt her that way?), who responded by rising up into the air again and letting out a scream that set the whole world shaking. Every car on the street had its tires burst at once; every window shattered; a fire hydrant shot a jet of water straight up into the air. Everyone but Nadia fell down hard, clutching their ears. She didn¡¯t see what happened to the soldiers, but there were no more gunshots.

    Belatedly, she thought to cover up; she¡¯d been barefaced since landing, so as not to stand out. No chance of that now. She took out her handkerchief and covered her mouth and nose again. ¨¦zarine was at her side now, a luminous protective arm around her shoulders. With the familiar close, Nadia was at least safe from cameras. On the other hand ¡­ she pulled the dowser out of her pocket, but it refused to turn on. Of course.

    Shaking her head, Nadia trudged back up the street. As ¨¦zarine¡¯s anchor, she couldn¡¯t be picked up and carried around as easily as she had moved the soldier. She had no choice but to walk on until she found a good spot to disappear. Then she could pull back her new familiar, and call Papa Titus to let him know that she was a real Marshall now.

 IV. Orders (Keisha)

    There were good reasons, Keisha knew, for having their first meetup be in a park. It was a public place, but not too public; she didn¡¯t want to let a man she didn¡¯t know into her hotel room, or to worry about being overheard in a venue like a restaurant. Two strangers meeting up on a park bench was a tired spy-show clich¨¦ for a reason. But the shows never let you see one of them waiting around on a breezy forty-eight degree day for half an hour.

    It didn¡¯t help that it was right by the water, on a mostly treeless plaza. The wind blew right through her jacket. She¡¯d run through her coffee¡ªit was the local stuff, all sugared up with grounds at the bottom of the cup, but she didn¡¯t care¡ªtwenty minutes back. It would have made more sense to nurse it, but she had serious jet lag. Now she was wide awake, freezing, and getting tired of waiting for this damned officer to show up.

    She might have attracted stares, but not many people were crazy enough to hang out by the waterfront at the end of December. The famous Mediterranean climate wasn¡¯t that mild. Every couple of minutes a few tourists would shuffle by in a herd, packed together against the chill, and snap a few photos of Alexander the Great rearing up on his horse. Then they¡¯d wander around for a few minutes, looking and pointing at all the other statues of other dead old men they probably hadn¡¯t heard of. Maybe one of them would read a description out of a brochure, and the others would say something like ¡°huh.¡± Then they¡¯d get some sense and go off to get souvlaki or something. Keisha was tempted to join them.

    When the colonel finally showed, she spotted him easy. For one thing, he was alone. He might have passed for Greek¡ªtall, lean, short dark hair with some grey in it, complexion tan enough, brown windbreaker and black slacks. But nobody stayed in the service that long without getting the kind of burned-in military bearing that would make a man look like a soldier if he was bending over to pick up after a dog. His stride was too regular, his head was too high, and he moved like he expected other people to stay out of his way without being told.

    Keisha didn¡¯t care, because he was holding two tall, steaming cups of coffee. She took back most, but not all, of the curses she¡¯d been pouring on his head as he handed her one and sat down on the bench beside her. This cup had grounds in it too, but that didn¡¯t matter. It was hot.

    ¡°Ms. Graham, I assume?¡± the colonel muttered as she took in half the cup at a gulp. He had a long, skinny face, with deep-set eyes and slight jowls starting to form around his mouth. A bit like a bloodhound.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she replied. ¡°Keisha Graham. CWO-3.¡±

    ¡°David Hampton, Colonel. Obviously. Pleasure to meet you.¡± He looked around the park. ¡°You haven¡¯t been waiting long, have you?¡±

    ¡°Not especially, sir,¡± she lied, mostly because she¡¯d been raised to know good manners. Even for inconsiderate ex-army birds.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I should have picked a place with more cover, but I wanted some privacy. Even if he knows I¡¯m here already, and probably you too.¡±

    ¡°Even if who knows, sir?¡±

    Hampton frowned. ¡°Weren¡¯t you briefed, Ms. Graham?¡±

    ¡°No, sir. I was ordered to come here and assist you in whatever capacity you required. I assumed you would give me the details when I arrived.¡±

    The frown got harder. ¡°And you didn¡¯t look into the local situation?¡±

    ¡°I did not, sir. I got this assignment on very short notice¡ªjust yesterday, in fact. They pulled me off leave in a hurry. I reckoned I was here to be your hat trick, and didn¡¯t worry about the rest.¡±

    He blinked. ¡°Excuse me, but just what is a ¡®hat trick¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what we called it in the Corps. Organic field support for a small unit. Your CO has a problem and needs a quick fix, he turns to you and asks you to pull out a rabbit. Hat trick, see?¡± He plainly didn¡¯t, so she pulled her pipe halfway out of her jacket for a visual aid, trying to shield it from the rest of the park.

    He squinted at it for several seconds, then said ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± and jumped up from the bench. Keisha hid the pipe in a hurry as a man with a camera turned to stare. ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s not¡ªchief, is that thing loaded?¡±

    Now it was her turn to be confused. ¡°Only five grams. It¡¯s what we call a ¡®piccolo.¡¯¡±

    He looked like he was about to faint, bless his heart. ¡°Five grams. Of ectoplasm.¡± Keisha nodded. ¡°What¡¯s the yield on that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, sir. Theoretically, it might be a couple of kilotons, but I couldn¡¯t convert it that efficiently all at once even if I wanted to kill us both, and it¡¯s not like it could go off if I dropped it. It¡¯s not nitroglycerin. Sir.¡± This man was a colonel in the Numenate?

    Hampton sighed, and sat back down. ¡°You¡¯ll have to pardon me. I see they did things a bit differently in the Marines than I¡¯m used to.¡±

    Did. Past tense. Keisha tried not to grimace. ¡°We all have our different backgrounds, sir, and I apologize if I alarmed you. I¡¯ve been a VRIL specialist for the past six years, and I carry it with me on all missions. They told me to be ready for action as soon as the plane hit the ground.¡±

    ¡°And they just might be right there,¡± he said quietly, like he was talking to himself. ¡°You were asking me about the man we¡¯ll be meeting, weren¡¯t you, chief?¡±

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know we¡¯d be meeting a man, but you did refer to someone, yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, his name¡¯s Marshall. Titus Marshall. That¡¯s the name he goes by, anyway. Don¡¯t know his real name, but he¡¯s almost certainly American. A contractor. God knows who trained him. CIA, maybe, way back in the day.¡±

    ¡°And what does he do, sir?¡± In their line of work, ¡®contractor¡¯ could cover an awful lot.

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting question, Ms. Graham, and I wish I had a quick, simple answer. We¡¯re about 90% sure that he¡¯s an emissor. He has a ¡­ crew of unconventional PPOs under his command.¡±

    ¡°All emissors?¡± That would be something. Familiars weren¡¯t easy, cheap, or safe to acquire.

    ¡°Yes and no. They have familiars, but they¡¯re not emissors. He does what you might call salvage work.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, at least in the broad strokes, of the tactical and operational limits on a familiar. The thing itself is extremely dangerous, and damned near indestructible. The emissor¡¯s made of mortal meat like the rest of us.¡±

    ¡°Which is why they conceal their identities so carefully. Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°And of course if the emissor dies, the familiar can¡¯t survive for long. Unless there¡¯s somebody like Titus Marshall around, who¡¯s worked out a way to recover the familiar with a new, adopted host.¡±

    That got her to sit up a little straighter. ¡°I¡¯d like to see that. I take it we don¡¯t know how he does it?¡±

    The colonel shook his head. ¡°No, that part¡¯s simple enough, once you¡¯ve figured it out. The CIA worked out the theoretical basis of it back in the eighties or so. But it¡¯s a little, ah, sketchy, so we prefer to leave it to contractors like Mr. Marshall.¡±

    Sketchy. When military intelligence considered a method too ¡®sketchy¡¯ to use, even for recovering a multi-million-dollar weapon, it was obviously better not to ask. But Keisha knew when she was being invited, and he really did have her curious. ¡°What¡¯s the method, then?¡±

    ¡°Kids,¡± the colonel bit out. ¡°He uses kids. An emissant will reject a new host if it¡¯s past a certain age. Children are more malleable.¡±

    She looked away, and took another sip of her coffee. It hurt going down.

    ¡°Naturally, this isn¡¯t something we¡¯re proud of. But given our limited assets, we ¡­ no. No, I¡¯m not going to try and justify this, Ms. Graham. But it¡¯s the situation on the ground here, and I¡¯ve been his liaison since he got here this spring.¡±

    Another sip. Another subject. ¡°He rates a full colonel for a liaison?¡±

    ¡°Yes, because he¡¯s an arrogant son of a bitch. I¡¯m told he only used to require majors. But he knows we need him¡ªfor God¡¯s sake, we wouldn¡¯t deal with him if we didn¡¯t¡ªand he feels he can dictate terms. So far, it¡¯s been our policy to indulge him. That policy, I¡¯m pleased to report, has just changed.¡±

    She waited, but he didn¡¯t go on. ¡°I¡¯m listening, sir,¡± she prompted, staring at Alexander the Great on his horse. How many children had the King of the Known World had in his army? She didn¡¯t know, but however many it was, she bet he was honest about it.

    ¡°This might require me to go into deep background. I¡¯m trying to think where to start. I assume you know as much as anyone in the general public about the history of the Numenate?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not much history to tell.¡± Their whole outfit wasn¡¯t two years old, a Frankenstein patched together from the PPOs of four other branches plus a grab-bag of intelligence services. New enough that she still woke up thinking of herself as a marine, some mornings. New enough that her old jarhead buddies hadn¡¯t got tired of pointing out how much ¡®Numenate¡¯ sounded like ¡®numbnuts.¡¯

    ¡°The prehistory, then,¡± he said impatiently. ¡°I know most of it¡¯s classified, and for good reason. But you are aware that things used to be done much more informally?¡±

    ¡°Eight rounds of congressional hearings¡¯ worth of informal. Yes, sir.¡± But now they were all together in the Numenate, and it would be different this time. Pinkie promise. When they announced the big shuffle, Keisha remembered, there¡¯d been a political cartoon of Uncle Sam charging a football while Lucy from ¡®Peanuts¡¯ held it ¡­

    ¡°Twelve, actually. Twelve hearings. No, thirteen.¡± He smiled. ¡°Before your time, and some of them weren¡¯t that well-documented themselves. I sat in on a couple. Those chairs were hot.¡±

    ¡°I bet they were. So, this Marshall, he worked for us back in the ¡®informal¡¯ days?¡±

    ¡°Probably. A lot of the relevant files spontaneously combusted. Whole warehouses at a time. A couple of suicides and disappearances, too. What we know is that Mr. Marshall¡¯s been active since at least the early nineties. Most likely he was trained by one of the intelligence services.

    ¡°Whoever it was, they set him loose to tear into the Soviets¡¯ underbelly, down in the ¡®stans. All disavowed, ¡®oh no we have a rogue agent on the loose,¡¯ same bullshit they pulled on us in Latin America but we did it better. Bigger budget, and we let ours have a longer leash. His was long enough that we barely noticed when he went rogue for real. And nobody really cared, as long as he stayed in Asia giving the Kremlin ulcers.¡±

    ¡°But he didn¡¯t, did he?¡± Here they were in Thessaloniki, after all.

    ¡°Of course not. Who wants to play god-king in Habibistan? Anyway, he might not have had a choice about it. I don¡¯t want to deny Mr. Marshall credit where it¡¯s due: he really did make himself a hell of a nuisance. He might have been one significant factor¡ªamong many¡ªleading to the collapse of the Soviet Union. For what that¡¯s worth.¡±

    ¡°Was he already using children at that point?¡±

    ¡°Oh, sure. That¡¯s, uh, part of the problem, actually. We¡¯ll get to that. By the time of the Whiteout¡ªwhat was that, four years ago?¡±

    ¡°Five,¡± Keisha corrected.

    ¡°Time flies. So, by that point, he¡¯d been going on a rampage all over the heart of Asia, apparently killing his rivals and incorporating their talent. Might have taken out another rogue for us, we¡¯re not sure. Even before he left, or got chased out, he was styling himself as the head of a ¡®family.¡¯ The Marshall Family. He didn¡¯t have quite as much turf as Alex there, but it was definitely embarrassing.¡±

    Keisha nodded. ¡°So when new management took over in the Kremlin¡ª¡°

    ¡°As soon as things were settled down, and stable, they went headhunting. They leveled a major city in Kazakhstan in the process. He got the message and left.¡±

    ¡°You mean Guryev? That was him?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you heard about that? Yeah. By then he was ¡®Titus Marshall¡¯ and we were keeping a real file on him. There weren¡¯t actually any protests or uprisings or whatever the cover story was, they knew better than that. Marshall moved into town, the place went up like Hanoi, and he moved on in a hurry. Draw your own conclusions.¡±

    She looked into her almost-empty cup. ¡°I can see why we kept that quiet. Sir.¡±

    ¡°The Russians, too. Nobody came out looking good from that one. After that our friend laid low for bit. He might have set up as some kind of gangster in Syria. Did a few little jobs for the local scum, testing the waters for a new business model. A few favors for us, too. Then the Kremlin played the biggest ¡®rogue agent¡¯ ruse of all.¡± He waved his arm east. ¡°At which point Mr. Marshall set up base here, without anyone¡¯s permission. Hasn¡¯t left since.¡±

    ¡°Brazen, isn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°He has at least three familiars at his command, not including the one we assume he has for himself. He doesn¡¯t charge much¡ªall things considered¡ªand he gets results.¡±

    ¡°Him and his ¡®family.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Yes, Chief Graham. Him and his family.¡± Hampton drained his own cup dry and threw it in the trash. ¡°But things have changed, very recently. Titus Marshall all but runs this town now. He collects his own taxes, has goons shaking down businesses for a cut. And we¡¯ve been willing to overlook that.

    ¡°But then, two days back, the French lost an emissor around Istanbul. KIA. They¡¯re coy, naturally, but nobody thinks they had more than three total. They might have had plans to reclaim this familiar for themselves, but we¡¯ll never know now, because it seems Mr. Marshall beat them to it. Killing a few of their men in the process.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Lord.¡± Keisha squeezed her eyes shut.

    ¡°Brisson is shitting barbed wire right now. Our boy¡ªand we pay him, he¡¯s ours¡ªjust stole an irreplaceable asset. I don¡¯t even know how much it cost to develop that thing, especially if you factor in all the failed efforts. Worse than that, it¡¯s a humiliation. He wiped his ass with Gallic pride. They¡¯re making noises about bailing on NATO, or the Coalition. Probably just noise, but nobody wants to chance it. That¡¯s where we come in.¡±

    Keisha looked him in the eye. ¡°Just the two of us, sir?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong. We can¡¯t do anything rash, or without consulting our superiors all the way up to God. For now, you¡¯re just my assistant, and we¡¯re going to quietly observe. But we keep our eyes open, and if the opportunity presents itself we can very rapidly get permission and any necessary assets to send Mr. Titus Marshall on to his specially reserved four-star executive suite in Hell.¡±

 V. Sisters (Nadia)

    It took Nadia another forty-five minutes of limping around the outskirts of Istanbul¡ªwithout a working GPS¡ªbefore she found a place remote enough that she felt safe dismissing ¨¦zarine. As long as her lovely new friend was around, she felt too annoyed and hostile to be scared, but so would everybody for several hundred meters around them, and they were terribly conspicuous.

    Three more times the familiar had to move aggressively to scatter soldiers. Each time, Nadia had no idea what she was doing to these men, who were only doing their jobs and probably had no way of knowing she was not a Russian agent on a terror raid. It was too dark, and ¨¦zarine moved too quickly for her drooping eyes to follow. All she knew was that none of the attacks lasted more than a few seconds.

    They put up blockades and barriers, trying to herd or contain them, but none of them worked. ¨¦zarine¡¯s voice could shatter any material it met, including cinderblocks and solid steel. All she had to do was find the right pitch. Nadia would have felt proud of her new friend if she hadn¡¯t been so terribly tired.

    When she finally found shelter it wasn¡¯t much good, just another little patch of woods, but she was dead on her feet and didn¡¯t know if ¨¦zarine would stick around to protect her if she passed out. Probably not. As soon as she was hidden, she called the familiar back inside of her (it took some doing to figure out how), then fumbled to work the dowser¡¯s messaging function with half-frozen fingers.

    The plane had landed ages ago to save fuel, so she had to wait for Ruslan to lift back off, then squint anxiously at the little screen for a sign of Kizil Khan¡¯s approach. When he got close enough, she wandered out into the closest open space and set the device flashing S-O-S. As his halo passed over her again, she suddenly remembered the way the first soldier had fallen and broken his body on the street. Nadia was crying hard, her shoulders shaking, when the dark eagle picked her up.

    She spent the plane ride back slumped against the window, half-asleep. Ruslan was almost as tired as she was; the coalition had a huge field hospital set up not far from the airport, and Kizil Khan had been doing his part for the war effort. It was a different kind of exhaustion, but her new brother only mumbled something that might have been ¡®congratulations¡¯ before slumping back into his chair.

    It was after midnight by the time they landed back in Thessaloniki. The Praetorian hustled them out, yawning and rubbing their eyes. A Lictor was waiting in the airport¡¯s parking lot to recover her weapons. Nadia handed him the knife and the spare magazines before admitting that the firearm was lost. The Lictor shook his head, patted her down, then waved her into Papa Titus¡¯s armored limousine, where he was waiting in the backseat.

    ¡°Valence and domain?¡± he said, as soon as they were both in and the doors closed.

    Nadia was so frazzled it took her a moment to realize it was a question, and addressed to her. The car¡¯s engine started up, and it lurched its way onto the road back to base. ¡°Anger, sir. Anger, and frustration, with ¡­ with people. I don¡¯t know all she can do yet, but she shouts and breaks things with it. She¡¯s very fast. I think she can fly around too, and maybe move people with her.¡± And drop them out of the sky ¡­

    Papa Titus looked at her closely for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Very good.¡± He laid a hand on her head, like some kind of blessing. ¡°Well done, Nadezhda Titovna Marshall.¡±

    It didn¡¯t mean anything. She knew he didn¡¯t love her, or anybody else. By taking on ¨¦zarine, she¡¯d become useful enough to be worth better treatment, too valuable to throw away without a thought. That was all. But at that hour, after that day, something about the moment was still enough to make her burst into tears, though she couldn¡¯t have said why.

    His hand jerked back from her head, as if it had lifted up a rock and found a scorpion underneath. Ruslan hurried to throw an arm around her instead, patting her on the shoulder and making vague comforting noises. She ignored both of them, sobbing into her hands until Papa Titus said, ¡°That¡¯s enough of that. Remember you represent the gens Martialis now.¡±

    The thought of Yunks dried up her tears in a hurry. She sat back in the seat, trying not to rub her eyes or hiccup.

    ¡°Better,¡± Papa Titus said. ¡°You¡¯ll be an example to the Metics from now on, and a soldier for the Family. I¡¯ll expect you to behave accordingly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she said faintly, and laid her head back against the seat. Mercifully, he turned to Ruslan, allowing her to doze while he interrogated his second-oldest ¡°son¡± about the way he¡¯d spent the evening.

    She didn¡¯t remember later how she got up to her bed in the old prison building, but she must have, even if someone had to carry her, because she woke up¡ªstill in her rumpled ¡°Turk¡± clothes¡ªaround 1100 the following morning.

    She heard shouts and thumps from outside, and looked out of her (barred) window. Of course, it was Saturday¡ªRecreation. Yuri and the five oldest Metics were playing basketball in the nearest of the courtyard¡¯s walled partitions, with Hamza standing by as referee. Papa Titus would be up in the central watchtower where the partition walls met, watching the game ¡­ and there was Yunks down below, skulking about in the shadows around the chalked outline of the basketball court. Reminding everyone that Papa Titus had his eye on them.

    She scowled, and turned away from the window to put on some clean clothes.

    The shame of it, she thought as she chucked her wrinkled pants into the hamper, was that all those Metic kids thought of this as normal. All five of them down there had been with the Family longer than Nadia and Yuri had, and they¡¯d been orphan street-beggars or pickpockets before that. Papa Titus might torture them with his pet monster now and then, but he did feed them regularly and keep them clean. He was as good as a real father, to them, and Varvara, Gulya, and Zeinab were the only mothers they knew. They¡¯d be his most loyal soldiers.

    Nadia was hungry, but still took time to make her bed and set the room in order so Varvara wouldn¡¯t fuss at her later. It was a huge favor that she¡¯d even been allowed to sleep in. Later she would come back and carry her hamper to the laundry. For now, breakfast.

    There wasn¡¯t much left cooked; whichever Metic had been on mess rotation had already cleaned up and stowed the leftovers. Nadia went foraging through the fridge and emerged with a bit of fried sausage and a pan containing a single slice of some flaky Greek pastry thing. Something drenched in syrup, with a thick layer of custard at the bottom. She added an apple so she wouldn¡¯t feel like a complete pig. It wouldn¡¯t be long till lunch, when she promised herself she would eat salad.

    It was only after she had finished, and was loading her dishes into the dishwasher, that she realized the previous night had been her last in the girls¡¯ dormitory; as a Marshall, she was entitled to private quarters in one of the south towers now. The thought cheered her up a bit, and she decided to visit Fatima. Her ¡°big sister¡± never took part in Recreation if she could help it, and Papa Titus never forced her.

    Nadia¡¯s timing was awful; she got to Fatima¡¯s room in the tower west of the gatehouse just as she was starting one of her prayers. Nadia always forgot about those¡ªjust as, she realized with a guilty start, she had forgotten her own when she woke up. She dashed off a Trisvyatoye while she was waiting, put her ear to the door to listen for Arabic, gave it another thirty seconds to be sure, then knocked. ¡°Fatima? It¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°Nadezhda? Come on in.¡±

    Fatima¡¯s bedroom wasn¡¯t especially big, only bigger than the literal prison cells the rest of them got to sleep in, and more private. As Nadia entered, she was rolling up her prayer mat and stowing it in a closet. Then she turned and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, to look Nadia over. ¡°So. You made it, huh? I guess I should congratulate you.¡±

    ¡°Yes. We¡¯re sisters now.¡±

    Fatima snorted. ¡°If you say so. You can call me what you want, my last name¡¯s still Alvarez. Still: cheers, girl.¡± She lifted an imaginary glass. ¡°What¡¯s it do? Anything good?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know yet. She screams, and things break.¡±

    ¡°Hah! Yeah, I feel like doing that sometimes too. We should get along fine. Can you show her to me?¡± Nadia hesitated, thinking of Papa Titus. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about the old man. He doesn¡¯t know everything, and he doesn¡¯t need to. I whistle up Mr. Higgins in here all the time, and I haven¡¯t been yelled at yet. Just don¡¯t get carried away, and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°All right.¡± She closed her eyes and concentrated on her most frustrating and annoying memories of Yuri, Varvara, and Papa Titus. Soon she was rewarded with a familiar memory of a quarrel in a cafe, and an indifferent mother by the window ¡­

    And Fatima said, ¡°Nadia. Why is she naked?¡±

    Nadia opened her eyes just wide enough to glare. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t make her. That¡¯s just the way she is.¡± ¨¦zarine¡¯s skin had a pearly sheen today, and lit up the little room.

    Fatima shook her head. ¡°Seriously, I¡¯m just saying, she looks like a hooker, showing all that, or a stripper. You got a magic prostitute with black-hole eyes. Gross.¡±

    ¨¦zarine glowed a little brighter. Nadia didn¡¯t know why she¡¯d expected any better from Fatima. She was probably jealous that Nadia had a beautiful familiar while she was stuck with Mr. Higgins. So she took a deep breath and called ¨¦zarine back, before she could be tempted to pop Fatima¡¯s eardrums out. ¡°Fatima. Do you have to be so hateful?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who came to visit. You showed me your familiar, and I gave you my opinion. Door¡¯s still behind you if you don¡¯t like it.¡±

    Hopeless. Time to change the subject. ¡°Did you make any more progress on the dress yesterday?¡±

    ¡°While you were out whore-hunting? Not a lot, just a little on the right sleeve. Take a look.¡± She fetched their project out of the same closet she¡¯d just stowed her rug in. They¡¯d been working on it since they came to Thessaloniki, adding decorative embroidery to a plain white dress from a local shop. It was Fatima¡¯s size, of course; she was two years older than Nadia and might have passed it down, but Nadia was tall for twelve, and the difference in their figures was enough that she would never be the right shape and size to wear it.

    Nadia hardly cared. They were the only girls on base, if you didn¡¯t count Metics, and none of those girls were over eight yet. They needed something they could do together, something they wouldn¡¯t fight over (much), and this was it. Fatima had done her share of sewing with her mother in Afghanistan, and liked the idea of mixing Pashtun and Russian styles. They had a little time yet before anyone would be expecting them, and Nadia thought they could squeeze in a bit more progress.

    ¡°Town Day tomorrow,¡± Fatima reminded her, as they went over her work from yesterday. ¡°You got anything you want to buy? We¡¯re good on thread for now.¡±

    ¡°Not really. I already got Yuri his Christmas present.¡± They were the only Christians in the Family, if you could call Yuri a Christian. He loved Jesus just enough to get a present on His birthday.

    ¡°Pfft. He doesn¡¯t deserve it, the way he¡¯s been acting.¡±

    ¡°I know. But he¡¯s my brother, and I love him.¡± Though it was a near thing sometimes. She drifted over to the other sleeve to resume her part, and for several minutes neither of them spoke. ¡°What¡¯s it like, going out on missions? Are you afraid?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, a little. Before Mr. Higgins comes out. It¡¯s all his show after that.¡±

    ¡°Of course. But how do you deal with it?¡±

    ¡°What, being scared? I¡¯m used to it, by now. I was a lot more scared before I joined up, and I was on my own. Here, I¡¯ve got backup, and I¡¯ll be home for dinner. So it¡¯s not bad at all.¡± She looked sideways at Nadia. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s different for you. But you¡¯ll get over it. I did, and I was only nine.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Fatima¡¯s original family had been assassinated by a rival warlord, one who didn¡¯t care for American interlopers and their witchcraft. She ran for her life in the night, and would have been dead by morning if she hadn¡¯t run into her father¡¯s familiar and bonded with him.

    After more than a year running a hopeless one-girl insurgency in the wild, she¡¯d come to the attention of the valley¡¯s newest visitor and his two adopted sons. They¡¯d made a deal, her father¡¯s killer and his men were wiped off the face of the Earth overnight, and Fatima Alvarez became Fatima Alvarez Marshall. On paper, at least.

    Which meant she wasn¡¯t likely to be sympathetic to Nadia¡¯s next question. But she didn¡¯t know who else to ask. ¡°Do you ¡­ do you ever feel bad, about the men who die?¡±

    Fatima shrugged. ¡°Not bad, exactly. They¡¯re mostly soldiers, doing their job, right? They knew what they were signing up for. A lot of them aren¡¯t even soldiers, just sacks of shit with AKs. The ones who aren¡¯t, who might have been worth something? Sometimes, I¡¯ll say a du¡¯a for them¡ªif they were believers. It¡¯s all I can do.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Nadia looked down at the bright red thread on her needle. ¡°Prayer doesn¡¯t feel like enough, lately.¡±

    ¡°You can join me anytime. Then I can call you ¡®sister¡¯ for real.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that!¡± She sighed. ¡°At least a few men are dead because of me, because of yesterday. I was frightened of Papa Titus, frightened of Yunks, and I didn¡¯t know what else to do. One of them was firing on civilians, but only because ¨¦zarine was there, I think. That¡¯s not enough for me to kill them over, is it?¡±

    ¡°Did you start any of the fights, attack them on purpose? No? Then it¡¯s on them for getting into something they couldn¡¯t handle. You¡¯ve got a right to protect yourself.¡±

    ¡°But should I have been there at all?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Because your father and commanding officer told you to. Simple as that.¡±

    ¡°He isn¡¯t really my father, Fatima, and I¡¯m too young to have any ¡®commanding officer.¡¯ Yuri and I are only here because of trouble he started¡ªtrouble that got our family killed! Shouldn¡¯t he be the one who owes us?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Go explain that to him, if you want, and see how far you get. As for me, we made a deal, he kept his end, and I¡¯ll keep mine.¡±

    ¡°It must be nice, to have things so simple,¡± Nadia grumbled under her breath. Fatima either didn¡¯t hear her or pretended that way, and they went back to their work in silence.

    But Nadia didn¡¯t stop thinking. She¡¯d always expected life to get easier, once she had a familiar of her own. Assumed it, really, like a silly little Metic. But already she was looking ahead to the day when she would have to use ¨¦zarine in a real battle. What would Papa Titus expect her to do with her new friend?

 VI. Options (Keisha)

    David Hampton drove his own car, a light blue nineties-model Fiat compact. ¡°Excuse the mess,¡± he said as he unlocked the door. ¡°It¡¯s basically my apartment, these days, I¡¯ve got to meet so many people in so many places. It¡¯s probably not bugged, but I can¡¯t promise anything ¡­ at least it¡¯s out of the wind, right?¡±

    Keisha peered inside; it was littered with old fast-food cups and trash. She put out a hand to stop him from opening the door. ¡°Before we go in there, Colonel, I¡¯ve got a question: does this Titus Marshall have any espers working for him?¡±

    ¡°Espers? As in clairvoyants? We can¡¯t rule it out entirely, but it¡¯s not likely. Why?¡±

    ¡°Their presence would have a big impact on my freedom of action here. I have a way to guarantee that we won¡¯t be overheard in that car by any electronic means, but if Mr. Marshall has talent watching the city right now, it¡¯d be as good as setting off fireworks.¡±

    The Colonel thought it over. ¡°Worth the risk,¡± he decided. ¡°We¡¯ve had our eyes on him for a while and never caught a ripple of countersurveillance. Go ahead, Chief Graham, and thank you.¡±

    She eased her way into the passenger seat, moving a duffel bag to the tiny backseat and kicking napkins out from underfoot. Then she looked up and down the street, but nobody was close enough to see her; the Colonel had parked outside a museum which didn¡¯t seem to have a lot of Sunday visitors. Still, she crouched down before pulling out her pipe.

    After four years of training and six of practice, it came easy to her. All she had to do was concentrate for a second, control her breathing, and exhale gently through the instrument, her fingers barely moving its keys and valves. Only the tiniest drop of shimmering white ectoplasm came out of the end, wavering in the draft of her breath before it swelled up in a bubble, then popped and resolved itself into a tiny white moth. She leaned over to rap on the driver-side window while it fluttered around the interior.

    Hampton got in and buckled up, noticed her construct, and raised a hand to swat it. Keisha grabbed his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t, sir. It¡¯s mine.¡±

    ¡°You put vermin in my car?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an angelfly. Literally the first thing we learn to make at TBS. Harmless. It doesn¡¯t really do much of anything, beyond living for ten or fifteen minutes and generating just enough of a halo to mess with recording devices.¡±

    He watched it land on the dashboard. It shone very gently, and stood out from the ¡°real¡± world around it like digital imagery on a film. ¡°So that¡¯s ectoplasm.¡±

    ¡°Not much. Milligrams. And I can replenish my stock if I need to.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± He started up the ignition. ¡°You should know, if you haven¡¯t guessed already, that I don¡¯t have much of a background with that aspect of paraphysical operations.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I gathered.¡± She¡¯d had no intention of asking what it was he did, or used to do, if he didn¡¯t offer. That wasn¡¯t the kind of question you asked in the Numenate. David Hampton (Colonel, US Army) might have had a boring background in logistics, or he might have been mixed up in a scheme to traffic slaves and narcotics for third-world kleptocrats. Which, she supposed, was also ¡°logistics.¡± Either way, she didn¡¯t want to pry.

    ¡°The truth is, I don¡¯t like any of this shit. That¡¯s why they kept promoting me.¡± He pulled down his seatbelt. ¡°They knew there was nobody they could trust as far as the fussy codger dreaming of the good old days when R&D got done by honest war profiteers instead of witch doctors.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve met plenty of servicemen like that. In and out of the Numenate.¡±

    ¡°Well, this one sitting next to you has been a liaison to emissors on four continents now. Hated every one of the bastards. But it didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t professional in my dealings with them.¡± They were rolling now, but not fast. Hampton didn¡¯t seem to be in a hurry.

    ¡°And Titus Marshall?¡± Keisha prompted. His attitude was starting to irritate her, but if he could be professional, so could she.

    ¡°Is the worst yet. I¡¯m still courteous. My question is, what kind of options do you bring to the table against him?¡±

    ¡°Not much, if you¡¯re thinking direct assault. If men like Mr. Marshall are packing swords, this piccolo here is more of a Swiss Army knife. Way more versatile, better for delicate work, and discreet, but in a real fight there¡¯s no contest. I¡¯d lose.¡±

    ¡°I find it hard to believe we train warrant officers to handle ¡®Swiss Army knives.¡¯¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just a metaphor. The point is, I can¡¯t¡ªand won¡¯t¡ªjust straight-up kill Titus Marshall for you. The odds aren¡¯t good enough for me to take the risk of trying and failing.¡±

    He only grunted, and turned a corner. They were headed north, uphill, towards the old part of Thessaloniki.

    The risk of trying and failing, she¡¯d said. But the risks of not trying anything didn¡¯t look good either. The more she thought about it, the less she liked the situation here. Not just the fast and sloppy way she¡¯d been thrown over here, or the vagueness of their mission, or the fact that she had no experience with diplomacy or espionage or whatever the hell this was. She was used to a certain amount of screwiness while the people up top tried to figure out what was going on. No, there was a bigger problem than that.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°Colonel. Do your orders include anything about Marshall¡¯s children?¡±

    ¡°I wondered when you¡¯d get to that. No, they don¡¯t. We¡¯re not being asked to kill them. That¡¯s something, right?¡±

    ¡°And when their father gets eliminated? Do we just walk out the door and leave them to sort out the aftermath?¡±

    He shot her a look, but said only, ¡°We should probably concentrate on how we¡¯re going to get rid of the man himself. From what you¡¯ve just told me, that¡¯ll be the hard part.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She knew the answer already, anyhow; an unknown and unknowable number of those kids had familiars. However they reacted to the death of their adopted parent, they couldn¡¯t be allowed to walk free. Their government, or their allies, would either cut out the middleman in the minors-with-WMDs game, or take those assets off the table permanently.

    And Colonel David Hampton had to have figured that much out a long time ago. What did he think of their current orders? Did he even care? Another question it was better not to ask.

    The old part of Thessaloniki was like the old part of a lot of ancient cities Keisha had been to: an unplanned snarl of narrow, winding streets between small, short buildings. In this case, it was all up in the hills, so the alley-width streets had a steep grade as well. At least most of the streets were asphalt in this case. She¡¯d been places were they were poorly laid brick, or plain dirt.

    Hampton pulled over in an alley. ¡°There¡¯s a couple of things we need to go over before we get the pleasure of meeting the man himself. First, do you have any idea why the powers-that-be decided to haul ass rush-delivering me an assistant who can¡¯t help me against our target?¡±

    ¡°I really couldn¡¯t say. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Did somebody up top just cock up completely, or is there something going on that I¡¯m not being told?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Numenate, sir. There¡¯s always more going on, and nobody knows the whole story. But I honestly don¡¯t know what they expect me to do with my VRIL against multiple familiars. I can be useful in other ways,¡± she added, pointing to the angelfly. It was running out of steam now, just twitching its wings on the ceiling.

    ¡°Bugs,¡± Hampton growled, and shook his head. ¡°Still, I guess the next step up in firepower is another goddamn emissor, and I don¡¯t need one of those even if they could spare any.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say no to that kind of backup, sir. At least you wouldn¡¯t be totally outgunned.¡±

    ¡°Sure I would. He might have eight of them up there.¡± Hampton glowered at the dashboard. ¡°But there¡¯s another problem: that pipe. He¡¯ll have us searched, and maybe the car.¡±

    ¡°Easy.¡± She bent down again, and after thirty seconds¡¯ play sat back up holding a battered box of playing cards. It was significantly shorter than her piccolo, but she opened the top flap and slid it easily inside, closing it after. ¡°We¡¯re not going to be in there for more than six hours, are we?¡±

    ¡°No, but he might run a dowser over us. Will that show up?¡±

    ¡°Very dimly.¡± She tossed the deck into the glove compartment. ¡°It¡¯ll look like cards inside for anyone but me. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your cover? They did get around to that, didn¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Lieutenant Sarah Lawrence, new assistant to the military attach¨¦ at the embassy in Athens.¡± She pulled out her new ID to show him.

    Hampton didn¡¯t bother to check it. ¡°It¡¯ll do. He¡¯ll assume you¡¯re there to snoop, whatever you call yourself.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°As everything¡¯s got to be done in such a big damn hurry, consider this your briefing: we¡¯ll be giving Mr. Marshall his latest contract offer. I strongly advise you to contain any curiosity you may feel about his domestic situation. If you see anything that looks like it might be a kid out of the corner of your eye, look away. Hell, don¡¯t look at anyone but him if you can help it, unless it¡¯s a goon with a gun. He¡¯s got plenty of those.¡±

    ¡°Have you ever seen any of the children?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve glimpsed children, yes, but as far as anyone can tell he¡¯s got at least a dozen in there. He¡¯s got plenty of ambition left in him. He¡¯s also going to fuck with you, as best he can. Guaranteed. If you go into that room with him, he¡¯s going to start messing with your head. Directly.¡±

    ¡°You mean paraphysically? His familiar? That¡¯s as good as pointing a gun at your head. Hard to believe even he¡¯d cross the line that far.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what you can¡¯t believe about the man when you haven¡¯t even met him. There¡¯s been something in the room with us every time. Can¡¯t tell you what; he keeps it just out of sight behind you, but you can tell it¡¯s there. It¡¯s going to be hard to control yourself. I¡¯ve had some training in that department¡ª¡°

    ¡°So have I, sir.¡±

    ¡°Really.¡± He gave her a funny look, then shook his head. ¡°I won¡¯t ask. Anyway, that makes things simpler. Just be aware that he¡¯ll be prying at us as soon as we step in the door. Especially at you, since you¡¯re new and might be easier. If that isn¡¯t something you¡¯re prepared to face on short notice, I can drop you off here.¡±

    Keisha had to bite back some sharp words. ¡°I¡¯ve been in dangerous and high-stress situations more times than I can count. Literally¡ªI legit can¡¯t remember all the horrible places they¡¯ve shuttled me off to. I can cope with a little valence pressure. Just let me know what kind of ¡®prying¡¯ I¡¯m in for.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the screwy part. There isn¡¯t any one specific valence. No narrative, no images, nothing. He just yanks you in every direction, one after another, bam-bam-bam,¡± he said, snapping his fingers three times. ¡°Whatever it takes to knock you off-balance.¡±

    ¡°But familiars don¡¯t do that!¡±

    ¡°Well then, it isn¡¯t a familiar. Maybe his talents lie elsewhere. Or he might have a friend helping him from the next room. We¡¯ve both heard the stories about special interrogation assets.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not interested in speculation. Whatever it is he does, you¡¯ve come out of it alive plenty of times. If you can take it, so can I.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Hampton muttered, and put the car back into gear.

 VII. Harmony (Nadia)

    Bernie. Bernie Willard. Mister Bernie Willard, that was his name, that was the way Dad said it, every time he told the story. Bernie the real estate big shot, the real deal, the man who bought and sold Long Island. He had a very nice house, and a very nice wife, and a girl who was not his wife but got a very nice house of her own. The wife did not like the girl. The wife wanted a not-very-nice (and expensive) divorce. So the wife disappeared one night¡ªnever to be seen again¡ªand Mister Bernie Willard thought he would get away with it, because he also had a very nice lawyer.

    And he was almost right. The judge let him off. But Dad and his buddies on the force weren¡¯t feeling so generous. They learned Mister Bernie Willard¡¯s girl had her own boy on the side, a boy she liked very much¡ªand they were pretty sure they knew how Mister Bernie Willard would feel about that. Dad had a private talk with the girl, explained what needed to happen. He found her cooperative and understanding.

    Two days later, the maid came in to do her morning clean and found Mister Bernie Willard cold and stiff. Half a bottle of his prescription medication had fallen into his scotch somehow. Funny how that happened. There were questions raised, and lots of quiet reprimands, but Dad stayed on the force, and he saw to it that the girl stayed out of jail. She got a good chunk of Mister Bernie Willard¡¯s estate.

    How many times had Dad told that story? Too many to count. Always behind closed doors. Nadia carried the story with her through three tours of duty overseas, where plenty of small-time pimps and dealers found their way into small shallow holes in empty fields. Then on to federal service, where they had her doing the same thing to a bigger breed of bastard. This, she knew, was how civilization kept running¡ªmen like her finding the not-men, the wolves hiding in the flock.

    She liked to address them all as ¡°Bernie,¡± just for a laugh, to watch the bewildered expression fly across their faces in the instant before she¡ª

    ¡°Dammit! You didn¡¯t do it that time either. How long are you going to keep us here?¡±

    Nadia shook herself awake, and remembered once more that her father had been an accountant, not a policeman, and that she had never been to America in her life, let alone joined its army or federal service. All these strange ideas retreated to the back of her mind, where they calmly coexisted with the truth, coloring all her memories in shades of a harsh but necessary justice.

    And there was Hamza, leaning against a pile of old crates with a frown on his face. She could barely see his expression by the daylight coming in through the building¡¯s few windows. Behind him, Rhadamanthus looked much calmer¡ªbut that was easy, because Rhadamanthus didn¡¯t even have a human face. Nadia looked up at him to avoid catching his master¡¯s eye; his twelve glinting jewels swung around to stare up at the ceiling instead.

    It was Sunday, which usually meant Town Day. Any other Sunday, Nadia would be walking down the streets of Thessaloniki with Fatima and the Metic girls, all masked up and closely watched by Gulya or Zeinab as they browsed the store windows for things to spend their stipends on. A squad of armed Praetorians would circle around them the whole time, discouraging conversation with the locals. It was never very fun, except compared to being stuck at base.

    But Hamza was seventeen, Papa Titus¡¯s oldest and most trusted child. He had imperium, drew real wages, could tell even Lictors what to do. On his Sundays, he would be wandering town on his own, meeting up with one of his girlfriends so he could buy her a present and they could go smoke hash. Instead he was stuck in this dismal old warehouse, trying and failing to teach Nadia how to use their familiars together. She could understand why he was grumpy.

    ¡°Could you maybe wait for me to call ¨¦zarine again, and you call Rhadamanthus halfway through to show me?¡± she timidly proposed.

    ¡°What would that do? I already know I can do it. You¡¯re the one who needs to learn.¡±

    ¡°But I can¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°Sure you can. Just wait until he¡¯s started his sequence, then start yours, so they merge together. I¡¯ve done it with people and familiars I don¡¯t even know. This should be easy.¡±

    Nadia gritted her teeth. Given how annoyed she was already, it might be better that ¨¦zarine was a no-show so far. ¡°I barely even know what my familiar does yet. I don¡¯t have enough practice starting her up alone; it¡¯s too much to try and interrupt Rhadamanthus with her.¡±

    ¡°If you do it right, it¡¯s not interrupting at all. The two stories just mix together smoothly.¡±

    ¡°I know! I just can¡¯t do it, okay? Rhadamanthus gets started, and he runs away with my attention. How do you control that?¡±

    Hamza threw up his hands and turned away. Rhadamanthus made his feelings even clearer by swinging his long scythe-arm around to hack another stack of crates in half; splinters of wood and plastic went flying, and Nadia had to shield her face.

    ¨¦zarine and Rhadamanthus were the first two familiars in the family who might have a chance of working together, if you didn¡¯t count Yunks¡ªand Papa Titus wasn¡¯t about to go on missions in person. Frustration and a need for justice sounded like compatible feelings; in theory, they should be able to draw off the same human substrate, get closer together than other familiars could, and maybe wind up more powerful together than separate.

    It would be wonderful if it worked, because then Papa Titus would send her off with Hamza on most of her missions, and she would have all his experience backing her up, instead of going in alone like the others. And Hamza would be a much more reassuring partner than Ruslan, or Fatima, or (God forbid) Yuri.

    But first she had to learn how to work with him, and he wasn¡¯t the best teacher. ¡°What if I just practiced calling and dismissing ¨¦zarine?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t do it now. Only during the keystone sequence, when they¡¯re still forming. You do it now, they¡¯ll fight, and you¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know about ambivalence! I mean if you send Rhadamanthus away beforehand, so I can just practice my part. This is all very new to me, I¡¯m not as good at it as you are.¡± Hamza frowned¡ªprobably thinking of how much longer this would take¡ªso she added, ¡°What we¡¯re doing so far isn¡¯t working, right? So let me try my way.¡±

    Hamza still looked mad, but nodded, and gangly, graceful, ten-foot-tall Rhadamanthus collapsed like a marionette, twirling and wrapping his long limbs around himself, tighter and tighter, until he disappeared. All the memories of Bernie Willard went with him. ¡°Okay. Your turn. This should be easy, we¡¯re both pissed off already.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s only two of us,¡± she protested, but he was right: ¨¦zarine came out in a heartbeat. Nadia barely had to try to call her, and she was there, her skin like marble this time. She wondered what made her look different¡ªand how their eight Praetorian minders, dawdling outside the doors to shoo away curious pedestrians, were taking the sudden transition from self-righteousness to irritability.

    Dutifully Nadia dismissed ¨¦zarine, then called her again, playing for the fourth time ever her miserable story of scornful girls in cafes and mothers who would not listen. It was draining to feel a dead man¡¯s memories and obsessions so intensely, over and over, but it needed to happen. Papa Titus had high expectations of his children, and Hamza knew it as well as she did.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Now it was five times. Now seven times. Now nine, and she was starting to forget who was Nadia and who was Claude. Little details came up that she hadn¡¯t seen before: how freely Yvonne from the cafe had spent Claude¡¯s money, how Caroline from university always talked on forever about how complicated her damned feelings were, how Nadia¡ªno, no, how Claude¡ªkept finding men¡¯s things in Michelle¡¯s apartment.

    She was about to call ¨¦zarine for the tenth time¡ªthough she was now doing it so quickly that the familiar flickered in and out without properly leaving¡ªwhen the thought of Bernie Willard came back into her head. Bernie Willard and his money, and his power, and his collecting women like horses and putting them down when they got unruly and just who did he think he was? Did he think the rules didn¡¯t apply to him?

    Bernie Willard¡¯s woman in the cafe, young, pretty, and silly, dithering about whether she would do it or not, as if this were even a question, as if this hadn¡¯t been something that needed doing for years, as if men like her Bernie weren¡¯t hurting the whole rest of the world while she hung around in his horrible old castle living off his money and doing whatever he told her to do. What was the stupid girl waiting for? She had to know what had to be done.

    Bernie Willard in his base. He was in his fifties, but bald and wrinkled already, with a grey beard and a big nose, his mean little black eyes flicking everywhere while he talked, his Yunks looming behind Nadia like an old dead tree blocking the light of the sun, while she wilted and said yes sir, no sir, and there was no hope and no freedom and she would die in that castle, following his orders to help him suck the blood out of the world like the dirty fat tick that he was, he had destroyed Guryev and taken Yuri away from her and now he was eating her alive as well but she would never have the courage to rip his heart out and stomp on it like he deserved¡ª

    ¡°Nadia.¡± Something clenched down on her arm very tightly, and Bernie Willard skittered away into the back of her mind again like a cockroach running under the fridge. But the rest of her was slower to wake up and let go. There was something important she needed to do, and she¡¯d put it off too long already. She reached over to pry the fingers off her arm so she could get to it.

    They didn¡¯t let go. ¡°Nadezhda, that¡¯s enough. Open your eyes.¡±

    She did, and saw Hamza¡¯s broad, bearded face frowning down at her. Rhadamanthus was behind him again, but bigger than Nadia had ever seen him before. His skeletal frame shone brightly now, and the twelve stones, set around his blank face like the numbers around a clock, burned with a terrible red light. ¨¦zarine was beside him, a hand on his emaciated chest, her head swinging back and forth on the watch for anything or anyone that might threaten her beloved. Her skin was like clear glass, gleaming gold from a fire somewhere inside her, but the moody mass of her hair was a black stormcloud drifting around her body. Nadia could feel the lightning lurking in that cloud, the thunder that waited to break out in her voice.

    Hamza¡¯s other hand, the one that wasn¡¯t clenching her arm tightly enough to cut off the circulation, reached up and yanked her face around so she was forced to look him in the eye. ¡°You need to send her away now. Send ¨¦zarine back, Nadia.¡±

    ¡°But she just got here. And I¡¯ve never seen her so beautiful.¡±

    Somehow, the grip on her arm got even tighter; the fingers of his left hand dug into her face. ¡°Send. Her. Back.¡±

    For half a second, she thought about refusing, and making him let go. ¨¦zarine was stronger than he was, and they had important work to do. But this was her brother Hamza. Hamza hadn¡¯t done anything to deserve that, it was ¡­ it was someone else she was after. To hurt him would not make things right. So she obeyed.

    Something seemed to shift under her feet as ¨¦zarine disappeared into her own hair. Hamza let go, and stepped back shaking his head. Rhadamanthus abruptly shrank by at least a foot, and got dimmer. Hamza took a deep breath, then looked over his shoulder at his familiar, who once again spun away into nothing.

    Once both familiars were gone, Nadia suddenly remembered a large number of inconvenient things which she had somehow forgotten. And noticed that Hamza was eyeing her very intently. Oh. Oh, dear. ¡°Well, I did it,¡± she said weakly, trying to put a smile on her face. It felt like even her toes were shaking.

    Hamza didn¡¯t smile back. Not that he smiled often. Usually he was quiet, and kept to his room when he wasn¡¯t wanted for anything. But he would always flash a grin if he felt like you needed it. Not now.

    ¡°Um. How much of that did you¡ª¡° He crossed his arms, and Nadia shut her mouth. He¡¯d seen all of it, of course. Everything she had. And maybe the Praetorians out there too. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean all that, not, like, you know, I don¡¯t really want to, not really¡ªI¡¯m not planning anything or¡ªit¡¯s not like¡ªI got a little carried away,¡± she ended, just to shut herself up.

    Hamza put a hand up to his face, rubbing his temples. It was hard to say what he really thought about Papa Titus, though if he wanted to kill his father he¡¯d had plenty of chances. He¡¯d been with the Family since before it was a family at all, in the partnership years with Nick Vitelli, when Hamza hadn¡¯t been anything more than an underage errand-boy who happened to be around to recover Rhadamanthus when Vitelli got killed. And now he was as good as the heir to the whole business.

    Nadia tried again. ¡°Hamza, I promise, it didn¡¯t mean anything. I really don¡¯t want to make any trouble. It¡¯s just that ¨¦zarine and Rhadamanthus together¡ª¡°

    He held up a hand to silence her. He was thinking hard, which wasn¡¯t something he usually did. Not that Hamza was stupid, exactly. Just not ¡­ reflective, the way the rest of them were. Or complicated. If his work was done, and he had a full belly and a full wallet, he was happy. She could tell he didn¡¯t like having this dropped in his lap. He paced back and forth a couple of times, always with half an eye on her.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said at last, leaning against the dirty old crates again. ¡°You did what we came here to do, right? At least once. Now you¡¯re tired and stressed out, and we¡¯re going to go back to base. We can try again some other day. It¡¯ll be all right. That¡¯s what I¡¯ll tell him. And that¡¯s all I¡¯ll tell him. Okay?¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Hamza,¡± she said in a small voice. She was scared to be more expressive; it might annoy him into changing his mind.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. You¡¯re only twelve, and it¡¯s new. We¡¯re just going to have to be ¡­ careful, right? You and me both. You understand?¡±

    She did. She didn¡¯t want to say anything else, but she had to. ¡°What about the Praetorians?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Those punks? You let me worry about them. All they want is a paycheck, anyway. They don¡¯t want to get involved in all this any more than I do.¡± He didn¡¯t specify what he thought ¡®all this¡¯ was.

    The ride back to base felt much longer than the twenty minutes it really was. Long, and very quiet. Nadia shuffled in and all but ran to her new tower bedroom, where she buried herself in a book she¡¯d read twice already so she wouldn¡¯t have to think about what might be going through Hamza¡¯s head right now. Or what kind of gossip might be spreading among the Praetorians even now.

    She made little progress through the book. Every noise she heard, or thought she heard, through the thick walls made her jerk up her head like a startled rabbit. Luckily almost everyone was still around town shopping. With any luck Hamza would have a good time with his girls, and whatever he thought about today would look a lot less threatening through the drugged haze of hindsight. With any luck.

    Eventually she tossed the book aside and went to her prayers, the way she always did in the end. But peace did not come so easy now that she had that little knot of hot anger always ready to go off inside her. She said the words, and they meant nothing. It was hard, so hard, not to hate Papa Titus for making her do this to herself, even if ¨¦zarine was marvelous. Would it be so wrong, after all, if she ¡­ did what she wanted to do, in this case?

    Her icons did not answer.

    She was long past trying to read, and about to give up on trying to pray, when she heard an odious clatter on the stairs, and Yuri burst into her room without knocking, a lit cigar clenched in his teeth.

    ¡°Get that disgusting thing out of my room!¡± she snapped.

    ¡°It¡¯s not disgusting, it¡¯s real Greek tobacco. The Marshall Family supports the local economy.¡± She snatched it out of his hand, threw it on the floor, and ground it out under her heel. ¡°Hey, I just bought that!¡±

    ¡°Those things will kill you, Yuri. And they stink.¡±

    He put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Oh, my dear devoted sister. Tobacco takes decades to kill you, and it¡¯s fun in the meantime. You know I¡¯ll eat a bullet long before the cancer hits. I need to enjoy life while I can.¡±

    ¡°I would enjoy life better if you were not making my new room smell like a crematorium. Why are you here, Yuri?¡±

    ¡°Just sharing the good news. We¡¯ve got another mission.¡±

    Nadia¡¯s heart forgot to beat. ¡°We?¡±

    ¡°Yep. I mean, I don¡¯t know if the Tit wants you involved personally so soon or what, but it¡¯s a big job and he¡¯ll want all the help he can get.¡± He was grinning hugely.

    ¡°When, and where?¡±

    ¡°As soon as we can swing it, is what I hear. As for where, somebody across the Atlantic grew a big old pair of balls in a hurry. No more tests, diversions, or raids; we¡¯re going straight into Fatih this time, to rip our distinguished Slavic cousins a brand-new asshole.¡±

 VIII. The Beast (Keisha)

    Keisha stared at the building on the hilltop ahead. ¡°A castle. He¡¯s got a literal castle.¡± The Colonel didn¡¯t reply. Straggling bits of half-ruined wall extended out from the fortress in several directions, leftover from an older, larger system of fortification. The front of the main part, on the other hand, looked like it had had some extra bits added on in the years since the castle was built, a layer of modern cream-colored masonry work with red tiled roofs. But also some extra grey stonework in the original castle¡¯s style, just to make it more visually confusing.

    There was a small parking lot, mostly full of beat-up older cars. A few spaces were occupied by much shinier, newer vehicles, including a pair of glossy black limousines. Probably armored. Both had gold eagle emblems affixed to their doors, and matching laurel wreaths outlined across their hoods, framing the letters TM.

    As they pulled into their space, a man sauntered out from a small house at the edge of the lot, an M4 dangling from his right hand and a Coke bottle clutched in his left. He was wearing ordinary camo fatigues with armor over them¡ªnot modern kevlar and ceramic, but gleaming layers of overlapping metal plates across the torso, with a matching helmet. He¡¯d spilled some kind of sauce over the plates on his stomach, and looked grumpy. ¡°Paramilitary parking attendants. Nice.¡±

    Hampton rolled his eyes. ¡°They¡¯re called Praetorians. He¡¯s got this whole Greco-Roman thing going on, I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s all about. But it keeps him happy if you learn all the names, so try to pretend you can take any of this shit seriously.¡± He opened the door. ¡°Or at least keep a straight face.¡±

    There were cigarette butts scattered around the parking lot, mixed in with bits of broken glass and a couple of brass bullet casings in the shadow of an overflowing trashcan. Weeds sprouted from the planters, and there was no traffic, car or foot, on nearby streets. Keisha was willing to bet most of the houses around here had changed hands, probably without much compensation, in the past few months.

    She¡¯d taken places like this before. Not identical, but the same rough setup: a warlord and his dirty little gang of hired toughs squatting in an impressive-looking building. But impressive-looking buildings weren¡¯t always practical to secure. Not even literal castles. There would be odd corners nobody bothered to visit, cracked windows where she could safely send in a construct or two. The hardest part was always getting them in unnoticed.

    The parking goon looked her up and down as they walked past him. Keisha ignored him. That kind of perimeter grunt wasn¡¯t even worth using ectoplasm on; you left them for infantry to clean up once the facility was secure, assuming they didn¡¯t run away at the first sign of trouble.

    The front door led into a dismal, claustrophobic reception area that looked like it had done duty for a really creepy mental hospital, or maybe a prison. They got the promised pat-down there from another tough in faux-Roman armor. He at least didn¡¯t try to grope her while he was at it; he might have been too hung over, by the look of him. Not that Keisha hadn¡¯t been there herself, a time or twelve, after pulling off something major she couldn¡¯t talk about. But generally not when she was on duty the next morning.

    So much the better, really. Whatever they wanted her to do here, it would be much harder if Marshall had a lot of competent and dedicated staff. Some of them must be getting a second paycheck from NATO (and maybe a third from Russia) already. She made a mental note to ask Hampton about it later.

    They passed quickly through the institutional part of the facility, just a couple of rooms¡ªshe spotted more men in shadowy corners en route, some armed, some not, a few uniformed, one just hanging out in a wife-beater and boxers while he shot the breeze with his buddy on duty¡ªthen into the castle proper. She repressed the urge to ask the Colonel what the deal was with this place. The new assistant to the military attach¨¦ in Athens would have looked that up already, but Keisha wasn¡¯t up to date on her Greek history. Was this some kind of old commie torture site?

    Hampton led her into a courtyard¡ªat least, it was open to the sky, and she saw the tops of trees. But there were walls on either side of her, a roofless corridor that ran up to, then under, a little watchtower where a man with a rifle kept a lookout. He, at least, looked like he was sober and paying attention. Interesting.

    Past the watchtower things opened up a bit, and she got a few seconds¡¯ walk through an almost pleasant space, with trees and what looked like a little church. Then into a big tower in the wall, its entrance flanked by two more vigilant-looking men with bayoneted M4s. These two had actual tactical vests, even if they still wore old-timey helmets. Each had a little gold pin where the chest candy went on a dress uniform, shaped like (she squinted) a bundle of sticks with an axehead poking out the top. Whatever that meant.

    Two more were waiting just inside the tower. One of them held his rifle at the ready while the other ran a dowser over them, then gave them a more thorough (but still professional) frisking than the fumbling skim-job she¡¯d had up front. Nobody said a word the whole time, and when he was done the man with the dowser waved them up the stairs like they were expected.

    This, she supposed, was it. Best to start preparing; beside her, Hampton was breathing a bit more deeply than necessary for the grade of stairs. Keisha¡¯s technique for hardening would be a little different than the training he¡¯d had, and trickier too. On the one hand, she didn¡¯t want to let him yank her brain around on a string; on the other, she didn¡¯t want to hunker down so hard that he figured out what she was. If he was stupid enough to think she really was some diplomatic flunky, or an ordinary spy ¡­

    There was only one man inside the room at the top of the stairs, and he wasn¡¯t in uniform. Just what he was in was hard to say, but Keisha had never met a soldier, sailor, or marine who¡¯d have taken any amount of pay to wear it.

    He wore a metal breastplate shaped to look like a muscular torso, but also covered with tiny figures of soldiers and animals. A bright red cape hung down his back. The silver mask he was wearing was way too big for his actual face, and looked like an angry man with a beard. You could see a bit around his eyes, and his own mouth and chin showed between the angry face¡¯s shouting lips.

    His arms and legs were bare, except for a little skirt of metal strips hanging from the armor that rustled when he shifted his weight. The top of his head was bare too, bare and bald, with a fringe of grey hairs. Five-eight or five-nine, maybe, probably Caucasian, and at least middle aged. But still in shape, judging by the arms and legs.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Colonel Hampton,¡± his voice boomed out¡ªthe mask gave it a weird echoing effect. It swiveled to look at Keisha. ¡°And¡ªguest?¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Sarah Lawrence,¡± Hampton supplied before she could. ¡°New assistant to the military attach¨¦ in Athens.¡±

    ¡°And what does an attach¨¦¡¯s assistant do?¡± Marshall asked her.

    ¡°Any number of things, sir,¡± she answered. ¡°Right now I¡¯m here to get firsthand experience with¡ªwith the military situation facing Greece and its allies. Including yourself.¡± Did her awkwardness help or hurt her here? She wasn¡¯t feeling a bit of the promised mental pressure¡ªbut then, she wouldn¡¯t. She kept the image of a magnolia blossom firmly in the back of her mind, clear but not too clear. He wouldn¡¯t be getting through that.

    Marshall turned back to the Colonel. ¡°You¡¯ve been alone every time we met. Now you have an unannounced escort. What¡¯s your superior¡¯s name at the embassy, Miss Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°I report directly to Colonel Morris, sir.¡± She¡¯d memorized the whole chain of command, and she was reasonably sure her story would hold up to some investigation.

    ¡°Really. Well, I don¡¯t imagine the snail-eaters have many black women they trust with deep cover, so I¡¯ll take it as an honor that they went the extra mile for plausibility here. The timing¡¯s shit, though. Hopping mad, are they?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean by that, sir.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you know,¡± he said, flicking his fingers at her dismissively. ¡°Just stay out of my business, or your bosses will have another lost asset to replace. So, Colonel Hampton. What does the United States want with the House of Marshall today?¡±

    If Hampton was upset, he didn¡¯t show it. He produced a somewhat crumpled manila envelope from inside his jacket and handed it over. ¡°We¡¯re planning a new offensive in the next few weeks. The timetable is somewhat flexible, but we need at least one emissor knocked out. There will be a need to collaborate closely on this, so¡ª¡±

    ¡°So they don¡¯t have time to swap in a new one before your attack. Obviously.¡± Marshall tore the top off the envelope and pulled out the thin sheaf of papers. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to come cheap, you know. Taking on emissors is a major risk, and theirs have good security. Unlike some I could name,¡± he added with a nod to Keisha. He sounded amused.

    ¡°We¡¯re prepared to offer ten million.¡±

    ¡°Twenty,¡± Marshall countered at once. His eyes were flicking back and forth over the paper. ¡°You want me to take out Myriad? You¡¯re basically asking me to win the war for you.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s a bit of an exaggeration, Mr. Marshall. But yes, the primeval is our preferred target. A five million bonus if you remove her, with the condition that you do not acquire her for yourself.¡±

    ¡°How would you know if I had? But you do know I already have a primeval. Why would I want a second? They lack subtlety.¡±

    Keisha shuddered. This monster had saddled a child with a primeval? Marshall¡¯s mask whipped around in her direction, and she hurried to rearrange her face and body into perfect tranquility. He went back to the papers without comment.

    ¡°Is your government willing to accept the collateral damage this will cause if it comes to a clash between titans?¡± He said the last words with ironic relish. ¡°It likely will, and ambivalence isn¡¯t pretty.¡±

    ¡°Nothing about Istanbul is pretty right now. We¡¯re more concerned with noetic capture at this point. One more reason to eradicate the primeval first.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure it has nothing to do with her being their best possible, and only remaining, air cover. You¡¯re motivated purely by concern for the few remaining civilians who will have acquired obsessive-compulsive disorder over the last few months. And your compassion has inspired you to reach out to a humane man like me. Of course.¡±

    ¡°The mentality of Fatih¡¯s civilians is a legitimate strategic concern, Mr. Marshall. We don¡¯t need the headache of thousands of Turks who think and act like Russians.¡±

    ¡°You prefer them driven insane in a tug-of-war between emissants. Much less of a threat that way.¡± Hampton didn¡¯t rise to the bait, and he went on skimming the papers. ¡°Twenty at a minimum. Myriad is under very heavy guard. One of the other two would be much easier.¡±

    ¡°And we would accept that outcome. Knocking out any part of the troika introduces an exploitable opening in their defenses. As long as we know in advance which one it is, so we¡¯re poised to take advantage.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Marshall looked down at a large map of Istanbul on the table next to him. ¡°You¡¯ll need to bring in ground forces to occupy, land or sea, and Akritas can give at least some cover for both. He¡¯d make more sense as a target. And with Kostroma gone we could just starve them out.

    ¡°Unless this isn¡¯t really about strategic considerations in the first place. I would likely lose at least one of my family in an attempt on Myriad. Two for the price of one, is it?¡±

    ¡°The United States values our partnership. It¡¯s been very useful to us in the past, and we¡¯d like to continue it in the future. Whatever you¡¯re trying to insinuate¡ª¡°

    ¡°And what about her government?¡± Marshall demanded, pointing at Keisha. ¡°If you¡¯re choosing partners, I suggest you choose very carefully. Times have changed.¡±

    ¡°We realize that¡ª¡°

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t. You¡¯re still pretending, I can tell. You, and your president, and your senators, and all the other sad little trappings of a state, playing your asinine nineteenth-century balance-of-power games. But this is not a world of states any more, Colonel. Anyone with a brain has known that for some time. The state is as good as dead. I have more raw power at my disposal than any single government in western Europe, yet you treat me as a hireling. Is this wise?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t mean to suggest¡ª¡°

    ¡°You don¡¯t mean anything. There¡¯s no point in mincing words. The Marshall Family is not a mercenary contractor but a sovereign entity with its own interests. Those interests require money, and for the time being I am willing to exchange favors with your stupid anachronism of a government for our mutual benefit. You have had at least five years to see the long term trend, but you do not appreciate it. Or else you refuse to accept it, because you have too much invested in your own positions.¡±

    Keisha looked at Hampton; his forehead was shining with sweat. Whatever defensive training he¡¯d had, it wasn¡¯t holding up. Hers was doing just fine¡ªthe magnolia still had all its petals¡ªbut she didn¡¯t want to be in this room if Marshall totally lost it. It was less risky to intervene and distract before the situation deteriorated further. ¡°Mr. Marshall, I think the situation is more complicated than you give it credit for.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± He leaned back, cocked his head at her, and put one hand on his hip, sweeping the other over his map. Very theatrical. ¡°Enlighten me, then. I¡¯m sure lieutenants in diplomatic postings know all kinds of things.¡±

    ¡°I have been briefed on the current state of the Istanbul front. Please consider, sir. Akritas can erect a very respectable defense, but it¡¯s not insurmountable. I know it¡¯s been penetrated by concentrated effort from another familiar on at least one occasion. You could do it yourself, couldn¡¯t you?¡± Flattery wouldn¡¯t hurt.

    ¡°Easily. But keeping it eradicated, while moving ground forces in? He can put those walls back up very quickly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. And the occupiers could not move through the kind of concentrated fire needed to suppress them. But Myriad¡¯s air cover is just as bad. And Akritas¡¯s emissor is still a Greek citizen, even if he has shifted loyalties for the time being. You¡¯re not the only person interested in acquiring new assets. Or, in this case, recovering old ones.¡± She¡¯d just made that up, but it sounded good to her.

    ¡°Ahhh.¡± He sounded amused. For a long moment he looked at her, his head still cocked to one side. ¡°They train lieutenants very well these days, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She glanced at Hampton again; he was clutching a chair with one hand, his chest with another. Tears running down his face. He wouldn¡¯t be contributing much to this conversation any time soon. She thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and resisted the urge to look at it directly.

    ¡°And the accent. Alabama?¡±

    ¡°Georgia,¡± she corrected. That wouldn¡¯t tell him much, and it was easier to tell the truth than have more lies to keep track of.

    ¡°The French aren¡¯t that good,¡± he declared flatly. ¡°You¡¯re a genuine American, aren¡¯t you, Miss Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. And still very attached to my state, if you don¡¯t mind my saying so.¡±

    ¡°And if I did mind? You already said it. Luckily, I¡¯m not offended. America is at least not a nation-state. Your founders got that part right. America may well be the last to fall, though it will in the end. It¡¯s done so well because it was modeled on another, much older, multi-faceted society, dedicated not to parochial interests but to the unifying power of an ideal. Capable of absorbing any and all comers, subsuming them all in the person of one man. America left that man out. That was their mistake.¡±

    Oh, god. Why had she let herself say that? She didn¡¯t want a political philosophy debate with a lunatic. ¡°Yes, sir. But Colonel Hampton seems to be doing poorly. You have our offer, and I¡¯m sure we could revise it to our, uh, mutual satisfaction. Could you please excuse us?¡±

    ¡°Certainly. As long as you promise to return before too long. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Lawrence. Lieutenant, I should say,¡± he added with a laugh.

    ¡°Likewise, Mr. Marshall,¡± she lied. Hampton was slumped against a wall now, breathing heavily and shuddering. Keisha could only pray he didn¡¯t have a heart condition¡ªbut then, he¡¯d been through this before, apparently. She could see now why he didn¡¯t like familiars¡ªand the thing she¡¯d spotted from the corner of her eye was almost certainly a familiar. Whatever its valence was.

    Hampton didn¡¯t resist as she hauled him up by the arm and led him gently down the stairs. ¡°That was maybe a little worse than usual,¡± he mumbled in her ear. ¡°But I think he likes you now.¡±

 IX. Intelligence (Keisha)

    Hampton barely made it to the bottom of the stairwell; Keisha had to grab him before he fell down the last three steps. Then ease him to the floor, so he could weep and whine like a small child for the next five minutes. Eventually he finished, and lay still for so long that she had to check to be sure he was still breathing. What in the world had Marshall done to him? This couldn¡¯t be what happened at every meeting, could it?

    Eventually they made it out, with Keisha all but carrying the staggering Colonel. The enforcers scattered around the courtyard, and inside the castle¡¯s grimy institutional vestibule, watched in silence without offering to help. Apparently this kind of thing happened too often to be notable or concerning.

    The parking attendant didn¡¯t say anything either, only smirked and swigged his Coke. Keisha was too busy holding up half of Hampton¡¯s weight to be bothered. Getting him inside the car was a special challenge¡ªshe stuffed him into the passenger seat. She wasn¡¯t used to driving stick, but that was the least of her worries right now. She didn¡¯t even know where to go.

    ¡°Colonel Hampton. Are you all right?¡± Silence. She shook him by the shoulder. ¡°Sir. I need you to wake up and say something.¡± He obliged with an incomprehensible mumble. Damn it. She could go to the hospital, but they would ask too many questions she couldn¡¯t answer, and the Numenate brass would raise hell. Likewise for the local consulate. She reached over to check his neck; his pulse was strong and steady, if a bit fast.

    She had a number she could call, but it was only intended for last-ditch extractions from the country when the whole mission was blown. Everything else was supposed to be routed through her new CO, who was currently moaning and gasping uselessly in the seat next to her following an unprovoked assault by the contractor he was supposed to be liaising with. A contractor who had apparently just declared his organization a sovereign country in her hearing. What in God¡¯s name was she meant to do with this mess?

    It was tempting to just try and take Marshall down right now, and worry about rules of engagement later. She could do it, and with fair odds of success. All she had to do was get out of sight and bust her pic¡¯ out of the glove compartment. Whistle up a little gnat-sized construct, send it flying innocently up into Marshall¡¯s room, through his stupid mask, down his nostrils and into his vocal cords, where it would turn into a marble-sized wad of something like rubber cement. Shock plus asphyxiation equals permanent brain damage in five minutes¡ªfive minutes spent flailing on the floor in perfect silence. End of an empire, quick and clean.

    She¡¯d done it plenty of times before, but never to an emissor. If he kept his wits enough to call his familiar before blacking out, her little unanchored ectoplasmic pet would get sucked up like water by a dry sponge, and Marshall would in all likelihood go on a rampage to kill her and the Colonel, then declare a vendetta against the United States and maybe destroy half the city to let off steam.

    Shaking her head, she pulled Hampton¡¯s keys out of his pocket, buckled them both in, and started the engine. First, she would get where the metal-plated meter maid wasn¡¯t watching. The rest could wait.

    Keisha surprised herself by not leaving a trail of manual transmission parts all down the streets of Old Thessaloniki. Only a little grinding now and then, really. She got them to a spot that wasn¡¯t in the castle¡¯s line of sight, in a neighborhood that had real people walking the streets instead of henchmen. She parked in one of the quieter spots, where she could think it over.

    Hampton was still out of it, babbling a few disjointed words she couldn¡¯t make sense of. No telling when or if he¡¯d recover. She had to proceed on the assumption that she¡¯d be on her own. If she really worked at it, she might find a way to contact someone in authority without getting seen by one of Marshall¡¯s informants ¡­ and they would respond by telling her to sit tight while they argued for the next week about appropriate and proportional responses. There was no guessing what Marshall would do in the meantime.

    She was flying blind, and needed more information. She couldn¡¯t get it from here, with what she had, which made her next step obvious. It took her another hour to find her way back to her hotel, and haul Hampton across the lobby, into the elevator, and up to her room, where she tossed him onto her bed to recover. They got a few dark looks along the way. Maybe Thessalonikians (Thessalonians?) didn¡¯t approve of immigrant prostitutes who got their johns black-out drunk on Sunday afternoons. As long as they didn¡¯t call the police on her, she didn¡¯t care.

    The Colonel was starting to come around; she asked him if he was okay again, and he responded with a weak ¡°been better¡± before shutting his eyes and starting to snore. Vitals still stable as far as she could tell with basic military first aid training and no equipment. He didn¡¯t feel feverish. She¡¯d better try to get something done before he recovered enough to tell her not to do it.

    Her ¡°Benny¡± was where she¡¯d left it, in a clarinet case shoved in the room¡¯s closet. Right next to the green oxygen tank full of reserve ectoplasm. Hopefully Hampton wouldn¡¯t wake up, figure out what it was, and wet her bed in terror. She snapped the pieces together, ran it through the usual test sequence, then strolled to the window and opened it. The sky was partly cloudy¡ªgood but not great. She could work with that.

    A full-sized VRIL could do a lot more than a little piccolo model, creating constructs of greater size, complexity, and longevity at a greater cost in ectoplasm. What she wanted now wasn¡¯t particularly big, though, only another little flying bug. Something like ninety percent of the standard construct listing was small enough to fit on a human fingernail. Easy to overlook until it blew up, or started digging into your eyeball.

    The Whisperwing model was toothless; she needed the Benny to make it because it allowed precise control at long range, and fed back detailed images and sound. Keisha saw through its eyes as it emerged from the end of her instrument, then flitted out the window. Caution was called for here; it had a very dense body, but even partial sun would eat into it fast, and she had some distance to cover. She made quick dashes between the shady sides of buildings, minimizing time in the light.

    Marshall¡¯s base was easy enough to find even from an insect¡¯s perspective; it was on the highest point in the city. She got the ¡®wing up there with at least an hour¡¯s lifespan to spare, by the feel of it, and decided against checking on the man himself right away. If he was a seasoned PPO, he¡¯d want to kill insects even when he didn¡¯t have reason to suspect them, and he was already paranoid.

    Instead, she took a leisurely tour of the grounds, wiggling her way in through broken windows and cracks under doors. The castle courtyard was divided into five partitions, most with grim-looking modern buildings inside, flushed up against the inner face of the walls. She sent her bug through these first, but found them mostly empty. The rooms had bars on the windows and looked like they used to be prison cells, but had children¡¯s clothes and toys scattered on their floors. Going by these, it seemed one building was for girl children, the other for boys. At least ten of each. There were no children currently in them, but the courtyard was also deserted. Interesting.

    A third building, on the northwest end, had a few grown men in it, sleeping or watching TV. More henchmen. Nothing of interest. They¡¯d met Marshall in the complex built into the northeast wall, where he presumably still was. That left the clutter of new buildings outside the castle, and the towers. She went for the latter; the outer area was less secure, and felt like riffraff territory.

    The first tower she checked had a teenage girl in it, lying on a bed watching local television. From time to time she paused it with a remote and flipped through a Greek-English dictionary, repeating a word or phrase. The girl might have been anywhere from thirteen to sixteen, with slightly curly black hair and a complexion not much different from Keisha¡¯s, only with a bit of acne. She looked bored, and didn¡¯t seem to notice the bug flying around her ceiling. Her walls were covered with framed pictures of mountainous landscapes, and one small city with a mountain in the background. Keisha hung about for three or four minutes before deciding there was nothing more to be learned, and leaving.

    The next tower had a pudgy boy of around the same age in it. Slightly lighter skin, short straight black hair. His room was cluttered with books, half of their spines labeled in Cyrillic or Arabic. One corner was occupied by a harpsichord, which the boy plinked away at intently while he squinted at sheet music. It took Keisha some time to recognize the piece as Elton John¡¯s ¡°Crocodile Rock,¡± played slow and halting on a completely inappropriate instrument. He, too, took no notice of her construct, and she expected she would have to land on his nose to get his attention.

    A third tower room was empty¡ªof people. It did have an electric guitar, a large television (left on) with a DVD player, several used plates and forks crusted with food, two soccer balls, a humongous and expensive-looking stereo rig, some remote-control airplanes (one busted), an open box of Greek cigars, several partially-full liquor bottles including eighteen-year-old Talisker, and a very wide assortment of magazines scattered all over the floor and bed. This room¡¯s usual occupant, judging by their covers and the posters on the walls, was interested in sports, cars, hunting, fishing, guns, manga, and international pornography. A life-sized Playboy pinup hung next to the bed.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    She thought she saw the pattern: a large number of younger children, kept in tiny cells and given basic necessities and little toys, and a few older children who were indulged with expensive luxuries in private rooms. It was tempting to assume the latter were the ones with familiars, and that she had just seen two of Marshall¡¯s pet paraphysical operatives. But it was too soon to say for sure. She moved on.

    The last tower she checked had not one but two children in it, a boy and a girl, both adolescent, and having a lively argument. The boy was skinny and good-looking, maybe thirteen, with pale blond hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. The girl was taller and more tan, her face very narrow, almost gaunt, with thin lips. Her hair was mostly black but had a bit of much paler color showing at the roots, and her eyes were as pale blue as his.

    It would have been nice to eavesdrop, but they were speaking something that sounded Russian to Keisha. At least, he was speaking it, with a smug grin on his face; she was almost shouting, jabbing her finger at an object on the floor next to her foot. A cigar? The boy put an arm on the girl¡¯s shoulder, said something in conciliatory tones. She wasn¡¯t having it, and asked him a question. The answer seemed to startle her; she looked stricken, and stammered out another, much shorter question, which he answered with malicious glee.

    After a few more exchanges¡ªwhich the boy seemed to enjoy to an indecent degree¡ªshe drove him out of the room, then stormed over to the far corner and started jabbering, very fast, still in Russian, at something Keisha couldn¡¯t see from her current position. After a little while she threw herself on her bed and started sobbing into her pillow.

    There was a story here. Keisha set the whisperwing fluttering a little closer to whatever it was she¡¯d been talking at. She found only pictures on the wall¡ªodd ones. Bright but flat portraits on the front of people in weird clothes. All of them with gold-leaf circles framing their heads. But they looked familiar ¡­ memories spoke to her from missions past, in Lithuania, Armenia, Romania, all over the Eastern Bloc.

    Icons. They were icons. The girl had been praying. And it didn¡¯t look like those prayers had been answered. Keisha turned the ¡®wing¡¯s eyes back to the bed, and remembered a bit farther back, half a lifetime past, when another girl laid down on another bed and cried because she was all alone in the world. This was the part of the story when the old lady came in and said her line. And Keisha waited, half expecting it to happen. But the minutes passed, and the girl kept on crying in her room alone.

    Keisha could never recall clearly afterwards whether she meant to or not. Possibly one part of her did, and another didn¡¯t. Possibly it was a total accident. Either way, the beloved words came back to her, and they flew across several miles of air over Thessaloniki and came out the other side, quiet but clear: ¡°All is well, child, and all will be well, now and forever, till the end of the world.¡±

    And as soon as the words were said, just as Keisha was wondering what in the hell was wrong with her, and just how big a heap of trouble she had landed herself in, the girl on the bed froze, mid-sob, and lifted her head. ¡°Kto eto skazal?¡± she said, looking wildly around the room. Keisha had already flattened the whisperwing against the wall, ordering its wings to lie perfectly still. It was, by design, the kind of drab grey color that might blend perfectly well with anything.

    But the girl wasn¡¯t put off. ¡°Who said that?¡± she demanded, rising from the bed and wiping tears off her face with the back of her hand. ¡°Yuri, if this is one of your tricks ¡­ ¡° Keisha kept quiet. No sense making a bigger mess of this than she already had. ¡°Who is this? Who said that?¡± Her eyes flickered over the ¡®wing in the corner, then moved on. She took a deep breath. ¡°Do you think this is funny, whoever you are? Hiding electronic snoopers in my room? Do you think Papa Titus will think it is funny too?¡±

    Damn. Damn damn damn. She had screwed this one up proper, hadn¡¯t she? Blown the whole operation in one stupid sentimental moment. The girl was turning away already, setting her face to the door. But she seemed reluctant to go; she clenched her fists at her sides, then looked behind her again, raking the whole room with a long scowl. ¡°Don¡¯t think I won¡¯t do it! Yuri, or whoever you are! There will be consequences for this!¡±

    She was lying. However angry she was at being interrupted in a snit¡ªand Keisha remembered her own teenage years well enough, and knew how furious she would have been in that girl¡¯s place¡ªshe plainly didn¡¯t want to get ¡®Papa Titus¡¯ involved. Which meant this whole operation was not (yet) totally ruined after all. In fact ¡­

    To hell with it. The whisperwing detached itself from the wall and fluttered gently down to hover in front of the girl¡¯s astonished face. She held out a trembling finger to point at it¡ªor maybe to poke it¡ªand Keisha accepted it as a perch. ¡°You don¡¯t really want to talk to Papa Titus, do you?¡±

    The girl stared so hard she nearly went cross-eyed, and did not answer. Judging by past experience, she would probably stay that way for a good thirty seconds, maybe a little longer. Keisha had that long to keep her from screaming and running out of the room telling the whole damn castle about the talking bug. High stakes. ¡°You want help. I can tell. I might be able to give you that help.¡±

    The girl swallowed visibly, then said in a low, angry voice, ¡°My godmother died years ago, and she was not a fairy. I don¡¯t take help from strangers. Who and what are you?¡±

    There wasn¡¯t much to be lost by telling something like the truth; if this child ran and talked right now, anybody with any experience in paraphysics would be able to guess most of it, and ¡®Sarah Lawrence¡¯ would be the chief suspect. What happened after that, she didn¡¯t like to think. Titus Marshall would be very angry, and she had no idea how far an angry Titus Marshall would go. ¡°This creature you are talking to isn¡¯t me. It¡¯s a construct made of ectoplasm. Like your familiar, but not permanent. It will disappear in an hour or so.¡±

    ¡°How do you know I have a familiar?¡± the girl said.

    She hadn¡¯t, but didn¡¯t say so. ¡°I am very good at finding out information. Could you use that ability?¡±

    ¡°A spy. You are a spy, aren¡¯t you? And you want to use me against Papa Titus.¡± She flicked her wrist, and a cage of fingers rose up around the whisperwing in an instant. The girl¡¯s voice came in a ferocious whisper, very close: ¡°What will happen if I crush you, little bug?¡±

    ¡°This construct will disintegrate into loose ectoplasm, and I will be unhurt. You can then tell your friends and family about me, without proof, and if they believe you that will set me back, but it will not help you at all. And I will not come back to offer help a second time. You don¡¯t seem like a stupid girl. Are you?¡±

    For a long time, nothing happened, and Keisha waited, silent and patient, tickling a teenage girl¡¯s hand with her fragile wings. Then the world tumbled around her as the child started walking, light shifting through her fingers in crazy patterns. There was the sound of a door opening, a pause, then the door closed again. No, this did not seem to be a stupid girl.

    The fingers opened up, and blue eyes stared down at her coldly. ¡°I am listening.¡±

 X. DèŒ…tente (Nadia)

    Nadia sat on her bed with her right arm wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest. A little greyish-black fly rested on her left palm, inches from her face. ¡°What were you crying about?¡± it asked her¡ªat least, the sound of a human voice came from it. A man¡¯s, with an ordinary American accent like you heard on TV. She didn¡¯t see its mouth move, if it even had a mouth.

    ¡°Before I answer that, I want you to tell me who you are, little bug.¡±

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m only controlling this construct,¡± it huffed back. ¡°I¡¯m a human just like you. But I can¡¯t tell you my real name. You can call me what you want.¡±

    Hmph. A name for somebody who bossed around a talking fly, a secretive person trying to entice her ¡­ an ancient sermon of poor Father Fyodor¡¯s came to mind. ¡°Your name is Beelzebub,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°And you may call me Natasha.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± he answered. ¡°I don¡¯t have that much time to talk, Natasha. If I¡¯m going to help you, I need to know how many of you children are being kept in that castle.¡±

    Nadia lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Oh, but I thought you were good at finding things out? Didn¡¯t you just say that? No, Mr. Spy¡ªMr. Beelzebub¡ªI will be asking the questions here, since you say I am the one who needs help. How do you make flies like that? A temporary familiar? I have never heard of such a thing.¡±

    The fly hesitated before answering. ¡°It isn¡¯t a familiar, but a totally different technology using stored ectoplasm to make a variety of small, expendable ¡­ entities like this one. I use a special device called a versat¡ª¡°

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what it¡¯s called! Can you get me one? That kind of tool would be very helpful.¡±

    Another pause. ¡°Natasha, it¡¯s restricted military technology.¡±

    ¡°But you have one,¡± she pointed out. ¡°You don¡¯t carry a spare? You can¡¯t make a bigger bug, or a couple of bugs, to bring it to me here? If you¡¯re scared of breaking rules, I¡¯m breaking them just talking to you. I could get in a lot of trouble for this. If I¡¯m taking risks, you can too.¡±

    ¡°It takes several years to learn to use a VRIL effectively,¡± the bug said flatly, ¡°years you don¡¯t have. You¡¯re in grave danger every day you spend with Titus Marshall.¡±

    ¡°I know he¡¯s trouble. But I have been with him three years, and I am still alive.¡±

    ¡°But it isn¡¯t just him that¡¯s dangerous. One of your¡ªyour family members has a primeval familiar, don¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°A what?¡±

    ¡°A primeval. A familiar with a completely abstract, non-human, non-animal form. They¡¯re unstable and destructive.¡±

    Nadia rolled her eyes. ¡°Are you talking about Yuri? He, and his familiar, have been with the Family as long as I have. He is obnoxious and often cruel, but he does not attack me.¡±

    ¡°Yuri. Is he the boy who was just in this room? The young man with the blond hair?¡±

    ¡°Hey! How long have you been spying on me?¡±

    ¡°Natasha, listen to me. Even among people who work with emissors daily, primevals have a terrible reputation. There¡¯s a reason only the Russians ever made them, and even they don¡¯t anymore; no other country is that reckless. Do you know how familiars are made?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly. Governments pay a lot of money to do it. They do something with a person, and the familiar grows out of the person¡¯s mind. What kind of familiar depends on what kind of person you are.¡±

    ¡°Correct. The details don¡¯t matter for our purposes. But the kind of person who produces a primeval familiar is barely a person at all. Very mentally ill people, the kind of people who get kept in institutions in civilized countries because they can¡¯t take care of themselves. It makes them easier for the Russian government to control, but it also ¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain it.¡±

    Nadia flicked the bug off her palm with a fingertip, stuck out her tongue as he struggled to reorient himself before he hit the floor. ¡°If you¡¯re trying to tell me Shum-Shum is dangerous, Beelzebub, I knew that a long time ago. Yuri only has it because it got carried away and killed its last owner by accident. It also destroyed our home, and the entire city we grew up in. Yes, Shum-Shum is horrible. Thank you for your very helpful message!¡±

    Beelzebub landed on her knee. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Natasha. I didn¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t, did you? You don¡¯t know the first thing about me. You¡¯re just fishing for information, offering advice I don¡¯t need, and making excuses for why you can¡¯t give me what I ask for. So why don¡¯t you tell me why I shouldn¡¯t squash you now and report this whole conversation to Papa Titus?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to do that. Telling him about this would only make him suspect you, and he frightens you. I can tell.¡±

    ¡°How do you know how he would react? Have you met him? If you have,¡± she hurried on, before the fly could deny it, ¡°you can only be one of a few people. You¡¯re one of his clients, aren¡¯t you?¡± She doubted any of the staff could make talking insects.

    ¡°Does it matter who I am? You obviously need help from somebody. What¡¯s upsetting you so much?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Yes, your government would love to hear that, wouldn¡¯t it? So you can keep it in some file somewhere. Do they pay fly-makers a lot of money to interrogate little girls? Will they give you a promotion if I tell you enough of my secrets?¡±

    ¡°It you don¡¯t want to tell me things, I can accept that. Just let me know how I can help you.¡± the fly said. ¡°I can bring you information about the world outside the castle, or offer you advice for any problems you have.¡±

    ¡°Advice? You just want to use me,¡± she told it, ¡°the same as Papa Titus. If you really want to help me, get me out of here! Get all of us out of here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to, believe me.¡±

    ¡°Not to help your government. Not to be kept in a different cage and sent out on different missions where we risk our lives so you, or whoever controls you, can make money off of us. Can you promise me that? Not that I would believe your promise if you gave it. You¡¯re just a talking bug.¡±

    Again Beelzebub hesitated. ¡°I can understand why you wouldn¡¯t trust me,¡± it said at last. ¡°You have no reason to. But can you at least tell me if there¡¯s anyone in there you feel like you can depend on? I don¡¯t need you to tell me who that person is. I just want to know if there is anyone at all in there you can take your problems to.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t made the promise, she noted. But she thought his question over anyway. There was nobody she could trust with everything that was bothering her, it was true. She could trust some people with some things. Hamza, or Fatima. Ruslan wasn¡¯t good for much, but he would be sympathetic and he probably wouldn¡¯t rat on her. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    ¡°Then go to them. Go to that person. It¡¯s not good for a child your age to not have someone they can talk to. Tell that person everything that¡¯s bothering you, everything you won¡¯t tell me.¡±

    ¡°So you can sneak after me and find out who they are?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. I¡¯ll disintegrate this fly before you do it, if you want. It takes me a long time to get fresh constructs to your position from where I am.¡±

    She¡¯d just be taking the bug¡¯s word for that, of course. And she couldn¡¯t actually dump all this on Ruslan. He couldn¡¯t even handle his own problems. He still wet the bed, for God¡¯s sake. ¡°And what do you want in return for this very generous advice?¡±

    ¡°A list. Think up a list for me, of things you¡¯d like me to do for you if I can. In order of what you want most, then what you¡¯d want next if I can¡¯t do that for you, and so on.¡±

    ¡°That is easy. I can do that now.¡± She leaned in close and lowered her voice even further. ¡°What I want most: can you kill Papa Titus for me?¡±

    The longest pause yet. ¡°You actually want me to kill your father?¡±

    ¡°He isn¡¯t my father, and yes, I do.¡± She ignored the sudden thought of Father Fyodor¡¯s horrified face. ¡°Is that a problem ¡­ Beelzebub?¡±

    ¡°I might be able to, with your assistance. I don¡¯t know everything he can do to defend himself. If you can give me information on him, it would help a lot.¡±

    ¡°Information? Yes, I thought so. If you can¡¯t kill him, can you at least get us away from him, like I asked you before?¡±

    ¡°Not right away, Natasha. Not while he¡¯s alive.¡±

    ¡°Okay, next on the list. Can you keep me safe during a mission?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s possible. I¡¯d have to talk to some people, but we might coordinate some kind of assistance to make you safer in the field.¡±

    If Beelzebub was involved with a client, he might have been the one who brought the orders for the Fatih mission in the first place. Which would make this as much his fault as Papa Titus¡¯s. But if he wanted information from her, she might be able to squeeze some favors out of him in return. ¡°Possible. Next ¡­ hmm. Can you protect me from Papa Titus?¡±

    ¡°What does he do to you?¡± the bug asked at once. ¡°Has he been hitting you? Or touching you in other ways?¡±

    ¡°Hitting me? Papa Titus doesn¡¯t need to hit people. He uses Yunks on you. Can you protect me from Yunks?¡± It was a ridiculous idea, but¡ª

    ¡°Yunks is his familiar¡¯s name?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Actually, if you could just destroy her, that would be best of all.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to do that. But can I ask you one question, please? When Yunks attacks someone mentally, how long do the effects last?¡±

    Nadia was tempted to squish the bug. ¡°You know somebody Yunks has been chewing on, don¡¯t you? That¡¯s the only reason you would ask. And you¡¯re only bringing it up now? Why on Earth didn¡¯t you ask about that first? What is wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t think you could help. Is there a cure? Will it go away with time?¡±

    ¡°It depends how hard he decided to lean on you. I¡¯ve seen people go totally insane, when they made him very angry. He caught a Praetorian stealing from him three months ago, and went after him for hours, then brought him out and left him in the courtyard. The man sat there for days, not moving or talking, just ¡­ lying there with his eyes open. He soiled his pants, but didn¡¯t move. I think he died of thirst.¡±

    ¡°Well, my friend isn¡¯t that bad. I think he¡¯s getting a little better. But it¡¯s been several hours.¡±

    ¡°He will probably get better. But you don¡¯t really get better, all the way, after Yunks goes after you. Not if she does it for real. Every attack breaks you a little more.¡±

    ¡°¡­ I see.¡±

    ¡°And you can¡¯t protect me from her, can you?¡°

    ¡°Actually, I think I can.¡±

    Nadia laughed. ¡°Then why are you asking me about your friend?¡±

    ¡°My friend was unprepared. I wasn¡¯t, but I was in the room with him, and I came through unscathed.¡±

    ¡°Then Yunks wasn¡¯t really after you. You can¡¯t blunt her teeth.¡±

    ¡°I can, and I did,¡± the fly corrected. ¡°And I can teach the same trick to you. It won¡¯t be easy, it will take longer to learn than you might like, and you must keep it secret from everyone¡ªat least at first. I would get in trouble, very big trouble, if my own masters found out I taught you. But it can be done, and I am willing to teach you. So don¡¯t say I won¡¯t take risks for you.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you teach your friend, then?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, Natasha. But my hour is running out, and we probably shouldn¡¯t talk any longer than this at one time anyway. Can I come visit you again sometime, and we¡¯ll discuss this some more? Maybe tomorrow. I won¡¯t talk until I see you¡¯re alone in the room.¡±

    ¡°Hmph. Maybe.¡± The little vermin was almost certainly lying to lead her on, but if he wasn¡¯t ¡­ it was worth a listen. She might at least learn something useful along the way. ¡°Here, let me show you the way out, Beelzebub.¡±

    She reached out, caught the fly between her fingers, and squeezed, hard. It was very satisfying to feel it crunch, watch it crumple and spray out its guts in a mist of white ectoplasm. She blew, and the tiny cloud drifted into the beam of sunlight coming through the window, where it vanished. Evidence gone. He¡¯d told the truth about that, at least.

    Nadia found she felt much better now, for some reason. Maybe just talking was all she needed, even if it was to some nasty foreign spy. She stretched, got up from her bed, and gave her icons a little bow. God worked in mysterious ways, didn¡¯t he? Maybe she would go visit Fatima now, and see if they could get some more work in on the dress.

 XI. Showtime (Keisha)

    Their plane landed at 1733, perilously close to the scheduled start time of Operation Wolf¡¯s Teeth. It couldn¡¯t be helped; they¡¯d been held up at Thessaloniki¡¯s airport while the Marshall Family¡¯s entire air fleet took off in sequence, then again in Istanbul as they waited for all those privileged planes to land. Luckily, they would be watching the whole thing from the airport; they were only jockeying for good seats before the big show began.

    ¡®Papa Titus¡¯ had offered to find space for them on a plane full of Praetorians, an offer Sarah Lawrence tactfully declined for her CO¡¯s sake. ¡°You good to handle the steps, Hamp?¡±

    ¡°For the last time, yes! I¡¯m not a goddamn invalid.¡± He levered himself up forcefully from the seat, gripping chair backs as he moved toward the exit. There was no need to wait; they were the only passengers on board the tiny plane Uncle Sam had chartered for them. Keisha hurried after the Colonel, an arm half-extended to him behind his back in case of a fall.

    Three weeks¡ªalmost four now¡ªand he still wasn¡¯t back to normal. It had taken her two of those weeks just to get him to see a doctor, who assessed some degree of distributed nerve damage and offered a battery of further testing the Colonel had refused in favor of a disturbing amount of ibuprofen. Probably he didn¡¯t want to know what those fifteen minutes with ¡°Yunks¡± had done to him.

    Keisha hadn¡¯t been able to push him further; she¡¯d been busy with her other responsibilities, juggling Titus Marshall and his twelve-year-old adopted daughter. It was hard to say which of the two was more childish, demanding, and irritating.

    But it all led up to this moment, as she caught her limping superior by the arm at the bottom of the stairs and hauled him over the tarmac, grumbling and cussing, so they wouldn¡¯t be late for the Coalition¡¯s latest billion-dollar spectacle. By the time they got to the terminal he¡¯d given up griping to save his energy, and let her guide him through the door without complaint. White-helmeted Turkish MPs in dress uniforms were available at every turn to point them to the appointed place: the roof of a parking garage. It took another five minutes just to get through the security line. 1753¡ªcutting it close.

    Istanbul¡¯s shiny new airport saw precious little civilian traffic these days, but plenty of military, and the Turkish government was determined to play the gracious host¡ªpossibly to make up for their utter impotence to dislodge Russia from the heart of their largest city after most of a year. They had six good-sized projection screens set up on the rooftop, currently showing live air footage from as many different locations around Fatih district. Nothing happening on any of them yet. The speakers beside them were turned off.

    Including the security personnel, technical staff managing the screens, and white-jacketed waiters circulating with hors d¡¯oeuvres, there had to be over a hundred people present. Most of them were still standing, milling about with drinks in their hands like it was a cocktail party. The various potted plants, carpets¡ªTurkish, naturally¡ªhardback chairs and elegant tables scattered around did a good job of covering up the lines of the parking spaces.

    There was even a little stage platform and podium set up on the west side, between the screens, backlit by the setting sun. A banner hanging down the podium¡¯s front depicted a wolf¡¯s head and a crescent in white, against a bright red background. The same motif was repeated on little flags all around the rooftop. If the Turks were taking ownership of this whole circus, they could have been more subtle. Of course, the wolf was supposed to be a Turkish symbol in the first place¡ªor so she was told.

    Still, if half of the guests weren¡¯t in military uniforms under coats, and the air hadn¡¯t been horribly cold, you could almost pretend this was a wedding reception. God only knew what they¡¯d have done if it rained.

    Titus Marshall was wearing the same idiotic Roman Emperor getup he¡¯d first met her in, now freshly polished, and was regaling a dozen people (who all stood at least eight feet away) with his very loud opinions of someone called Aristophanes. Keisha was pleasantly surprised that he¡¯d had the tact to steer the subject away from the inevitable collapse of state governments in favor of emissor dictatorships. He beckoned with one hand; deliberately misunderstanding, she waved back, and ushered Hamp to a table on the east side, where they¡¯d get a good view.

    ¡°Thank you so much, Lieutenant Lawrence,¡± he said airily, as she pulled out a chair and forced him down into it.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, sir,¡± she replied deadpan, and plunked down next to him. A waiter offered them hot cups of coffee, which she gratefully accepted. Hamp told him to bring his back with at least one shot of liquor in it. The waiter blinked, but walked away without saying anything.

    ¡°You¡¯re a little young to be my wife, you know,¡± he growled, when she gave him a look. ¡°I¡¯m not staying near that son of a bitch cold sober.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she murmured back, looking around and checking her watch. 1800 on the dot; she thought she could hear the call to prayer on the wind. Officially, it had begun, and three teenagers were on their way into Fatih. She wished she could have been with them, instead of on a rooftop miles away from danger, waiting to take in the scenic view of the apocalypse.

    She peered over the edge to survey the heavy guns laid out in the parking lot below, then looked up at the sound of roaring engines to see an F-22 circling in the distance. Security theater for their hosts. There¡¯d be an even larger perimeter laid out still farther away, in the unlikely event Ivan felt like reaching out this far. Every security tough had a dowser out, and at least one of the people in this crowd would be an emissor, authorized to cut loose in case of catastrophe.

    Of course there¡¯d be Coalition forces involved in the assault as well, both conventional and paraphysical, and (thanks to her work over the past few weeks) a whole swarm of innocuous-looking bugs laid out along their route into the city, to keep an eye on the children and offer help if needed. But there was little help they could offer when the first familiar to manifest would wipe them all out. It really did come down to Hamza, Ruslan, and Nadia¡ªno, ¡°Natasha.¡±

    It was hard to believe that all of the governments represented on this cold and windy rooftop didn¡¯t have any of their own emissors to spare¡ªreliable paraphysical operatives with years of experience, who spoke Russian, Turkish, or both, would likely have a much better chance of success. But the loss of even a single emissor would represent a major setback, impossible to replace in a hurry. Why risk losing one¡¯s place in the international balance-of-power pissing contest when there was a cheap rental option available? All the Coalition emissors would be hanging safely back with the diversionary force. Maybe she should get a shot in her coffee too¡ª

    ¡°Pardon me,¡± a man said from behind her in oddly accented English. ¡°Is this seat taken?¡±

    Keisha whipped her head around, then smiled. ¡°Dr. Gus! I wasn¡¯t expecting to see you here!¡±

    ¡°I will take that as a ¡®no,¡¯¡± he said, easing himself down into the chair beside her. ¡°Incidentally, do keep your voice down, my dear. This place must be filthy with Russian spies.¡±

    ¡°Right you are. Colonel Hampton, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve met Dr. Gus. He¡¯s ¡­ ¡° She wasn¡¯t sure how much she could say.

    ¡°A consultant for the Numenate. Semi-retired, these days. And you are Lieutenant Sarah Lawrence at the moment, yes?¡± He threw a look over his shoulder as he said it, but Marshall was still jawing away at his captive audience.

    ¡°And you¡¯re very well informed,¡± Hampton cut in, eyeing her old mentor with some distaste. It was hard to imagine a less suspicious-looking person; he looked old enough to be more than semi-retired, with a receding white hairline, wire-frame glasses, and a very tidy mustache. He was the sort of old man who not only wore a bow tie and a cardigan, but would look slightly incomplete without them. The Colonel was doing his best to be suspicious anyway. ¡°Is your name really ¡®Dr. Gus¡¯?¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°No, but not for any sinister reason,¡± the Doctor replied with a cheery smile. ¡°My actual name is rather hard for most English speakers to pronounce, so I go by Gus. Nobody can be scared of a man named Gus.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t find you frightening at all,¡± Hampton retorted, and Keisha was about to tell him to back the hell off when Dr. Gus laid his hand on hers.

    ¡°Bear in mind, Colonel Hampton, that we have only just met. But I gather you are curious how I know about the Lieutenant? As it happens, I was the one who recommended her for this assignment.¡±

    ¡°I thought better of you than that, Doctor!¡± She was only half-teasing.

    ¡°Yes, he is tiresome, isn¡¯t he? But this is critical, and I knew very well that you could be relied upon.¡±

    ¡°A consultant,¡± Hampton said, still eyeing him critically. ¡°The Numenate has a lot of consultants, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°My involvement with the United States government predates the formation, or even the contemplation, of the Numenate by several decades. Most of your lifetime, I imagine. I have played many roles within that time, but never in any violent capacity. I am primarily an advisor.¡±

    ¡°I thought everybody knew Dr. Gus,¡± Keisha began, only to be cut off by the squeal of feedback as a microphone turned on. Some big shot officer or other had taken to the stage to kick off the ceremonies. He had a French accent; more than Turkish pride was being salved here. But he wouldn¡¯t be saying anything she didn¡¯t know already, so she kept her eyes and attention east while he welcomed various important people to the kickoff, and hopefully the successful conclusion, of Operation Wolf¡¯s Teeth.

    The Turks had helpfully set multiple pairs of binoculars on every table for this little soiree, and she picked one up to scan the horizon. Fatih itself was much too far away to see, of course, but it would begin in the air, and it wouldn¡¯t be easy to miss.

    The ancient center of the city was protected by a double perimeter forming a no-man¡¯s-land: massive fortifications courtesy of Akritas shielding the Russians from attack, surrounded by a half-mile hedge of Mayakora¡¯s noxious forests for the Coalition. Any attempt to break through either barrier would lead to a familiar manifesting to regenerate it in moments. Hence the past six months¡¯ stalemate.

    Up till now, Titus Marshall had been earning a handsome fee for feints, probes, and tests, punctuated by the odd opportunistic attack or retaliation. Blowing up ships, assassinating minor officers. There wasn¡¯t much else to be done, with Moscow keeping a clairvoyant eye on the whole district around the clock. The first sign of paraphysical attack would put the troika on high alert, monopolizing Fatih¡¯s population¡ªand wiping out any VRIL constructs inside the walls. You couldn¡¯t get an emissor inside the district without waking the troika, and with the troika awake any other familiar would be starving and outgunned. The whole thing was hopeless¡ªor so went the conventional wisdom.

    Tonight, they would try to break the siege with a combination of careful timing and overwhelming force. As tactics went, it wasn¡¯t all that inspired, the equivalent of throwing a flash-bang into a room before forcing your way in with a squad. Just like that time-honored maneuver, it would be extremely hazardous to any innocent third parties who might be caught in the crossfire¡ªin this case, the increasingly deprived and miserable civilians of Fatih.

    The French general finished his bit and sat down, and there was an awkward pause. Several heads swiveled expectantly toward Titus Marshall, who pulled a phone out of his armor to thumb through it. ¡°Secundus is facing some minor delays,¡± he announced. ¡°Primus is in position with the rest of the task force.¡±

    ¡°Primus,¡± Dr. Gus said in her ear. ¡°Alias ¡­ Yuri?¡±

    She startled; of the hundred or so people on this roof, only she, Hampton, and Marshall should know that name. Most of the people here didn¡¯t even know about the three children who made up ¡®Secundus,¡¯ though they certainly must have guessed the broad outlines of the plan. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than recommend me,¡± she muttered back, but got no reply beyond a twinkle of his eyes.

    More time passed; a few people started quiet conversations at their tables. One or two hustled downstairs, presumably looking for the bathroom. David Hampton gave Titus Marshall a vicious look, downed the last of his Turco-Irish coffee, and motioned for another. Keisha wondered if she should cut him off at some point; she still felt irrationally guilty for what he had suffered. If she hadn¡¯t been in the room and invulnerable, Yunks would have almost certainly have been much gentler, and her new CO would have escaped the castle with only his usual mild jitters. Apparently impunity pissed her off. She wasn¡¯t used to being ignored.

    There was a noise like a trumpet, and all conversation ceased abruptly. Ostentatiously Titus Marshall reached inside his armor, retrieved his phone, and glanced it over before turning his oversized mask to the French officer and saying, ¡°Mar¨¦chal, by your leave?¡± The man gave him a sour nod, and he held up the phone to his mouth. ¡°Primus, Secundus: Now.¡±

    For ten seconds, nothing happened. Then a little dot of light rose up in the east¡ªwhite at first, then multicolored. One of the screens caught it before she could swing her binoculars around; several guests who hadn¡¯t seen it before exchanged incredulous stares. Even Keisha, who knew basically what to expect, was startled, because Shum-Shum, destroyer of Guryev, looked like nothing so much as a jellyfish made out of a Tiffany lamp.

    A gleaming bauble of multicolored panels, lit up from within, floated serenely through the air, trailing a long curtain of metallic-beaded strands below it. The sight of it was so bizarre, so unexpected, that it took several seconds for Keisha to notice the music coming out of the speakers: a simple, tootling, jangling tune, like you might hear from an ice cream truck, or an old-fashioned carousel. A few people laughed. The majority, who had some inkling what a non-humanoid familiar meant, only stared as it drifted east toward Fatih.

    Another screen showed the nearly instant response in kind: an elongated metallic bulb, at least fifty feet long, rising from Akritas¡¯s bombastic battlements. Myriad, champion of Holy Rus¡¯, empowered by a third of the people she held captive. As she cleared the skyline, she bloomed, opening up her twelve gleaming petals in pastel shades, and starting their stuttering clockwork rotation. Her smaller, inner ring of shining gold spun just as cumbersomely in the opposite direction, around the colossal glassy ¡°dewdrop¡± at her very center, already pregnant with her glowing children.

    Out they came in perfect unison, swirling streams of murderous flying drones of rainbow light, one for each person in her aura, always maintaining perfect radial symmetry with each other in a shifting pattern as they spun and twirled about looking for threats to her perfect order.

    Those threats were already coming, flashing through the screens in turn. Usman the Dauntless, next to appear as a courtesy to their Turkish hosts, a slithering serpent of segmented steel plates wrapped around a hollow core, culminating in the torso of an armored giant with a hundred floating hands. Slothlike Pangu, barely visible by his single yellow eye shining through the frozen fog he made. Gangling Eisengrave, all bladed bones and barbed chains. Tantrum Song, beard and rags flapping and twisting around him as he rode his whirlwind into battle. A few others she couldn¡¯t recognize from a glimpse at a screen.

    Last of all came the rotting corpse of Mayakora, fresh tendrils of thorns and poison blossoms erupting out of her body as she writhed in pain, before the camera cut away in a hurry. Growing back her forest after her allies cut through it, sending its creepers after them to worry and tear at Akritas¡¯s ramparts.

    All of it was captured for their viewing pleasure by very high-quality airborne cameras with exquisite zoom capabilities that could achieve reasonable focus from outside the tech-jamming effect of a halo. From multiple angles, no less. The Turks had to know they would not be getting their city back from this assault, but the spectacle was worth it when the two forces met and all these men could see their incredible, atrociously expensive toys unleashed to their full extent while they sat in comfort.

    A familiar could only be as strong as the human substrate it had to draw on, lost potency with distance from its emissor, and suffered degrading interference from another¡¯s halo. Usman¡¯s whirling gauntlets battered at the walls, Pangu cracked them with frost, Shum-Shum shook them down with fire and lightning, but Akritas and Myriad had an endless well to draw on and gave back as good as they got and more.

    Usman was the first to fall, exploded into a cloud of shrapnel by Akritas. The bits disintegrated into loose ectoplasm and were absorbed before he could make a new wall from them. Tantrum Song and Shum-Shum were torn to bits by at least thirty ravening drones apiece. Eisengrave was eventually buried alive by Akritas, dust and shrapnel congealing around him and freezing him in place as the foundation of yet another wall. They could all be remade, but not as quickly as before, and regeneration made them groggy and stupid. At 1847 they gave it up at last, fading back into the night so Akritas could perfectly replicate the fortifications they had spent half an hour destroying.

    It didn¡¯t matter. The flash-bang had gone off. There was no way any esper watching the district could have kept track of all the simultaneous disturbances in the fabric of reality. A whole shift would be going to bed with migraines, while their replacements hurried to get into a proper trance. ¡°Secundus¡± and his team were well inside by now, their familiars safely hidden, nothing to distinguish them from any three other teenagers in the crowd. Operation Wolf¡¯s Teeth had only just begun.

 XII. The Crossing (Nadia)

    They¡¯d all been warned, several times, to watch for dogs. Not just to watch, but to listen, because Galata was a dangerous place, even for Hamza who¡¯d been there several times before. Light would be inconsistent, hiding places many, and they would only get a half-second¡¯s warning at best before a dog burst out of cover to maul them. A rustle in the grass, a clatter of debris shifting underfoot, and then the beast would be on them.

    So Hamza led the way with silent steps, gesturing for them to stop or come with one hand while he held out his silenced pistol with the other, sweeping it around every corner he turned. And there were many corners. Galata was all corners now, corners and passages and dead ends, pits and craters, weeds and thorns. You couldn¡¯t find thirty feet of it to walk in a straight line without squeezing through a gaping crack in a wall, or shuffling around a jagged hole in the asphalt where a stray shell had landed.

    A year ago, it had been a lively part of the city, just north of the inlet they called the Golden Horn, the harbor of ancient Constantinople. There used to be three bridges across its narrowest point, and when Russia first took Fatih the Coalition had rushed those bridges many times. Galata inevitably died in the process, but they kept fighting for it, three straight months of attacks and counterattacks, raids and occupations.

    The Greek traitor Akritas swept in and remade it in his usual way, slapping rubble together into makeshift bunkers and barriers for a Russian advance. Coalition forces took it back, smashing them down again, and were repulsed. The process repeated a dozen times before Russia gave in and destroyed the bridges, so there was nothing left to fight over, and the battlefront had shifted to the west.

    Now nobody lived in Galata but the kind of men they called ¡°irregulars,¡± human vermin dredged up from the vilest places eastern Europe had to offer. From time to time they would sneak out of their holes here to trouble the parts of the city that were still functional, robbing stores, bombing schools, and setting houses on fire.

    Decent people moved away from the harassment if they could, and the death and blight of Galata came creeping north and west in their absence. The Coalition bombed the area, but the raids persisted; familiars flushed the thugs out, but they came back or were replaced; ground forces sent in to clear the area out found only dust and the odd landmine.

    And dogs. Dust, and landmines, and dogs. Nadia was frightened of landmines, but more frightened of dogs. You had to step on a landmine before it killed you, and she felt sure it would kill you quicker, without the blood and pain and terror of teeth tearing at your throat.

    Hamza put up a hand, and she froze in place; Ruslan ducked behind half a theater marquee. They both had pistols too, and all three of them had on night-vision monoculars, but neither was stupid enough to think they could use them as effectively as Hamza. Instead they watched, trying to breathe quietly, as their big brother peered inside the wrecked pillbox that blocked their shortest path to the Golden Horn. It was getting late, and the setting sun made long shadows to trick the eye; had he spotted a tripwire in the clutter?

    At last he grunted, motioned for them to stay where they were, and ducked into the little bunker to investigate more closely. Thirty seconds later he whistled all-clear, and they hurried in after him. He¡¯d been kneeling, but stood as soon as they appeared so he could cover them while they looked at the dead dog on the ground.

    There wasn¡¯t much to see. It was a good-sized male, black with brown around the muzzle, chest, and legs¡ªNadia didn¡¯t know dog breeds, but she had seen similar animals before. This one was lying on its side, perfectly still, and she couldn¡¯t see what had killed it. There were no visible wounds. ¡°Was it poisoned?¡± she whispered.

    Hamza put a finger to his lips, shook his head, and motioned for them to move on. Ruslan obeyed at once, but Nadia found it strangely difficult to move away from the body. She almost felt sorry for it. Hamza had to grab her arm and yank her to her feet.

    A shortcut through the remains of someone¡¯s basement. A careful slink down a scree-covered slope, into a pit full of burnt trash. A quiet detour around a shallow pool where a sewer line had busted open, and Mayakora¡¯s murderous plants had staked a claim to the nourishing sludge. They weren¡¯t active in the same way once they had left her halo, but the thorns were still long and venomous.

    Progress was slow, and they were all torn between impatience and fear. It was almost ten minutes before Hamza spotted the second dead dog, in the shadow of a rusted-out dumpster. A different breed this time, longer-haired with big pointed ears, but again unmarked. Hamza shot them a frown, then moved on.

    He didn¡¯t even stop when he found the dead men next, two of them, sprawled across the floor of a cafe. Hamza peered through the miraculously intact windows, scowled, and waved for them to keep going. She tried to peek too, and he shoved her on her way. But not before she saw sleeping bags on the floor, and a couple of AKs on dirty tables, and beat-up cardboard boxes and crates piled against one wall. Not a drop of blood on or around either man, though they had knocked over several chairs.

    ¡°Is someone helping us?¡± Ruslan breathed in her ear at the next stop, in the shadow of a graffitied wall. ¡°Who?¡± His voice cracked on the word. Hamza was too busy texting Papa Titus to notice the breach of field discipline.

    Nadia didn¡¯t¡ªcouldn¡¯t¡ªanswer Ruslan¡¯s question, but she suspected. Beelzebub. Her sneaky new friend had offered her protection on this mission, but she hadn¡¯t expected him to follow through at all, let alone this dramatically. She¡¯d talked with him several times over the past couple of weeks, mostly from boredom and loneliness, assuming he was only leading her on for more information. There were his Yunks-blocking lessons, true, but she¡¯d been too tired from endless mission prep to really focus on them. And there¡¯d been no way to test if any of it actually worked.

    They were moving faster now, less cautiously. Hamza was nervous, and wanted this over with. She thought he would have preferred to shoot a couple of mongrels, and dodge or kill their masters, rather than face this uncanny assistance. Nobody but the three of them and Papa Titus was supposed to know their route. Beelzebub hadn¡¯t even been able to wring it out of Nadia; she wasn¡¯t sure who he was spying for. Not Russia, apparently.

    There would be trouble about this later, at debriefing. Papa Titus took security very seriously. But post-mission debriefing felt a long ways off, and she would have to survive the actual mission first. She felt more relief than fear. Maybe the spy was her friend after all. Was he hiding somewhere nearby, calling up little poison wasps to sting their enemies to death?

    She was still wondering when the Golden Horn came into view at last¡ªand it was, in fact, golden. The last rays of the sun, sneaking past the surviving city skylines, lit the waterway up till it dazzled the eye. The near shore was an ugly mess like the rest of Galata, cracked and empty streets strewn with ash where the local goons had made bonfires of rubbish by the waterside. A cold breeze off the water sent a half-burnt plastic bag tumbling across the road. The far side was an uninterrupted line of Akritas¡¯s best and most imposing work, a faux-medieval wall a hundred feet high and who knew how thick. It was still a welcome sight.

    Hamza had the dowser out at once, letting Papa Titus know that they were in position, or close enough. The reply was a while coming, long enough for Nadia to wonder what Hamza would see if he ran that dowser over the surrounding area. She assumed Beelzebub¡¯s little friends would show up just like a familiar, but more faintly, so he could use them without raising alarms in Fatih. They would be on their own once they crossed the Horn.

    ¡°Primus, Secundus,¡± the voice came over the dowser, only faintly muddled by static. ¡°Now.¡± Hamza texted an acknowledgment, pivoting slightly to the west as he did to watch and wait. Shum-Shum was up in seconds, lighting up the sky¡ªNadia was glad they were too far away to hear that odious music¡ªand Myriad soon after, unfolding her shiny petals to send out her spawn. The rest of the monsters were not slow to follow, lighting up the west end of Fatih like a carnival.

    All of them were little more than specks, kilometers away, and Nadia and her brothers were far outside their halos¡ªwhich was still too close for Nadia¡¯s tastes. Corollary effects could be just as dangerous as the fancy hypothetical stuff that went on inside a halo. As Shum-Shum¡¯s old master had found out, choking on smoke from absolutely real physical fires that didn¡¯t care who he was or what had made them ¡­

    Ruslan was less distracted than she was; his keystone sequence interrupted her fretting with his forlorn vision of the dead child in the tent. Kizil Khan was in the air, with Hamza clutched in his arms, bare seconds after the sequence finished. They sped across the Horn as fast as the black and bleeding beast could carry them¡ªwhich did not look particularly fast, at the moment. Kizil Khan had only the three of them to sustain him, and Nadia would be out of his halo by the end, when he would need to fly up to the top of those forbidding walls.

    This was the trickiest part of the mission. Hamza made the half-kilometer crossing first, because he was the likeliest to get the job finished alone if he had to. Nadia would be next. Then, if they had time, she would send ¨¦zarine back for Ruslan, since his own familiar couldn¡¯t carry him. Once he was over¡ªif he made it over¡ªthat would be it, the three of them against all of Fatih.

    Nadia squinted. Kizil Khan was ideal for this kind of thing. Not only would he not show up on radar, he didn¡¯t give off a bit of light; from a distance, he looked almost like one of the seabirds meandering over the water, until your brain caught up and you realized how huge he was. Or he flew over you, and you got hit with ¡°droppings¡± that turned out to be phantasmal blood. Nadia soon lost track of them against the dark walls.

    Ruslan sighed, and sat down with his back against a gutted pickup truck. ¡°Okay, he¡¯s over. But it was close.¡±

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    ¡°Good,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Me next.¡±

    ¡°In a minute. I need to rest. I know we don¡¯t have a lot of time,¡± he added, before she could nag him. The battle for the wall still looked plenty hot, from what little Nadia could see from kilometers downstream on the opposite shore.

    ¡°Not if we want all three of us over,¡± she said, and he made a face at her. She didn¡¯t say it, but they both knew he didn¡¯t want there to be enough time to get him across. Not that she would ever accuse him! Out loud.

    ¡°Who do you think killed those dogs?¡± he asked. ¡°And the two men? Did he tell you that was going to happen?¡±

    ¡°No. Papa Titus must have decided to clear the way at the last second,¡± she improvised.

    ¡°Cleared it how?¡± Ruslan said, literally scratching his head. ¡°How¡¯d he poison all of them at once? I didn¡¯t see any marks, did you?¡±

    So he didn¡¯t know about the whole VRIL thing either. Nadia gathered, from talks with Beelzebub, that it was an older technology which got less attention than familiars these days. Or something like that. Just as well, but Ruslan was still looking to her for an answer for some stupid reason.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± she said. ¡°Do you have any better ideas? I don¡¯t think they all dropped dead by themselves. Come on, that¡¯s enough rest, get me across.¡± She thought that sounded awful defensive, so she added, ¡°We¡¯ll all be for Yunks if we bungle this.¡±

    Dropping the hated name did the trick; Ruslan looked pouty, but got back to his feet.

    Getting off the ground in Kizil Khan¡¯s talons was awkward, but much more pleasant than dropping out of a plane with him. Even if, with only her and Ruslan to sustain him, he got about twenty feet into the air before braving the crossing. That should have been terrifying, but his halo morbidly assured her that, if she fell and drowned, her corpse would feed a multitude of fish. Somehow, at that moment, the thought was comforting.

    She still didn¡¯t see how he could hope to lift her all the way up and over those walls, even if she wasn¡¯t scared of failure at the moment. The idea hadn¡¯t seemed so farfetched during their practice runs, before she saw firsthand how ridiculously tall the barriers were. Calmly she wondered if the mighty Red King would simply dissociate himself trying to fly that high, leaving her to fall to her death, or if he would get her halfway, stall out, and smash them both into the stony vertical face.

    She was about a hundred and fifty feet out from the wall when she noticed two things. The first was a clear gap in the barrier where she was sure none had been before, a neat little rectangle at the bottom edge where white light shone out like a beacon. The second thing she noticed was that the first thing irritated her immensely.

    Someone had gone to the bother of building this perfect, beautifully regular wall which protected the whole of the town from contaminants, and here was a hole some contemptible human being had made, spoiling the whole thing! Whoever it was, they would not get away with it, with this vile deviation¡ª

    but there was no deviation everything was in a pattern already patterns were beautiful and death was a pattern and life was a pattern constructing itself but there was no need for justice the order reasserted itself with regularity and to speak of right and wrong was an absurdity in the face of life¡¯s eternal rhythm which persisted in spite of all ah life¡¯s beautiful rhythm the rhythm the rhythm all was well¡ª

    the bird was flying lower now not so regular another deviation dirty red drops clouding clean water wings flapping wrong no symmetry nothing metronomic the tablecloth was on crooked the pictures did not hang straight the water was closer the wall was closer but the wall was not so regular she could see the stones did not line up not all the same size different alignment shaped like pain why dammit why why did the shapes attack her¡ª

    dirty bird ought to die damn his ragged feathers¡ª

    Kizil Khan disintegrated less than five feet above the water, moving fast enough in his last efforts that Nadia actually skipped like a stone, once, before crashing through the water¡¯s surface and starting to sink. Like a fresh discovery it came to her that she did not much want to die, no matter what the fish did to her, provided they bit at both sides of her corpse evenly. Or ¡­ did that matter? She was not sure, but the cold water flooding into her mouth and nose was aesthetically unpleasant.

    Sometimes a little temporary disturbance was necessary, she thought, to preserve the greater equilibrium. And death ¡­ death was another victory for entropy, and entropy was ¡­ entropy was even, wasn¡¯t it? Eventually all the universe would be one uniform field of equal heat and density. But then, life was self-organizing, wasn¡¯t it? Think of seashells, imagine yourself counting the lines and ridges, flowers with every petal intact, a smooth calm unruffled field of grass.

    Nadia sank a little further, her wet clothes dragging her down.

    A giant white hand descended and plucked her out. She gagged and coughed horribly as she came up, and might have vomited a little. Twelve bright gemstone eyes, soothingly spaced around a blank empty face, twinkled at her as the white hand let her down. And now the little break in the wall, that could be fixed, couldn¡¯t it? They could close the door so it all looked the same outside one solid wall they should do that now¡ª

    Hands picked her up by the shirt and gave her a little slap across the face. It stung. The world got brighter, came into slightly sharper focus, and she saw a young man¡¯s lips were moving. ¡°Nadia! Hey! We don¡¯t have time for this shit! Wake the fuck up!¡±

    Wake up? Was she asleep?

    She was not. Now. She was lying on a hard floor and it didn¡¯t feel good. So she sat up, and saw a big rough room all around her, half-full of pallets with a few plastic boxes on them. Boxes, and two twenty-kilo sacks labeled §â§Ú§ã, rice. A portable kerosene heater was running four feet away, but her clothes were still cold and damp. Behind her the little door that had bothered her was closed.

    ¡°Awake now? Good. Move.¡± Hamza hauled her to her feet and held her in place until she gave up trying to flop down again. Her head was still spinning and it felt like there was a lot she couldn¡¯t remember.

    There was a dead man in the corner, she saw, with a great diagonal slash across his torso leaking blood all over the floor. That seemed out of place¡ªand not just because the blood looked like it had leaked in a strangely regular pattern¡ªbut she let Hamza lead her to the door, which he kicked open. It led out onto a little platform on the water. It was a bit darker now than she remembered, and the wind was very cold. ¡°It¡¯s your turn now. Do it!¡±

    ¡°What? What do I do?¡±

    ¡°Goddamn it. The plan. Get Ruslan.¡±

    ¡°Ruslan?¡±

    ¡°Goddamn it,¡± he said again, and put a hand on his forehead. ¡°Okay, look. You just got hit by ambivalence, all right? I tried to get a harmonic going with Myriad so I wouldn¡¯t piss her off too bad, but it didn¡¯t work right because I started past her sequence, and Kizil Khan flew right into the middle and kicked the bucket.

    ¡°You damn near drowned in some cold-ass water, and Rhad probably screwed your head worse fishing you out. I know you¡¯re still a little out of it, but I can¡¯t give you any more time. I just can¡¯t, okay? Fight¡¯s over, Myriad¡¯s bailed, and surveillance will be up in minutes. I need you to get your shit together right now, and haul Ruslan over.¡±

    ¡°Ruslan.¡± She knew who Ruslan was. Pretty sure.

    ¡°Yes. Ruslan.¡± He strapped his own monocular roughly over her right eye, got the zoom going, and helped her find a small, chubby figure sitting alone on the other side of the water, his face held in his hands. Ruslan?

    ¡°How?¡± she said, turning back to Hamza.

    ¡°With ¨¦zarine,¡± he said through gritted teeth.

    ¡°Oh.¡± That probably made sense. She had a hard time getting herself really worked up with her head feeling all full of cotton fluff, but he helped her along by hitting her a couple more times. Eventually she got good and crabby with him, and ¨¦zarine winked into existence.

    That made the monocular stop working, but she still had some idea where to send her. ¨¦zarine vanished into her own hair¡ªjust like they¡¯d practiced¡ªand reappeared two seconds later to dump the chubby kid onto the floor. Then disappeared again.

    As soon as it was done, Nadia sat down on the hard floor to rub her bruises. Hamza hit pretty hard. Ruslan came up to her and gave her a big hug. His eyes were red. He mumbled something she didn¡¯t quite understand. Apparently he¡¯d thought she was dead, and it was his fault?

    ¡°You¡¯re weird,¡± she told him, and started to laugh. Ruslan looked shocked, and that made her laugh harder. Hamza sighed, slumped to the floor beside a pallet, and pulled a little flask out of his pocket. Nadia kept right on laughing, harder and harder, until suddenly she had to cry.

 XIII. Necropolis (Nadia)

    Nadia opened her eyes, and found herself staring at wooden beams holding up a somewhat water-damaged ceiling she did not recognize. Her head dipped down. She was half-sitting, half-lying in a chair with a torn cushion, around a small table in the most poorly lit corner of a poorly lit restaurant with maybe ten other people in it. The clock on the wall claimed it was 8:46, and the street outside the windows was dark. Evening, then. Her hair was still damp; the heavy coat she was wearing was dry, but overlarge, and smelled like tobacco.

    She was more certain now that the boy sitting next to her, clutching a half-full cola and eyeing her nervously, was named Ruslan. The tall young man at the bar, chatting with a middle-aged man in very bad Russian, would be Hamza. And this, she had to assume, was somewhere in Istanbul. Hopefully still Fatih.

    She returned her gaze to the ceiling as she asked the most pressing question on her mind: ¡°Ruslan, how did we get here?¡±

    ¡°Nam nuzhno govorit'' po-russki!¡± he whispered back to her.

    ¡°How did we get here?¡± she tried again, in the correct language. That was why they didn¡¯t have Fatima along, after all. Her Russian was worse than Hamza¡¯s and she had no Turkish at all.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t easy. You¡¯ve been giggling and crying and talking real loud in English for over an hour now. Big brother Pavel there had to put a hand over your mouth to shut you up. Are you better yet?¡±

    ¡°I guess so,¡± she said sheepishly, though it depended how you meant the question. She was thinking more clearly, but she didn¡¯t think her head had hurt before.

    ¡°Good. Pavel! I think she¡¯s feeling better.¡± Hamza wrapped up his conversation in a hurry, threw a handful of change on the bar, and all but sprinted to their table.

    ¡°We¡¯ve lost a lot of time,¡± he muttered in Nadia¡¯s ear as he pushed them out the door.

    ¡°Yes, I can tell,¡± she replied. ¡°But that will get their guard down, won¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯ll give them more time to miss the three men I dumped in the Horn.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right.¡± She was glad she had only seen one of those three, while the ambivalent shock was still on her. Back in that ¡­ receiving room, was it? For ¡°Kozlov¡¯s Konvoy.¡± It was dark now, and one of the infamous deep runners might be pulling up to that little platform at this exact moment to offload the latest shipment of supplies that kept the besieged district from starving. They might wonder what had happened to the men who were supposed to open the door¡ªassuming they didn¡¯t see them bobbing in the water.

    The street outside was broad, empty, frigid, and even more poorly lit than the dump they had just left. It had once been a busy highway, she was sure, but the apartment blocks on either side were all dark, and she could see, mostly by moonlight, that the entrance of the nearest was chained shut. That was surprisingly optimistic, going by what she¡¯d heard of this place. It meant somebody valued what they had here, and was planning to use it someday.

    Or else one of their three emissors was holed up in that building with a month¡¯s supply of food and water, as safely hidden as a grain of sand on a beach. It didn¡¯t seem likely, but it was possible. They only had a little intelligence to go on, and a lot of guesswork piled on top of other guesswork by men who had spent a lot of time reading the reports of poorly-placed spies and staring at satellite photos.

    ¡°Where has Alyosha got to, do you think?¡± she asked. That would be Akritas. Code names all around. She was pretty sure ¡°Ilya¡± was Myriad and ¡°Dobrynyna¡± was Kostroma, but she might have got them switched after almost drowning.

    ¡°Nowhere near here,¡± Hamza replied, jerking his head towards the great outer wall, easily visible down the street.

    ¡°We know where to find, uh ¡­ one of them,¡± Ruslan added hopefully. He couldn¡¯t keep the names straight either. His hand pointed down the other end, where a simply massive complex of towers dominated the skyline, blotting out an unreasonable number of stars. The new Konstantinopol¡¯skiy Kreml¡¯ was extravagant even by Akritas¡¯s standards. It was easy to get carried away when you could slap a city block¡¯s worth of buildings together in thirty seconds.

    ¡°That¡¯s our last resort,¡± Hamza said, and led them to the nearest crossroads instead. Fatih wasn¡¯t a very large part of Istanbul, on the map¡ªjust one tiny little finger of land on the southeastern edge of the European half of the city, a city which had outgrown its medieval boundaries many times over. The part Russia actually controlled now¡ªthe bit which wasn¡¯t covered with toxic brambles¡ªwas still smaller, but that meant it was ¡°only¡± ten square kilometers, a massive space to hide three people in. Whether those three were Nadia and her brothers, or the three people they had been sent to kill.

    Myriad¡¯s emissor hardly needed to be found¡ªhe or she would certainly be holed up in that eyesore of a Kremlin, inaccessible without a perilous direct assault. Nobody even had a good idea what this person looked like (though they were assumed to be disabled or disfigured somehow), so Team Secundus would have to essentially bring down the whole thing and hope for the best. As Hamza said: a last resort, however much the Coalition offered.

    They had a decent description for Kostroma (petite, blonde, green-eyed, snub-nosed and pretty) but she might not even be in the district; many nights she slipped into one of the convoy subs and ran up and down the Bosporus for several hours, making sure her lifeline wasn¡¯t threatened by anything that looked like military equipment. When she was in town, she naturally liked to stay near the water, but Fatih was a peninsula so that hardly narrowed it down.

    That left Akritas as the most promising. They knew his master was a middle-aged Greek man, short, dark-haired, and usually with a mustache but no beard. No two sketches agreed on other details. More importantly, he was known to be headstrong, ironically careless about security, and prone to touring the city in person to inspect the construction and see what needed repairs. That made him their best chance.

    All three of them on Team Secundus had dowsers; Hamza pulled his out, trusting it would look more or less like a cell phone from a distance, and led them to Point Alpha to begin the search. He kept the passive dowsing function up along the way, in case they got lucky, but without much hope. Directional active scans were far better.

    Nadia had expected Fatih to be like Zekeriyak?y, where she met ¨¦zarine, but Zekeriyak?y had been a mostly-running small town that happened to be under occupation. Fatih, she soon realized, was very nearly empty. From a prewar population of almost half a million it was down to maybe twenty thousand, and over a third of those were Russian troops. Few enough to be fed indefinitely by a train of converted subs running down the Bosporus.

    Those numbers on a dry report translated to long stretches of completely deserted streets, doors and windows boarded up or shuttered where they weren¡¯t smashed open and the homes and businesses behind them looted. But there weren¡¯t as many looted as she¡¯d have expected; it was as if the looters had done a few and then realized they had nobody to fence the stuff to. They didn¡¯t even run the street or traffic lights in most places. At one point they came across a long stretch of bare lots, where Akritas had devoured half a neighborhood for wall material.

    Ten minutes¡¯ walking in the dark brought them to a place where artificial light shone out of a handful of buildings, including the windows of a small market. Three soldiers stood at the door there, scanning ration cards and disbursing boxes of food to a long line of people. The whole line turned to look at them as they passed by; where were those three kids going at this hour on a chilly night? Which was a fair question, but they¡¯d never know the answer.

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    Point Alpha was just past there, where a pair of six-lane highways met in the middle of a park. It was chosen for being close to the center of the district, and offering plenty of cover for them to skulk in. There was nobody there to see them as far as Nadia could tell, but they still moved off the road and well into the park before they got out their dowsers and started scanning for real, the three of them back-to-back, swinging the devices back and forth while they shuffled in a slow circle to make sure they covered every point of the compass.

    This was Plan A, the low-risk, low-odds search. If they were fortunate, one of them would get a ping, as Akritas¡¯s emissor¡ªor somebody else, they weren¡¯t choosy¡ªgot sloppy and pulled out his familiar to do trivial repair work, or simply to amuse himself making something small, like a toddler with a set of blocks. Akritas was known to do such things.

    If they got a hit, they would move in that direction as quickly as possible, stopping at set intervals to check again and change course. If they didn¡¯t get a hit after ten minutes, they were to progress to Point Beta and do it again, and so on until Papa Titus lost patience and told them to progress to Plan B.

    Nadia hoped, very much, that they would not have to progress to Plan B.

    ¡°It looks like Alyosha stood us up,¡± she groused, when their time at Point Alpha was almost done. Hamza, to her surprise, grunted agreement instead of shushing her. Maybe all this spinning in circles was making him dizzy too.

    Point Beta was near the old Grand Bazaar, twenty minutes away. The world¡¯s oldest continually operating mall was (as far as anyone outside Fatih knew) still open, but running at much lower volume, and it was nearly 2200 now; the stalls would be mostly closed. Nadia and her brothers were under strict orders not to actually enter the bazaar, or even the metastatic snarl of narrow, vendor-clogged streets outside it, unless they pinged an emissor inside. Nadia was not tempted. It looked like a good place to get a knife in your ribs.

    Even hanging around outside it was a calculated risk, as it was reputedly a popular place for soldiers to move contraband. Their hope¡ªa thin hope¡ªwas that Akritas might have a hankering for some kind of illicit fun after the battle, and hang about in the area with his friends after while he partook. It seemed more likely to Nadia that he¡¯d have a stash at home already, but it wasn¡¯t as if she did this kind of thing herself.

    Ruslan sniffed the air. ¡°It smells like pee,¡± he complained as they stared down the road where the mess of open-air shops began. ¡°I bet there are bums sleeping under the awnings in there.¡±

    ¡°Bums or drunks,¡± Hamza agreed. He kept a hand inside his jacket, where he¡¯d stowed his pistol. ¡°You two, dowsers out. I¡¯ll watch.¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t¡ª¡°

    ¡°Shut the hell up, Ruslan. I know the plan. I¡¯m changing it. Back to back. I¡¯m keeping my eyes offscreen.¡±

    Nadia sighed and got out her dowser, shuffling her feet as she did to warm them up. The sooner they got their ten minutes done, the sooner they could move on.

    Point Gamma was another long walk to another park, north of the old Topkapi Palace and the great church of Hagia Sophia. They were at the east end of Fatih now, banking on the possibility that one of the emissors was enough of an egomaniac to make him- or herself at home in an actual palace, and perhaps show off a bit at the exact moment the three of them were in place to catch him.

    That sounded like a stretch to Nadia, but she could also feel fatigue creeping up under the constant coat of adrenaline her body kept lathering on over it. You could only be on edge for so long before a constant tinge of fear stopped behaving like fear and turned into more of a nuisance, like a pulled muscle or pinched nerve, an aggravating feeling at the edge of your consciousness that you just wanted to go away. On and on they walked, down one dark miserable empty street after another, and every shadow had dogs or soldiers hiding in it only they never did, and with an hour and a half till midnight there was still nothing to show for it all.

    But Papa Titus wasn¡¯t ready to give up yet. And did she really want Plan B?

    They were barely inside the shadow of the trees when Ruslan shouted, ¡°I got a hit!¡± Hamza punched him in the arm to shush him, but both of them swung their own dowsers around. Yes. There was a signal, very clear, not a kilometer to their east. But what was east? Not a lot, except the water and the wall.

    She had to run to keep up with Hamza as he chased his dowser¡¯s signal down the path, his pistol already out in his right hand. The park had clearly not been maintained, and grass was sprouting in big tufts out of cracks in the pavement. Ornamentals spilled out of untended displays, and in one place a bit of topiary had stretched out its arms to nearly block the path, forcing Hamza to stop and duck under it. He was barely visible in the gloom by faint traces of light from his dowser¡¯s screen, flicking crazily over and around his shoulders as he jogged. Ruslan was panting beside her.

    At last Hamza halted them by the park¡¯s edge, and they caught their breath while he peeked between some overgrown bushes. The signal was very strong now. ¡°Is he repairing the outer wall?¡± Ruslan wheezed. They could see it easily from here, looming over them. But it looked untouched, as it should be; this was the northeastern corner of Fatih¡¯s wedge, at the spot where the Bosporus met the Golden Horn on its way to the Sea of Marmara. Who would bother shooting at an easily-rebuilt wall across such a broad span of water?

    And Hamza shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not even him. Look.¡±

    Nadia poked her head through the bushes. The ground sloped down steeply at the park¡¯s edge, giving her a clear view of the little pocket of land between it and the outer wall. Here, she saw, Akritas had constructed it a little further out than necessary, enclosing a portion of the sea inside the protected zone. And in that sheltered pool, right now, two people were playing in the moonlight.

    Playing. It took her a moment to come to grips with it, that they were playing, at the edge of this godforsaken city under the shadow of the world¡¯s tallest military barrier. The woman was in her twenties, quite short, and wearing a very immodest two-piece suit. She got a running start as the water swelled up into a hillock, then leapt into it with a shriek of laughter as it burst into a waterspout, sending her flying up into the air. A wave rose up to catch her, and she landed with a tremendous splash.

    The man in trunks was laughing too, but hung back a bit, not quite trusting. Little swells danced around his ankles as he watched her sidestroke, then flip over on her back to float, contented. Or maybe not so contented; as the young woman came into the shallows again she sat up and spoke to him, beckoning him. Nadia could not hear what she said, or what the man said back. His tone was cheerful, but he held up his hands palms-out.

    The girl pouted, hands on hips. Behind her, another waterspout exploded, and Nadia caught a glimpse of another girl in the spray, a lovely young woman shaped out of foam and spray, and the falling water was her long, long hair, twirling around her and flicking out drops as she tossed her head. Her hands were also on her hips, in the instant before she disappeared in the subsiding waters, but Nadia knew she too was laughing. Kostroma always laughed, even when she was popping up to throw a destroyer fifty feet into the air and send everyone aboard it to the bottom. She was the sea, always joyous and never still, as beautiful as she was treacherous.

    Now the girl, the real girl, ran at the man, and dragged him by both hands deeper into the foaming water. He struggled a little, but not seriously, and another little wave came up behind his knees to knock him into her arms as they wrapped around him, one leg swinging up around his as she stretched up to kiss him. Behind them Kostroma surged up again, flinging out her arms this time, exultant.

    The waters spun around the two lovers, churning themselves up into a fine mist. Nadia was sure it was pleasantly warm down there, too. If the sun were up, they would be surrounded by rainbows¡ªbut this could never be a scene by sunlight. Not with only the two of them to feed her. Or was it just the two of them? Nadia thought she felt the slightest urge to giggle herself, though she also felt a bit wistful.

    Might that be her in ten years, dancing and playing with a man she loved? Maybe not with ¨¦zarine, who did not make people laugh, but could this be her? Would anyone allow it? Would anyone want her, when she had the blood of many other men on her hands? She did not think she would be as pretty as the girl down there.

    And would there be someone like Hamza, sitting in the bushes a short distance away, holding a pistol and eyeing the intervening cover to see if he could get close enough to pull off a headshot and leave his own familiar hidden?

    Nadia shook her head and stepped back to let Ruslan watch, if he wanted. She didn¡¯t want to see any more. They were there to kill that beautiful, smiling girl, because she had killed a thousand people at least, and was prolonging a war that would kill more. This was a better opportunity than they could ever have hoped for. They had to take it.

    Something hard bumped into the back of her head. She was reaching up to swat the offending branch away when a voice said, very quietly, ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Automatically, she dropped the hand, then realized the voice hadn¡¯t been Hamza¡¯s or Ruslan¡¯s. She was going to turn around when a hand clenched down on her shoulder, and she understood. And she was frightened, yes, but mostly sad.

    Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hamza drop his pistol and put up his hands, retreating into an azalea as the barrel of a much larger gun tried to shove its way up his nose. Ruslan whimpered and tried to turn around, to say something, to beg, to explain, but the butt of another gun hit him in the face, then in the chest, and then he was on the ground with a man in a tactical vest on top of him.

    Of course Kostroma¡¯s mistress would have a guard around her¡ªwherever she was, whatever she was doing. That should have gone without saying. The security team had been terribly careless even to let the three of them get this close, and now they were angry, with themselves and with the three brats they had just caught skulking in the shrubbery.

    Papa Titus would be angry too, when and if they saw him again. They had been careless as well. And now, Nadia was afraid, it was time for something that looked even worse than Plan B.

 XIV. Pand?monium (Nadia)

    Nadia only saw five men, but she was sure there were more, hidden in the shadows of the trees. And five was more than enough, when two were pointing rifles at Hamza, a third had his trained on her, and a fourth was sitting on Ruslan with a pistol to the back of his head. As for number five¡ªpossibly the leader¡ªhe kept his gun ready, but knelt down to pick up a dropped dowser and look it over. He had goggles on, but judging by his lower face he knew what he was looking at.

    And Nadia was certain, without having even the time to put the thought into words, that this was simply it, that every Russian security tough knew all about the kids who had been burning their forward posts and executing their friends for the past half-year. There was no innocent explanation, no reason for random teenagers to be carrying dowsers while playing peeping-tom in the park at the dead of night. Let alone the pistols.

    In a matter of seconds, everything would add up in that man¡¯s head, every improbable interpretation of the evidence would be cast aside, and that grim clenched jaw would open up to say: ¡°waste the little bastards.¡±

    Then the other four, who would have been coming to the same conclusions themselves at their own speeds, would not hesitate to pull the triggers, multiple times, and Nadia¡¯s world would end in a series of sharp pains in her chest, head, and stomach as the high-velocity rounds crushed bone, spilled blood, ripped muscle, turned internal organs to pulp, and finally liquefied her brain when they shot her three more times in the skull to be sure.

    When it was all over, they would send someone down to explain to the pretty girl and her friend, begging her indulgence for spoiling her party with the deaths of three intruders. And she would go on laughing in the water, if Nadia¡¯s death had not spoiled the mood too much, and Papa Titus would find out his mission had failed when photos of their three mangled bodies, shot in stark flashlight white against dead leaves and park mulch, became breaking news on the local propaganda nightly.

    This entire ghastly chain of events took only the blink of an eye to suggest itself to Nadia; she had had practice, envisioning very similar outcomes while lying awake in bed for the past week or so. The inexperienced Russians were glacially slow, by comparison, clearly just starting to become indignant at the same moment Nadia was resigning herself to death.

    But Hamza, who had been doing this since he was six, was the fastest of all. The soldiers¡¯ slow-stirring rage and Nadia¡¯s dying sorrow were both swept away by the sudden conviction, fierce and overwhelming, that three children dying in the woods was not justice. That there was work to be done here, ugly necessary work, and it would be done promptly.

    Rhadamanthus did not need to manifest entirely to be deadly. The enormous white blade materialized even as it was beginning its initial cut, sweeping cleanly through the man threatening Nadia, arcing around into the two men on Hamza, catching all three in the same smooth rotation. The backswing was lower, but just as fast and precise, taking the head and one arm off the man sitting on Ruslan.

    All this took just enough time for the kneeling man, the one looking at the dropped dowser, to lift his head and open his mouth, and to fumble with his gun. No doubt he was distracted, as Nadia was, by sudden thoughts of a man named Bernie Willard. An enormous white hand wrapped around his shoulders, and tossed him up in the air for the terrible scythe to slice him in two. His blood exploded out in every direction, but not a drop stuck to Rhadamanthus.

    The woods lit up with muzzle flashes as the halves of the body fell; the gunfire¡¯s thunder resounded all around them, so loud she ducked and covered her ears. That was the moment of greatest danger, and Nadia did not die only because they were not aiming at her. Several rounds gouged at the tree above her head, and a single stray thumped into the dirt at her feet, but all the men in the woods were aiming at the gangling spectral figure, glowing white and ten feet tall, who had suddenly appeared in the dark forest.

    They couldn¡¯t have done him significant harm if they¡¯d hit him, and of course they didn¡¯t. Nobody ever did. Rhadamanthus turned, cocked his head, and studied the men trying to destroy him as their bullets went howling past him. For two long seconds he stood, considering them with his twelve shining eyes. This was their last chance to run. But nobody ever did. They were caught up in the same story he was, only they were the heroes taking the monster down.

    His enormous hand went up, palm out, and swept in an arc. The gunfire was silenced at once. Nadia couldn¡¯t see any of the erstwhile shooters, but knew they were all frozen in place where they stood, not even breathing, everything but their minds trapped out of time. They would be able to see Rhadamanthus coming for them, and until the blade cut them open they would continue to feed him, but now with their terror. His doom was on them, and the guilty could not escape.

    As Rhadamanthus stalked off after his prey¡ªslowly, to savor their fear¡ªNadia¡¯s head cleared enough for her to think of things besides vengeance and killing. The thought came to her that it had been idiotic to stand in place while men were shooting in her direction, but she brushed it aside, and turned to check on her brothers. Ruslan was standing straight, his fists clenched at his sides. Hamza was harder to see, half-buried in the foliage¡ªwas he leaning against a tree? Was he hurt?

    She didn¡¯t get the chance to find out; she took all of two steps toward him before a thought struck her, a sudden image in her mind of the man cut in half in mid-air by Rhadamanthus, his arms and legs waving separately as he fell. The thought was so funny that she had to giggle, then to laugh out loud, then put out a hand to catch herself on a tree as she bent over in mirth. Kick, kick, go the legs on the ground, and the upper half five feet away with the mouth popping open and shut like a goldfish! It was too much. Ruslan was laughing too.

    The sea came rushing up through the bushes, knocking her feet out from under her. How silly, to fall over like that! She couldn¡¯t help laughing, even as the water started pouring into her mouth and nose. The moon was bright above her, and the stars too, and the bare trees were graceful, and she could feel the world singing a joyful song to her as the flood swept her away, dragged her back through the tangled brush that scraped and scratched at her arms and face.

    When the rushing waters released her, she was lying in a heap of wet sand and grimy branches on the beach. It was still a little bit funny, the kind of thing you would tell stories about ten years later at a party with a smile on your face. Ruslan had come up ten feet away, chuckling convulsively on his hands and knees even as he gagged up seawater.

    The girl in the bikini ignored them both, standing confidently with her hands on her hips as she scanned the treeline she¡¯d just washed them out of. The water swirled and danced around her ankles, tossing little droplets up to spatter on her calves. Nadia didn¡¯t see Hamza anywhere, but after a moment Rhadamanthus emerged from the trees.

    He didn¡¯t look amused, though Nadia wasn¡¯t sure how he would look if he were. He wasn¡¯t especially big or bright, either. The girl extended one hand, twitching the fingers in a taunting come-here gesture. Kostroma was nowhere in sight, but Nadia could feel her presence, ready to spring up into action on the girl¡¯s command.

    Rhadamanthus made a gesture of his own, the same one he had before: his giant right palm extended, its freakishly long fingers splayed. But the girl only tossed her head and laughed. With her own familiar even half-out, she could only be the anchor for Kostroma¡¯s halo; nobody else could hijack her for their own ectenic narrative.

    Still the white figure stood at the top of the hill, holding out his hand, as if he were the one frozen in time. He definitely looked dim now. Dim, and small, hardly more than human-sized. Even with just Hamza around, he should look larger than that. Had something happened to her brother?

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    If it weren¡¯t for Kostroma¡¯s halo, she would be terrified, but the effect wasn¡¯t so strong that she didn¡¯t realize that. The now-subdued wry humor of her perspective still colored everything Nadia thought, but she could still be aware of normal things¡ªin the way she might if, while laughing at a good joke, she suddenly recalled that she¡¯d left the stove on or the faucet running in the other room.

    The pretty girl wasn¡¯t looking at her or Ruslan now. As soon as Rhadamanthus went away, that would change, and the familiar was helpless against her anyhow. The girl¡ªthe enemy¡ªwas vulnerable only to ordinary physical effects. Such as the silenced pistol Nadia should ¡­ yes. She still had it in her jacket pocket somehow. It was definitely loaded. The girl wasn¡¯t far away, maybe twenty feet, looking the other direction. The mission could still succeed!

    Nadia was sure she would never normally have had the courage to do this. But now everything was a laugh, and knowing that the enemy was giving Nadia the resolve to kill her only made it genuinely funny. Cheerily she pulled it out, trying to lean over so it wouldn¡¯t be visible, and flicked the safety off.

    Then she lifted it smoothly up, thinking all the while what a ridiculous story this would make later, and brought it to bear on center-mass like she¡¯d been taught. The girl saw the motion from the corner of her eye, and turned to look. Nadia quickly adjusted her aim, overcompensated, did it again when the girl tried to dodge¡ªslippery, wasn¡¯t she?¡ªgot something close to a good shot as the girl threw herself to the ground, and pulled the trigger.

    The gun¡¯s action made a very quiet, squelching sort of noise, and did nothing. Jammed.

    The girl threw back her head and laughed, and the water around her surged up with fresh vigor as she got back to her feet, brushing the mud off her legs. What a stupid thing to have happen! Nadia was smiling herself, not even mad, as again and again she pulled the trigger. Repeating the punchline only made it more absurd. Rhadamanthus wasn¡¯t even there anymore, Ruslan was giggling uselessly, and now they were all going to die because she hadn¡¯t thought that maybe a flood of dirt and seawater might not be good for a pistol.

    The water seemed to rise very slowly behind the girl, forming a bubbling, churning column. Nadia knew it would erupt into Kostroma, who would do whatever she wanted, and that would be the end of Operation Wolf¡¯s Teeth. So much for all her worrying. Why had she ever worried in the first place? This was the end of all her problems.

    Even Ruslan, fussy whiny Ruslan, was getting into the spirit. ¡°Hey, Nadia!¡± he said, shaking his head at it all. ¡°Get a load of this!¡± He pulled out his own pistol, aimed it right at the girl, and pulled the trigger. Bang! A ¡°silenced¡± gun, Nadia had observed before, was really not very silent. Only quieter than the deafening normal kind. One more silly thing.

    The girl, however, didn¡¯t seem to appreciate the humor. She looked down at her nice flat tummy, where a little red hole had appeared on the left side a bit under the ribs. Then she said something that sounded a lot like ¡°Fuck!¡± Nadia didn¡¯t like jokes with swear words in them, but Ruslan snickered and shot her again, making another red mark on her right leg. The girl screamed and dropped to the ground, the little baby waterspout behind her collapsing as she did.

    Instantly the temperature around them fell by at least twenty degrees, and Ruslan dropped his gun into the mud, looking horrified. Nadia still had hers, but it was useless even if she¡¯d wanted to use it, and of course the girl wasn¡¯t hiding anything on her bikini. She was up on both hands and her one good leg now, awkwardly lurching away from them as quickly as she could. Trailing an awful lot of blood across the ground.

    Nadia and Ruslan looked at each other, and without a word set off running up the hill, away from the young woman they had just shot and the horrible exposed beach they had done it on. Even the great wall felt like it was watching them.

    For the second time that night, Nadia was soaked in icy-cold water, and if there was no ambivalent shock this time the whiplash aftermath of two opposing familiars still had her dizzy. Ruslan looked like he was only doing a little better, and stumbled several times on the way up. Nadia was stumbling too, and her teeth were chattering already. And Hamza?

    They found lying him in the shadow of a myrtle bush, eyes shut and breathing fast. The stink of blood ruined the pleasant myrtle fragrance. Their dowsers were gone, and she had no other source of good light, but he did not respond when they called him, and when she touched him¡ªon a spot she could see¡ªhe felt as cold and damp as she was. He¡¯d been soaked too, or else it was cold sweat. It hardly mattered which.

    Nadia was careful not to look at Ruslan, because she knew he would be freaking out, and seeing him would make both of them panic worse. This was, possibly, not as bad as Guryev. They were cold and wet and unarmed and there was no way Rhadamanthus had killed all those men before he winked out and Hamza was shot and even if all the men had died there would be more enemies coming because their espers had to have noticed Rhad oh Jesus¡ª

    No. No panic. The cold would kill her first. Off with her useless soggy jacket. Instead she would put on ¡­ oh, damn it. All the dead soldiers had been soaked too. And cut in half first. No dry clothes. She stamped her feet to warm up, and tried to think while her whole body shook. And Ruslan was just sitting there whimpering.

    Ruslan was just sitting there.

    ¡°Call him,¡± she said, as best she could with her jaw quaking. ¡°Call him now. Save Hamza.¡±

    Her brother looked up dully, with that stupid cross-eyed look on his face, the one she hated most. The one that said he was waiting for someone to come rescue him. ¡°My dowser¡¯s gone,¡± he said helplessly.

    From the shore, she heard a man¡¯s voice scream, ¡°Olga! Olga!¡± So there would be a third way to call Russian reinforcements onto their position now. Wonderful.

    She sat on the thought. ¡°I don¡¯t mean Papa Titus. Get Kizil Khan, Ruslan. He can save Hamza. Maybe me too.¡±

    Ruslan looked at the ground, as if the thought took consideration. He was shivering too, and hadn¡¯t taken off his coat. At last he said, ¡°If I call him, it will alert the¡ª¡°

    ¡°They¡¯re already alerted!¡± she snapped. ¡°They¡¯re headed this way right now, I promise you. Hamza is also dying, right now. Get Kizil Khan!¡±

    Again Ruslan stared stupidly at the ground before saying, ¡°Papa Titus wouldn¡¯t like it. Security.¡±

    ¡°What in the hell are you talking about?¡± she screamed. ¡°We are all going to die, you idiot! Get off your useless fat ass and save our lives!¡±

    Ruslan¡¯s only response was to look down again and start shaking a little harder. The cold was starting to affect Nadia¡¯s brain; it took her a long time to realize he was crying. Saying something, too, under his breath, but it was in Uzbek. On the beach, the man was still babbling loudly to Olga, trying to reassure her.

    There was still a knife on her belt, she realized. She considered jabbing Ruslan with the tip until the pain made him cooperate. But he might only cry harder. Instead she leaned in close and hissed in his ear, ¡°Call Kizil Khan now, or I will call ¨¦zarine. ¨¦zarine can¡¯t help us now. I don¡¯t care. I will call her and have her scream at you until all your bones break, do you hear me?¡±

    He kept on crying. Either calling her bluff, or too far gone to care. ¡°And then I will go back to Thessaloniki,¡± she went on, ¡°and I will tell Fatima you let our brother die with your cowardice, and ¡­ and then I will tell Papa Titus and he will send Yunks to get you!¡±

    That didn¡¯t even begin to make sense, but it worked. Just the word Yunks was enough to make him jump, cold and miserable as he was, and in a few seconds her despairing sense of futility was replaced with the drearily reassuring futility of the Red King, as once more she saw the doctor run crying out of the tent with the dead child.

    Soon she didn¡¯t feel cold. It was either more hypothermia setting in or Kizil Khan, and thanks to Kizil Khan she didn¡¯t care which. She sat down on the ground to wait while he healed their brother. She knew he would demand his fee, to keep the balance. Most likely that would mean the unlucky couple down by the water would die, and so in a very roundabout way the mission would be successful. Now they only needed to get out of the district alive.

 XV. Gantlet (Nadia)

    Kizil Khan could do a lot. He could heal any injury, instantly and seamlessly, up to and including regrowing limbs. A few gunshot wounds in a healthy young man like Hamza was simple by comparison, and as for restoring normal body temperature, that was nothing at all.

    She was more worried about what the Red King couldn¡¯t do. He could make Nadia¡¯s body warm again, because it was flesh, but he couldn¡¯t dry her clothes or warm the air. And he couldn¡¯t heal his anchor Ruslan at all, any more than Nadia could fly by reaching down and picking up her own feet.

    The bloody eagle only stayed manifest for a few seconds before disappearing again. Nadia could barely wait for Hamza to cough and sit up, poking at the holes in his damp shirt. ¡°The dowser¡¯s gone,¡± she snapped as he pawed at his jacket pockets. ¡°The guns too. Seawater. They will be coming any second now. Can you walk?¡±

    Hamza looked puzzled, but nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Ruslan was a shivering wet ball on the ground, and would not stand up on his own for any coaxing or bullying. Hamza would have to help him walk. But before he made the attempt, he unstrapped a little metal canister, the size and shape of a thermos, from his belt, and handed it to Nadia.

    ¡°You¡¯re giving me the kitty?¡±

    ¡°Two hands free,¡± he grunted as he hoisted Ruslan and threw his limp arm over his own shoulder. The difference in their heights made it especially awkward. ¡°Just don¡¯t crack it until I tell you.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± she said, feeling proud of the responsibility in spite of everything else. ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    ¡°Out of the park,¡± he said, focusing most of his attention on the dead weight he was hauling. ¡°Don¡¯t care about ¡­ direction. You lead, make it fast¡ªwould you lift your feet, you son of a bitch!¡±

    The worst part, she thought as she took point, was that the Golden Horn was right there, less than a quarter-mile away. But ¨¦zarine couldn¡¯t carry Nadia across the water, and Ruslan was in no shape to be trusted with the job. Until he was warmed up and conscious, they were stuck in the district.

    The park wasn¡¯t very wide, really, just a forested ribbon at the northeastern tip of Fatih¡¯s peninsula.  Nadia decided to make for the Topkapi Palace just to the south. Out of the wind, and large enough to hide in. She thought she could see a bit of it already, a glimpse of a white facade shining in the light of the setting moon. If they could just get there before the park was overrun by men with guns, or Myriad ¡­

    Even as she thought it, there was a brilliant light in the west, and the colossal metal flower unfolded herself in the air above the Kremlin, disgorging her thousands of shining children in symmetrical streams to circle around her. The drones were not straying far yet, but their range would expand with their mother¡¯s halo, commanding more and more of the city until it reached the park, and then (if they were not very well hidden) they would be spotted for sure.

    ¡°Just keep moving,¡± Hamza said, before Nadia could ask. She swallowed, and pressed on. Myriad¡¯s children lit up the whole park in flickering rainbow hues as they circled closer and closer, out and back and out again like the tide coming in. They were very pretty, really, and graceful too: each had a single shining eye at its core, with two long, narrow wings of light extending from the sides, and an even longer tail behind. They ran in a precise sequence, red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple-red-orange ¡­

    You could get hypnotized, watching them flit and flicker like fish in a tank. So she didn¡¯t. Head down, push forward, don¡¯t look up at the pretty lights, above all don¡¯t think how they could swoop down and vaporize you. That was the trick.

    It was very cold; she was already shivering again. And the Topkapi Palace didn¡¯t seem to be getting any nearer. She looked at Hamza and Ruslan, staggering together, and wondered when and if she should run for it. She could jog for the Palace and be under cover in less than a minute¡ªbut she expected Myriad¡¯s halo to swallow them up in a minute and a half. If that.

    The sound of a gunshot took the decision out of her hands, and her mind out of her head. Before she properly recognized it her feet were running. A second shot went off, but she was already behind a tree, breathing fast and knocking pine-bark loose with her shaking hands. She turned her head, saw Ruslan lying on the ground alone, not moving. Had they shot him? She couldn¡¯t tell. There was no tree protecting him. Hamza was nowhere in sight, but the guns were still firing, bang-bang-bang, very fast. She peeked out, very quickly, and saw muzzle flashes from the Palace¡¯s big, beautiful arched windows. No shelter there.

    She pulled her head back before they could blow it off. Ruslan was down, Hamza gone. Myriad¡¯s swarm was still billowing out in their direction. Soon it would be on them, and Nadia would lose her mind staring at patterns in the fallen leaves until she died of exposure or the Russians found and killed her.

    There was nothing for it. She still had the ¡°kitty¡± in her hands, promising help. Sorry, Hamza, she thought, and twisted the lid off. The pressurized ectoplasm inside flashed out into a thick white fog¡ªa familiar¡¯s feast. She barely had to so much as think about her irritation before the keystone sequence rushed through her mind like a freight train, and her lovely ¨¦zarine condensed out of the fog with a twirl of her night-dark hair, her halo ballooning out to cover the park, the Palace, and probably everything else in at least a three-kilometer radius. She was at least fifteen feet tall this time, and bright as a spotlight where her hair didn¡¯t cover.

    Overhead, Myriad¡¯s children were jostled gracelessly back in disarray; the gunmen in the Palace stopped firing while sneering Yvonne-in-the-cafe exploded across their souls. ¨¦zarine took the opportunity to move Ruslan behind another tree. Hopefully the useless crybaby hadn¡¯t gotten himself killed already, or this would all be for nothing.

    The guns resumed. ¨¦zarine jumped into the space over the historic building and let out a yell that blew the glass out of every one of those big pretty windows. The guns stopped. What next?

    She was still cold and wet, for one thing. There was a military jeep parked in the Palace¡¯s overgrown lawn; ¨¦zarine grabbed it and dropped it from the treetops to smash on the ground, fifty feet behind Nadia, then screamed at it until the spilled gas shook itself alight. It made a bigger blast than she expected, and set several of the trees on fire. So much the better. Nadia felt warmer already.

    Myriad¡¯s swarm was still reeling; ¨¦zarine¡¯s violently expanding halo had made a dent in her own, which would be disorienting even for a familiar who wasn¡¯t obsessed with order and symmetry. No threat for now. When several seconds passed with nobody shooting at her, Nadia went to check on Ruslan. She didn¡¯t see any injuries, but the light was bad and he was still curled up like a pillbug.

    Hamza limped out of the shadows, right arm clapped to left shoulder. ¡°You set the forest on fire?¡±

    ¡°It was cold!¡± Nadia snapped back. ¡°What happened to you, and where did you go?¡±

    ¡°What do you think? They shot me! I ran to draw their fire off Ruslan, and tripped in the dark, so now my ankle¡¯s jacked up too. And now you¡¯ve used up the kitty, after I told you¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d be dead now if I hadn¡¯t, and Myriad would be all over us!¡± Hamza didn¡¯t seem to have a good answer. Exhaustion, stress, and pain were making ¨¦zarine¡¯s valence harder to tolerate for both of them, but Nadia was still just rational enough to understand that. Instead of pressing the point, she inched a little closer to the wreck of the jeep, which was still blazing. If she could just dry off her clothes, she would only be underdressed. Maybe she could go get her jacket and dry that too?

    ¡°We can¡¯t hang around here,¡± Hamza said, as if guessing her thoughts. ¡°There¡¯s bound to be more troops headed this way, and Myriad won¡¯t stay confused forever.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, and moved Ruslan to the ground right beside her. The fire was already spreading to nearby trees; before long the whole park would be in flames. ¡°But we can¡¯t leave just leave him, can we?¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°Or contact anyone, with our dowsers gone. We¡¯re pretty screwed, here.¡± He coughed; the air was getting smoky. ¡°To hell with this. We move. Take him with us, let ¨¦zarine juggle him. I can¡¯t carry him with my shoulder like this.¡±

    ¡°Is it bleeding?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m holding pressure on it. Nothing else we can do, so don¡¯t waste time. Move!¡±

    He didn¡¯t give her a direction, and she didn¡¯t dare ask. They made for the Topkapi Palace again; probably all the men in there were dead, or at least deaf. Hamza was still slow with his bad ankle, so Nadia had ¨¦zarine move him too. He swore at her for doing it without warning, but not very much. Nadia wondered how badly that shoulder hurt, and if he was going to black out and leave her alone again.

    The temperature plummeted as they moved away from the burning trees, and Nadia looked up nervously at the sound of thunder in the distance. Rain would get them wet again. But there was no sign of a cloud in the clear night sky¡ªand Myriad still wasn¡¯t getting any closer. In fact, her pretty minions were all flying away from them now, wheeling out to the western horizon and back.

    ¡°Yuri,¡± Hamza grunted, and now that she was looking, Nadia saw it too: a series of sparkles against the skyline. Papa Titus had noticed the commotion, and sent Shum-Shum in for a distraction the Russians could not afford to ignore. She felt a little less despondent as she jumped Hamza and Ruslan past the broken windows, then stepped carefully through herself.

    The interior was very elegant, with pretty patterned tiles on the walls, but more importantly there were big couches in the window bays, and most of the glass had been blown outward. Nadia went to work with her knife, and soon had herself wrapped in a ragged upholstery poncho. She offered a big strip to Hamza for his shoulder, but he waved her brusquely away. Ruslan, who was still a catatonic lump, got dropped onto a carpet and rolled up.

    The former headquarters of the Ottoman Empire was as enormous as you would expect, with literally hundreds of rooms clustered around a series of four courtyards. Most of them like the first, with couches, carpets, stunningly intricate patterns on the walls, and a mishmash of pillars, domes, and arches. All filigreed, curlicued, plated, jeweled, or tiled, top to bottom. They could probably hide out here for some time, with ¨¦zarine¡¯s help. Nadia intended to send her ahead to scout everywhere they went; if any of the men who shot at them were still alive in here, they would hardly be a match for her.

    But they found only dead men, scattered here and there with their weapons beside them in gorgeously appointed rooms whose original function she couldn¡¯t begin to guess. The bodies were unmarked¡ª¨¦zarine¡¯s work. Somehow. Maybe that one scream had rattled their brains into mush, or stopped their hearts. She knew she would have nightmares about it later, which only made her angrier now, in the halo. Why did she need to feel guilty about these men who had tried to kill her?

    They were wearing the same kind of gear as Kostroma¡¯s bodyguards¡ªnot that that meant anything, but she supposed they¡¯d retreated from Rhad here. She switched out her sofa rags for one of their jackets, and snitched a couple of guns and a phone. Hamza wouldn¡¯t let go of his shoulder, or move his injured arm, but let her strap a holstered pistol onto his belt. He leaned against the wall as she did it; his breaths were fast and shallow again. And Ruslan was only starting to stir inside his carpet roll. Damn it.

    She kept moving¡ªdutifully scouting with ¨¦zarine first for every room, then shifting Ruslan ahead while she took an increasingly weak and dizzy Hamza by the arm and escorted him in¡ªbut even if she was safe for the moment, she couldn¡¯t pretend she wasn¡¯t wasting her time. She had no idea where she was going, no means of leaving the city, and Hamza was going to go into shock or bleed out without prompt medical attention.

    There was nothing for it; she couldn¡¯t do this on her own. She needed help, and there was only one way to get it. When she had gone through six more rooms and met nobody, Nadia gave up and dismissed ¨¦zarine. Then she turned on the soldier¡¯s phone ¡­ and found she had to put in a PIN to use it.

    It was too much. She let out a scream that would have done ¨¦zarine proud, and threw the useless phone against a gilded table, where it shattered. Sliding down the wall next to Hamza, Nadia put her face in her hands and started to sob. Without the strength of her familiar¡¯s rage holding her up, she was nothing. Hamza said something that might have been meant for comfort, but it came out as slurred gibberish. Soon he would black out and die, and leave her alone ¡­

    She did not know how long she had been sitting there crying when the gorgeously appointed room vanished, and she was sitting at the feet of an elderly man in a wheelchair as he declaimed excitedly to her in Greek. Nadia did not speak much Greek, but somehow she knew what the old man was talking about. She could see the stories as he told them, the same stories he had told so many times that she knew them down to the last characteristic gesture, the phrase he would repeat for emphasis, the joke he always laughed at after telling it himself.

    Here were the heroes of Marathon, charging across the sands to strike the Persians like a thunderbolt, and their brothers at Thermopylae, dying to a man so that Hellas might live. The bloody waters of Salamis, the long march of the Ten Thousand, Alexander charging at Gaugamela, the valiant advance of Herakleios ¡­ and last and best of all, beautiful and tragic, the great emperor Constantine, standing on the walls as the cannon broke them down and the janissaries came storming in.

    A loud cracking noise, and the shifting of the ground under her feet, brought Nadia back to the moment. She lifted her head and saw that the roof of the Topkapi Palace was breaking open, the dome tearing away and floating off into the air. The entire floor she was sitting on, and the wall behind her, rose like an elevator to follow. It should have been frightening, but she felt only exhilaration; whatever was happening, she would stand and face it. Beside her, Hamza sat up, and Ruslan stirred enough to pull his arms out of his carpet.

    Up, up, up they went, the section of tiled floor spinning slowly as it ascended, revealing more and more of Fatih as the Palace disassembled itself around them. Marble pillars and paneled walls flew apart and reformed into new configurations in the air, then broke and fused again, as if whatever invisible giant moved them were dissatisfied and must experiment.

    Gradually their little platform halted its rotation, and Nadia found herself looking in the eye of a great golden dragon¡¯s head as it favored her with a smile full of fangs. Akritas, was it? She would show him how a Marshall died; she raised her stolen rifle and pointed it right at the slit pupil of his shining garnet eye. It responded only by lowering its lid once, then raising it again. Was he ¡­ winking at her?

    Below the neck, Akritas had the physique of a bodybuilder, golden skin over rippling muscles. The sculpted arms gestured sharply, imperiously, and the pieces of the Palace hastened to obey his commands. A dome ripped itself in half, and the two parts slammed into either side of their platform; the bit of wall broke away, and a set of gilded railings attached themselves to the other two sides, the edges of the floor curling up until the three of them were standing in the bottom of something shaped a bit like a boat.

    Akritas waved his hand, and the bizarre craft went sailing through the sky, accelerating smoothly to bear them over the now-raging fires of the park. Nadia hurried to the ¡°stern¡± and saw Akritas walking slowly after them, still waving his arms to conduct them on their way. Below the waist his marvelous form became vague, a slender and tenuous strand that gradually merged with and became the tail of his base¡ªan ugly, squat grey lizard with a face like a toad¡¯s. The four bent legs moved slowly. Akritas did not hurry.

    Their absurd little ship floated easily over the ramparts its master had made, then drifted gently down to splash in the waters of the Golden Horn. Only a little cold water slopped over the railing as they landed. Somehow, there were no leaks in the slapdash construction.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Nadia turned and saw Ruslan struggling to extricate his legs from the carpet roll. She did not move to help him. Hamza slumped against the extravagant railing, breathing hard. ¡°Where are we? Guys?¡±

    Nadia declined to answer. The little boat floated on, drifting north towards Galata. They were not safe yet, of course. Galata was still a hellhole, and Hamza was hurt. She could not begin to guess why Akritas had elected to save them¡ªwas he Beelzebub, or working with him? But it had to be after midnight, the jacket had a good fleece lining, and she was tired. Nadia closed her eyes, and surrendered to the night.

 XVI. Long Shadows (Keisha)

    By 2300, the roof of the airport garage was a lot less crowded. All the camera drones had long since landed for lack of anything to show, and most of the important guests had shuffled down the stairs to whatever sleeping quarters the Turks provided, with standing orders to whoever would listen to wake them the second something happened.

    This arrangement quickly rattled down the chain of command until a multinational handful of low-ranking aides (and one luckless major in Air Force blues) were gathered around a single table, drinking endless rounds of coffee and taking bathroom breaks in turns. Now it was just them, a few increasingly haggard Turkish servers, and Keisha¡¯s trio, waiting together. Their hosts, considerate as always, had dug up a batch of electric space heaters on extension cords. They weren¡¯t all that helpful in the open air, but she appreciated the thought.

    Per Titus Marshall, ¡°Secundus¡± had landed successfully in Fatih, but sustained an unspecified setback in the process. After that announcement, their pet warlord had spent several minutes fiddling with his phone and swearing in Latin, then stormed off the rooftop¡ªignoring the protests and questions of about a dozen flag officers from as many different NATO members¡ªand not reappeared since.

    Nobody knew where he went, but in response to repeated text messages from several people he had agreed to let them know as soon as he heard anything. At that, all eyes turned to Hamp, who only shook his head and snagged a cheese-filled sigara b?rek from a passing waiter. More than a few people remarked that this Marshall character was out of control and would have to be reined in¡ªkeeping one eye on the stairs as they said it, in case he came back and heard them.

    That had been around 1930. Boredom and exhaustion, exacerbated by jet lag, had culled the population since, despite valiant efforts by everyone in authority to pretend that something was happening. All things considered, Korgeneral Balbay had improvised an excellent presentation on potential next steps, and it wasn¡¯t really his fault that he reminded Keisha of cable news anchors stalling for time while they awaited fresh developments.

    Now, an hour before midnight, she had to admit there was no sensible reason for her to stay on that rooftop any longer. The children might have fallen asleep by now, and whatever happened in Fatih she was in no position to do anything about it. Some mixture of pride, fear, and stubbornness kept her sitting at the table. Hamp, who¡¯d never seen or spoken with Nadia and didn¡¯t have to imagine her bleeding out in some anonymous alley, kept Keisha company out of friendship and solidarity. And Dr. Gus ¡­ Dr. Gus would have his own reasons.

    Hamp drained his latest cup. Keisha wasn¡¯t trying to count them anymore, but they were at least straight coffee now. He was starting to sober up. ¡°So. Why¡¯d you get into this whole business in the first place, Doctor?¡±

    Dr. Gus smiled. He¡¯d been perfectly amiable the whole time, treating their bizarre situation as a chance for camaraderie no matter how rude and surly Keisha¡¯s new boss acted. ¡°You might say it was because my parents had an interesting dinner guest when I was nine.¡±

    ¡°Dinner guest,¡± Hamp repeated. ¡°What, some spook ¡®scientist¡¯? I didn¡¯t think they recruited that young.¡±

    ¡°Not precisely. My family was not even in America at the time, though we had left our own country. But a longtime friend of my father¡¯s happened to be passing through the area for his work, and made the time to sit down for dinner with us. He was a charming fellow, very polite, but I do not doubt I would have forgotten that night entirely if my parents had not received word of his death a few years later.¡±

    He stopped to take a drink of water. Dr. Gus had never been fond of caffeine or alcohol. ¡°Our guest was just a vague memory at that time, hidden by the rising storms of my adolescent concerns, but I was not too addled to make note of current events, or the peculiar attitude of my parents toward them. When I brought the matter to my mother she admitted it: our friend died on the twenty-ninth of September, 1957.¡±

    Keisha had heard this story multiple times before, and watched Hamp¡¯s face to see how he would react. As expected, he was incredulous. ¡°You honestly expect me to believe that, as a kid, you met Grigoriy goddam Tzepora.¡±

    ¡°I am not aware that he had any such middle name, but yes, I did. And what was most remarkable about him, looking back, was the fact that he was not remarkable at all. The man I remember wore his hair perhaps slightly longer than was fashionable, and ate no meat, but he did not rant and rave about the Kabbalah¡ªas so many of our modern chroniclers depict him¡ªor do anything uncanny. He might have been a sales clerk at a store.

    ¡°And yet this most ordinary-seeming man strode into the enemy¡¯s country with power in his hand, and gave up his life to shift the course of history. The thought of it shook me out of my complacency, and I have remained shaken ever since. All my life, like yours, has been lived in the long shadow of Grigoriy Tzepora.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one way of putting it,¡± Hamp said. ¡°Your childhood hero was a mass murderer.¡±

    ¡°I did not think of him as a hero then; I do not necessarily call him a hero now, though it should be noted that, had Mr. Tzepora not turned nuclear weapons from an indispensable asset to an intolerable liability, we would be fighting a very different kind of war today. One with a much higher casualty count.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡±

    ¡°We of course cannot know what would have happened for sure. Possibly we as a species would by this point no longer be in a condition to wage war at all. At Mayak Grigoriy killed perhaps thirty thousand people, most of them noncombatants. But Hiroshima and Nagasaki between them claimed five times that¡ªand those bombs were essentially prototypes.¡±

    ¡°So was Grigoriy, wasn¡¯t he? All that Project Chariot shit, nobody uses that anymore. Now we¡¯ve got new and improved models, like our buddy Titus. How proud are you of making men like him?¡±

    ¡°Titus Marshall was no protege of mine, and he might in fact arguably be called a prototype, if the reports you and Miss Lawrence gave us are accurate.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s an emissor. They¡¯ve been around since the late eighties at least. That¡¯s a quarter-century.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and there have been many different protocols used to train them over that time period. We know the early records are poor, but it is my belief¡ªmy extended speculation, really¡ªthat Mr. Marshall and his ¡®Yunks¡¯ are the result of an experimental variant protocol, used once to initially promising results, then abandoned when its risks and limitations became apparent. There were many such experiments in the early days. Most of them produced simple botches. We were not so lucky with him.¡±

    Keisha was only listening to their bickering for a distraction, and tuned it out when she saw one of the aides at the other table show his phone to the man next to him. That man said something to the others, who hurried to pull out their own phones. Keisha was already on her way over. Before she could ask, one of them held up his screen for her. ¡°Feuer. Fire. Northeast Fatih. From the latest satellite photos.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a fire?¡± She¡¯d looked over maps of the district, but she couldn¡¯t remember what was in that spot.

    ¡°Gulhane Park,¡± someone else added, swiping at his own screen. ¡°Growing fast.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re setting parks on fire?¡± a third aide said, a woman with a Scandinavian accent. ¡°Little hooligans.¡± She sounded amused.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care if they burn the whole city, as long as they frag an emissor.¡±

    A Brit in scarlet piped up, ¡°Ivan¡¯s just started gabbing up a storm on radio, whatever it is. Huge uptick in traffic.¡±

    ¡°The juvie bastards finally came through¡ª¡°

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Six people knocked over their chairs getting up. Myriad was rising again in a hurry, spewing out her drones even before she was properly open.

    ¡°Well, Rainbow Brite¡¯s still there,¡± the Air Force major said caustically. ¡°Did they bag Ursula, or Bob the Builder? Or did they wait four hours just to cock up the whole show?¡±

    ¡°Leave ¡®em alone. The poor boys couldn¡¯t stop thinking about tits long enough to conjure. Weren¡¯t you ever thirteen?¡±

    A sizable herd of middle-aged and elderly men in pajamas, bathrobes, and slippers came stampeding up the stairs, throwing on coats as they came, to harry their aides with questions in person. The Turks¡¯ AV crew were already warming up the projection screens again. Keisha withdrew from the uproar to dig through her own phone, but there was nothing new on the official channels. Fire in Gulhane Park, increased Russian radio traffic, Myriad¡¯s reappearance. What did it all mean?

    ¡°Bloody fucking hell!¡± someone shouted, and Keisha looked up to see Shum-Shum rising as well. ¡°Is it too much to ask Caligula to inform us before he lets his first-form hellions out of the nursery? Perhaps take the time out of his busy schedule to avoid a major international incident from friendly fire?¡±

    ¡°Oh, but you do not understand! The ancient Roman conception of ¡®allies¡¯ and their role, which is of course superior to ours in every respect¡ª¡°

    ¡°Bugger off, Jean, I¡¯m in no mood.¡±

    Keisha went back to her seat, where she was less likely to be knocked over by an excited officer. ¡°They¡¯ve got a point,¡± Hamp said in a low voice. ¡°You¡¯ve heard him, ¡®Sarah.¡¯ As far as he¡¯s concerned, he¡¯s Caesar, and he¡¯ll help us when and if it pleases him. Sure, we don¡¯t have to worry about nukes, but what was that Franklin quote? The one about liberty and security? They¡¯re already running Russia; we don¡¯t even know who the hell¡¯s giving orders in the Kremlin anymore. How long until we¡¯ve got an American emperor? Or eight of them?¡±

    Dr. Gus was still placid. ¡°I have heard this argument before. I do not think it is entirely without merit, but nor do I think that degree of pessimism is warranted.¡±

    ¡°Sure, we can hope,¡± Hamp grumbled, ¡°now that we shut the pipeline down. Assuming we really did, and we¡¯re not training more of the freaks in some secret hidey-hole. The Whiteout did that much good¡ªif it wasn¡¯t too late already.¡±

    Dr. Gus gave Keisha a look. She kept her mouth shut. She¡¯d known the Colonel long enough now that she didn¡¯t bother arguing with him any more.

    A few minutes later, the screens were running again, showing images of trees on fire from several angles, and a couple of shots of Shum-Shum and Myriad duking it out again. Predictably, Myriad was still winning. Some analyst with a heavy Texan twang started up a constant patter about estimated rate of spread and the number and type of Russian assets they thought were on the move inside the district. None of it was especially enlightening. ¡°Secundus¡± had probably done, or was doing, something in that general area. That was all you could say.

    Someone gave a cry of anguish as one of the cameras shifted focus in a hurry to show the Topkapi Palace ¡­ exploding? Was it exploding? Whatever was happening to it, it didn¡¯t look good, and none of the eight Turkish officers shouting about it sounded pleased to see six centuries of their country¡¯s history start ripping itself apart. They were even less happy when Akritas appeared in the middle of all the mess; he¡¯d wrecked half the district¡¯s historic mosques already.

    ¡°What in Sam Hill is he doing?¡± an American asked, cutting across what was probably a very impressive stream of Turkish profanities. ¡°It looks like he¡¯s¡ªis that a little boat?¡±

    ¡°So it appears,¡± said another, who was slouched down in his chair. One camera adjusted to zoom in on the slapdash construction as it went flying over the outer walls and floated down into the Golden Horn. It continued drifting north, away from its maker¡¯s halo; the camera zoomed in further, till you could squint and tell yourself there were people in there. It was carrying something, anyway, and that something was moving a little.

    ¡°Doctor,¡± Keisha said quietly. ¡°Do we still have feet on the ground in Galata?¡±

    ¡°We do,¡± he said, quieter still. ¡°They will be holding position.¡±

    ¡°What? But this¡ªthose kids could be hurt in there!¡±

    ¡°Quite possibly. But we cannot help them without exposing the very large hole in Mr. Marshall¡¯s security. Added to the ¡®assistance¡¯ we have given them already, clearing Galata?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Reckless. I was against even that, but was overruled. We will see what comes of it. I do not think Mr. Marshall is merciful to moles.¡±

    ¡°We could extract them,¡± she said, gripping the edge of the table so hard her fingers hurt. ¡°Right now. There¡¯s three of them there¡ªif they all made it out¡ªthat¡¯s more than half his manpower, and the better half. Yuri and Shum-Shum are tied up with Myriad, Fatima¡¯s still in Thessaloniki¡ª¡°

    ¡°We cannot be sure it is the children in that vessel in the first place. And Titus Marshall is very likely somewhere in our proximity, ready to retaliate against such a betrayal by setting Yunks loose among us.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡°

    ¡°You are not thinking clearly. To go by your own reports, of the three children sent on the mission, Nadia is the most likely to defect, but would be leaving her biological brother behind. Ruslan seems unlikely to take such a risk. Hamza, I think, would refuse. The most likely scenario, to my mind, is that they would attack whoever we sent.¡±

    She looked to Hamp, who bit his lip. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but he¡¯s right. They¡¯re on their own. If it makes it any better, it looks like they were successful.¡±

    ¡°Who gives a shit?¡± she snarled, and threw her coffee cup down to shatter on the rooftop. Hamp put up his hands, palms out, and turned away; Dr. Gus raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Nobody else nearby even noticed her little temper tantrum. They were all staring at the screens, and talking very fast.

    And no wonder. All six screens now showed the same thing: Myriad¡¯s drones, out in full force, slamming themselves into the walls of the Palace as Akritas rearranged them into barriers. The golden giant was advancing under fire, waddling slowly towards their eyesore of a Kremlin. Hamp laughed beside her. ¡°The turncoat turns again, huh?¡±

    ¡°Looks like it,¡± she said coldly, and pushed herself up from the table. The concrete guardrail around the edge of the garage already had five or six people leaning against it, smoking cigarettes with almost post-coital satisfaction. Keisha found a spot of her own where she could be angry in peace.

    The Colonel, not getting the hint in his current state, limped after her. ¡°See?¡± he muttered in her ear. ¡°They were successful. Had to have been. No sign of Kostroma in that brawl. I bet the weaselly son of a bitch switched sides again the second she died. Well, he¡¯s not stupid; they¡¯ll never keep their lines going without her.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Colonel Hampton, I worked that out for myself,¡± she ground out, enunciating each word through her teeth. ¡°Please do not mistake me for someone who cares.¡±

    He left without another word, not even a grumble. She didn¡¯t turn to watch him go, or to see the fight on the screens. They were cheering now, watching Myriad trapped between two hostile familiars. Better than boxing on pay-per-view. Meanwhile, exactly zero of the screens were focusing on the little boat in the Golden Horn.

    Dr. Gus allowed her a decent interval to steam before taking Hamp¡¯s place beside her. ¡°I do not think Akritas would look to buy our forgiveness by sending us dead children,¡± he said. ¡°And one of the three is the world¡¯s second-best physician. I would not give up hope.¡±

    ¡°Do you see me doing that?¡±

    ¡°I cannot say what I see, except that you are angry. For all my gifts, I cannot peer directly into the soul. I am not a god.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, turning to look at him. ¡°You only train them.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°It is rather late for this old man to deal with such blasphemous flattery. We are all mortal. Including you¡ªthough I remain very proud of the work I did there.¡±

    Keisha took a few deep breaths to force out her frustration. This wasn¡¯t his fault. Not all of it, anyway.

    ¡°I have had a long and rewarding career,¡± he went on, speaking very softly. The brass were whooping up a storm behind them; at least one was calling for champagne. ¡°It has been a privilege, to make my mark on the world Grigoriy left us. It has always been possible, of course, for one man¡¯s decision¡ªor one woman¡¯s¡ªto have devastating consequences. But it was never, before my lifetime, so visceral, so dramatic. So direct.¡±

    ¡°Mmm-hmm.¡±

    ¡°Which makes it all the more important that we continue to trust one another, and have reason for that trust. I recommended you for this position because I had faith in your intellect, your abilities, your dedication, and your good judgment. Was I wrong?¡±

    ¡°Dr. Gus, you¡¯ve known me for ten years. You know my history, all of it. How did you expect me to react when you threw me into this horrible ¡­ situation with no warning?¡±

    ¡°Like a warrior. And you have. But if you have your duty, I have mine as well. I must make sure. And your anger, it concerns me.¡± He waved a hand over the roof¡¯s edge. ¡°The view from here would be beautiful during the day, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡±

    ¡°Please. Indulge me. Do you not care for beauty anymore, Miss Lawrence? I recall you did. Do you never share your passion for beautiful views with others?¡±

    He was looking at her very intently over his glasses, but she was tired, and distracted. It took her a second to get it: beautiful view. Belvedere. She¡¯d made a scene, so now he was worried about OpSec for Belvedere. ¡°That was in my reports too. Colonel Hampton isn¡¯t much for scenery. He doesn¡¯t really notice that kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°Of course. He is an older man, if not so old as me. Old, and tired. It takes the heart of a child to appreciate beauty when you see it. Have you perhaps taken the time to open a child¡¯s eyes to the scenery, over the past few weeks?¡±

    Keisha hesitated¡ªbut she really couldn¡¯t lie to Dr. Gus, of all people. And he would find out eventually anyway. ¡°Little glimpses, maybe. Nothing spectacular. One child in particular, who ¡­ needed a new perspective on a bad situation. I don¡¯t know if she really understood what I was showing her. What it meant.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± He sighed. ¡°But children are very perceptive sometimes, aren¡¯t they? A little perspective can be a dangerous thing, Miss Lawrence.¡±

    She grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡±

 XVII. Jubilee (Nadia)

    The castle¡¯s floor was cold and hard against her bare knees, but Nadia didn¡¯t get up. It wasn¡¯t even dinnertime yet, and Papa Titus had given the whole Family the rest of the week off to celebrate their success in Fatih. They could choose to spend their time however they pleased, and if Nadia chose to spend the rest of this day doing penance alone in her room, well, that was none of his business, was it? Whether he would have approved or not, he had no need to know.

    She had only five icons on her wall: Christ, His Mother, St. Nicholas of Myra, St. Sophia with her daughters, and the great Prince Alexander Nevsky, her largest, which she had placed at the bottom. She could have had many more; even her puny allowance would have been enough to buy one every month, and after Fatih she had a hundred thousand American dollars in her account. But she refused to buy holy things with blood money. Every image on that wall had been bought with money earned by doing extra chores for the other children.

    Five icons was enough. Even when she didn¡¯t raise her head to look at them, she could feel five pairs of eyes staring down at the top of her head. But it was better to kneel on the floor with her head bowed than to try to look them in the eye. She had killed men last night, she didn¡¯t know how many, and it was probably hopeless to think she could buy mercy before the Throne with a few hours of kneeling. But she had to try.

    Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu.

    Alexander Nevsky bore a sword in his icon; he had killed men with his own hand. But those men had been aggressors, invaders of his kingdom. Last night, Nadia herself had been the invader¡ªand worse, a hired assassin. So what if the soldiers had had no right to be in the city either? A murderer of murderers was still a murderer.

    Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu.

    Papa Titus and Yunks were waiting to punish any disobedience. So what? Saint Sophia¡¯s three daughters had been no older than Nadia, maybe younger, when they faced death. Was there really no way Nadia could have avoided killing? She could not think of one, but maybe she was just being lazy. Lazy, or a coward. Nadia had a hundred thousand dollars now, and it was her duty to see to it that every cent went to charity. Somehow.

    Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu.

    Her knees were sore already, and it hadn¡¯t been half an hour. She didn¡¯t want to check the time. It was hard to keep down the thoughts that maybe she could do penance by degrees, starting small with a half hour one night and maybe doing a little more each night as her body got stronger. As long as she did not do anything pleasant after getting up, would it count against her?

    Gospodi¡ª

    Her door rattled on its hinges as someone hammered on it, hard. Nadia hurried to her feet, or tried to. She got a few inches from the floor before her knees threw a fit and she fell over onto her bed, biting back curses. The door kept on banging, but she ignored it until the fire in her legs settled down enough that she could say ¡°Who is it?¡± in a voice that was not too strained.

    ¡°It¡¯s a party, and you¡¯re missing it! The Tit¡¯s putting on a hell of a show in the courtyard. Come on!¡±

    Yuri. Of course. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go!¡± she shouted back. ¡°I have a headache!¡±

    The door rattled a little harder, but she¡¯d been careful to lock it. ¡°Headache, my ass,¡± Yuri said. ¡°You¡¯re just being morbid again, aren¡¯t you? You need to leave that shit to the old babushkas. The wages of sin are ballin¡¯ tonight.¡±

    ¡°Go away, Yuri.¡±

    ¡°This is for your own good. The Tit¡¯s not going to like it if he catches you bailing on the spread he¡¯s laid down there.¡±

    ¡°How will he like it if he catches you calling him ¡®the Tit¡¯?¡±

    ¡°So what if he does? It¡¯s his name. Seriously, Nadia, move it. He¡¯s gonna notice if you don¡¯t show. And that¡¯ll put heat on me, too.¡±

    Damn it. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m coming,¡± she promised. ¡°Give me a few minutes to get changed.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you need to bandage the whip-marks on your back, I get it.¡± But she could hear his feet on the stairs.

    Nadia threw a pleading glance at her icons, trying to pretend she didn¡¯t feel a little relieved. After all, it wasn¡¯t as if it would be a very fun party, especially if Papa Titus was going to be there himself, and it sounded like he was. She tried to make up for it by putting on her least comfortable dress¡ªthe one with the bow in the back that dug in whenever she sat down. It was kind of ugly, too. Maybe that would help.

    Some of Fatima¡¯s favorite American rap started booming out when Nadia was halfway down the stairs, shaking the dust off the ancient stones above her head. Lots of bass. Well, that could be a kind of penance too. Maybe she really would have a headache, by the end of the night.

    It was louder, much louder, in the courtyard. There was a different kind of entertainment in each of the partitions, with Papa Titus looking down on it all from the watchtower in the middle. Nadia came out next to the bouncy castle, which already had Yuri in it, hopping around to the beat (more or less) with a bunch of much younger Metic kids. A table against the wall had a huge bowl of punch and a variety of snacks; probably Yuri had spiked the bowl already, and she hoped he made himself throw up.

    Another section had a bonfire in it; Gulya was helping a few Metic kids toast marshmallows. Gulya was by far the nicest of their three minders, and Nadia considered going over to say hi, but she looked busy. A third partition had a big mat laid out where three of the Lictors were showing off their moves, grappling and throwing for the kiddies. Two of them would demonstrate a move, while the third helped two volunteers from the young and entirely male audience to do it themselves. The current pupil looked anxious, but also thrilled, as the grizzled veteran slowly and gently guided his fist in the direction of his prone friend¡¯s throat.

    The fourth partition had Master of the Flying Guillotine playing with subtitles on a huge screen for a few six-year-olds and a much larger collection of hooting and cheering Lictors. Nadia passed it by without regrets, and found Fatima and Ruslan up on a stage in the large area around the church.

    Fatima had her best full-length embroidered green Afghan dress on her body, a black hijab on her head, and a microphone in her hand as she sang along with the music, belting out lyrics about the muthafuckas tryna roll in her hood while she strutted up and down the stage. The ladies in the video playing behind her weren¡¯t wearing nearly as much.

    Ruslan wasn¡¯t looking at them, or anything else but Fatima, and danced so stiffly and poorly that Nadia almost died of sympathetic embarrassment just looking at him. He had his long, multicolored striped coat on, traditional Uzbek gear¡ªso they¡¯d match¡ªand his round face was glowing with sweat. Nadia was sure the half-dozen children hopping in front of the stage felt nothing but sincere admiration for him anyway; after all, he was a war hero.

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    Nadia jumped as a hand came down on her shoulder. ¡°You did good work last night,¡± a voice said in her ear, and she relaxed. It was only Hamza.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she replied, in the quietest voice she could use while still being audible over the enormous speakers on the stage. ¡°You were wonderful too.¡±

    ¡°Not really. I was sloppy. Could have got us all killed.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t,¡± she reminded him, and leaned over to put her head on his shoulder. Well, his arm, anyway. He was tall. Her big brother. They were very fortunate that he was even still alive. She let her eyes and mind wander as she nestled against him, and chuckled a little to see decrepit old Varvara in the far corner, hunched defensively against the wall as she glared at Fatima and Ruslan. Did she notice that her foot was tapping to the beat?

    ¡°Was he angry with you?¡± she asked, after a minute. She had a vague memory of men scooping her out of Akritas¡¯s boat, and of being carried onto a plane, but nothing else before waking up in her own bed that morning, still in her clothes.

    ¡°A little,¡± he said. ¡°Not too much, since we got the kill and we all got out clean. He was kinda pissed about the dead dogs and shit in Galata, but he couldn¡¯t pin that on me, could he?¡±

    ¡°Probably not,¡± she said, though she wouldn¡¯t have put it past Papa Titus. ¡°When will my debriefing be? Did he say?¡±

    ¡°No, but why do you care? You did great. Attacked twice on your first mission, and you still saved our asses. You came out looking the best of all of us. You¡¯re golden.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She wished that didn¡¯t make her feel proud. How long would she have to pretend to have fun here, before she could go back to her room? ¡°What¡¯s going on in Fatih now?¡±

    ¡°Right now? Dunno. I hear the Russians are planning to pull out. They¡¯re trying to negotiate terms of withdrawal or something. Akritas already ran for it, the little punk.¡±

    ¡°A ¡®little punk¡¯ who saved our lives,¡± she reminded him.

    ¡°Yeah, whatever. He¡¯s still a traitor. Twice.¡±

    Nadia thought of her conversations with Beelzebub, and her heart sank. ¡°It sounds like the war is as good as over, then. Isn¡¯t it? Are we still going to be staying here?¡±

    ¡°Probably not. But there¡¯s always going to be another war, so don¡¯t worry about it, okay?¡± He swung her around into a bear hug. ¡°You did a good job, and I¡¯m proud of you. You keep this up, you¡¯ll get imperium sooner than I did.¡± When she didn¡¯t answer, he added, ¡°Besides, what¡¯ll you be leaving behind here? Everybody we know will be coming with us.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± she said, prying herself out of the embrace. Hamza was her brother and she loved him, but he simply stank of hash. He was right: there would always be another war, another home, another life. Another cage. Bah.

    There was a table loaded with food across from the stage, and Nadia excused herself to check it out. Zeinab cut her a hunk off a leg of lamb, then shooed her away so she could continue making eyes at the Lictor beside her. It was the handsome one, of course¡ªthe young man with the strawberry-blond curls. Nadia couldn¡¯t help feeling slightly jealous.

    When she had eaten enough, and made a dutiful circuit of the whole courtyard¡¯s entertainments, she retreated back to her room. Papa Titus must have noticed her among the ¡®crowd¡¯ of less than fifty people. If he thought so well of her after the mission, he would not be too peevish at her for leaving the party early with indigestion.

    Her icons were still there, and the floor, and it wasn¡¯t really time for her to go to bed yet. She laid down on the bed anyway, on her side. Tomorrow morning, if her knees were not too sore, she would get in another half-hour. Maybe then she would feel better, emotionally at least.

    She had just closed her eyes when a quiet voice said, from right above her, ¡°I¡¯m very happy to see you made it through, Natasha.¡±

    She refused to open her eyes. She knew she would see a bug landing on her pillow, right in front of her face. ¡°Beelzebub, do you mind? I¡¯m tired. Let me sleep.¡±

    ¡°In your clothes, at 1900? You haven¡¯t been that busy today.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been spying on me the whole time. Thank you for reminding me why I can¡¯t trust you.¡±

    ¡°Not the whole time. Just a little bit. Enough to see that all three of you made it back safe, and that you¡¯ve spent most of the day in your room.¡±

    ¡°All right. You¡¯ve seen us. Now go away, before I smush you.¡±

    There was a faint buzz, and Nadia opened her eyes a crack to see the familiar grey bug lift off and start circling around above her. ¡°There. I¡¯m safe, unless you feel like getting up.¡±

    ¡°Or calling ¨¦zarine. I could do that too. Without getting up.¡±

    ¡°Or you could tell Papa Titus.¡± At that Nadia¡¯s eyes flew open, and she really did sit up in bed, but the bug danced up higher, circling out of reach. ¡°You¡¯re a child, Natasha. You don¡¯t have to feel guilty. Let alone spend half an hour hurting yourself.¡±

    ¡°What would you know, you dirty little sneak? Why are you bothering me, anyway? Didn¡¯t your bosses get what they wanted already? Fatih will be yours soon enough.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that, personally¡ªbut it isn¡¯t as certain as you make it sound.¡±

    ¡°Go on,¡± she said, crossing her arms. If he was going to be bothering her, he could at least give her useful information.

    ¡°You saw that big tower they built in Fatih, didn¡¯t you? Akritas made it. They say it has a nuclear reactor inside, which they¡¯ve been using to power their operations. Supposedly, they can rig it to vent radioactive steam all over the district, or even melt down.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d kill themselves?¡±

    ¡°As opposed to evacuating ten thousand people up the Bosporus and across the Black Sea, under fire, with no cover from Kostroma? We would have preferred Myriad for a reason. They¡¯ll be extorting food out of us and negotiating terms for months.¡±

    ¡°Oh, did your plan not go perfectly? I feel so bad for you.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t complaining. My plan went as well as I could have expected¡ªyou¡¯re alive. That was all I cared about, and I did the best I could.¡±

    ¡°So you did take out the men and dogs in Galata.¡±

    ¡°Friends of mine. But yes. I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t help you once you got inside.¡±

    ¡°Did you ever stop to ask yourselves what Papa Titus would think when he heard about it?¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡± the bug retorted. ¡°You asked me for help, and I gave it. If you¡¯d rather be lying dead with your throat torn open right now, just say so.¡±

    Nadia was still trying to think of something to say to that when the door flew open with a crash, and a Lictor in camo fatigues came in with his pistol drawn. His eyes flicked around the room, then settled on her. Nadia forced herself to focus on him; the little fly would be all but invisible against whatever wall he¡¯d landed on, and lying very still. The Lictor, meanwhile, had his gun pointed squarely at her chest. He was one of the older ones, over forty, and his jaw was clenched.

    ¡°Nadezhda Marshall,¡± he said. ¡°I think you¡¯d better come with me.¡±

 XVIII. Render Unto Caesar (Nadia)

    It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Nadia had had a gun pointed at her. Just like before, she found it difficult to look at anything but the little muzzle-hole at the end where the bullet would come out to kill her.

    ¡°Up. Now,¡± its owner said. ¡°No tricks. The second I start seeing anything that¡¯s not real, I pull the trigger. Two other men know I¡¯m here, plus your father. Move.¡±

    She got up, but she still considered it. There was no way he hadn¡¯t heard something very incriminating, or he wouldn¡¯t be ready to make death threats. There was no way Papa Titus wasn¡¯t at least suspicious already, or he wouldn¡¯t have sent a man to listen at her door. Unless he¡¯d been sent with a message or an order? She couldn¡¯t guess what.

    Down the stairs they went, as slowly as she could manage it. Now would be the last chance to call ¨¦zarine, if she was going to do so at all. Once they were out in the courtyard there would be a lot more men with guns, and little Metics in the line of fire. But what if she did resist? She would have the whole Family after her then. Hamza at least would obey orders to kill her, however he felt. Maybe Fatima too. Ruslan would be too scared not to. Yuri ¡­ hard to say. Could she kill them all to save herself?

    Too late now. They were at the bottom of the stairs. Three more Lictors just in the nearest partition. Yuri had left the bouncy castle, but all the little kids still inside stopped bouncing to stare at Nadia passing by with her hands up and a gun at her back. Just like bad guys in the movies! She wished they would look away.

    Damn that Beelzebub, anyway. But wasn¡¯t that what everyone did: blame the devil? Why had she talked to him in the first place? What could he ever have given her, that would make up for this? Nothing she could think of. And still her feet carried her forward.

    Gulya did not look up from her bonfire. The martial artists kept up their lesson. The horrible rap music was still booming from the stage, and Nadia did not turn to see if anyone else noticed her shame. This was the time where she should be thinking of a plan to escape but nothing was coming to mind. Nothing in her head now, only a gradually increasing weight in her chest as the courtyard passed them by like scenery from a car window.

    Bottom of the big north tower. They were going to see Papa Titus. Papa Titus, and Yunks. That was enough to wake her up a little. Death was frightening, but death was not Yunks. Deep breaths, in and out ¡­

    The two men posted at the tower¡¯s bottom detained her (one to point his gun, one to frisk, just like a common visitor got) while her captor went up to speak with Papa Titus in private. He took a long time, but not long enough. Too soon he was back, and motioning her up the stairs. Deep breaths. In. Out. It only came to her at the last second, when they were right before the door, that she had not thought to pray. Well. That was just the sort of wicked child she was. Svyatoy Bozhe ¡­

    Too late. The door was open, and she was thrust inside with Papa Titus. He was dressed in a plain white tunic, but Nadia recognized his Tyrian purple toga, piled up on the desk in the corner, and there was a new map of Istanbul with routes sketched out in the streets. He¡¯d been planning another triumph, his fifth since she joined. Maybe he was in a good mood?

    A quick look at his face told her he wasn¡¯t. His expression was ¡­ solemn. The face he put on when he was angry, but trying to be dignified about it. A little frowny mask, good for the funeral of somebody you didn¡¯t like. She despised it¡ªbut it was no good letting that show on her own face. Yunks was already visible in outline behind him.

    ¡°Sir,¡± she said, standing at attention.

    He nodded, then turned away to look at his Oath of the Horatii on the wall. She knew he was planning to get the original from the Louvre someday. ¡°I am grieved that it has come to this,¡± he said.

    ¡°Come to what? Sir.¡± Yunks was still hazy, too immaterial to start feeding yet. She had better stay that way for a while; Beelzebub had given her limited instructions, and she had obviously never had a chance to test them. The little picture in her head was still frustratingly vague.

    His shoulders stiffened. Definitely angry now. ¡°You are a soldier¡ªyoung, but a warrior. You represent the gens Martialis, even now. I expect you to face all challenges with courage and dignity. Not equivocation. Cincinnatus heard you speaking with someone in your room. Do you deny it?¡±

    ¡°I was praying!¡± she said, the first thing that came to mind. Along with the words of Beelzebub: Everyone¡¯s image is different. For you ¡­ we should try a wall, a brick or stone wall, very tall, so tall you could never climb over. Practice for me now.

    ¡°Cincinnatus says he heard two voices. One of them a man¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what all he heard, sir. I can only tell you that I was praying. Out loud.¡± But the wall isn¡¯t there to protect you¡ªit¡¯s there to keep you out. Everything you ever wanted is on the other side of that wall, but you can¡¯t get around it and you can¡¯t break it down. Can you picture that? Can you hold that in your mind?

    Yes. She could. She could see it now. Because she had to. Because the alternative was lurking behind Papa Titus¡¯s back, lusting to tear her soul in half.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t known Cincinnatus to lie,¡± Papa Titus said slowly, turning around to stare right into her eyes. ¡°Or to ever show a grudge against you, that might make him lie. Do you hold grudges, Nadezhda Titovna?¡±

    ¡°I try not to, sir.¡± The wall was there, strong and firm. She knew she would never get past it. Could Yunks? Of course it will work. It worked for me, didn¡¯t it? We all learn to defend ourselves this way.

    ¡°But I¡¯ve been hearing stories, Nadezhda. They spread among the Praetorians, men who have never seen your face. Have you heard these stories ¡­ Nadezhda Titovna?¡±

    She knew he was just using her patronymic to intimidate her. It didn¡¯t. Mostly, it was annoying. He didn¡¯t own her. ¡°I don¡¯t talk with the Praetorians, sir.¡±

    ¡°Or with anyone else?¡±

    ¡°No, sir, except for our own family. Not without your permission.¡± The wall will not protect you from anything physical. It will have no effect outside your body. All it will give you is noetic sovereignty. No valence can bind you, as long as you can imagine that wall.

    ¡°Strange. I hear stories about a malcontent in the ranks. There are plain security leaks on a critical mission. And now one of my most senior Lictors, a man who has served me faithfully for four years without incident, hallucinates a male voice in your room.¡± He raised his chin to stare down his long nose at her. ¡°How does that happen?¡±

    ¡°There was no man in there with me, sir. Did Cincinnatus say there was? Or a radio?¡± she added, on an afterthought.

    ¡°You know there were not ¡­ Nadezhda Titovna.¡± Abruptly the figure behind him came into clear focus, and Nadia saw her: the arms, legs, and trunk of a nude woman, curvaceous and desirable, with the four hairy black paws of a bear past her elbows and knees, and a long, sinuous neck covered in red feathers, ending in a bird¡¯s head with a bill like a sword and a splayed crest of needlelike quills out the back.

    The shock of the sight of her was so sharp, so sudden, that for a moment her wall was lost, and Nadia felt herself falling down the precipice into the pit of unfathomable fear where Yunks was waiting at the bottom, hungry and eager. She cocked her head, bird-like, at the taste of Nadia¡¯s despair, and her eye glinted in the light.

    She did not eat, could never eat, as often as she liked, and she had barely tasted Nadia before. Her master used her to break disobedient soldiers, to bully Ruslan, or to teach compliance to idiot Greek officials who did not know their place. The heart of a young girl would be a tender treat, she said with her shining eye. And the thick, clumsy bear¡¯s hands ran up and down her body with anticipation, caressing neck, breasts, belly, groin, and thighs.

    But even as Nadia fell the thought of the wall came to mind again¡ªif only because it was an agony to lose it¡ªand the moment it returned the power of Yunks receded. Not all the way; Nadia could still feel the stinking heat of her breath down her neck. But enough. It was little bit to cling to, and from the little bit of desperation Yunks fed her she built up her wall again.

    ¡°No,¡± she said out loud. No, you cannot have me. You think you can trap me in fear? Not if I trap myself first. The wall went up all around her inside her mind, higher and higher, until she could no longer picture its top, and the light of the sky and the sun above were just a tiny shriveled dot in the theoretical center of an endlessly-shrinking circle. She might be a prisoner, but she would be her own prisoner, not some beast¡¯s.

    ¡°No?¡± Papa Titus repeated, incredulous, and Nadia realized (without letting go of the wall) that in her brief time in Yunks¡¯s paws she had stumbled sideways and fallen over into a bookshelf, scattering half its contents over herself. She was on the floor, buried in old books, and hadn¡¯t even noticed. The wall was more real.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she amended, kicking a Latin text aside as she stood back up.

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve been talking with Miss Sarah Lawrence,¡± he said, crossing over to the desk and throwing the toga on the floor.

    Sarah who? ¡°I¡¯ve never met her, sir.¡±

    ¡°Do you know me, then? Who am I, Nadezhda? What is my title?¡± He was breathing faster now, his jaw clenched. The solemn face was gone, and in its place was something she hadn¡¯t seen before, something unbalanced and almost crazy.

    ¡°Paterfamilias, sir.¡±

    ¡°And what is the power of the paterfamilias, if not the power of life and death?¡± He picked his replica gladius hispaniensis up off the top of his desk. He tugged it free of the scabbard and thunked the tip of the two-foot blade easily into the table. ¡°I give you a choice, my daughter: either submit to your father¡¯s justice willingly, or it will be imposed on you by force.¡±

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    ¡°Justice?¡± It was difficult to keep the image of the wall firmly in her mind¡ªwhich was her top priority¡ªand still think of anything else. She looked from the sword, to Yunks, and back again. Obviously, he expected her to give in, let Yunks peck at her for a bit. When she was suitably broken, provided she hadn¡¯t screamed out anything too incriminating, he would let her free to serve him again. Assuming Yunks had left her enough of a mind to still be useful.

    If it came to that, she was less frightened of the sword. It wasn¡¯t even close. Everyone agreed that letting Yunks eat you¡ªreally go after you, not the little pokes that Ruslan got for being a ninny¡ªwas worse than death. But her imaginary wall could not protect her from a real blade, and Papa Titus did not look patient. So she let the barrier fall, and called up ¨¦zarine instead.

    Her whole keystone sequence took only the blink of an eye this time, and Nadia barely noticed it; Papa Titus, of course, could not see it at all with Yunks out. Nadia realized only after she did it that she had done something irrevocable. But what was her alternative? Now she was not alone.

    ¡°Are you threatening your father?¡± Papa Titus said, baring his teeth at her beautiful friend. She¡¯d materialized almost directly between them, slightly off to one side so she could move to intercept either him or Yunks. Not that she could do much to an anchored man.

    ¡°You are not my father,¡± she told him. It was an unspeakable relief just to say it, and ¨¦zarine had banished her fear as she always did. Now she had a stomach full of fresh hot anger, making her strong. ¡°You don¡¯t love me, or anyone else, and you never have, you horrible old man. A street-corner pimp would be a better father than you.¡±

    ¡°You wound me,¡± he said, and pulled the sword back out of the table. It was not a large room, but Nadia edged away, trying to keep the table between them. He gave her ghastly, clench-toothed smile¡ªa grimace trying to smirk¡ªand began sidling around. The space was cluttered, and she had nowhere to flee to; eventually she would trip on something, and he would be on her. And anyway, why should she run from this old gargoyle? He had held her back for long enough.

    She heard shouts from outside the door¡ªthe Lictors, alerted by her halo¡ªand sent ¨¦zarine to deal with it. There were a few shots, a very loud scream, then nothing. Even the obnoxious rap music finally fell silent. Papa Titus kept moving, and Nadia ducked under the table to avoid circling back around until she bumped into Yunks. Another retreat. Damn him.

    The old man hesitated a moment, then gripped the edge of the table with his left hand and tugged up. Nadia took the second¡¯s grace to pull a heavy Lexicon of Classical Greek off a bottom shelf; just as Papa Titus finished overturning the table and pulled his arm back, she threw it right at his face with both hands. It hit him square on the nose, snapping his head back and nearly knocking him over. It was a sight for Nadia to cherish, even as she scrambled over the table before he could recover. She felt the sword tug and tear at the hem of her dress as she cleared the rim and fell down the other side.

    Yunks was already clumping over to intercept; she did not like to use her body, but in a pinch her bear¡¯s claws would tear well enough. Hmph. ¨¦zarine popped back in behind her, grabbed her by her snaky throat, and yanked back hard, slamming her to the floor. It wasn¡¯t a fair fight. Scary as she was, Yunks was just a freak, with no real halo. She could only draw off her master and whoever he let her eat. ¨¦zarine had half the castle for support. Why had Nadia been scared of the ugly thing for so long? Why had she allowed Yunks to hold her back?

    Now the upended table was between her and Papa Titus, who dragged it out of the way one-handed, weapon ready to deflect further books. Blood was still pouring out of his nose, streaming across his chin, beard, and tunic. Red bubbles came frothing out of his mouth. He was breathing very hard now, harder than he should have for his exertions, and shaking a little. His fingers clenched and twitched on the sword¡¯s handle.

    The look on his face was ugly, but it wasn¡¯t anger; it was yearning. He ran his eyes all over her, as he had never done before. Yunks was in his eyes. Always hungry, never satisfied, but always allowed a taste¡ªuntil now. If she could not gorge Nadia¡¯s fear and pain in her usual way, a sword would have to do. And Papa Titus was the only one with hands free to swing for her.

    ¡°God, you really are a pimp, aren¡¯t you?¡± she said, and he froze, staring at her as if he did not quite understand. Nadia glanced around¡ªshe was in a corner. The familiars were wrestling on the floor to her right, while shelves and the table cut her off from the door to the left. Behind her was a big Athenian red-figure wine jug, about 2,500 years old.

    ¡°Svoloch¡¯! Otyebis ot menya!¡± She had to torque her whole body around to launch the vase at him. He was not too mad with Yunks¡¯s lust to shy away, and it shattered on the far wall. Ceramic shards went flying everywhere; he was closer, and snarled as a few of the largest jabbed into his back and legs. A few stinging flecks hit her arms and face as well, but she ignored them. He had twisted around to pluck a tiny clay dagger out of his leg. This was her chance.

    Nadia took a flying leap past the familiars, landed on the toga, and nearly crashed into the wall. She could hear his footsteps thumping across the floor behind her, and again grabbed the nearest heavy object¡ªhis Venus de Milo miniature, authentic Parian marble, on the desk next to the lamp. It was small, but very dense, and he was almost on her by the time she turned; she didn¡¯t throw it so much as swing it across and down like a two-handed war-hammer, letting it go at the last instant. Her feet caught on the toga again and slipped out from under her, but the Venus hit hard. He staggered back several steps, awkwardly catching it left-handed as it thumped into his chest.

    Still, he recovered, and Nadia was on the floor tangled up in his horrible purple rag. He was blocking her exit, there were men with guns down there anyway, and her wonderful ¨¦zarine was still tied up with Yunks. Again and again she slammed the monster¡¯s head into the floor, but she refused to die, and until she went away Titus was untouchable. It just wasn¡¯t fair.

    No. Not untouchable. The man himself had taught her better than that. ¡°Highly resistant to paraphysical effects.¡± That was the phrase. None of ¨¦zarine¡¯s powers would work on him, and Nadia was no match for him alone. And they both knew it. Before he closed in to kill her, her adopted father took a moment to set his precious Venus gently on the floor, then wipe some of the blood off his face with the back of his arm while he looked on her with desire. Soon, his face said, he would drive the gladius into her heart.

    Nadia had her own yearning. She wanted to pick his love-goddess back up and break his slobbering face with it, but she was on the floor with his awful toga and she would never reach it without getting cut open but

    a hunk of rock is not a paraphysical effect

    He was just taking a step toward Nadia when ¨¦zarine let go of Yunks¡¯s head and disappeared. He saw her reappear, out of the corner of his eye, and twisted his neck to look back as she picked up the Venus. She twisted his neck a good deal more¡ªand the rest of his body with it¡ªwhen the little masterpiece hit him in the jaw. ¨¦zarine was much stronger than she looked. Nadia fancied she could hear half his teeth shattering under the impact, though really she couldn¡¯t possibly have distinguished it from the noise he made slamming into the bookshelf.

    He was in remarkably good shape for a man of his age. He kept his grip on the sword, was still strong enough to lunge at her familiar with it. ¨¦zarine dodged easily, flickered around behind him, and brought the Venus down on the back of his head with a very satisfying sound. He fell down on his face, and did not move, but ¨¦zarine was more thorough than merciful, and hit him a few more times to be sure. Nadia relished every blow, and only stopped her familiar when the floor around her adopted father was the same shade as the toga.

    It would not be ladylike to spit on the body. Instead she threw the toga on top of him, so she wouldn¡¯t have to look at the mess. A triumphal exit. Hah.

    That left Yunks, who was just beginning to recover from her own drubbing. Slowly she rose to her ¡­ paws and knees, swinging her long neck back and forth to take in the scene. Nadia thought she was a little paler, maybe a bit less solid, than she had been earlier, but it might have been her imagination. Either way, ¨¦zarine took a step toward her, still clutching the Venus, and she retreated at once, drifting right through the wall. Let her go off and die somewhere, then. Nadia didn¡¯t care.

    Now they were alone at last. Alone and safe, the conquering heroines. Nadia took a moment to embrace her protector before dismissing her; ¨¦zarine was wonderful, but her job was done. Nadia could call her back in an instant if she needed to.

    ¨¦zarine had been gone for perhaps five seconds when Nadia got the shakes, so bad she had to lean on the desk to keep standing. A patricide. She was a patricide now. Papa Titus had left her with his fortress full of armed killers, in a city full of the enemies he had made. And now her brothers and sisters were waiting for her to come down the stairs and explain what she had done, and why.

    What was she going to tell them?

 XIX. To Live By The Sword (Nadia)

    Nadia sat on the floor for a long time, looking at her adopted father¡¯s body underneath his soiled toga. The toga was dyed with real Tyrian purple¡ªthey made it out of some kind of seashell, she thought¡ªand decorated with Minerva in gold thread. Now his blood was wicking up into the fabric, making it a little darker. Ruining it.

    It was still better off than the Venus de Milo. She wasn¡¯t just soaked in blood; her head and the stub of her right arm had both snapped clean off. Briefly Nadia was afraid that Papa Titus would be angry, then caught herself and smiled. A small smile, and brief. Soon she went back to staring blankly at the corpse.

    Dead. Dead at last. She had wanted it for a long time¡ªhadn¡¯t she? It felt that way. For three years, she had been required to call him Papa, hadn¡¯t dared to give him any other name, even in her head. Now he was gone for good, and she would not mourn him, but she was still afraid. It didn¡¯t seem fair.

    She could not stay on the floor forever. She told herself so, several times, and she heard her own warning. But she did not get up. It was simpler to sit there and look at the shrouded body. They would be doing something similar, down in the courtyard. ¨¦zarine was gone¡ªthey would know, since her halo released them¡ªbut there was no word or message from Titus and Nadia had not come down. The last people to try coming up were dead.

    The rap music didn¡¯t start back up outside. The stone walls were too thick to let in quieter sounds, but she could imagine: Varvara, Gulya and Zeinab would have driven the Metics into their dormitories like sheep into the fold at the first gunshot, when ¨¦zarine had killed the men in the stairwell. Leaving the surviving Lictors on duty, and the four surviving Marshalls, to stand around looking at each other. Maybe Hamza had taken charge; maybe he hadn¡¯t.

    Eventually Nadia got up, tugged open one of the desk drawers, and got out a pen and a sheet of unlined stationery with an embossed golden eagle on top. Angrily crossing out the Haec verba sunt Titi Martialis, magister legionum right below the eagle, she wrote: ¡°Fatima, please come up here, alone, quickly. Nadia.¡± ¨¦zarine appeared long enough to take the paper from her, then vanished.

    Having done something about the situation, Nadia sat back down in the corner farthest from the body and its pool of blood. Fatima would probably be the least unhelpful person to talk to about this, and she had to talk to someone. Nadia didn¡¯t think even Hamza would try to come with her just yet. He had to suspect what had happened, just from the note, but he would want to avoid dealing with it as long as possible. Wouldn¡¯t he?

    Anything would be better than going down herself, where the Lictors were waiting with their guns and she would have to face everyone at once. The room had exactly one chair¡ªhard wood, straight back, no cushions¡ªand Nadia brushed a few shards of broken pottery off it before sitting down and tucking her knees up to her chest.

    It felt like a long time before she heard Fatima¡¯s voice, calling her name from halfway down the stairs. Nadia¡¯s voice caught in her throat when she tried to call back, so she just sat there, and after a little longer Fatima poked her head around the doorframe. She looked at the shattered vase, the upturned table, the bare sword, the battered and bloodstained Venus, and last of all the poorly-covered corpse in its pool of blood, which had slowly expanded to cover much of the floor.

    Then she said, ¡°Huh. I guess that¡¯s pretty much what I expected.¡±

    Nadia found her voice. ¡°You ¡­ expected this?¡±

    ¡°When I got your note? Yeah. What I don¡¯t get is why he pulled out a sword instead of Yunks.¡± She leaned back against one of the bookshelves and extended a hand, inviting Nadia to explain.

    ¡°He did use her, at first. He tried. But I ¡­ I fought her off. So he ¡­ got out the sword and said I had to give in or he would kill me, and I didn¡¯t.¡±

    Fatima gave her a look. ¡°You. Fought off Yunks. Really.¡±

    Nadia stuck her chin out. ¡°Yes. Really.¡±

    ¡°You get any other superpowers this week that I need to know about? Pick up any freight trains with your pinkies?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t anything like that,¡± Nadia said, flailing. ¡°I just, I just, I, I used ¨¦zarine! Yunks couldn¡¯t get through her halo.¡±

    ¡°¨¦zarine? You busted out a familiar on his ass, and he gave you another chance to submit? Try again. You¡¯re going to need to get your story straighter than that, if you want to convince Hamza. Or me.¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°Personally, I don¡¯t care if the old man bought it, or if you¡¯re the one who did it, but you can¡¯t drag me up here expecting me to help, then tell me a bunch of lies. Don¡¯t hold out on me, girlfriend.¡±

    Nadia tried to look her in the eye, and nearly succeeded. ¡°I know a trick, a special trick for keeping a familiar from affecting you. You need to hold a special image in your head, and it¡¯s a space a familiar can¡¯t go. I used that against Yunks, and it made him mad. That¡¯s when he got out the sword.¡±

    ¡°Mm-hmm. And you came up with this neat trick all by yourself, I take it.¡±

    At last Nadia held her gaze. ¡°No,¡± she replied, and left it at that.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡± Fatima pursed her lips, her eyes running all over the room. This wasn¡¯t her first time losing a father, and she didn¡¯t even like this one. She was already looking for the best way to use the situation. ¡°But I know Titus didn¡¯t teach you. And you didn¡¯t share this helpful tip with the rest of us, either. It sounds like my baby sister¡¯s got a hustle on the side.¡± She favored Nadia with a sly grin. ¡°Good for her! Any chance you can teach me your super-special handy trick?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. It might be hard to teach it. I just learned it myself.¡± She hadn¡¯t even thought about what this would mean with the Beelzebub situation. It was his fault all of this had happened in the first place.

    ¡°Good enough, for now. Just don¡¯t try to bullshit me any more and we¡¯ll be square, okay?¡± Nadia bobbed her head glumly. ¡°Sweet. Lemme deal with the rest.¡± She clapped her hands as she sprang away from the bookshelf. ¡°Fatima Alvarez, attorney at law,¡± she added over her shoulder as she started down the stairs two at a time.

    Nadia buried her face in her hands and waited for the inevitable, which was not long in coming. Too soon she heard a clatter on the stairs and Yuri burst into the room with a whoop. He took one look before shouting back down the stairs, ¡°It¡¯s true! The Tit¡¯s gone tits-up!¡± He turned back to Nadia for a high-five. She left him hanging. He didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    Fatima came back up next, dragging Ruslan by the hand while she gave him her own account of events. He didn¡¯t look like he was taking in much of it, and when he saw the body under the toga picta he just about fell over. Yuri laughed at him.

    ¡°Ruslan, buddy! You need to look at the big picture here. Teacher¡¯s gone, school¡¯s out forever. No more Plutarch, and we make the rules. What say you and me hit the town and score some Greek pussy? Hey!¡±

    Hamza, coming up behind him, picked him up by his jacket collar like a kitten by its scruff, and threw him into the wall. He hit hard, then fell to the floor face-down. Only Nadia, moved by a lingering sisterly affection she more than half regretted, bothered to watch him get back up, dabbing at a split lip. Ruslan and Fatima were too busy watching Hamza to notice the shifty smile on Yuri¡¯s face.

    As for Hamza, he hardly paid Yuri mind at the best of times, and once Nadia¡¯s brother was shut up he went straight for the body, kneeling down in the bloody mess to peel back the gaudy covering. For ten seconds he only stared. Then he let the cloth drop, buried his face in his elbow, and shook as he cried.

    Nobody said anything. There was nothing to say. To Nadia and Ruslan, Titus had been an ogre; to Fatima, he was just a boss, and not even a good one. To Yuri, who took nothing seriously and held nothing sacred, their supposed father was only one more of life¡¯s many jokes. Only Hamza had ever really thought of him as something like a father¡ªthe man who had taken in a puny Kyrgyz refugee brat, given him a good life, and raised him to be a warrior fighting at his right hand, each guarding the other¡¯s back in battles across all the mountains, valleys, and steppes of Asia.

    It was almost, but not quite, enough to make her wish she had not killed the old ghoul. Maybe, she thought as Hamza bawled, she could wish that there could have been another life for him, where he might have been only unpleasant and not a monster, so that she could feel honest pity for the dead. As it was, Hamza¡¯s tears were like the sight of a dog howling at Stalin¡¯s tomb. She could only regret that a good creature hadn¡¯t found someone more worthy to love.

    Hamza cried for a long time, and every tear added to Nadia¡¯s unease; all that sorrow would have to translate into rage eventually. Just when she felt sure she could not stand another second of it, he dried up, and rose to his feet, looking dazed. Dazed, and lost, the power and authority of adulthood falling away to reveal the little lost orphan who had been inside the whole time. He looked all around the room, pleading¡ªalmost as if he expected one of them to give him orders.

    He looked first to Ruslan, who hid behind Fatima, shaking his head, and his whole body with it. No, Kizil Khan could not fix this. Papa Titus had been dead too long, was too far gone¡ªnothing like a simple cardiac arrest. It spared Ruslan the trouble of refusing.

    He moved on to Nadia. His expression didn¡¯t change much as he did; it was still a begging look, and his cheeks were sopping. Nadia hated to see him that way. Anger would have been easier to take. ¡°Yes, Hamza?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± he asked. Just the one word.

    ¡°He heard stories. From the Praetorians,¡± she added, and she saw that he understood. ¡°He brought me here for questioning, and it got out of hand. I¡¯m sorry.¡± The last two words sounded ridiculous as soon as she said them, but she could not take them back.

    ¡°Out of hand,¡± he said, turning back to the corpse. He shuddered, then bent slowly down to pick up the sword. Nobody else moved.

    ¡°Are you going to kill me, Hamza?¡± Her voice was very quiet.

    He looked down at her, deciding. She did not move from the hard chair, and stared intently at her shoes, wishing the room did not smell so strongly of blood. She saw she had made footprints in it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the sword¡¯s blade quivering in Hamza¡¯s right hand, and there was more blood there, dancing and wobbling crazily down the edge as it shook.

    Nadia did not want to see Hamza¡¯s face but she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, of the myth of Orestes, and the gods who drove him mad for killing his kin even though they had ordered him to do it themselves. Orestes had a sister ¡­ didn¡¯t he?

    Or the Horatii, whose picture still hung on the wall behind her. They¡¯d definitely had a sister. One of them killed her just for crying over a dead enemy. She was in the painting too. Was she also sitting in Nadia¡¯s chair right now? Papa Titus had always loved that story. Had taught it to all of them, as an example of civic virtue. No mercy for disloyalty.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The blade was still shaking. But he still wasn¡¯t lifting it to strike.

    Fatima spoke up at last. ¡°It was self-defense, Hamza. She didn¡¯t ask for this. We all saw her getting marched through the courtyard.¡±

    Her hand snuck out and poked Ruslan, who flinched and said, ¡°I don¡¯t think Nadia¡¯s a traitor, Hamza. She saved our lives yesterday.¡± She was grateful for the words, but wished he hadn¡¯t managed to make them sound so whiny.

    Still Hamza didn¡¯t move or speak, and Nadia didn¡¯t look up from her feet, but she could see Fatima and Ruslan turning. ¡°What are you looking at me for?¡± Yuri said. ¡°You want my opinion? I think ¡®no trying to defend yourself if the boss tries to murder you¡¯ is a pretty stupid rule. What¡¯s the penalty for breaking it supposed to be? Death?¡± Nadia knew his eyes were rolling.

    Fatima sighed, and turned back. ¡°Look, you¡¯re in charge now, Hamza. You¡¯re the oldest, and you¡¯re the only one of us who had imperium. It¡¯s up to you what kind of king you want to be. But Nadia¡¯s still our sister. At least, she¡¯s still mine.¡± Fatima¡¯s hand reached out to grasp Nadia¡¯s shoulder.

    The gladius fell to the floor, and Hamza fell to his knees, then his hands, and again he cried. As one they gathered around, even Yuri, to lay a hand on him, to embrace him, to reassure and comfort their big brother. Nadia could not have said why she was crying too, but she knew it was the right thing to do, and that she would live at least to see the sun rise in the morning. Hamza would not kill her, for the same reason she had not even thought to defend herself against him.

    For a time, they had peace in their grief, but it couldn¡¯t last forever. In the end it was Ruslan¡ªof course it would be Ruslan¡ªwho straightened back up from their miserable huddle and said, ¡°What happened to Yunks?¡±

    Nadia felt Hamza¡¯s back tense up under her hand. Slowly he rose again to his feet, brushing off their affection, and she saw a familiar look on his face, the same one he had worn in the park last night. If you didn¡¯t know him, you would think his expression was blank, even stupid. Really it was the way he looked when he was thinking very fast. It quickly hardened into something else, something terrible; she saw a lion roaring in his eyes.

    ¡°Yunks ran away,¡± she began, but it was too late. Hamza was already off and running down the stairs. Fatima hurried after him, then Yuri. Nadia looked at Ruslan¡ªwho still seemed amazed, even shocked, that he had had the nerve to say the name¡ªbefore following, as fast as she dared. Which was not very fast. There were two dead men to step around at the bottom.

    She heard Hamza¡¯s bellow from the courtyard before she was halfway down the stairs. ¡°Lictors! Assemble! Fall in! Now, damn it! That means all of you!¡± They were forming into lines by the time she got out the door at the bottom, and Hamza was stomping around them as they did, looking white-hot mad. Fatima and Yuri hugged the wall tight enough to leave dents while he shouted. ¡°There were twenty-four of you on duty, weren¡¯t there? Two down. I¡¯m seeing sixteen here! Where the hell are the other six?¡±

    Sixteen men stood at attention in four ranks, rigid as flagpoles. None of them answered.

    ¡°That was a question, god damn it! Where did a third of my men go? Cornelius, Lucius! Round up the stragglers. I¡¯ll give you two minutes to get them out here.¡±

    The two men saluted and ran for it. Nadia looked at Fatima, who shrugged, and Yuri, who was snickering into his hand to watch the Lictors sweat. Hamza didn¡¯t really use his authority much; he was as good as a mascot for the Lictors, most days. Occasionally he¡¯d join them off-duty for a couple of rounds. Now this same young man was stalking around them in a restless circle, looking just shy of deranged.

    It couldn¡¯t have been two minutes before four men came running back, one of them fastening his pants as he ran. He hadn¡¯t quite fallen into formation before Nadia started thinking about Bernie Willard again, and his pants were just starting to slide down his thighs when Rhadamanthus appeared at the head of the formation. Four or five of his smarter and more prepared comrades were already reaching for their guns, but all of them alike were frozen in place; the skeletal familiar had appeared with his palm out and facing them.

    Rhad didn¡¯t try to savor the kill this time. As soon as he was fully formed he went running through the ranks, swinging his scythe blade in every direction on its long and many-jointed arm. Eighteen Lictors died in less than ten seconds. Good riddance, Nadia thought¡ªthen wondered if she had actually thought it. Rhad made for the front gate with his blade still dripping, and Hamza turned to face his family.

    ¡°There were forty-eight Lictors total,¡± he said, talking very fast. ¡°Twenty-eight left. I don¡¯t know how many Praetorians are on the rolls now¡ªtheir numbers change more¡ªbut it¡¯s less than a hundred. They all live in the city when they aren¡¯t on duty here. Most of them live close. If we¡¯re fast we can take them all out tonight.¡±

    The three of them looked at each other. Fatima spoke first. ¡°Hamza. What are you doing?¡± Her tone was very carefully level.

    ¡°What do you think I¡¯m doing? You know these men. You think they¡¯re all loyal? You think they¡¯ll stay that way, with Pa¡ªwith me in charge? Do you? Because I sure as hell don¡¯t. Six of them ran for it already!¡± He drove his fist into his hand with a thwack. ¡°They know our faces, they know our secrets, they know about Yunks, and they know familiars can get new hosts when their emissors die. They¡¯ll sell us out, first chance they get, or screw us over. Unless we get them first.¡±

    Yuri whistled. ¡°Shit. Imagine assholes like Scipio or Cato with Yunks on their side. Good call, boss-man. What¡¯s next?¡± Fatima gave Yuri an annoyed look, but kept her mouth shut.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to the airport,¡± Hamza said, pacing back and forth as he talked. ¡°Lock it down, nothing gets off the ground. I¡¯ll take the houses around here for now. Nadia, you sit on the women and the Metics, keep them where they are and keep them quiet. Fatima, you and Ruslan are a team. Get into the files and look up addresses. Ruslan can handle research, it¡¯s all he¡¯s good for. You¡¯re in charge, you decide who to go after in what order. Lictors first. I¡¯ll be checking in.¡±

    His face was still locked in a snarl; nobody dared to ask him any more questions, and he didn¡¯t stop to be sure they understood. As soon as he was done talking, he went after his familiar. Yuri was not slow to follow.

    That left Nadia and Fatima alone with the remains of twenty men who had all been perfectly healthy two hours ago. ¡°Well, you¡¯re still alive, right?¡± Fatima said, before Nadia could even open her mouth.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Nadia answered, looking up at the night sky to avoid looking at the horror in the courtyard. ¡°I am alive.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say it was going to be neat and clean, okay? Did I say that? Would you rather he¡¯d cut you into little pieces?¡±

    ¡°No. I didn¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°Hamza¡¯s not in a good place right now, he¡¯s going to¡ªyou know.¡± She said something under her breath in Pashto. ¡°If he can just ¡­ get this out of his system, we should be good. I mean, it¡¯s not like we needed these losers for anything, is it? Or the Praetorians. You guys are cool and all that, but I don¡¯t think we need to be shaking down shopkeepers for rent and shit. We should have left that hustle behind in the ¡®stans where it¡ª¡°

    ¡°Fatima,¡± Nadia cut in through her babble. The stars were still pretty, but the edge of Rhad¡¯s halo was receding rapidly as he ran off on his mission of slaughter, and Nadia could feel it. ¡°We both have orders. Shouldn¡¯t you be getting Ruslan?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, probably,¡± she said. Nadia moved pointedly away from the bottom of the stairs, and Fatima gave her an all-too-carefree shrug before strolling up past the two men ¨¦zarine had killed.

    As soon as she was gone, Nadia turned her face to the wall, breathing slow and deep while she pressed the cold stone to her cheek, to the palms of her hands. If she turned around now, she might recognize some faces, and remember the stories that went with them. Just last week Caius had bragged to Gracchus about how his daughter had been the best at her ballet recital. Now there was a good chance Caius and Gracchus were lying in pieces behind her; if they were not, Hamza would shortly hunt them down and destroy them like mad dogs.

    The rich party food threatened to come back up from her stomach; she jammed her face harder against the stone.

    Now she could hear Ruslan¡¯s complaints from upstairs, much louder and more shrill than Fatima¡¯s hissed replies in between: ¡°Who said we were doing that? I don¡¯t want to do that! But he¡¯s not Papa Titus. He¡¯s not! He doesn¡¯t get to just decide to do that on his own, does he? That¡¯s crazy, Fatima! Yes it is, it¡¯s totally crazy, and you know it. Couldn¡¯t you have tried to stop him? Well, I¡¯m not going to, okay? I¡¯m not. And you can¡¯t make me.¡±

    She could, and she would, Nadia thought. It was only a matter of how much time it took to ¡°persuade¡± him. And the same was true for the rest of them. Crazy or not, Hamza was already out doing it. There was nothing she could do to stop it¡ªnot without raising fresh questions about her loyalty, and maybe starting a familiars¡¯ battle in the streets of Thessaloniki. But her part would not be so bad.

    The screen that had been playing rap videos was a blank blue now, NO SIGNAL flashing in the lower corner. Master of the Flying Guillotine was still playing in the other compartment, the bonfire was still glowing, and nobody had thought to deflate the bouncy castle, but the party, plainly, was over. The courtyard was cold and empty, and Nadia had her orders. Trembling, she made her ways toward the dormitories, to reassure the women and children there of what she did not really believe herself¡ªthat the world was not, in fact, going to end.

 XX. Charlie Foxtrot (Keisha)

    It was always disorienting for Keisha to disconnect from a construct, especially one she¡¯d been giving her full attention. Her brain took time to switch inputs and outputs away from something that no longer existed. So she lost a few seconds after she released the whisperwing in Nadia¡¯s bedroom. The hotel room spun around her a few times, trying to figure out which way was up; as soon as it decided for good, she got off her bed and out the door, not even stopping to put her shoes back on before racing down the carpeted hallway.

    Dr. Gus¡¯s new room was in the same hotel as hers¡ªit was cheap, and with Titus Marshall scaring the tourists there were always vacancies. Around the corner, up a flight of stairs double-time, and she was there, hammering away at the door. He took a moment to answer; Keisha could picture him setting down whatever book he was reading, rising stiffly to his feet, and ambling over to the door.

    As soon as it opened, she blurted out, ¡°Nadia¡¯s been blown.¡±

    He blinked. ¡°Really.¡± Then he looked down. ¡°If we are fleeing the city, you will want shoes.¡±

    ¡°Fleeing the city? Who said we were ¡­ oh.¡± Belatedly her mind caught up with his.

    Dr. Gus¡¯s eyebrows raised. ¡°I gather you were concerned with other aspects of the situation. Understandable. But you have much more personal experience with Titus Marshall than I do. Will he react with immediate violence against us?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°More likely against her. And he¡¯ll draw it out, too. With Yunks.¡±

    ¡°Hence your concern.¡± He glanced up and down the empty hallway. ¡°You had better come in.¡± When she had sat down on the edge of his bed, and he had closed the door, he went on, ¡°I was under the impression you had trained her in sovereignty protocol.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± she said as he meandered back to his chair. True to form, the reading lamp was on, and he had a volume of The Golden Bough out. ¡°There¡¯s only so much you can teach a child, through a whisperwing, in short sessions, when you can¡¯t let her know what she¡¯s actually doing.¡±

    Dr. Gus put a hand on the back of the chair, but remained standing. ¡°So it is possible, but by no means certain, that she will resist him. It might buy us some time to escape. Would you kindly notify the Colonel? It would not do to leave him behind.¡±

    ¡°And Nadia?¡± She already knew the answer, but she had to ask.

    ¡°Is beyond our power to help, at this juncture. If children are ill-suited for war, they are little better for espionage; either way they must take on the same risks as an adult asset without equivalent abilities or understanding.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t quite a direct rebuke, but it stung. ¡°Sir, I owe that girl, we all owe her¡ª¡±

    ¡°That debt will remain unpaid,¡± he said sternly. ¡°And there is no action on your part or mine, however drastic, which is more likely to improve her situation, or ours, than to make it worse. We have been given a critical window in which to act, by the sacrifice of a courageous field operative. If you feel some measure of affection for the child, you would do better not to waste her final gift for the sake of your own pride.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not pride,¡± she said, and knew it for a lie¡ªgiving Nadia up would be as good as admitting that she had wasted her time and got a decent kid killed in the process. The room was blurry now, however much she blinked.

    ¡°I will call Colonel Hampton, if you like,¡± he offered, only a little more gently. ¡°But I do not have his number.¡± Keisha slapped at her pockets, found her phone, and passed it to him without a word. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, and walked over to the window to use it.

    Keisha made her unsteady way into the bathroom, where she splashed cold water over her face. It would be easy to break down now, or to rehearse the ways this situation might have been avoided. Dr. Gus wouldn¡¯t be brutal about it; he wouldn¡¯t tell her how and why everything had gone wrong. That was her job, and he would trust her to do it. But it was a job for later, and whatever was going on in that castle right now, her eyes had to remain dry.

    Thirty seconds later she was out the door and headed back to her own room at a brisk walk. Two minutes after that she was headed back again, with both her pipes stuffed into the bag over one shoulder and the green ¡°oxygen¡± tank full of ectoplasm wheeling along beside her in its carrier.

    He was still on the phone when she got back. ¡°Yes, Colonel, I understand, but time is short. We will be by to pick you up momentarily. Please pack only what is essential.¡± He hung up, then looked at her. ¡°I dearly hope you know his address.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been there a couple of times,¡± she said, taking her phone back.

    ¡°Very good.¡± He picked up The Golden Bough and crammed it into her bag. ¡°The rest can be left behind. You will drive; I can alert the consulate on our way. You have everything else?¡±

    ¡°Passport, change of clothes, and every cash euro I¡¯ve got.¡± Most of which would be used to keep the customs crowd from looking at her bag too closely.

    ¡°Hampton will have more, and my passport is in my pocket. Lead the way.¡±

    She wouldn¡¯t have thought Thessaloniki¡¯s streets would be all that crowded at 1930 on a Wednesday night, but she was wrong. There was a performance going on in some park or other, and the authorities had closed off a couple of streets. Keisha was left to curse the Thessalonian arts scene from behind the wheel of Hamp¡¯s Fiat, clenching till her hands were sore and struggling to keep thoughts of screaming children out of her head.

    Meanwhile, Dr. Gus tried to persuade the consulate staff that it was in their best interests to get everyone important the hell out of the country. He finally hung up around the time they got to Hamp¡¯s apartment. Then they had to stuff him into the tiny car with them¡ªsomehow finding room for all their luggage¡ªand make their way down to the airport.

    Keisha kept her magnolia flower firmly in mind the whole way, mostly because it made it harder to feel upset with herself. But it was very fortunate that she did; when the car in front of her rear-ended a truck, she had the presence of mind to slam on the brakes.

    Half a second later the car behind them came crashing into their rear, and for the next ten seconds the world was a maelstrom of flashing lights, honking horns, crunching metal and shattering glass; their pitiful compact got bounced around like a pinball. The magnolia flickered in and out of focus as they careened, giving her glimpses of a flashing rainbow light inside her mind.

    When it was finished¡ªwhen the remains of their car was still, and the last crash had sounded far off in the distance¡ªKeisha raised her face from the wilted airbag. Hamp was giggling feebly in the passenger seat, his face bruised and bloody, his hair peppered with shards of glass. She was just going to check on Dr. Gus in the back when a brilliant flash of light drew her eyes to the horizon instead.

    Shum-Shum rose into the night sky, looking like a gilded nightmare. The glowing jewel-toned panels on its sides revolved like a carousel, spitting fire and lightning with every twinkle. Somehow, the demented tootling tune it made drowned out the earth-shaking explosions it set off all around it; its dangling beads jiggled and danced to the beat.

    The Colonel, who had a trickle of blood running down his face from a cut in his forehead, sat up and clapped for the monster, grinning like an idiot. He was still better than the woman thirty feet down the road, who got out of her ruined car to hop up and down while she cheered. Keisha ignored both of them to look at Dr. Gus, who was slumped against the back of her seat with his glasses cracked and a good-sized lump on his head.

    The fires were already spreading, black smoke rising in plumes. A quick look around told her that they wouldn¡¯t be getting anywhere on the road even if they got a working car; Shum-Shum¡¯s keystone sequence (or whatever it was) had set off a half-mile pileup. Whatever Yuri was doing¡ªif she judged the direction right, he was wrecking the airport¡ªhe was causing massive collateral damage in the process, so their top priority would be to get off the road and put some distance between them and the flying murder-lamp.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    She had wrestled the chuckling Hamp out of the passenger seat, and was trying to pry the back door open so she could get Dr. Gus out, when Shum-Shum abruptly disappeared. The dark street instantly became much quieter, the obnoxious music replaced by wailing sirens, distant screams, sobs, and moans. Hampton hissed and crouched down against the wreck, clutching his head. Keisha wondered how bad she looked herself, how bad she would feel when the adrenaline wore off.

    She didn¡¯t trust the thing to stay gone. She squirmed back into the wreck, fished her pic¡¯ out of the carnage, and whistled up an old-school ¡°chigsaw¡± drone to rip the jammed door free.

    Dr. Gus moaned and shifted in his seat as the vicious little bug went to work grinding through the crumpled metal; it took about five seconds for the ruined door to land on the pavement with a clang. The chig still had plenty of life in it, so she set it loose to wander the area hacking open any other wrecked doors it found. It would deplete a little of her mental bandwidth, sure, but it might also save somebody¡¯s life. And her cover was shot anyway.

    Hamp was in rough shape, but he could walk. She gave him the green tank and her bag, which he took without a protest, then tossed Dr. Gus over her shoulders into a fireman¡¯s carry. He muttered something unintelligible, but didn¡¯t wake up. She was a bit out of shape, but could still move about as fast carrying the little old man as the Colonel could stagger with the tank carrier.

    He followed her in silence through the newly made labyrinth of smashed bumpers and broken glass, not even grumbling. She could understand. They¡¯d put her through a simulation of a primeval¡¯s halo back in training, and the aftermath had been just plain nasty, like coming off an acid trip. Poor Hamp couldn¡¯t catch a break.

    They¡¯d wrecked close to the airport, on a major road lined with gas stations and car rental places. She opted for one of the latter¡ªif Shum-Shum came back, it was a lot less flammable. The clerk on duty had already run out to help someone out of a wreck. Her phone started ringing in her pocket as she was struggling to find a way into the parking lot. She laid her burden down gently on a bench just as the ringing stopped¡ªmissed call, Dimitri something at the consulate. Probably wondering why Mr. Marshall had effectively declared war on Greece.

    It was a good question, and she didn¡¯t call back to tell them she didn¡¯t know. However pissed he was, Titus didn¡¯t need to blow the airport to kingdom come just to stop the three of them from leaving the country. A couple of cars full of Praetorians would have done the trick. She¡¯d have expected him to either declare open war against the United States, or else assassinate them quietly. This little tantrum didn¡¯t make sense.

    She looked down at Dr. Gus¡ªstill out. Pulse steady, breathing regular, occasional movement, but she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he¡¯d sustained a concussion, which was no joke for a man his age. ¡°Colonel Hampton. You¡¯re the ranking officer on the scene. Any ideas?¡± It was mostly a rhetorical question, but when she looked up he was pulling out his phone. ¡°Uh, sir? What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°My job,¡± he said, stubbornly whacking at the screen with stiff fingers. His dexterity was still crap, a month after his encounter with Yunks, and Shum-Shum couldn¡¯t have helped. ¡°I¡¯m the liaison. Let¡¯s liaise, before he burns down the whole city.¡± He sounded a little punch-drunk.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a¡ª¡° He held up his hand for silence, the phone to his ear. She heard ringing ¡­ and more ringing ¡­ and then a canned voicemail recording. Amazingly, it was factory-default English. Hamp stuffed the phone back in his pocket without leaving a message.

    ¡°First time he¡¯s passed up a chance to rant,¡± he said, staring at the mess on the road.

    ¡°Yeah, I know. He¡¯s got my number, too. This is weird.¡± A familiar, ominous sound made her look up. She saw nothing, but it was night, and they¡¯d be running dark. ¡°Oh, no. Please tell me you don¡¯t hear that, Hamp.¡±

    He sat down heavily on the next bench over. ¡°Sorry. F-16s, I¡¯d guess. Hellenic Air Force has plenty of ¡®em.¡± Rockets screamed somewhere overhead, and a series of far-off detonations echoed in the dark. ¡°Yep. ASMs.¡±

    ¡°Goddammit, there are children in that castle!¡±

    ¡°How many kids just died here?¡± he said, waving at the disaster on the road. ¡°The son of a bitch has been running their city and rubbing their nose in it for months, and they had to take it. Now he craters an airport, out of the blue. What did he expect them to do?¡±

    Keisha¡¯s hands clutched at her hair, threatening to tear it out. ¡°Ahh, relax,¡± he said sourly. ¡°It¡¯s a big-ass stone building. They¡¯d want about a dozen cruise missiles to take it all down, maybe more, and they won¡¯t risk that kind of firepower in their own town when a halo could pop up and send all of them into a high-rise.¡±

    She gave him a hard stare; he fidgeted, and added, ¡°Those Mavericks or whatever are pea-shooters. Showing resolve, saving face, letting off steam, all that crap.¡±

    He had a point, and she was glad he was recovering from Shum-Shum¡¯s halo. But she wasn¡¯t comforted, and it didn¡¯t help her mood to hear the crackle of distant gunfire. Praetorian toughs letting loose in the streets, escalation feeding escalation? Wonderful. The whole region of Macedonia would be demolished by dawn at this rate.

    She bent down, unzipped her bag, and started screwing her Benny together. Hamp watched her cautiously with his pouchy basset eyes, but didn¡¯t object. She wasn¡¯t sure what she was going to do, only that it didn¡¯t involve sitting in the parking lot of a car rental business while the world went to hell around her. For the time being, they were stuck here, but if Dr. Gus woke up enough to walk, they could probably cut through alleys to reach a clear stretch of road. Maybe she could whistle up a few more chigsaws to clear the road for rescue vehicles; her original had long since run out of steam and died ¡­

    No. Scratch that. She had a better idea. ¡°Hamp, are you packing?¡± He only frowned. ¡°Heat. You got a sidearm on you?¡± That got her a wary nod. ¡°Good. Keep an eye on the doc for me. I¡¯m going to do some recon.¡±

    The SCOPES form was one of the very few things she could make that didn¡¯t look like an insect; people tended to freak out, or at least notice, when they saw bugs bigger than softballs. It looked like a big-eyed little owl instead. Still a little conspicuous, just not nightmare fuel. It flapped and fluttered into shape out of a giant bubble of ectoplasm, then took to the sky for her, scanning the area with flawless high-def full-color night vision.

    As she¡¯d expected, there was an arc-shaped zone of destruction, centered on the mass of slag and pockmarked concrete that used to be the airport, butting up against the Gulf of Salonica. She studied from above for a few seconds. Yes. There it was: an unmarked space, where Yuri would have stood to survey his handiwork without getting burned alive. It was a big empty field just northeast of the airport, right next to the water.

    The owl¡¯s huge eyes easily picked out the red and yellow gleam of working car lights wiggling their way back and forth along dirt roads, looking for a gap in the world-record roadblock their owner had trapped himself with. She swooped in lower until she could peer through the driver¡¯s side window from a few hundred feet away, and confirm that a smallish, fair-haired teenage boy was shouting and thumping at the dashboard inside. Marshall obviously hadn¡¯t planned this at all well.

    She looked around for long enough to confirm that he wasn¡¯t going anywhere fast¡ªand pick out the least inconvenient route on foot¡ªthen let the little bird land on a tree and dissipate. Again she spent several seconds disoriented. When she was centered again, she said, ¡°Hamp, I need to borrow your gun.¡±

    ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°Yuri¡¯s less than a mile away, as trapped as we are. I¡¯m going to go find out what the hell is going on.¡±

    ¡°A handgun against a familiar?¡±

    ¡°A handgun and a VRIL,¡± she corrected, breaking down the pipe, stowing it, and slinging her bag over her shoulder. ¡°Shum-Shum¡¯s not that great at causing damage smaller than a city block, and his halo can¡¯t touch me. C¡¯mon, fork it over.¡±

    ¡°You know, I am still your CO,¡± he observed. But he unzipped his jacket and reached inside as he said it.

    ¡°Yeah, and if I don¡¯t make it back, it¡¯s been an honor and a pleasure. But I¡¯ve taken down whole buildings full of terrorists before. I think I can handle a fourteen-year-old with a god complex.¡±

 XXI. The Mouths of Babes (Keisha)

    Keisha¡¯s route was clear enough; Yuri was almost directly ahead, in a straight line down the highway. All she had to do was follow it north along the bike lane, with the occasional detour into a parking lot where a car had swerved off the road as it crashed. After a thousand feet came the intersection that turned off towards the airport, then the road continued through a more rural stretch of fields and scattered trees. Yuri was stuck along the west side, where the only ways on were little one-lane dirt roads.

    I think I can handle a fourteen-year-old with a god complex. She¡¯d sounded like she meant it. She¡¯d thought she meant it, when she said it. Jogging off into the dark alone to run him down gave her a different perspective on things.

    She¡¯d barely been in the city twelve hours, after her red-eye back from Istanbul, and spent a lot of that time catching up on sleep. There¡¯d been plans to catch up with Dr. Gus, to discuss next steps and get his insights on the situation here. Instead she woke up, checked obsessively after Nadia, and wound up in the middle of this disaster.

    And now she had to deal with Yuri. Why did it have to be Yuri? The other four would all have been difficult in different ways, but after weeks of observations she had confidence that they were rational actors from their own perspective and within their personal limitations. Keisha could generally understand what they were thinking and why. But Yuri? Yuri was the one who always had to push it just a little farther than he should, who said the wrong thing for the fun of causing trouble and didn¡¯t seem to mind when the trouble came for him.

    It probably wasn¡¯t coincidence that he was also the one with the damn primeval familiar. Every emissor supposedly had a tendency to think more like their emissant for a time after using it, and there seemed to be some long-term effects as well¡ªthough all studies had been limited in scale, difficult to replicate, and heavily redacted before their release to a very select readership. But even those studies had depended on a population of actual emissors, whose familiars were products of their own deepest desires.

    Would the sloppy weld job that bound Shum-Shum to Yuri work the same way? Flip a coin. But he sure acted like it. She might be preparing to negotiate with a hormonal kid who had a cartoon devil on his shoulder urging him to do the craziest, stupidest thing possible. Whatever made the biggest mess, really.

    That was Shum-Shum¡¯s whole shtick, as far as any of the reports she¡¯d read could tell¡ªinstead of a normal, narrative valence about a human being¡¯s role in the universe, Yuri¡¯s primeval bastard familiar felt a toddler¡¯s urge to knock over a stack of blocks so it could squeal at the loud noise. The whole world was a stream of sensations for it to enjoy, nothing more. Which made her wonder if all the dead people in all these cars had actually enjoyed the destruction that ended their lives, caught up in Shum-Shum¡¯s grip to the end.

    As she reached the intersection¡ªwhere two semi trucks had managed to wreck an airport shuttle between them¡ªshe again felt the urge to stop and help. Here and there survivors were still crawling out of the crumpled metal, crying and screaming in Greek as they tried and failed to wake up the people they¡¯d been riding with. Keisha could probably save at least a couple of lives still, but if she stopped to save one, she¡¯d wind up trying to save them all, and eventually Yuri might get frustrated enough to try and burn a path through. When all you have is a hammer ¡­

    Several people called out to her for help as she picked her way through the highway at the crossing. When she didn¡¯t stop, they switched to cursing instead¡ªat least, it sounded like cursing. She didn¡¯t speak much Greek. It tore at her heart, but she kept going, holding up Hamp¡¯s pistol conspicuously in case anybody got crazy. If all went well, she might be able to help later. She heard sirens, but Thessaloniki¡¯s EMS probably couldn¡¯t even physically get to this point.

    There was hardly any shoulder north of the intersection, and cars had crashed into the shrubbery by the roadside at several points. She wound up moving away from the road, cutting through the fields on the east side until she spotted moving lights on the other side. Then she ducked into the shadow of a tree and unzipped her bag.

    The timing would be a little tricky. A ¡°buzzer¡± was easy enough to make, piccolo work. Assuming Yuri didn¡¯t get mad enough to manifest while it was en route, it would take him down easy¡ªbut he was driving a car, and she didn¡¯t want him dead.

    Luck was with her, for once. The tiny little ectoplasmic bee made its way across the street unnoticed and unmolested, and got there about thirty seconds after Yuri shut off his car to get out and walk. Like her, he¡¯d been accosted by desperate civilians; like her, he had a gun out. Unlike her, he was flinging cuss words at them as he edged away, in a mixture of Russian, Greek, and English. Keisha had the buzzer land on his head, then detonate.

    Not being a familiar, it couldn¡¯t make a real self-sustaining halo; all it could do was project a small and short-lived field where unprotected human beings couldn¡¯t think straight. Yuri, and everyone in about a fifteen-foot radius, froze in place staring at nothing, their brains full of static, while Keisha hurried to make her way across the street before they woke up. The edge of the effect was already receding by the time she clambered over the median and got proper line of sight on the kid.

    Her usual magnolia was enough to get her through her own trap, where she grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and dragged him around behind a smushed VW Beetle for something sort of like privacy. One glance confirmed that the driver was stone dead, slumped over the wheel with a shattered skull. She returned her attention to Yuri just in time for him to shake off the buzzer¡¯s last effects and discover the .45 pointed at his nose.

    When he recognized it, he looked almost offended. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡±

    Apparently he hadn¡¯t been all that well briefed. ¡°I have the gun, you answer the questions, Yuri. That¡¯s how this works.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Whatever. If you¡¯ve got questions, ask ¡®em, bitch. I don¡¯t have all night.¡±

    It was tempting to pistol-whip him, but he might enjoy it. ¡°Titus Marshall. What¡¯s he after? Why did he send you to the airport tonight?¡±

    He gave her a long, wary look before answering, ¡°To shut it down. Nothing lands, nothing leaves. Mission accomplished.¡±

    ¡°And he didn¡¯t specify how?¡± Yuri curled his lip, and she shoved the barrel against his nose to focus him. ¡°That was a question, Yuri. Did he specifically tell you to destroy the airport?¡±

    ¡°No, I improvised. Are we going somewhere with this? Did I make you miss your flight, or what?¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t he send his men, or make a phone call? Why is he using you for this?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, ask him! Jesus. Why didn¡¯t your boss send somebody actually intimidating to interrogate me? Did he just figure you¡¯d be extra pissy on your period?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t taking this seriously, of course. Probably thought this was like a cop show on TV, only he could call up Shum-Shum the moment he got bored with it. The conventional cop-show escalation would be to slap him around a little, but she doubted that would be productive. Instead she grabbed him by the left wrist, stretched his arm out against the pavement, and shot him right through the palm.

    The .45 was loud, but she didn¡¯t mind; the ringing in her ears made it harder to hear his screaming. Keisha caught a little of it; unsurprisingly, there was some racist shit mixed in with the howls and conventional cussing. Whatever. She¡¯d heard worse, by people she had slightly more cause to respect.

    She pulled out her pic¡¯ again, doing her best to ignore the abuse while she drew some deep breaths. Playing one-handed was tough, but she wasn¡¯t about to stow her weapon. His screams took on a more demanding note when the little bubble of ectoplasm appeared on the end, but she ignored that too.

    When the bubble congealed into a dangling, wiggling thing like a caterpillar coming out of its egg, she bit down on the end of the pipe to hold it in place, wrestled his wounded hand under it (which took some effort) and let the worm drop directly onto the wound. It wriggled its way in while he screamed, then vanished, leaving a grey filmy matter in the hole.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    He snatched the hand back as soon as she let it go, squinting and running his hands over the palm. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called a plugworm,¡± she said as she tucked the pipe away and zipped up her bag again. ¡°Paraphysical first aid. You won¡¯t bleed out, and it¡¯ll contain the worst of your body¡¯s inflammatory response for a bit. Mildly analgesic, too. Not enough that you won¡¯t hurt at all, but you should be able to form coherent sentences, if you choose to. If you don¡¯t choose to¡ªor if you choose to continue giving me mouth¡ªI have more bullets. I can shoot you in your other palm, or wherever, and you won¡¯t die.¡±

    He glared and said nothing. ¡°It¡¯s important that you understand, Yuri: I¡¯m not a sadist. I¡¯m a professional. Professionals don¡¯t shoot punk-ass ignorant kids because they call them rude names, or for fun. I just can¡¯t have you calling Shum-Shum on me, and a steady but not totally debilitating pain should prevent that. Assuring you that I am serious is only a side benefit. But if I need to shoot you again, I won¡¯t have any compunctions, either. Not after what you just did.¡±

    She held the gun up to his right shoulder, and was rewarded by a widening of his eyes. ¡°So, Yuri Titovitch. Why did your father send you to secure the airport tonight, and not one of his men? Actually, scratch that. Why did he tell you to shut down the airport at all?¡± If Yuri didn¡¯t even know to look out for someone matching her description ¡­

    ¡°He¡¯s taking over Thessaloniki,¡± Yuri said, through his teeth. ¡°For real. Not just protection money, we¡¯re going to run the whole thing direct.¡±

    So Marshall had decided to respond to infiltration by escalating to a coup¡ªassuming he¡¯d told Yuri the truth, and that Yuri was telling the truth to her, none of which was anything like guaranteed. ¡°He sent you to the airport. Where did he send the other four? Ruslan, Nadia, Fatima, and Hamza. Where are they?¡±

    ¡°How do you know about us?¡± he demanded. Getting his courage back now.

    ¡°I know a lot of things. And not just me. We all know. Your father doesn¡¯t have the resources to pull off what he¡¯s trying now, and he never will. He¡¯ll never secure himself against the kind of intelligence tools the international community he despises can use against him. Titus Marshall is not invincible, Yuri.¡±

    He responded by freezing up, staring at her for a moment, then busting out laughing. It wasn¡¯t pleasant laughter; he clutched at his wounded hand as he cackled, wincing and peeling back his lips. He just couldn¡¯t help himself, it seemed. Keisha suddenly felt tired. There were VRIL tools to encourage truthfulness for interrogation, but she didn¡¯t have much training or experience in using them, and she doubted how much more useful info she¡¯d get out of the little asshole. The coup story didn¡¯t make much sense to her, but he still might believe it himself.

    She straightened up to look around over the dead Beetle. It occurred to her that, if he really had decided all on his own to shut down the airport by turning it into a crater, he might have reinforcements on the way to slap him over the head. Time to move on.

    Yuri didn¡¯t want to come, but was persuaded by a couple of fingers dug deep between his ribs. Keisha was struck by how puny he was as she dragged him to his feet; he might not even be a hundred pounds. She prodded him along the shoulder of the road easily, keeping the gun pressed against his ribs while he stumbled along groaning. Her other arm was around his shoulder, and nobody tried to stop her while she was escorting a wounded child. God only knew what they¡¯d made of the gunshot earlier.

    It felt like a very long walk back to Hamp and Doc, made worse by her growing realization that she had no idea what she was going to do with Yuri. She doubted she could keep him securely for long, even if she could keep him hurting enough that he couldn¡¯t call his familiar. You could argue that he¡¯d earned himself a shallow grave instead, but she didn¡¯t think she had it in her to do it. She had a genuine tiger by the tail, even if the tiger was just a cub.

    Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut most of the way, and didn¡¯t make trouble¡ªuntil they got to the intersection. That was about the same as she¡¯d left it, only a bit more crowded as the walking wounded staggered away from the airport. A few flashing lights were just visible at the end of the road to the east, the extreme limit of where emergency vehicles could reach, and it drew in the hopeful like moths. Between them and the greater density of wrecks, she didn¡¯t think she could hug-and-drag Yuri all the way across with a gun in his ribs.

    ¡°All right,¡± she muttered in his ear, ¡°I¡¯m going to give you a little slack on the leash now, understand? Only a little. You¡¯re going to stay close, and refrain from doing anything stupid or surprising. You won¡¯t like what happens if you do. Understood?¡±

    He groaned something that might have been a yes, and she let him go, holding the pistol one-handed against her jeans where it wouldn¡¯t be immediately obvious at a glance. His own weapon had hit the pavement when her buzzer got him. When he¡¯d got about six steps on her, she started trailing after, never taking her eyes off him even when she had to turn sideways to squeeze through a gap.

    He was almost to the far side when he stopped in his tracks, turned his head slightly to look at her. ¡°Keep moving,¡± she called, and he nodded¡ªthen bolted, jinking to the left towards one of the wrecked semis. She got him in her sights, thought better of it¡ªtoo many bystanders¡ªand took off after him instead, pledging to kick him good and hard in the nuts when she caught him. He could move surprisingly fast on those stubby little legs; he was running off into roadside tree cover by the time she cleared the semi. She shot at him, hit a pine instead, kept running.

    Something weird popped up in her peripheral vision; she turned to look, saw an enormous soap bubble, bigger than herself, drifting toward her. It was so bizarre that for a long moment she could only stare, watching it bob up and down against the grass and asphalt. By the time her brain caught up and she ran for it the bubble was less than ten feet away. It shifted to track her¡ªthere was a fence just ahead¡ªshe turned to run along it, but the bubble was right on her¡ª

    It caught her right in the back and popped, spattering her with soap slime. Nothing else happened. Of course. She hadn¡¯t forgotten Grandmama¡¯s magnolia the whole time, so it was only soap once it hit her. Same reason she hadn¡¯t even noticed the halo that let Yuri know he had backup on scene.

    Looking back, she could see a half-dozen more of the shiny bubbles floating across the highway; none were smaller than the one that had just hit her, and several were bigger, swelling up as they came. As she watched, the biggest of them drifted into a pickup truck and neatly swallowed it up before rising up into the sky with it. She tracked it with narrow eyes; as it rose, the bubble seemed to shrink, silently crushing the truck inside it. But it was still moving her direction, floating overhead ¡­

    Keisha ran for her life, and felt as much as heard it when the bubble popped and the compressed wad of truck slammed into the ground behind her, spraying her legs with asphalt and metal. She looked back, saw more bubbles coming, lifting and squeezing a couple of cars, a motorcycle, and a panel truck. She vaulted the fence and ran like hell, the bag bouncing against her back. More earth-shaking crashes followed her.

    Mister Higgins. Of all the familiars, she had Mister Higgins after her¡ªit was a special kind of humiliation. Fatima must be somewhere close by, but with a true halo up both of Keisha¡¯s VRILs were useless. If she could sneak in unseen, she might tag Fatima with Hamp¡¯s pistol, but she didn¡¯t like her odds and there were an awful lot of civilians on scene. The sooner she cut and ran, the better.

    If she could just get back to her companions, and her tank full of ectoplasm ¡­ but no. This situation didn¡¯t call for that kind of escalation, let alone compromising Belvedere. Yuri was as good as gone, and the sooner he and Fatima got out of here the fewer people they would hurt. Doctor Gus still needed medical attention, attention he couldn¡¯t get in an active war zone.

    So Keisha swallowed her pride, and set off at a jog down the side streets and parking lots, away from the highway, and from Yuri¡¯s quickest route back to his base. If she could just stay clear of the children she¡¯d come here to help, she might still have a prayer of salvaging this mess.

 XXII. Beyond the Rubicon (Nadia)

    The Metics had been taken to their respective dormitories, Gulya with the boys and Varvara with the girls. Nadia hurried in to demand from each in turn whether she¡¯d done a head count. Gulya seemed surprised by her tone, but said that she had, and when Nadia asked if she was sure she pulled out a list and ran down it again, confirming that she¡¯d seen each of the twenty-two boys under her care go through the door. The dorms had been built as prisons by the Ottomans; it wasn¡¯t easy to get out unnoticed.

    ¡°Would you like me to call roll again?¡± she asked with a friendly, open smile, and despite her horrible panic Nadia felt ashamed. Gulya was a motherly Azeri of forty or so, far too kind and decent to be working for someone like the late Titus Marshall. Nadia thanked her as nicely as she could, then left.

    Varvara made up for her subordinate. ¡°Of course I counted,¡± the fat old hag snapped. ¡°Are you teaching me my own work? I should be asking you the questions. Why were there gunshots? And two different halos in less than thirty minutes. There¡¯s something very suspicious¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Family business, and you don¡¯t need to know the details,¡± Nadia said, far more sharply than she had ever spoken to the ¡®Grand Domestic¡¯ before. ¡°I have orders from Hamza to secure the Metics.¡±

    ¡°From Hamza! And what about your father?¡±

    ¡°Never mind about my father! Hamza has imperium, and that¡¯s enough for you!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll mind about your father soon enough, when he hears how you have spoken to me, young lady! You have a familiar, and a party, so now you think you can come in here snapping demands?¡±

    Nadia simply didn¡¯t have the emotional strength left to placate Varvara, assuming that was even possible. She settled for trying to redirect her. ¡°Are you absolutely certain that you have all the Metic girls in here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, and questioning my competence too!¡±

    ¡°How many? Did you count?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did. Fourteen. Check for yourself if you like, missy.¡±

    Possibly Varvara had counted; possibly she hadn¡¯t. She could be lazy sometimes¡ªNadia noticed she¡¯d taken the less numerous and unruly girls¡ªand she wasn¡¯t very nimble at her age. It was totally possible that one or two had slipped away while she wasn¡¯t looking, and she could have counted one twice. And possibly that one girl was off in some odd corner of the fortress making friends with Yunks right now.

    ¡°Where is Zeinab, then? What did you assign her to do?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t ask me about Zeinab,¡± Varvara groused. She was already picking up her tattered romance paperback. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen her in hours. She went off loafing, and left the two of us to do all the work just when things got serious.¡±

    That annoyed Nadia enough that she summoned ¨¦zarine almost by accident¡ªthen realized it was a good idea. Orphaned familiars usually avoided halos; the field tended to strip away the suddenly unanchored and unstable ectoplasm they were made of. Yunks probably had the same problem, and even if she didn¡¯t Nadia would rather meet her with her own familiar out and ready.

    Varvara shouted threats and complaints at her back as the two of them left to find Zeinab: what did she think she was doing, showing off with a familiar like that, and without warning? A brazen little slut like her, she¡¯d be pregnant by fourteen, Varvara knew the type ¡­ Nadia decided it wouldn¡¯t be worth the guilt she¡¯d feel for it later to flip Varvara the middle finger as she left.

    ¨¦zarine¡¯s halo didn¡¯t feel good, exactly; it never did. It only felt less bad. It was easier to be angry and resentful than worried and afraid. Having her around made everything sharper and clearer, made decisions come more quickly and easily. Five minutes ago, she had been almost paralyzed under the weight of all the ways everything might go wrong in the near future. Now she could stomp along the echoing corridors, hot with irritation, and wonder where in the hell Zeinab had gone off to.

    Zeinab was the youngest, silliest, and least trustworthy of the three women, only hired on six months ago to deal with an influx of ten new Metics. It figured that she¡¯d be AWOL at a time like this. Where had Nadia last seen her? Oh, yes¡ªwiggling her back end at the Lictor with the pretty hair and the strong jaw. Pompey, she thought. Or maybe Crassus. All those obnoxious Roman names just blended together in her head.

    She heard Zeinab¡¯s scream from halfway across the courtyard¡ªcoming from the old admin building where she lived. She sounded more angry than hurt, and followed it up with a stream of hot words that might have been Arabic. Hard to say, really; a man¡¯s voice cut in and shouted over her before she got a sentence out. English, with a bit of German.

    Nadia shook her head, and went on walking. Maybe they would kill each other before she got there, and save her the bother. But no; as soon as she got in the door she saw Zeinab, wrapped in a bedsheet, flouncing down the hall towards her. The handsome Lictor wasn¡¯t even wearing that much, and leaned out of her bedroom doorway without shame, pointing a finger and calling her a schmutzige W¨¹stenschlampe. Zeinab¡ªwho had a big red mark on one cheek¡ªturned around and hissed something back.

    Nadia didn¡®t have time for this foolishness. She snapped her fingers, and ¨¦zarine popped up between them to demonstrate the proper way to throw a screaming fit. Both of them fell over clutching their ears. Nadia barely noticed the noise, and she walked past Zeinab to prod the Lictor with her foot. ¡°What are you doing here?¡°

    He only glared up at her, hands still clapped to ears, and she moved ¨¦zarine up to stand beside her in case he tried something stupid. It was just as well he hadn¡®t answered her question; it was obvious what he¡®d been doing here, at least before ¨¦zarine¡®s halo came along. The much more important question was what she was supposed to do with him now.

    Hamza had not explicitly ordered her to kill anyone; her job was to keep watch over the Metics and staff. But she couldn¡®t use that as an excuse for letting him go, either¡ªespecially not now. Even if he would have been loyal, one look at the slaughter in the courtyard would send him running, and he knew too much. He had to die, which meant she would have to kill him¡ªand all because Zeinab was a tramp!

    No. Not happening. ¡°You have to leave now, leave for good,¡° she told the naked man, looking determinedly at his face. ¡°You¡¯re fired. Get dressed, quickly.¡°

    ¡°Because of her?¡° he demanded, flapping a hand toward Zeinab. ¡°Everyone has done her. She is nothing. And you do not command here.¡°

    The murder option was becoming less unattractive. She pushed the thought back. ¡°¨¦zarine disagrees." The familiar popped up behind the Lictor for emphasis, looming over him. "You have one minute to get dressed, or she''ll scream again."

    He still wasted five more seconds on scowling, so Nadia had ¨¦zarine grab his shirt and start dressing him like a toddler; he spluttered and slapped her hands away, then did it himself. She could tell he was tempted to hit her, so she put ¨¦zarine between them, then looked away to give him the belated privacy he did not seem to want. And also to think about things other than him without his clothes on. Yes. Thinking was good.

    By the time he buckled his belt and put on his shoes, she knew what to do. He had to leave the castle, and he could not pass through the courtyard. Simple. He was just opening his mouth to say something surly when ¨¦zarine grabbed him and flickered away.

    Zeinab gave a little shriek from behind Nadia''s shoulder. "Where did you take him?"

    "The little grassy slope north of the outer wall," Nadia answered. Not that Zeinab had any right or need to know. With luck, the Lictor would escape Hamza''s purge; if not, well, she was past caring by now. Nadia could only do so much. ¨¦zarine reappeared, and Nadia knew¡ªthough she hadn¡¯t seen it, and couldn¡¯t say how she knew¡ªthat the man had wound up where she intended. ¡°Why are you still wearing that sheet? Put your clothes on!¡±

    ¡°This is my room,¡± she pouted, but complied. Nadia lingered in the doorway, staring at the top of the frame till she went cross-eyed; once or twice she thought Zeinab glanced at her, as if about to ask a question, but each time Nadia made a little angry grunt and the woman thought better of it.

    However worrying their larger situation might be, it was incredibly satisfying to not have to take any nonsense off of staff anymore. Zeinab didn¡¯t know that Titus was dead, didn¡¯t even know what was going on, but she was still obeying. It made Nadia wonder how much more power she could have had over her own life already, if she¡¯d only had the courage to take it.

    They ran into Fatima in the courtyard, prowling between the partitions with her hands on her hips. ¡°Oh, there you are,¡± she snapped, when she saw them. ¡°Why the hell do you have your familiar out? Some of us need to communicate here. We can¡¯t even work the computer, and we¡¯ve got files to dig through.¡±

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Nadia said, not very sincerely, and dismissed ¨¦zarine with tremendous reluctance. All her anxiety came rushing back the moment the familiar fled, and the world turned cold around her. ¡°I mostly wanted to ¡­ ¡± What, keep Yunks away? She couldn¡¯t say that in front of Zeinab.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Fatima said. She cocked her head at Nadia¡¯s companion. ¡°What was Zeinab doing, just lazing off in her room?¡±

    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Nadia said, a bit too quickly.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± Zeinab said, only a little slower. Nadia hoped it would distract from her own flub.

    ¡°A couple of Lictors just took out the boss,¡± Fatima lied easily. It was impossible to tell if she¡¯d decided on that story beforehand or was making it up on the spot. ¡°We don¡¯t know how many of the men were in on it, but they¡¯re all in deep shit until proven innocent, if we don¡¯t kill them before they get the chance. That answer your question?¡±

    Zeinab gave her a frightened look, then slid it sideways onto Nadia. It was a good story; she wished she¡¯d thought of it before. Especially since it encouraged Zeinab to keep her mouth shut about what had happened in her room, to avoid drawing trouble onto herself.

    ¡°Anyway, I left Ruslan up there alone, so¡ªoh! Zeinab, do you know how to use a computer? Like, a real one, not just our phones.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered nervously. Zeinab didn¡¯t know how to deal with a Titus-free world either, and judging by her worried glances she¡¯d just spotted the dead Lictors.

    ¡°You¡¯d better come with me, then; the damn thing had us stumped before ¨¦zarine conked it out.¡± Zeinab meekly complied, trembling as they skirted around the moonlit massacre. Fatima walked past them like they weren¡¯t even there, yakking away to Zeinab about passwords and programs.

    Nadia was most of the way back to the girls¡¯ dorms when her phone started ringing; it was Hamza. Wincing, she turned it on. ¡°It¡¯s about goddamn time!¡± his voice exploded as soon as she picked up. ¡°Tell Fatima to turn on her phone, I¡¯ve been trying to call her the past five minutes. Is she still there? Have they got anything yet?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll ask her.¡±

    ¡°No, just¡ªshit!¡± Nadia heard something like gunfire from Hamza¡¯s end, and the call abruptly dropped. She stuffed the phone in her pocket, found a wall to lean against, and did her best not to cry or get the shakes. She almost succeeded. Too much. Too much was happening, too fast, and nobody was in control of any of it, and it terrified her.

    She was still getting a grip on herself, two or three minutes later, when Fatima came clattering back down the stairs in a hurry. Ruslan and Zeinab trailed after her, bleating questions and protests, which she ignored. Nadia wiped her face and ran to meet her, but Fatima cut her off before she could even open her mouth.

    ¡°Save it for later!¡± she yelled, much louder than necessary to cover the space between them. ¡°No damn time now.¡± She shook her head, and grumbled something involving the word shitshow.

    ¡°For heaven¡¯s sake, what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Your stupid-ass brother¡¯s happening,¡± she said without slowing down. ¡°Probably ought to be you to deal with him, right? But no, Hamza wants me.¡± She threw up her hands. ¡°It¡¯s got to be me!¡± she shouted as she disappeared through the front gate. Ruslan chased her as quickly as he could while carrying their late father¡¯s open laptop; Zeinab let the distance between them grow, and started to edge away back towards her quarters as soon as Ruslan was through the gate. Nadia let her go and went after Ruslan.

    She had never been allowed outside the castle before without a mask and an armed escort; it should have been a moment to celebrate. Instead she stepped outside and stopped in her tracks. All the little houses around the parking lot¡ªwhere the Lictors and higher-ranking Praetorians were quartered¡ªhad doors hanging open, holes gouged in walls, windows smashed. Several of the cars had been hacked in half, and Nadia spotted at least three dead bodies lying on the pavement. Fatima ran one of them over as she backed out in an unmarked sedan, did an awkward umpteen-point turn around a piece of a truck, then went barreling down the road into town at reckless speed.

    Nadia turned to Ruslan, who was looking at the scene with surprising calm. He¡¯d closed the laptop and tucked it under one arm. After a moment he noticed her, and said quietly, ¡°Yuri just turned Shum-Shum loose on the airport.¡±

    ¡°He what? Why? Why in God¡¯s name would he do that? He just had to, to stop the planes! Keep them on the ground. That was his whole mission, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Yuri does stuff,¡± Ruslan told her wearily. ¡°He just does it. You know him.¡± Nadia thought she heard the wail of sirens starting up in town as he said it, and possibly a pop of far-off gunfire. She hoped she was imagining it, but she didn¡¯t know. Thessaloniki was a big city, and Hamza was out there in it somewhere, cutting down their father¡¯s men. Maybe some of them were fighting back. Who knew?

    There was another sound too, mixed in with it¡ªa kind of roaring noise she didn¡¯t quite recognize, though it seemed familiar. Something to do with the burning airport, maybe. She turned to Ruslan, who had turned pale and dropped the laptop to the ground. ¡°Ruslan? Is everything¡ª¡°

    Before she could get the words out, she was overwhelmed by the sudden image of a dead little boy in the tent, and the mad doctor¡¯s horror. At the same time, she heard a tremendously loud shrieking noise, like a teakettle played through concert speakers, then a rolling series of thunderclaps, and the ground under her feet shook enough to knock her down to her knees.

    Kizil Khan¡¯s sequence played out like it usually did, and when it was done she was standing under his sheltering wings, streaked with his blood already, feeling only what his halo allowed her. She could look up and around, and see three blackened smoking holes in the castle wall, then lower her gaze and see a house on fire, and the scattered chunks of hot rock only a few feet away from her. Chance. Just chance, that she had not been killed.

    She could still hear the roaring noise, but it was quieter now. The planes were moving away. They were safe, for the moment. The question didn¡¯t seem to mean much to her; it all felt like a dream. Nadia turned around and walked back into the castle, driven mostly by morbid curiosity to see if anyone had been hurt inside.

    The halo vanished just as she got into the castle proper, and she went from a muddle-headed trance to borderline panic in half a second. She rushed into the courtyard, where she saw Titus¡¯s tower decapitated by multiple missile strikes, dark smoke pouring out from fires within. Another had blown the top off the courtyard¡¯s central watchtower, two more blew out other towers, and one apparently scored a direct hit on the stage where Fatima and Ruslan had been dancing a few hours earlier. It was hard to say whether Ruslan¡¯s last-second raising of a halo had made things better or worse.

    The Metics came boiling out into the courtyard as she was assessing the damage, squealing, staring, gibbering, and pointing in their rising terror. Varvara stumped along last of all, cursing so loudly she hardly had wind left to move with. Gulya looked little better as she tried to rein in the boys; whatever she was trying to say was inaudible over their frightened gabble. She worked at it anyway, and Nadia tried to pitch in, though she truthfully had no idea what she was going to tell them.

    They had just got the Metics to pipe down, and Gulya appeared ready to say something comforting, when Zeinab came out of her own dormitory, screaming like a ninny about how Titus Marshall was dead and the men were being murdered and they were all going to die.

    The effect was instantaneous. The five youngest boys and girls burst into tears, and three bolted for the door, dashing out past Ruslan as he came in talking on his phone. Gulya ran after them at once, trying to catch them, and it started a general stampede, boys and girls alike rushing frantically so they would not be last to escape. Varvara screamed and swore uselessly, thwacking her cane against the ground. Zeinab knocked her over in the scramble for the door.

    It was pure reflex, the ingrained pathways trodden by endless childhood lectures on the importance of charity for the elderly, which drove Nadia to go help Varvara. She did not like the horrid creature, but she was still elderly and defenseless and in that moment the bare forms of decency, however obsolete and irrelevant, were all Nadia had left to move her.

    Varvara was even heavier than she looked, a ball-shaped mass of wrinkled fatty flesh in layers of wool coats, and she stank of tobacco and cheap drink. Nadia struggled even to get her into a sitting position, a task the woman herself did not seem inclined to help with. She panted and wheezed pitifully, spitting out fragments of obscenity in Russian and Polish when she had the breath to spare.

    ¡°Look at you! Varvara, calm down!¡± Varvara didn¡¯t even look at her. She stared at the ground, mouth open, cold sweat running down her face. ¡°Varvara, please!¡± The crone put a hand to her chest, grimacing. ¡°Oh, God, no. Varvara, not now, not this¡ª¡±

    She fell over on her side, then her back, still wheezing but with no more strength to curse. Prayers poured out of Nadia as she struggled to lift her back up. Nobody heard. She looked around to cry for help, but there was nobody left in the courtyard. The door to the outside world was hanging half-open.

    ¡°Varvara, I¡¯ll be back, just give me a moment, I promise.¡± Ruslan couldn¡¯t be far away yet, and he had Kizil Khan. They could still save her, technically. Her knees shook under her as she rose to her feet, knowing already that she would not be coming back. ¡°Just a minute, Varvara, just hang on. It will be all right,¡± she lied. The old lady didn¡¯t even seem to hear her. She was barely even moving, her hands clutching spasmodically at her chest while she whimpered.

    Titus¡¯s tower was still vomiting out smoke, blotting out the stars. There might be more planes on the way already, with a fresh load of missiles to fire. Nadia looked down at the woman she had always hated, crossed herself to save some small scrap of her conscience, and left the courtyard at a dead run, not bothering to close the little door behind her.

 XXIII. Exodus (Nadia)

    The Metics had been getting ready for bed¡ªeven if they were dragging their feet about it¡ªat the time the missiles hit. Many of them were in pajamas or nightgowns, a few even barefoot, with or without jackets thrown on top. All had gone abruptly from celebrating at a party, to hearing gunshots and being packed off to bed, to feeling the castle shake and discovering that their home had come under attack, then having one of their substitute mothers come out and tell them the man who passed for their father was dead. Along the way they had been submerged in the halos of three different familiars with no explanation. It was late, they were all tired and overstimulated, and not one of them was older than ten.

    Some were crying or screaming, others were running away, a couple had already started physical fights. Several of the children stared in random directions, saying and doing nothing at all. They scattered across the parking lot and down the dirt paths running along the castle walls, gawking at the burning houses, broken walls, and dead bodies. Gulya had gathered a small group of fifteen or so mostly younger children together, but looked close to tears herself. Ruslan shouted repeatedly and ineffectually for everyone to calm down, and tried to pry two brawling boys apart. Zeinab was nowhere in sight and Nadia assumed she was gone.

    Ugly memories of Guryev floated to the top of her mind as she stepped out of the front gate; she angrily shoved them back down, but did not forget the hard lessons those memories had taught her. This place could be attacked again at any moment. The first thing to do was to get away to safety. But where was safety? And how could she get all the Metics together to move them in their current state?

    Anything was better than just standing there. Ruslan had already shown that barked orders would not focus them, so Nadia called ¨¦zarine. The children did not react very well to suddenly being doused in the distilled essence of impotent anger¡ªa couple of the boys started fighting harder¡ªbut that was almost beside the point. None of them failed to notice; they were paying attention. It was something.

    ¡°We are leaving now!¡± she shouted, as ¨¦zarine forcibly separated a pair of scuffling boys. ¡°That way, everyone!¡± she pointed down a street more or less at random. The one that would require them to walk past the fewest dead Lictors.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± a boy of eight challenged her, his fist balled at his sides. Viron, that was his name. A new recruit from the local streets. Got in fights a lot. She was amazed he wasn¡¯t brawling now.

    ¡°Away from here,¡± she said, and sent ¨¦zarine to yank back several strays. She could do it very quickly, dropping one off and flickering away to grab the next in less than a second. The children who got moved didn¡¯t appreciate that very much either, but Nadia hardly cared.

    ¡°I think we are short a few,¡± Gulya cut in. ¡°I don¡¯t see Eleni or Ayaz. Or¡ª¡±

    ¡°Go find them, then!¡± Nadia said in desperation. She was pretty sure she knew Eleni, but not Ayaz; she had not been encouraged to befriend the Metics. ¡°The rest of you, with me. Down that street, a nice quick walk. Ruslan, you take the lead. I¡¯m taking the rear to make sure nobody else gets lost.¡±

    Gulya pursed her lips, which was about as peevish as she generally got, but said, ¡°I¡¯ll catch up with you at the gym. It¡¯s not far.¡±

    Nadia thanked her and motioned for Ruslan to lead the way. He was aghast¡ªhe had never joined any trips to the gym and could as easily have led them to Botswana¡ªbut one of the older boys impatiently usurped the lead from him, and everybody else followed in line. Several whined about having to walk, but having ¨¦zarine pop up next to them shut them up in a hurry.

    They were soon headed down a quiet street through a residential neighborhood, with no doors kicked in or windows smashed. Either no Lictors lived this way or Hamza hadn¡¯t gotten to them yet. They were above Thessaloniki proper here, in the hills, headed away from populated areas. Which was fine by her, but she didn¡¯t know where she was going or what she meant to do when she got there.

    The more poorly-dressed Metics huddled together for warmth as they walked down the sidewalk, occasionally spilling over into the asphalt. Nadia wasn¡¯t all that well-dressed herself. At least there wasn¡¯t much traffic, and ¨¦zarine¡¯s glowing form encouraged drivers to turn away into side streets rather than pass them. But they couldn¡¯t walk all night, or shelter in the gym about a kilometer away, when the family was under attack. Could she commandeer a bus?

    Her thoughts were interrupted by a police car pulling into the intersection behind them, its lights flashing. The officer got out in a hurry, but ¨¦zarine got to him before he could draw his gun. At the last second, Nadia elected to have her familiar break his arm instead of dropping him from fifty feet. He was only doing his job.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stop, keep walking,¡± she called to the children over his shouting, and they didn¡¯t, and the cop didn¡¯t get up from his knees or object when ¨¦zarine took his gun and gave it to Nadia. She checked to see that it was fully loaded and ready to fire, then walked on.

    But before they got to the next street they heard sirens, drawing closer, and she knew they would not get even as far as the gym without a fight. The children broke into a jog on their own, just before Ruslan did, and Nadia followed them with the police-issue weapon ready. When they got to a spot where trees grew beside the road, ¨¦zarine popped up to direct them into it, and soon they were all sheltered, thirty or so children bunched together in the greenery.

    Nadia watched and waited as two more police cars drew up beside the first in a blaze of blue lights. She waited until three men had got out, then set ¨¦zarine loose among them, kicking, punching, and slamming heads into cars. Not for mercy this time; she didn¡¯t want to draw any more attention to the area by having her scream, though it was probably too late to matter. And irrelevant, as it turned out. Before the third cop was down, one of the cars backed away with a screech and went flying off, sirens wailing again.

    ¡°Somebody must have ratted on us,¡± Ruslan said at her ear. ¡°Somebody saw us leave the castle, and called as soon as your halo cleared. It¡¯s the only way.¡±

    Or the cops were already coming because of Hamza¡¯s insane rampage, she didn¡¯t trouble to say. ¡°All right, let¡¯s move!¡± she said, stepping out into the streets again. Nobody followed, and she turned to give them a hard stare. ¡°I said move! Come on, it¡¯s not safe out here!¡±

    Little Viron stepped forward, his fists balled again. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere until you tell us what¡¯s going on,¡± he said, his Greek accent still thick after months of learning English. He was a decent size for eight. ¨¦zarine popped in and gave him a backhand, but held back enough that he didn¡¯t actually fall down.

    ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s going on,¡± Nadia told him. ¡°I can tell you again, or you can move.¡± But none of them did. Not in the way she wanted, anyway. A couple of them stepped toward her, but stiff-shouldered and wary, like they were thinking about backing up Viron. Several others huddled further into the shadow under the trees, or started tiptoeing away, taking the first steps before they broke into a dead sprint. ¨¦zarine appeared behind the runaways and gave them a little shove back towards the group. ¡°Not that way.¡±

    They still stayed in place, muttering and complaining. The halo was giving Nadia the courage to move, but only by making her cranky and hateful, and it was doing the same to the Metics. She couldn¡¯t get rid of ¨¦zarine without leaving them defenseless, but if she did, they would probably go crazy with panic. If the familiar stayed, they might well get mad enough to mob Nadia¡ªand ¨¦zarine wasn¡¯t great at stopping people without causing permanent damage.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    The impasse was broken by the sound of automatic gunfire, loud and frighteningly close. Half the Metics turned and ran, scattering in different directions; Nadia shouted at them to stop, managed to yank a couple back with ¨¦zarine, but was too distracted by looking for the source of the noise herself to do more. Whoever-it-was was still firing like mad. It sounded like multiple weapons but she couldn¡¯t be sure.

    ¡°They¡¯re not shooting at us,¡± Ruslan said, looking up and down the street. ¡°But that¡¯s not far away. A few blocks, maybe.¡±

    At Hamza, most likely, if Fatima hadn¡¯t turned around and come back when the missiles hit. The direction was about right. Whoever they were shooting at, they were way too close. ¡°Come with us to the gym, or stay and get shot,¡± she announced, and set off down the road again without a backwards glance. As soon as she heard footsteps behind her, she broke into a jog, and before long there was a stampede going behind her.

    She should have had them running from the beginning, she thought. It wasn¡¯t just faster, it kept them warm and felt more purposeful. One of the oldest Metics outstripped her, pointing the way at the next cross-street. She stopped him for only a moment, to look back and confirm that she had the Metics behind her¡ªand no military vehicles. She had a good crowd still, but not all of them. It couldn¡¯t be helped. The guns were firing more sporadically now, but they hadn¡¯t stopped.

    Fifteen minutes later they were at The Gym, which turned out to be grimy-looking facility covered with graffiti. Gulya wasn¡¯t there yet, so she shot the lock off with the policeman¡¯s pistol and waved them all in. For once, Ruslan made himself useful, organizing the Metics to find the controls for the heat, to look for food and clothing, and to keep watch outside in turns for anyone approaching, friendly or not.

    Nadia was free to sit on the bleachers and stare at her lap. After another minute, she let ¨¦zarine go. A trio of the oldest boys started a game of basketball; others fell asleep on gym mats or found dark corners to go cry in. She should probably be off finding and comforting them, she thought¡ªbut stayed on the bleachers.

    Ruslan came and sat down next to her, and told her the head count was twenty-three present, thirteen missing. She nodded, and for a time neither of them said anything. She looked at her watch, and saw that it was almost 2200. Ruslan was nodding off beside her, and it was tempting to do the same, but she made herself get up and go outside, where she found one of the deputized children keeping watch as ordered and the other two MIA.

    Before she could muster the energy to look, she saw two sets of headlights barreling down the road towards them, one after the other. When the lead vehicle drove up onto the grass, Nadia ordered the dutiful girl back inside to alert Ruslan, and called ¨¦zarine while she hid in the shadows. But the vehicle stopped, the door opened, and a woman came running up.

    ¡°Send her away, Nadia!¡± she shouted. ¡°For the love of God, no more familiars! It¡¯s just us!¡±

    ¡°Gulya?¡± Nadia ran out to meet her as the second vehicle pulled up. Both, she saw, were military, some kind of big armored truck with a gun poking out the top. Hamza came out of the second, cussing up a storm. ¡°Where is Fatima?¡±

    ¡°I told her to get your shithead brother,¡± Hamza yelled. ¡°As soon as they get here, we¡¯re leaving. What jackass turned the fucking lights on in there? You can see it from down the road.¡±

    Nadia let ¨¦zarine go in a hurry, then ran in, feeling immensely relieved to not be in charge of this disaster any longer. The last five hours had taken a year. As darkness fell inside the gym, she threw herself down on a mat. She slept, but not well, waking up over and over at small disturbances.

    Fatima and Yuri appeared after midnight. Yuri had been seriously injured, but that didn¡¯t stop Hamza from hitting him a few times. He hollered at the blows, called Hamza vile names, and asked how else he was expected to shut down an airport by himself. Nadia tuned out the whole business as best she could until he started ranting about the insane black woman who had shot him.

    ¡°She knew all our names!¡± he screamed. ¡°She ambushed me out of nowhere with this crazy-ass magic flute bullshit! What the hell is going on here?¡±

    ¡°Magic flute?¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°VRIL,¡± Fatima answered for him. She was already smoking her second cigarette, a sure sign of stress with her. Normally she tried to limit her habit. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what it sounds like. Junky old technology, outclassed by us, but it¡¯s still nasty. We¡¯re lucky the Russians stopped using it years ago.¡±

    Nadia did not like the way Fatima looked at her as she said it, but she had other worries. Beelzebub? One of his friends, at least. So it wasn¡¯t just the Greek authorities who were against them now, but America too. Assuming Beelzebub was American, which was far from guaranteed, but whatever. The Coalition, at least, or NATO. Hamza was right. They couldn¡¯t stay in the city.

    Sleeping Metics were roused and manhandled into the backs of the trucks. There wasn¡¯t nearly enough space even for their reduced numbers, but Hamza¡¯s orders were to make room as best they could. Final head count was twenty-five of the thirty-six children, and there was no time to search for the rest. Fatima¡¯s car was abandoned, to minimize the number of vehicles.

    At 0117 they left the gym and the city for good, Hamza¡¯s truck in the lead. Gulya was the second driver, and the four remaining Marshalls took it in turns to either doze in the passenger seat or keep watch with their heads poked out of the gunner¡¯s station. Yuri went first as further punishment. Ruslan was forbidden to heal him until they had found safety, and kept in the other truck for good measure.

    Nobody asked where they were going. The road turned east, out of Thessaloniki, and they had it mostly to themselves. They would drive through the night, and escape Greece within twenty-four hours, leaving these trucks and everything they had known for the past half-year behind them. Nothing else was certain.

 XXIV. Fog of War (Keisha)

    ¡°¡­ which brings us to our best available informant.¡± The next slide popped up with several pictures of a pretty but strong-featured young woman. A few were old shots, including something that looked like it was scanned from a high school yearbook, but the largest was something closer to a mugshot, a cinderblock wall behind the subject, who looked tired and frowsy. ¡°Zeinab Nasr, age twenty-six. One of Mr. Marshall¡¯s three substitute mothers for his ¡®family.¡¯ Voluntarily surrendered herself into our protective custody at the American consulate on the night of the sixteenth.¡±

    Here, General Green paused to glance at Dimitri Gakos, the consulate official, who¡¯d taken the room¡¯s armchair. The rest of them, except Dr. Gus in the bed, had uncomfortable plastic chairs scrounged up by hospital staff. It would have been more pleasant to hold this little briefing at the consulate, but the hospital refused to let Dr. Gus go yet and the consulate was surrounded by enraged protesters around the clock. This was the best they could do, even if the room was so cramped they could hardly fit.

    ¡°Ms. Nasr is our single most credible source for the claim that Titus Marshall is dead. The rest of it is largely circumstantial in character, although there are few better conclusions we can think of to fit the known facts. Varvara Riazantseva was found dead in the facility¡¯s courtyard, presumed cardiac arrest. Gulya Sharifova¡¯s current whereabouts are unknown but Ms. Nasr strongly believes she would have accompanied the remaining children, and we are proceeding under that assumption.¡±

    Flick, flick, went the screen, showing several images of each woman, none very high quality. ¡°Ms. Nasr has also been helpful in accounting for the children.¡± The next slide was a much better photo, and very recent; Keisha had seen it in the paper. President Arthur Dawes, the day after his inauguration, bending over to shake the hand of a big-eyed waif his administration had rescued from the disaster.

    It was a hell of a photo op; every kid was supposed to get fast-tracked American citizenship, plus a college scholarship, and probably a unicorn if they asked nicely. White House photographers had tastefully cropped out the Secret Service men she assumed were hovering around the edge of the room with their hands inside their suit jackets, ready to unload into the kid the second he did something funny. No wonder the poor boy looked nervous.

    ¡°Greek officials also have a number of Mr. Marshall¡¯s security forces in custody, and have given us reasonable access, but these men seem to have taken little interest in the children and are mostly useful for corroboration of details from other sources.¡±

    Ethan leaned forward, putting up a hand. ¡°Like the body? Do they recognize their old boss, or don¡¯t they?¡±

    If General Tyler Green was annoyed at the interruption, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Again, Major Honor¨¦, the body was in very poor condition by the time we obtained it. Air-to-surface missiles will do that. We can be reasonably certain that it was a man of the correct age and ethnicity, but given Mr. Marshall¡¯s well-known paranoia we can¡¯t entirely rule out the possibility of a body double.¡±

    ¡°And nobody actually saw the son of a bitch die? It¡¯s all hearsay? Is that the shape of things?¡± Ethan drawled, leaning back so his chair tilted on two legs. He had, as usual, grown out his mustache just enough that it no longer complied with regulations, and had a significant five o¡¯clock shadow. Ethan was a horse¡¯s ass, but his presence was her only source of entertainment during this miserable meeting.

    ¡°Nobody we have access to at this time,¡± Green said impatiently. ¡°May we continue, Major?¡±

    ¡°Might as well,¡± Ethan shrugged, letting the chair drop to the floor with a bang. Even Dr. Gus gave him a look for that, which he ignored. Nobody had mentioned Ethan¡¯s specialty; he¡¯d been introduced as simply ¡°Ethan Allen Honor¨¦, Numenate.¡± Even the slowest kids in the class had to have worked it out by now; Hamp was giving him the stink-eye. Keisha tried to act like she didn¡¯t recognize him, for more reasons than one.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Green¡¯s voice was brittle as he moved to the next slide, which showed a beat-up laptop. He was involved with the Joint Chiefs of Staff somehow, and wasn¡¯t accustomed to taking this kind of shit from grunts, or even majors. ¡°Other sources are scant. Mr. Marshall¡¯s personal computer is, as far as we can tell, very securely encrypted. The NSA has brought a team of classics scholars on board to try and guess the password, but as you can imagine they do not have great hopes of success.

    ¡°Several other electronic devices have been recovered, mostly phones, but none of them have much information relevant to our current difficulties, though they are of interest for their insights into the Marshall Family¡¯s security protocols and past activities.¡±

    Next slide, showing a map of Eastern Europe with a twisty red line leading from Thessaloniki up through Bulgaria and Romania, widening as it went, and ending in a big crimson glob across the western third of Ukraine. It reminded Keisha of hurricane projections, and served the same general purpose. ¡°This route is highly speculative, based mostly on interviews with locals who happened to see or feel something odd. The Greek army has not recovered the two stolen vehicles and no longer expects to. We believe they employed the emissant known as ¡®Mister Higgins¡¯ to dispose of them, somewhere near the border.¡±

    The military attach¨¦ from Athens raised a hand, less insolently than Ethan, and waited for the General to nod at him before speaking. ¡°Bulgaria actually got back to us on that just this morning, sir. They found a bus abandoned near Sofia, some place called Kyustendil. They¡¯re pretty sure it¡¯s the same one that got hijacked last Thursday.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± Green answered somberly. ¡°But that¡¯s only confirming their location as of four, five days ago. Chief Graham, do you have any idea where they might be heading?¡±

    ¡°Not really, sir. I would have expected them to return to familiar territory, to one of their homelands. All of which are in Asia. They wouldn¡¯t want to pass through Turkey, given our presence there, so it¡¯s possible that they intend to circle around the entire Black Sea. But it¡¯s also possible that they plan to hide out in former Soviet territory for a while.¡±

    Dr. Gus spoke up from his bed, for the first time in a long while. His voice was steadier than his body looked. ¡°General Green, what is this administration¡¯s top priority where the surviving Marshall children are concerned? Does President Dawes have a particular overarching plan in place?¡±

    ¡°After three days in office, and a week since the start of this crisis, it¡¯s still too early, and too much is unclear, to speak of a concrete plan. As to priorities, at present the Marshall children are a poorly understood but extremely potent strategic asset. Location, goals, and loyalties¡ªif any¡ªall unknown. This is not acceptable.¡±

    That was one way of putting it. Keisha assumed Green was only being so civil to them since he¡¯d already rained fire from heaven on everyone in a more senior position, and was worried about wearing out his voice. That, and they had some cover for now; the Press Corps had chased poor Dave McNeil out of the White House and down the street this past Sunday, virtually ignoring the Inauguration festivities.

    President Dawes wanted all this horror dead and buried so he could focus on Medicare like he wanted. He wasn¡¯t so naive as to think it would happen soon; there would be a few months of hearings and rulings as both parties of Congress struggled to find out who knew what and when. But that fire would go out much faster with nobody adding fuel to it by, say, bouncing out of the wilderness in six months to vaporize Warsaw.

    ¡°General,¡± Keisha spoke up. ¡°Based on my experience with these children, I think it¡¯s misleading to speak of their goals and loyalties. If Titus Marshall really is dead, and the ¡®Family¡¯ is just the five kids with familiars, one adult minder with no previous leadership role, and two dozen Metics ¡­ then it comes down to a vote between the five, or however they decide to settle their differences, in a situation none of them are likely to have anticipated.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing the distinction here, for our purposes. Whatever they decide is their goal, however haphazardly agreed on.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but the word ¡®goal¡¯ implies something more settled and firm than they are likely to have. They aren¡¯t used to this level of responsibility, and they¡¯ll be frightened. Their actions at any given moment are likely to be the simplest and fastest response they can come up with to resolve the current moment¡¯s crisis. The way they decide to address the next crisis won¡¯t necessarily be consistent with that or with any ¡­ doctrine, any policy that makes sense to us,¡± she finished awkwardly, with a silent curse for the four hours she¡¯d spent lying awake in bed last night.

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    ¡°Whatever they do,¡± Hamp observed, ¡°they¡¯ll be doing it in the remains of the Warsaw Pact. Crossing borders like they weren¡¯t even there, probably racking up an even bigger body count in the process. Is this where Chief Graham and I bow out, General?¡± He sounded hopeful as he asked the question. Keisha supposed she shouldn¡¯t hold that against him, though she still did.

    Green hesitated before speaking. ¡°An interesting question, Colonel Hampton. The President accepts that the two of you had limited freedom of action under the circumstances. Whatever we think of the multitude of questionable decisions that led us to this point, those decisions were not made by either of you. It seems likely that, given such critical deficiencies at the policy level, the present outcome is essentially the best we could have hoped for.¡±

    Keisha very carefully did not look at the others, and assumed they returned the favor. She¡¯d had no way of knowing whether the men who debriefed her were cleared to know about Project Belvedere, so she¡¯d phrased her answers in such a way as to not bring the matter up. Nobody had yet asked whether or why any of the Marshalls knew sovereignty protocol. Hopefully it would stay that way. It was possible that General Green was in the loop, and had deliberately avoided raising the question in the first place. Letting Titus Marshall become public knowledge was bad enough.

    ¡°Warrant Officer Graham is also the only service member who is personally acquainted with any of the Marshalls.¡± His nostrils flared as he said it. There was no sane reason why that should have been the case; they should have had an inch-think dossier on each of those children long before their father set foot in Thessaloniki. It was only cowardice¡ªwith maybe a dash of laziness¡ªthat kept them from doing what Keisha had done the same day she first heard Titus Marshall¡¯s name. Can¡¯t risk alienating a vital asset!

    ¡°She, at least, will therefore be intimately involved in whatever field ops we execute to neutralize the Marshall threat.¡± Keisha nodded; she¡¯d worked out as much for herself. ¡°Major Honor¨¦ will also be attached to the project, at the Doctor¡¯s request.¡± Also no surprise¡ªthough more than a little aggravating¡ªgiven that he was one of Dr. Gus¡¯s old students. ¡°We will not be able to spare any other assets of his caliber from the ongoing crisis in Istanbul. You will remain involved in an advisory capacity if nothing else, but given the state of your health we hesitate to put you back in the field.¡±

    Hamp frowned. ¡°That¡¯s fair. Who else are you going to send in with them?¡±

    A cumbersome silence followed, broken by Ethan¡¯s vigorous ¡°Shit! I don¡¯t imagine they¡¯ve been overwhelmed by volunteers.¡±

    Green¡¯s hard stare lasted only a moment before he gave up and turned back to Hampton. ¡°Sending a large force into the geopolitical badlands of Eastern Europe would not be advisable, Colonel. Short of an actual invasion, we¡¯d do better to rely on a low profile. It says a great deal about the naivete of these children that they chose to retreat in that direction.¡±

    ¡°I know that,¡± Hamp said, nettled. ¡°But if you¡¯re talking about sending just the two of them into that hell, count me in too. I¡¯ve been there before, and going back doesn¡¯t scare me half as much as sending them in with no backup.¡± Ethan looked him over and snorted. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ve both been there before,¡± he added. ¡°And I¡¯m not talking about the ability to project physical force, or even paraphysical. That hardly matters; what¡¯s two more lions in a crowded pit?

    ¡°But I¡¯ve been there too, up and down, east and west¡ªwe¡¯ve taken on most of their big players for hire at one point or another, when we weren¡¯t trying to kill them. I have contacts all over. Tell me you don¡¯t need that.¡±

    ¡°As long as you¡¯re certain you can keep up,¡± Green told him coolly. Gakos and the attach¨¦ looked at each other. This wasn¡¯t the kind of briefing they were used to. ¡°And you understand that no cavalry is coming. Any information you desire, anything we can send over radio waves, can be provided. Goods you can touch and feel, you¡¯ll be waiting on local mail if we agree to send it. Additional manpower? That¡¯ll take an act of Congress, or God.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Hamp said. Keisha understood too. The best possible outcome, from the perspective of the Dawes administration, was for Nadia and her siblings to piss off the wrong warlord and get quietly liquidated, or absorbed by a new abusive father figure. That was also the most probable outcome. Failing that, the brass might accept taking one or more children back alive, if that could be arranged. If the Marshalls somehow gouged a place for themselves in the existing local hierarchy, that too was fine, so long as they directed all their violence somewhere east of the unpleasantly porous line formerly known as the Iron Curtain.

    Task Force Graham was going in to quietly keep tabs on the Marshall clan, to hopefully provide advance warning if they decided to act out in a way that might cause more photogenic white people to die in a place typical Americans could locate on a map. Men like General Green were just scared enough of that possibility to risk Ethan, who was an unmanageable asshole of a liability at the best of times and could be spared more easily than most. If Keisha or Hampton died, well, they would die without giving tell-all interviews on cable news. Tragic.

    ¡°Is there room for a fourth person on this excursion?¡± Dr. Gus asked.

    Green was appalled. ¡°Doctor, given your age and current condition, I really don¡¯t think that¡¯s on the table.¡± The phrasing was interesting¡ªhe really wasn¡¯t sure he had the power to stop her mentor from going if he insisted. Neither was she. Who did he report to, anyway? ¡°You could assist better by advising from a distance.¡± You¡¯re practically the Numinate¡¯s mascot and somebody will have my ass if you get mauled.

    ¡°On the contrary, I have an indispensable role to play. Keisha is an able, experienced VRIL technician and knows the children better than anyone else we can trust. Ethan can provide essential services in the areas of transport and, if need be, close air support. David has relevant logistical expertise in the region. None of them has my aptitude for clairvoyance¡ªan aptitude which has not been put to official use in some time, but which remains undiminished.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re recovering from a concussion,¡± Green said flatly.

    ¡°I have done some preliminary tests, and I believe I can still be useful. Dowsers are not a substitute for broad-spectrum ectenic surveillance, and I know you will not be allocating any other such talent to this enterprise. If you are concerned about my physical mobility, I do not believe that will be a concern¡ªunless you were planning to have them walk to Kyiv from here. Might we take a train, perhaps? I do adore trains.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say no,¡± Ethan chimed in, apparently for spite.

    ¡°I¡¯ll consult with General Cutler about your role,¡± Green said. ¡°You aren¡¯t even discharged yet. We have yet to decide how and where to insert your team; hopefully we¡¯ll have a clearer picture of the Marshalls¡¯ location or locations within the next few days. Assuming they stop moving and form at least a temporary headquarters.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Dr. Gus said with a smile. ¡°Much remains uncertain. I am accustomed to uncertainty, my career depends upon it. One thing, however, I would not care to remain uncertain: do we have Mr. Dawes¡¯s full support in this?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be here if you didn¡¯t,¡± Green said.

    ¡°Ah. That is good. I ask because the Titus Marshall Affair, as they are calling it in the papers, has come to pass as a direct consequence of an executive order by the McNeil administration.¡±

    Green¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Which one?¡±

    ¡°I believe the number was 13603.¡±

    The narrow eyes squeezed shut. ¡°Doctor, this is not the time or place for humor.¡±

    ¡°I am not joking. I have seen five or six doctrinal shifts in my lifetime, as the highest levels of military command wrestled with the question of whom they could afford to trust: was it better to have a large number of less effective paraphysical specialists, or a few of the most dangerous operatives, the better to keep an eye on them?

    ¡°13603 was the latest and most ill-advised such shift. Understandable, given the widespread terror following the collapse of the Soviet Union; who would trust an emissor then? But to simply forbid more emissors to be trained, even as the so-called White Russians accelerated their use of the technology, was to ignore an obvious strategic reality for political reasons.¡±

    ¡°That is beside the current¡ª¡°

    ¡°No, it is vitally relevant!¡± Dr. Gus said, slapping a hand on his bedside table. ¡°We say there are to be no more emissors, but emissors must be used. What possible conclusion could we come to, except to employ men like the late Mr. Marshall, and having employed them go to the most absurd lengths to keep them satisfied?

    ¡°That is why I must ask you, General: do we have the president¡¯s full support in this, or are we a mere afterthought and distraction? What does he intend for these children? Does he have any intention of rectifying the error which led to the spawning of these innocent monsters, or is he, like them, merely reacting to the crises of the present moment, fleeing from one terror into the arms of another?¡±

    ¡°You know that question is above my pay grade, Doctor, and yours as well. Ideally, that¡¯s a question for the American people to decide democratically.¡±

    ¡°And I will spare you my thoughts on that,¡± Dr. Gus replied as he settled back against his pillow. ¡°But we all have our jobs to do. I am an advisor. I have advised you. It is no fault of mine if you do not listen, but I, and all the world with me, will suffer the consequences all the same.¡±

 XXV. Anabasis (Nadia)

    The shrieking of the bus¡¯s brakes woke Nadia as they pulled into town. She was getting better at sleeping through the noise; it had been several uninterrupted hours since a minor stop for a traffic light had forced her back to consciousness. Now it took a really major squeal of outrage, usually combined with a sudden lurch, to do it. It was just her luck that Hamza was a lousy bus driver, and the bus was an ancient clunker with brake pads as old as she was.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Fatima said in monotone from across the aisle.

    Nadia peeled her cheek away from the increasingly grubby window glass. ¡°You don¡¯t know what?¡±

    ¡°Where we are. You were about to ask. You always ask when you wake up. And I never know. And I don¡¯t know now either.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She looked out the window. They were passing through the country now, all weedy green fields, clumps of forest, and the odd house. The road was one lane of bumpy unpainted asphalt, cracked in many places, and led to a place where the buildings were bigger and closer together. It looked like it could be any of a million different places, including the outlying parts of Istanbul. The sun was a few inches above the horizon, but Nadia couldn¡¯t recall whether it was supposed to be morning or night by now. ¡°Do you at least know what country this is?¡±

    ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s Romania anymore but I don¡¯t remember what country comes next. Poland or some shit. Wherever we are, it probably has a bunch of Y¡¯s in its name, and women in fancy aprons milking yaks.¡±

    Nadia felt herself smile, just a little. ¡°Yaks? Those are Asian. We should still be in Europe.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re imports, okay?¡± she retorted at once. ¡°Like Toyotas. It¡¯s a thing.¡±

    ¡°I think this is Moldova,¡± a Metic girl said from the seat in front of Nadia. ¡°That was the last border we crossed.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, twerp,¡± Fatima told her. ¡°So ¡­ Moldova. There¡¯s your answer.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Firuza,¡± Nadia said to the Metic, and craned her neck to look at the front of the bus. Hamza¡¯s face in the rear-view mirror had dark rings around the eyes. Gulya was slumped over in the seat behind him, a small Metic boy in her lap. ¡°Has anybody dared to ask him where we¡¯re going yet?¡± she added to Fatima.

    ¡°Russian turf, obviously. Dunno why. It¡¯s not like the Russians are any friendlier than the Americans¡ªwe just killed their girl in Istanbul¡ªand we¡¯re going to step on toes wherever we go.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I know.¡± She went back to looking out the window. The actual town was closer now, close enough for her to see Cyrillic signs on businesses. That was a good sign, if they used the alphabet openly. The more securely Russian a place was, the more stable and settled it would be. Fewer turf wars.

    Fatima crossed the aisle to look out the window next to her. ¡°So all we have to do here is look out for those ¡®prick¡¯ people, right?¡±

    ¡°Oprichniki,¡± Nadia corrected. ¡°And you do not look out for them. They look out for you. You don¡¯t know who or where they are, and if you ever find out you will disappear.¡±

    ¡°Child, that is one messed-up system.¡±

    Nadia shrugged. ¡°It worked well enough in Kazakhstan. They don¡¯t ask as much as you would expect. The government must pay its dues to Moscow and avoid relations with Westerners, and also keep basic order. If you do nothing stupid, your oprichnik leaves you alone. Ordinary people don¡¯t even need to worry about them most of the time.¡±

    ¡°So, what, it¡¯s like what we were doing to Thessaloniki?¡±

    ¡°More or less. What did you do in Afghanistan? How did your father rule?¡±

    ¡°Not like that. He had the familiar, so he was the boss. Mom¡¯s whole extended family were his bodyguards. None of this secret police stuff.¡±

    And your father was killed, she did not say. The gears ground as Hamza shifted, and she wondered if they would have to get yet another bus soon. This was their third since they abandoned the army trucks. Every vehicle switch meant several hours hiding somewhere out in the cold, and sometimes the dark, while Hamza hijacked a new one. They all had coats now, at least, but they couldn¡¯t keep this up forever. They¡¯d have to settle down eventually. Wouldn¡¯t they?

    ¡°I think we¡¯re running low on food again,¡± Fatima said. She seemed to be feeling chatty this whatever-time-of-day-it-was. ¡°Do any of these signs say ¡®grocery?¡¯¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The signs are in a Cyrillic alphabet, but it¡¯s not Russian.¡±

    ¡°They what? How the hell does that work?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Romanian,¡± Ruslan¡¯s voice said from somewhere towards the rear of the bus, then added in more stilted tones, as though reading aloud: ¡°¡¯In Moldova the predominant language is Romanian, written with a Cyrillic script, although for political and cultural reasons the language is more commonly referred to as Moldovan within the country¡¯s borders.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Him and that damn book,¡± Fatima growled, shaking her head. ¡°The next stop we make, I swear, it¡¯s gonna disappear.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still useful information,¡± Nadia said, as mildly as she could. Tempers weren¡¯t what they used to be after several days on the road. She didn¡¯t know how Ruslan would react if you took his only available book away, even if it was a traveler¡¯s guide somebody left on a bus seat. He needed books the way infants needed pacifiers.

    A boy suddenly stood up on his seat cushion a few seats in front of them, pointing out the window. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s that?¡±

    Everyone who was awake obediently stopped what they were doing to look; Hamza even slowed down the bus a bit so they could check out the curiosity on the sidewalk. Nadia saw something roughly the shape and size of a human, but covered in a thick clear material, like glass. You couldn¡¯t see what it was very clearly; there were streaks of pale green and milky white in the covering, which wasn¡¯t at all even. It was lumpy and full of bubbles, and looked melted towards the bottom where it touched the pavement.

    Nadia was just working out that the indistinct human figure inside was not a clever waxwork replica, and had his mouth open in a scream, when Hamza figured it out for himself and slammed on the accelerator again. Too late. The Metics were already whispering in frightened tones; as Hamza turned the next corner, several began to cry. Gulya made a few vague noises of reassurance before giving up and cuddling the boy in her lap a little tighter.

    ¡°I thought you said your pricky-nickies weren¡¯t a big deal for normal people?¡± Fatima challenged her in a low voice.

    ¡°They weren¡¯t in Guryev four years ago,¡± Nadia said. ¡°And I don¡¯t know what that person did. He might not have been an ordinary citizen.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, or he might have been a random pedestrian they put up as an example,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Damn, girl, you¡¯re making me miss Afghanistan, where all this was simple. We only killed people who hoarded their opium, things like that.¡±

    But they didn¡¯t see any more people covered in glass, and the rest of the town was the ordinary post-Soviet arrangement of moderately crummy apartment blocks. Eventually the criers settled down into sniffling and complaining, then gave up altogether when Hamza pulled up to a hotel. A few Metics even cheered. Nadia understood how they felt. Were they actually going to sleep in beds tonight? Were there baths? It was a nice-looking building, three stories of tan brick with a red roof, pretty arched windows, and a big grassy park behind it.

    Hamza sent Gulya in to make arrangements, while he flopped down across the steering wheel. Gulya could buy up half the hotel, if it was free; Rhadamanthus had sliced open the wall of a bank near Bucharest a couple of nights back. They would only need to worry when business owners stopped accepting euros.

    Gulya took an age to come back, and when she did there was a lot of bother over sorting how many kids went in each room¡ªshe¡¯d checked out eight. The Metic girls predictably accepted the idea of sharing beds more easily than the boys, who whined that it wasn¡¯t fair for Nadia and Fatima to only have to share a room. Several were hungry, but tired of the lunch meats and prepackaged snacks they¡¯d been living off.

    Hamza had to snarl a bit to shut them up, and a little gang of boys threatened to run away in the night. They got stuck rooming with Yuri for their pains, though Nadia doubted her brother would be a good influence on them, or go to much effort to keep them out of trouble. Mostly Hamza was still punishing Yuri for getting them in this situation in the first place. As if Hamza could have ¡°only¡± murdered dozens of men in one night without getting the local authorities mad at him ¡­ but it was no good pointing that out. Even Yuri had the sense to keep his mouth closed. He¡¯d take out his frustration on his roommates later.

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    It all went away from the blessed moment Nadia and Fatima closed the door behind them. The rooms, like the hotel itself, were gorgeously furnished in a mixed Russo-Turkish style, far too nice for a bunch of vagrants like them. Fatima had already called dibs on the shower, but Nadia was content to lie on the bed for a bit with all her limbs stretched out as far as they could go. It looked a touch darker outside the window, so she supposed it was evening. Good. She still felt tired. She¡¯d dozed off by the time Fatima came out of the steaming bathroom to complain about having to put the same dirty clothes on again.

    ¡°We¡¯ll probably go shopping tomorrow,¡± Nadia told her. ¡°You can sleep in your underwear if you want, I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so I¡¯m only wearing dirty underwear, that¡¯s a lot better.¡± She thumped down on her bed, still wrapped in a towel, and started flipping through the TV. ¡°Ugh. It¡¯s all in not-Romanian? For real?¡±

    ¡°How can you even tell, changing channels that fast? I think I caught a bit of Russian on¡ª¡±

    ¡°So what? I don¡¯t speak that either. Don¡¯t they have even one English channel with foreign shows? They did in Thessaloniki. I¡¯d take a stupid BBC drama with guys in funny hats right now.¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t show that kind of thing here. It would look treacherous, admiring Western art.¡±

    ¡°And then they¡¯d get a visit from the pricky-nicky,¡± Fatima concluded with disgust. She brandished the remote like a whip, and the TV screen went black. After sitting there for a moment she got dressed in the bathroom, then came out and started trying to work out the direction to Mecca so she could do her evening prayers. Nadia was grateful when she went out to pester Ruslan about it; it meant she could say her own prayers in peace. Then hop in the shower!

    Fatima was right; putting the same grubby clothes back on was a nuisance. And she didn¡¯t care for lying in bed with the lights on while Fatima went over the whole room looking for details to be audibly dissatisfied with because she was bored and wound up. But just to lie on clean sheets instead of an inadequately reclined bus seat was wonderful.

    They hadn¡¯t¡ªas far as she knew¡ªcommitted any crimes in this country. They were paying for their rooms, and nobody here knew who they were. There was no need to stand shivering in the night wondering what Hamza was doing and when he would come back, and if the local police would be chasing him. For the first time in days, they could all relax.  Eventually, around 2045, Fatima settled down and turned the lights out. They fell asleep to the sweet sound of Hamza screaming at the Metics for chasing each other down the halls with pillows. Everybody relaxed a different way ¡­

    Bells were ringing when she woke, the sun high in the sky. She thought about asking if she could go to church for the first time in years, but decided she didn¡¯t dare just yet. It was still pleasant to order a typical local breakfast on the phone, and watch Fatima poke suspiciously at the fried cornmeal wedges full of melting sheep cheese.

    They were shortly hauled out of their room to shepherd the well-rested and hyperactive Metics, but Nadia hardly minded. It was not as if they had anything better to do. Now that her stomach was full and they were out of immediate danger, the prospect of a self-directed, Titus-free life appeared ahead of her, and that long-wanted but unexpected happiness made everything it touched beautiful. She could pretend they were some kind of school group on a trip. It felt so normal!

    Normality ended around 1030, when all the Metics were finally done eating and bathing, and they were all crammed together in the lobby discussing where to go and what to buy first. The woman at the counter was giving them funny looks, but did not seem afraid exactly, which was an improvement. They still had a fortune in euros and even Hamza seemed disposed to spend a little of it to help the family find their bearings. Nadia could almost see them settling down in¡ªshe glanced at the sun-faded brochures on the counter¡ªTighina, Moldova.

    Then a car pulled up outside, disgorging a big man in a suit who marched imperiously into the lobby. A cold wind flapped his long dark grey overcoat around him as he opened the glass door. He looked around for a minute, sizing up their group, before finally turning to Gulya and saying, ¡°Doamn?, sunte?i responsabil de ace?ti copii?¡±

    ¡°I am sorry, but I do not speak Ro¡ªMoldovan,¡± she answered in Russian.

    ¡°You are in charge of these children?¡± he said at once in the same language.

    ¡°No, that would be me,¡± Hamza said. His Russian was still stiff and halting. At least he could pass for an adult, if barely. ¡°Who are you, sir?¡±

    The big man pulled out an ID. ¡°Anatolie Rosca, Security Service. You are foreign,¡± he noted, with the air of a detective finding a vital clue. ¡°What is your business in Tighina, and how long will you be staying? Where did you come from, and why?¡±

    Hamza hesitated. They were a remarkable mishmash of nationalities, but most of them were obviously not from anywhere nearby. They might perhaps pass as a lot of Gypsies, with some half-breeds, but that would not win them favor from this man. Failing to satisfy his curiosity would sooner or later bring them to the attention of the local oprichnik and his familiar, who could pop up at any time and encase their whole bus in glass, just like the man on the street.

    ¡°We are refugees,¡± Hamza declared at last. ¡°There is unrest in Istanbul, and we just escaped across the Black Sea. Several of us have died or were lost on the way. We are looking for a place to stay. It does not have to be here. We can move on if we are not welcome.¡± It was probably the best lie he could have come up with on short notice. But it still wasn¡¯t great.

    ¡°You crossed the Black Sea. And now you have a bus.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± was all Hamza replied, as he could hardly improve the tale by adding to it.

    ¡°A Romanian tour bus, which somehow got over the border without coming to our attention!¡±

    ¡°We may have done something ... irregular to get across the border,¡± Hamza confessed.

    ¡°But why? Is there not room in all of Romania for, oh, thirty orphaned children? And why did these Turkish children hazard crossing the Black Sea, when a shorter trip might have found them homes in Turkey?¡±

    ¡°Turkey has enough orphans already,¡± Gulya put in. ¡°Surely you are not afraid of children, sir?¡±

    ¡°I would be a fool not to be afraid,¡± he retorted. ¡°And neither of you has a Turkish accent. I do not speak Turkish, but I could find a man who does. Shall we see how many of these brats speak even a word of the language, or can we abandon this farce? Where are you actually from?¡± Ruslan stepped forward and started babbling something in Uzbek, apparently hoping it sounded close enough to Turkish. The man said over him: ¡°Have any of you been to Greece, perhaps? Thessaloniki?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Hamza admitted.

    ¡°You would have done better to say that before,¡± Rosca told them. If he was at all nervous in their presence, he did a marvelous job of hiding it. He would almost certainly not be the oprichnik himself, but he would have the emissor¡¯s number on his phone.

    ¡°You¡¯d do better not to turn us away,¡± Hamza answered. ¡°I did say we are refugees. That is true. We have no home left, but we will move on if we must.¡±

    ¡°That will not do,¡± Rosca said. ¡°Do you have any means of supporting these children? I do not think that bus was legitimately purchased, nor that you fled Istanbul with enough euros to acquire eight hotel rooms. This is a problem.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Yes, it is. How do you want to solve it?¡± Hamza said.

    ¡°The Republic of Moldova is not unsympathetic to the plight of refugee children, Turkish or otherwise. We are less sympathetic to wandering bands of thieves and robbers, or even beggars. But I believe some of you at least have valuable skills you might use to support your family. Do you not?¡±

    ¡°We might,¡± Hamza said, his hands balled at his sides.

    Rosca smiled. ¡°Then there may be a place for you in Moldova after all. Come with me, sir, and we will discuss this further.¡±

    Hamza did not smile back.

 XXVI. Freelance (Nadia)

    Their hotel had a full restaurant attached to it¡ªor maybe it was a restaurant that happened to offer rooms. Either way, they had somewhere to hang out together while Mr. Anatolie Rosca of the Moldovan Security Service took Hamza away to a borrowed bedroom for a discussion. A very long discussion, as it turned out, while several more car-loads of men in dark coats pulled up to the hotel to keep an eye on the Family.

    The children had already eaten, and soon grew restless and rowdy. After an hour and a half they were shoving each other and climbing over the backs of the booths, no matter what their minders said, and one of the men in coats got tired enough of the noise to call his boss. After ten minutes he hung up and announced that Gulya and the Metics could go out for a drive in their bus¡ªwith a small escort, of course¡ªto see Tighina¡¯s tourist attractions, and perhaps do some shopping. The children were sufficiently wound up that this sounded exciting, and Nadia and her siblings were left in peaceful boredom.

    Yuri could be charming, when he wanted to, and after a lengthy effort managed to start a conversation with the dour security men. Ruslan latched onto Fatima the way he always did, given the choice, and soon they had another of their endless arguments going, this time about the hotel¡¯s decorations. Nadia didn¡¯t understand why they enjoyed bickering so much, but it seemed to suit them.

    All of which left her alone, free to stare out the window and brood. The park behind the hotel, dimly glimpsed the night before, turned out to be the former courtyard of an old Ottoman fortress which had formerly served as a base for the town¡¯s garrison. It was shorter and much less impressive than ¡°base,¡± judging by the view from across the parkland, but the sight still cheered the others. To Nadia, it felt like a bad omen, having escaped one dungeon only to land by chance right next to another. There was a little church off to one side of the grassy lawn between them, and a little river beyond a short wall on the other. War and jail, God present but beyond her reach, and the possibility of an anonymous grave. The story of her life.

    Nadia bit her lip. No. Not anymore. It didn¡¯t have to be that way. She turned from the window to look at Ruslan and Fatima again. His hand inched along the table between them until it was holding hers; presently Fatima, who hadn¡¯t even noticed, wrenched her hand free again so she could support her argument with a gesture. There was love, even if it couldn¡¯t decide yet what kind it wanted to be. Behind them, Yuri was looking at pictures of the men¡¯s children on their state-issued phones. You could see now the same sweet, affectionate boy he had been once¡ªbefore Shum-Shum, before Yunks, before all the alcohol and drugs and violence. There was no reason he could not be that way again.

    This was her family. Not Titus¡¯s Family¡ªthat was a lie¡ªbut a real one, put together by chance from the remains of scattered tragedies hundreds of kilometers apart. They were not the Marshalls anymore, but that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t be something better. Nobody was forcing them to stay together anymore, but they were together anyway, by choice. That meant something.

    And if some official card-carrying hoodlum thought he could sweep in and confiscate their new life together like it was some kind of contraband, thought he could use them like Papa Titus had, at the very moment of their escape¡ªthen this Mr. Rosca had a lesson coming, didn¡¯t he?

    Hamza and Rosca rejoined them several hours later. Hamza looked worn out and angry, but refused to say anything; he stood by the window with his arms crossed, glaring at the road, while Rosca wandered off to make more phone calls. As soon as Gulya got back with her busload of wired children and sullen drab-suited chaperones, Hamza called an emergency family conference in the park.

    ¡°Jesus, it¡¯s cold out here, man,¡± Yuri griped as soon as they stepped out the door. The temperature was near freezing, and the wind gnawed at their faces. ¡°Couldn¡¯t we have done this indoors?¡±

    ¡°Could be bugged,¡± Hamza said, holding the door open for Gulya.

    ¡°Already? There¡¯s no way in hell they bugged every room in every hotel we could have chosen to sleep in¡ª¡°

    ¡°Not for us, dumbass,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Security types love to bug hotel rooms in general. If you want to fish for information or blackmail material off random foreigners, there aren¡¯t many better places to hide a transmitter. How did you not know that?¡±

    ¡°Call a familiar, then¡ª¡°

    ¡°No,¡± Hamza said. ¡°I need us thinking clearly. Shut up.¡±

    They huddled together at a random spot in the park, far away from anything that could plausibly have had a receiver in it. Nobody else was visiting at present. ¡°So what¡¯s the deal?¡± Ruslan asked, as soon as their little circle had closed. The mist off their collective breath gathered in a communal cloud between them.

    ¡°It could be worse,¡± Hamza said. ¡°They¡¯re offering a lot. We five stay together, at least for the first year, and the Metics get a free ride at a top-flight boarding school in St. Petersburg. Regular field trips to the Hermitage and the ballet, and they¡¯ve got professional chefs cooking the meals. It¡¯s where ministry officials send their kids. Gulya can go with them, help them get settled.¡±

    ¡°But we wouldn¡¯t be posted near St. Petersburg,¡± Nadia put in.

    ¡°No. Why would we?¡±

    ¡°So they¡¯d have hostages,¡± Fatima assessed. ¡°Fine. Gets ¡®em out of our hair. And we¡¯d all be pricky-nickies together?¡±

    ¡°Oprichniki,¡± Hamza gritted out. ¡°That isn¡¯t funny. You need to be taking this seriously.¡±

    Fatima rolled her eyes. ¡°Enforcers, then. Goons. Toughs. People who disappear troublemakers.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think oprichniki actually get violent very often,¡± Ruslan piped up. ¡°Mostly they¡¯re security for their tax-farming arrangement. Governments have been doing that for thousands of years. The ancient Romans¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh my god, Rus, I think we have all had way more than enough of the ancient fucking Romans already, thank you so much,¡± Fatima said. Hamza scowled but didn¡¯t object.

    ¡°But it¡¯s true,¡± Yuri said. ¡°Once you¡¯re settled in your turf, you can do what you want, can¡¯t you? As long as it doesn¡¯t make trouble for Moscow, you¡¯re set for life.¡± He was smiling, and didn¡¯t seem to notice his own teeth chattering as he spoke.

    Gulya cleared her throat. ¡°In Azerbaijan,¡± she said, ¡°after the Whites took power in Russia, the first thing they did was send messages to the vory, the bratva. Professional thieves and gangsters, who already had contacts in the area. White emissors came in and killed the Soviet leadership, so the hooligans could hold ¡®free and fair¡¯ elections. The army and police fell in line at once. That is what they are offering you.¡± She did not raise her voice, but her opinion was plain.

    ¡°Is it the same everywhere, though?¡± Fatima asked. ¡°Dad worked for the U.S., and he got popular wasting the local scum. All the bacha bazi perverts got Omar Alvarez¡¯s personal brand of justice. People ate it up. We could have sold tickets.¡±

    ¡°That was America, though,¡± Ruslan told her. ¡°Not Russia.¡±

    ¡°Like that matters? Power¡¯s power, everywhere you go. I bet it was the same in Uzbekistan.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even remember Uzbekistan, Fatima. My family moved from camp to camp, until my uncle died, then we split up. I don¡¯t even know what country we were in when Papa Titus killed Dzhoraev and I got Kizil Khan. I was just a cook. When we stopped for the evening, I made the tea and the rice. I didn¡¯t care about anything else.¡±

    ¡°Whatever. Then how did Dzhoraev do it, before he got wasted? Yuri, Nadia, what went down in Kazakhstan? I bet it was different everywhere. That¡¯s my point. We can be whatever we want to be.¡±

    ¡°If we take this man up on his offer,¡± Nadia stressed.

    ¡°What¡¯s the alternative?¡± Yuri said. ¡°You want to run back to the Americans instead? Does it even matter whose wet work we¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to do anybody¡¯s ¡®wet work,¡¯ whoever they are!¡± She looked at Hamza, who said nothing. Whatever his own opinion was, he seemed content to let the Family work it out amongst themselves. ¡°What if we refuse? What if we tell them we do not want to work for anybody, but will mind our own business living how we please?¡±

    ¡°As five private citizens with familiars,¡± Fatima laughed. ¡°Are we gonna have neighbors with personal battalions of tanks in their backyards? Ain¡¯t nobody going to put up with that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to work,¡± Ruslan seconded. ¡°If we don¡¯t work for the Russians, or the Americans, we¡¯ll have to basically kill anybody they send to force us until they give up, and become our own little country. Our own oprichniki. I don¡¯t think we can do it.¡±

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t want to be a warlord? Or a kept murderer for the state? Gulya, help me, please. This is not good sense.¡±

    Gulya shook her head. ¡°I do not like this either, Nadia, but we are in the custody of Moldovan security. We will not get the Metics away from them without several getting killed, and probably one or more of you as well. Then we will have both world powers hunting after us.¡±

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°So you want to¡ª¡°

    ¡°I never wanted to deal with an oprichnik. I fled my home after they killed my husband. But when I saw there were children who needed care, I was content to work for one. You are old enough to learn, Nadia, that the world does not always give you exactly what you want.¡±

    ¡°Murder is what governments do, isn¡¯t it?¡± Ruslan said, in his most aggravating philosophical manner. ¡°Only it¡¯s not murder when they do it. They decide when it is or isn¡¯t okay to kill.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯d sure as hell rather be the one deciding, in that case,¡± Fatima put in. Yuri put up a hand and got a halfhearted high-five from her. ¡°Do you really want to be powerless, Nadia?¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± she said. ¡°But this ¡­ I remember our parents, my mother crying in the kitchen, talking quietly when they thought we could not hear about how everything was changing. I don¡¯t want to be the one who brings fear into someone else¡¯s home.¡±

    ¡°Too late for that,¡± Hamza said.

    ¡°Waaaaay too late,¡± Yuri agreed. ¡°You could kill everyone for three blocks around on two seconds¡¯ notice. Governments are going to want to use that, so unless you¡¯ve got some magic way to tear ¨¦zarine out of your head and hand her over ¡­ ¡° He spread his hands.

    ¡°There¡¯s one other problem,¡± Hamza said, once it was clear Nadia wasn¡¯t going to object any longer. ¡°All their oprichniki have established stakes already. The boundaries aren¡¯t hard and fixed, they overlap at the edges, but every emissor¡¯s got his own base of power. They don¡¯t need our help in areas they¡¯ve already settled.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± Ruslan moaned.

    Yuri gave a low whistle, and laughed. ¡°Other shoe just dropped like an anvil.¡±

    Fatima fished a cigarette out of her coat, not minding Nadia and Gulya¡¯s dirty looks. ¡°So, are they going to start us off gentle, stealing some place in Africa nobody gives a damn about, or are they asking us to bite off a piece of the EU for them?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t say. But they just lost Istanbul, and it¡¯s mostly our fault,¡± Hamza reminded her.

    ¡°Huh.¡± Fatima spewed out a cloud of rancid smoke into the air between them. ¡°Next question: is this revenge on us, or on the Coalition, or just a handy way to do something ballsy with people they don¡¯t mind losing?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Yuri quipped.

    Ruslan had been building up steam all the while; now it burst out. ¡°They want us to go against NATO? And all the familiars they threw at Fatih? Are they crazy?¡±

    ¡°They weren¡¯t the ones who took Fatih, though, were they?¡± Yuri pointed out. ¡°We were.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s five of us,¡± Hamza reminded him. ¡°That¡¯s more concentration of force than they¡¯re likely to have anywhere they send us. Even if they throw us right into Germany or somewhere, which I don¡¯t think they would¡ª¡°

    Fatima tugged at Nadia¡¯s sleeve. ¡°What is it?¡± Nadia said, keeping her voice low.

    ¡°It¡¯s time we had a private sisterly talk,¡± Fatima said out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°Just the two of us. C¡¯mon.¡±

    None of the boys turned to watch Fatima drag her off twenty feet; Gulya followed them with her eyes, but stayed where she was. ¡°What do you want?¡± Nadia snapped, as soon as they were out of earshot. The wind blew around them unbroken outside of the family circle, and Fatima¡¯s cigarette was foul.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s about time we talked about your friend¡¯s role in this? The one who taught you your ¡®little trick¡¯ to beat familiars?¡±

    ¡°Who do you ¡­ oh. Beelzebub.¡± There didn¡¯t seem to be any point in trying to keep him secret from Fatima any longer. ¡°I have not had contact with him since the night Titus died. He has nothing to do with this Russia business.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t? So ¡­ he¡¯s American? Or NATO, at least?¡±

    ¡°I assume so,¡± Nadia said. ¡°He knew about Wolf¡¯s Teeth and did nothing to stop it. He¡¯s probably the reason we had help in Galata. But then Titus caught me talking with him, and he left me to get killed. So to hell with him,¡± she concluded.

    ¡°Titus caught you talking with him? How¡¯d your boy get in the castle, and how¡¯d he get away if he was caught?¡±

    ¡°It was a VRIL construct. A little disposable talking insect.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Fatima sucked her cigarette one more time, then ground it underfoot. ¡°You sure he¡¯s even a he, then?¡±

    ¡°The bug¡¯s voice was always male. Are you thinking of Yuri¡¯s ¡®insane black woman?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Might have just been a friend of his, though. Either way, VRIL is more of an American thing. Most of Russia¡¯s got purged in the Whiteout. And I don¡¯t think that chick was a Russian mole.¡± She shook her head. ¡°This crap doesn¡¯t matter. Any chance you can call in a favor with this guy and get us American help before we crawl any further up the ex-Soviet rectum?¡±

    ¡°I thought you were in favor of accepting their offer.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more like I consider all my options. And I wouldn¡¯t call it an ¡®offer.¡¯ This is a lousy position for negotiations, know what I¡¯m saying?¡± She pulled another cigarette out of her jacket, looked at it, sighed, and stuffed it back down again. ¡°I gotta lay off these things.¡± They both spared a glance for Gulya and the boys, who were still busy trying to talk Ruslan down from a panic. ¡°So. Any chance at all you can get back in touch with your Be¡ªBe¡ª¡°

    ¡°Beelzebub,¡± Nadia supplied. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know how to start. He¡¯s still hundreds of kilometers away, as far as I know.¡±

    ¡°I was afraid of that. I¡¯m not really an American, but they treated us okay¡ªthey never screwed Dad over, you know, and they kept their end with the Family too, and it sounds like your boy treated you square even if he didn¡¯t bail you out at the end. Then there¡¯s the part where we just humiliated these guys big-time in Fatih ¡­¡±

    Nadia let her ramble. The grass was short and brittle underfoot, the sky grey. All the world seemed old, stale, and dead, not with the changing season but forever and unfixably gone. The stink of Fatima¡¯s cigarette¡ªshe wasn¡¯t even fifteen yet, and already smoking!¡ªstill defiled the air. And now they were arguing over which group of men should send them, children all alike, to fight and die while the leaders cowered at home. Was there really no hope for humanity?

    Even as she thought it, something stirred in the grass a few feet away: a new growth, a bit of pale green poking out of the dreary ground. At once everything else was forgotten, and all of Nadia¡¯s attention focused on the little sprout. Fatima, too, shut her mouth to watch. The new life was vigorous. In seconds it was a foot tall, then two, three, five, ten, rising and swelling up to form a bud, a bud of clean and silky white petals bulging out, spreading a pure and sweet fragrance into the air as they parted in a spectacle of pristine beauty: a woman all in white, her blouse form-fitting yet modest, her hood cast low over her perfect ice-pale face, the sleeves of her gown billowing out around her dainty hands.

    Instinctively Nadia fell to her knees, bowing her head before the queen of spring. Fatima wouldn¡¯t kneel, but she did at least incline her head. Gulya and the boys fell silent, and the lovely vision swayed on the long green pillar that formed her lower part to lay a hand of blessing on Nadia¡¯s head. Her touch was neither warm nor cool, but pleasant, and promised healing; Nadia didn¡¯t notice the cold air anymore. Here at last was the hope of rejuvenation, the beauty that would save the world.

    And there were her companions and helpers, grown men and little children together making a pilgrimage from the hotel to pay her homage. They walked in an orderly line, single file, humble and reverent. The lady received them with the same grace as before, turning and sweeping her arms in their bulging sleeves to place them under her protection. As she did, the air around them came to life, sparkling with a fresh green light that hardened into a translucent barrier, an unbreakable promise that the world¡¯s corruption could not touch them while she was near. And if it tried ¡­ Nadia¡¯s mind went back to the frozen figure they had seen out of the bus windows.

    The man at the head of the line came to a halt a respectful distance from the lady, and like Nadia fell to his knees. It was Rosca, the security man¡ªbut his face was happier now, less burdened with anger and anxiety. He looked up at their savior and smiled, closing his eyes like a cat getting her head scratched. All the others followed suit, until there was an unbroken ring of kneeling figures, Marshalls, Metics, and Moldovans alike. Nobody fidgeted, or muttered, or coughed.

    At last Rosca opened his eyes, and gave their family a warm, genuine smile. ¡°This is Snowdrop,¡± he told them. ¡°Queen and Protector of Moldova. She has many responsibilities in our country, but has agreed to leave them to others for a time, so that she may come with you, and teach you your new duties in the service of mankind.¡±

 XXVII. Psychopomp (Keisha)

    The trail was cold. It had been cold by the time of their briefing on the 23<sup>rd</sup>, a week after the disaster. Then they had to get Dr. Gus out of the hospital, make travel arrangements, and actually get out of Thessaloniki after its airport had been totalled, just as hordes of international bigwigs and aid society volunteers were pouring in and anxious locals and tourists were charging for the exits. In the end, they¡¯d needed General Green to finagle them an Osprey ride from a carrier in the Aegean.

    Now it was Saturday the 26<sup>th</sup>, the trail was positively iced over, and they were stuck in Budapest, waiting on word from six different guys Hamp knew from back in the day. At a moment¡¯s notice from any contact they could bolt for the airport, and get practically anywhere on the EU¡¯s eastern border within two hours. They weren¡¯t holding their breath for a quick answer. In the meantime, Hamp had other questions on his mind.

    ¡°Look,¡± he said, ¡°it¡¯s not that I mind helping you out here. I don¡¯t. I¡¯m always ready to serve. But as long as we¡¯ve got some downtime, I¡¯d appreciate it if you brought me up to speed before we go any further.¡±

    ¡°Up to speed how, exactly?¡± Dr. Gus inquired. ¡°I do not believe we have withheld any vital intelligence from you. We have all received the same briefings, have we not?¡±

    They had a comfortable private hotel suite with a kitchen. It was just the four of them and a lot of mostly-empty takeout containers scattered across the table. No angelflies, since they were waiting on phone calls, but they were pretty damn sure nobody had bugged the room.

    The Colonel still lowered his voice to say, ¡°Defensively, I mean. You two are field operatives, and I assume the good doctor there knew all the tricks before you were born. I¡¯m just the guy who makes the phone calls, but given recent events, would it kill you to teach me how to keep the damn freaks out of my head? We¡¯re still not sure that goddamn Yunks is even accounted for.¡±

    Dr. Gus kept his poker face. Keisha was pretty sure she did likewise. Ethan leaned forward and said, ¡°The hell you talking about?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s asking to be taught Sovereignty Protocol,¡± Keisha clarified. She should have known this was coming. ¡°It¡¯s not an unreasonable thing to want.¡±

    ¡°Say what?¡± Ethan looked bewildered. ¡°How in the hell is he going to do SP? How¡¯s he even know SP is a thing, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Because I used it to defend myself against Marshall¡¯s familiar in our first encounter,¡± she said, subconsciously willing him not to blurt out the wrong thing. ¡°He hadn¡¯t had the training, so he couldn¡¯t.¡±

    Ethan opened his mouth, ready to say something derisive. His dark eyes darted around the table, taking in the three faces arrayed against him. Miraculously, he said only, ¡°Oh. So, uh, Keisha, why don¡¯t you explain to the man why he¡¯s not eligible for sovereignty training?¡± He might not totally understand what was going on yet, but the bastard was enjoying this.

    Dr. Gus answered for her. ¡°Unfortunately, Colonel Hampton, Sovereignty Protocol is itself dependent on a lengthy and complex series of other aptitudes, in which we have neither the time nor the ability to instruct you.¡±

    Hamp sighed. ¡°And I don¡¯t suppose you can give me the quick version.¡±

    The Doctor shook his head. ¡°There is no quick version. Only trained paraphysical operatives can execute it properly. To teach you without that foundation would be worse than useless, it would be hazardous.¡± None of this was technically lying, Keisha supposed¡ªthough you¡¯d have to interpret the words a very specific way.

    ¡°Hell, then, teach me the foundations,¡± Hamp said. ¡°I¡¯m ready to listen. You¡¯re a teacher, aren¡¯t you? Trained half the PPOs in the Numenate, from what Keisha tells me. I don¡¯t care if I don¡¯t learn enough to take on the world tomorrow; anything¡¯s got to be better than being the one man in the fight who hasn¡¯t even got a gun. I¡¯ll take a dinky little holdout pistol if it¡¯s all you can offer me.¡±

    ¡°Every man¡¯s got the right to bear arms,¡± Ethan drawled, a shit-eating grin on his face. He¡¯d put it together already, of course. For all his faults, he wasn¡¯t stupid. Now he was going to have fun watching them try to squirm their way out of this.

    ¡°It is not as simple as you think, Colonel,¡± Dr. Gus temporized.

    ¡°There¡¯s not a blessed thing you can teach me, for the next time? Really? Not even the most basic crap we give kids straight out of boot camp? I¡¯ve met some damn stupid PPOs in my time, and we teach them!¡±

    Keisha thought she spotted their chance. ¡°If it were that easy, Hamp, we¡¯d train the whole population in SP, and emissors would be useless. We could firebreak them out just by putting areas on alert. But we don¡¯t. What does that tell you?¡±

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s fair,¡± he grumbled. ¡°I just wish they hadn¡¯t taught me that useless mindfulness meditation shit instead; it hardly even slowed Yunks down.¡± He looked at Dr. Gus again. ¡°I take it you¡¯re being so vague because a lot of this is classified?¡±

    ¡°You could say that,¡± Ethan answered, still smiling. ¡°The relevant information has to be compartmentalized for national security purposes. What a shame, and in a supposedly free society.¡± He looked at Keisha as he said it. Thankfully he was obnoxious enough normally for this to seem like more of the same.

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡± The Colonel¡¯d had a couple of sessions of physical therapy since last week¡¯s nightmare, but he still moved like a man several decades older. His hands trembled on the table. Possibly they always would. She hoped not. ¡°If that¡¯s a no-go, is there any way one of you could cover me, when and if a halo goes up?¡±

    ¡°I could put up my own halo,¡± Ethan offered. ¡°Song¡¯s always glad to have a little more help.¡±

    Hamp didn¡¯t even look Ethan¡¯s way. ¡°Doctor?¡± he said. ¡°Is there any promise you can give me, that I won¡¯t be left out in the cold alone next time?¡±

    ¡°You would hardly be alone, Colonel. I have told you, Yunks was an aberration, a freak. Her predatory effect is not at all typical of¡ª¡°

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that,¡± Hamp said, a little louder than necessary. ¡°Look, I¡¯ve been patient. Haven¡¯t I been patient? I let Chief Graham there do my old job for weeks, and I was fine, because I knew it needed doing. Enough is enough. Why won¡¯t you tell me how I can keep from being anybody else¡¯s puppet?¡±

    ¡°Was Yunks¡¯s halo the first you¡¯d ever personally experienced?¡± Keisha said.

    ¡°No, there¡¯s been a couple over the years. Usually they trotted it out to show off, to try and spook me. I hated it every time. But why the hell should I have to put up with some bastard hijacking my brain, huh? Why should anybody ever have to submit to something like that? Is it wrong for me to expect some goddamn privacy in my own goddamn head, all of a sudden? You¡¯re the experts, you tell me!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just the new face of war, mon fr¨¨re,¡± Ethan told him. ¡°A man shouldn¡¯t have to pick up a gun and fight just to live free, neither, but the time comes when he does. Your mistake was thinking you could depend on the state to preserve the illusion of your safety¡ª¡°

    ¡°Ethan, shut up,¡± Keisha snapped. ¡°You¡¯re not helping. Hamp, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s necessarily a helpful way of thinking about it. Do you know what a familiar is, and how it¡¯s made?¡±

    ¡°Does anybody really know what the blasted things are?¡± he growled. ¡°I know people like him brew them up out of their heads somehow. They¡¯re fantasies made real. Whatever you want, you can force it on the world.¡±

    ¡°That is a layman¡¯s understanding,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°Not entirely incorrect, but incomplete and misleading. A familiar or emissant is, in essence, an expression of what an early theorist termed der Wille zur Macht. That is to say, there exists a portion of your mind which is aware of the world as a series of sensations, captured like snapshots, moment to moment, and stitched together into a model it thinks of as reality. Do you follow me?¡±

    Hamp gave him a wary nod.

    ¡°Then there is another part, which knows better, and is aware¡ªthough it does not dare express it¡ªthat the model of the first part is a mere artifice, and that the world as such is no more than a disjointed sequence of phenomena passing across our minds, apparently devoid of intrinsic meaning or any hope of permanence. And into this terrifying gap steps der Wille, to bridge it and make us whole by constructing a framework, a cage to hold reality captive by making it into truth. Truth is not reality, nor reality truth. Truth is but the story we tell, to assign the appearance of context to our fragmented perceptions.¡±

    Hamp took another, very small serving of paprikash from the foil trays on the table. The spaetzle were already gone. ¡°Sorry, now you¡¯ve lost me.¡±

    Doc could be very obtuse when he was in lecture mode. Keisha stepped in: ¡°All the stuff that happens to us, happens for a lot of reasons, and a lot of them are random or unknown. We simplify things a lot, just out of habit, to make the truth understandable. That¡¯s not exactly what he¡¯s trying to say, but it¡¯s close.¡±

    ¡°Close enough, I suppose,¡± Dr. Gus allowed. ¡°I mean to say that we have known for some time that perception¡ªas opposed to mere sensation¡ªis a deliberate editorial act by the brain. The raw input which crosses our awareness is pruned and curated into what seems immediately relevant, then pruned again to form narratives, then bundles of narratives. Small events are grouped together into larger stories, bestowing our lives with dramatic arcs and at least the appearance of direction and purpose.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re telling me an emissor is a package deal of the biggest and most overblown stories? I already figured that out.¡±

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    ¡°But you erred in your reasoning. Let us approach the question differently, then. While I have served the Numenate, and its various ancestors, in many different capacities, the bulk of my career has been spent as what is called a ¡®psychopomp.¡¯ A psychopomp is effectively a midwife to emissants; he supervises the process, counseling the prospective emissor through the long, complex, and aggravatingly failure-prone protocols used to distill human desires at their most fundamental level into a weapon of war.

    ¡°The actual process is kept highly secret, for obvious reasons, but no emissor program I am aware of, by any country, has more than a five percent success rate. So-called primevals such as Myriad or Shum-Shum excepted; by abusively employing certain schizophrenics or autistics the rate may be boosted as high as ten or fifteen, although a much higher percentage of the failures will be drastic, and require the agent to be euthanized to prevent his uncontrollable botched familiar from running rampant. Current American protocols¡ª¡°

    ¡°Current?¡± Hamp¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯ve been banned from making them for half a decade now, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Pardon me. The most recent protocols, then, have a terminal botch rate of less than one percent. Our failures are¡ªwere¡ªtypically more mundane; the agent never produces anything militarily useful, either because the familiar is incoherent and half-formed or because they cannot summon anything at all. A number are too traumatized by the process to continue.

    ¡°Even among those who succeed, the resulting familiar is not a ¡®fantasy,¡¯ it is not what the subject most desired. The soul has a more subtle business than that. A familiar is a distillation and focusing of the narrative framework through which the individual¡¯s brain makes sense of the universe. That framework functions at the most fundamental and basic level of processing¡ªwhich is how, when summoned, the emissant is able to subvert the minds of those around it so quickly. It is tunneling under our defenses, you see?¡±

    Hamp thumped his fist on the table. ¡°I¡¯m sure this is all interesting to you, but it¡¯s not telling me a damn thing I need to know, is it? What does this have to do with my right to have my own brain work the way I want it?¡±

    Dr. Gus looked peeved. ¡°What I am trying to tell you is that you need not resent familiars as some kind of wish fulfillment, as your domination by others. They are as ¡®dominated¡¯ as you. The lust for meaning which propels the whole process is indifferent to the higher-level concerns of the mind which hosts it, because it is a child lost in the woods, hunting for a way out. It is only a bit of vanity which makes us assume that our deepest selves are consistent with the superficial froth of personality.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not buying it,¡± Hamp said. ¡°You¡¯re telling me it¡¯s a coincidence that Mr. Don¡¯t Tread On Me over there makes Tantrum Song?¡±

    ¡°Tantrum Song is the fortunate product of the most recent protocols, applied by a psychopomp with decades of experience¡ªmore than virtually any other in the industry. I was successful in cultivating a familiar more or less compatible with his ¡­ superego, to use the more popular term. But Tantrum Song is what you might call a ¡®fluke.¡¯ Even so, I believe you have the connection backwards; Ethan¡¯s political preferences have grown markedly more extreme since he acquired the familiar. As usually happens.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I figured the old man might have a point, seeing as he¡¯s me and all,¡± Ethan affirmed. Now that Dr. Gus had successfully moved the conversation away from the danger zone, he looked less interested in it. He¡¯d virtually memorized this spiel.

    Keisha didn¡¯t need to hear it again, either; she¡¯d never enjoyed thinking about this stuff. She excused herself to go to the bathroom¡ªHamp and the Doc barely noticed¡ªand hung out by the window when she came back, instead of returning to the table. Was there anything more tedious than men arguing over a technical subject?

    She pulled out her phone when it buzzed, grateful for the distraction. She was less grateful when she saw what it was: You have a new message from Ty Washburne. What time was it over there? Well after midnight. There was only one kind of message Ty would send her at an hour like this. She opened it anyway, just to be sure. And she was right.

    baby I hate to do this to you and I know we¡¯ve been here before but I don¡¯t think we can make this work I been trying honest I have but a man

    She didn¡¯t read any more. It was another story she¡¯d heard plenty of times before. Ty was almost certainly drunk. Drunk, and feeling guilty, because he was sending the message from Selena¡¯s apartment. There¡¯d be another, better composed message in about twelve hours, apologizing for the first without walking any of it back.

    The hell of it was, she couldn¡¯t blame him. She¡¯d last seen him for a few hours back in ¡­ November? Maybe early December? He had his career too, he knew how it was, but he was still a Marine, and even the Marines couldn¡¯t take over your life like the Numenate. She imagined the recruiters didn¡¯t tell you that. They led with the exciting stuff, let you find out for yourself that you would wind up as a highly decorated, well-paid thirty-two-year old who spent too little of her time at home to keep a cat, let alone a man.

    She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, and looked out the window at downtown Budapest. It looked like a lot of other cities she¡¯d seen before. Nice, polished, modern, with just enough old-world style to have character. You could see the Danube, too. It had been a long time since she¡¯d bothered to see the sights anywhere she went. The touristy junk didn¡¯t appeal anymore.

    Instead she went out for coffee, even late at night, just to be around people. She usually brought a book, but seldom read it. She¡¯d deleted all her social media accounts, or simply stopped using them. Too depressing, and she wasn¡¯t allowed to share most of what she did. So she passed her time with stupid games, tapping at a screen like a rat pressing a lever, and waited for someone to talk to her. Sometimes they did. Sometimes they got a conversation going. Half of what she told them about herself was, by necessity, lies.

    To her immense displeasure, Ethan joined her. ¡°There¡¯s a lot more to you than I thought, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    She looked back at the table, where Dr. Gus was trying to convince Hamp by throwing words like chthonic and apollonian around. Inside baseball stuff. When she was sure they weren¡¯t paying her any mind, she muttered, ¡°Piss off, Ethan.¡±

    ¡°No need for that,¡± he cajoled. ¡°You can¡¯t deny this is all very fascinating. I¡¯m not going to ask for all the details. Just tell me one thing: what do you see, when you do SP? What¡¯s your image?¡±

    ¡°A magnolia,¡± she told him, though she wasn¡¯t sure why. He didn¡¯t need to know.

    ¡°Well. Isn¡¯t that ladylike. Very southern, too. I like it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you like, Ethan. You know that.¡± She pulled up the magnolia again, for the comfort of it. Grandmama¡¯s magnolia. But it wasn¡¯t very comforting anymore. She was glad that Nadia was¡ªprobably¡ªstill alive, honored to be doing some good in the world with her life. It was just ¡­ starting to feel like a burden, was all. Like there wasn¡¯t much of a life left to do good with. Only work. Maybe she would feel better in the morning.

    ¡°Your secret¡¯s safe with me, you know that. I can keep my mouth shut, when I really need to.¡±

    ¡°You just choose not to, at the moment. Right. Why did you get involved with all this, Ethan?¡± And how lonely was she feeling, that she asked him of all people?

    ¡°You know the answer to that, ma ch¨¦rie. I¡¯ve always been the kind of man who believes in America. Song only helped me clarify my thinking, a little.¡±

    ¡°Mm-hmm. You know why I¡¯m here? Because I switched from clarinet to oboe.¡±

    ¡°Say what?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they told me. I joined the Marines to be a plain old grunt like my daddy. They transferred me to VRIL training because I did band in middle and high school, and I switched halfway through from clarinet to oboe. I was really only bored with clarinet, and oboes sound nicer. But the two instruments have different notation, plus oboe embouchure¡¯s a plain bitch to get right, so they took it as a sign of my ¡®versatility, dedication, and drive.¡¯ That was enough to get me in ahead of the other candidates, even though I didn¡¯t so much as apply.¡±

    Ethan snorted. ¡°Uncle Sam¡¯s Misguided Children. And now you¡¯re one of the famous ¡®halftime gunners,¡¯ huh? And even a little bit more than that ¡­¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Ethan,¡± she told him reflexively, whipping her head around to check on the table. At almost the same moment, her phone buzzed again. She pulled it back out, hoping it wasn¡¯t more from Ty. But then Hamp and Ethan¡¯s phones went off too.

    Nobody said anything; they just read. And read, and read, as more messages came in, and their phones kept buzzing. A few videos popped up too, but Keisha didn¡¯t bother to play them. This didn¡¯t make sense, none of it did¡ª

    ¡°May I ask what is the matter?¡± Dr. Gus spoke up. His phone was mercifully dead; he¡¯d only joined the modern age under duress a few years back, and never remembered to charge it.

    By way of an answer, Ethan picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he got news. It was all in Hungarian, but the images spoke for themselves. Scenes from another city, someplace far away¡ªshe spotted minarets in the background of one shot. It was getting towards evening there, too, but you could still see the clouds of smoke against the sky from all the burning buildings. There were a lot of them. The camera cut away to a woman-on-the-street interview, an unfamiliar language uselessly subtitled in Hungarian again. Then to another shot, a trio of people clustered together this time.

    ¡°Ankara,¡± Dr. Gus said, peering at a caption on the screen. ¡°They are feeling vengeful, I see. And ¡­ are those people covered in glass?¡±

 XXVIII. Bad Faith (Nadia)

    ¡°Jump, jump, jump, and that would be game,¡± Mila said with a smile, moving one of her kings across the board in a spectacular series of flying leaps to murder Nadia¡¯s last three men.

    ¡°Saw that coming,¡± Fatima said from the corner, before going back to her new Russian-issue phone.

    ¡°I think we all did,¡± Ruslan added. ¡°It¡¯s Nadia¡¯s fault for letting her pieces spread out like that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my first game,¡± Nadia pointed out. ¡°How many times have you played it, Mila?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, still smiling serenely. She wasn¡¯t smug, only cheerful. It was hard to get angry at her. ¡°I¡¯ve played a number of checkers variants, but Turkish Draughts is one of my favorites.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why,¡± Nadia said, by way of salvaging her pride. ¡°The kings are way too powerful, moving all over the board like chess rooks. It isn¡¯t very fair.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s unfair about it?¡± Ruslan said. ¡°You started with the same number of people, in the same positions. You knew the rules from the beginning; you could have gotten a king before she did. But you didn¡¯t. Anyway, I play winner, right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Mila. She looked at Nadia as she said it, and something about the twitch of her mouth, of the way those innocent blue eyes narrowed behind her big round glasses, suggested that the two of them were sharing a joke at Ruslan¡¯s expense. It took the sting out of losing.

    Yuri peeked out of the RV¡¯s window through the closed blinds. ¡°Hey, I think we crossed into Turkey. The signs are different.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re making good time, then,¡± Hamza said from his spot on the floor. The vehicle was more than a little crowded, with the five Marshalls and their three new ¡®assistants¡¯ all crammed in together. It had been a long drive from Krasnodar where they picked it up, and it would be longer still¡ªanother two days¡¯ travel¡ªbefore they got to Ankara. But it still beat using yet another bus.

    Nadia peered into the driver¡¯s compartment. Mr. Yefimov¡ªwhose actual job was unclear, but who seemed to be in charge of them now¡ªwas in the passenger¡¯s seat, playing navigator. The driver was another of the interchangeable security men, whose name Nadia didn¡¯t want to know. In a few hours they would pull over and swap him out for a fresh driver from one of the other vehicles in their scattered convoy. That driver, like this, would be dressed in casual clothes appropriate for an American or Canadian on holiday, and speak good unaccented English.

    In the unlikely event that they got pulled over, all their papers would be in order. If that did not work, they had a very large stack of cash lira, dollars, euros, and rubles. Familiars would be an absolute last resort until they got to their new ¡®home¡¯ and explained the situation to its former owners. Nadia didn¡¯t think they had a single firearm on the vehicle. There would be no need.

    Mila had the board set up again in short order, and was soon trouncing Ruslan as easily as she had beaten Nadia. He did not lose as gracefully as she had¡ªshe thought¡ªbut there was little satisfaction to be had in needling Ruslan. It seemed more useful to watch Mila, and wonder who she was, and what she was supposed to be. And whether Nadia even wanted to have her around.

    Officially, Lyudmila¡ªwho hadn¡¯t given her last name, and practically begged Nadia to use the diminutive of her first¡ªwas their ¡°assistant.¡± Mila had to be told not to do menial chores, right down to picking up Nadia¡¯s underwear from the hotel floor back in Tighina, less than five minutes after they met. She obeyed all requests at all hours, seemed to know every answer to every question, was unfailingly patient and polite. And she stuck to Nadia and Fatima like a second shadow.

    It wasn¡¯t hard to see part of her mission; she was a chaperon, and more than that, a barrier. If Nadia needed anything, Mila would get it, or send someone to fetch it. Wherever Nadia slept, Mila would be in the next room over. She would always be present, ready, and listening, ready to keep the normal human world at a distance. But that wasn¡¯t all; it couldn¡¯t be. She was too good to be a mere babysitter, or a gofer.

    They all were. Noorlan, who was assigned to the younger boys, was very quiet, but obviously deeply intelligent, and somehow spoke Russian, English, Kazakh, and Uzbek with at least some proficiency. Ruslan suspected he had been a college professor at some point; Nadia thought it more likely he was some sort of diplomat. Possibly both were true. Nadia had no idea how the Russians had acquired him on such short notice. At present, he was reading a book on Kirlian phenomena, keeping half an eye on Yuri as he did.

    As for Aziz, he was as obviously ex-military as any of the Lictors or Praetorians, only he gave the impression of actually giving a damn about them. He was on the carpeted floor right next to Hamza, discussing some operation he¡¯d done with the Soviet military and how they had integrated a familiar into it. Aziz seemed to have an infinite supply of these stories.

    It couldn¡¯t be coincidence that they¡¯d picked out people of their own or similar ethnicities; Russia couldn¡¯t have that many Central Asians they trusted with a job like this. It seemed particularly important that they spoke their native languages; Mila only knew a smattering of Pashto or Dari, but wheedled new vocabulary out of Fatima every chance she got, while Noorlan switched between Russian and Uzbek to speak with his two charges. Was the idea to isolate them, by talking to each separately? Nadia didn¡¯t see the point. It wasn¡¯t like Yuri and Ruslan were best friends.

    Further meditations were cut short by Ruslan forfeiting halfway through the match, right after Mila got her second king. Mila packed up the board without comment, while Ruslan went over to discuss with Noorlan how the game could be improved. The scholarly middle-aged man listened to the fifteen-year-old boy¡¯s ideas with a serious expression, commenting now and then.

    Predictably, Mila took the opportunity to come over and sit next to Nadia. ¡°Thank you for playing, Nadezhda. It¡¯s been a while.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem to have made you rusty.¡±

    ¡°Would you want me to take it easy on you so you could win?¡±

    ¡°Of course not, I¡¯m not six,¡± Nadia said, with more heat than she intended.

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not,¡± Mila affirmed. ¡°Is everything all right?¡±

    Nadia looked out the window for a minute while she pondered how to answer the question. The drab, rolling brown hills, devoid of landmark or feature, gave her no insights, and she eventually decided on honesty. ¡°I am not looking forward to the end of this trip.¡±

    ¡°What exactly troubles you about it?¡±

    She looked so earnest, so sincere, this little blonde woman in her skinny blue jeans and her oversize, cream-colored, cable-knit sweater. Like she honestly didn¡¯t know. Well, what was the harm in saying the obvious? This woman was not Papa Titus. And Nadia could not stay silent forever, she would go mad if she tried. Provided she did not raise her voice ¡­

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    ¡°Why should I not be troubled, Mila? I will not turn thirteen for a couple of months yet, and you are using me as a weapon. A weapon to take over a city full of people who have done nothing to me, for a country I have never been a part of, for a war that has nothing to do with me. And you are a part of that!¡±

    Mila did nothing more than blink; her face remained calm. ¡°I see. Then why are you in this vehicle with us?¡±

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± The question came out as a strangled half of a laugh. ¡°I know your Snowdrop must be in another car, not far away. Where am I supposed to go? Do you expect me to force the truck over, and go running off into nowhere? To leave my family behind? I am a hostage, Lyudmila. A captive. A prisoner. Stop pretending I¡¯m not.¡± Fatima looked up from her phone at the words, lifting an eyebrow; Nadia glowered at her, and she went back to the phone with a shrug.

    ¡°I understand.¡± Mila pressed the tips of her fingers together, frowning in thought. ¡°You¡¯re in a difficult situation, to put it mildly¡ª¡±

    ¡°So very, very mildly.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not as uncommon as you think. In a way, you are unfortunate. In another way, you are very fortunate.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Really.¡± She crossed her arms so she would not slap those big stupid glasses off her face. ¡°Do explain. Tell me how very lucky I am, to be your puppet.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call you a puppet, Nadezhda. Do you know what I did, before I met you? I worked with displaced children. That is the official name for them. You might call them orphans, or refugees. Children like your Metics, before your Papa Titus found them.¡±

    ¡°And used them.¡±

    ¡°I know that his intentions toward them were not innocent or good. And I can¡¯t blame you for thinking the same of us, given your experiences with him. I won¡¯t expect you to trust us based on my word. But these children I was speaking of ¡­ they had been ¡®displaced¡¯ by violence, in the wars along the border. All of them had lost parents, as you had. Some had lost limbs, or eyes, as well. They were malnourished, diseased, scarred.¡±

    ¡°And I am physically healthy. Is that why I am lucky?¡±

    ¡°No. We both know there are other kinds of injury, and many of those children were uninjured. You are lucky because you differ from them in another way. Those children were powerless. They had nothing left, and were forced to rely on the mercy of a foreign country for their survival. You are not powerless, Nadezhda. Very far from it. It is possible that you are the single most powerful twelve-year-old girl who has ever lived.¡±

    ¡°Because of ¨¦zarine, you mean. But if I did not have ¨¦zarine, I would be in St. Petersburg with the other Metics right now, worrying about how to style my hair for my first day in school. My life would be normal and happy. So what is my so-called power good for?¡±

    The corners of Mila¡¯s mouth twitched up, very slightly. ¡°I think very few girls your age describe their lives as happy, whether they are normal or not. But in order to answer your question honestly, I am going to have to say something that might offend you. Is that all right?¡±

    Nadia dismissed the concern with a benedictory wave of her hand. ¡°I am already offended. My whole life is offensive. I absolve you of your rudeness in advance, my child.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t rudeness, exactly. I don¡¯t imagine you¡¯ve read any Sartre, have you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that is.¡±

    ¡°Not what. Who. Jean-Paul Sartre was a twentieth-century philosopher who talked about something he called ¡®bad faith.¡¯ Other people use the term ¡®bad faith¡¯ to refer to many other things, but he used it to mean a way we choose to avoid responsibility for our actions by denying the truth of our own freedom.¡±

    ¡°Denying the truth. You mean pretending. Lying to myself. Is that what you say I am doing?¡±

    ¡°We all do, sometimes. Freedom can be terrifying¡ªthere are so many things we could do, at any moment, but the cost or consequences would be too high, or the risk, that it is easier to pretend that we are powerless, that we can only sit passively and wait for life to happen to us, that we are all victims of larger forces. And I think¡ªthough I don¡¯t blame you for it¡ªyou have learned, from your experiences with Titus Marshall, to adopt this same mindset.¡±

    Now Nadia regretted her absolution. ¡°So I only thought I was powerless? Do you even know about Yunks?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do. But Yunks is not here¡ªbecause you defeated her master. Snowdrop may be close, but forget her too. There is no reason why you could not outright kill me, here and now, and the rest of the bus with me, in an instant. It would be harder, but you could spare your family and destroy the rest of us. We aren¡¯t even armed. Snowdrop might be nearby, and she might defeat you. But she might not. You are free to take chances, to take risks, that I am not and probably will never be.¡±

    Mila was talking too quickly, too fluidly, for Nadia to get much more than a phrase in here and there. ¡°And if I defeat or escape Snowdrop, what then? Do I live my life on the run from the Russian government?¡±

    ¡°Every choice has consequences, Nadezhda. And you don¡¯t like the probable consequences of any of your choices. So you say: I am a victim, I have been wronged, this is not my fault. And I don¡¯t say that it is your fault. You have heavy burdens. But when you call yourself a captive or a prisoner, tell me: who are you expecting to save you? Who around you is more powerful than yourself?¡±

    Nadia would not sully God¡¯s name by bringing it up in front of this woman. ¡°I. Am. Twelve.¡±

    ¡°Yes. You are twelve. Twelve years old, and powerful enough to wipe out a regiment. And you say you are a puppet, just because you can¡¯t do whatever you want with that power? I have power, too. Much less than you, but some. I could get a gun, I could take things from other people, and those other people would be free to respond as they chose. I am free, within a circle of possibilities. But I am not free to escape the consequences of the choices I make. You are only different because you have more options. And because you have more options, people expect more of you. You are free to meet those expectations, or to disappoint them.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? Is the Russian government paying you to tell me I am free to kill their agents, Mila?¡±

    ¡°The government is paying me because I have helped children recover from trauma. You are definitely traumatized. But you are traumatized¡ªin part¡ªbecause you have a level of power shared by less than a thousand other people on this planet of more than seven billion. There is no way to change that fact. Mr. Sartre said we are condemned to be free; you are condemned to a terrifying amount of freedom. I am here to help you cope with that, if you will let me.¡±

    ¡°And what if I ¡®cope¡¯ by refusing to help you with your war?¡±

    ¡°What if I refuse to pay my taxes? What if I drive on the wrong side of the road? What if I steal a loaf of bread from the supermarket?¡±

    ¡°Not being your weapon is not the same as refusing to pay taxes.¡±

    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. The government could afford to do without my taxes much more easily than it could afford to do without your abilities. But choosing not to use the power you are given is still a choice. The consequences of inaction are still consequences. The fact that you were given ¨¦zarine at an unreasonable age does not erase your responsibility for what you do, or don¡¯t do, with her, now that you have her.¡±

    Nadia felt like she was losing at draughts again, and badly¡ªonly now there were stakes on the game. ¡°Then why should I help you? How is helping the Russian government take over Ankara making the world better than helping the Coalition, or doing nothing at all?¡±

    ¡°That is a very good question. If you like, we can get Aziz to help me answer it. He knows much more about our nation¡¯s security situation than I do. Would that be all right?¡±

    Nadia nodded, just to get Mila away and have a moment to think. Her hands were shaking, and she wanted, more than anything else, to get away from this crowded RV, to be alone in silence. The best she could do was press herself further into the cushioned seat and watch Mila graciously edge her way into Aziz¡¯s conversation with Hamza. After a few seconds, she gestured at Nadia, and the bulky soldier glanced in her direction. It was too much. Nadia got up, and walked briskly over to the bathroom, where she used her inescapable freedom to lock herself in and sit on the toilet lid.

    Several minutes passed while she looked down at her hands. Still shaking. Somebody tapped lightly on the door. She didn¡¯t answer, and the tapping stopped. The vehicle kept shaking and shuddering on its way down the country road, towards Ankara and whatever violence they were meant to do there. Vengeance for Fatih, no doubt.

    Nothing Mila had told her was wrong, exactly, but Nadia did not feel powerful at all.

 XXIX. Condemned (Nadia)

    They left the RV behind outside Ankara, entering the city in four different nondescript vehicles which parked at four separate sites, each an apartment building with several long-time tenants who happened to be old friends of Mr. Yefimov¡¯s. Nadia and Fatima moved in with their ¡°aunt¡± Aishat, who had told her landlord several days in advance and agreed to a steep increase in her rent. Nadia had a fresh coat of fake tan and black hair dye; nothing could make Fatima look like much like either of them, thanks to Omar Alvarez¡¯s part-African heritage, but they had official-looking adoption papers ready in case anybody cared. Which nobody did.

    They¡¯d already had their measurements taken before they left Moldova. Their new uniforms were ready for them when they arrived, looking fresh and crisp with ¡°Yeni Ba?lang?? Akademisi¡± emblems on their jackets. The school didn¡¯t actually exist beyond a buggy website, but they didn¡¯t intend to attract enough interest for anybody to look that up. With the shoes shined and the socks pulled up, they looked sickeningly innocent, and that was the point.

    ¡°I can¡¯t pass for family, obviously, but I¡¯ll be just three stories down if you need me, and don¡¯t hesitate to call if you want anything Aishat can¡¯t get you,¡± Mila told them. ¡°Mr. Yefimov is also available around the clock, though of course you shouldn¡¯t call him unless it¡¯s something urgent.¡±

    ¡°And in the meantime,¡± Fatima said, ¡°we¡¯ll be doing what?¡± She glanced over at Aishat, who didn¡¯t look back. Their pretend aunt was a fortysomething veteran of the Soviet Army¡ªand that was about all they knew about her. She looked like she didn¡¯t much care about having two teenage girls underfoot all of a sudden, one way or another.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be settling in,¡± Mila told her. ¡°Making little trips around, familiarizing yourself with the local geography. Nothing more exciting than that for at least the next twenty-four hours, while we¡¯re still gathering intelligence. Feel free to use the television or browse the internet.¡± She put a funny emphasis on the last three words, which Nadia took to mean that their internet use would be monitored but Mila was too polite to say so.

    So they settled in. The transition was jarring, even unnerving; Mila wanted to know where they were at all times, but otherwise they were free to go where and do what they pleased so long as it was not conspicuous or illegal. She even offered to get them concert or theater tickets, if they liked¡ªthe Russian government allowed its oprichniki a generous stipend. So had Titus, if it came to that, but the degree of freedom was unheard of. Mila didn¡¯t even expect them to wear masks!

    In practice, they still had to stay home during school hours, since teenage girls wandering the streets of Ankara at that time was inherently conspicuous. This meant a lot of time yammering with Fatima, flipping through local TV and picking up the odd bit of vocabulary while Aishat sat indifferently in the corner, playing with her phone. When they got sick of television¡ªwhich didn¡¯t take long, given that they hardly understood it¡ªthey tried the computer.

    This was more interesting. Neither of them had much previous experience with the internet; even their Marshall-family-issue phones had only limited texting and game functions, no browsers. Aishat¡¯s computer, which she never seemed to use, promised them vast access to the outside world. But it didn¡¯t quite keep that promise. Hunched over the device together, working out its use by trial and error, Nadia and Fatima soon learned that it was deliberately crippled in several ways.

    Most importantly, the device was apparently programmed not to make any parts of a web page that would allow them to type text on a prompt. They tried various search engines; each one¡¯s home page rendered with the little box missing. They eventually learned that they could use the same engines by typing into the bar at the top of the browser, but the restriction was bizarre and often frustrating, because even they knew this was not how things were supposed to work.

    ¡°Are they trying to make us mad on purpose?¡± Fatima demanded. ¡°This is bullshit!¡±

    ¡°Probably they are only making sure we cannot communicate with anybody, and this was the simplest way to do it,¡± Nadia glumly assessed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have e-mail, either.¡±

    ¡°What dinosaur uses e-mail anyway?¡± Fatima huffed. ¡°And I¡¯m not going to go chat on Fidget or whatever, everybody knows that¡¯s just old pedos and little freaks like Ruslan.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you did go there, you couldn¡¯t type anything. They barely know us, we are underage, and they have a lot riding on this operation. Of course they will not trust us with security.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what? Are you defending them now?¡±

    Nadia shrugged. ¡°Only trying to think of what Mila would say, if we asked her.¡± Mila said a lot of things like that. She could reframe any complaint so you sounded unreasonable for wanting things differently. Nadia had to admit that Mila was probably right at least some of the time, but she had learned to stop asking some kinds of questions.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re probably right,¡± Fatima told her in disgust. After a few more minutes of fiddling she got bored and fired up some video game thing on the television. Aishat came and sat down beside her, picking up a second controller without a word, and the two of them were soon zooming around a cartoon racetrack throwing bizarre objects at each other.

    Nadia wasn¡¯t ready to give up on the computer just yet. She used the keyboard very slowly, but with a little practice she was able to look things up. It took still more practice to correctly spell ¡°Sartre¡± and learn that the man himself probably would not have approved of anything Russia was doing here. But then, he was apparently some kind of communist, so there was no guessing what kind of terrible things he would have made excuses for.

    From there she went on to other things Mila had told her about: the Treaty of Lausanne, the fate of Turkey¡¯s Greeks, Armenians, and Kurds, the years of violence in the Caucasus, the July-and-August War, the sinkings of the Saratov and Grozny. Every incident linked to a dozen other things, all tied up in the deaths of the Ottoman Empire and the Soviet Union somehow. The Russian or Soviet side was rarely innocent, either. It was hard to say whether Russia¡¯s current war with Turkey was really ¡°justified¡± or not; could you justify anything that killed so many people?

    Would the twenty thousand people currently living in Fatih, including almost all of the few ethnic Greeks left in Turkey, be massacred if it was taken back? Possibly. Did that make it fair to start trouble here in Ankara, to force the Turks to surrender the district? Possibly not. Did fairness even matter in war? Who did Nadia want to win? Was it sensible to expect Mila to be fair and honest with her, when the Coalition had been willing to make deals with someone like Titus? If she didn¡¯t pick any side at all in this fight, was she really guilty of allowing it to continue? How much power did someone like Nadia really have?

    She didn¡¯t know. She just didn¡¯t know. So she clicked the X on the browser, and went to see if Fatima and Aishat would let her race too. Let Sartre think what he liked about that; he was dead, and Nadia didn¡¯t have to listen to him.

    A few hours after noon they were released onto Ankara¡¯s streets, bare-faced and invisible in their tidy uniforms. Their inability to speak Turkish hardly mattered once Mila gave them a music player and a set of headphones apiece; they could stroll down the sidewalk bobbing their heads and nobody would even try to talk to them. Mila herself kept a discreet distance, walking a few hundred feet behind them in a fashionable woman¡¯s business suit while holding an endless phone conversation in English. They never quite left her sight, and if they looked lost or in need of help she could push a button on her phone and instantly speak directions into their headphones with nobody the wiser.

    Their first full day in Ankara¡ªa Friday¡ªthey went to the movies, where they watched a silly comedy-drama about a rural Anatolian landowner trying (as far as Nadia could tell) to marry off his daughters. It was still afternoon and the theater was virtually deserted, so they felt free to talk through the whole thing, making fun of the acting and inventing increasingly implausible ¡®translations¡¯ of what the characters had just said. By the end of it they were laughing so hard they could barely breathe, and Nadia had almost forgotten why they were in Ankara in the first place. They met up with the boys for dinner at a nice restaurant, where Hamza and Yuri told them of Ruslan¡¯s brave attempt to tend their goal against a small army of local preteen soccer fanatics.

    ¡°Final score was eight to two,¡± Yuri concluded. ¡°Our win. The little bastards thought they could outnumber us, but they weren¡¯t ready for boss-man Hamza¡¯s righteous slide tackle. Knocked down three in one go.¡± Hamza shook his head, but smiled into his drink.

    Fatima was skeptical. ¡°Is that even legal?¡±

    ¡°Who cares? The ¡®referee¡¯ was just some random old guy from the park, might have been homeless. He yelled at the kids when they complained, told them to get tough, and started talking about his time in the war. They dropped it. Anyway, nobody got seriously hurt, and we kicked some ass. End of story.¡±

    The fun ended at 2100, when they were gathered together at Mr. Yefimov¡¯s place to discuss strategy. Sergei Yevgenyevich Yefimov was right at the boundary line between middle-aged and elderly. Every time Nadia saw him, he was dressed in a long grey wool coat with matching grey hat, over a grey business suit. He had a mustache and receding hairline almost exactly the same shade, eyes only a touch darker, and did his best to give the appearance of an overwhelming greyness of personality and outlook. Not dreary exactly, but somber, official, and unvarying; Nadia always got the impression that she could have inflated and popped a paper bag right next to his ear, and he would have instantly but without flinching have turned to ask her politely not to do it again. The air of dignity about him could have deflected small arms fire.

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    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± he gravely began, ¡°I thank you for your continued willingness to assist in securing the historic Slavic heartland and its periphery against the depredations of Western imperialists and adventurers.¡± He said it all in one majestic breath, measured and stately, and with no indication that he was addressing a group of teenagers, one of whom still had a bit of ketchup at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Tomorrow we begin operations to relieve pressure on our beleaguered forces at Constantinople. The most meticulous coordination and compliance will be necessary for our success.¡±

    It was really happening. Nadia could hardly believe it. She still wasn¡¯t sure whether she ought to be a part of it or not, but Mr. Yefimov spoke smoothly and with confidence, outlining what must be done and in what order. She could not bring herself even to interrupt him, let alone to run away, to turn herself in as an escaped weapon of war, in a strange city, in a strange country, and to take her chances with other men in suits who might mean no better, while her family suffered the consequences of her betrayal.

    Mr. Sartre had written about this, too. She¡¯d read it this afternoon: a girl meets a boy, who tells her she is pretty and puts his hand on hers. She knows his intentions, she knows where it is heading, but to either accept or refuse him would be difficult, so she puts it off. She permits her hand to lie there a while, and his on top of it, as if it were just some object that had nothing to do with her ¡­

    Yefimov spoke for fifteen minutes, and made sure they all understood their parts. Nadia agreed to do hers at the same time as the others. The meeting ended, and they went home. Nadia lingered over her prayers until she fell asleep on the carpet, and the morning came too soon.

    </a>Even morning was not the end of it, because President De?irmenci¡ªthe one Turk in the whole country who absolutely had to be in position for this¡ªhad decided to delay his return to the capital for a few hours while he attended further talks about the situation in Istanbul. Nadia should have been relieved, or at least amused by the irony. Instead she was angry. More hours of delay, uncertainty, of ¡­ of what? Was it possible to feel regret in advance?

    So she paced a hole in the floor, while Fatima, on her fifth cigarette of the morning, yelled at her to settle down and stop freaking out. Aishat got annoyed by their bickering and called for Mila, who told Nadia that she understood how she was feeling until Nadia felt ready to strangle her. Instead she started to hyperventilate, and ran into her room and locked the door so Mila was forced to speak soothingly through it, which muffled her voice.

    Lunch came, and she did not eat. Mila, alarmed, made phone calls, and before long Hamza and Yefimov were also standing outside the door, trying and failing to make her talk. Nadia put her pillow over her head, willing the future to go away if she could only shut her eyes tight enough.  Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnuyu ¡­ but she was refusing to help herself. What form could divine mercy take?

    At length they took the hinges off the door, and Nadia found herself peeled off the bed so she could look at Yefimov through blurry eyes while he lectured her gravely on the potential consequences of failure. For herself, for her family, for this country, for the men and women in Constantinople, for Russia, for the world. All the while, Mila was beside her, an arm around her, interjecting soothing words.

    The deadline saved her. Aziz called to tell them the president¡¯s plane was landing already, the day was wearing on, and they had positions to get to. Nadia was hauled upright and dragged down to the car, too numb to resist. Either she would do her duty for her own ancestral Motherland, Yefimov said, or she would not. Whichever she chose, the rest of the operation would proceed as planned.

    There were five sites, to be struck as close to simultaneously as possible. Nadia and Fatima would be taking the General Directorate of Security together. Snowdrop¡ªwhose emissor they still hadn¡¯t met¡ªwould go for the state-run Turkish Radio and Television station. Ruslan was bound for the enormous tomb of Kemal Ataturk near the city¡¯s center, though not to do anything in particular. Just frighten the tourists, really.

    The real work would go to Hamza and Yuri. Rhadamanthus would be rampaging through the ministry district a short distance south of the tomb, taking out the Chiefs of Staff first, moving on to the others as time permitted, and specifically sparing Parliament. They would need somebody left to bargain with after Yuri and Shum-Shum incinerated the president¡¯s palace at ?ankaya K??k¨¹.

    It was ¡­ audacious. That was the word Yefimov used for it. An audacious plan. Also brutal, and cruel, and Nadia had no idea if whoever survived it would agree to surrender Fatih or simply dig in their heels first. One way or another, they were apparently going to do it. They were already in the car. Everything would begin when they arrived.

    They didn¡¯t speak in transit. Nadia sat by one window, Fatima by the other, leaving a vast estate of backseat between them. Now and again Fatima would turn her head and open her mouth to speak, and Nadia would look at her, and she would shut her mouth again, shake her head, and return to looking out the window. Nadia tried to unfocus her eyes, to let the living city turn into a smear of walls and windows that would not care if they were hurt. Fatih had not been half so difficult; nobody had been so cruel as to pretend she had a choice.

    But Mila, she noted, was nowhere in sight now. Their only escort for the mission would be their driver, who had a submachine gun wedged into the console between the seats. Nadia had learned to treat men with guns like electric fences. They marked boundaries, and promised to hurt if you got too close, but could be otherwise ignored.

    For some reason, one of Mila¡¯s stories came back into Nadia¡¯s mind. She had many stories, or anecdotes, or whatever you wanted to call them. All about smart-sounding things and people proving she was right. One of them was about a prince in India, about to begin a battle against his own family. The prince stopped and asked his charioteer if he was right to kill, or if he should walk away. The charioteer replied by telling him that obedience to principle was more important than anything else, and teaching the prince, right then and there on the battlefield, all about his religious duty to wage war when it was necessary and right. What would this modern ¡®charioteer,¡¯ with his clunky gun and his dark suit, tell her if she asked him the same question? Nothing so eloquent, certainly.

    Abruptly the car swerved into the parking lot of a small cafe. Across the street Nadia saw a gigantic building, larger than a hotel, at least ten stories of tan brick with reddish-brown accents, draped in huge, bright red Turkish flags. They were here.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Fatima said, reaching across the gulf of upholstered seating between them. ¡°You ready?¡± Nadia didn¡¯t answer, only opened the door and got out. Fatima followed. ¡°Guess so. All right, I¡¯ll be starting, and if you¡¯re ready, you harmonize. Should work fine. Remember, whatever you¡¯re feeling now, scared or sad or whatever, it all goes away as soon as the familiars come out. So it¡¯s okay, right?¡±

    Yes. That was true. That was something.

    The driver was still in the car, rummaging in the glove compartment. He got out¡ªleaving his gun behind¡ªwith a little red thing like a thermos, which he gave to Fatima with ludicrous delicacy. He wasn¡¯t any kind of paraphysical agent, only a security hoodlum; the idea of handling that much stored ectoplasm obviously terrified him. Something about the sight made Nadia feel stronger.

    ¡°All right, so I¡¯ve got the kitty. All we¡¯re waiting on is the signal.¡± For twenty or thirty seconds they stood there in silence, two girls holding a thermos in a cafe parking lot. The lot was nearly empty, but probably somebody inside was giving them funny looks. It might not matter. ¡°On second thought, maybe we ought to¡ª¡°

    An electronic squawk came from inside the car, and the driver leaned out to give them a thumbs-up. ¡°Never mind. All right, on three.¡± She gripped the red plastic container and its white lid tightly. ¡°One, two¡ª¡°

 XXX. Dissonance (Nadia)

    It was three o¡¯clock in the afternoon, and Mr. Griffith was still talking. Talking, and talking, the jaw moving up and down, that one stained tooth showing every time, but Nadia was done listening. She didn¡¯t remember what it was even about this time, why she was in his office again. Was it the bandannas he was convinced were gang signs¡ªor her being late for class because she had to jump her uncle¡¯s car¡ªor the homework she didn¡¯t do because she picked up an extra shift at the shop so her family could make rent? Did it matter?

    No, she decided. It didn¡¯t. It didn¡¯t, and he didn¡¯t, and this didn¡¯t. Nadia could have been working by now, making real money, instead of hanging out listening to this pendejo rattle on about the good college she was never going to get into¡ªand didn¡¯t want to anyway. Abruptly she got up. Mr. Griffith was slower, grunting as he got that fat belly up, flopping around the green tie his wife got him that never managed to match a single shirt he owned. Nadia shoved him back, and he missed the chair, smacking his head against the wall on the way down. He shouted, some shit about assault. Nadia threw up a middle finger for him with one hand while the other yanked open his office door.

    Cops showed up at the shop later, while Nadia was changing the oil on an old Buick. Of course. Didn¡¯t give any specifics, didn¡¯t ask about Griffith, just started sniffing around. When they started talking about drugs, Jimmy told them to show him a warrant or get the hell out of his shop. They didn¡¯t leave. Jimmy stepped closer, said it again. Nadia could see Teresa in the office through the window glass, talking into the phone real fast ¡­ Mr. Carter pulled up to the shop inside thirty seconds, tires squealing. He managed to talk them down somehow, and they went away. But Mr. Carter gave Nadia a glare when they did. Like all this mierda was her fault. So she shrugged, and threw up her hands, and walked away.

    That was just how it went. How it always went. Everywhere she went, everything she did, there was some man trying to pin it on her. It was all stupid, not even worth her time. The only way to win was to walk away. And when it wasn¡¯t men, it was women, women in cafes, little women with blonde hair and big round glasses giving Nadia excuses she¡¯d already heard before, trying to get her to do whatever they wanted, just like that cabr¨®n Griffith.

    Now she was back in the world again, on a windy street in the middle of Turkey of all places, doing something somebody else wanted to do for reasons she just didn¡¯t get. There was Mister Higgins already, disgusting as always, a giant wobbling hairy fat sack of a torso on two splayed feet, and a huge clawed hand poking out either side with no arm in the middle. His head¡ªcould you even call it a head?¡ªwas just a flap of skin on top of his body, googly eyes, pointed nose and bat-ears stuck on like decorations. The whole thing popped back, like the lid of a trash can, as he leaned forward, and thousands of bubbles came spewing out of the gaping fang-lined hole he called a mouth.

    It was an absolute storm of bubbles, far more than he usually made, moving against the wind and across the street towards the GDS building, swelling up as they flew until they hit the brick walls. Pop! Pop! The crisp little sound somehow drowned out the noise of masonry smashing and cracking, as the air inside those big pretty bubbles rushed out in a shockwave. Men stood up at their suddenly exposed desks inside, shouting inaudibly as the walls came down. More bubbles came in after them, caught them up and shrank with them inside, crushing them into a mess of bloody meat. Nadia caught the noise of a few gunshots¡ªnearly drowned out by the dainty popping bubbles¡ªand imagined bullets hitting the soapy gossamer baubles and bouncing impossibly back to hit the men who fired them.

    Meanwhile, Fatima was sitting on the asphalt against their car¡¯s rear bumper, next to the empty red-thermos kitty, not even looking at the building her emissant was wrecking. She was already fishing out a cigarette from her jacket; she paused, looked up, met and matched her sister¡¯s frown. ¡°You know, you could help,¡± she said. ¡°And get down out of sight, they¡¯ve got guns in there.¡±

    Abruptly Nadia realized ¨¦zarine was standing beside her. Today she shone greenish-white, like glow-in-the-dark stickers, and stared coldly at the repulsive Mister Higgins and his frothing spew. The last fifty feet of the building was demolished now, top to bottom, and men and women were pouring out of every exit they could find, shouting and pointing, heading for their cars but it didn¡¯t work, the bubbles were there too, playing Mister Higgins¡¯s favorite game, lifting their vehicles up in the air and dropping them down in crushed lumps to crater the lot.

    The emissant paused to take a breath (why did he need to take breaths?), and did three big lurching hops forward, his blubbery belly sloshing back and forth with each jump. Again he exhaled, a fresh wave of giant gleaming spheres. Across the street, people called for help, but their phones weren¡¯t working. The bubbles took them, lifting them up, not even crushing now, leaving them suspended in the air to bobble while they pounded uselessly at the wet soapy walls, frantically using up their air supply. Courtesy of Mister Higgins, Enrique ¡°Omar¡± Alvarez¡¯s last middle finger to the world from beyond the grave.

    Pop, pop! went the torrent battering down the walls, but there was another sound too, off to Nadia¡¯s right. A sound she heard in her dreams, a sound she hated¡ªan obnoxious, tinny, grating music like a worn-down carnival ride. A few kilometers to the southeast, Shum-Shum floated in the updraft from its own fires. ?ankaya K??k¨¹, the Turkish presidential palace, was burning, the president and his entire household almost certainly dead already.

    And still Nadia was standing in one place, her ¨¦zarine beside her, both of them with arms crossed, while her brother and sister knocked over a country¡¯s government on the orders of men and women they barely knew. Doing Russia¡¯s wet-work. Hah. The thought came to her, like an old memory brought back by sudden prompting, that she had been upset this morning. Frightened, worried, angry, tense, hot and sick inside with her own misery. She could feel it coming back now inside her, burbling up like bile at the back of her throat. ¨¦zarine shone a little brighter as the fear and the anger grew back inside them. It was only a kind of energy to her, a tightening of the soul, pressure on a coiled spring ready to be released.

    The Security building was starting to show serious structural damage now, essential girders bending and crumpling, broad slabs of floor crashing out onto the ground as their supports were blown away. There were reasons¡ªshe remembered that, too¡ªwhy she was supposed to allow this. To participate, even. None of them were very good reasons. Neither were the reasons why she¡¯d done the things she did before, under Titus. She¡¯d gone along with it, she supposed, because she couldn¡¯t think of any way of making everything better. That was wrong; she saw that now, now that she could take her anger out and set it down in front of her like this, to study it with a curled lip like a roach waiting to be stepped on.

    If the game was stupid, you didn¡¯t try to find a way to win it, and stick with it until the perfect solution appeared. That would keep you a slave forever. The first step had to be to stop playing, and walk away.

    Mister Higgins took another breath, a great big one, and clenched his stupid goofy puppet-hands with excitement. Then exhaled it, straight up into the sky, as ¨¦zarine spun into being three feet away to side-kick him right in his pendulous gut. He was no lightweight, but ¨¦zarine was stronger than ever. He bounced like a rubber ball across the parking lot, spraying chunks of black asphalt with every impact.

    He came to a rest belly-up, of course, waggling his four stubby limbs like an upended turtle. ¨¦zarine reappeared in the air right above him, and came down with her feet pointed like a dagger at what passed for his heart. She glowed like a falling star as she landed, and the force of their meeting rocked the car beside Nadia on its suspension. When the dust of black tar and soap foam cleared her familiar was straddling Fatima¡¯s, punching down hard, driving her fists one after another straight into his fat pouchy throat.

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    ¡°Nadia, what the hell are you¡ª¡° Something caught Nadia¡¯s left wrist, and without thinking she spun around to slap at it, like an annoying fly. She was surprised to see Fatima¡¯s face in the way of the blow, wasn¡¯t sure whether to feel dismay or satisfaction when her adopted sister let go of her wrist and reeled back, clutching at her cheek. ¡°Ow! What the fuck?¡±

    The bubbles came out of Mister Higgins in a belching torrent, driving ¨¦zarine up and off; she flickered in midair and reappeared behind his head, seizing him by the stupid little tuft of black hair between his ugly bat ears and yanking hard, thrusting her other arm into his slobbering mouth for extra leverage while she tried to tear his face off. It was a mistake. In spite of all her efforts, the silly flap of a head came down, catching her hand between his snaggle teeth. Her scream broke every window for a quarter-mile, and the car¡¯s pelted Nadia with glinting pebbles like hailstones¡ª

    Fatima charged, and Nadia fell hard onto the pavement, losing the world in a burst of stars when she hit her head. For a moment all but pain was forgotten, and Nadia felt ¨¦zarine¡¯s half of the halo start to fade as Fatima landed on her stomach, driving the breath out of her. But then an open hand raked across her face, nails digging in hard, and Nadia was sure she was angry enough to call a dozen ¨¦zarines if she chose.

    Her emissant was beside them in an instant, picking up Fatima and slamming her against the car. She made a noise between a shout and a squeal, and fell across Nadia. ¨¦zarine kicked her roughly off, then prodded her with a foot, trying to make her get up. She groaned, and rolled a little, but stayed on the ground. Nadia did not.

    Across the parking lot, Mister Higgins had miraculously found his way to his oversized feet, but wasn¡¯t doing anything else. He slumped forward, flapping his arms at the air in his distress, letting out a few ineffectual bubbles in a forlorn little hiccup. His big cartoony goggle-eyes rolled in opposite directions. ¨¦zarine twirled into place before him, leaned gracefully back on her long legs, retracted a fist for a killing blow with the force of her whole body behind it. He did not seem to see her. Like a bowstring releasing she rushed forward, and her fist went through him as he abruptly evaporated into a dismal cloud of ectoplasm.

    Bereft of her target, ¨¦zarine was bowled over by her own momentum. She shook her head as she got up¡ªbut she, too, was looking weaker than she had before. She shivered, and her empty midnight eyes swept back and forth, looking for an enemy. The glow was gone from her skin; half the support for her halo had disappeared.

    it wasn¡¯t fair she was beautiful and mister higgins was nothing nothing at all why should she be held back by the disgusting thing everything was always holding her back everyone was always holding them back what did they want from her

    Nadia lifted her face from the nubbly surface of the parking lot, and wondered how it had got there. She saw there was a dark smear on the ground, and her cheek stung; she put a hand to it, felt swollen scratches, and her fingers came away bloody. Still puzzled, she stood up, brushing translucent beads of shattered safety glass off her clothing. The car was in very bad shape, she noticed. Not as bad as all the cars across the street, but not really driveable anymore.

    And there, she saw, was Fatima, lying on the ground. She was bleeding too¡ªyou could see it in a pool around her head¡ªand breathing fast. How had all that happened? Nadia knelt down and put out a hand to check on her; Fatima flinched at the touch, groaned, and pulled her arm away, muttering something sullen. ¡°Fatima! Are you all right?¡± She didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Fatima, talk to me!¡± Her eyes cracked open for an instant, and she looked up at the sky. If she recognized her adopted sister, or even realized she was there, she didn¡¯t show it. After a couple of seconds, her eyes shut again.

    Help. Nadia needed help. She stood up, and looked around, but the nearest other person was their driver, who was lying perfectly still in a very awkward position, his feet and lower legs still in the car, his body slumped on the ground with his submachine gun a few feet away. Why had he even got out of the car, and with the gun of all things? That wasn¡¯t his job, he was supposed to stay in the car and drive them away as soon ¡­ as soon as they were done ¡­ with the ¡­ with the ¡­

    oh god

    Now Nadia was breathing even faster than Fatima. What had she done? No, that was obvious, why had she done it? Obvious too, not helpful. She had to think but Fatima was bleeding on the ground and Nadia didn¡¯t know how to fix her and she¡¯d just betrayed the mission while there were still dozens if not hundreds of Turkey¡¯s most important security officials milling around just across the street! Fatima would probably die without help, but how could she get that help without revealing who they were? Was there any way out of this that didn¡¯t end with both of them shot, with good reason, by the people they had just attacked? Or maybe tortured for clues to help the Turks hunt down the rest of their family?

    Their family. Her family. She¡¯d just¡ªoh god she¡¯d just had ¨¦zarine throw Fatima this wasn¡¯t even like Titus this was so much worse she wasn¡¯t even a Marshall anymore and that hadn¡¯t counted for anything she was nothing now nothing she was the enemy of the whole world they would hunt her down like a dog no they would compete in teams to see whose side could hunt her down first if Fatima¡¯s ghost did not haunt her to an early grave sooner and she would deserve it god how had she been so¡ª

    People were coming out of the cafe now, out of stores and apartment buildings all around them, poking their heads out of the shattered doors like frightened rabbits peeking out of their burrows after a gunshot. Most of them were on their phones already, calling for help. A few of the bravest and kindest took hesitant steps out into the parking lot, towards the two sweet innocent girls and the hurt man lying beside the broken car. And one, Nadia saw with rising terror, had his phone out to use as a camera, sweeping it across the lot to take a video.

    There was only one option left; Nadia thought of Mila, and a dead Frenchman nattering on about her freedom, and ¨¦zarine blossomed into the world again, right beside her, shining out to dispel the darkness of doubt and fear with her righteous anger. First things first: she snatched the phone out of the stupid gawker¡¯s hands, knocking him down in the process, and crushed the vile thing into fragments with one hand. Then she flickered away, picked up the driver¡¯s gun, and gave it to Nadia, who swept its sights over the few Good Turkish Samaritans coming to help. They shouted their indignation, but obediently scuttled back indoors.

    And next? That was a more difficult question. Still, being an outcast almost simplified things. If the whole world was her enemy, she only had one person left to look out for¡ªherself. Fatima ¡­ Fatima was the one remaining complication. Even now, Nadia could feel some small portion of regret and shame. But if there was no helping her, what was the use hanging around feeling guilty?

    Just to be sure, she had ¨¦zarine pick up the driver and drop him onto the middle of the street, where he landed with a meaty thwack. There. One more useful thing done. A howl of outrage was all the thanks she got from the little rabbits in their cafe, from the scuttling security suits across the street. Curses and threats in Turkish, shouted from a safe distance. It didn¡¯t matter. Not one of them was fit to judge her.

    Then a gun went off. That was another matter. ¨¦zarine flitted over to the Security building and let out all her rage in a shout to break the world. Nadia couldn¡¯t even hear it; the people in the lot fell down en masse. The water in blood had a resonant frequency too, the same as everything else. She had been merciful, and kept it short, since they hadn¡¯t picked this fight. They would probably wake up again. Probably. She wasn¡¯t a doctor. She probably should have been studying things like that, instead of nonsense about Indian princes and French communists.

    There were no more gunshots. Another problem solved. But she didn¡¯t think she could fight off the whole world that way. It was time to leave. The cars were all destroyed, which hardly mattered since Nadia didn¡¯t know how to drive. No bikes in sight, either. She supposed there was nothing for it but to ¡­ walk away. Hmph.

    She turned back for a last look at Fatima. Maybe hurt, maybe dying. But the sooner Nadia went away, the sooner an ambulance could arrive¡ªif there were any ambulances free for foreign terrorists. The Russians, then, if they could even be bothered to look after the children they used after they left a job half-done. Whoever. It was out of her hands. She bent down, kissed her poor suffering sister on the forehead by way of apology, and made her way down the road beside ¨¦zarine, keeping her gun prominently visible.

    Eventually she would have to dismiss the familiar again, and then her heart would break. Better to put it off. If she kept walking long enough, she would be too tired to dream when she finally passed out. Anyway, she had work to do. She couldn¡¯t expect to live for long with the whole world as her enemy. But getting rid of enemies was almost the only thing she was good at.

 XXXI. Veni Vidi Vici (Keisha)

    The video opened on an older man in a generic military uniform at a podium, on a stage in front of a line of other men in military uniform, all in front of a flag nobody to date had identified. Presumably designed a couple of weeks back by Russian spooks, like the outfits. The men all looked more or less like they could be Turkish, or something Near Eastern anyway. The old man nodded at the camera, and started talking. He at least had a decent speaking voice, nice and deep.

    ¡°We are Bihevra,¡± the subtitles read. Thoughtfully added by whoever put the thing on the internet. ¡°We are many, we are strong, and we are silent. Your friends, your neighbors, your family, all are Bihevra, living quietly among you for many years, until the day came to break our silence. Now that day has dawned.¡±

    A series of pictures started playing across the screen in rapid succession¡ªa mixture of old manuscript illustrations, paintings, drawings, black-and-white and color photographs. All of them looked unpleasant. The narration wasn¡¯t pretty either, though Keisha didn¡¯t get half of what it alluded to. Something about the Ottoman Empire and Kemal Ataturk.

    ¡°And they played this across the whole country?¡± Ethan asked, as the video described a forced deportation incident from 1963.

    ¡°On the state-run TV and radio stations,¡± Hamp confirmed. ¡°Then wrecked the transmitter and left, and uploaded it to the internet everywhere they could. What¡¯s left of the government tried to censor it about twenty-six hours too late.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s almost like they had bigger problems,¡± Keisha said, waving her hand at the window. Downtown Ankara was a wreck, with a body count in the tens of thousands so far¡ªdisproportionately government workers. All the hotels were crammed with the newly homeless and foreign aid workers, when they hadn¡¯t been converted into makeshift hospitals; Hamp had pulled strings she didn¡¯t know existed to get them a pair of offices to flop in.

    The President, Prime Minister, Chiefs of Staff, and basically most of last week¡¯s executive branch were missing, presumed dead. The acting authorities were all military officers who¡¯d been in Istanbul when all this went down, and were now making decisions they hadn¡¯t been trained to make based on information they didn¡¯t have.

    Parliament was mostly intact but understandably a little out of sorts. Many MPs had resigned on the spot. The remainder were busy with phone calls from their terrified constituents, when those constituents weren¡¯t themselves busy forming militias and stringing each other up on suspicion of being ¡°Behivra¡± agents. That seemed to be mostly a thing in the east end of the country, though.

    Dr. Gus shut off the video. The whole thing was almost ten minutes long, and they¡¯d seen it once before anyway. ¡°It is extremely vexing to reflect how predictable this ought to have been.¡±

    ¡°Retrospect,¡± Hamp said. ¡°You always assume the people running countries are more rational than they really are. No matter how many times they prove you wrong.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s irrational about it?¡± Ethan demanded. ¡°Can¡¯t nobody ask them to give Fatih back to a country, or a government, that doesn¡¯t exist anymore. It¡¯s a dick move and then some, but that doesn¡¯t make it stupid or crazy.¡±

    ¡°Even if we could have predicted them trying this at this exact time,¡± Keisha said, ¡°there¡¯s not much we could have done about it. We developed Stillwater to block this kind of decapitation strike, and we know that it works¡ªor it did once, anyway. But we can afford to shield DC with a massive project like that; the Turks can¡¯t. It¡¯s not just a matter of money. They don¡¯t have the clairvoyants to spare.¡±

    ¡°Even assuming that we shared the technology with them,¡± Hampton added. ¡°Which we wouldn¡¯t. Security risk. This crazy world we live in.¡±

    On a whim, Keisha took the laptop from Dr. Gus and pulled up the map again. A long, wide strip of Ankara southeast of the former Palace site had been leveled by Shum-Shum, after Yuri ran out of firewood where he was. Sadly, he¡¯d somehow avoided bringing any buildings down on his own head in the process. He¡¯d had lots of practice. If only she¡¯d shot him in the head instead of the hand ¡­

    South-central Ankara had another big bloc marked ¡°damaged,¡± in the sense of the familiar casing a lot of it in glass on her way out. Whole buildings, covered top to bottom. Most of the occupants suffocated waiting for somebody to come rescue them. A smaller dot near the center of the city, where Mister Higgins destroyed half of their version of the FBI before apparently getting bored or neutralized, details unclear. Another dot, a little further north, was ¡°An?tkabir,¡± tomb of the renowned Ataturk, where Kizil Khan had terrorized the tourists with no clear objective other than spreading fear. Minimal casualties, for once, mostly caused in the panicked stampede after the familiar cleared out.

    Last site, east of the tomb, around their current location: the ministries district surrounding the Parliament building, where Rhadamanthus had gone on a very thorough two-hour rampage, methodically slaughtering whole federal departments, only stopping when a Turk familiar belatedly arrived in to challenge him. The emissor had taken that long just to get through the nightmarish traffic and decide where to attack; the whole center of the city had spent most of an hour as a mess of ambivalent field effects where multiple halos overlapped.

    Almost nobody left alive had the necessary knowledge to run the country; foreign advisors and minor officials were collaborating on patching together essential services. Various generals had divided the rest of Turkey between them so they could attempt to administer martial law. There was talk of moving the capital to Istanbul so the Coalition siege camp could double as a quick response force. Nobody was clear on what the constitutional authority was for anything.

    And all four of them were sleeping on cots, in a pair of offices whose former occupants had been killed two days ago. At least there were no bloodstains.

    ¡°As I see it,¡± she spoke up, ¡°we have two burning questions to deal with here.¡±

    ¡°Only two?¡± Hamp said.

    ¡°Is the first one, ¡®where the hell is their followup at?¡¯¡± Ethan added.

    ¡°It is,¡± Keisha said. ¡°First attack comes late Saturday afternoon. All of Sunday, not a peep. Now it¡¯s Monday, we¡¯ve got aid workers from five continents flying into their perfectly functional airport, just like we did last night, to start undoing their damage ¡­ it¡¯s not like they need to resupply, or have any other conventional military concerns. They should be pressing their advantage.¡±

    Hamp put up a hand. Like her, he was sitting on a cot. Ethan had parked his butt on the previous occupant¡¯s desk, his feet in the office chair, while Dr. Gus had barely moved from the recliner where he¡¯d spent the night. ¡°Are they worried about using them too much, putting them under too much strain? They are still kids.¡±

    Ethan laughed. ¡°You think Ivan wants to be gentle and considerate?¡±

    ¡°No, but I don¡¯t think he wants them snapping and doing something crazy. I mean, Jesus, I got nervous when mine started driving around that age.¡±

    ¡°That would be a valid concern,¡± said Dr. Gus, ¡°but I am not sure it is pertinent to current Russian considerations. They are under considerable timetable pressure; that much is evident from the way they have put the children to use within a week of acquiring them. Any sensible commander would allow a considerable time for indoctrination if he could. In all likelihood, the Kremlin views the five children as a totally expendable asset, acquired by a windfall and unlikely to remain useful for long.¡±

    ¡°So they shoot ¡®til the gun¡¯s dry, and toss it if it jams.¡±

    ¡°God, Ethan, could you possibly pick a more tasteless metaphor?¡±

    Ethan looked like he was thinking about it; they were all spared his ingenuity by Hamp¡¯s phone ringing. He looked at the screen, then went into the other office to answer. ¡°And what would be your second ¡®burning question?¡¯¡± Dr. Gus prompted, as soon as the door closed behind him.

    ¡°Nadia. She¡¯s not accounted for anywhere. They had five targets, but there¡¯s no sign she was used against any; they hit the state TV station with an oprichnik. We know she was alive and with the group at least through Moldova. Hamp¡¯s buddies confirmed pickup in Tighina. What are they doing with her now?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s the youngest, right?¡± Ethan frowned. ¡°Might be they¡¯re holding her back in reserve, or don¡¯t think she¡¯s steady enough. It sounds like she¡¯s the one who wasted Marshall; I wouldn¡¯t send her off to a fight as soon as I got her, if I was them.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°I do not think this a matter of immediate concern,¡± Dr. Gus added. ¡°It might be they simply did not require her, and the other four would be unreliable at best in their performance if she were somehow hurt.¡±

    ¡°Yeah ¡­ maybe.¡±

    The office door popped open behind her, and Hamp stuck his head in, still holding the phone up to his ear. ¡°Move it, people, they¡¯re playing our song.¡±

    The roads around the Ministries district were partially clear now, but getting a taxi was out of the question. The city¡¯s surviving cabs had all been pressed into service ferrying VIPs. It was pure luck that the hospital was within walking distance, across the highway and a quarter-mile up the street. That still meant a lengthy delay, as half their team walked with canes, and the man who¡¯d called Hamp¡ªa slightly portly hospital executive with bags under his eyes¡ªwas pacing back and forth in the lobby when they got there, hissing rapid-fire instructions into his phone. He cut the conversation short when he saw them.

    ¡°You are the Americans,¡± he said, not even bothering to introduce himself. ¡°With the Numinate, yes? Follow me.¡±

    He walked fast, talked faster, and for a man who helped run a hospital was surprisingly indifferent to the limitations of the elderly and injured. Keisha left Ethan to wrangle the other two while she hustled in his wake. ¡°We received her very late Saturday night, mixed in with the admissions from the General Directorate of Security. The paramedics left her in the emergency department and went to get their next patient. We were sufficiently busy that we took her identification at face value and did not look it up.¡±

    ¡°What kind of condition is she in?¡± she asked as he pushed a button to summon an elevator.

    ¡°Multiple broken bones along the right side of her body, including a cracked skull. Lacerations of the liver and other internal organs, large right-sided pneumothorax, aftermath of hypovolemic shock, probable traumatic brain injury. She is more or less stable, for the moment. Given her age and condition, eventual recovery seems probable but quality of life is uncertain. Did you bring security?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound like she¡¯d be able to¡ª¡°

    ¡°Security for her,¡± he clarified, as the doors opened and they stepped in. Keisha caught a glimpse of Ethan, Hamp, and Dr. Gus turning the last corner as the doors closed. ¡°Please understand: she has lived this long because we thought she was a foreign student. I have kept it quiet, contained it as best I could. I would not confirm her identity without the means to protect her on hand; our security staff are stretched thin as it is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m armed,¡± Keisha said. The man looked skeptical, but only grunted in reply. He was telling the truth about security, though; they came to the relevant door and found it ¡°guarded¡± by an exhausted-looking teenage girl in scrubs. She hurried off at a nod from the man, who then motioned Keisha inside.

    She could barely see the girl in the bed, under all the casts, bandages, and equipment. The tubes in her mouth had been sloppily taped in place, covering much of her lower face, and what was visible was badly bruised. Half her scalp was shaved and plastered with (leaky) dressings. Keisha stepped closer, tugged the ventilator tubing gently aside so she could get a closer look. The executive hovered behind her, wringing his hands.

    It was hard to say for sure whether this living corpse was the same girl she¡¯d last seen laughing and chatting with her adopted sister two weeks earlier. ¡°You say she came in with patients from the Security building?¡± Mister Higgins had been the attacker there. How many people her age, sex, and ethnicity could have been in the area?

    ¡°So I am told. Two hours ago we were informed that a person matching her rough description was wanted by ¡­ the authorities,¡± he concluded vaguely. Like he didn¡¯t know who the hell was an authority anymore. ¡°Two people, rather, but the other was not known to be significantly injured. It took some time to acquire your contact information.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± she said, pulling back an eyelid, trying to visualize the human under the carnage. Maybe ¡­ ¡°Who was the other person, if you don¡¯t mind my asking?¡±

    ¡°A girl around the same age, but taller, and with straight hair.¡±

    Keisha did her best not to react visibly. ¡°I see. And what happened to her?¡±

    ¡°Witnesses report an altercation between the two girls, which became violent. This one lost the fight, sustaining the injuries you see; the other fled the scene shortly after.¡±

    Oh, hell. ¡°Has this child said anything since she came in?¡±

    ¡°No. She was unconscious on arrival, and we have kept her sedated since.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She turned to look him in the eye. ¡°How long would it take you to wake her up?¡±

    ¡°I am not a doctor, miss. I do not know if it would be safe¡ªthat is, if her condition permits it. I am not certain it would be safe for us, either. Is she ¡­ the person you suspect she is, then?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m reasonably sure that this is Fatima Alvarez-Marshall,¡± she said. ¡°Sure enough that I want her awake for questioning as soon as possible. So get me a doctor.¡±

    ¡°I will see what can be done,¡± the man said stiffly. ¡°But if this young lady is in fact an emissor, as a matter of liability, of safety¡ª¡°

    He recoiled as Keisha took a pistol out of her jacket. ¡°If she manages to call her familiar¡ªassuming she can in her condition, and he can fit in this cramped room without squishing her flat¡ªI promise you I will put a bullet between her eyes. Now get a damn doctor already, or a nurse, or whoever you need to contact to get that crap out of her mouth and get her talking. Every minute we lose is another minute of planning time for the bastards who just killed your fellow citizens, you understand? Move it!¡±

    He gave her a petulant look, but turned to go, nearly running into Ethan, Hamp and Dr. Gus as he left.

    It took another hour just to get a doctor to weigh in, four more after that to get everything lined up. Enough time for a small army of Turkish officials to show up and start arguing, and for Dr. Gus and the Colonel to summon an opposing force of Americans in uniform to bark back. She and Ethan stayed in the room, guns out, the whole time, while hospital staff came and went, adjusting machines and squirting syringes into IV lines.

    At 1430¡ªnot quite two full days after she murdered more than a hundred people¡ªFatima¡¯s eyes fluttered open, and swiveled to focus on the pistol barrel pointing at her nose.

    ¡°Good afternoon, Fatima,¡± Keisha said, loud, slow, and clear. ¡°Can you understand me? Nod if you understand. Good! This is how it¡¯s going to go, Fatima: in just a second, we¡¯re going to pull that breathing tube out of your mouth, and the two of us are going to have a talk. Before you get any ideas, you should know that you¡¯re very sick right now, Fatima. You can¡¯t walk, and these machines are keeping you alive. If you try to call Mister Higgins to this room, you will die. Do you understand that?¡±

    The girl blinked several times; her eyes moved sluggishly around the room, taking in Ethan, Dr. Gus, and Hampton, the hospital staff squeezed in around and between them, and the international collection of suits spilling out into the hallway. At last she nodded.

    ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s get started, then.¡±

 XXXII. Terms and Conditions (Keisha)

    It took another frustrating hour to get the tube out; getting her conscious had just been the first step in an exasperating sequence the medical types point-blank refused to deviate from. Actually doing it was a disgusting process involving a lot of phlegm. At last, when all that was over with, and the nurse declared in fractured English that her patient was stable enough to interrogate, Keisha chased everyone but her three companions out of the room, over all objections, and leaned over the bed.

    ¡°First thing,¡± Fatima croaked, before any of them could say anything, ¡°is one of you Ballsy Bob?¡±

    A puzzled look bounced around the room, settling on Ethan, who smirked, ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been called ¡®ballsy¡¯ a time or two, but my name ain¡¯t Bob.¡±

    Fatima wasn¡¯t amused. ¡°Talking hurts. Shitbird. Get Ballsy Bob.¡±

    Abruptly Keisha got it. ¡°Your sister Nadia knew me as Beelzebub. Is that what you mean?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± She winced. ¡°Ice chip.¡± Keisha spooned a chip out of the cup on the table, and shoved it in her mouth; Fatima sucked on it a second, then said around it, ¡°I¡¯m in. What are you offering?¡±

    The puzzled look returned for a second trip. ¡°Offering for what, Fatima?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m defecting,¡± she rasped. ¡°Done with Russian crap. Let¡¯s deal.¡±

    ¡°You just killed an awful lot of our people,¡± Hamp told her. ¡°It¡¯s not going to be that simple.¡±

    Fatima rolled her eyes. ¡°This is war. You need warriors.¡±

    ¡°That might be true,¡± Keisha interjected, ¡°but we also need information, before we decide whether to take you on or not. Is that fair?¡± Fatima hesitated, then nodded. ¡°All right. Who roughed you up like this?¡±

    The battered face on the bed froze, for a barely-perceptible instant, then said, ¡°Ice chip¡± again. Another chip was duly supplied, which she sucked on for a full thirty seconds, rolling it around her mouth. Finally she said, ¡°Hit on security went bad. Took down half, got second thoughts. Russians didn¡¯t like it. Mister Higgins had me pissed ¡­ turned him on the Russians. Dumb idea.¡±

    Ethan opened his mouth, then winced as Keisha kicked him hard in the ankle. Fatima frowned at him, then turned her gaze on Keisha as she said, ¡°How did you survive, and what happened to the Russian or Russians who attacked you?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Got my ass kicked. Probably ran for it.¡±

    This was all vaguely plausible, but there were problems ¡­ aloud, she said only, ¡°What happened to the rest of your family?¡±

    ¡°I dunno. Got my ass kicked,¡± she irritably repeated. ¡°God, this hurts.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell us where your team were hiding out before the attack? We¡¯re going to need proof we can trust you on this, and aren¡¯t just lying to keep us busy until you can escape.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Don¡¯t know much.¡± Abruptly she broke into a lengthy coughing fit, and Hamp dispassionately shoved the plastic suction tool in her mouth to catch the spit. The nurse poked her head in the door, and refused to be deterred by Keisha¡¯s shooing motions. Eventually Fatima took a few deep breaths, said, ¡°I know where I lived. I can tell you that much.¡±

    Keisha already had paper and pen handy. ¡°Go on.¡± Fatima croaked out an address; she wrote it down, confirmed it, and ran it through her phone¡¯s GPS. It was, at least, a real apartment building. Meanwhile, the nurse elbowed her way into the room, looking obstinate as she hissed Turkish imprecations under her breath. Ethan hurried to keep three officials from moseying in behind her. ¡°Okay, we¡¯re going to check this out, then decide where to go from there. You stay and rest up.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t going anywhere, girlfriend,¡± Fatima said, with a smile that looked like it hurt.

    ¡°So what do you think, Ballsy Bob?¡± Ethan asked, as soon as they were out of the door and away from all the suited eavesdroppers.

    ¡°I think we need to check out this address right now, and get our story and approach straight before we talk to that girl again.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, she looked like she was lying to me,¡± Hamp said, limping down the hall beside her as quickly as he could. ¡°I can believe Ivan was keeping somebody nearby to waste her if she went off-script. I can maybe believe she had enough of a conscience to do it with her familiar out. What I can¡¯t believe is that they only left her half-dead.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more than that. I didn¡¯t want to bring it up with the suits hanging around¡ªand definitely not in front of her¡ªbut supposedly witnesses saw her get in a fight with a second girl around the same age. Who then ran away.¡±

    ¡°Nadia, huh?¡± Ethan said. ¡°She already turned once. She could do it again. So they tried to put her with a friend to keep her steady, but ¡­ hold on, Mister Higgins and ¨¦zarine? The Queen of Hissy Fits and Captain Ragequit, working together? Whose genius idea was that?¡±

    ¡°They would have had competing and incompatible goals,¡± Dr. Gus pointed out. ¡°To execute the operation as quickly as possible, to cause maximal chaos, damage, and dismay, and to compel all five to act, thus making them complicit in their crimes and presumably more loyal. Thus they placed Nadia with the sibling she feels closest to, and gave them one of the less critical targets.¡±

    It made sense. Ruslan was also unreliable, and had a poor familiar for causing mass casualties with, so he ran psyops at Ataturk¡¯s tomb. Destroying state security services was more important, but still gravy compared to killing the president or top ministry officials, or getting out their propaganda to the whole country and then crippling the state¡¯s ability to reply.

    Enough of the Americans hovering around Fatima¡¯s door were armed already to form a suitable guard for the time being; Hamp wheedled them into establishing something more permanent. ¡°She is never to be left unwatched, even for a second,¡± Dr. Gus told them, and they nodded in starstruck agreement.

    The address Fatima gave them was clear across the city. Getting there via the streets might have taken hours, in the city¡¯s present state; as she had no intention of personally entering the building, it was simpler to cajole their way onto the hospital¡¯s roof, fiddle with GPS directions for a bit, and send a whisperwing across the city from where they were. It was still a couple of hours till sunset, but she had enough cloud cover to ensure the little bug would survive the trip.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bust,¡± she announced twenty minutes later. ¡°The apartment numbers she told us about are all empty. Stripped bare. We might find some stray hairs and get DNA if we sent in a forensics crew, but that¡¯s about it.¡±

    ¡°We already have DNA on all five, and fingerprints too,¡± Hamp said. ¡°We don¡¯t need DNA for the handlers, that can wait for the UN tribunal phase.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose, uh, Snowdrop would have left a couple of skin cells in there,¡± Ethan added glumly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be much use if we had, the sumbitch won¡¯t let us take him alive.¡±

    ¡°It was still worth trying,¡± Keisha said. ¡°They¡¯ve lost at least one agent, and they have more than one brain cell each. Of course they bugged out. But it seems likely that Fatima was telling the truth about them, at least. Unless they had her memorize the locations of a couple of empty apartments in preparation for this.¡±

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    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem likely,¡± Ethan said. ¡°She¡¯s what, fifteen? Even if they planned for that¡ªand I don¡¯t think they would¡ªain¡¯t no way she¡¯d bother memorizing that so well she could rattle it off right after waking up from a cracked skull. Seems to me she was telling the truth about that.¡±

    ¡°So ¡­ does she really mean to defect?¡± Hamp scowled. ¡°And what the hell do we do with her if she does? We know she¡¯s feeding us bullshit. And that¡¯s leaving out the part where she¡¯s a mass murderer!¡±

    ¡°The only way she could know the name ¡®Beelzebub¡¯ is if Nadia told her,¡± Keisha said. ¡°I can see why she wouldn¡¯t want to begin a relationship with us by telling us she tried to hurt or possibly kill our mutual acquaintance.¡±

    ¡°And instead she fudged it so she looks like the good girl with a conscience,¡± Ethan added. ¡°Bet you anything that Nadia was the one who turned, unless I¡¯m reading this all wrong.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t see as it matters, for the present; she¡¯ll be in that bed for another month.¡±

    ¡°Meanwhile, I believe the lack of followup has been sufficiently explained,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°Their strike force has suffered thirty-three-percent attrition in its initial operation, and virtually all of that force consists of, in effect, conscripts. I would expect grown men to refuse to cooperate further under such circumstances.¡±

    ¡°And where does that leave us?¡± Keisha wondered out loud. ¡°Waiting for the next shoe to drop?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say we¡¯re what they call ¡®consultants,¡¯¡± Ethan said. ¡°Sit tight and wait until something happens or somebody asks for help. Pretty sweet gig. Although of course I still deplore such a blatant waste of public funds¡ª¡±

    ¡°Har har. You¡¯re still the only emissor in town on our side that I know about. Though I¡¯d be surprised if they didn¡¯t bus in at least a couple of heavies on the down low.¡± Hamp sounded resigned about the last part.

    ¡°Naturally. They¡¯ll have more than just us on the case now. The only thing we have to offer, that we ever had to offer, is my personal familiarity with the kids¡ªone of them in particular. I¡¯d like to focus on that.¡±

    ¡°You mean, hunt down Nadia?¡± Hamp looked doubtful. ¡°If she¡¯s got a bit of sense, and it sounds like she does, she left town Saturday night or Sunday morning. We¡¯d be leaving at least three loose ends behind us, four if you count the professional, and frankly Yuri and Hamza scare me a lot more than the one runaway. She¡¯ll be trying to lay low, won¡¯t she?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but ¡­ ¡° Keisha found she didn¡¯t have the words to complete the sentence, and turned away instead. For a long time the four of them stood in silence on the hospital¡¯s roof. The sun was sinking, but there were a few hours of daylight left. She was about to suggest they go find dinner¡ªlunch had been a couple of bites from the hospital¡¯s cafeteria while they waited for Fatima to wake up¡ªwhen Hamp¡¯s phone went off again.

    ¡°What now?¡± he grumbled, looking at the screen. ¡°Just Danny Simmons again¡ªhmph. Guess I¡¯d better. Gimme a second here.

    ¡°David Hampton speaking. What¡¯s up, Danny? Okay. Yeah, I get¡ªanonymous? An anonymous tip? Get real, you get a hundred of those a day and half of ¡®em are UFOs, for chrissakes.¡±

    His face took on the guarded, wary look Keisha knew so well. She thought he might wear that face when he slept.

    ¡°All right, fine, fine, you know your job, I got it. Sorry. What¡¯s our response so far?¡±

    His shoulders tensed.

    ¡°Are you serious? No backup, no confirmation, just local pogies and their pop guns, is that the shape of¡ªaw, shit. Double shit! Who ordered that? No, no, wait, never mind, I don¡¯t want to know that now, just tell me: what part of Ankara is that?¡±

    He turned to Keisha as he said it, gesturing furiously, but she already had her phone out and firing up dowser mode. Ethan put a hand over the screen before she could use it, nodded towards Dr. Gus when she started to protest. Their mentor had their eyes shut and was taking deep breaths. In two seconds, he raised an arm to point¡ªeyes still shut, Hamp still ranting in the background¡ªto the northwest.

    ¡°Five to seven miles,¡± he said calmly. ¡°Three hundred meter radius, epicenter well above ground, essentially static. Single emissor.¡± His arm wavered, then swerved west. ¡°No. Second halo emerging now, rapid expansion, ground level, substantial marginal infringement. Expect ambivalence.¡±

    ¡°The old boy¡¯s still got it,¡± Ethan said. ¡°Hope it ain¡¯t that POS Usman he¡¯s picking up¡ªbut it probably is. You ready?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to be,¡± she told him, shaking her head. She only had her pic¡¯ on her, though it was at least nearly full. There was little she could do but move civilians out of the way. ¡°How are we going to get there?¡±

    At almost the same time, Hamp put his phone away, a disgusted look on his face. He turned to look at Ethan, and disgust gave way to panic. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re¡ª¡±

    It was a late August day in the southern half of Louisiana, so godawful humid it did no good to sweat, and you could feel the air stick in your windpipe halfway down with every breath. Old Man Dupree sat on his porch on his rocking chair, his shotgun resting across his lap. Keisha and her friends hid in the woods and watched the car drive up, because it was late summer in Louisiana, and it was too hot to play sports, and there was nothing but reruns on TV.

    It was a nice car, too nice to be driving up Winston Dupree¡¯s soggy lawn full of overgrown weeds. Even the driveway was overgrown, where it wasn¡¯t full of ruts, and the chrome bumper was spattered with dark mud before it was halfway there. The old man sat on the porch of the rundown shack he called a house, and watched it struggle through until it was close enough for the two men to get out and tiptoe through the mess.

    He waited until the first of them set foot on the first step¡ªwhich was half hanging off¡ªbefore he said simply, ¡°Private prop¡¯ty.¡±

    The men told him that they had a second, more generous, and very much final offer to make, before they took the matter to the courts. The old man didn¡¯t answer. They told him they were good friends with the judge. He raised an eyebrow, said nothing. They said they could easily have the building condemned, and Dupree nodded, but kept his mouth shut. Then they started talking about the ongoing need for quality affordable housing in the area, and Old Man Dupree snorted, deep back in the spot where his nose met his throat, and spat a giant tobacco-colored gob on the first man¡¯s already soiled shoes. The man asked him if that was his final answer, and he said no.

    Then he told them that he had been born in this house, that he was seventy-eight years old, that he pissed blood most mornings, that he had no kin remaining, and if they could not wait until he was dead to take his land that was their problem. That he owned very little, and could not afford a lawyer, but had a considerable store of buckshot laid by, and the next man to bother him about this would be making a claim on his expensive company-provided life insurance. The man after that, too, and so on until he ran out of buckshot or he got his very simple wish to die in the house he was born, one way or another. As for the judge, he might be a good friend, and the president too, but murder trials went to jury, and they would struggle to find twelve sympathetic people they could wrestle out of their offensively affordable housing in this whole damn parish. Not that he intended to see the inside of a courthouse in the first place, mind you. A Dupree would no more bother with a courthouse than a church. He had no time for any of that.

    All of this was given in the thickest accent and slang the south end of Louisiana could offer, a Frenchified slur that truly earned the label ¡®patois,¡¯ and neither visitor got much out of it. But they did understand when he picked the shotgun off his lap and swung it around. They got back in their car very quickly, without saying anything, and somehow got it out in reverse. Dupree watched the whole thing from his rocking chair, then turned his head and looked right at Keisha and her friends in the woods. All her friends scattered; Keisha stayed, looking the soul of America in the face. By and by she left, and the housing project fell through. Winston Abelard Dupree died in bed two years later, and the woods reclaimed his land.

    Then it was a winter¡¯s day in Ankara, Turkey, and Tantrum Song loomed overhead, a white-bearded giant all covered in rags and patches. Parts were grey that might have once been blue, others a dingy off-white, with here and there a patch of reddish-brown. Every bit of it seemed to be loose ends and trailing scraps, all a-flutter in the wind that blew around him. The hat could have been a wizard¡¯s, or simply a tramp¡¯s. He tilted back his solemn, craggy face, and opened his mouth to let out a whoop, the whoop that called his hounds, and the winds came running all around them, invisible but very audible, howling for the hunt.

    There were rules about familiars; they could not use their powers against their own emissors. But Tantrum Song had never cared about rules. So his hounds bore what he needed up from the street: a very small two-door coupe, with its indignant elderly driver still inside it. She was not inclined to give up her ride, or make room; she had her groceries in the passenger seat. Then Tantrum Song bent down with a courtly bow, and looked her gravely in the eye, and though she spoke no English she understood that the defense of a free people was at stake. She took her groceries, and stepped out¡ªColonel Hampton gallantly taking her arm¡ªso Keisha and Ethan could get inside.

    The wind howled again, and the car leaped up off the roof. Tantrum Song took a leap alongside it, keeping pace, and his hounds caught him up, baying in a circle about his feet. Falcon-like they plunged toward the ground, Ethan cackling out the window all the way, but long before they hit the winds picked up, and they were flying through the air into battle, all screaming their war-cry together.

 XXXIII. The Opener of the Way (Keisha)

    Keisha had never succeeded in making herself totally comfortable with the idea of a halo. She knew there was nothing strange about this; to be comfortable with a space where she (technically, temporarily) ceased to exist as a physical object, a human being would have to be either ignorant or stupid. To say nothing of the psychological turmoil, and the growing body of evidence that repeated or prolonged exposure had subtle long-term effects. A Tetzloff Field was one hell of a drug.

    But more than that, it was the admittedly irrational terror that when the halo ended, or when she stepped outside its boundaries, the world of make-believe would fail to collapse neatly into conventional reality, and Keisha-as-concept would not become Keisha-as-object, but simply vanish from existence forever. So what if it had never happened before? To be in a halo was to depend on another person so absolutely that it scared the hell out of every PPO who¡¯d taken the time to properly understand the theory of it. Even the ones who could make halos of their own didn¡¯t like being in another¡¯s. Hampton didn¡¯t know enough to be as spooked as he should be.

    She¡¯d submitted to Ethan¡¯s halo for the same reason twenty-year-old kids had waded up Omaha Beach into machine-gun fire: it had to be done. The whole business was only bearable because every doubting or fearful thought she had about it was swept clean out of her head by the experience itself.

    Tantrum Song did not have any firm idea where he was going, but he was making such great time that it hardly mattered. Their little car orbited around him like a planet as his whirlwind rushed along over the streets, always facing the same way, almost but never quite bashing the vehicle into the buildings on either side. Dust and street litter swirled around them in a dirty cloud, but Song saw through it all.

    For Keisha, the ride was smooth, even pleasant; as the-idea-of-Keisha, just one more aspect of a mass hallucination they were all dreaming up together, she could be molded into the general absurdity of their situation, and small details like the actual experience of being in a car carried fifty feet above the ground by impossibly strong winds could be more or less ignored, in the same way that civilians underfoot only got their hair ruffled by those same winds passing feet away. She steadied herself with a single hand on the dashboard, and thought unexpectedly deep thoughts about Bunker Hill.

    Ethan, as the architect, conductor, and ¡°ground¡± of the whole experience, was not so lucky, and braced himself with all four limbs to keep from smacking his head with every swerve. Being Ethan, he still doggedly enjoyed it, forcing out a strangled rebel yell through gritted teeth the whole way. It had been his decision to travel this way, after all.

    Office and apartment windows went by in a blur; the cross-streets were gone almost before she could see them coming. Song dog-legged them down one street and up another, hunting down something only he could sense, and she barely noticed. They had been in the air for less than a minute when the winds abruptly slowed, and their little car began a lazy, swooping descent to the ground, winding down its spin like a hula hoop. They still landed with a horrendous jolt, nearly rolling the car as they skidded across the street and crumpled its back end against a streetlight.

    She had to squeeze out through the window; Ethan stumbled out of his door to vomit in the street, then straightened up wiping his mouth, ready for action again. They were on a four-lane road at the edge of the city, where skyscrapers gave way to five- or six-story apartment blocks and office buildings, with little shops on the ground floor. A few cars blocked the road here and there, immobile; most military vehicles were manual-transmission so they could keep driving through a halo, but civilians wouldn¡¯t bother. The sky ahead shone with a sinister light, and a merry tune like a carnival ride¡¯s echoed through the streets.

    Ethan was off and running already, dodging around and vaulting over the cars, doing the best he could to follow his familiar to the fight. Keisha let them go, looking around to size up the situation until the halo cleared. There were no people out on the street; the drivers of the stuck cars, and whatever pedestrians had been on the sidewalks when the halos came out, apparently made the sensible decision to take shelter. Which meant there was very little for her to do with her VRIL here. When the halo was gone, she got out her magnolia and her pistol and followed, keeping low and covering behind cars when she could. If only she knew what she was hiding from, in what direction ¡­

    Ethan still had a couple of blocks¡¯ lead, and Song was rising up into the air, banking hard right when he cleared the rooftops. Below, his emissor ducked into an alley to follow him. The carnival song was getting fainter, receding; it was some comfort to think that Shum-Shum wasn¡¯t moving her direction, but there was no way in hell she was going to catch up with him through whatever fiery mess he was making. Even Ethan might have a rough time of that, with Song to blow out fires along the way.

    She was weighing her options when she heard the chatter of full-auto gunfire to the northwest, ahead and to her left. Question answered. A minute of very cautious jogging later¡ªher magnolia still firmly placed inside her head, guns rattling on and off the whole time¡ªshe was able to peek around a corner and spot a cluster of military vehicles jamming the road a quarter-mile away. Even as she looked, the turret gun on one of them lit up, pumping rounds into the closest building.

    Something large and white came crashing out in response, landing on top of the offending truck and cutting the rock-and-roll abruptly short. A few individual shots sounded instead, briefly, fading out as a giant, skeletal figure darted back and forth. Then all was silent, and it was gone.

    Keisha turned her head in the other direction, and saw enormous, clouds of black smoke swirling above the roofline. Tantrum Song danced between them, directing his winds this way and that to extinguish the fires. Well, one of them was some use here, that was something¡ª

    There was a series of very loud, very low noises, and the ground shook under her feet. The telltales of heavy ordnance¡ªbut not very close. What the hell were the Turks shooting at? Did they have Snowdrop pinned down somewhere too?

    Once more she looked around, shook her head, and ran back the way she came as fast as she could, checking her phone as she went. When it started working again she called up Hamp. Busy. Without much hope, she tried Dr. Gus¡¯s number.

    Miraculously, he answered. ¡°What is your situation?¡±

    He¡¯d actually remembered to keep his phone charged and on. Praise the Lord. ¡°Rhadamanthus and Shum-Shum are out and running hot. Two separate points of origin, maybe a half-mile apart, is how I read it. God knows why they were split up like that, but Ethan¡¯s after Shum-Shum. Rhad wasted whatever the Turks sent after him, so he¡¯s free to raise hell. What just got blown up?¡±

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    ¡°We are attempting to determine that at present.¡± The line crackled. ¡°It was some distance away from your location or ours, at the southwest end of the city. I can see the dust cloud from here. But there seem to be disturbances elsewhere as well.¡±

    ¡°Disturbances,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°Judging by the sound of gunfire, yes. I do not know the precise military terms for such things. Colonel Hampton is having difficulty getting through to anyone who will talk with him. It would appear everyone is calling everyone else at once, trying to understand the situation.¡±

    Keisha put a hand to her forehead, trying to think. ¡°Are there any other familiars in play on our side? Or theirs?¡±

    ¡°Not as of thirty seconds before your call. I will check again. One moment.¡± She waited patiently until he spoke again: ¡°I count three to the north of this hospital¡ªpresumably Ethan and your two. A fourth to the far south, mobile. That one is new. Naturally I cannot tell you whose it is, or what they are doing.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯d better call¡ª¡°

    Dr. Gus cut her off. ¡°Who would we contact? At any rate, the Turks have clairvoyants of their own. They will know soon enough if they do not already. Whether they can engage each of these threats effectively is another matter.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± She¡¯d started pacing in an alley, without even realizing it, and her magnolia was fading. She took a couple of breaths to perk it back up. ¡°I know roughly where Rhadamanthus is. I¡¯m going to engage.¡±

    ¡°Sovereign protocol alone will not significantly increase your odds against him.¡±

    ¡°No, it won¡¯t. Which is why I intend to go all the way. It¡¯s time for Grandmama to get involved in person. Past time, actually.¡±

    ¡°You will do no such thing,¡± he said at once.

    ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking for authorization.¡±

    ¡°It is nonetheless denied. Belvedere must not be compromised.¡±

    ¡°Is that your personal judgment, or are you just following orders? Is there anybody you can ask for permission?¡±

    ¡°Under the present circumstances, I doubt I could get through to anyone above lieutenant colonel.¡±

    ¡°Fine. But Rhadamanthus is loose. He just killed three trucks worth of soldiers¡ªor maybe the local SWAT, I don¡¯t know¡ªand now he¡¯s free. Ethan¡¯s got all he can handle chasing Shum-Shum, trying to put out the fires. If I stay put like a good girl, what¡¯s to stop Rhad from coming up from behind, hacking Ethan in half? Then Yuri could burn out half the city, unchallenged. Don¡¯t tell me he wouldn¡¯t do it.¡±

    The other end of the line was silent.

    ¡°We¡¯re talking thousands dead, Doctor. Thousands more, after Saturday. What exactly are we waiting for here? What¡¯s the use of a secret weapon that always stays secret? How bad does it have to get before we can pull out our gun?¡±

    Another long silence. Then a sigh.

    ¡°I am near enough to full retirement,¡± Dr. Gus said at last. ¡°I might as well take the blame. Do what you think best. But the consequences will be dire.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir¡± she said. ¡°Give my apologies to the Colonel, for not telling him sooner.¡± The beeping of the line was all the reply she got.

    There were three halos in the area already. All the people hunkered down nearby would be in severe distress even before you factored ambivalence. She hated to add to their burden. Still, distressed, even half-crazy, was better than dead. So Keisha closed her eyes tight, and focused hard on the magnolia, Grandmama¡¯s magnolia, the one growing in the yard right outside her house. Not just a blossom but the whole tree, then the house, and then she was back.

    November 22, 1995. Too late in the year for the tree to be blooming. The day a man in USMC dress uniform¡ªa major¡ªknocked on their front door, with their pastor beside him. Mama answered. The major got out three or four words before she started screaming, ran down the hall to her bedroom, and locked herself in. Keisha, making an after-school snack in the kitchen, froze, staring at the somber-faced officer. Then her little sister started crying too, and it was left to Grandmama to limp over on her cane and learn the details: Busan, Korea, yesterday, ambush, rocket-propelled grenade. Grandmama shook, but kept standing, and thanked the man for telling her that her son was dead. They talked, while two other generations of Graham women wept, and eventually the major went away. The pastor stayed a little longer. Mama didn¡¯t come out of her room.

    Night fell, and found them crying in two separate rooms. Several times Grandmama knocked on Mama¡¯s door, telling her as quiet as she could, while still being audible through the door, that she was being a damned fool, and that her place was with her children. Keisha heard every word. But Mama didn¡¯t come out of her room.

    Grandmama knocked on their door instead. They didn¡¯t answer, but the door was unlocked. She came in, turned on Keisha¡¯s bedside lamp, and sat beside them unasked, on the chair Keisha sat in to do her homework. Tiana came and sat on her lap, even though she was too big to be doing that anymore, and Grandmama tried to hold her as best she could while the chair creaked under them. Keisha stayed in bed, rubbing at her eyes.

    ¡°My child is dead,¡± Grandmama told them, her voice only shaking a little. ¡°My only boy is gone, and he has torn my heart out with him, and the wound he gave me in going will bleed from now until the day I die. I will not deny that, children. But that day, the day I die, is not today. The world has not ended. God is with you, and so am I, and we are going to continue. Is that clear?¡±

    Her glasses glinted in the lamplight. Keisha nodded weakly, looking away. Tiana buried her face in Grandmama¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Good,¡± was all she said back. Then she opened her Bible, and read the entire Book of Ruth to them, very loud so her voice would carry back to Mama, who still didn¡¯t come out of her room. The tears ran down her cheeks, under her glasses, as she read, but her voice stayed steady.

    Grandmama left, but only to get a better chair, huffing and puffing as she pushed it in from the living room. Then she sat down, doing her crosswords by the lamplight, and said nothing else until Tiana was asleep in her bed, and Keisha nearly so. Then Grandmama bent over to kiss her on the forehead, saying, ¡°All is well child, and all will be well, now and forever, till the end of the world.¡± She was still there, slumped over in the chair, when Keisha woke up in the morning.

    She was sitting in a wheelchair, and looking much worse, on the day Keisha graduated from Basic, five years later. Mama had refused to come; she said she was not going to feed her own flesh and blood to the monster that had eaten her husband. Grandmama said nothing back. She was tired. She got dialysis three times a week, and she could still hardly move anymore, she was so fat and distended. She watched Keisha stand to attention in her new blue uniform, and nodded solemnly. She died before November could come around again.

    Time passed, and Tiana went through school as well, and then she went her own way. They didn¡¯t talk much anymore, but she was doing alright. They didn¡¯t talk to Mama at all. But time kept passing, and she kept living, moving up the ranks with a magnolia tree blooming in the back of her mind, until at last Keisha Graham was standing in a street in Ankara. And she was not alone anymore.

    The other woman¡ªif you could call her a woman¡ªdidn¡¯t look much like Lucinda Jane Graham. Grandmama had been stout for as long as Keisha knew her, even before the last days when congestive heart failure turned her into a bloated wreck. This old lady was thin, stick-thin, her arms like twigs, the flesh around them shriveled and dry as a mummy¡¯s, and every bit as dark. Her cheeks were sunken, her lips thin, her fingers a set of claws clutching at the white cloth she wore wrapped around her, the white cloth that was her only garment, a pure shining white like a funeral shroud. It covered one arm and trailed down to her bare feet and came up in a cowl over her head, concealing her few grey hairs from view.

    Keisha stepped back to let her out of the alley. Adesina walked past, nodding a silent greeting with her eyes still closed. Her gait was stiff, a kind of hobble. When she was out into the main street she lifted her head, and the hood fell back a little to let the sunlight touch her face. Not much sunlight left in this day, only a little, and the black smoke was rising in the sky, darker than ever. But it was enough. Adesina hummed a little, a tuneless, absentminded drone, then opened her eyes. They were shining white, and they lit the world in glory.

 XXXIV. Judgment (Keisha)

    They were at least a quarter-mile south of where they needed to be. Keisha took off at a flat run. Adesina did not run; she couldn¡¯t, and wouldn¡¯t, and didn¡¯t need to. Though she never moved any faster than a painful limp, and fell behind in seconds, she always managed to reappear from somewhere just outside Keisha¡¯s field of view¡ªhobbling out of alleys, emerging behind cars. And humming every step of the way.

    There were no more explosions or gunshots. Shum-Shum¡¯s hideous jingle was just barely audible in the distance, interspersed with thunderclaps, all overlaid with a growing chorus of screams and sirens. The black smoke of the familiar¡¯s wake now covered an eighth of the sky. At least he would be easy enough to follow¡ªeventually. For the moment, Keisha and her familiar had different prey.

    The military trucks were right where she¡¯d left them, one of them cut in half. There was no need to check for survivors. Nor much need to hunt for Rhadamanthus; men and women were pouring out of every doorway, shouting their outrage, all streaming in the same general direction¡ªnorth and east, following Shum-Shum¡ªwith knives, crowbars, and every other kind of improvised weapon.

    Ordinarily, they¡¯d be laying low or running away, but these particular civilians had just seen a vision of a man named Bernie Willard, and each of them would be certain that he or she had to be the one person who stood up and got things done, even against something that could bisect armored personnel carriers. She didn¡¯t know whether seeing the first few dozen such heroes cut to bits would slow down the ones behind, either. Probably not.

    Adesina had found her way to the top of a condominium, to look down at the slaughter. Keisha couldn¡¯t exactly see through her familiar¡¯s eyes, but she had a rough understanding of what was going on all the same. A ghostly imprint was overlaid on her senses, an impression without clear pictures of a gnarled old hand holding blinding white cloth, the edge of a rooftop below dark bare feet, and a horde of civilians swarming around a giant figure in the middle of the street.

    A few of them, at the edges, were slowing down, clutching at their heads, leaning against the walls. Ambivalence. But it wasn¡¯t enough. Keisha herself was still hundreds of feet away, closing too slowly, and the halo would center itself closer to the emissor than the emissant, yielding more easily to valence pressure where Rhadamanthus had already staked a claim. The executioner swept his hand around, freezing dozens in place before the scythe-arm swung down for the next kill.

    A caustic light seared the sky. In the streets below, Rhadamanthus staggered sideways with his bladed arm and a good part of his head burnt away, trailing char from the fresh wounds. His assailants stepped back, alarmed; the luckless crowd he had frozen broke suddenly free. On the rooftop, Adesina¡¯s wrinkle-puckered eyes lit up white, preparing to burn again. And Keisha Graham, who had the beginnings of a stitch in her side, kept running.

    The injured Rhadamanthus didn¡¯t wait for either of them. His long legs picked a path through the crowd, shoving them aside with his intact hand where needed. The few who had wits enough about them to take a swing, missed by feet. Nothing mortal could touch him. Adesina had better odds, but no time to marshal her strength; the heat of her second glance only scalded his back before he retreated indoors, out of her sight and her reach.

    Hamza was safely anonymous all the while. There would be any number of other teenagers in the crowd who looked hardly any different, and Keisha wasn¡¯t confident that she could pick him out herself. Adesina made her way down to street level¡ªthrough a process as obscure as it was irrelevant¡ªand followed the crowd after her more conspicuous quarry, skipping ahead as she pleased.

    With every step Keisha ran, the halo got a little stronger; ambivalence was starting to kick in for real now. Large swathes of the throng stumbled to a stop, glassy-eyed, struggling in vain to reconcile their bloodlust with a sudden feeling of calm, clear assurance. Keisha was at the edge of the same mob now, pushing roughly past men and women with wrenches and golf clubs. Adesina made another of her subtle little hops sideways, into another building, hunting for even a glimpse of Rhadamanthus. Between the two of them, they would find him, and then his master, and then ¡­ then, whatever needed to happen, would happen.

    The better part of five minutes passed, with no sign of either of their enemies. Keisha kept to the streets, letting her familiar sift through the buildings for clues. There were plenty of buildings for one teenage boy to hide in, but as long as she kept him hiding he couldn¡¯t attack Ethan and Song, who hopefully were dealing with Shum-Shum somehow. It would work out. She took a moment to catch her breath, then ran down an alley and peered around the corner. The motley mess of Turks in the streets¡ªold men in bathrobes, young women in proper Islamic dress, boys with t-shirts and jeans with holes at the knees, businessmen in suits¡ªwere starting to look lost, and faintly queasy.

    She was methodically scanning the crowd for a young, bearded, purposeful face when they all abruptly relaxed together. All confusion and disquiet was erased, replaced by resolute certainty. Men and women who had been looking ready to black out straightened up, looked one another in the eye with faintly embarrassed smiles, and at once went on their way. Keisha knew what they were thinking: Well, wasn¡¯t that ridiculous? What was I thinking? I¡¯d better get back to what I was doing, and leave all this to the people who know how to deal with it.

    Hamza had released Rhadamanthus, or else moved very far very quickly. She knew better than to assume he would behave now; more likely he had to dissolve his familiar to regenerate him. It was too much to hope a teenager who¡¯d nearly been killed would not be feeling vengeful.

    Keisha started running again through the dissolving crowd, east this time, to where the skyline burned and smoked. Inside a minute she was moving more slowly along an avenue lined with smoldering wrecks, her feet slipping on ash as she sidled between smashed and burning cars. Shum-Shum¡¯s music was audible again, faintly, in the silence that reigned in his wake. All the people in these buildings had choked to death on smoke, or had the ceiling fall on their heads, or burned alive. Laughing the whole time.

    Adesina clambered on top of a gutted sedan to look around. Her face was its usual wrinkled mask, impassive, but she shook her head. The shining cloth, still immaculate in spite of the steady rain of drifting soot, slipped off her head to reveal a scalp fringed with a few scant grey hairs. She was small here, even feebler-looking than usual; there just weren¡¯t that many people around to feed her. She glanced back the way her mistress had come, and frowned, very slightly.

    Keisha followed her gaze and saw a tall young man in torn clothes limping down after her. When he saw her looking, he raised his right arm to point at her, and she caught a half-second¡¯s glimpse of a sidearm. Then there was a flash of light, and he dropped it with a shout, grabbing at the hand that had held it. It smoked as it landed on the street, where a second, smaller flash disintegrated what was left.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call Rhadamanthus, Hamza,¡± she advised him, her own pistol still pointing down at the street. ¡°You can¡¯t fight us and whoever comes running when the halo starts up.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid,¡± he told her, still limping her way. He was short of breath, and his cargo pants had a dark stain all down his left leg.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say you were,¡± she said, ¡°but that¡¯s close enough, thank you.¡± Her gun was still held low, but he obediently halted, leaning against the remains of a pickup truck. ¡°How bad are you hurt?¡±

    ¡°Who are you with?¡± he asked instead of answering.

    ¡°I¡¯m Numenate. American. My partner is chasing down your brother Yuri at present, or should be. I don¡¯t know where Ruslan is.¡±

    ¡°Neither do I,¡± Hamza said at once. Probably lying, or telling part of the truth.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. We both know Ruslan isn¡¯t a violent young man. Your sister Fatima is in our custody, by the way. She¡¯s been seriously injured, but she¡¯s receiving medical care and is expected to survive.¡±

    Hamza stared at her for a long time before saying, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°You might know me as Beelzebub.¡±

    ¡°Byalza¡ªwhat the hell kind of name is that? Never heard of you.¡±

    ¡°Then you can call me Keisha.¡± So Nadia hadn¡¯t told him. And he hadn¡¯t asked about her, either. To avoid incriminating her, or because he just didn¡¯t care? Hard to say. ¡°Chief Warrant Officer Keisha Graham, United States Numenate. I¡¯m willing to take you in, and get you care for that leg.¡±

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    ¡°Uh-huh. What terms?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have the authority to dictate terms. I can take you in, and I will protect you from immediate attack, but beyond that you¡¯ll have to take your chances. I¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s the truth.¡± Or the simple version. Things would be a bit sticky, once they knew about Adesina, but maybe Dr. Gus could paper things over for a while ¡­ ¡°What happened here?¡±

    ¡°Looks like Shum-Shum to me,¡± he said, deliberately unhelpful.

    ¡°Yes, it does. Why was Yuri staying in a separate apartment from yours, but just down the street? Given his history, wouldn¡¯t they want you keeping an eye on him?¡± He didn¡¯t answer. She hadn¡¯t expected him to. ¡°I¡¯m trying to trace the timeline here, and it¡¯s not adding up. There¡¯s no way the Turks would have responded with a few APCs full of mooks if they actually knew what they were facing here. And I know it was an anonymous tip. Did you maybe get a warning too, Hamza? Letting you know you¡¯d been found? How long in advance?¡±

    He turned to rest his forehead on his crossed arms, against the roof of the truck. She was about to press her case when he said, ¡°About twenty, thirty seconds before they pulled up.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± was all she said. It would be better if he took the next step himself.

    And he did. ¡°You¡¯re saying they fucked us.¡±

    ¡°After spacing you out enough for both¡ªmaybe all three¡ªof you to have your own halos, and cause maximum destruction in response. Yes. That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying, Hamza. The way I see it, you wouldn¡¯t keep fighting after losing two in the first attack, but they had a timetable to keep. This was how they chose to do it.¡±

    He lifted his head enough to nod, then sighed, and straightened up as much as he could, turning away from her. When he was steady on his feet again, he took a few painful steps back the way he¡¯d come.

    ¡°Where are you going, Hamza?¡±

    ¡°Are you going to stop me?¡± Still walking as he said it.

    ¡°I might. Or I might just follow you, until you lead me to Ruslan so he can heal you, or else you pass out from blood loss along the way.¡± His fists clenched at his sides, and she raised her pistol to point at his back. ¡°Or you can call Rhadamanthus. He might kill me before I can shoot you, but Adesina will last long enough to turn you to ash. Probably. You can chance it, if you want. Ball¡¯s in your court.¡±

    He stopped walking to lean against a new vehicle. Most likely, he¡¯d pass out long before he got anywhere at all. She still had her pic¡¯ in her pocket, and could stabilize him long enough to take him into custody. All she had to do was keep him from doing anything stupid in the meantime. ¡°You don¡¯t act like you¡¯re inside my halo, but I don¡¯t see your friend. Titus Marshall taught you Sovereignty Protocol, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°No. What the hell is that?¡±

    ¡°He might not have taught you the name. They might have called it something different when he was CIA, even. It¡¯s a simple trick; all you have to do is pull up a mental image that¡¯s loosely associated with your familiar¡¯s valence. It creates a kind of half-halo, too weak to¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Another couple of steps, then he toppled over, landing on hands and knees.

    ¡°You¡¯re only going to make the injury worse, trying to walk on it like that.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll die, then,¡± he said, rolling over to rest against a semi¡¯s half-melted tire.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t. If you agree not to do anything rash, I can help you.¡± He only grunted, but didn¡¯t move as Adesina shuffled over and leaned down to inspect a small hole in his pants. There was another flash, and he let out a gurgling half-scream through his teeth. ¡°There. No more bleeding. They can take the bullet out later. I¡¯d hold still for a bit, so it doesn¡¯t reopen.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said, and shoved his savior roughly away. She poked out her lip at his bad manners, but moved on all the same, holding up her wrap so it wouldn¡¯t trail in the ash and soot. Hamza closed his eyes, and Keisha chanced letting Adesina go long enough to send a quick update to Hamp and Gus. Neither responded right away, and she called her familiar back a few seconds before Hamza opened his eyes again.

    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to Fatima?¡± he said.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t decided that yet. I only learned we had her in custody this morning. If there¡¯s a way to save her, to ¡­ rehabilitate her, I promise you I will pursue it.¡± Hamza didn¡¯t reply. He¡¯d heard enough promises from adults and foreigners, and he had no real reason to trust her. ¡°Yuri might be a different matter. I can¡¯t guarantee my partner will take him in alive.¡±

    Hamza shrugged. ¡°Whatever. The little shit has it coming. What about his sister? Where¡¯s Nadia?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Then find her. She¡¯s a good kid. ¡®s not her fault, that ¡­ ¡± he couldn¡¯t seem to find the right words, and trailed off, waving his bloody hand in the air in a failed bid to summon eloquence.

    ¡°I¡¯ll find her if I can,¡± she said, painfully aware of the number of promises she was making, and the limits of her power to keep them. But Hamza did not challenge her, or react in any way, only leaned back against the car tire and breathed deep with his eyes squeezed tight.

    She was just about to suggest that they try to find him proper medical care¡ªor at least a working vehicle to move him out of the disaster area¡ªwhen his eyes popped open and he said, ¡°What the hell is that noise?¡±

    Keisha listened, heard nothing but faint traces of Shum-Shum¡¯s music. Evidently he was still running, somewhere. She¡¯d have to get on with helping him, once things were settled here ¡­ but no. She could hear it now, something thumping or banging. Rhythmically, and from the opposite direction, close to the way they¡¯d come. And more than that, people were shouting along. Not in fear. It was a chant. But she couldn¡¯t make out the words.

    She doubted Hamza could, either, but he was already getting to his feet. ¡°You were stalling me. Damn you.¡±

    ¡°What? No! Why would I need to? I could kill you right now if I wanted that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, bitch. You¡¯re not taking me in.¡± Rhadamanthus popped up beside him, intact and whole again, even if he was a bit shorter and less impressive.

    Adesina was between them right away. ¡°Hamza, you need to settle down right now, put that thing away and get out of sight.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to take orders from you.¡± He took a few faltering steps toward the new threat before his familiar reached out a giant hand to steady him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot!¡± But he wasn¡¯t listening. The banging was getting louder, and the chant with it, and under both a long, rattling scrape. A fresh crowd¡ªor the old one reformed¡ªcame pouring out around a corner five hundred feet away, pumping their fists in the air as they shouted together.

    ¡°Us-man! Us-man! Us-man! Us-man! Us-man! Us-man!¡±

    The crowd parted to make way as he appeared, grinding his plates against the pavement with a spray of sparks. The body of Usman the Dauntless was made of dozens of short, partially flattened metal tubes fitted together like the sections of a telescope, from the minuscule tip of his tail (still hidden around the corner) to the enormous torso of an armored giant at the top, with a spike-tipped helmet for a finial. He had no visible arms, but countless gauntleted hands floated in the air around him, ready to pummel his enemies.

    As enemies went, the two of them and their familiars weren¡¯t easy to miss, but the adoring crowd huddled around him were eager to point them out anyway. A hundred pairs of iron-plated hands clapped in challenge, and he charged, tearing up the road beneath him. The crowd followed, cheering and screaming.

    ¡°Run, jackass!¡± She led by example, dashing far enough into the closest alley that even Usman would have to stretch to reach her. Adesina made her unobtrusive way to the top of the sturdiest building. Arduously Hamza took cover behind a truck; Rhadamanthus stood his ground.

    It would be no contest, of course. In an even fight, with a healthy emissor, Rhadamanthus would do fairly well. But this was not an even fight. They were in the middle of a classic ¡°firebreak,¡± both literal and metaphorical, while the Turks¡¯ favorite son had a willing horde of bloodthirsty fellow-citizens to bolster him, and Hamza was half-dead.

    Which left it in Keisha¡¯s hands ¡­ except there was, she abruptly realized, absolutely nothing she could do. She could not calm or reason with the crowd, deep inside Usman¡¯s vengeful halo. She could not call for help, or hope for help to arrive in time if she did. She could not move Hamza fast enough, and she could not carry him with Adesina, whose murky shortcuts had never been open to mere mortals. She could not hide him in time, she could not distract or stall all the Turks at once, and if she did Hamza would probably die of shock waiting. Most of all, she could not stop Usman by force, alone or with Adesina, and trying would risk the deaths of innocents and a whole new international incident. Possibly war with Turkey.

    Because, if it came down to it, those outraged Ankarans were in the right. Hamza was a foreign aggressor on their soil, guilty of or complicit in an unfathomable list of war crimes, and the mere fact that he had already been disarmed and very nearly taken into custody by some other foreigner, acting under dubious authorization ¡­ well, that meant nothing at all. They would not mourn the intel that died with him, so long as they got some measure of retribution. As for his being underage¡ªif he even was anymore¡ªwhat about it? Plenty of even younger Turkish boys had died in this war already.

    There were probably more reasons and arguments to consider, but those were enough to get her hauling ass down the alley as fast as her legs would move her, long before Usman got in striking distance. She could think of plenty of reasons not to get herself killed while doing nothing useful. Adesina, who could be in no danger herself, stayed behind on her rooftop to witness.

    Rhadamanthus put up a brave fight, considering, but that hardly mattered. The shining scythe smashed a half-dozen floating hands out of the air before ten or twenty others grabbed him by his various parts and ripped him into pieces. The mob backed up behind their champion like water in a clogged pipe, then found a way, and found their quarry. He was hardly moving, defended himself with a few feeble swings. The end was mercifully quick, a flurry of fists, feet, pipes, bricks, and every kind of jagged implement that could come to hand in the wreckage Hamza and friends had made of their city.

    Keisha never slowed down.

 XXXV. Shame (Keisha)

    There were rules about notifying next of kin, good rules, and Keisha followed them to the best of her ability. Which wasn¡¯t much. She would have to be the one to give notice, out of uniform and grubby as she was, and the words would be hard. She had several hours to compose them, first as she gave the Turk mob the slip, then as she made her way back to the hospital through dark and increasingly jammed streets, struggling to get through to anybody for help or directions.

    Ethan caught up with her halfway, on a motorbike he¡¯d ¡°borrowed¡± from somewhere, and they rode the last few miles together, weaving through the congestion. Already there were scuffles breaking out, as people tried to force their way onto already crammed buses and trucks, or shoved dead cars out of the way and into other vehicles. Now and then they saw a head-on collision, where one motorist had tried to get out of the city faster by driving in the opposite lane.

    The hospital was one of the few buildings with the lights still on¡ªon the outside. The inside was a mess, half-lit on generator power and stuffed with angry and frightened people making demands of the exhausted staff. Several of them turned when they saw Keisha, and started shouting at her and Ethan instead. Including a word that sounded a lot like ¡°American.¡± Well, if they needed somebody to blame, she would do. She averted her face, and ran for the stairwell. It was close to midnight.

    There were still two armed men hanging around outside Fatima¡¯s door, looking bleary-eyed and grumpy. Dr. Gus and Hamp were snoozing in chairs inside. Fatima herself woke up when the door opened. She looked like crap, same as before, but lifted her left hand to wave. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Ballsy Bob?¡± she said, in a much less croaky voice than before. ¡°Nobody here will tell me a damn thing.¡±

    ¡°Probably because nobody knows anything to tell you,¡± Keisha said, looking in vain for another chair and settling for a wall to lean on instead. Ethan stayed outside¡ªas she¡¯d ordered him to. This situation didn¡¯t need his help. ¡°It¡¯s a mess out there. I don¡¯t know everything myself. But I¡¯ll tell you what I can. Fair warning, though: it¡¯s bad news.¡±

    ¡°No shit. This place is lit like a slasher movie, and you look like you just got a bad night¡¯s sleep in a gutter. Just lay it on me, sister.¡±

    Nothing for it, then. She looked at the vital signs monitor¡ªall good, nothing alarming or unstable¡ªand said, very quickly, ¡°Your brother Hamza died around 1700 this afternoon.¡± The lines on the screen might have wavered a little, or it might have been her imagination. Either way, she wasn¡¯t a coward, so she looked down again at the bandage-plastered face on the bed. Impossible to read in this light. ¡°It appears the Russians betrayed him, and your other brothers, to the Turkish government. Specifically, the POH, the police tactical unit. They seem to have been informed that Russian agents with guns were taking hostages at his location. He eliminated the three vehicles worth of men they sent, but was badly injured in the process. A force of civilians, led by a Turkish familiar, tracked him down and killed him. I saw this myself. There was nothing I could do. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Fatima shut her eyes, swallowed hard, and said in a huskier voice than before, ¡°Is there more?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Your brother Yuri also responded to the attack, though he was staying some distance away. I don¡¯t know what exactly he was trying to do, but he activated Shum-Shum and started burning in the complete opposite direction from his brother. Possibly he was trying to lead them away from Hamza, I don¡¯t know. Another familiar, an American, engaged them, but was forced to use most of its power limiting civilian casualties. Shum-Shum eventually disappeared, and Yuri¡¯s current location is unknown. Kizil Khan never appeared at all, to my knowledge, and it seems likeliest that Ruslan is still in Russian custody.

    ¡°Again, I¡¯m sorry to have to tell you all this. I wasn¡¯t able to find an imam on short notice, but if you like¡ª¡°

    ¡°Save it,¡± Fatima snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything else.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you should be. I don¡¯t know anything else to help you, get it? I already told you everything I know, bitch. Whatever you¡¯re trying to get out of me with all this, this bullshit, there¡¯s nothing to get, okay? I mean, look at me, I¡¯m in a fucking hospital bed, I¡¯ve got a tube up my goddamn crotch to get the piss out of me, I¡¯m all jacked up and the pain meds don¡¯t do shit. And you want to try and play mind games now? Well, fuck you, lady, and the red-white-and-blue horse you rode in on.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying, Fatima. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sorry at all. I¡¯m glad to know what a piece of shit you are, saves finding out later.¡± The weak fluorescent light glinted in her eyes, reflected off her cheeks. ¡°Now I know why Dad ditched your worthless fucking country; you¡¯re the same as the goddamn Russians, aren¡¯t you? You can¡¯t handle us, you can¡¯t do what we do, so you try to fuck with our heads to control us. It doesn¡¯t even matter which bastard you work for, they¡¯re all the same.¡±

    She was nearly shouting now; Keisha saw no point in interrupting. ¡°Us, now, we¡¯re nothing like you, you fucked with the wrong family this time, you hear me? We¡¯re tight, and we¡¯re strong, and we don¡¯t take shit. Hamza¡¯s going to take down every one of those commie bitches, then he¡¯s going to roll up in here with Rhad and slice you open from your dirty twat to your lying bitch mouth. Just like a fish. Wait and see, honey, I¡¯m gonna watch it happen, and it¡¯s gonna be beautiful!¡±

    A nurse bustled in, shaking her scarf-covered head as she made shushing noises. It was a different nurse this time, but with the same attitude. Fatima switched to Arabic, or something like it, to cuss her out, but the nurse wasn¡¯t impressed. Hamp and Gus were wide awake now, and leaving in a hurry. Keisha followed them out.

    ¡°I can see why you had me leave it to your more diplomatic approach,¡± Ethan drawled.

    ¡°That¡¯s not exactly how I expected her to react, but I should have. She still needed to know.¡±

    ¡°The hell she did,¡± Hamp groused. ¡°That girl¡¯s an emissor. Flipping out like that, she could have brought down the hospital. You¡¯re damn lucky she didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not completely irrational, even now. Calling Mister Higgins would have left her helpless in bed, and doomed to a slow painful death even if she won. Anyway, she needed to know. Notification happens within eight hours.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, for American soldiers, which she never was, and sure as hell isn¡¯t now¡ª¡°

    ¡°I think,¡± Dr. Gus interrupted quietly, ¡°there are more important and unpleasant disclosures which must be made tonight. But not here,¡± he said, gesturing to the weary security types and the nurses at the station.

    ¡°Right.¡± She waited a minute, but he didn¡¯t move or speak, only looked at her. This was her mess to clean up, apparently. ¡°Right,¡± she said again. ¡°Hamp, you up to another jaunt to the roof?¡±

    ¡°As long as the elevator¡¯s working.¡±

    It was cold, and darker than it should have been. Most of the city was still blacked out, the only light coming from the cars packed bumper-to-bumper along every highway out of town. Where were they all going? She doubted whether they knew themselves. But there were thousands, if not millions, of them, all voting with their feet. Anywhere but here. Hard to blame them, after everything that had happened.

    She bought herself time by constructing another angelfly. Not that anybody would be doing electronic surveillance here anyway. Just another layer of security. ¡°Hamp, what can you tell me about everything that happened today?¡± That seemed like a good place to start. God only knew how she was going to tell him what he needed to know. Or how many more difficult conversations she was going to have before she got to bed tonight.

    ¡°Everything? You okay with the short version? Ivan¡¯s been busy. They stabbed the two kids in the back, you saw that. Staged a bunch of false alarms with foreign security contractor types, got some harmless utility and transport companies shot up. A more convincing version to get the Turks to flatten their own hospital. A Dublin Run on the city¡¯s power grid, half the power plants are covered in glass¡ª¡°

    ¡°Hold up. What¡¯s this about a hospital? I hadn¡¯t heard about that one. Is somebody targeting hospitals?¡± She¡¯d assumed the screaming downstairs was a side effect of the general disorder.

    Hamp shook his head. ¡°Just the one, so far. They¡¯ve done a hell of a lot of damage today, mostly with telephones. Taking advantage of the chaos. The hospital was the centerpiece, though. Biggest one in the city, or so I hear. They gave a convincingly accurate description of Rhadamanthus, and said he was on a rampage inside the place. They did something like due diligence. Made some phone calls, couldn¡¯t get through. Their espers said there was a halo around that spot.¡±

    ¡°Jesus!¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯d guess that¡¯s where Ruslan was. Maybe he got out before the missiles hit. I don¡¯t know, though. Everything in a quarter-mile radius or so is dust now,¡± he added.

    ¡°And they did all this at the same time.¡± She¡¯d heard that explosion while she was chasing after Hamza ¡­

    ¡°Or close to it. Yes. The bastards timed this nicely. I don¡¯t know what they¡¯ll do next, but they might not need to do anything at all.¡± He waved a hand helplessly at the jammed streets. ¡°One week. One miserable goddamn week, and this country is on the verge of becoming a failed state. And all the necessary assets got smuggled into the city on, what, a couple of trucks? Makes me miss the days when the worst thing we could do was white phosphorus.¡±

    She stared out into the dismal maze of black towers. ¡°Yeah. About that.¡±

    Hamp grimaced. ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°I have something to tell you, and you¡¯re not going to be happy to hear it. It¡¯s something I haven¡¯t been ¡­ forthright with you about.¡±

    That trademark Hampton scowl. ¡°Because?¡±

    ¡°Because it was classified, and you didn¡¯t have clearance. Not many people do. I¡¯ve asked Dr. Gus, more than once. He said no. But something happened today that will, eventually, blow the whole thing. So, you need to know.¡±

    ¡°Then you need to tell me, don¡¯t you?¡± He was already looking pissed. Better to get this over with.

    ¡°I¡¯m an emissor. I had to use my emissant today, to stop Hamza. That¡¯s going to cause some repercussions.¡±

    A long, cold, hard stare. ¡°Are you shitting me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. I¡¯ve never had cause to use Adesina before. Not in the field. It¡¯s a very delicate situation.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t say,¡± he gritted. ¡°It would have been very nice for me to hear this a little earlier. Is there some reason the Numenate didn¡¯t think I needed to know about the full capabilities of the only subordinate they gave me to fulfill an apparently impossible task on short notice?¡±

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    ¡°It wasn¡¯t about you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, it isn¡¯t? It¡¯s just a coincidence that the old man who won¡¯t stop bitching about this voodoo doesn¡¯t get told he¡¯s commanding a soldier who can¡ªwhatever the hell it is you can do. Can you tell me that now? What exactly we were missing out on? Anything that could have let us just waste Mr. Marshall quickly before he totally fucked my peripheral nervous system?¡±

    ¡°No, nothing like that. Not without burning my way through the castle and starting a full-on battle. I think Dr. Gus picked me for this job so we¡¯d have an emissor on-site as backup, in case we totally lost control and the kids started rampaging across the city.¡±

    ¡°Then why in the hell couldn¡¯t you tell me we had that kind of backup?¡±

    ¡°Because my training to become an emissor started at the tail end of 2008.¡±

    ¡°2008,¡± he repeated. ¡°You mean, after ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°After executive order six-oh-three putting all further emissant production on hold. Yes. That order was countermanded in secret several months later. We think.¡±

    ¡°You think? You think??¡± He flung up his hands. ¡°What in the ever-living hell is that supposed to mean? Was the damn thing changed or not? Did you have authority to become a living goddamn superweapon? Shouldn¡¯t you have cleared that up first?¡±

    ¡°We all did our best. I was shown an official-looking sheet of paper on the right letterhead, with David McNeil¡¯s signature on it. All the people on top agreed that this was policy now, and we were just keeping it on the DL until the public got over what happened to Russia. Nobody questioned it, because everybody thought six-oh-three was a mistake anyway.¡±

    ¡°Oh, balls. This was Cowan¡¯s fault, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. He was still SecDef then. We know he lied about some things. And got caught. And then ate his own bullet, or somebody else¡¯s if you ask the internet. My point is, this was before all that. What was I supposed to do, request an interview with the president to confirm?¡±

    ¡°So, what, are you legit now, or¡ª¡°

    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent question everyone is afraid to ask.¡±

    ¡°Aw, shit! Don¡¯t tell me that!¡±

    ¡°Look at it this way: Cowan died, the revelations came out, and everybody wondered what we were supposed to do. The earliest candidates for Project Belvedere¡ªthat¡¯s what we called it¡ªhad already succeeded. I was one of the last, and I was nearly done. Dave McNeil was already on his way out, no further guidance came down from heaven, and nobody wanted to ask. We settled for suspending the program again, for the time being.¡±

    ¡°What you¡¯re telling me is, it¡¯s even worse than it sounds. I wasn¡¯t just being lied to, I was sitting on the biggest fucking political landmine in American history! This makes the other bullshit, all the other garbage that had me getting grilled by committees over the years, look like stealing cookies! And now it¡¯s blown up, and you¡¯re telling me after the fact that I could spend the rest of my life in jail for being an accessory to ¡­ what the hell is this, legally? It¡¯s not treason, but it¡¯s not a whole lot better.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what it¡¯s called. And if anything, we were protecting you by not telling you; you can honestly say, under oath, that you had no idea what I was capable of. Testify against me later, if you want. That doesn¡¯t matter. We have limited time to work with, now. I want to be out of the city before this hits the fan. We might have a couple of days.¡±

    ¡°A couple of¡ªjust what in the hell are you talking about? Are you planning to become some kind of superhuman fugitive?¡±

    ¡°No. Nothing like that. But a lot of people saw my familiar today. It¡¯s not on any documented records. If we¡¯re lucky, they might assume it¡¯s some new Russian asset, but that won¡¯t be believable for long. By the end of the week, there will be hard questions being asked. If I can just get on the trail before then, there¡¯s a chance I can get something useful done.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hearing a whole lot of ¡®not a fugitive¡¯ here.¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m not running. I intend to continue the mission for as long as I can.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re just planning to outdo Doug MacArthur. Some kind of patriotic mutiny. Jesus Christ, I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m hearing this. Are you¡ªare you, I¡ªaren¡¯t you ashamed to hear the words that are coming out of your mouth, woman?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s plenty of shame to go around in this situation.¡±

    ¡°And I don¡¯t contest that for one damn minute! But you, you can¡¯t mean to tell me that, because you¡¯re not the jackass who burned out a hospital full of his own wounded, you¡¯ve got the right to decide your own orders, and to hell with constitutional authority! That really is treason!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s really not. I have no intention of attacking America or its allies.¡±

    ¡°What kind of flipping bullshit non-answer is that? Don¡¯t try to foist me off with your goddamn technicalities. Do you think I¡¯m going to listen to you spout off all this insanity, and then stay quiet about it? Let alone go along with it. You¡¯d have to kill me, or hold me captive, to shut me up. I don¡¯t doubt you could do either, but if that¡¯s what this is coming down to¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh, Lord, Colonel, would you please just listen? I¡¯m not going to kill you. Or take away your freedom. I don¡¯t intend to turn against America or American interests. And I won¡¯t disobey a direct order, unless I sincerely believe it would be grossly unethical to do so. I do still have the right to a conscience, don¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°I suppose.¡±

    ¡°But now that the cat¡¯s out of the bag, I need to move fast. We all do. We did already, of course, but ¡­ look, you¡¯ve been through a lot of hearings, right? Did you ever meet Arthur Dawes, when he was a senator?¡±

    ¡°Of course. He was on all the right committees.¡±

    ¡°Did he strike you as the kind of man you could trust to do the right thing, even when it was unpopular or controversial?¡±

    ¡°What a stupid question. Men like that don¡¯t get elected, do they? And he¡¯s been in office since you were in middle school. He¡¯s not the worst I¡¯ve met, but he¡¯s not the best, either.¡±

    A bit more cynical of a take than she usually went for, but she wasn¡¯t going to argue. ¡°So now he¡¯s president, and this whole business¡ªwhich was his predecessor¡¯s fault in the first place¡ªwas dumped in his lap, and has caused him a lot of trouble already. He¡¯s never seen these kids, the whole thing is an abstract problem he¡¯ll never have to deal with in person. If he has the option to just shove all three into a shallow grave, will he take it?¡±

    ¡°¡­ maybe. I think Yuri, at least, deserves it. Not the other two. They really do seem to be unwilling victims.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say victims. If it wasn¡¯t for them, Russia would still own Fatih. Ruslan has done minimal damage since, under coercion, while Nadia actually defied her superiors and attacked her own family to stop a war crime in progress. She has done nothing to hurt America or her allies, and a lot to help. How do you feel about officers who let their subordinates take the fall?¡±

    ¡°All right, all right! But that doesn¡¯t excuse going rogue.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not. You were talking about shame, earlier. Would you be ashamed to let these children die, after being helping to buy their service from their father for ¡­ how many months was it?¡±

    ¡°About eight, I think. And no, I wouldn¡¯t say I was proud of it.¡±

    ¡°But do you feel any responsibility¡ª¡°

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t push it, if I were you. If you¡¯re saying we¡¯ve both done things to be ashamed of, fine.¡±

    ¡°But which should I be ashamed of: following orders to not tell you I was an emissor, or thinking about not following orders to avoid letting these kids die? I don¡¯t think you can be angry at me for both.¡± When he didn¡¯t answer, she went on: ¡°I¡¯m going to keep moving forward, as long as I can, and hope that when this all falls apart I¡¯ll be in a position where they¡¯ll be more disposed to keep me on the job. It¡¯s not going to be easy. Are you in, or out?¡±

    ¡°They haven¡¯t removed me from this operation yet; technically, I¡¯m still in charge, under General Green. Does he know about this crap?¡±

    ¡°Dr. Gus doesn¡¯t know, but it¡¯s not likely. At least, he probably doesn¡¯t know I was part of Belvedere, even if he knows about the program in general. If he did¡ª¡±

    ¡°Then he would have given you specific orders and rules of engagement and all that. Sure.¡± Hamp shut his eyes. ¡°I guess it could be worse. Yeah, I¡¯m with you for now. I¡¯m not making any promises for the future. I¡¯m risking jail time just keeping my mouth shut.¡±

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s fair. But it¡¯s godawful late, and I¡¯m half-dead. Do you want to go back to the embassy, or just crash here?¡±

    ¡°If the alternative is a long-ass walk through dark streets to sleep on a cot, the chairs and couches here aren¡¯t that bad.¡±

    ¡°Good call. Good night, Colonel Hampton.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, good night.¡± He still sounded grouchy, and lingered to look at the traffic while she headed for the stairs. Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. ¡°What do you think I should have done?¡±

    She turned back. ¡°About what?¡±

    ¡°You said you couldn¡¯t check your order by asking the president. Fine. What was I supposed to do about mine? I¡¯m not really a PPO, you know that. I can¡¯t feel auras, I can¡¯t make magic bugs, I don¡¯t have a god in my pocket. I¡¯m the cripple of this group, in more ways than one. They wanted me to buy Marshall¡¯s services. Was I supposed to quit? Take it to the press?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying I judge you,¡± she told him, wondering as she did if it was true. ¡°We¡¯re both in the wrong career for perfect moral clarity. Real life doesn¡¯t always work that way. I can accept that.¡±

    ¡°Then why do you have such a bug up your ass about the kids in particular? You act like you¡¯re the only moral person in the world. And to be perfectly honest, it gets on my goddamn nerves sometimes.¡±

    Only sometimes? ¡°This still isn¡¯t about you, Hamp. You could say it¡¯s personal. I only made it into the Corps myself because of a sick, unhappy old woman who spent the last years of her life exhausted just to make sure that I did. And there¡¯s a possibility that someday, on the other side of this life, I will have to face that old lady again, and tell her that I had a chance to do the same thing she did, when I was young and fit, but I didn¡¯t.¡± She tried not to think of Hamza getting torn apart. ¡°And frankly, the thought of that moment scares the hell out of me. The shame of it would destroy me.¡±

    She waited a long time with her hand on the door, but Hamp didn¡¯t answer, and she didn¡¯t press it. The door opened, and she made her way down the stairs to sleep. They both had a long road ahead.

 XXXVI. Progress (Nadia)

    Sumela Monastery was over a thousand years old¡ªold enough that nobody was exactly sure when it was founded. Perched halfway up a sheer cliff face in northeastern Turkey, it had been in continuous use until less than a hundred years ago, when all Greeks were forcibly evicted from the country to make a totally Turkish state. After years of neglect, it had been partially restored for use as a tourist attraction, but Turkey had not been attracting many tourists lately, even before the recent turmoil in the capital. Now Sumela was a beautiful, lonely, and not totally safe ruin in the middle of ten thousand acres of forested park, accessible only by a steep and narrow half-mile path. Which was why it had just been put back into use as a very unofficial residence for a single twelve-year old girl.

    Nadia woke before sunrise; her bundle of blankets did little to keep out the chill from the stone floor. The generations of holy men who lived here were not particular about physical comfort, and Nadia did not think she deserved it. As always, her first act on waking was to hurry to the little church carved into the rocks of the cliff, and sing what she could remember of the memorial service for the dead on behalf of Fatima and the victims of Ankara. She was not totally sure it was appropriate to say these prayers for a batch of Muslims¡ªand she was not sure that Fatima was even dead. Nor was Nadia a priest. She sang the service anyway, in the hopes that God would understand her predicament.

    The ruined frescoes on the walls stared solemnly down at her as she sang, offering neither praise nor condemnation. Large chunks were missing from them, leaving the ugly bare rock exposed. Miraculously, the somber face of Christ, at the apex of the high ceiling, was entirely preserved, and His hands as well.

    The memorial service was not long, especially when she had forgotten a good chunk of the middle. Next came prayers for the living, for the thousands of terrified Turks now wandering the countryside. She had passed through them, and seen firsthand what their lives had been reduced to. Her only comfort was that most of it was not directly her fault, and that she had played some pitifully small part in keeping it from being worse. Though even that was poisoned by what she¡¯d done to Fatima in the process ¡­

    When all was done, she got up from her knees, went out onto the terrace looking over the valley, and had a small breakfast of pita bread and pistachios from her backpack. The backpack itself had been looted from a store, like most of its contents. Only the food had been fairly bought, though she was starting to run low on money. There wasn¡¯t much food left, either. That would be a problem.

    How to get money? She might sell something. She emptied the backpack to take stock. The few articles of clothing she had managed to scrounge were essential. Likewise, the ancient paper maps, not that many would want to buy them. Blankets, makeup kit¡ªessential. Her water bottle, perhaps, but she couldn¡¯t see it bringing in much. She¡¯d smashed and thrown away her phone days ago, for fear Mila and her friends could use it to track her.

    The books ¡­ maybe. She had two of them, a Russian-Turkish dictionary and a Russian-language Turkish instruction book, both looted in a hurry from a bookstore in the suburbs of Ankara. Turkish wasn¡¯t all that different from the Kazakh she already knew, and she was getting more familiar with it from repeated use. Good enough to get along on, mostly. But, again, who would want to buy them?

    That just left the gun, which was heavy and incriminating and took up space. That, she could possibly get rid of. She hadn¡¯t had cause to use it yet, only to brandish it at men who looked at her the wrong way. It was less conspicuous than calling ¨¦zarine. Not much, though; why would a teenage girl have a military-issue submachine gun? Then again, offering one for sale would still draw too much attention. Perhaps she would just leave it behind.

    It was (if she had counted right) Friday, the first day of February. She had been at this monastery for two nights now, washed ashore by one of the waves of panicked refugees pouring out of the capital region. Plenty of chances for hitchhiking, and picking up the odd rumor. She hadn¡¯t been picky about where she went, so long as it was away from Ankara, and she hadn¡¯t stayed with any one group for long; she didn¡¯t want them to ask too many questions about who she was, why she spoke Kazakh, and why she didn¡¯t say the Muslim prayers.

    Random rides brought her to Trabzon on the Black Sea coast, where local talk and a purloined bicycle led her to make the fifty-kilometer trek to Sumela. It wasn¡¯t much of a shelter; there was an old spring for water, but no electricity or heat. The nights were bitterly cold at this elevation, and even with all the blankets she could carry she fell asleep shivering. The best you could say was that the old buildings still kept out the wind.

    Even so, her stay had done her good. When she arrived Wednesday night¡ªexhausted and heartsick after days of hitching rides with weeping, frightened Turks, crushed by the weight of guilt carried half a week¡ªshe had planned to stay here until she died, praying and fasting like a hermit until she ran out of food entirely, and starved. ¨¦zarine would be marooned in the middle of nowhere, and have no fresh host to jump to, assuming she could take a third host at all. So Nadia could atone for her crimes with her death, and make the world better at the same time. One less terrible weapon, perhaps another child saved from her personal form of damnation.

    A long night of hunger and solitude had changed her perspective, and a day wandering the deserted cells and chapels shook her resolution still further. She didn¡¯t stop feeling her guilt, and she didn¡¯t think fear or discomfort were acceptable excuses for forgoing penance. But she did wonder if simply dying in a forgotten corner of the earth was enough to buy her absolution. As she looked out over the forested valley in the morning, twenty-four hours older and wiser, her old plan looked more like a form of cowardice, of simply giving up. It was not martyrdom to die in obscurity from your own stubbornness. That was only suicide¡ªand suicides went to hell, didn¡¯t they? The thought made her shiver, adding to the morning¡¯s chill.

    She did not have a better plan yet, but a few ideas were reaching around in the dark of her mind, trying to catch each others¡¯ hands and join together. If she really wanted to be forgiven, and if she wanted to forgive herself, she would need to make a good effort at repairing the damage she and her family had done. That would mean driving the Russians out of Turkey¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t do that by herself even if she could find them. Maybe with the rest of the family on her side, but that was no small thing to ask after what she did to Fatima.

    Those would have to be long-term goals. In the short term, she would need to find a way to make herself secure and self-sufficient. Which was difficult, but not necessarily impossible, with ¨¦zarine¡¯s help. Less dauntingly, she would want to gather information, now that the initial rush out of Ankara had had time to work itself out. And, while self-sufficiency might not be on the table, Sumela was already more secure than she¡¯d been on the road.

    She¡¯d already had trouble once, in a mid-sized town along the coast, from a man in his thirties. Not that he¡¯d been hostile¡ªon the contrary, he¡¯d been all too friendly, asking if he was lost, if she wanted food, asking her name, running a hand through her hair. She declined his offers, walked away, started running when his footsteps followed. It took ten minutes to lose him. Then twenty minutes to collect herself again. It was all she could have done. The gun was buried in her backpack, and ¨¦zarine¡¯s halo would have set the whole town off on a witch-hunt. It would help to get a knife, something to fold up and keep in her pocket. Beyond that ¡­

    The monastery had a kind of courtyard, a second tiled terrace between the massive line of red-roofed dormitories hanging over the valley and the other buildings nestled or dug into the rock face of the cliff. She retreated there to practice in privacy. There was a great deal Papa Titus and Hamza had not taught her about using a familiar. One trick in particular she had seen Hamza use to save their lives back in Fatih, when he called Rhadamanthus instantly to kill the soldiers threatening them, his blade already in place to kill. That could save her life, if she could just figure out how to do it.

    She visualized a man standing in front of her, then called ¨¦zarine behind him, a hand already in place to clench down where his windpipe would be. Good. But the keystone sequence took time. She tried to do it faster, with little success. Perhaps it depended on her mental state when she called, but trying to work herself up into two different emotions in quick succession sounded hard.

    The more she tried, the more it irked her that she had not been taught this already. She knew why she hadn¡¯t; ¡°Papa Titus¡± would not have wanted her to know something that might let her turn against him more effectively. Even if that same gap in her training might get her killed. The same way he had not taught her Beelzebub¡¯s little trick¡ªperhaps she could try to do that first? It produced a feeling a bit like ¨¦zarine¡¯s halo, after all.

    It was worth a try. She visualized the wall, the way the little fly had taught her, the barrier hemming her in on every side so that she could not get out. She might find herself in paradise, if she could only climb over it, but that was impossible. When she was sure she had the picture clear in her head, she called ¨¦zarine. The sequence flashed through her mind¡¯s eye in a bare second, and her familiar was before her at once, ready to strike down any attackers. Success!

    She tried it twice more to be sure. Yes. The protective image was also a shortcut. She celebrated her victory by returning to the front terrace to watch the sun rise over the mountains to the east. She heard nothing but birdsong, and the wind in the trees. The road through the valley, far below, led to one of the most remote parts of Anatolia¡¯s arid inner plateau, and saw little traffic. None of the Turks would have reason to come here for a long time, let alone foreign tourists. Nadia was safe, for as long as her food held out. There was water, shelter, peace, and beauty, and she could¡ªin that moment¡ªimagine herself staying here the rest of her life. The weather would turn warm soon enough, leaving only the absence of plumbing to regret. But she would need food, and the world would not hold still in her absence. Soon enough, she would need to return to civilization, and take her chances. But it was hard.

    A single car puttered down the road from the north; Nadia¡¯s head idly swiveled to follow it, wondering where its occupant could be off to. It hardly mattered, and it soon passed out of sight. The rumble of its engine faded away, returning the valley to its blessed silence, and Nadia was reluctantly turning to fetch her backpack for the long trip back to Trabzon when she noticed the noise coming back.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    She cocked her head, listening intently¡ªno, there was no mistake. It was coming from down the path. Whoever was driving that car had taken the turnoff for Sumela. A visitor?

    There was no cause for desperate hurry. Halfway up the slope the path turned to stairs, impossible to drive a car up, difficult even to haul a bike, as she well knew. She had time to drag hers, and her bag, inside the rock church, then stop to think it over. Did anyone know she was here? She couldn¡¯t think how. She¡¯d taken care to ask a lot of questions, back in town, so that she would not seem especially curious about any one place. Even if she had, this was a long way to come to inquire after a single foreign child who had passed through days earlier. She had to assume this visitor was hostile. It was only a single car, but it could contain an emissor, or someone like Beelzebub, and there was only the one road in and out. That, in retrospect, was a mistake, and it left her trapped¡ª

    No. No panic. She took a deep breath, offered up a silent prayer in the direction the altar would have been, and called up her wall again. For good measure, she got the gun back out as well, and made sure it was ready to fire. Whoever it was, they would not find her defenseless.

    They took a long time coming; as arduous as the climb had felt two days back, at the end of an exhausting ride, it felt longer still when she had nothing to do but stand still and wait. She was on the verge of tiptoeing out to see if the intruder had slunk away after all when she heard footsteps on the tiled ground outside. One person, moving slowly, and still breathing hard from the climb. Making no apparent effort to keep quiet.

    Walking directly into the church in the rock where Nadia was hiding.

    It was an older man, a Turk, with a mustache and a short greying beard, a flat black cap on his head and a blue jacket zipped up over a slight paunch. He was still puffing as he ambled in right past her, head bowed, muttering rapidly under his breath. He nearly bumped into her bicycle before he saw it; when he did, he stumbled to a halt, then reached out a tentative hand to touch it, as if unsure it was really there, or afraid it might lurch up and bite him. Still mumbling, but in a different tone, a different language.

    Once he was satisfied that there was, in fact, a bicycle sitting inside the church, he turned around to scan the area for other such wonders. Stopping when he got to the spot beside the door where a grubby-looking girl was pointing a gun right at him.

    He put up his hands at once, and said in Turkish, ¡°I carry very little money, but you are welcome to it.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Nadia demanded in the same language, trying to pronounce the words without a Russian accent.

    ¡°I come here often. It is beautiful. A good place for my sunnah.¡± He spoke slowly, simply. Like he could tell she was foreign. He peered at her face for comprehension, apparently found it wanting, and added, ¡°Salah? Namaz?¡±

    The last word sounded familiar. ¡°Prayer? You are praying? You talk to God? But this is not a mosque.¡±

    ¡°Men have known God here,¡± he said, as if it explained all. ¡°I am afraid in Trabzon. Here there is peace. I talk to God, ask for more peace.¡± His eyes kept drifting back to the gun¡¯s muzzle. ¡°I did not know you were here,¡± he added.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, and lowered the gun to point at the floor. ¡°Do not come closer.¡±

    He nodded emphatically, his hands still raised in the air. After a moment, when she did not threaten him again, he said, ¡°I had two daughters. One still lives, and will give me a grandchild soon. I will not hurt you.¡±

    That seemed likely enough. She knelt down¡ªnot taking her eyes off the man¡ªand tucked the gun away inside the backpack at her feet. He relaxed visibly, letting out a little breath, and lowered his hands to clasp them in front of his belly. Nadia kept her wall handy inside her head. She did not think this man was an emissor, but caution cost her nothing. ¡°It is dangerous in Trabzon?¡± she asked him. He frowned at her. She¡¯d used the Kazakh word for ¡®dangerous,¡¯ hoping it would translate. Apparently not. ¡°What do you speak besides Turkish?¡± she tried.

    ¡°Some Arap?a. For my salah. And to read.¡± Which ¡­ probably meant Arabic? Useless to her. ¡°You are Turkish?¡± he said, hesitantly, afraid to offend. ¡°But not of Turkey.¡±

    That, she understood. ¡°I am Kazakh,¡± she said, and he smiled. Foreigners were scary, but all of central Asia was, in a very broad way, Turkish. She might be his eight hundredth cousin five times removed. Almost family. Never mind that she hardly looked it. In this light, he might not see that her eyes were blue. Her hair hadn¡¯t had time to grow out much since the last dye, either.

    He stepped back as she went rummaging through her bag again, relaxed when she only pulled out the dictionary. ¡°I could not find one in Kazakh, but I know some Russian too,¡± she explained, and he seemed to accept it. He relaxed further as she rifled through it for words to explain herself with.

    Slowly, with a lot of flipping back and forth for odd words, a picture of Trabzon emerged: a lot of armed men had come into town yesterday morning. They claimed to be Turkish military, and had uniforms and vehicles to match, but they mostly hung around acting tough and threatening people, taking what they wanted without paying for it. A few young men had been hauled in for questioning already, and roughed up. They were especially targeting Kurds, or people they suspected of being Kurdish. Trabzon had very few Kurds¡ªthey were mostly in the southeast of the country¡ªbut the soldiers were very suspicious, and looking for trouble, and so likely to find it.

    The city¡¯s government hadn¡¯t heard these men were coming, and Ankara did not respond to questions. The whole country was on edge already, and the occupation did nothing to make things better. It was only a matter of time before the riots started¡ªthe old man was sure of it. He knew how these things happened, he said.

    ¡°You should not be here alone,¡± he told her, jabbing a finger in the air. ¡°A young lady should not be by herself now.¡±

    ¡°Then where should I be?¡± she asked. ¡°In the city you say is about to riot, full of hooligans with guns?¡±

    ¡°How will you eat, child?¡±

    ¡°I have my bicycle, I can go buy¡ª¡°

    ¡°With what money? What work do you do here? And what if a man sees this little girl, riding along the road by herself? What if that man is not a good man?¡± He was oddly concerned, given that they had met with her gun in his face. But she did not think he was trying to trick her. ¡°You will disappear.¡±

    ¡°I have a gun.¡±

    ¡°So you, too, will be a hooligan? No.¡± He shoved his finger so far in her face that she was forced to step back. In the same slow, almost offensively patient voice he lectured her: ¡°This is not right. You will come with me. I have another room, in my house. You can be my cousin. You know this word, cousin? Yes? My cousin, from Kazakhstan. But what is your name, cousin? What do we call you?¡±

    Nadia hesitated. What he was proposing could not work for long. She did not know enough to pretend convincingly. It was a miracle he had not figured it out already. But she needed to go back to town anyway, she still had ¨¦zarine, and she wanted to learn more about these men with guns ¡­ ¡°Can we take my bike with me?¡±

    ¡°It will fit in my car. Your name?¡±

    ¡°Fatima.¡± She couldn¡¯t think of a Muslim girl¡¯s name that sounded much like hers, but this one would at least catch her attention if he called it.

    ¡°Very good, cousin Fatima from Kazakhstan. And I am Kemal. Come with me, cousin, and leave your gun behind. We will discuss these things on the way to my house, outside Trabzon.¡± He gave her a wry smile as they emerged into the sunlight again. ¡°You may have to stay there for a time, until we learn how to hide your blue eyes.¡±

 XXXVII. Wild Dogs (Nadia)

    The monastery was fifty kilometers from Trabzon, somewhat less from Kemal¡¯s apartment complex in the suburbs. The old man did not drive very quickly, and took the opportunity to ask a question every couple of minutes. Did she have any family he could contact, who might be worried about her? Were any bad people after her? Had bad men brought her into the country? She answered as vaguely as she could without being outright rude. He did not press her, but was obviously not satisfied.

    He lived on the third floor of a five-story building, one of several mostly-identical complexes along a country road south of the city. There were only three rooms, a kitchen and living area and two bedrooms, the second of which was so full of clutter she could barely get in: trash bags full of clothing, boxes of books, a broken chair and somebody¡¯s ancient vinyl record collection. Kemal hurried to clear a path to the bed, which had a very dusty comforter on it, explaining (if she understood him right) that his daughter did not have room for all her things in her husband¡¯s new place.

    He sounded very embarrassed, and she helped him haul the junk out into the living area without comment. By the time they were done, the air was about half dust and the rest of the apartment was almost as impossible to navigate as the room had been. They passed a relatively pleasant few moments out in the corridor, convulsively sneezing and wiping their eyes. Eventually, however, he ushered her inside, got her a cup of tea, they squeezed into the remaining space on the couch (at opposite ends, since she was a lady) and Nadia had to face the daunting task of a real conversation. It wasn¡¯t quite ten o¡¯clock in the morning, and Kemal had nowhere in particular to go.

    Neither of them knew where to begin, but he had at least given up on simple fishing for information. Instead she learned¡ªvery slowly, as each of them fumbled for words the other understood¡ªthat Kemal had been a dockworker who worked his way up to supervisor before retiring, that his wife died eight years ago, and that his surviving daughter had been a schoolteacher but stayed home after marrying and becoming pregnant with his first grandchild, a boy. She planned to return to work after he was born.

    ¡°I was not happy, at first, when she worked. I did not think it was good for a girl to leave her home. But I saw how happy she was, how good with the children.¡± He looked at Nadia intently as he said it. ¡°I cannot imagine these other men, other families, who threaten their daughters.¡±

    ¡°That did not happen to me,¡± Nadia told him, after translating ¡®threaten.¡¯ She decided to tell what she could of the truth, to stop him from getting worked up enough to contact the police. ¡°My brother and I left Kazakhstan several years ago. We were taken by a bad man, who kept us and used us for a long time. He made us do work for him,¡± she added quickly, when his jaw dropped. She might pass for older than twelve, being tall, but not by much.

    ¡°A month ago he grew angry at me for trying to get help, and tried to kill me. I killed him first, then ran away with my brother. Other bad men found us on the road, and tried to use us the same way. I escaped. My brother did not. I do not know where he is.¡±

    ¡°A terrible story,¡± Kemal said, but his face was guarded. ¡°Can you tell me where these men are, who have your brother?¡±

    ¡°They were in Ankara, when the attack happened.¡± Ankara had millions of people. It would not be dangerous to say that much. ¡°I think they will have moved on by now.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Human trafficking was a real problem in Turkey¡ªthe whole region, really¡ªso her story was believable. ¡°Where would you want to go, if you could? Back to Kazakhstan, to your parents?¡±

    ¡°My parents are dead. I would like to find my brother.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± He looked out his window. It was a bit grubby; Nadia got the impression he didn¡¯t get much cleaning done. ¡°There were people who take care of children like you. I think they will be ¡­ too busy now. You understand?¡±

    Nadia looked up the word. ¡°Ezilmi?.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Overwhelmed. We are all overwhelmed, now.¡± He got up again, went into the kitchen, and came back with a plate of biscuits to go with their tea. ¡°Are you overwhelmed, Fatima?¡±

    ¡°I am all right now, thank you. What will happen to Trabzon, and the army?¡±

    He sipped at his tea. ¡°What will happen to anyone? I do not think there is a real government left. If there is, it does not work anymore. Worse than before. You were at the capital, you say? Did you see what happened?¡±

    ¡°I did not see much,¡± she answered truthfully. ¡°I know the national security building was destroyed, and the president¡¯s house. I left the city after that. I do not know what else happened.¡± She had heard stories along the way, but her Turkish was not good enough to understand everything, and they could not all have been true.

    Kemal closed his eyes and shook his head. ¡°Terrible. These monsters must be punished. But I do not think they will be soon. Our government could not get them out of Fatih in eight months with America¡¯s help. How will they get more of them out of Ankara?¡±

    ¡°Do you think they will come here?¡± She blurted the question out, then realized it was foolish. How would this old man know?

    ¡°They do not need to. The army is bad enough, I hear. Dogs running wild, with their master dead.¡±

    ¡°What are they doing?¡±

    ¡°I have told you enough of that already,¡± he sternly informed her. ¡°Maybe too much. You are a lady. These things are not good for you to hear.¡± Nadia sank back into the cushions and nodded to show her submission. Kemal sighed. ¡°I do not know what we will do with you. You can stay, for a time, but it is dangerous. I am fifty-seven years old. I have seen bad times before, though not this bad. It will get worse, before it gets better. This region is all hills, few farms. Soon trucks will not move on the roads, ships will not land. When the dogs run wild, the food runs short.¡±

    He looked so pathetic as he said it that she wanted to hug him, tell him she could help. He was still talking, glaring down at the box of records on his coffee table. ¡°My grandson, my daughter¡¯s boy, how will he grow up, in this world? Will he have food? Will there be work? Will the dogs come for him too, one day? Ask him to join the pack? Fah!¡± His tea splashed over the saucer as he set it down too hard.

    ¡°I will take care of you as I can, while I can,¡± he said. ¡°It is a command. The Prophet himself¡ªpeace be upon him¡ªwas an orphan. Perhaps my daughter can help. If you truly have nowhere else to go, it is important to have a woman for kafalah. I will ask her. But ... I can make no promises.¡±

    ¡°It is enough,¡± Nadia told him. ¡°Thank you.¡± There was no way she could stay with this man¡¯s daughter, even if she was as nice as him. Which she probably was.

    After a pause just long enough to be awkward, he got up again, and started rummaging in his fridge for lunch, though half the biscuits were still on the plate. They had cold lamb kofte on bread; both sandwiches were small, but he gave her the larger of the two, and glared at her when she protested. There was more tea to go with it. They were soon finished, and made a brief attempt at idle chit-chat about things like the weather before the muezzin¡¯s cry sounded outside.

    Kemal at once made his way to the sink, washing hands and face and the tops of his shoes with the familiarity of long practice; he left the sink full for her, but did not look surprised or offended when she stayed put. She did at least stand up¡ªit felt more respectful¡ªwhile he rolled out his prayer rug, and discreetly crossed herself while he was bowing and kneeling in the other direction. After five minutes of prayer, he got a book from his shelf and sat down again to read it, saying nothing of her behavior.

    ¡°I am sorry,¡± he said after a moment. ¡°I do not have a television. Help yourself to any of my books, please.¡±

    And she did, though she didn¡¯t read Turkish much better than she spoke it. Trying to puzzle out a mystery novel was still good practice, and she needed something to do. She kept at it, hoping Kemal would drift off to sleep as he read and pondering what she could do if he did. It was obviously past time for her to begin paying her penance, but Trabzon was a big enough city that she had little hope of simply stumbling across a situation where ¨¦zarine could help.

    It did not matter, in the event; after a couple of hours¡¯ silent reading the old man snapped his book shut and returned it to the shelf. ¡°Come. It is cuma.¡±

    ¡°Friday? Yes, but ¡­ oh!¡± Friday. Communal prayers at a mosque. And he could not leave a girl he had barely met alone in his apartment.

    Kemal gave her a sad smile. ¡°Do not worry. You, my Kazakh cousin, have been away from God for many years. Angry, upset. You understand?¡±

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    ¡°Lapsed?¡± she said in Kazakh.

    ¡°I do not know that word, but maybe. You come to watch, not to do. They will understand.¡±

    ¡°You should not have to lie for me in your god¡¯s house!¡±

    ¡°Nyet, I should not,¡± he said, so simply that it took her a second to catch it. ¡°But l¨¡ ik''r¨¡ha fi l-d¨©ni, and we cannot risk your safety. This area is unhappy, and tempers are hot. I will say as little as I may, and they will understand what they like. Now, come ¡­ Fatima. We must drive, and I cannot be late.¡±

    It was not a very long drive, and she passed the time wondering what he thought he was going to do with her in the long term. He seemed so resolute, like he had come to a decision quickly and then moved on, with no regrets. That frightened her, though she could not say why. He really didn¡¯t seem to mean her any harm.

    The mosque was a modest white structure in the country; the call to prayer sounded from its minaret as they drove up. There were already several people present inside, many of them older. Nadia was not the only newcomer, it seemed. Several other young people had to be introduced to the mostly older regulars. One of the visitors was a man in uniform; the other congregants (if that was the word for them) shied away from him, though he was not armed. Nadia went to the back of the raised women¡¯s gallery in the rear of the mosque, and waited.

    The service lasted a little less than an hour, and was mostly the preacher reciting a sermon in a mix of Turkish and Arabic. For some reason he sat down and said nothing for a short time in the middle of it. The actual prayers came at the very end, and Nadia spent them pressed up against the rear wall, feeling intensely out of place and wondering how she was expected to continue like this with Kemal or his daughter. Once it was over, the whole crowd retreated to another room to talk over coffee and tea. Kemal was inclined to haul her away before they could get into any trouble, but she heard the start of a promising discussion, and stood her ground.

    It was not as if it was very dangerous; everyone seemed to be very involved in conversation, and did not even notice the shabby-looking foreign girl standing behind them to listen. Something about soldiers¡ªthe young man in uniform had promptly disappeared at the end of the prayers¡ªand a fight, maybe? She wished she¡¯d had more time to practice her Turkish. They spoke very quickly and quietly.

    Kemal, sensing her intentions, waved his hand for her to come and get in the car, but she raised a finger: one moment. He frowned, hands on hips, but did not make a scene by trying to haul her off.

    A little clump of women had gathered to one side of the room. One of them had just started crying. Nadia drifted closer, ignoring Kemal¡¯s tapping foot. The crying woman looked about twenty or twenty-five, conservatively dressed with a scarf around her head and neck so you could only see her face (when it wasn¡¯t buried in her hands). She had a marked accent and was even harder than the others to understand, but it had something to do with her husband. He was gone, taken. He was not a Turk, but not Kurdish either; it sounded like they were Circassians.

    If Nadia remembered her old lessons right, Imperial Russia had driven the Circassians from their home in the Caucasus back in the nineteenth century; they would have no reason to side with Russia that she could see, and had nothing to do with Kurds. But her husband had a strange accent and complained yesterday about something the soldiers were doing, so away he went to lockup. Supposedly.

    The other women crowded around the girl, trying to think of words to comfort her and obviously coming up short. Nadia cut through the feeble murmurs with a question: ¡°Where did they take him?¡± As one, the women turned to stare at her, not at all approvingly, but she repeated the question in a louder voice, adding, ¡°Could you perhaps visit him?¡±

    From the looks on the women¡¯s faces, that was a stupid question, but the girl said, through snuffles, that she had tried, this morning. There was a prison in the city, not a very large one, and as far as she knew anyone they rounded up went there. But they would not let anyone else get close, or even confirm that he was there.

    She was just asking where the prison was inside the city when Kemal lost patience and yanked her away by the arm. ¡°This is not an intelligent way to behave,¡± he growled from the side of his mouth as he hustled her out the door. ¡°Nor grateful. I am trying to keep you alive, and you make a fool of me.¡±

    ¡°Some things are more important than just living,¡± she shot back at him, annoyed. She had enough self-control to wait until they were out of sight before reclaiming her arm.

    ¡°Why does this matter to you?¡± he said, ignoring her. ¡°Why must you know what they do? You do not need to know. It is better not to know. The world is ugly enough, and you look for more that is ugly. How are you better off?¡±

    She studied his face. He was annoyed, deeply so, and a little frightened, but not mistrustful. He still did not mean her harm. If he was going to try and get something out of her, or use her for something, he should have started asking by now, but he hadn¡¯t. Which made him the best man she had met in three years. As good as Gulya. She was unlikely to meet any better. ¡°If I told you there was a way to help that woman¡¯s husband, would you want to be a part of it?¡±

    ¡°If the way was righteous, and lawful for a God-fearing man? Of course. But you are a girl, a child!¡±

    That decided her. ¡°Then take me back to the place where you found me. I left something behind there, something I have to show you. You will understand everything much better once you have seen it. Then there will be no more secrets. I promise.¡± Only a bit of it was false, and she could not tell the truth and expect to be believed.

    He still looked worried, and grumbled about the price of gas, but she could tell he was curious, and again she held her ground. After a minute¡¯s consideration, he agreed. They drove back in silence, a good deal faster than they had come. Nadia felt like she was passing between worlds, riding into the hills with this old man. Leaving the dangers of humanity behind them. But there was a different kind of danger ahead.

    She helped him up the long stairs, letting him lean on her arm like she was his actual cousin. He didn¡¯t need a lot of help, but it was his second trip up those stairs in one day, and he wasn¡¯t young. Still, his heart was strong. He would need that.

    When they stood together inside the inner court of Sumela, she said, ¡°I¡¯m going to show it to you now. It might frighten you. If you see it, and decide you don¡¯t want anything to do with me any more, I will let you go. I will have to move on from this hiding place, but it¡¯s far enough away from anyone else that I¡¯ll have a head start.¡±

    ¡°I did not agree to do anything immoral,¡± he protested.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s immoral,¡± she told him. ¡°It¡¯s just complicated. I couldn¡¯t explain it. I had to bring you here.¡± Where there were no other humans around.

    His jaw was clenched. ¡°I know you have secrets, cousin Fatima. I have not betrayed you yet. Show me, please.¡±

    She called ¨¦zarine the old way, without the wall, so the keystone sequence had time to play out instead of hitting him like a hammer. She was only there for a moment, long enough for Kemal to see the shining figure of a mostly-nude woman and instinctively turn his face away, abashed and offended by this shameful breach in decorum. He could hardly feel anything else until Nadia dismissed her familiar. Then she did, and he understood what he had seen. Then she had to lunge to grab him before he toppled over backwards and hit his head on the hard ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°It was the only way. You deserved to know the truth.¡±

    He turned his head back to stare at her face¡ªif you could call it staring. His eyes didn¡¯t seem to focus on her correctly; they ran over and around her features as if they were an abstract painting, or a puzzle with the pieces out of order. Trying to make sense of an absurdity. She gave him all the time he needed. She had nowhere else to go, and the sun would not set for at least an hour.

    Gradually the color returned to his face, and after clearing his throat several times he worked up the courage to ask one question: ¡°Who are you?¡±

    She answered much more easily. ¡°My name is Nadezhda.¡±

 XXXVIII. The Charioteer (Nadia)

    From there, it should have been a simple matter (relatively speaking) to go on and tell him the whole story. She¡¯d anticipated their language issue, and brought her dictionary, which made it a little easier. Kemal was, as expected, an attentive and charitable listener once he got over the initial shock. But there was a rather large problem: the common word for ¡®familiar¡¯ or ¡®emissant¡¯ in Turkish, as in Kazakh, was basically ¡®jinni.¡¯

    The whole concept of synnoesis, of familiars taking on new hosts¡ªeven teenagers¡ªwhich she had expected to be an obstacle, was for him not even a minor complication to the major issue that the entire thing was plain witchcraft dressed up as science. It was not surprising to him that a jinn could jump between hosts; nothing about that was inconsistent with the Quran or the folk tradition surrounding jinn.

    ¡°But she¡¯s not a jinni!¡± she insisted, to little effect. ¡°It doesn¡¯t work that way!¡±

    ¡°Then how does it work?¡± His tone was reasonable, open. When Nadia did not answer right away, he went on, ¡°I am no Salafi. Science is good. Progress is good. But this does not seem like science or progress to me. My car is a good invention made by science. It takes me where I want to go. It does not change the way I think or feel to do it.¡±

    ¡°This is ridiculous. ¨¦zarine isn¡¯t some kind of devil.¡±

    ¡°The jinn are not devils. They are a kind of being made after angels but before men. They are not all evil. Some are Muslim, even.¡±

    ¡°¨¦zarine was made less than twenty years ago, in a laboratory somewhere, by a Frenchman named Claude. She can¡¯t be a Muslim, or a Christian, or anything, because she doesn¡¯t really think. She is ¡­ made out of Claude¡¯s hopes and fears, the way he thought.¡±

    Kemal shrugged. ¡°Or his hopes and fears invited a jinn to take her form. I do not know how jinn think, though it is said they are drawn to live in remote places.¡± He gestured at the ruined monastery around them.

    ¡°Coming here was my decision. ¨¦zarine is attracted to people. I found her in a mosque in the middle of a town near Istanbul.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± He frowned. ¡°Have you tried a cinci?¡±

    She looked up the word. ¡°No, an exorcist will not work,¡± she said wearily. Too late she remembered the stories from her increasingly murky and distant childhood in Kazakhstan¡ªthe fringe world of folk healers and spirit workers claiming secret knowledge. Some said they had been trained by paraphysical scientists, while others cited a more traditional religious background, Muslim or Christian. Many purported to have both kinds of knowledge, mingling the best of each or insisting they were secretly the same.

    Father¡ªher real father, Mikhail Voronin¡ªhad always tried to steer the family away from such people, insisting it did no good to deal with them. The science of the spirit was a matter of state security, and people who pried too closely into those secrets received unfriendly attention from the authorities, even if they were obviously charlatans, or insane.

    Still, they were there, always, everywhere you went, alluded to and acknowledged even if not respected. Even if you were a girl of eight or nine, you heard about their world. Crudely-printed pamphlets and newsletters left in sloppy stacks at the library, madmen on street corners, dumb boys boasting at the playground about the things their cousins could do (though she never met the cousins themselves). In sermons, once or twice, though never in depth, always supporting the regime which had so recently rescued them from communist oppression. Even then Nadia had known it was unwise to go further, if you did not want to meet the oprichnik. No religious body ventured a formal theological opinion on familiars.

    But that was in the former Soviet Union¡ªand recently ¡®former¡¯ at that. The Muslim world outside Moscow¡¯s influence had no need for that kind of bashful muttering. None of their governments even had paraphysical research programs of their own; Turkey was one of the rare few that had cozied up enough to NATO to have a few citizens trained as emissors and clairvoyants for prestige. The rest of their security needs were met by Americans or other foreigners, who did not care what kind of talk went on in mosques or coffee shops provided it was not in Russian. Their whole region was safely dependent, and any individual grumbler or braggart was no closer to discovering real paraphysical secrets than he was to inventing a rocket to the moon.

    So men like Kemal were free to come to whatever conclusion they liked, and men and women who wanted to peddle miracles could operate unmolested. Kemal did not seem troubled when she reminded him his own government employed Usman the Dauntless. ¡°If a jinni can protect us, we can use him,¡± he said. ¡°And his master will be a man, a grown man. You are a young lady. That is what concerns me most.¡±

    ¡°I know. I didn¡¯t want to get her; my adopted father made me. But I have her now, and I can¡¯t get rid of her. Shouldn¡¯t I use her to make things better, if I can?¡±

    ¡°Of course we have a duty to do good,¡± he said, looking faintly irritated that it was even a question. ¡°That is not my concern now. I do not know if it will ¡®make things better¡¯ at all. I have raised two daughters. You say you are twelve?¡±

    ¡°Thirteen next month.¡±

    ¡°I remember thirteen. For both my girls, it was difficult. They were often angry, upset, made bad choices. But they did not have jinn to deal with. Or ¡®par-a-phys-i-cal con-structs,¡¯¡± he added, sounding the English words out arduously with a roll of his eyes, before she could object. ¡°It makes no difference. A man may take a burden which a child may not, because he has grown, his mind is grown. What will this creature, whatever it is, do to you?¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter!¡± she told him. ¡°I still have her. It¡¯s at least a little my fault that this has happened. Isn¡¯t it even more my fault if I don¡¯t make it right?¡±

    ¡°You are a child,¡± he repeated mulishly. ¡°Children are responsible for nothing. Only adults can be responsible.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that. How can I learn to be responsible as an adult if I don¡¯t start now? Do I let these soldiers take this woman¡¯s husband and lock him away until I turn eighteen, then go and break him out, if he¡¯s still alive?¡±

    ¡°No. This is all madness. I would not trust you with your gun, even if I knew you could use it. Your jinniyah is much more dangerous. If you had a ¡­ tank??¡± He looked to her appealingly. ¡°Like a truck, with a gun?¡±

    ¡°We just say ¡®tank,¡¯ in English and Russian.¡±

    ¡°If you had a ¡®tank¡¯ only you could use, I still would not let you use it, because children do not drive tanks!¡± He pounded his palm with a fist.

    Nadia¡¯s fists clenched at her sides. ¡°Let me? Who said anything about letting me? You aren¡¯t my father. You can¡¯t stop me from doing anything, as long as I have ¨¦zarine with me.¡±

    He turned pale, the kind of pale that always spelled danger when it crossed a man¡¯s face. But he only said, with icy calm and a growl in his throat, ¡°Then why do you tell me these things? Does a grown and adult lady need this old man¡¯s approval?¡±

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    ¡°No. But I could use your advice. I want to drive my tank into the jail in town today, to let that woman¡¯s husband out. If there is a good reason that will not work, tell me, and I might drive my tank somewhere else. I might take it to a whole different part of Turkey, even. I don¡¯t know what the best way is to use my tank, but I have it and I am going to use it.¡±

    His face sagged in disbelief. ¡°You want me to ¡­¡±

    She thought back to something Mila had said, and smiled. ¡°To be my charioteer.¡±

    Disbelief gave way to bewilderment. ¡°Your what?¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t important,¡± she told him, brushing the question aside with one hand. ¡°A stupid ¡­ ?aka.¡± Thank goodness for the dictionary. ¡°I mean that, if you are an adult, you can guide me, can¡¯t you? Give me advice. I am not a Turk, I don¡¯t understand this country like you do.¡±

    ¡°I was a dockworker,¡± Kemal said. ¡°I watched the men load the boats for twenty years, and shouted at them when they were lazy. I am not a soldier.¡±

    ¡°The soldiers are in town locking up Circassians and looting cigar shops. I do not need a soldier. I know how to fight with ¨¦zarine already. I need a good man, a man I can trust, a man who knows Trabzon, and you are the only one I can find.¡±

    He shook his head and leaned against the wall. ¡°Too much. This is too much. I just met you, child. I do not know how to fight a war, I know nothing of your jinn and their powers.¡±

    ¡°But you know that things are bad, and I have the power to make them better.¡±

    ¡°Or worse.¡±

    ¡°Or worse,¡± she agreed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you rather be able to help me make good decisions?¡±

    He tensed up, so that for a second she thought he was about to take a swing at her. Instead he tugged the dictionary out of her hands, and flipped through it until he found the word he was looking for and slapped a finger down on it. ¡°§Ó§í§Þ§à§Ô§Ñ§ä§Ö§Ý§î§ã§ä§Ó§à,¡± she read. Extortion. Yes, she supposed it was. ¡°All right, fine. What would you do, if you controlled ¨¦zarine yourself?¡±

    ¡°Hard to say. But I do not. The burden is not mine, it is yours, and it is too much for a girl of twelve or thirteen to carry. You cannot remove that from the question.¡±

    ¡°And what if doing nothing is a heavier burden?¡±

    ¡°Not the burden of decision. The burden of¡ªwhat does she do to your soul? A jinniyah and a child?¡± He took his cap off, ran fingers through his hair. ¡°But the decision is enough. You ask more than you know. Much more.¡±

    ¡°All I want is¡ª¡°

    ¡°If I tell you ¡®do this,¡¯ and people die, it is my fault! If I tell you ¡®do that,¡¯ and people die, it is my fault for not saying ¡®do this!¡¯¡±

    ¡°How is that different from how I live now? Is the ¡®burden¡¯ too much for you to carry, but fine for me? You say I¡¯m a little girl. But I can¡¯t put her down. Do you make me carry her alone?¡±

    For a full thirty seconds his face contorted, as he struggled to find words for an answer. In another situation, it might have been funny, to watch his cheeks twitch, to see thought after thought bubble up to his lips only to die before reaching the air. His hands moved too¡ªabortive, spasmodic gestures. At last with a look of sheer despair he turned around and stomped away.

    Nadia hurried after him, in case he was going to rage all the way back to his car. When he got out his phone, she felt a moment¡¯s terror that he was going to turn her in, that he was solving his problem by cutting her loose and forcing her to run again. But he did not call or text, only walked back and forth frowning and fiddling with it, and eventually he tucked it away, bowed down to the ground, and started reciting in Arabic.

    He was praying on the question; he¡¯d only needed the phone to find the way to Mecca. Nadia smiled, and withdrew back into her monastery to leave him alone. She barely knew Kemal, but was still confident what answer his prayer would give him. It was only a matter of time.

    And time, and time ¡­ she didn¡¯t have a working clock, but it seemed to her that she waited for at least an hour, maybe two. Long enough for the sun, already well along in the sky, to sink below the tops of the mountain behind Sumela. She retreated to the church in the rock where he had found her, trying to follow his example. But prayer eluded her. The evening chill had set in when he returned, and she could not see his face in the twilight.

    ¡°I must choose a narrow path between many errors,¡± he announced. ¡°I cannot compel you, this is clear. I cannot surrender you to the authorities¡ªthey are unjust, and I do not know that they would succeed even if they were not. I know of no other with better judgment than myself to guide you. I would ask one of the ulema, but it is not safe. I know no imam, no mufti, I would trust so far.¡±

    She nodded, motioning him to go on.

    ¡°This will be difficult, and dangerous,¡± he said, and started to pace back and forth. ¡°But that is alakas?z, it is nothing. Duty does not depend on safety. This is the greater jihad, though you are an unbeliever.¡± He chopped the air with one hand as he said the words, as though he were not quite sure he believed them himself and needed a thorough convincing. He took a deep breath and faced her again. ¡°But you will have your own duty in this.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Will you agree to do nothing without my approval? Nothing involving your jinniyah, I mean? Or any other aggressive action, or threat?¡±

    She thought it over. ¡°Yes. Unless I am attacked. I¡¯m not going to get shot while I ask for your opinion. Or if someone else is attacked right in front of me.¡±

    ¡°That is not aggressive.¡± He, too, had to think a moment. ¡°Very well. It will do. If we agree, then ¡­ what has become of your brothers and sister?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t know how to find them.¡±

    ¡°It seems to me that this is our most urgent duty, to find the other children still in the hands of the Russians. So we may end their mistreatment, and the damage they may do, at the same time. The task is twice worth praise.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to find them, believe me, but I don¡¯t know how.¡±

    ¡°I do not think we can. But we could, maybe, force them, or their masters, to find us?¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good.¡±

    ¡°No. It does not. It never does. You are young. You do not know how frightening it is, to be called to do right. But the call cannot be denied, once it is heard. To hear the call, to obey, this is true jihad¡ªnot the stupid business of stupid boys feeling big with their guns.¡± He paused. ¡°This may not be done very quickly. We will need to leave this region. I will have to explain to my daughter, make excuses for neighbors.¡±

    ¡°Leave?¡± The thought struck her, again too late, that she was pulling this old man out of his comfortable retirement. But trying to backpedal now would only offend him, no matter how guilty she felt. ¡°Where do you want to go?¡±

    ¡°Where we may do the greatest good, so they who seek evil will see. The east. Where Kurd fights Turk. If you fight here, if you help that woman¡¯s husband, you may help him, but you will start a fight, and many more may be killed. Here, there is still a hope that things may become calm. Better to find where there is open trouble already, and seek to make peace.¡±

    ¡°You want to go right into a war?¡±

    ¡°Of course. You wanted different? To go and call your jinniyah, beat up the stupid boys with guns, walk off and laugh when they run, be a hero, no work? What is the use of that?¡±

    ¡°Well ¡­ ¡° Her heart sank, but she tried to persuade him anyway. ¡°I wanted to start small.¡±

    ¡°You have more than started already. If you go to war, you should look to finish, and quickly. Delay means more suffering.¡± Another pause. She wished she could see his face. ¡°Or have you changed your mind? Have you become sane? I can speak to my daughter, see if she can be your guardian. It is not too late.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure, now, that he wouldn¡¯t be disappointed if she said yes. He had made up his mind again, and was prepared to follow through. But her giving in was out of the question now anyway. ¡°East it is,¡± she said through gritted teeth, and he returned a solemn nod, extending a hand for her to shake.

 XXXIX. Storm Chasers (Keisha)

    Central Anatolia was a lush and hospitable land, compared to the moon. That was the best you could say for it. The hills went up and the hills went down, one after the other to the horizon and beyond, most of it in shades ranging from drab brownish-green to drab yellow-brown. The really lush spots, scattered around the landscape, had bushes or even actual trees, which Keisha assumed would have pretty green leaves in another month. Possibly the grass got greener too. She didn¡¯t know. At the moment, it was all cold and dead.

    Dr. Gus sat serenely in the parched grass with his eyes closed, ignoring the prickly stalks poking up between his crossed legs. Going by her phone, they¡¯d been here for seven minutes, to the extent that there was a ¡®here¡¯ to be. His breathing was still slow and regular, but he was starting to take longer with each check, and it wasn¡¯t just thoroughness. He was getting tired. They all were.

    Hamp and Ethan stood off to one side, not talking, just taking in the scenery, and the scenery was about the same as the last four stops. There wasn¡¯t anything left to talk about; every possible topic of conversation had been exhausted, usually ending in an argument. Tempers were short. None of them had had much sleep. Keisha had done more on less, and so had Ethan, but the other half of their party were older men in poor health. Their limitations were another source of tension in the group.

    ¡°Another source of tension in the group.¡± So dry, such clinical language. Like she was already writing up the report in her head, justifying their failure. But they couldn¡¯t have been expected to succeed, with what they had to work with.

    It was¡ªshe checked her phone again¡ª10:09 AM, Wednesday, January 30<sup>th</sup>, 2013. Day three of the hunt for Yuri Marshall. His ¡°retreat¡± from Ankara, such as it was, had taken him due east along Highway 88, leaving a trail as broad and plain to see as it was difficult to follow. Every ten miles or so, another eruption, another outburst, another little town or chunk of a city wiped off the map.

    Sometimes there were tanks and APCs amid the wreckage, and the scene wasn¡¯t hard to reconstruct: the valiant Turkish Army, or an isolated and confused fragment thereof, set up a checkpoint¡ªpossibly to catch Yuri, possibly just to control the flow of refugees and restore public order. Either way, a single boy driving down the highway could make out military vehicles long before they had a chance to pick him out from the general traffic.

    When Shum-Shum came out, the guns started booming, but there wasn¡¯t much risk to Yuri because the damn primeval halo fried the brains of everybody in reasonable range. The men at the controls stopped thinking about complex concepts like defense or even survival; their minds were full of flashing lights and bright colors and they wanted to make more. They turned their weapons on whatever will make the loudest and most satisfying boom, which usually worked out to the nearest large vehicle or building.

    Sometimes they had artillery backing them up, which was worse because they couldn¡¯t get a fix in a halo. Half of them held fire and retreated. The other half panicked and fired blind. The guns doubled Shum-Shum¡¯s collateral damage while somehow always managing to avoid Yuri. Shum-Shum might have knocked the nearest misses out of the air, or created enough localized turbulence to throw the shells off course. Unclear. The carnage was immense and unsparing regardless, and when it was all over the boy had been slightly delayed by his need to find a new working car on the other side of the firestorm.

    Not every battleground had soldiers, though. More than half were pure innocent civilian casualties. They¡¯ve argued at length about what set Yuri off in each case, and finished the discussion no wiser. It might be that somebody tried to attack him when he stopped for gas or food. It might be that they caught him stealing supplies. Or it might be that he got bored, or lost his temper for no clear external cause. He was a teenage boy cut off from the entire human race, running scared and angry, and his only escape, however temporary, from the prison of his mind was to pull his big friend out and spend a jolly half-hour leading the cheer section in Hell.

    And another red X appeared on their cheap paper road map, another data point gathered many hours after the fact: Yuri was here.

    By the end of Monday they knew they were falling behind, chasing a quarry who had mostly clear roads to drive on and put up roadblocks of melted asphalt and shrapnel behind him. The roads between were increasingly clogged with frightened people they could do nothing meaningful to help, and while they stopped to clear a road or two Yuri was busy inflicting twice the damage ahead.

    They spent Tuesday closing the gap with Tantrum Song. It was a good plan; however quickly Yuri drove between fights, he still lost time with his familiar, time they could make up in a car flying parallel to the road in their own personal whirlwind. The population he himself had stranded on the highway was usually enough to keep Song fed. They made terrific time, stopping only to confirm that Yuri was still following the highway.

    At 1800, they discovered he wasn¡¯t¡ªthe city of Erzurum, nine hundred klicks east of Ankara, was still pristine, with a heavy military garrison that opened fire on Song the moment they got visual. So they backtracked to his last atrocity, branched out from there. The Doctor got lucky and caught him in the act once, from extreme distance, and pointed them in the right direction. Some tiny village called Ba?ba?lar, way the hell off the road, had been annihilated. They¡¯d probably never find out why, they arrived at least an hour after it was done, and they stayed up till two in the morning trying to pick up the trail again.

    When they didn¡¯t find it, they fell asleep in the car, caught a few hours¡¯ sleep. Keisha¡¯s phone woke them a half-hour before dawn, and they continued the search, but with little hope of success. Now it was ten, and though they hadn¡¯t said anything one way or the other Keisha had the feeling they would be done if Doc came up dry again.

    Ethan had found a reasonably close tree to lean on, and dozed. Hamp looked like he was considering it himself, but decided against it. Which was probably wise; he couldn¡¯t catch himself as easily as Ethan could. Instead he hobbled over to Keisha and said quietly, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose there¡¯s any other tricks we could pull that I haven¡¯t been told about?¡±

    The question sounded wistful, not bitter, which she counted as major progress on his part. She hated to disappoint him. ¡°No. I have my VRIL and Adesina, Ethan¡¯s got Song, and Dr. Gus can do what he¡¯s doing now. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°You sure he doesn¡¯t have one too? He¡¯s been in the business long enough.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t. I¡¯m positive. Clairvoyants can¡¯t be emissors.¡±

    Hamp shook his head like he was driving off a fly. ¡°I know everybody says that. Who¡¯s to say he didn¡¯t find a way?¡±

    ¡°Every paraphysical theorist for the past thirty years.¡±

    He scowled, but shut up¡ªfor a moment. After thirty seconds he piped up again, ¡°And you¡¯re sure the little punk can¡¯t hide his tracks?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, refusing to elaborate. She¡¯d gone into detail on this same subject multiple times before, and it hadn¡¯t helped.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m just trying to help,¡± he told her. She resisted the urge to mouth the words along with him.

    ¡°I know you are,¡± she said, without apology. She was still looking at Dr. Gus. Ten minutes now. She wondered if he hadn¡¯t just nodded off sitting up. Should she poke him? At this point, they might be better off letting him rest a bit. They could all stand to rest, maybe in actual beds if they could find any, and rush off to the hunt again as soon as there was a fresh lead to chase. It didn¡¯t feel good, simply waiting for death and destruction, but sometimes you had to pick the least bad option.

    Only, she decided, this right here already was the least bad option. Yuri had done them a favor, traveling in a straight line. Now he¡¯d wised up, or changed his mind, or something, and they had no better way of finding him than this. Everywhere he went, he jacked up communications and other infrastructure; if he struck again, and there didn¡¯t happen to be a satellite or esper eyeballing the area, they¡¯d hear about it days later as a rumor with half the details wrong. Last she checked, all the Coalition¡¯s updates about Yuri¡¯s location came from them¡ªor, at least, all the accurate ones did. There was too much information flowing in from too many places, and not enough people to make sense of it all.

    She got out her phone to check again, just for something to do, and found the area had no reception. Battery low, too. She hadn¡¯t been charging it, because they hadn¡¯t actually been running the car; it was only a box Tantrum Song could carry. They¡¯d traveled halfway across Turkey on less than a quarter-tank of gas. If only food and water were so plentiful. Prices were already soaring, with people across the country emptying store shelves in anticipation of shortages. The last fifty years had trained them well. Attempts at rationing led to looting, and a black market, and as often as not the military or local law enforcement took an active hand in both ¡­

    The car door slammed. She and Ethan both looked up with a jerk, saw Hamp wasn¡¯t around anymore. It took her tired, caffeine-deprived brain a second to draw the obvious conclusion that he¡¯d gone to grab some rest in the car. She decided against joining him. He had a better reason than the rest of them to be irritable.

    Ethan needed to be here to transport them, Dr. Gus was their radar, and Keisha was the only one who could visually identify Yuri, in addition to having a VRIL that worked in sparsely populated areas. Hamp only came along because he couldn¡¯t serve any useful purpose in Ankara by himself, and because he was notionally in charge. He didn¡¯t care to hang around waiting for somebody to put two and two together, remember he existed, and haul him into an office to discuss how much he knew about Project Belvedere, and when he¡¯d known it. Instead he was off on the world¡¯s worst road trip, looking forward to having that kind of conversation as soon as he got back. None of it was really his fault, and he knew he was an excellent scapegoat with no paraphysical talent.

    Dr. Gus cleared his throat. ¡°Contact. Very weak.¡± He tried to push himself to his feet, failed, and looked around for a hand up, which Keisha gave. ¡°South and east, greater than ten kilometers. Too small and inconsistent to be an emissant, I think. I took some time even to convince myself it was real.¡±

    Ethan looked wary. ¡°Do the Turks have VRILs?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Keisha told him. ¡°Too easy to reverse-engineer. We keep those kinds of toys close and quiet, and the Turks know better than to try. But Russia doesn¡¯t use them, either, unless some survived the purge.¡±

    ¡°I think that unlikely,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°Or rather, very likely¡ªbut any who did survive would obviously not continue in service to the new Russian state.¡±

    ¡°They might have trained new ones,¡± said Ethan, sounding unconvinced himself. ¡°It¡¯s been five years, maybe they¡¯re not so hung up on not being Soviet anymore. Maybe somebody¡¯s a little nostalgic for the proletarian approach after all. It could happen, I guess.¡±

    Keisha didn¡¯t buy it. ¡°No, it must be us. Or Coalition of some kind, anyway.¡± The US, Britain, and France had active VRIL programs, and modest training and supply agreements with trusted EU allies. Which didn¡¯t add up to much; most European countries went for a couple of panic-button familiars they could treat like mascots most of the time. The thought of masses of ordinary people who could effortlessly bypass security like that gave them indigestion. Best to leave that to the big boys, and let them worry about its implications for a free society.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Could be China. Technically.¡±

    She didn¡¯t even bother answering that. ¡°Willing to check it out, Doc?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps that would be best,¡± he said. Whatever this was, it didn¡¯t seem to be Yuri¡ªbut if they couldn¡¯t find Yuri, this was worth knowing about.

    They had to drive a little ways on the ground first, filling in Hamp as they did. He was fully awake and up to speed by the time their borrowed red hatchback took to the air in Song¡¯s halo and sane conversation became difficult. The need to stay close to population, and Dr. Gus¡¯s uncertainty about the destination, dragged the trip out. They landed a safe distance outside a modest town the better part of an hour later.

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s Karako?an,¡± Hamp said, squinting at the GPS. ¡°Looks peaceful enough.¡±

    ¡°Who the hell¡¯s going to bother coming out here to start trouble?¡± Ethan demanded.

    ¡°Us, apparently.¡± Keisha had her phone charging again, while she flicked through updates. Nothing reliable on Yuri or the other Marshalls. Fatima¡¯s new Numenate bodyguard reported no problems, but they were moving her to a different hospital under a new name with a fake backstory, to be safe. Snowdrop was still active in the Ankara area, but less ambitious without the kids¡¯ help. Mostly random terror attacks against NGOs, just so everybody got the message that the situation would not be allowed to stabilize.

    Dr. Gus was meditating once again in the back seat. Ethan drove them around aimlessly, mumbling old zydeco tunes to himself until their mentor got aggravated enough to break trance and tell him to shut up. Karako?an didn¡¯t seem especially troubled at a glance; they passed a few army vehicles, but this was close enough to Kurdish turf that you would expect those to be prominent even in peacetime. The town had a large commercial district with tree-lined streets and shops that looked well-run, if not busy at the moment. Men and women went about their errands, walking briskly. Streets active, not crowded; people tense, not actively frightened. Reasonable, given the state of the country.

    By and by Ethan pulled over. ¡°I don¡¯t know about y¡¯all,¡± he said in low tones, ¡°but I could go for some real chow, fresh and hot. We¡¯ve got lira to spare, and the awning over there says ¡®pizza¡¯ in big letters; either of you want to find out how Turkey screwed that up?¡±

    ¡°Contact,¡± Dr. Gus said, prompting Ethan to sigh and gently thunk his forehead against the steering wheel. ¡°Very slight, and mobile. Fifteen hundred feet, more or less. That way.¡±

    The signature disappeared before they could catch up to it, but the Doctor had a good feel for its last location: one of the city¡¯s many apartment buildings, a four-story block in white and powder blue. He was reasonably certain that it had been on the first or second floor when it disappeared. Keisha directed them to park outside, then wait. Two and a half minutes later, Dr. Gus detected another signature, coming from the same direction, and was able to pinpoint it: a tiny flying insect, fluttering from shadow to shadow before disappearing into a tiny crack in the building¡¯s wall.

    ¡°You want to check it out?¡± Hamp prompted.

    ¡°You know it,¡± she said, breaking out her piccolo. They were close enough that a little mock-up midge would do, the kind of lazy construct you used for a quick snoop around the corner. It went in through the same crack the recent arrival used, and within sixty seconds found what she was looking for: three men lying on the floor, in postures that suggested they had fallen over. One had left a little smear of blood on the kitchen island where he hit his head going down.

    She looked around a little longer, verified that two of the men were dead and the third was barely breathing. All three were dressed in casual street clothes. She considered hanging out to intercept the last visitor, then decided against it. It was the same sequence she might have used herself: a gas-based construct to knock them down, then individual attention to make sure. But the initial hit would be pretty lethal on its own. Besides, the midge was hardly built to stop an attacker, and she had no idea who these men were.

    ¡°Assassination,¡± she announced to the car as she left her construct to dissolve on a sunny windowsill. ¡°There¡¯s going to be one more. Can we track it back?¡±

    ¡°I already have a fair idea,¡± Dr. Gus told her, and Ethan put the car back in gear. They didn¡¯t have far to go, just a little distance around the corner, to a smaller set of apartments in red brick. The Doctor didn¡¯t quite catch the last bug coming out, but was almost certain it had been on the third floor, going by elevation. Another midge got them the rest of the way: a woman in a chair, pipe still in her hands, eyes closed in concentration. One more construct to quietly unlock the intervening doors, while Ethan made his way up under sovereign protocol with a handgun ready.

    There was no fuss, no noise. They came down together inside five minutes. The woman¡ªlong skirt, blouse, headwrap, nothing unusual¡ªonly walked a little stiffly, and Ethan wasn¡¯t much better. ¡°ID says Kiraz Hoca,¡± he drawled, ¡°but she¡¯s feeling shy about the details.¡±

    ¡°There has been a mistake,¡± she said in good English. ¡°I am a secretary.¡±

    Keisha looked at Ethan. ¡°Got her pipe?¡±

    ¡°The one she was using. Didn¡¯t check for others, she was looking squirrelly and I didn¡¯t want to take my eyes off her.¡±

    ¡°Miss Kiraz, all we have to do is show the right Turk that device and you will disappear forever. I just saw what you did with it. There are three dead bodies to account for. Can you give us a good reason not to turn you in?¡±

    She ran her eyes around the people in the car. ¡°You are American?¡±

    ¡°Numenate,¡± Hamp confirmed. ¡°And I¡¯m going to take a wild-ass guess here. Is your real name Cohen, or Goldberg? Friedman, maybe?¡±

    ¡°I am Kiraz Hoca,¡± she said coldly.

    Hamp snapped his fingers. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s Levy. Right?¡± Her stare hardened further. ¡°We can ask Mossad direct, if you want.¡±

    Looking at the woman¡¯s face, Keisha was suddenly very glad she didn¡¯t have her pipe anymore. But Hamp had probably guessed right. Very few VRIL-using powers went in for this kind of out-of-uniform wet-work. ¡°If my colleague is right, there¡¯s no reason for us to be enemies. I don¡¯t believe you mean America, the Coalition, or the Turkish state harm. But I do need some amount of cooperation, if I¡¯m not going to turn you in. Were those three men Turks?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said at last. ¡°Two Syrians, one Lebanese. Trying to start a radical cell among the Kurds.¡±

    Ethan came around from behind her to look her in the eye. ¡°Which is Israel¡¯s business because ¡­ ?¡±

    She was incredulous. ¡°Do you have any idea what¡¯s going on in this country?¡±

    ¡°Does anybody?¡± Ethan shot back. ¡°It¡¯s falling apart, basically. And now Tel Aviv is worried about people it doesn¡¯t like picking up the pieces.¡±

    Her expression immediately became guarded again. I can neither confirm nor deny ¡­ ¡°Hamp, what do you think?¡±

    ¡°Miss Hoca, you know anything about Russian activity in the area?¡±

    ¡°I am a secretary,¡± she said at once. ¡°For a petroleum company.¡± What she lacked in acting talent, she made up for with persistence.

    ¡°I do not think this is our concern,¡± Dr. Gus put in. ¡°This woman may be Israeli, or something else entirely, but we do not have the time to spare getting to the bottom of it.¡±

    ¡°Turkey doesn¡¯t need to turn into a regional free-for-all, boss,¡± said Ethan.

    ¡°There¡¯s probably no stopping that now,¡± Keisha told him. ¡°I say we walk away.¡± Ethan still looked mulish, so she added, ¡°Whoever she is, she¡¯s not Russian, and I doubt she¡¯s working alone. Getting entangled with the local government to stop one covert agent won¡¯t help us with anything.¡± And would probably raise awkward questions about their own business, at that.

    ¡°Let her go,¡± Hamp agreed. ¡°This has all been one big waste of time.¡±

    Ethan shook his head, but stepped out of her way, sweeping his arm to invite her back to her apartment. She took a few steps, stopped, and held out a hand. ¡°What? What do you want, a tip? You got your ID back already, and I didn¡¯t find anything else on you. You¡¯re a secretary, remember?¡±

    It was childish, and made them an enemy they didn¡¯t need, but Keisha let him have his victory, and they drove away without harassing the woman any further.

    The woman herself meant little, but like Keisha said, she probably wasn¡¯t working alone. This was one small town in a backwater part of Turkey. There¡¯d be others like ¡®Kiraz,¡¯ trickling past the borders, finding places here and there, pulling in violence from outside Turkey¡¯s increasingly meaningless borders, while Turkey sent some its own out to trouble other countries.

    They left town without stopping for the lunch Ethan longed for. The trail was cold again, and getting colder. Keisha was just going to ask where they were going when she, Hamp, and Ethan got text messages simultaneously. Only Hamp bothered to look, and mumbled something that sounded like ¡°God damn it.¡±

    ¡°Tell me,¡± Keisha said in a dull voice, slumped over in the back with her head resting against the window.

    ¡°Well, the good news is, it looks like we found Ruslan,¡± he said. ¡°The bad news is, it seems he¡¯s been a very busy boy.¡±

 XL. The Net (Ruslan)

    They were angry. Ruslan could tell. Even when they were trying to hide it¡ªwhen Mila was smiling and patiently explaining, when Noorlan was sitting in a chair reading, when Aziz stared out the window and said nothing at all¡ªRuslan could feel it. The stiffness of their shoulders, the set in their jaws, the way they answered questions just a little too fast, all of it sucking the air out of the little apartment they were stuck in together.

    Not all adult anger was dangerous. When they were just angry at you, and that was the whole cause, that was nothing; they would punish you for whatever you did, and that would end it. When they were irritated about something else, that was actually worse, because you couldn¡¯t make them happy again just by submitting. You¡¯d have to lie low for however long it took for the real problem to go away, and in the meantime you had to tiptoe around with that tight feeling in your chest, which was the worst feeling you could have. If you screwed up, you¡¯d suffer for it, but it wouldn¡¯t settle things any. If anything, it made it worse; on top of everything else, that fat useless Ruslan was being a fool.

    But this wasn¡¯t even that good. This was the kind of anger that came with fear, the kind nobody was allowed to speak about or show. They¡¯d still react if you did something to bother them, but the penalty would actually be milder than usual, and come with a phony smile and a suggestion that you go do something quiet in your room.

    It brought back, once again, memories he¡¯d tried to forget, of Komron and his cronies drinking around the fire with winter setting in, the big man himself bragging that he was not worried at all, shoving down food and throwing half-picked bones on the fire while the camp women eyed their shrinking stores and the seven-year-old assistant cook huddled under thin and patched blankets with a gnawing pain in his stomach. Nobody wanted to tell Komron how bad things were really getting. Not that he didn¡¯t know already.

    Ruslan was allowed to eat this time¡ªsmall favor¡ªbut it was still the same anger, the same fear. They talked quietly together in corners, eyeing Ruslan sidelong when he came into the room and shutting up totally when he got too close. Always with a dead-eyed breezy smile, teeth bared like a wolf¡¯s. Ruslan got the message, and tried to stay in his bedroom most of the time, the room he thought of as his cell. The three adults slept on the couch or the floor.

    There wasn¡¯t much Ruslan could do to help. He stopped playing the keyboard they got for him, so it wouldn¡¯t annoy them, and tried to smooth things over by cooking a bit, to help out, only Noorlan told him with a determined friendly grimace that dinner would be delivered and it was better not to make such a mess.

    It would be easier if Yuri were still around. Not that Yuri was his friend; far from it. Yuri had always done his best to make Ruslan¡¯s life miserable, whenever their paths crossed. But you could always count on Yuri, when the situation was tense, to make trouble for himself, and draw it all down on his own head. That was the one good thing about him, but he was gone. Maybe dead. Ruslan tried to feel sad about it, and he kind of was, but mostly for his own sake.

    Hamza hadn¡¯t been much better, but he¡¯d at least left Ruslan alone as long as Ruslan didn¡¯t get in the way. Sometimes, when he was feeling good, he tried to make peace, by bringing him a present from town. Mostly, though, Hamza saw his younger brother as a bizarre burden to bear, this fussy little animal that didn¡¯t know how to have fun, and had to be babysat on every mission. The best part about Hamza was that he didn¡¯t hide anything, or hold grudges; when he was mad, he would smack you upside the head or punch you in the arm, and that would set everything straight as far as Hamza was concerned. He was a simple man. Or had been. It hadn¡¯t been his fault that he couldn¡¯t ever see things Ruslan¡¯s way. Not really.

    Nadia ¡­ Nadia could be nice, sometimes. She would listen to him play his harpsichord, if she was in a good mood, and suggest new tunes for him to try. They could talk about books they liked, though they had different tastes in books. That was something. Mostly, though, she held herself back, and gave her big brother a disgusted look if she looked at him at all. That look that said, Ruslan, why are you so ¡­ ? Inviting him to fill in the blank. He had plenty of words to fill it, and he knew she was right most of the time. But mostly, he didn¡¯t like her, and felt only a little bad that he didn¡¯t mourn her more.

    That just left Fatima, but he didn¡¯t like to think about Fatima any more than he had too. It hurt too much. Fatima, his Fatima, Fatimat-bint-Eumar, Fatimat-al-zahra, his one hope for the past five years, Fatima who teased and mocked but never rejected, Fatima the strong, Fatima the lioness, Fatima his hope. The late, departed Fatima, the last chapter on the best part of his life.

    And he had never told her. Ruslan knew he was not the best Muslim; he didn¡¯t remember when he¡¯d stopped saying the prayers, probably around the time he noticed they didn¡¯t change anything in his life. God wasn¡¯t something he stopped to think about too much. But he did know that she wasn¡¯t really his sister, under the only law she respected. They were just under the same guardian¡ªjust like Ali and the first Fatima, Muhammad¡¯s daughter. Ali had won her hand over all the wealthier and more powerful suitors, even though he was only her poor cousin. They¡¯d had the whole world against them too, in the early days, but they¡¯d been happy together, hadn¡¯t they?

    But now that time was passed, and the opportunity was gone. In less than a month everything Ruslan had known for the latter half of his life had been blown away like flower petals in a strong wind, and now it was Ruslan, alone, in the hands of a gang of Russian spies he barely knew.

    His only comfort was that, even though they were angry and afraid, and they wouldn¡¯t tell him why, they were still a little bit afraid of him, too. Mila, and Noorlan, and Aziz. They might know more than him and almost hold him prisoner, but as long as they flinched just a little before they politely told him to go away, he still had the power.

    So he kept on living, though he wasn¡¯t sure why, for three whole days after it all went wrong and the light of his life was lost. He¡¯d learned long ago how to cry in silence when he had to, biting down on his hand to stifle the sobs, and to do it in the dark of his own room at night. He did his part on Sunday anyway, visiting the hospital with Kizil Khan to heal the sick, then running for his life when their halo brought down an artillery strike on the whole block. He returned home to this apartment, and learned that Hamza and Yuri had been found and attacked, probably killed. He was too tired and shocked to cry, when he heard. He was still numb for the whole next day, but still conscious of the stifling fear in the air.

    The day after, Mr. Yefimov came to the apartment unannounced, and Ruslan remembered what fear really was.

    Ruslan was glad he hadn¡¯t seen much of the man. He was their boss, and he¡¯d given them a big speech after dinner on Friday, telling them the plan, but since then he¡¯d mostly kept away, giving instructions to Snowdrop¡¯s emissor. All three spies hurried to make themselves presentable for him¡ªMr. Yefimov liked things neat and orderly¡ªwhile he waited in the kitchenette, somberly sipping tea. Ruslan hid in his room until Noorlan came to outright order him out. All four of them stood at attention while he addressed them.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°We are faced with a great and sudden danger,¡± he announced, ¡°and at the same time with a bold new opportunity. The window of usable time is not particularly great, but should be sufficient if we do not dawdle.¡± He paused a moment to let this sink in, looking them over in turn. He didn¡¯t blink very much, Ruslan noticed, and he looked all of them straight in the eye. Even Ruslan, the boy with the power of life and death.

    ¡°The imperialists¡¯ security has been very good, but not so good as they hoped. We have acquired two crucial pieces of information. The first is that they intend to sweep us from the city very early tomorrow morning. To this end they have recruited, in some haste, some fifty thousand security personnel of all types. They are mostly in place already; it is a testament to their security that I learned of this plan so late.

    ¡°By sunset they will have their full cordon ring established around the Ankara metropolitan area; before dawn they will begin moving that ring inward, systematically checking the entire city, room by room, and detaining every person they find who cannot give a satisfactory account of their identity. A second ring of emissors will be embedded among that fifty thousand, ready to respond to any attempted paraphysical irruption of their encircling maneuver.¡±

    Ruslan wished he dared to look at the others¡¯ faces; all he could tell was that Noorlan, beside him, was breathing a little faster. ¡°We need not be overly concerned by this plan,¡± Yefimov continued. ¡°They should have no reason to look for persons matching our particular descriptions, with one exception whose appearance is unremarkable in comparison to the local population.¡± He nodded curtly at Ruslan, who was not reassured.

    ¡°Furthermore, the bulk of their personnel will be poorly trained foreigners who will not be familiar with the area or even speak particularly good Turkish. We all have good facsimiles of local documents. Miss Mila is the only one of us who cannot plausibly present herself to such people as a Turk, and encountered by herself she will not excite sufficient suspicion to warrant more than brief detainment. A lone American who overstayed her visa.¡±

    He looked at Mila, who said ¡°Yes, sir,¡± in a weak voice.

    ¡°However, there is a complication. It has only this morning come to my attention that, of our four recently fallen young comrades, at least one has survived, and is now in captivity.¡±

    He had more to say¡ªmuch more¡ªbut Ruslan couldn¡¯t understand it, or stand up straight. The old familiar tightness in his chest had changed to something different, something even heavier, and without thinking he stumbled backwards into a chair, and knocked it over trying to sit in it. Once he was down he stayed down, staring up at the ceiling while he waited for the blood to return to his brain.

    Yefimov¡¯s face loomed over him. ¡°I have said,¡± he repeated calmly, ¡°that we are deficient in time. Your emotional reaction is understandable, and perhaps commendable, but nonetheless inconvenient. Your compatriot is in bondage at this very moment, in danger not only as regards her own person but also with respect to our own operational security. Now is the time for intrepid resolve.¡±

    ¡°Her?¡± Ruslan said, the weight of his hopes making it difficult to breathe.

    ¡°Yes. One of your sisters¡ªthe information we were given was insufficient to identify which, but I gather from certain ancillary documentation that the captive is female.¡±

    Ruslan sat up at once, clenching the leg of the upturned chair until the dizziness passed. It was Fatima, he knew it. It had to be. Hope had come back into his life. ¡°What do we have to do to rescue her?¡±

    ¡°I applaud your audacity. The young lady has been injured, but it seems she is now in stable condition¡ª¡°

    ¡°I can fix her!¡± he blurted out, then flinched as Mr. Yefimov¡¯s dark eyes bored into him. Not that he looked upset. More puzzled, like interruption was incomprehensible¡ªas if a live fish had fallen out of the sky and landed, still flopping, on his head.

    ¡°I am aware of this,¡± Yefimov informed him at last. ¡°It is for this reason that your assistance will be of the greatest importance. At present she is being held at one hospital, under heavy guard; at approximately 1600 today she will be moved to another. Both within the cordoned area, as we are ourselves. The optimal time to rescue your sister will be during transport, for obvious reasons. She will have an escort, but nothing sufficient to deter us. Are you willing to assume your place in the vanguard, Master Marshall?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± he said at once, feeling himself smile for the first time in days. ¡°Of course! Just tell me where to go!¡±

    ¡°Your noble sentiments will not be forgotten. But it must be borne in mind that we are already surrounded, and any attempt will bring the net down upon us prematurely. It is now very nearly 1100; I have already contacted Snowdrop¡¯s master, in anticipation of your agreement, for which I hope you will pardon me. The lady is willing to assist in breaching the perimeter for you, as soon as you have recovered your sister.

    ¡°The four of us, unfortunately, will be of no utility to this plan, and simple prudence dictates that we remove ourselves from the city before the trap is completely sprung. You will therefore be a lone operative until such time as you have restored your sister to health and secured her assistance. Once the two of you have eluded escape, you will make for the breach created by Snowdrop, and rendezvous with us at the earliest convenience. Do you remain willing to assist us in this matter?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. If it got him away from these four, even temporarily, and had even a chance of getting Fatima back, it was good. It wasn¡¯t like he had anything else left to live for.

    ¡°Very good,¡± Yefimov answered. ¡°Then we shall make arrangements. The four of us¡ªnot counting Master Marshall¡ªwould do better to travel separately through the cordon. Noorlan, you shall remain with our asset prior to the start of operations.¡±

    Noorlan agreed, his prominent forehead shining with cold sweat. Ruslan knew how he felt, in a vague way. His minders were still frightened, and they might still be angry, and Ruslan was a little frightened himself. If he stopped to think about it, he might get very frightened, which was why he wouldn¡¯t stop. There was no time for fear anymore. He couldn¡¯t fail again. Life was too short.

    Just hold on a little longer, Fatima. Your Ali is coming.

 XLI. Chivalry (Fatima)

    It was moving day. Fatima¡¯s nurse, whose name she refused to learn, worked her way around the bed, fiddling with IV lines and pumps and sorting through the heaps of stained towels and empty syringe wrappers the room had accumulated over the past couple of days. The hamper and trash were both overflowing already¡ªnobody¡¯d come in to change them since Monday morning¡ªso she just shoved crap onto the floor whenever it got in the way.

    She obviously wished she could do the same with the room¡¯s human clutter, Fatima¡¯s rotating crew of bodyguards. There was only one in the room right now, but he took up way more space than he needed to, and didn¡¯t bother pulling back his outstretched legs to let the nurse pass. She¡¯d given up asking, or even scolding. They¡¯d all be out of her hair soon enough.

    ¡°I just got it,¡± the man said now, looking up from his phone. ¡°You¡¯re Ricky¡¯s little girl, aren¡¯t you? Enrique Alvarez. Man, it¡¯s been a while.¡±

    ¡°My father¡¯s name was Omar,¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°Yeah, sure, but all that was later, right? His real name was Enrique.¡±

    ¡°His real name was Omar,¡± Fatima repeated. ¡°Not Enrique.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay, fine,¡± the man said, rolling his eyes. ¡°He was born Enrique, though. Ricky Alvarez from San Diego. Everybody¡¯s heard of him.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t. My father¡¯s name was Omar. That¡¯s the only name I ever heard anyone call him.¡± She was pretty sure she wouldn¡¯t normally be so patient with a jackass like this. They were giving her good drugs. Probably scared she¡¯d lose her temper and call Mister Higgins if they let her get too sore.

    The security guy was in a good mood too. ¡°Man, that takes me back,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°I met him once, you know? Way, way, way back when. I was just a kid, fresh out of the army. Did SIGINT stuff, got transferred in sideways after they started me screwing around with dowsers. He was ¡­ hell, he was just about to deploy, I guess. Don¡¯t know if it was to Afghanistan, or somewhere else. I had no idea who he was, thought he was kind of an asshole to be honest. No offense, but he kinda was. I might have been one of the last people to ever see him stateside, before he ¡­ you know?¡±

    ¡°Before he embraced the truth of Islam,¡± Fatima supplied, just to watch him squirm.

    And he did squirm, a little. Scratched the back of his neck, looked away. Not for long, sadly. ¡°So he was your dad, then? What was he like?¡±

    Even the drugs could only do so much. ¡°Who the hell are you, and why is it your business?¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry. Sam Parker, Numenate.¡± He extended his right hand, remembered hers was in a cast, and swapped it for his left, which she left hanging. After a second he pulled it back, unruffled, and went on, ¡°Did he really get into the whole sharia thing? How many wives did he have?¡±

    ¡°At least twenty,¡± Fatima told him. ¡°We stopped counting after that. They got to be a real pain in the ass, there wasn¡¯t enough room in the cave anymore, so he divorced a couple and cut their heads off to scare the rest away.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± He frowned at a bilingual No Smoking sign on the wall. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She looked to the nurse, who was now just throwing the dirty towels out into the hallway to clear a path on the floor. ¡°How much longer is it going to be?¡±

    ¡°I do not know,¡± the nurse said curtly, kicking an empty chips bag out of her way. Fatima was pretty sure she¡¯d be more tolerant of the Numenate geeks if they didn¡¯t leave their crap lying around to attract roaches. Parker leaned over and grabbed the bag to stuff it into the edge of the trash can; after three seconds it uncrumpled itself and popped out onto the floor again. He¡¯d already turned away to scope out the nurse as she left the room.

    Fatima squirmed uselessly against the bedding. The drugs didn¡¯t do much for the hot, itchy feeling she got from lying in one spot all day. The room was cramped and dirty and she could smell herself in spite of all the wet-rag baths. The smell just came out of the cast, out of her bandages, out of her exposed pores, and it felt like the air wasn¡¯t circulating enough to replace what she¡¯d already breathed.

    The TV had never worked, since they were running the hospital off a generator and trucking in gas. The staff were too busy to stay and chat¡ªbefore they learned about the move, they¡¯d only come in once every couple of hours¡ªand her Numenate escort seemed to all be dumb jerkoffs like this Parker guy. It was just Fatima and her drugged-up brain versus the thought of a long, pathetic future in America.

    A younger man stepped into the room, throwing a can at her guard underhand. ¡°Hey, Sam. Catch.¡±

    Parker snagged it with both hands, then laughed. ¡°Still cold? Sweet. Thanks, Dave. Where¡¯d you get it?¡±

    ¡°Food truck outside. Expensive as hell, and they¡¯re all out of actual hot food, but their cooler still works.¡±

    ¡°Thank God,¡± the older man said as he cracked it open.

    Fatima got the kid¡¯s attention with a little hand wave. ¡°Hey. What¡¯s going on out there?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been authorized to tell you any more, miss,¡± he answered stiffly. ¡°Anything else you need, Sam?¡±

    Parker chugged from the can. ¡°I¡¯ll probably need to take a piss in about an hour. If the ambulance doesn¡¯t get here first. They¡¯re taking long enough.¡±

    It was actually an hour and a half before the nurse came in with a lanky paramedic to haul her away to the other hospital. The two idiots spent the last forty-five minutes blathering about college basketball right there in the room, so that Fatima was almost overjoyed to see them switched out for Sergeant Stiff.

    She didn¡¯t know Stiff¡¯s real name, and he¡¯d never told her. He didn¡¯t talk much in general. Thin and on the short side, crew-cut and clean-shaven, dark hair flecked with grey, mostly white but maybe with a little Asian in him judging by the eyes and complexion. He was the one consistent element in her entourage, since early yesterday morning, and he¡¯d never stayed in the room for long. Only poked his head in to check on whoever was with her. Judging by the way they straightened up in their seats when they saw him, he was in charge, and kind of a hardass.

    Now he showed up without a word to walk alongside her bed as they wheeled her down the hall and out the door for transport. It wasn¡¯t an easy trip; the hallways were nearly as cluttered as her room had been, with a mixture of trash bags and patients in stretchers, some of the latter not looking too lively and most of them smelling about as bad as the trash. The lights overhead were dim, and flickered.

    She only got a moment¡¯s glimpse of the Ankara street before they moved her to the stretcher, just long enough for her to shiver in the cold breeze, then miss it when they stuffed her, Stiff, and a collection of IV pumps into the claustrophobic ass-end of the ambulance. Outside, she could hear the nurse telling the paramedics the last few details about the drugs she was on. According to her hospital wristband, she was Ashley Wallace, and as far as these guys knew she was the daughter of somebody important at the U.S. Embassy who¡¯d got into a car accident.

    Sergeant Stiff wasn¡¯t good company, but he didn¡¯t really bother her, either. He had an earpiece in, and the glazed look of somebody whose attention was somewhere else. Once the paramedic crawled in too there was hardly any room, and Fatima let her eyes droop shut as the vehicle creaked into motion. She never got good sleep these days, but sometimes quantity could make up for quality, and the rocking of the vehicle was surprisingly pleasant. They might have doped her a little extra, too. Good times.

    But she was still tense and uncomfortable. The best she could do was a drowse, her eyes popping partway open again every time the ambulance came to a hard stop, which seemed to be often. In between she dreamed, confusing dreams about Hamza, and Ruslan, and Nadia, all running in and out of her old house in Lashkargah looking for her. Only Fatima wasn¡¯t there, she was somewhere else, but she was in the house at the same time trying to tell them that but they couldn¡¯t hear ¡­

    They couldn¡¯t find Yuri either, but she couldn¡¯t figure out why they were bothering to look for him. Yuri had been gone for a long time, ages ago. Fatima had seen it herself, Yuri lying dead in the tent while Fatima screamed and tore her hair, then ran out of the tent into the cold. She cried Yuri¡¯s death to the sky, but the winds over the glacier drowned her out, and the sunrise reflecting off the ice blinded her. The world was huge, and she was only a dot on the surface, doomed to die in the cold.

    The ambulance gave a godawful lurch, and she was awake again. Sergeant Stiff stood beside her with a hand on her shoulder, looking stern. He loomed over her like a mountain, impossibly strong and tall. The paramedic on Fatima¡¯s other side had disappeared; she turned and saw him on the floor for a split second before the ambulance shook again, and the back doors flew open to reveal a world shrouded in dense white fog. The mist came pouring in through the new opening, and Fatima winced and drew back before the terrible cold of the stuff through her flimsy hospital gown.

    Something huge and dark came in through the open doors right after, blotting out the white light of the fog and filling the back of the truck with a smell like blood. Whatever-it-was clamped down hard on the bottom of Fatima¡¯s stretcher and yanked it back with it through the doors, out into the cold. She screamed, from the IVs ripping out of her arm as much as from fear, and it capsized as it whipped out, spilling her onto the icy cold pavement. Her head cracked on the ground, and she rolled like a log until something stopped her. Blind against the pavement, she reached up to feel what it was, only to draw back her hand with a gasp when she touched frigid metal.

    Something thumped hard into the ground behind her with a roar like a jet taking off, and she scrambled back to her feet to get clear, feeling fresh pains in her legs, feet, and arms as they brushed against the frost-covered surfaces of cars and the hard black street. She caught a glimpse, as she ran, of a monstrous shaggy shape like an ape¡¯s, long-armed and coated in thick fur the color of ice in twilight. A black eagle, equally enormous, fell on it out of the sky, ripping at it with talons and beak, spattering hot blood everywhere.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Fatima couldn¡¯t see where she was going, didn¡¯t know why she was running or where to. She was caught in the mist, in the endless white death that consumed everything, and it was hopeless to try and escape. She could only hope that eventually the mist would fade, and whatever was left of her body would become a place for new life to grow. It would only hurt her more to struggle, so she stopped, and turned in place, shivering, to watch the battle. Other people were doing the same thing all around, staring open-mouthed from the sidewalks or the insides of their stopped cars.

    The great beast reached up to swat the eagle away, knocking it end over end; awkwardly it took to the air after rolling over a few car roofs, struggling to regain its balance. The beast glared at it with its single shining yellow eye, glowing like a lamp through the fog, and made to chase it down. Too slow. The eagle flapped up out of reach, fifty feet in the air. The giant pointed at it with one long lavender-grey arm, and the mist drew closer about it, riming its bloody feathers with frost, weighing it down. The eagle croaked, struggling to stay aloft, then gave up and fell with a terrible crash, right on top of the beast. The impact set the nearest cars bouncing, knocked shards of pink ice flying off the bird¡¯s feathers as it went to work again with its hooked beak.

    A hand gripped Fatima¡¯s cast, and she turned to see Sergeant Stiff beside her with a pistol in his other hand. ¡°We need to leave,¡± he said in flat tones. All the traffic on the street had come to a halt when the two gods appeared, with several collisions in sight. The ambulance¡¯s back still hung wide open; its front end was jammed against a bent streetlight. Fatima didn¡¯t struggle as the man dragged her off, though she did turn her head to keep an eye on the battle until it passed out of her view. The last thing she saw was the giant throwing the ice-covered eagle off again.

    They walked fast down a side street, Stiff¡¯s head swiveling back and forth for threats. The pavement still hurt Fatima¡¯s feet, but the rest of her felt much better; the bandages itched, and the cast was heavy and clunky, but the flesh and bones beneath were fine. Strange. She only wished her feet weren¡¯t so tender, or that the mist could be less cold.

    Her brain, at least, felt numb; everything now felt distant, like it was happening to somebody else, like she had gone back to dreaming, and watching the things she did without judgment. She noticed, but did not react, when Sergeant Stiff went a little more stiff beside her. Noticed with more interest, but did not react, when the shambling sloth-like form of the beast appeared out of the fog in front of them, very close, so that she could see the bare white skull of its face, bristling with white fangs and set about with long frozen locks of dusky purple hair. The single shining eye was dispassionate as it turned from her to look up into the sky, and Fatima turned her head as well, a bit too slow, too slow to see whatever it was that slammed into the two of them and knocked her flying.

    There was a noise of multiple gunshots, very close together, and a high-pitched scream she could hardly make out for the ringing in her ears. She looked up from where she had fallen and saw the mighty dark eagle ripping away with its huge beak at something she could just recognize as what was left of Sergeant Stiff. Ripping, tearing, and cracking, but not swallowing¡ªbelatedly she remembered that Kizil Khan did not eat. As if he heard the thought, he lifted up his bloody beak and opened it, very wide, so that she could see his true and manlike face staring at her from the back of his throat. Several fresh bruises and scrapes along Fatima¡¯s arms and back, so fresh she hadn¡¯t properly noticed them yet, disappeared as she looked into the Red King¡¯s eyes.

    Then the mist cleared, the twilight beast stumbled off into an alley, and with a loud shuddering wail Kizil Khan spread his wings and faded into nothing. For several seconds, Fatima stood in place, barely covered by a ragged hospital gown in fifty-degree weather. Sergeant Stiff¡¯s remains didn¡¯t move either. What the hell was she going to do now? It was getting towards evening, her whole bodyguard was dead, and she still didn¡¯t speak much Turkish¡ª

    ¡°Fatima? Is that you?¡±

    She turned, and saw Ruslan, frozen in midstep on the sidewalk like a rabbit who¡¯d just spotted a wolf. His jaw hung open, and his hands wrung each other right below his chin. His eyes were red, and every inch of him was trembling, though he was wearing way more clothing than she was. With sudden horror, Fatima realized that, from where he stood, he had to have seen her bare ass, and now she was wearing a flimsy bit of cotton in cold weather. Convulsively she flung her arms together to cover herself; at the same instant Ruslan made up his mind and rushed forward to grab her in a bear hug.

    The cast was heavy and rigid, and her arm was still fine beneath it. She used it as a shield to ward him off, then smack him when that didn¡¯t work. But he still had a weight advantage, and his jacket gave him padding. He¡¯d managed to work his arms most of the way around her when his brain caught up and he figured out that she was not in a hugging mood. Several clumsy blows to the head and shoulders, and a barrage of Pashto curses, reinforced the lesson as he stumbled back, blubbering; she used her free left hand to hold the back of her gown closed. The street was full of storefronts with big windows, and somebody had to be watching.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry! Oh god, I¡¯m so sorry!¡± he wailed ¡­ and wailed, and wailed, until Fatima, spotting a shop door a few feet away, decided to take it inside where it was sort of private. Which was still hard, since she had no free hands to work with. She had to shout at him to make him open the door for her.

    It was a chain restaurant, mostly deserted; the lone employee stared from behind the counter as she stumbled in sideways and sidled into a booth so she could sit down. Ruslan followed at a wary distance, snuffling, and sat down on the other side. The other patrons¡ªa thirtysomething couple and their small kid on the other side of the dining area¡ªalso stared. All of them looked pretty out of it. Which made sense, given all the shit that just went down while they were in here trying to eat camel and couscous or whatever.

    Fatima didn¡¯t care. It was warm, and nobody could see her back end. Things were looking up already. ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± she demanded, before Ruslan could start groveling again. ¡°You could have killed me, you dumbass!¡±

    ¡°I ¡­ I just rescued you, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Rescued? Who the fuck asked you to rescue me? I didn¡¯t need a rescue, fool! How many people did you just kill? Shit!¡± The guy at the counter gave her a worried look, then looked away, as if he was trying to pretend she didn¡¯t exist in the hopes it would come true.

    ¡°But ¡­ but ¡­ you were a prisoner. I needed to save you.¡±

    Fatima crossed her arms, thunking her cast against the table in the process. ¡°No. No, Rus, you really, really didn¡¯t.¡± His lip quivered. ¡°Ah, hell. Did you¡ªwas this your idea, or did the Russians put you up to this?¡± His face told her they had. ¡°Uh-huh. And it was just you? What about the others?¡±

    ¡°There aren¡¯t any others,¡± he said very quietly. ¡°It¡¯s just me now. Me, and you.¡±

    ¡°What happened to them?¡± There was no way that line of bullshit Ballsy Bob had fed her was true.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Something went wrong Sunday¡ªthat¡¯s the day after you and Nadia disappeared, two days ago now¡ª¡°

    ¡°I know what day it is, thank you.¡±

    ¡°What happened to Nadia, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Beats me,¡± she muttered, leaning in close. ¡°The security building hit just went all to hell. I got shot and they took me in. I didn¡¯t see where Nadia went, and they wouldn¡¯t tell me anything about her.¡± She still wasn¡¯t sure why Nadia had flipped like that, but it felt safer to keep the whole thing quiet until she could figure it out.

    ¡°Well, there was a security leak on Sunday, and they came for Hamza and Yuri,¡± Ruslan whispered back, copying her posture. ¡°They were captured, or ran away, or something.¡±

    Or something. ¡°Yeah, the Americans tried to give me a story like that. What really happened, though?¡± Ruslan¡¯s face was blank. ¡°Y¡¯know what, never mind that now. We can¡¯t be hanging around here. The Russians sent you to grab me, right? What¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°We meet up with Noorlan, and he gets us out of the city so we can join up with Yefimov and the others outside the cordon. We¡¯ll have to move pretty soon.¡±

    ¡°Cordon? What cordon?¡±

    ¡°The Americans have the city surrounded, and they¡¯re going to start sweeping block by block in the next twelve hours.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± Fatima chewed her lip, trying to think fast. Ruslan had just fragged an emissor trying to bail her out, and they might not believe it was just him being a dumbass. Might think it was coordinated. And it wasn¡¯t like the America deal was much of a deal in the first place. But she trusted the Russians even less. Could she trust Ruslan? Not to act like he had any brains, obviously. He didn¡¯t, and he never would. But he didn¡¯t have it in him to lie. That was something. He¡¯d always have her back.

    Meanwhile, the guy up at the counter was on the phone, talking very quietly and keeping an eye on them as he did. Looking too casual for her tastes. That decided her. ¡°All right, let¡¯s move. Give me your jacket. Now.¡± He complied at once, looking pleased to help. He was big enough that it would cover at least some of her, and that would have to do. Getting it on with the cast was a whole other hassle, especially when she didn¡¯t want to give Rus any more shows in the process. They wound up draping it over her right shoulder, letting her grip it with her free fingers poking through the cast, and stuffing her left arm through the sleeve.

    ¡°You and me, we¡¯ve got some work to do,¡± she explained as they hurried out of the restaurant and down the street. ¡°Hamza, Nadia, and Yuri are still out there. We¡¯ve got to get the crew back together.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Yefimov¡ª¡°

    ¡°Mr. Yefimov can eat a big bag of dicks, Rus. You got that? Extra smeggy. We¡¯re not going back to the Russians.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡°

    ¡°Rus, how much help did they give you with this daring rescue you just pulled?¡±

    ¡°They told me where you¡¯d be¡ª¡°

    ¡°And then left you to do the actual, dangerous work, right?¡±

    ¡°Snowdrop is going to break us through the cordon soon.¡±

    ¡°The cordon they say exists. You got any proof of that? You sure it wasn¡¯t just some horseshit they made up to make you feel like you had to hurry? And to depend on them, even when you didn¡¯t need to?¡±

    ¡°He told the others too,¡± Ruslan tried.

    ¡°Yeah, in front of you. What do you think they say when they¡¯re alone? Bet you anything they¡¯re laughing at your dumb ass, doing the hard part to get me back while they hang out jerking it to Turkish goat porn. No. It¡¯s just you and me for now, brother.¡±

    ¡°You and me?¡± He barely breathed the words.

    ¡°Yes. You, and me. No Russians, nobody else. Partners.¡±

    Ruslan stopped in his tracks. ¡°Fatima. I have something very important to ask you, and it can¡¯t wait.¡±

    Oh, God. Not now. ¡°Rus, it¡¯s freezing cold, there¡¯s going to be a billion guys with guns on our tail soon, and I¡¯m not even wearing any pants.¡±

    ¡°I know, but,¡± he swallowed, ¡°Fatimat-al-zahra. Will you let me be ¡­ can I be your Ali?¡±

    She was already wearing his jacket. Shit. Evasive action. ¡°Rus, I¡¯ve gotta tell you, I have no idea what the hell you¡¯re talking about, but let me repeat myself for the slow ones in the crowd: Billion guys with guns. Cold. No pants.¡± She ticked the items off on the fingers of her free hand as she said it. ¡°Oh, and I can¡¯t use my right arm. You need to get me some real clothes, and get us both under cover, before we get into philosophy or whatever you¡¯re on about.¡±

    Ruslan¡¯s face fell; before he could cry again, she got up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ¡°Come on, boy, don¡¯t take life so serious. It¡¯ll probably end too soon for both of us anyway. Let¡¯s go find me some shoes. It¡¯s just you and me, now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said with a smile, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She chose not to throw it off; it was extra insulation. ¡°Just you and me.¡±

 XLII. Canute, Lear, Belvedere (Keisha)

    ¡°¡¯Numenate Lt. Colonel Harry Chen, 43, KIA, along with Second Lieutenant Andre Rockwell, Master Sergeant Joshua Reeves, and an unconfirmed number of civilians including all medical staff,¡¯¡± Hamp finished reading from his phone, then tossed it down. ¡°Don¡¯t think I ever met Chen. What was a lieutenant colonel doing there?¡±

    ¡°His job,¡± Dr. Gus said from the backseat, beside Keisha. ¡°He was an emissor.¡±

    ¡°No shit?¡± Ethan¡¯s eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror. ¡°Who¡¯d we just lose?¡±

    ¡°Pangu. One of Helen Duvall¡¯s proteges. It is perhaps fortunate that she passed on two years ago. Few of her students remain, and she never took it well.¡±

    Ethan shook his head in disgust. ¡°And they stuck him on ride-along? Hell of a waste.¡±

    ¡°There wasn¡¯t much else they could have done,¡± Keisha reasoned. ¡°Leaving her totally unsecured wasn¡¯t an option, and the move should have been secret in the first place. Blame their OpSec for this.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I do,¡± Ethan growled. ¡°Did the little prick get away clean, then?¡±

    ¡°As of this morning?¡± Hamp scrolled through his phone again. ¡°Looks like it.¡± Ethan slapped the steering wheel with both hands; the car swerved in response. ¡°Hey! Control yourself, operative!¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t crash, did we?¡±

    Keisha ignored the ensuing argument to read the updates herself. A door-to-door search of a city the size of Ankara was an ambitious job, even after a quarter of the population had run for it. If they¡¯d hit before the encirclement was complete and everyone was ready, it was no surprise that the kids had slipped through. Scroll, scroll, scroll ¡­ ¡°Snowdrop hit again,¡± she announced.

    Hamp broke off in the middle of Ethan¡¯s dressing-down. ¡°Didn¡¯t see that. What is it this time?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of ours, strictly speaking. A checkpoint at the south end of the city. Norwegian army with Swede support, twenty-two dead plus civilians. About two hours after we lost Fatima. I¡¯m seeing some speculation that it was timed to help them break through, either to create an opening or as a diversion for a breakout somewhere else. But Snowdrop¡¯s been striking often enough that nobody made the connection right away.¡±

    ¡°Not while everyone was losing their minds over the Fatima disaster,¡± Hamp concluded. ¡°So, the Russians might have two Marshall kids to work with now.¡±

    ¡°Ruslan obviously didn¡¯t find out where Fatima was by himself. It¡¯s a bigger question whether he actually rejoined them once he¡¯d rescued his sister.¡±

    ¡°You think he¡¯d have the nerve to ditch them?¡± Ethan said.

    ¡°No. But Fatima might, and she¡¯s a lot more stubborn. I could see her goading him into desertion.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Ruslan¡¯s the wimpy kid, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Extremely passive. I don¡¯t think the Russians would have any difficulty controlling him.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Ethan drove on a little longer, then abruptly and without warning pulled a u-turn to head back toward the town they¡¯d just left.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Hamp shouted. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±

    ¡°To find a pizza. Or a burger. Or anything hot. Why? Where were we going before? Did anybody know?¡± Silence. ¡°Didn¡¯t think so. We¡¯re going to get some real food, and then we¡¯re going to hash out a new plan, because what we¡¯re doing now ain¡¯t accomplishing a damn thing.¡±

    There were no objections, and an hour later they were eating d?ner kebab, making a mess of the car in the process. It was, as promised, blessedly hot, and Keisha felt the stress of the past few days fall off her shoulders as her stomach filled up with lamb.

    ¡°Well,¡± Hamp announced, sucking sauce off his thumb, ¡°I¡¯d say that was a good call by Major Honor¨¦. At least the first part. As for the second, does anybody have any bright ideas?¡±

    ¡°We have multiple quarries to consider,¡± Dr. Gus said slowly. ¡°The surviving Marshalls are presumably split three ways. The eldest, Fatima and Ruslan, will be somewhere in the vicinity of Ankara, some distance from here. By the time we regained the city, they would be some distance away, and very likely invisible. We are unlikely to spend our time well pursuing them, whether they are under Russian control or not. Agreed?¡±

    Nods from all around. ¡°Very well. Miss Nadezhda has remained admirably concealed, with no reports of ¨¦zarine anywhere that we can determine. She might, by this juncture, be in another country. She is thus ruled out as well, for the time being. And we have seen the futility of attempting to bring Yuri to justice with our current resources.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like we¡¯re out of targets, then,¡± Ethan said.

    ¡°No. There are also the Russians. They are the most pressing issue in any case, from a strategic perspective. Yuri is actively dangerous, but in a grossly uncontrolled way; he is very nearly a literal loose cannon. Fatima and Ruslan are unlikely to make trouble if they are not under Russian command¡ªor so I think. Keisha?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯re right. Ruslan prefers hiding to fighting and Fatima would rather lay low and see how things shake out before committing herself. And Nadia¡¯s done nothing for four or five days. But we don¡¯t have a lead on the Russians, either. Everybody and their brother¡¯s been scouring the city for Snowdrop for days now.¡±

    ¡°And now it turns out they have ears all through our organization,¡± Hamp added gloomily.

    ¡°That should not be surprising,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°But the extent of their penetration is new and potentially useful information. We know they are listening. Therefore, we can send them a message¡ªa thing we cannot reliably do for any of their erstwhile assets. Can we use this ability?¡±

    Keisha smiled. ¡°I do believe you¡¯re right, Doctor. A trap?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather bait a trap and hold still than keep chasing shadows. I like my boy Song, but keeping him up for twelve hours wears on a man.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the bait, though?¡± Hamp said. ¡°And can we set it up alone? We don¡¯t know where they have spies; the first request we send for help potentially compromises the whole ruse, and puts them on guard.¡±

    ¡°If we go through official channels, yes,¡± Keisha said, feeling her smile grow. She thought she was on to something now. ¡°But that¡¯s why we have you around, isn¡¯t it, Colonel?¡±

    ¡°Depends who you need to talk to. You got something in mind?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Do you know anybody high up in French command?¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    The initial idea was the biggest hurdle. Once they had that, the rest of the details fell into place with only a little work. At Hamp¡¯s insistence, they ran it by General Green, who agreed to keep his mouth shut and sit on any of their own people he caught sniffing at the bait. A brief GPS consultation later, they were headed east again, to a city called Bing?l. Hamp stayed in the passenger seat, begging for favors from some guy named Olivier, but Keisha took a turn at the wheel to give Ethan a rest. It was a sure sign of his fatigue that he relinquished control of the car without complaint.

    ¡°All right, he¡¯ll send us some files,¡± Hamp announced as he hung up the phone. ¡°Took a hell of a lot of sweet talk, though, considering it stopped being a matter of French security more than¡ª¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t wake the baby,¡± Keisha softly chided. She nodded her head to the back seat, where Ethan snored, his head dangling against the seat belt. A tiny drop of drool glistened on the tip of his mustache.

    ¡°Right,¡± Hamp continued, more quietly. ¡°Can¡¯t have that. Anyway, he says to give him an hour, if we want this secure.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll take about that long to get on-site anyway,¡± Keisha told him.

    ¡°Fine.¡± He stretched his legs as far as he could in the car, then said, ¡°Dr. Gus, you still with us?¡±

    ¡°I find I need less sleep, at my age. What do you need?¡±

    ¡°Nothing urgent. Just ¡­ something that¡¯s been weighing on me. About this whole Belvedere business.¡±

    Keisha spared a glance for the rear-view¡ªthe road wasn¡¯t all that busy¡ªand found her mentor unperturbed. ¡°What about it?¡±

    ¡°Chief Graham here tells me you were training emissors, without permission, or with ambiguous permission, or whatever, for years now. Is that right? How, in all that time, did absolutely nobody involved blow? There had to have been at least twenty people in on it.¡±

    ¡°More than twenty. But the intelligence community is quite insular. You know this, Colonel.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I suppose what I¡¯m asking isn¡¯t the how, it¡¯s the why.¡± He looked back at Ethan, then continued, still with his voice low, ¡°Why was it that not one of those people, men and women who¡¯d served their country for years, their whole careers dedicated to defending the Constitution ¡­ why didn¡¯t even one of them speak up?¡±

    ¡°I cannot speak for all of them, Colonel. Only for myself. And I remained silent because, regardless of formalities, I believed and still believe that the continued training of emissors was the correct action to take.¡±

    ¡°Who gave you the authority to make that call, though?¡±

    ¡°God, if you like. Or myself, as a free human being, if that suits you better. I was not born under your Constitution, Colonel Hampton. I am no patriot. My country, as your Mr. Paine said, is the world, and my religion to do good. America is, at present, more a force for good than the contrary, and a suitably long lever with which to shift the world I aim to serve and protect.¡±

    ¡°A cosmopolitan,¡± Hamp sneered. ¡°Nice.¡±

    ¡°A cosmopolitan,¡± Dr. Gus affirmed, ¡°but not ¡®rootless.¡¯ My chosen vocation, and the experience it has given me, do not permit me any more limited perspective. As for the perspectives of others ¡­ you are familiar with the story of King Canute, and the waves?¡±

    ¡°Never heard of him.¡±

    ¡°A historical king, and an absurd legend. The story goes that, fed up with his flattering courtiers, he marched them to the sea and asked whether the waves would obey if he told them to stop coming in. The lackeys were puzzled, but assented, whereupon the King promptly proved them wrong, and told them to save their adulation for God.¡±

    ¡°Okay. What does that have to do with any of this?¡±

    ¡°It is a useful illustration, in conjunction with one other, from Shakespeare: King Lear. This king likewise gave an unwise order, but his subordinate and his own daughter spoke up and told him he was being a fool. As a consequence, both were ejected from court, leaving the king helpless in the hands of malignant actors. The kingdom was torn apart by civil war shortly after, and the king himself died. These two examples have served America¡¯s intelligence officers well.¡±

    ¡°Great. A cosmopolitan, and a cynic.¡±

    ¡°I did not say this was my own philosophy, only that it was common. The times are challenging and frightful, and the men in command appear to be committing errors? It is best to shut one¡¯s mouth, and remain loyally in place, prepared for whatever disaster may come. Canute¡¯s men were censured but kept their positions, and his story ends happily. Indeed, one imagines the king was most pleased, utterly self-satisfied, to have shown his subordinates up as blockheads. Have you not seen this same attitude at work, in the military?¡±

    ¡°All right, fair enough,¡± Hamp grumbled. ¡°But all you¡¯re really telling me is that they were a bunch of cowards.¡±

    ¡°We are speaking of professional spies, Colonel, and the difference between cowardice and prudence is largely a matter of framing. The underlying actions stay the same. Only the story we tell about them is different. That is what interests me.¡±

    Hamp crossed his arms and looked out the window. Keisha kept driving.

    The promised files arrived a few minutes after they crossed Bing?l city limits, but took a while to download. They¡¯d chosen the city purely for its size¡ªmore than a hundred thousand people¡ªand proximity. It was up in the hills, cold and dry, and absolutely swarming with soldiers considering how small it was. Five surly-looking uniformed Turks in a light truck accosted them as they drove in, but lost interest when they saw Keisha and her American ID.

    ¡°You sure this is a good spot to do this?¡± Hamp asked as they drove on. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of civilians, and those boys looked tense.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s less plausible outside of a population center,¡± Keisha reminded him. ¡°This is about as small as we can get.¡±

    They still had several hours until nightfall, when shooting conditions would be best. Ethan and Hampton spent the time finding locals of various ages willing to provide dramatic readings of lines in exchange for hundred-lira bills. They also needed to dump a much larger sum to purchase a teenager¡¯s local-model phone. Keisha, meanwhile, looked over the files Hamp¡¯s friend had sent: several minutes of video footage, taken with a very long zoom, of ¨¦zarine. Every government kept these files¡ªthere were probably some of her own Adesina buried somewhere¡ªbut getting them to share was a near miracle. Hamp couldn¡¯t have done it at all if this particular familiar wasn¡¯t gone past hope of recovery.

    It shouldn¡¯t be too hard, she decided. ¨¦zarine¡¯s appearance varied so much with each summoning anyway, any goofs could just be passed off as more of the same. And simple free-form illusions were a basic exercise, one that didn¡¯t even need a full-sized VRIL to make provided you didn¡¯t need the illusion to do anything special. Or be very large.

    The hard part came after sunset, when they got together at a deserted spot on the edge of the city to effectively invent an entirely new form of special effects. Their ¡°¨¦zarine¡± had to be small, to look like it was shot with a phone¡¯s zoom from outside halo range, but Keisha couldn¡¯t fake it clipping behind buildings. Getting the perspective right was a cast-iron bitch. After more than two dozen failed takes, tempers ran hot, and they had to take a break.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose one of us knows a discreet professional video editor?¡± Hamp proposed.

    ¡°Won¡¯t work,¡± Ethan said at once. ¡°Video editing leaves telltales, and every analyst knows to look for ¡®em. Internet¡¯s flooded with fakes. The edge of a halo creates totally different artifacts, and those aren¡¯t advertised. A VRIL mockup will do the same thing, so it¡¯s an in-house job.¡±

    They were at it for another hour and a half before they got it just right: the phone wobbled and lurched dramatically, then zoomed in on ¨¦zarine appearing to rush across the road and disappear near a sign advertising Bing?l¡¯s university, while audio clips of authentic Turkish exclamations and a single gunshot played in the background. The whole finished file lasted less than eight seconds.

    ¡°I still think the audio sounds tinny,¡± Ethan said. ¡°Fake.¡±

    ¡°Low-quality doesn¡¯t mean fake,¡± Keisha told him. ¡°It could be a crappy microphone. The effect itself will hold up as real, and that¡¯s what matters.¡±

    ¡°Will it hold up, though?¡± Hamp worried. ¡°We¡¯re not professionals.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I thought of that too,¡± she said. ¡°Thing is, even if it isn¡¯t believable to the Russians or their guys, it¡¯s still not a totally wasted effort.¡±

    She sent the finished file to Renee Baker, who did payroll work and wasn¡¯t remotely well-placed to be a spy. Renee passed it up the chain of command as an anonymous submission, and also discreetly sold it cheap, on Keisha¡¯s instructions, to a minor Turkish social media news startup. By midnight it was all over the internet as well, and new versions with excited overlaid commentary, or clumsy dramatizing edits, were popping up every few minutes. There to be seen by the Russians ¡­ or any other, less discriminating audience. Including anxious teenagers looking to reunite with family.

    ¡°All right, the hook is set,¡± Ethan said, rubbing his eyes. ¡°Now can we please get to bed?¡±

 XLIII. Apocalypse (Nadia)

    A handmade banner, made from something like bedsheet material, stretched across the road between two streetlights. ¡°Konfederal?zma Demokrat?k a Z?lan,¡± it said, and then under it in smaller letters, ¡°Kurdistana Serbixwe.¡± All written in black marker, flanked by paintings of two different flags. On the right, a green, white, and red one with a gold sun in the middle. On the left, a red star in a gold circle, inside a solid red field.

    ¡°Kurdistan Worker¡¯s Party,¡± Kemal said, pointing to the latter.

    ¡°Communists?¡±

    ¡°Once. Maybe still. They speak less of it, now that there are no communists in Moscow. All know who pays them.¡±

    Nadia looked down from the banner to the men running the checkpoint. They had rifles, but their clothes were mostly civilian¡ªbig puffy jackets and wool hats. Their breath clouded in the cold air, when the wind did not simply whip it away. She felt a very small pang of sympathy for these men¡ªthough they were probably the same sort of common thugs who went for Praetorian work¡ªwho had to stand out in this weather all day. ¡°Do they report to Russia, then?¡±

    ¡°Not these men. Their master¡¯s master¡¯s master, maybe. And there will be many spies here.¡±

    ¡°Here, and everywhere else.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    The line of cars advanced slowly; every driver had to stop and argue with the armed men. About half of them made an awkward three-point-turn and went back the way they came, looking grumpy through their windshields. Kemal already had a suitable stack of lira bills at hand. The rest of their funds were hidden in various places throughout the car. He would not tell her, but Nadia had an uncomfortable feeling that all those stacks of money represented a large percentage of the old man¡¯s retirement funds. Prices were high, especially gas.

    If it reunited their family¡ªif it stopped all the deaths¡ªthen it would be worth it. Maybe. They might find a way to get him his money back in a way he would accept, if the five of them got together again. Anyway, after everything that had happened, she could not stand to do any less.

    After another fifteen minutes¡ªat one point they simply shut off the motor to save gas while an obstinate motorist harangued the men¡ªtheir turn arrived. Kemal cranked down his window, letting in the bitter mountain air. ¡°I am only passing through,¡± he said, keeping his hands on the steering wheel.

    The man in charge was the only one wearing an actual military uniform, old fatigues with the flag patches taken off the shoulders, and an insulated vest over it, and a bright red beret. He snarled something back in a language that wasn¡¯t anything like Turkish.

    ¡°I am sorry, but I do not speak Kurdish,¡± Kemal answered.

    ¡°Then what do you want in Kurdish land?¡± another man demanded, jabbing his AK in their direction.

    ¡°I am only passing through,¡± Kemal repeated. ¡°My brother lives here, and he is in trouble. He has no money. I go to get him out.¡±

    ¡°And the girl?¡±

    ¡°My niece. I could not leave her home alone.¡±

    The men held a brief muttered conference in Kurdish. The man in uniform turned back to ask another question, and stopped short when he saw the money in Kemal¡¯s hand. He took it, counted, frowned, then shoved it in his pocket and waved at his men to search the car. They did so roughly and quickly, pawing at their various bags to check for the hard bulge of weapons. In the process they unearthed another stack of bills, which was confiscated. Kemal had carefully divided the money into small enough portions that the discovery of any single one would not be a terrible loss, or tempt the finder to continue searching.

    ¡°You will be out in three days,¡± the man in uniform told them, and waved them through. Kemal thanked him, rolled up the window, and drove on before he could change his mind.

    The checkpoint did not seem to have been placed at a site of any real significance; the land behind it was mostly empty stretches of dry grass with mountains in the distance, the same as the land before. The temperature outside was barely above freezing. In the spring, she imagined, there would be sheep grazing those fields, and traffic would stop to let the flocks cross the roads.

    They passed a brown cardboard sign, which Nadia squinted at but could not quite read in time. It had been done in marker, like the banner. ¡°What did that say?¡±

    ¡°The same thing as the sign it replaced,¡± Kemal said, ¡°but with the Kurdish names for all the places.¡± A few minutes later they came across another sign, and he slowed down enough for her to read it.

    ¡°Melezgir,¡± she read aloud. It wasn¡¯t clear what the sign referred to; there were some pine trees, and a few small shacks, so she supposed they were coming up on some small town.

    ¡°Malazgirt, in Turkish,¡± Kemal added. ¡°You have heard this name?¡±

    ¡°No. I have never been here before. Is it important?¡± It didn¡¯t look it.

    ¡°This is where Turkey began. A thousand years ago, a great battle, your emperor and ours. He had a larger army, but ours won. Turkey was the prize. The Sultanate of Rum.¡±

    ¡°My emperor?¡± Nadia smiled. ¡°I am Russian, not Greek, and I have never served any emperor.¡± Not one the rest of the world recognized, anyway.

    ¡°Not important,¡± Kemal said, slapping the steering wheel. ¡°All began here. Your emperor called to the West for help, when he lost the battle. The Crusaders came. That was a longer fight, but we won it too. And the Turk is still here.¡± He sighed. ¡°Or was.¡±

    Nadia didn¡¯t know what to say to that, and they kept driving in silence. The famous battlefield was now a small town like a dozen others they¡¯d passed through already, and went by in less than a minute. Many of the houses by the road were small and shabby, but there was no sign of fighting, at least. No spiderwebbed windows or collapsed walls.

    After ¡°Melezgir¡± the signs pointed them on to ¡°Panos,¡± where Kemal had arranged a place for them to stay. Every hotel was packed these days, and you couldn¡¯t trust the other guests, but a friend had a cousin out here who could put them up for a couple of nights. Where they went from there was anyone¡¯s guess. They were here to stop the violence, but the violence seemed to have already happened. The Democratic Confederation of Z?lan was something like a week old now, and controlled an area the size of Belgium. Mostly ¡°control¡± meant they renamed everything and scolded people for speaking Turkish in public¡ªor so it was said. It could get ugly very fast, but for now the region was quiet.

    On and on they drove, and Nadia shifted in her seat to try and find a comfortable position. At least they were comfortable with silence now. Kemal wasn¡¯t a sociable man, and the first day¡¯s babbling had been simply painful. It was better when he said what he wanted to say, and then shut up, and they were both fine with it.

    Now he braked the car, and pointed off to the left of the road ahead. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Nadia leaned forward and squinted. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything.¡±

    ¡°There was something. Little black dots, in the air, very low. Several of them.¡±

    She looked again, shook her head. The sky here was enormous, bigger than the land, a pale pristine blue. ¡°Sorry, still nothing.¡±

    ¡°They are gone.¡± He considered a moment, then shut off the engine, and cranked down his window again.

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s cold!¡±

    ¡°Shh! Listen, child!¡±

    She pulled her jacket tighter, and obeyed. There was something, a distant rattling sound, and a few thumps, laid over a low, rhythmic noise. And, now that she was looking, a faint haze on the horizon, like dust rising into the sky. Dust, or smoke. ¡°Oh, God. God, it¡¯s happening right now. Go. Go now.¡± Kemal looked at her wide-eyed, uncomprehending. ¡°I said go! We need to move!¡±

    His only answer was to gesture vaguely up the road, and then back the way they had come, and then shrug helplessly: where was there to go? His right hand clenched the steering wheel; the left trembled violently.

    ¡°Come on, this is what we are here for. I can¡¯t run that far, that fast. We need to get moving now.¡±

    He still stared, as though he did not understand. A few mumbles came out of his mouth, but nothing more. Both hands lifted from the wheel now, to spread out expressively, taking in the whole horizon, then rise up as if in a plea to heaven: what are we to do with all this?

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°Where is your jihad talk now? This is it, this is the moment. Don¡¯t you see that? Those were ... oh, damn.¡± Back to the dictionary, ripping pages in her haste. ¡°Helikopterler. You understand? I can stop them but I need to be closer.¡±

    At last he found his voice, croaking out: ¡°They will kill us!¡±

    ¡°No, they won¡¯t. ¨¦zarine will knock them out of the sky. Do you know what they are doing now?¡± She did. She had memories from their year in Syria. ¡°Your friend¡¯s cousin is going to die. Let me stop it.¡±

    Kemal sat back, and put the car in park. ¡°Why am I here?¡± he said, not looking at her.

    ¡°You are here to¡ª¡°

    He talked right over her. ¡°My girl, she has a boy on the way, my grandson¡ªand I am here! Why am I here, hadha sakhif, Allah yarhamuni¡ªah!¡± He jerked in his seat, clapped a hand over his shoulder where she¡¯d punched it. ¡°What do you do, you mad child?¡±

    ¡°You are being a coward. Qorqaq, you understand? Qorqaq!¡±

    ¡°You do not hit your elders, ungrateful girl! Shame on you! I take you all this way, I give my money¡ª¡±

    To hell with him. She wrenched her door open and took off running down the side of the road. The smoke was clear on the horizon now. She would take a half-hour to get there at least, and arrive exhausted and half-frozen, and the murderers would be long gone, and she would do no good. It would be no better than staying where she was. But she would not stay in that car.

    Before she¡¯d gone a hundred meters the engine roared behind her, and the car came rushing down the road again. She moved over to give it room, but kept jogging. Kemal pulled alongside her, stopped to crank down the passenger window. She kept running, leaving him behind again. Turkish curses erupted from the car before it lurched into motion once more, coming alongside her and keeping pace as best it could.

    The old man leaned over to shout out the window. ¡°Get in here! You will die of cold. This is no place for a little girl!¡±

    ¡°I know! That is!¡± She pointed down the road. Still running.

    He rushed and swerved ahead of her, forcing her completely off the road. She merely turned again to go around him. There was plenty of open field to run in, nice hard ground. ¡°Get in, you foolish brat!¡± She shook her head, kept going. He had to turn the car again to avoid running into her, put on more gas, swinging back and forth until he was once again between her and the road. ¡°I will take you there! Just get in!¡±

    She opened the door in triumph, sat down demurely, and cranked the window back up as he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Kemal unleashed a steady stream of invective from the driver¡¯s seat, cursing her and her descendants for multiple generations to come for a stubborn, crazy, selfish child. He was going to die and leave his family alone and it would be her fault.

    There was a bit more in Arabic which she assumed was even worse, but she did not care, because they were going more than a hundred kilometers per hour in the correct direction. She pulled her wall up in her mind as they drove, piling it high. Frustration and rage were not hard feelings to conjure up at the moment.

    Now she could hear the helicopters properly, and see them too, with the town they were destroying; in the time they wasted arguing they had worked their way down to the south end of Panos, and swung back for another pass, then north-to-south again, firing bursts from the guns in their noses. They could hear screams as well, and see black smoke pouring out of houses, trees smashed to splinters by rotary cannon fire. Kemal had given up cursing, and switched to pure Arabic, breathing fast, the sweat pouring off his forehead as he rattled off every prayer he knew. But they were still driving towards the town.

    ¡°I¡¯m bringing her out now!¡± she shouted. The car was manual transmission. ¡°Do you understand?¡± He nodded, braked for a second. There was a thump on the roof as something about heavy landed. ¡°Go go go!¡± The tires squealed.

    The choppers were old models from the seventies, used American surplus. Whatever electronics they had on board were not essential to fly them. They wobbled a bit when the halo washed over them, and that was all. ¡°How many?¡± Kemal screamed the question, far louder than necessary to be heard.

    ¡°Five, I think? Maybe six?¡± It was hard to count with all the smoke in the air, and they did not hold still. The nearest swiveled in their direction, trying to bring its gun to bear. The car¡¯s suspension creaked from an abrupt decrease in load, and something shining white appeared on the gunship¡¯s tail, right next to the rotor. It went into a wild spin at once, and its nose dipped, clipping its main blades against a rooftop. ¨¦zarine leapt free, landing easily on the roof and peering down to watch it smash to bits in the street.

    Kemal shouted his satisfaction from the driver¡¯s seat, hammering the horn with his fist. They were still getting closer to the town; Nadia put a hand on his shoulder, and told him to stop the car. The streets of the town might be impassible, and she did not want to be trapped, or lose sight of the enemy behind buildings.

    Another pilot peeled away from the slaughter to avenge his friend, firing rockets from his stubby wings. Was he an idiot, or simply panicked? Either way, the streaks of fire veered completely off-course, one detonating in the street, the other blowing up a strand of trees. ¨¦zarine flickered in front of his craft and let out a shout, shattering the windscreen, then vanished again before the clumsy thing could hit her with its blades as it fell. Two down.

    At least one other gunship was out of halo range, and turned to run away back north at maximum speed, putting on a little altitude for good measure. Two others were not, and far too angry to act so sensibly. One turned and lifted its chin to try and hose down ¨¦zarine with its gun; she popped right into the cockpit to hammer the pilot with punches, breaking free as soon as the vehicle had spun too far out of control to recover. The last helicopter simply doubled down, unloading its whole armament into the town willy-nilly to do as much damage as possible before its pilot and gunner died. ¨¦zarine moved to the inside of the craft, into the very center, and let out a single short scream. It was enough. Fifty feet of metal came crashing down into a line of townhouses, and Panos fell silent at last.

    Nadia waited a moment, to see if anything else came. Nothing did. The skies were clear. She let ¨¦zarine go, flopped back in her seat, and shut her eyes. She couldn¡¯t really see through her familiar¡¯s eyes; all she got was a very rough sense of where ¨¦zarine was and what was around her. So she didn¡¯t know what Panos looked like now. She preferred to keep it that way.

    From the driver¡¯s seat, Kemal groaned. She heard a gentle thump, and a tiny squeak from the horn, as he leaned forward to slump over the wheel. Then, for a long time, he said nothing, and neither did she. Nothing to say. They could be comfortable in silence now. As comfortable as you could be, at a time like this.

    At last he groaned again, and straightened up. ¡°That was the Turkish army,¡± he said. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°I think so. The Kurds control this town. We just passed the checkpoint, didn¡¯t we?¡±

    He ignored the question. ¡°They were not fighting anyone. Nobody shot back. I saw no attacks on the helicopters.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t either.¡± The militia at the checkpoint had been a bunch of men with rifles, only one in a uniform. Possibly somebody in the town had got off a shot with a portable launcher, but she hadn¡¯t seen it. Whatever had been defending Panos, if anything, it hadn¡¯t been effective.

    ¡°So ¡­ they were ¡­¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know who they were. They might not have been obeying the main army anymore. Or they might have been Russians, making trouble.¡± In multiple Turkish army helicopters? She didn¡¯t believe that herself. The Russians didn¡¯t need to stir up this region any more. The likeliest explanation was that some number of angry Turkish soldiers, seeing the horrible Kurds try to break away with a piece of their country, had decided to send a message. Or else this was just the first step on the road to removing the Kurds from the picture entirely.

    Ethnic cleansing. What a bland phrase.

    Kemal had already moved on to another subject. ¡°I am a coward,¡± he reflected mournfully, still half-lying on the steering wheel. ¡°I allowed them to die.¡±

    ¡°No. You were frightened. But you kept driving.¡±

    ¡°I needed a child, a girl, to tell me what must be done! What man does that?¡±

    A fifty-seven-year-old retired harbormaster with a grandchild on the way. A man who had never been part of anything more violent than breaking up fights between angry stevedores. A man who thought that, because he was a man, he knew more about war than she did, and had just found out he was wrong. Well, if he wanted to beat himself up for it now, that was his problem. She didn''t have the energy to coddle him further.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± was all she said in reply. ¡°Your friend¡¯s cousin. We need to check on him.¡±

 XLIV. Patterns (Keisha)

    They had a better map now. Just last week they¡¯d been using an old folding paper map from a gas station, with X¡¯s and notes jotted here and there, sometimes scribbled over when rumors didn¡¯t pan out. Now, courtesy of somebody at the DOD with a decent amount of free time and programming skill, they had a multilayered, color-coded, customizable app with different-colored marks for each person of interest, and tooltips that gave you date and time for every sighting. You could add and remove subjects, narrow and group by timeframe, click for aggregated details and analysis ¡­ it didn¡¯t actually give them any new information, but it was slick. Keisha had to give them that.

    Yuri was a big streak of red across the center of the Anatolian peninsula, mostly fading to pink now that his first rampage was ended. He¡¯d gone to ground about a week ago, and sightings since were scattered, unconfirmed, but generally credible reports. There was no real pattern there, and the most recent was from yesterday, in the far southeast of the country. It was possible he¡¯d moved into Syria. God only knew why.

    Snowdrop¡¯s purple marks were still concentrated around Ankara, turning pale with age like Yuri¡¯s. Very quiet. She might have taken last Thursday¡¯s bait, or not. Either way, not active in the capital, only unconfirmed and dubious sightings since. Keisha fiddled with the settings until all the purple went away. Wherever Snowdrop was, she was off the table for now.

    Fatima and Ruslan, green and gold, mostly the latter. Their markings were almost all inferred; it was rare for anybody to see either¡¯s familiar, and reports of feelings that happened to resemble a halo didn¡¯t constitute proof of anything. Sudden, miraculous recovery, or inexplicable spontaneous death, were more solid leads, and after a little investigation got marked on the map. It seemed the two of them were headed more or less east as well, and a little south, passing through Kayseri and handing out life and death along the way. A lot of very sick or injured people were alive because of those two, and two soldiers and a cop had dropped dead on duty. Supposedly Kizil Khan preferred to hurt and heal in equal proportions, so there had to be a lot of corpses out there they¡¯d overlooked. Easy to do, with the country in such a state. But they were on track to reach Bing?l by and by, so the ruse might be working.

    That just left one color on the map. One ghostly blue dot in Ankara from late January, another almost a week later in the northeast of the country ¡­ and now two more. Their Bing?l fake, of course, from last Thursday. And then yesterday, Monday, Feb 4, around 1400: a solid blue dot at Patnos, north of Lake Van. Only about a hundred miles from Bing?l in a straight line. Supposedly, a Turkish detachment sent to recover the town had been ambushed and nearly wiped out. Reports consistently described halo effects, and a figure like a nude woman with long hair. If it was a fake, they¡¯d done a better and more thorough job of it than Keisha¡¯s team. But ¡­ why?

    ¡°Kinda hard to avoid the obvious conclusion, ain¡¯t it?¡± said a voice in her ear.

    She swung an arm up to backhand Ethan without looking; he dodged easily. ¡°It¡¯s obvious, sure. But it doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Sure it does. We already knew the Russians had her before. And she¡¯s still helping them now.¡±

    She sighed, and minimized the map. No explanation made sense. Was she still serving Russia? Then why had she turned against her sister, and vanished for a week before resurfacing at the other end of the country? It didn¡¯t seem likely that she¡¯d joined the Kurds, either; she didn¡¯t even speak their language. Maybe the soldiers were riffing off their own Bing?l hoax, covering up some catastrophic failure with a sham report that would sound plausible? That was the most appealing possibility, and the easiest to explain¡ªbut that didn¡¯t make it correct.

    ¡°She really does seem to be helping the Russians a lot here,¡± Hamp put in from across the room, ¡°whether she means to or not. Any idiot could have seen trouble coming in Kurdistan in general. Whatever she¡¯s planning to do, whoever she means to help, the east end of the country would be the place to do it. But that particular area ¡­ ¡° He grimaced. ¡°Most of the Turkish Army¡¯s pinned down in the south, around Diyarbakir, where the oil is. And that¡¯s where the opposition¡¯s hottest, too. Or was. If the northeast corner lights up too¡ªif we add a second regional front¡ªTurkey won¡¯t have the forces to contain it.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Lights up¡¯ how? They already have separatists, and the separatists, from the sounds of it, had already won.¡±

    ¡°I mean, sure, they¡¯d claimed a bit of territory in the chaos, but they weren¡¯t really a priority. The Turks would have reclaimed the area when they had the time. If word gets out that they have a familiar going to bat for them, recovery becomes a lot more doubtful.¡±

    ¡°Hey, heads up,¡± Ethan said, pointing to his own phone, where the seal of the Numenate had just appeared. Hamp and Keisha dutifully looked at their own screens, just in time for the seal to be replaced by the bedraggled-looking face of General Tyler Green.

    He looked even unhappier than he had when they last saw him, way back in Thessaloniki. A whole ¡­ two weeks ago, wasn¡¯t it? ¡°Let¡¯s make this quick,¡± he said, half sighing. ¡°Is Dr. Gus there too?¡±

    ¡°I am listening,¡± he affirmed from the corner of the room.

    ¡°And the location is secure?¡±

    Keisha panned her phone around to show him. ¡°Back room in an abandoned shop on a randomly chosen street. I can¡¯t put up interference without killing this call, but surveillance seems unlikely, sir.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s hear some good news. What¡¯s your progress?¡±

    Hamp mustered up only slightly more enthusiasm than Green himself to answer the question. ¡°It¡¯s possible the Bing?l gambit has succeeded to some extent, sir. These kids won¡¯t be traveling very fast on their own, they have no logistical support, but Fatima and Ruslan are moving in the right direction.¡±

    ¡°You mean they¡¯re moving away from Ankara. East. Same as their brother and sister. Anatolia¡¯s a peninsula, Colonel. Unless they have a boat, only one compass point will do. But we¡¯ll call that ¡­ potential partial success, too soon to say for sure. Anything else? Anything I can take to the Oval Office?¡±

    ¡°Song and I have been providing support around here, now and then,¡± Ethan offered. ¡°Did some heavy lifting over in Batman just the other day, cleared a bunch of roads, gave a little security help.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure the citizens of Batman appreciate your help, Major Honor¨¦,¡± Green replied, carefully and correctly pronouncing the town¡¯s name as baht-MAHN. ¡°As do I, for not completely wasting your abilities while on duty. In return for your valorous service, I will not order Colonel Hampton to assign you eight hours of milch duty. Anything else? Chief Graham? Any new insights, leads, or plans?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m inclined to try and intercept the duo,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re leaving the clearest trail, and with two of them they¡¯ll be easier to track. That¡¯s why we¡¯re in Malatya right now.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. Any more specific plans?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. We had been planning to see how they move, then adjust course, or repeat the Bing?l trick to encourage them to adjust for us. Only¡ª¡±

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Only the actual Nadezhda Marshall is very inconsiderately putting up her own trail. Which is why, unless you have a particular reason you have not yet disclosed for believing you can intercept the other two, I would like you to focus your attention on her. Given that she is now engaging friendly forces, I would have hoped you would do as much anyway.¡±

    ¡°I ¡­ wasn¡¯t sure that would be a productive approach, sir. And I¡¯m still not.¡±

    The General¡¯s face got ever so slightly more irritable. ¡°Really? Explain.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know for certain that Nadia was there, or why she was there if she was. She was always the most promising candidate for defection, but direct antagonism could drive her right into the enemy¡¯s hands.¡±

    ¡°Which is where she appears to be at present anyway, so I don¡¯t quite understand your reticence. She is already actively hostile. The Turks report the loss of seventeen men in that failed offensive.¡±

    ¡°The Turks report a lot of things, sir. And this is only one incident, not a campaign.¡±

    ¡°Chief Graham. Absolutely nothing about this theater, from any belligerent¡¯s point of view, merits the dignity of the label ¡®campaign.¡¯ It¡¯s something closer to a no-holds-barred saloon brawl from an old-timey Western, inflated to the scale of a good-sized country. Even before this child resurfaced, we had reports of Syrian, Iraqi, Israeli, Iranian, Russian, Ukrainian, Azeri, and Lebanese nationals at work in Turkish Kurdistan. Yesterday afternoon¡ªshortly after the Patnos incident, but before I heard of it¡ªI was informed that one of our humanitarian convoys in Kars came under attack from Armenians.

    ¡°Just consider that a moment, please: Armenians. I just checked: Turkey¡¯s last Armenian terrorist died thirty years ago. The genocide was in the past, and nobody forgot it, but everybody accepted that life goes on. Now it¡¯s open season again, and they¡¯re looking to take back a piece of Turkey for themselves as well. Greater Armenia. And this country still has plenty of past left to dredge up.

    ¡°Which is why it really doesn¡¯t matter what Nadezhda Marshall plans or intends. If she is active and unsupervised in that region, she is not going to be anything but a further destabilizing factor. Your orders, as of this moment, are to fix that, and I expect those orders to be obeyed promptly. Am I understood?¡±

    There was only one answer you could give to that question. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°I am not particular as to how she is neutralized. If she agrees to operate under American supervision, I would welcome that. If she enters our custody in a noncombatant capacity, that is also acceptable. If harsher means are required, well, fortunes of war. The only unacceptable outcome is further incidents like Patnos. Are we clear on that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Very good. In the absence of any new and relevant intelligence, I want word that you¡¯re on the ground in that town by dawn tomorrow. Dismissed.¡± The Numenate seal reappeared over his face, then the screen went black.

    ¡°Well, you heard the man,¡± Ethan said, getting to his feet and stretching. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±

    The small-time grocer who¡¯d owned this shop hadn¡¯t bothered to board up when he fled the city; by the time Keisha¡¯s group got to it, it had already been broken into and thoroughly ransacked. All that was left was the creaking furniture and file boxes in the back room. They didn¡¯t bother to secure the back door behind them when they left.

    ¡°I looked it up last night,¡± Hamp said, ¡°and it¡¯s a six-hour drive, easy. Maybe eight. Fun times.¡±

    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t trust the airport,¡± Ethan replied. ¡°Guess Song will have to pitch in again. God, I¡¯m sick of this car.¡±

    Keisha took her usual spot in the back seat, next to Dr. Gus. ¡°You are troubled,¡± he remarked as they buckled in.

    ¡°Yeah, I can¡¯t say I¡¯m thrilled about any of this.¡±

    ¡°Which is reasonable. Are you prepared to do what is necessary?¡±

    Both men up front paused to listen in on her answer. ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Not much point in going if you¡¯ve got second thoughts,¡± Ethan said.

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know what¡¯s going on here. We might show up and¡ªand find that Nadia¡¯s long gone and gone to ground again. Or that the whole story was just some garbled bullshit to begin with.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you expect,¡± Hamp said, ¡°or what you want?¡±

    She slumped against the window. ¡°Both? I mean, I knew this kid. Not super-well, but I knew her. She was messed up, you could see that, and she could be a brat, but I always thought there was this basically sweet little girl underneath, you know? This girl who liked crafts, and church, and should have been looking forward to meeting up with her school friends after Christmas break, not invading Istanbul.¡±

    ¡°You feel betrayed,¡± Dr. Gus said. Ethan started the ignition, and rolled out into Malatya¡¯s midday traffic.

    ¡°Betrayed? What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Nadia has not met your expectations. You invested much time and energy into her rescue, with the end goal of bringing her under American protection. She disappeared, and you have been concerned for her welfare for the past week¡ªonly for her to emerge in service to the enemy. An affront.¡±

    ¡°Doctor, that¡¯s crazy. She¡¯s barely even a teenager. Whatever she¡¯s doing, it¡¯s not even clear that she¡¯s doing it of her own will. Didn¡¯t the Russians take custody of the smaller children? The Metics? They have hostages.¡±

    ¡°You are right,¡± he said. ¡°It would be illogical, for you to resent the child under these circumstances.¡± He turned to look out his window.

    ¡°Well bless your heart, Doctor,¡± she muttered, and looked out her own.

    Malatya was a good-sized city, with a pre-war population just under a million, and stable by current standards; there was an international military presence, and no record of any paraphysical activity in the metropolitan area. Refugees were already coming in from Diyarbakir to the southeast, rapidly enough that Keisha figured the grocer would find his shop occupied by a new business if he ever returned to the city. They passed an ancient flatbed truck loaded down with furniture and people, several of the latter hanging dangerously off the rails around the back. Moving day.

    ¡°You know,¡± Hamp said to her as they eased their way through traffic and out of the city, ¡°the girl¡¯s at a tricky age. I remember twelve. Kids that age, they want to believe, and they want to belong. It wouldn¡¯t be that strange for her to settle in with people she met on the way. She can¡¯t be alone forever.¡±

    Consoling parenting advice from Hamp, for a kid who wasn¡¯t even hers. It had come to this. ¡°Look, it¡¯s fine. We¡¯re not committing to any one course of action yet. Let¡¯s just get there, and see what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°And be prepared for anything,¡± Ethan added.

    ¡°Yes. It might be that Nadia needs our help.¡±

    ¡°Not what I meeeaaaant,¡± Ethan said in a quiet, obnoxious sing-song, and lunged onto the highway just ahead of a dusty eighteen-wheeler. Keisha chose to ignore him. The big rig honked its horn vigorously, and swerved into the next lane.

    They had till dawn, which was plenty of time. Not so tight a deadline, nor so dire a situation, that they could justify pulling an emissor out near heavy road traffic. There was nothing for it but to stick to the ground until they made open country; Hamp had developed a knack for plotting trails through just-developed-enough rural hamlets that Tantrum Song could feed without causing massive pileups. In the meantime, they had to trust to Ethan¡¯s lead foot to minimize their time on the road.

    They had to drive another fifteen minutes before they could take to the air, and landed just east of Elaz?? shortly after to get their bearings and check for updates. Keisha promptly pulled up the map, and saw a new blue dot.

    She sighed, and shut her eyes, and stuffed the phone back in her pocket.

 XLV. Lex Talionis (Nadia)

    The farther Nadia went in Turkey, it seemed, the colder it got. Istanbul had been cool but tolerable even at night. Ankara was a bit chillier. Panos, up in the mountains, was barely above freezing at noon. And now they were coming up on ¡­ D?tax, or Tutak, depending where along the road you stopped to look at a sign, and it was snowing.

    Whatever you called the place, it was on the small side, a couple of hundred houses huddled together against the wind on the far side of a minor river. They could see the whole thing from where they were parked on the hillside. Only a few lights shone against the twilight, just enough to show Nadia how little more there was to see. Somewhere in those streets, if her sources were right, were the remnants of a division from the Turkish army, and the man or men who had ordered the slaughter this afternoon. The trick would be picking them out from the guilty.

    ¡°We could go back,¡± Kemal said from the driver¡¯s seat.

    ¡°No. They will be gone tomorrow. They might be gone already.¡±

    ¡°You promised to obey,¡± he reminded her. He didn¡¯t sound as indignant as he might have, before this afternoon. A great deal could change in a couple of hours.

    ¡°I was only arguing. If you make me go back, I will. But the men who ordered that do not deserve to get away.¡± When he did not answer, she added, ¡°I will do it myself, you know. I only need you to get me within walking distance.¡±

    ¡°How long will you taunt me, child? I am not afraid. Not for myself.¡±

    ¡°Why not? I am. And I wasn¡¯t taunting you, I was only¡ª¡°

    ¡°It is getting colder,¡± he said, cutting her off. ¡°Whatever we do, we should do it soon. Petrol is too dear to spend on the heater.¡±

    ¡°I do not want to go back there and tell them we didn¡¯t do anything to the men who hurt them.¡± She wished they had not told them anything, but it was no good saying nothing. The people of Panos were poor, but not fools. They had seen and felt ¨¦zarine. They knew emissants had masters. And they were justifiably suspicious of strangers. It was better to be known as the saviors of the town than suspected as spies for the Turkish army, and possibly strangled in their beds.

    And, once that much was known, once they had seen for themselves what those helicopters had done to that town, once man after man had come up to them and told them where the Turks had their forward base ¡­ there was only one acceptable response to that information.

    ¡°Please get us closer,¡± she said.

    ¡°What will you do?¡± he asked her, without starting the car.

    ¡°I am not going to start a massacre. Our fight is with the army.¡±

    ¡°That is not an answer.¡±

    ¡°A familiar doesn¡¯t have to cause big explosions. I will find the people who ordered this, and I will make them pay.¡±

    ¡°And if you cannot find those people?¡±

    ¡°Are you looking for reasons not to do this?¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think they deserve justice? Or do Kurds not count?¡±

    ¡°That means nothing! Saladin was a Kurd, and a hero. But ¡­ I am frightened. Not for myself, for you. Will you go in there alone?¡±

    ¡°I am a girl, but I am also a soldier. I got out of Fatih against much worse odds. Whatever is there, I can handle it.¡± That was leaving certain details out, of course, but it was mostly true. There would only be a few soldiers down there, freshly frightened from that afternoon¡¯s defeat. No familiars, no support, no giant wall. Simple.

    ¡°All this is too soon, too quick. Do you understand? You are still hot, angry, making choices while upset. I do not like it.¡±

    ¡°Angry? Do you mean you aren¡¯t angry? We came here to stop this kind of thing, didn¡¯t we? Maybe you really are looking for reasons not to do this.¡± Which wasn¡¯t a fair thing to say, and she knew it as soon as she said it¡ªbut she did not take it back.

    He replied by turning the ignition, and putting the car in gear. ¡°Very well. But I will come with you.¡±

    She wished he wouldn¡¯t. It would mean another back to watch besides her own, if things went bad, while he could do nothing in a fight. She didn¡¯t like the thought that he might be put in harm¡¯s way on her account. And yet it seemed brutal to say so, to tell him he would only get in her way. Not after everything else that had happened today. They drove down the deserted road in silence.

    It wasn¡¯t a long drive. They made it through the outskirts of the town, came to the bridge over the river, and were promptly stopped by a pair of the ubiquitous Turkish Army vehicles not quite blocking the way across. Kemal turned to thread the way between them, saw the barrier just past their rear bumpers, and stopped. ¡°The men in these trucks were not responsible,¡± he said quickly. ¡°They are low rank.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, and left it at that. They waited for the better part of a minute with the engine idling. The thing blocking their way looked a cheap metal bike rack, light enough that even Nadia could have gone out and moved it by hand¡ªor Kemal could have simply shoved it out of the way with his car, and moved around when he had room. Either action would put the whole garrison on alert and likely get them shot. It was not time to begin hostilities yet. So they waited, watching the snowflakes come dancing down past the headlights.

    At last a big man in a bigger coat came out of the truck on their left, rubbing his eyes, not bothering to unsling the rifle bouncing against his padded back. It wasn¡¯t even that late. ¡°Do you live here?¡± he asked without preamble, as soon as their window was down.

    ¡°We do not,¡± Kemal said.

    There was more he planned to say, but he wasn¡¯t given a chance. ¡°All visitors must be received by a known Tutak resident and submit to a search of their vehicle. Do you know the address or phone number of a Tutak resident who will vouch for you?¡±

    ¡°We have ¡­ we have no such person,¡± Kemal replied. ¡°We wish to see your commanding officer.¡±

    The big man knelt down to look more directly through the window, frowning at the two of them. His glasses were half-fogged with his own breath, and his jaw was very stubbly. ¡°Why do you wish to see the captain? It is late.¡±

    Kemal hesitated, and turned to Nadia, which probably didn¡¯t help their cause. ¡°It is urgent,¡± she told him. ¡°We have news for him. There will be an attack soon. Before midnight.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The man wiped his glasses and stared at her. She made herself look back. She was sure she looked nervous, frightened even, but a girl with the news they were pretending to have would look that way too. However she looked, it satisfied the man, who stood up straight, pulled a radio out of his pocket, and barked something she could not hear into it. He got a scratchy reply, barked something else.

    Good. Now they would have to wait a little longer while they got somebody to drive out here and escort them to wherever this captain planned to spend the night. Assuming they believed her. If not¡ªor if the captain was busy, drunk or with a woman¡ªthey might have to waste a bit of time trying to convince some underling, a sergeant or lieutenant. Either way, they would be indoors soon enough¡ª

    The deafening wail of a siren, coming from right overhead, sent all of Nadia¡¯s plans tumbling out of her head. ¡°What in the world?¡± The noise seemed to be coming from high up, from the tower holding up the little bridge¡¯s suspension on this end. It was echoed from the far side of the river, where many more lights were coming on, one after another.

    Kemal stared aghast, his jaw hanging low, as searchlights began weaving over the low ceiling of clouds. He looked behind them, as if calculating whether there was time to simply throw the car in reverse and run for it. But there were already more men boiling out of the trucks around them, men with rifles ready, and that decided him. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands. He said something as well, but she could not make it out over the sirens.

    The soldiers¡ªthere were five in total¡ªswarmed around the car, shouting too fast for Nadia to understand. One of them leaned through the driver-side window to shove his face right into Kemal¡¯s, screaming demands. He stammered something back, something about Kurds she thought, while another man banged at her window, shouting and pointing down. She shook her head, not even thinking about it, and that made two of them because he responded by slamming the butt of his rifle against the window so it spiderwebbed.

    Nadia screamed, and the man in Kemal¡¯s face pulled out, banging his head in his hurry, to scream at the man on Nadia¡¯s side, and then there was nothing but screaming and shouting and the wail of the siren as the two men got in each other¡¯s faces to shout point blank until a third vehicle, a plain passenger car, came roaring over the bridge and a thin man in uniform with a mustache came out of it to shout the lot of them down in a hurry.

    This was it. Nadia summoned up her wall, ready to call for ¨¦zarine on a second¡¯s notice. After a moment¡¯s confusion the thin man came up to them and motioned brusquely for them to get out of the car. They complied¡ªKemal might have given Nadia a reproachful look, but she could not see clearly and it was only for a moment¡ªand stood in the cold before the man with their hands in the air. The sirens abruptly stopped, cut off in mid-squawk, so the only sounds were distant shouts and the groan of their shoes on the snow.

    The thin man looked more annoyed than frightened. He beckoned a subordinate over to mutter something in his ear, then turned back to them and said, ¡°My men say you have threatened them.¡±

    ¡°Not a threat,¡± Nadia said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. ¡°A warning. The Kurds in Panos¡ª¡°

    ¡°Patnos,¡± the man corrected, his eyes narrowing. Behind them, two soldiers were ransacking the car, slapping their hands all over their bags before throwing them onto the snowy street in their hurry.

    ¡°Patnos, yes. The Kurds in Patnos are angry, they are planning an attack.¡± She could not think of any details to add. Not anything her limited Turkish would let her say clearly while the man had a hand on the pistol at his hip. ¡°Are you the Captain?¡±

    ¡°How many, how armed, and what time?¡± he snapped back. ¡°I do not need more rumors.¡±

    ¡°Many,¡± Nadia improvised. ¡°They are ¡­ calling together their forces¡ª¡°

    ¡°Silence,¡± he said, chopping the air with the hand not holding his pistol butt, then pointing at Kemal. ¡°You. You tell me. How many, how armed, what time?¡±

    The best the old man could manage was a disjointed bleating about danger. He did not seem able to take his eyes off the hand on the pistol. After thirty seconds¡¯ babble yielded nothing concrete about numbers, guns, or time, the officer shut him up as well.

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± he said. ¡°You, girl¡ªyou do not speak like a Turk.¡±

    ¡°I am Kazakh,¡± she blurted, then bit her lip.

    ¡°Kazakh?¡± He cocked his head. ¡°Yes, you probably are,¡± he said in Russian. The words were good, but the accent was thick, and he did not speak so quickly as in Turkish. ¡°Thank you for telling the truth. Now, Kazakh girl, let me explain what is going to happen. In a minute, I am going to call my intelligence squad, back in town. These men are not trained in interrogation, but they do have a way of getting a small piece of metal glowing hot. Do you understand?¡±

    Nadia¡¯s mouth was dry, but she tried very hard to nod, and her head wobbled a little.

    ¡°They can put this piece of glowing metal many places, on men or women. If you do not wish to meet these men, you should try to talk clearly, and precisely, and truthfully. And now.¡±

    This was it. But Nadia realized she had lost her wall. When? She wasn¡¯t sure, but it wasn¡¯t there any more. Could she risk the full keystone sequence? There were a lot of guns pointed at them now. Better not. So she would have to pull up the wall again ¡­ only the officer was looking impatient, and it was very hard to think of anger or frustration when she could not manage to banish the thought of a little bit of metal, red like a coal from a fireplace, out of her mind.

    The man stepped a little closer, and drew his pistol. ¡°Good behavior will mean a better future for both of you,¡± he said in Turkish, ¡°but there are many possibilities. In the worst, when we have learned all we can, we will tie you up and put you over the side of this bridge. In the best, you will only be our guest, and well treated. Think carefully.¡±

    At once Kemal started babbling again, thick and fast, but about different things. Something about his daughter, and her child, and how he was a peaceable man only trying to do his best, and he knew he was not brave and never would be. He was not a soldier, he worked at the dock, but this child, this mad child insisted ¡­

    Was he going to tell this man everything? There was no way he would let her live if they knew she had a familiar. There would be no hot metal, he would simply shoot her in the head. Very soon, if Kemal was not shut up, which the officer showed no interest in doing anymore. He was listening attentively now. She had brought Kemal along to help her, and she hadn¡¯t wanted him involved in this ¡­ this encounter, and now he was going to get her killed? Why had he insisted on dragging her off to Kurdistan if he was going to act like this? What on earth did he want?

    The cafe, the girl, the waiter, ¨¦zarine. Nadia was not surprised to see any of them. Neither were the men, exactly, but only because of her halo. They could not feel surprise, only an anger that was too ill-informed, as yet, to come to a coherent plan of action. ¨¦zarine took the officer by the throat, flinging him easily into the air and over the railing where he had threatened to send them. It was just, and good, and he fell screaming until the cold running water cut him off. And the men stared, angry but confused.

    A flicker, and she was next to the man on Nadia¡¯s left. Another flicker, and they were both to her right, facing the other soldier. One or both men fired, multiple times, and the noise was incredibly loud. Nadia and Kemal lurched out of the way, and ¨¦zarine moved again, behind the car where the men were still rifling through their things. A crunch, a thump. Gunshots, fast and frantic, while Kemal and Nadia cowered next to the front bumper. Another crunch.

    Silence.

    How many had there been? Five in the trucks. The officer. Six in all. Nobody was moving now. Good. But she would need to move fast, if she wanted to salvage this plan. The town would be on alert, and whatever uniformed murderer had sent those choppers would soon find his radios were not working. The little cockroach could not be allowed to scurry under a rock.

    She put out a hand, grabbed the bumper, and pulled herself to her feet. A sharp, hot pain in her hip stopped her halfway, and she fell against the frigid metal of the grill. Her hands scrabbled over the hood, caught on something so that she did not hit the ground again. She looked down. Her jeans were stained dark, almost black, down the top part of her right leg, which didn¡¯t want to move quite right anymore. The snow on the bridge shone bright cherry red under the headlights.

    Kemal was getting up now, groaning and complaining in his usual tiresome way. He rubbed at his head, brushed snow off his jacket and slacks. Patted himself down, winced as he caught something tender. He turned to scold her, saw her half-hanging off his car, and let out a barrage of curses. Then he called her many names, very rapidly so that she could not understand even half, and when ¨¦zarine popped up to defend her mistress he cursed her too, Arabic and Turkish mixed together.

    What did he think he was doing? Anyone could see Nadia needed prompt medical attention, but he was wasting time with scolding. And anyway, this was his fault in the first place. He had no right to scold. Nadia tried to say as much, but couldn¡¯t make herself heard over him. She didn¡¯t feel very strong.

    Damn him, anyway. There was no other option if she wanted anything useful to get done here. She let ¨¦zarine go. At once the pain was stronger. She lost her grip on the grill, and fell down onto the snow crying. She cried harder when Kemal¡¯s shaking hands came clapping down on her hip. Nadia reached out to pry them away, but only made him clench harder, so she screamed and blacked out.

 XLVI. Fear (Kemal)

    There wasn¡¯t enough time. Not near enough. Not after he had hauled the child, limp and groaning, and still bleeding, God, still bleeding, alongside the back half of his car, tripping on their own goods along the way. Not after he had put her down, leaving fresh red marks on the snow, to pull the back door open, and found he did not have the strength to pick her up again. His arms were shaking, his back was weak. He was not young; she was, but it would not save her.

    He did not pick her up so much as drag her, a centimeter at a time, in painful jerks with painful oaths, until the back of her head was resting on the cold metal of the car¡¯s base. She slid down, he picked her up, she slid down, he picked her up, recovering his strength in pitiful little morsels he spent as soon as he got them. Everything was bloody now, the child¡¯s face included. The back of her head thunked with every pull.

    An age of the world passed, and her head and shoulders rested on the seat, and he dared to stop and pant for breath like a dog. Her hip was still bleeding; he pressed down once more, stopped when she began to slide down, pushed her back up and over with desperate fear until she was mostly on the seat. And bleeding. Always bleeding. God have mercy.

    A bandage. A cloth. Anything. Five seconds lost tugging at a soldier¡¯s shirt, as if it would tear like a tissue. Oaths, tears, more time lost searching for a knife. He cut away a scrap, found it too small. Cut away another, and the soldier moaned, he was still just alive, and in the moment Kemal did not stop or care but took the scrap of shirt and left his bare skin, covered in nicks from his hasty work, to freeze in the bitter wind.

    He could not wrap her hip properly without lifting her, and he lacked the space and the strength to move her. He did what he could, twining the cloth over her leg and stuffing loose ends in under the top of her jeans and he knew it was not well done. The blood soaked through at once, and he swore terribly and put all his weight on it, so that she woke up and screamed again, words he did not understand. Russian or English, he did not care, and he did not waste breath in screaming back but pressed down as if he meant to smother her, and when she passed out again he was glad but he kept pressing until he heard a voice, very close.

    He lifted his head, looked around in hope and fear. But it was only a radio, crackling with static in one of the trucks with the open door. The soldiers over in the town, asking for updates. Who were they shooting at? Kemal gave them no answer, but tore through the truck, ransacking it as they had ransacked his a moment earlier, and found a first-aid kit. A jar of powder that promised to stop bleeding. He pried up the ruined rag and dumped some on, then lifted the poor girl¡¯s leg and dumped the other half of the jar underneath her, in case she was bleeding there too. Then another press, a new bandage, a Turkish flag from the truck.

    More voices from the radio, sounding insistent. Was there an attack coming? Injuries? The town was still bright with lights. Kemal looked at the girl and knew she would die very soon. But there would be no help in that town. No help here at all. He got in the car, reciting the Al-Fatiha as he turned the ignition, and ran over a dead soldier backing up and did not care. He heard gunshots from the town, but no impact.

    There was nowhere to go¡ªnot in time¡ªbut he could drive away from the bridge and that was a blessing. He drove along the edge of the town, the little spillover fringe on the near bank of the river, not knowing what he looked for except that it would be help. There were lights on in many houses now, but nobody put their head out of doors and he did not blame them. The girl in the back made only a little noise, and to distract himself he thought of old workplace injuries, fools who played around with the crane or got in fights, and so drove right past a large building and was a half-kilometer beyond it before he realized it had said HOSPITAL.

    More time lost in screams of rejoicing, then in doubt. He turned around, and in a tremulous silence he drove back, parked in the emergency lane, and hammered the horn. Cautiously a pair of men in white came out, saw the pale girl in the backseat, and called out a swarm of allies to help carry her inside, where she disappeared under a still larger mass of nurses and aides seemingly called from every area of the hospital, most of them to gawk.

    Then a nurse took him by the arm and firmly escorted him out to the waiting area, which in further token of God¡¯s undeniable providence was empty of other visitors. Nobody to wonder who this old man was, his hands red with blood. The nurse left him there to sit on a plastic chair and look at his hands until he thought to get up and rinse them in the men¡¯s room. Then he returned to his seat where, bereft of other occupations, he cried into his lap. He shook terribly, and his stomach was sick, but he stayed in his chair until the worst of the shaking passed. Then he was very tired, and his mind left him for a time so he could stare at the wall.

    Then he woke up, because a hand was shaking him by the shoulder, very hard. He looked up and there was a man his own age, in a white coat. His face wore square-rimmed glasses, a mustache, a beard, and a frown. ¡°You came with the girl?¡± he said. ¡°Gunshot wound to the hip?¡±

    ¡°I did. How is she?¡±

    ¡°You will come with me now,¡± the man said, and led him back into the emergency department, which was not very large. They stopped outside the glass-walled room where Nadia was being treated, where the man¡ªhis badge said ¡°Doktor ?zek¡±¡ªsaid, ¡°Two minutes ago, we received a phone call from the military, asking whether we had any new gunshot wounds. The receptionist, not prepared for the question, told them we had.¡±

    Kemal nodded, struggling to take it in as he stared at the drawn privacy curtains. ¡°She is alive and stable for the time being,¡± the doctor said sharply. ¡°But if there is anything you need to tell me, you should tell me now. I am sure they will be here shortly.¡±

    Kemal spread his hands helplessly; where should he even begin?

    As if sensing the question,  said, ¡°Please do not treat me like an idiot. Two hours ago the sirens start up, then stop. Multiple gunshots. A brief spell of electronics failure here, coupled with profound agitation affecting staff and patients alike. And now this. I don¡¯t need you to tell me what has happened. I¡¯m only asking you, as I hope you are a decent and sensible human being, to tell me what I can expect to happen when those men arrive.¡±

    Kemal thought back to what he had heard on the bridge, and said, ¡°They will kill the child, I think. And ¡­ I do not know what will happen to me.¡±

    ¡°You have put us in a very difficult situation,¡±  commented.

    ¡°I know. But I could not let her die.¡±

    ¡°Neither could we.¡± Outside, an armored vehicle pulled up, and in seconds men with rifles were pounding on the glass door. ¡°And now it is too late.¡±

    Kemal did not wait for them to let the soldiers in, but pulled Nadia¡¯s door open and slipped inside.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Weeks of therapy.

    ¡°What was this girl doing?¡± the nurse said. ¡°Why was she shot at close range with a rifle? You are very lucky they missed the femoral artery.¡±

    There was no more point in denying anything. ¡°She has a jinni.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know. What was she doing with it? If she has a jinni she should be using it on those monsters, not getting herself shot.¡±

    Before Kemal could answer the door flew open behind him, then the curtain. Doktor ?zek came in with four other nurses. ¡°We are moving the patient. Now.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± said Kemal and the nurse as one.

    ¡°Very early discharge,¡± ?zek replied through his teeth. The nurses scurried around the room pulling plugs and adjusting the bed.

    ¡°Where are you taking her?¡± Kemal said.

    ¡°Out of my hospital.¡± The nurses started wheeling the bed out of the room, still trailing machines. Kemal tried to bar them, was shoved aside. ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool! We are taking the soldiers to an empty room on the top floor. She must be gone before they come back.¡±

    ¡°Where will she go?¡± he protested, hurrying after them. Four nurses could move a bed very quickly.

    ¡°Somewhere she is not going to be immediately shot. I can do no more than that.¡±

    ¡°God bless you for your¡ª¡°

    ¡°You should save your breath for walking,¡± ?zek snapped. ¡°You are covered in blood, and very conspicuous.¡± Heads turned, wheels rolled, double doors flew open to let them through. They were not going the way they came in. ¡°If you wish to express your gratitude, develop some sense. We do not want to see you here again.¡± They reached a pair of much smaller glass doors to the outside, where they paused. ¡°How far out was she?¡±

    ¡°A few minutes, she said,¡± a nurse replied. ¡°She was getting ready for bed.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Stop the pumps.¡±

    ¡°We did that in the¡ª¡°

    ¡°Then disconnect the lines, damn you! This needs to be said?¡± ?zek turned to Kemal. ¡°We employed a small dose of short-acting sedative, combined with a mild analgesic. She will very likely wake up disoriented, and in some discomfort. Will this be a problem, with her jinni?¡±

    ¡°It might be, yes.¡±

    The doctor scowled. ¡°Try to contain her, please. I do not know what is going on. We will have to make arrangements for her care later. For now you are going to the home of a hospital employee, a loyal Kurd.¡± A large brown car pulled up outside with a screech. ¡°Who apparently does not know how to be fast and inconspicuous at once.¡±

    The nurses had already covered Nadia in two blankets while they waited; now they pushed a button to open the doors, and the whole convoy, minus the doctor, rushed out into the cold. The car¡¯s driver got out and opened her car¡¯s rear hatch, and was suddenly illuminated in brilliant yellow light. As one they all turned, and saw a blinding pair of headlights barreling toward them around the corner of the building, an enormous black shadow behind them.

    One of the nurses ran toward it, waving her arms in the air; a volley of thunderclaps sounded in the night, and she fell to the pavement. The shadow and the lights didn¡¯t even slow down. The remaining nurses screamed and ran; the other woman dove into her car¡¯s hatch, for whatever good that would do. Kemal stood and stared, too defeated to even muster a prayer. Nadia abruptly sat up in bed with a babbling cry, then screamed and fell back again.

    The lights stopped only feet away from Kemal, and countless silhouettes came out of the night, all screaming different things at once. None were understandable over each other, or the girl¡¯s long and wordless screech. Something knocked Kemal to the ground, and put weight on his chest. He did not resist, even when it struck his face. Someone was asking a question, but he did not understand.

    Then he was in a restaurant, talking to an arrogant foreign woman in immodest clothing, and he was suddenly aware that his entire back was alight with pain. There were gunshots as well, but the foreign hussy kept talking over them, as if her foolish troubles mattered. Kemal couldn¡¯t even understand her. What did she expect him to do?

    A bare foot came down next to his face, the skin glowing white with purple-blue lightning flickering through its veins. Abruptly the weight came off his chest. It was about time. He tried to sit up, but the effort hurt his back more, so he gave up, letting his head thunk against the asphalt once again. The shining foot disappeared, and all the screams were buried beneath an almighty roar like a jet taking off.

    Kemal did not care. He shut his eyes, and waited for all this nonsense to be done with. Didn¡¯t they know he was too old for this?

 XLVII. Scene of the Crime (Keisha)

    Keisha woke up with a sore throat, a headache, and wicked postnasal drip, a little after 0500. All of their phones were ringing at once; she picked hers up, croaked a greeting, and heard Tyler Green on the other end. ¡°Where are you?¡±

    ¡°Just outside Patnos,¡± she answered in a raspy voice. ¡°Sir.¡± The other three phones were still going. The fire was all grey ashes now, barely warm on the dirt floor of the barn where they¡¯d spent the night. The smell of its smoke was still thick in the air, though.

    ¡°Good. I¡¯m going to bed now. I want to hear some progress when I get up.¡± And he hung up; Hamp muzzily answered his phone, and got a dialtone. Keisha thought about burrowing back into her sleeping bag, but the cold air was already in it, and she had to go. Damn the brass. She wrestled her shoes back onto her feet, rummaged in the bag for more charcoal to toss on the ashes, and considered lighting it again before deciding the latrine was more urgent.

    The farmhouse was very old, the far end collapsed. The surviving, stable portion didn¡¯t have working plumbing. Well. Beggars, choosers. There was a reason nobody else was squatting here already. When she got back, Ethan had the fire started again, and was eating yet another bag of prepackaged junk food with the joyless resolve of a true combat veteran.

    ¡°Coulda just kept the car heater running in here all night with the doors open,¡± he said with his mouth full, nodding to the vehicle in its berth under a hayloft. ¡°Almost as warm, probably less carbon monoxide poisoning.¡±

    ¡°Good morning, Ethan,¡± she replied, and dug through their gas-station ration bag in the back of the car. ¡°Did you take everything that wasn¡¯t dry crackers?¡±

    ¡°Should be some cookies in the bottom. One more of them Little-Debbie-in-hijab deals, too.¡±

    She kept digging until she found it. ¡°Banana-chocolate filling? Bastard. You could have at least left me a strawberry.¡± She washed down a bag of chocolate wafers with two cans of cola and some pills she was reasonably certain were ibuprofen. ¡°North or south?¡±

    ¡°Eh. Let¡¯s check out the nearer target first. Whatever happened at, uh, the T-place, it¡¯s old news already. Night before last. She ain¡¯t gonna be still hanging around, unless they caught her. Did they?¡±

    She pulled up the map on her phone again, did some digging. ¡°If they did, they didn¡¯t tell us.¡± The story hadn¡¯t updated since yesterday. Or rather the stories, plural. They didn¡¯t even make a lot of sense separately; together, they were a total mess. There was a hospital, and a bridge, and they were attacked in the same night, or at least somebody with a familiar was present at both, and however it worked out a bunch of soldiers got killed. Somehow.

    Ethan threw his empty chips bag in the corner. ¡°So let¡¯s get the local take on the story here, before we go dealing with the Army.¡±

    It would be an efficient use of time, but she still didn¡¯t like it. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving quick, then.¡± She rifled through their little sack of forged credentials, found the Associated Press badge for Sarah Lawrence, and hung it around her neck. Ethan, as her bodyguard, moved his pistol to a more conspicuous holster.

    The old men were gradually grousing their way awake now, to the point where she could secure Hamp¡¯s promise to mind house while they were away, and maybe actually trust him to understand what he was agreeing to. They were all running on about four hours¡¯ sleep. Hamp had a gun and a phone; the smoke leaking out of the barn was a giveaway that couldn¡¯t be helped, but hopefully nobody inclined to make trouble would care enough to come looking. Not with so much other trouble around in more convenient places.

    Patnos was a very recent boomtown, in the sense that until two days ago it had been a safe and rural part of the country for refugees from the big cities to flee to. Their ruined farm was the only place they could find to crash last night. They had a ten-minute drive¡ªnormal, unobtrusive driving, no familiars¡ªbefore they got into town and had a whole new series of questions to ask.

    Between the two of them, Ethan and Keisha had thirty years or more in the field, thousands of hours on the ground on all six habitable continents, and ample experience assessing battlefields. But they hardly needed to draw on any of it when they found smashed helicopters still lying in pieces across the street. The locals were still hauling the pieces away, and each airframe still had sizable chunks intact, too big to move without heavy equipment.

    Ethan squinted at one such wreck while Keisha snapped pictures on her phone. ¡°Refitted Cobras, you think? Don¡¯t think Kurdish rebels have access to that kind of hardware.¡±

    ¡°They do, but it wouldn¡¯t be Cobras. They¡¯d have Russian birds, and not as many.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I meant, fool. This makes three of them so far. Hell of a loss even if you had materiel to spare on this podunk town.¡±

    ¡°Which the Turks don¡¯t. And we haven¡¯t seen the whole town yet.¡± A pickup truck drove up as they watched, and two men got out to wrestle a mangled bit of the helicopter¡¯s door into the bed. The driver looked at them warily, but seemed to accept Keisha¡¯s fake press pass. ¡°Excuse me? Do you speak English?¡± Both men shook their heads¡ªwhich might have meant that they didn¡¯t, or just didn¡¯t want to talk¡ªand continued loading up their truck.

    The rest of the town was a mess. Lots of bullet holes in concrete, blown out windows, and random impact craters. The dead bodies, at least, were gone, and there was no smell; bodies would keep for a long time in these temperatures. Everywhere they went, the locals backed away, and avoided confrontation. Keisha didn¡¯t know how they felt about English speakers¡ªwere they allies to the Turkish oppressor, where Patnos was concerned, or just a neutral third party who could spread the news of what happened here? She guessed the former.

    They¡¯d been in town for half an hour before the local militia made an appearance, in the form of three truckloads of armed men driving by and screeching to a halt when they saw foreigners. ¡°What do you do here?¡± one shouted from the lead vehicle¡¯s passenger window. The second truck was another pickup, where Keisha noted a man in the bed toting a MANPAD.

    ¡°Beyan? ba?! Sarah Lawrence, Associated Press,¡± she announced, holding up her badge. ¡°Would you mind telling me what happened here, sir?¡±

    The man leaned out of the window to scrutinize the bit of plastic before answering simply, ¡°We win,¡± with a suspicious look, as if he suspected this foreign snoop of trying to be funny. What else was there to say?

    ¡°Could you give me some details?¡± She spoke slowly and clearly, trying to look sympathetic. ¡°When did this happen, how did it start, and how did it finish?¡±

    The man ducked back into the car to exchange a few words with his friends in Kurdish¡ªof which Keisha knew maybe thirty words on a good day, and some in the wrong dialect. She couldn¡¯t hear clearly anyway, over the noise of the truck¡¯s engine. The man poked his head back out and told her, ¡°The Turkish dog, he start. We finish. Come to kill Kurds in street. Five helicopter, all shoot down.¡±

    That was broadly consistent with what they saw here. There were signs of destroyed street vehicles everywhere, and some of them might have had rocket-toting Kurdish militiamen like their friend in the pickup. ¡°There were no emissants on either side?¡± He gave her a quizzical look. ¡°No jinni?¡± she amended.

    ¡°No. No jinn,¡± he said at once, and looked to the men in the truck behind him, who agreed in chorus: ¡°No jinn! No jinn!¡± The guy with the launcher smirked and rolled his eyes at the question. ¡°Many Kurd with missile, shoot down. No jinn here,¡± the spokesman summed up.

    And that was that. ¡°Spas dikim,¡± she thanked him.

    ¡°You take picture, tell world,¡± he replied. ¡°Then go. No place for American here.¡± And they drove off again.

    ¡°How much of that do you believe?¡± she asked Ethan.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know as I¡¯d buy it, even if I hadn¡¯t heard Nadia was involved. Not the usual way, is it? Generally when your local shitheel has the itch to go on a duck hunt, he turns around and runs as soon as the duck shoots back. Maybe they tagged one with a rocket, and maybe they didn¡¯t, but I don¡¯t imagine they hit five at once. Assuming there even were five.¡±

    ¡°And the rest of it does look like a massacre,¡± she agreed, then started digging in the map app. ¡°Says the Turks claim familiar involvement. Nothing about the Kurd side of the story.¡±

    ¡°But the Turks also said they were trying to capture the town, didn¡¯t they? And I ain¡¯t seen a sign yet that they tried for a ground presence here. Seems both of ¡®em are lying somehow.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She looked around, saw a pair of kids¡¯ heads ducking out of a window frame where they¡¯d been staring. ¡°Good luck getting the real story here, though. Let¡¯s head north; I can update Hamp on the way.¡±

    They didn¡¯t even get to Tutak. Two miles from their destination they hit a roadblock manned by a full dozen uniformed Turkish soldiers, who informed them very firmly and clearly, with varying degrees of English fluency, that there was no way in hell they would be allowed through. She held up her press pass and pleaded; two of them hoisted middle fingers in reply, while four more pointed back the way they came.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    She exchanged a look with Ethan, who calmly backed up and did a three point turn. ¡°We¡¯re doing this low-profile, right?¡± he said calmly. ¡°That makes it your move, not mine.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She sighed. ¡°If only it were later in the day, or still snowing. There¡¯s no cover here and it¡¯s broad daylight. I¡¯m going to burn a lot of ectoplasm.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Tyler Green wants results.¡± He looked in the rear-view mirror to be sure that the truck was out of sight behind them, gave it another five seconds to be sure, then swerved off the road into a snowfield. Their little hatchback slipped and skidded and made wretched time, its shocks transmitting every bump and jostle faithfully to their backsides. ¡°If they mined this place already, you owe me a beer in heaven.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t have enough mines to cover this much empty space,¡± she replied, and pulled out her Benny. ¡°And anyway, who said you go to heaven? Boy, I know your history.¡±

    ¡°Not the whole thing, you don¡¯t. I¡¯m a complicated and frequently classified man.¡±

    It was tricky using the GPS to avoid roads while still approaching the town, but they got reasonably close. Ethan put the car in park, left the engine idling, and scrambled into the back to root around for more junk food while she got to work. She mocked up a SCOPES first, so the little owl could do broad aerial recon for her. After ten minutes, she let it dissolve. ¡°How loyal is the army around here? Do we know?¡±

    ¡°¡¯snot about loyalty,¡± he said around a mouthful of crackers. ¡°They¡¯re still all Turks. Just ¡­ a little more independent than we¡¯re used to, what with high command getting Kentucky-fried. Why?¡±

    ¡°Tutak is buried in patrols right now. I counted ten vehicles on the move, just circling, and it¡¯s not a big city. More parked at corners. Does that represent somebody¡¯s personal remnant of the old army, or are they still getting help from superior officers?¡±

    ¡°Who we gonna get that information from? The Turks? The folks who told us they were trying to capture that town?¡±

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s fair. Get me closer, would you? I¡¯m going to have to do this the hard way, and my smaller models have even worse light tolerance than a SCOPES.¡±

    ¡°Are you seriously fixing to snoop on the whole town long-distance? There¡¯s only so much gas in the tank, and it¡¯s cold as a caribou¡¯s left nut out there.¡±

    Keisha considered arguing with him, but after a second¡¯s thought concluded that time was a more limited resource than ectoplasm. Thirty seconds later, a shiny gold pyrallis was buzzing around the inside of the car, flying in precise loops to heat the air evenly. ¡°There. Lifespan¡¯s one hour in low natural light, and before you ask, it can¡¯t start fires without trying. Now shut up and drive.¡±

    Unfortunately, the little bug also exerted a continuous tax on her attention, attention she would need for the work ahead of her. The first whisperwing slipped out of a crack in the window and dropped down low, zipping between the shadows of bushes and telephone poles. Damn snow and its high albedo, anyway. The little drone was already ailing by the time it crossed the river and got into town proper. She started by locating the hospital, and got all the way through it before the ¡®wing gave up the ghost.

    ¡°Nothing unusual at the hospital,¡± she reported. ¡°However many casualties they suffered two nights ago, they aren¡¯t being treated there, and I don¡¯t see any structural damage.¡±

    ¡°All dead, you think?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if there were any real injuries in the first place,¡± she said, and blew out another drone. This one checked out the bridge¡ªintact, manned on both ends¡ªand dipped into every building with an army vehicle parked outside. The men within looked tense and frustrated, but not frightened. When the second drone was spent, she paused to look up small clinics in town, then sent a third to spy them out. Again, nothing that looked like recent trauma, and of course no bodies.

    ¡°You know,¡± Ethan observed when she opened her eyes again, ¡°all these boys are notionally our allies. Might not appreciate this if they catch you.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re covering up not-too-notional war crimes, so I don¡¯t care,¡± she told him. ¡°Make yourself useful, please. Get me some kind of information about this town. Anything I can work with.¡±

    ¡°Like what? Population figures? Local industries? I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re looking for. Do you? Oh, and your firebug¡¯s dead.¡±

    She looked around, saw nothing. ¡°It¡¯s been an hour already?¡±

    ¡°Closer to two.¡±

    And she hadn¡¯t even noticed. Her brain was mush right now. ¡°Hell. Green¡¯s going to want answers, and we¡¯re coming up dry. Ethan, the whole damn point of a familiar is that you can¡¯t find one if it¡¯s not active. How does he expect me to find Nadia? How did I expect to find her in the first place? I barely even understand Turkish.¡±

    ¡°Do you understand the kid?¡±

    ¡°I thought I did. We weren¡¯t best friends, but she¡¯s got a very strong moral sense, you know? She felt guilty about hurting anybody, or even the thought that she might have to eventually. Even if she¡¯s been radicalized, I wouldn¡¯t expect her to go attacking a hospital, of all places. Not without being forced at gunpoint.¡±

    ¡°Well, did the hospital look attacked?¡±

    ¡°No! So why are they even making that part up? Just to make it sound bad? Because the Russians attacked a hospital back in Ankara?¡±

    ¡°The hospital, and the bridge,¡± Ethan mused, staring at the car roof. ¡°They don¡¯t mention anything else consistently, just those two things.¡±

    ¡°All right, back up. Say I¡¯m Nadia. We can be pretty sure she, or somebody with an emissant, was involved back in Patnos, can¡¯t we? And what went down there looks like plain old mass murder. I can see her stepping in to stop that. And then ¡­ then she¡¯s up here later the same day, pissed off and ready to lay down a whooping. I can see that too. Just not terror raids on the local infirmary.¡±

    Ethan was still looking up. ¡°The thing about covering your ass is, you usually try to keep the story straight, don¡¯t you? I mean, I¡¯ve done some ass-covering in my time, but if there¡¯s two of us in on it, the first thing we do is agree on what we¡¯re going to say. They didn¡¯t. We¡¯ve got umpteen different versions. We already know they¡¯re lying about at least one thing. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re all morons, so what that says to me¡ª¡°

    ¡°Is that they had multiple people reporting in a panic. Sure. Something happened here, something that set off a bunch of independent alarms right away, bypassing any kind of institutional filter.¡± And the soldiers did all look tense. ¡°Whatever went down, it probably really did involve the bridge and the hospital.¡±

    Ethan rolled his head against the seat cushion to look at her. ¡°In that order?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Yeah. She attacks the men the bridge, then,¡± she swallowed, ¡°then maybe she gets hurt, goes to the hospital, where they hunt her down? If she was hurt that bad, she¡¯d need an accomplice.¡±

    ¡°Or a manager. We don¡¯t know that she isn¡¯t under somebody¡¯s control.¡±

    ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s focus on finding her. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s dead, or they wouldn¡¯t be so high-strung. They wouldn¡¯t be out patrolling like it was Pyongyang. And definitive proof of a dead Marshall would be big news. They¡¯d want to trumpet that out for a boost in morale. So if she¡¯s hurt bad, but not known to be dead, and she¡¯s not at any facility ¡­¡±

    ¡°All you need is to find the one house, in this whole area, where they¡¯re hiding out with a roughed-up white girl. Is that all?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it won¡¯t be easy. But we¡¯ve got a working explanation, a hypothesis, something we can report to General Green and say we¡¯re working on it. If she¡¯s hurt, she can¡¯t move quickly or inconspicuously, and she probably can¡¯t do anything else on the offensive. She¡¯s going to be lying low in one spot.¡± Assuming she was still alive at all. ¡°Which means we aren¡¯t running after a moving target anymore.¡±

    ¡°Provided all that guesswork you spun out was right.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. But I don¡¯t have any better leads to follow.¡± She looked at her pipe¡¯s gauge; still more than half-full. ¡°You let Hamp and Dr. Gus know what¡¯s going on, then get milching. I¡¯ll need plenty of juice to spend. This is an endurance race now.¡±

 XLVIII. Invalid (Nadia)

    The world was pain, and its very center was within her body. She could feel it with every breath, every beat of her heart: a burst of fire, a snarl of barbed wire in her midsection, so enormous she couldn¡¯t even pin it down to a specific point. Loops of it ran down her leg and up across her gut and into her groin, pulsing, hot and angry. The rest of her hurt less, but it all hurt.

    Outside her body there was a bed, or a couch¡ªit seemed to change¡ªand a room with a light, and an old man reading a book, and a rotating cast of men and women who came and looked and talked over her body. They poked her with sharp things, prodded at the snarl to hear her cry. Every detail changed; the room would have different furniture, or be a different color, and sometimes it was dark. Sometimes she would dream that she was moving, or the world was moving around her, while she lay flat and still. Cold nights and urgent voices. All dreams. The world was small, and it was pain.

    Time passed, and the world was a couch in a little room with cluttered bookshelves and a desk in one corner. A man was there, talking to the old man while he sat in his chair, but she could only make out a few words, it was all Turkish. She tried to talk to the standing man, but he didn¡¯t pay any attention to her. She tried again, and again, and eventually he looked at her, then leaned over her, and she fell asleep.

    More time passed, but the room and the world were the same now, and she could think a little better. The old man was still in the chair, but sleeping, his head on the desk. His name¡ªshe was pretty sure¡ªwas Kemal. Hers was Nadia. The whole middle part of her body ached abominably, and there was a terrible smell in the air. A smell like a badly-cleaned public restroom, mixed with something else. Something rotten. She didn¡¯t like to think what that meant.

    When she was too tired of being alone and hurting to be considerate any longer, she cleared her throat loudly, then called Kemal by name until he lifted his head to look at her. His beard was longer now, and he looked tired. He smiled when he saw her looking at him, but the smile didn¡¯t look very happy. The smile was as tired as he was.

    ¡°It is good that you are awake, and making sense,¡± he said. ¡°They hoped that you would wake soon. You are getting antibiyotikler for the disease, but they are not done yet.¡±

    ¡°Disease? What disease?¡±

    ¡°The injury. Bullets are dirty, and you were hurt badly.¡±

    ¡°Were? I still am. Where are we?¡±

    ¡°The house of a friendly Kurd. They have been hiding you for more than a week now, in several different houses. This one is in Free Kurdistan; we should be safe here.¡±

    ¡°Free Kurdistan? Is that even a¡ªoh, never mind, it doesn¡¯t matter. Am I supposed to hurt this much?¡±

    ¡°There are medications they can give you, for pain,¡± he said. Something about the way he said it made her suspicious.

    ¡°I¡¯d like that. But is it supposed to hurt this much?¡± She lifted her head and neck enough to look down at her lower body, and caught a glimpse of a mess of sheets and blankets. But the movement shifted something lower down, so that she hissed and fell back panting. ¡°That! That is not normal! How am I supposed to walk? Or ¡­ or do anything else?¡±

    ¡°You will not be walking soon,¡± Kemal said, in a voice so quiet she could barely hear it.

    ¡°How long will it be like this?¡±

    Kemal shut his eyes. ¡°I do not know. They do not know. What I know, I will tell you, and what I know is this: you were shot in the hip. You know this? You remember?¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±

    ¡°It was a rifle shot. A powerful rifle, military. The bullet passed through, damaging many muscles, some bone, and also there seems to be some injury to ¡­ your female parts.¡±

    ¡°Seems to be? Seems to? How do we not know, after a week?¡±

    ¡°You were in a hospital for less than three hours. No time for taramalar?, the look inside the body. Or for ameliyat, to fix, to put together again. We have been hiding in houses this past week, with doctors and nurses visiting with what they can bring home. Drugs, small things.¡±

    ¡°But I need surgery. Don¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°You need many things. You should have had surgery long ago. Your muscles, something is wrong. Many things are wrong. I am not a doctor, I do not know what the things are. They try to explain, and I do not want to listen. They say they have a doctor who is willing to help, in secret. But no hospital. He would clean the table where they eat dinner, and work on you there. It would not be as good.¡±

    Nadia felt suddenly lightheaded. Surgery on a table, sheets for dressings, and she smelled like old garbage. She did not need to be a doctor to know this was bad. Very bad. It could kill her, and she would die on a couch in some house in the middle of nowhere. Unless ¡­ ¡°Ruslan. Do you know where my brother Ruslan is? He could heal this. He can heal anything but death itself. This would be simple for him.¡±

    ¡°We hear stories. There are still jinn at work in Anatolia. Where Turkey used to be. Now it is Turkey no more¡ªonly the land of this general, that big man, Kurds here, Armenians there, towns that say they are countries. These Kurds, they know you stopped the murder of their brothers. They are grateful. But they are not strong, and they must be secret. They cannot tell anyone where you are, and your brother, if he is in Turkey still, he must be secret too. How can we bring him to you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But this, this is ¡­ what am I supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°Now? I cannot answer that question. I am sorry.¡± He looked wretched, and probably felt it, if he¡¯d been stuck with her for a week. But he at least could still walk!

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you leave, then?¡±

    His brow wrinkled. ¡°What do you mean? I cannot leave you. You are hurt.¡±

    ¡°And what can you do about it? What can anybody do about it? Nothing, it sounds like. So why don¡¯t you just go home, to your daughter and her baby? You aren¡¯t going to do any good for me here. You¡¯ve done enough. You can leave, and get on with your life. I¡¯m going to die anyway.¡±

    ¡°We do not know that.¡±

    ¡°No, ¡®we¡¯ don¡¯t, but I am not stupid, and if I am not dead I will be a cripple lying in her own filth until her own rotting body kills her, so it doesn¡¯t matter. What am I going to do, have ¨¦zarine carry me everywhere?¡±

    ¡°Your jinniyah has done enough harm already¡ª¡°

    ¡°She¡¯s not a ¡®jinniyah,¡¯ damn you, she¡¯s just a lump of ectoplasm! But she still saved your life, when you had to go and give us away at the bridge. She did more than you.¡±

    ¡°I did not want to go on the bridge to begin with, if you remember.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t want to do anything. It was your idea to come to this horrible place, you hung back when there was murder going on, and you nearly got us murdered when we went to seek justice. I should have stayed by myself. You¡¯ve done nothing but get in the way, and now I¡¯m going to die. Because of you.¡±

    He stood up at once, his shoulders rigid, and Nadia felt very small all of a sudden. It came to her that, if he felt like hitting her, or just putting a pillow over her face, she would have no very good reason to fight back. But all he said was, ¡°I will get you more pain medicine.¡± Then he left the room, closing the door a little too hard behind him without quite slamming it.

    She had not been kind, or fair, or spoken the truth. She knew that. It hardly mattered. She had tried to do right, tried to win justice for the people of Panos, and now she was going to die in a horrible way because of it. What was the point of trying to be right in the first place, then?

    A memory came to her, of icons on a wall. Where were they now? Stuffed in an evidence locker somewhere, most likely. And she had nothing to say to them either. She had sought out her penance with sincerity, and this¡ªthis mockery¡ªwas what she got back. A broken body and a slow death.

    Her throat was tight, and she cried, because it was a thing she could do that was not simply lying there. She cried a long time, her shaking shoulders sending little quivers of pain down to her hip, and nobody came in to see her or offer her comfort, and when she was done the only difference was that her face was wet and she was a little out of breath. And the middle of her body was still a leaden throbbing mass of pain.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Was there hope, any hope at all? Maybe. Ruslan was still out there, if nobody had killed him. And the surgery might work after all. She might be able to walk a little, in time, assuming the authorities did not hunt her down and kill her while she was still in recovery. But ¡­ to get her hopes up would feel almost degrading. Naive, like a child. Wasn¡¯t it better to face the world as it was?

    Yes. This was it. She was crippled, and would stay crippled for the future as far as she could predict it, and she might die, and that was that. She lifted an arm to look at it, saw where they had put in little plastic things, like embedded needles taped on, to put drugs in her. Drugs, and maybe water. She was not thirsty, but she was ¡­ no, not hungry either, she did not feel like eating, but her stomach was empty. She could tell it had been some time since she ate. Her arms looked thin to her, but it might have been her imagination.

    Kemal was not coming back with the pain medicine. She could not blame him, even if she did want the drugs. She wondered if that was a good sign, if she should be wanting the painkillers, or if on top of everything else these Kurds had made her into a drug addict. It probably wouldn¡¯t make any difference if she died an addict, though.

    It was very tedious, not being able to move, or do anything but lie on a couch feeling uncomfortable. She could not even squirm, or get to a new position, because squirming hurt too. She looked over at the books on the shelf, and saw that the titles on the spines were all in Turkish, and none of them very interesting. Whoever lived here liked botany an awful lot. She kept looking over the titles anyway, for a distraction, and didn¡¯t realize she had fallen asleep again until a voice woke her up.

    ¡°Kto eto skazal?¡± she said without thinking, rubbing at her eyes. She didn¡¯t see anyone in the room¡ªwas there a TV, or a radio, buried in the clutter somewhere? Blast it, now she hurt again.

    ¡°I said,¡± a familiar male voice repeated, she couldn¡¯t tell from where, ¡°¡¯all is well, child, and all will be well, now and forever, to the end of the world.¡¯¡±

    So. After he got her in trouble with Titus, after almost a month out of contact, after Nadia had been running for her life from so many different people she literally wasn¡¯t sure she could name them all, when all was lost, the vermin finally decided to show up again. She was almost surprised that she didn¡¯t feel more surprised. It was in the bug¡¯s usual way, to show up when he was least helpful.

    ¡°But I am not well, Beelzebub. I am not well at all. Did your intelligence sources not tell you that much, or are you just blind? Can you smell? Do you smell that? And where are you?¡±

    ¡°Up here,¡± he answered, and a slight motion led her eyes to a dull grey fly wiggling its wings at the top corner of a bookcase. ¡°Out of swatting range. And no, I can¡¯t smell in this form. Audio-visual only. A design oversight I¡¯ve often regretted.¡±

    ¡°You are fortunate, then. Doubly fortunate; I can¡¯t get up to crush you. You might as well come closer, so you can see how pathetic I am. Or better yet, go away. You were not invited.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t in any shape to invite me,¡± the fly answered, obediently crawling a little lower. ¡°I had to invite myself. I¡¯ve been coming over the last three days, and this is the first time I¡¯ve found you able to wake up. They¡¯ve had you on a lot of drugs.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know, and they¡¯re not good enough. If you have a point, get to it. I am going to die, and it is all your fault. If you had left me alone, I would be in Thessaloniki now, with my family, and able to walk.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t deny that some of this is my fault. But not all of it. And things have changed now. With Titus Marshall out of the way, I have much more liberty to give you assistance. What¡¯s wrong? How injured are you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know. I was shot. Shot in the hip. Something broke, and I can¡¯t move, and it hurts. I can¡¯t tell you more than that, because I¡¯ve been half-dead for a week, and there¡¯s no good doctors in this horrible place, and I¡¯m going to die!¡± She wiped her tears away with the back of her arm; to have Beelzebub see her so low was just one more humiliation. ¡°Do you have magic healing powers, little bug?¡±

    ¡°No. But I could arrange better medical care.¡±

    ¡°From who? The Turks? They¡¯re trying to kill me!¡±

    ¡°One person from one part of the Turkish army tried to kill you. Apparently. We still don¡¯t know what happened last Monday. But I¡¯m not a Turk. I represent the United States of America, and my commanding officer has authorized your evacuation to the nearest medical facility under our control.¡±

    ¡°You can fix this?¡± The promise seemed suspicious. It was too easy.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what your exact problem is, Natasha. But I¡¯m confident that we can provide better medical care than you¡¯re getting here, on a couch, in a house in separatist Turkish Kurdistan.¡±

    Before replying, she closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and pulled up her wall. She didn¡¯t know what exactly Beelzebub could do. ¡°And what would the price of this help be?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not expecting you to pay us back¡ª¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t treat me like an idiot child. Getting me out costs money. Surgery costs money. And governments are not in the business of charity for people like me. There must be a lot of sick girls in this country who need treatment; are you offering this to them too?¡±

    ¡°I know we¡¯re providing what help we can, though it¡¯s not enough to match need. But this is a specifically military operation, and you¡¯d be treated at a secure military healthcare facility. You¡¯re right that we¡¯re interested in you because of ¨¦zarine. That¡¯s obvious. But we have no way of compelling you to do anything. That should also be obvious. You should think of this as a goodwill gesture¡ªand also a kind of apology. Like you said, it is partly my¡ªand the American government¡¯s¡ªfault that this has happened to you.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re doing this out of, what, altruism? Armies aren¡¯t run by humanitarians.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. But no. We¡¯re doing this, or at least I believe my boss is authorizing this, because your situation is an embarrassment. Governments don¡¯t like to be embarrassed. And, yes, we¡¯re hoping you can be persuaded to cooperate with us, or at least ¡­ stop participating in the war in such a destabilizing way. But like I said, we can¡¯t force you to do anything, and we respect that.¡±

    ¡°If I hadn¡¯t ¡®participated¡¯ a week ago, and been so ¡®destabilizing,¡¯ many more people would be dead now. How many lives did you save while you were chasing me around the country?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s even simpler. Your government is embarrassed, you say. I am an embarrassment, and dangerous too. You are trying to bring me in so you can get rid of me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t even make sense. I could have killed you in your sleep two days ago, easily, at no risk. My superior was strongly inclined to order me to do so. I had to go out on a limb to get this much. I¡¯m trying to help you, Natasha, but I can¡¯t help without your cooperation.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so now you are threatening me? This conversation is over.¡± With the wall already up, it was a simple matter to call ¨¦zarine, and the annoying little bug disappeared. She dismissed the familiar right away; the situation was frustrating enough without her.

    In a way, she was grateful that the Lord of the Flies had finally decided to show himself again. It clarified things. Now she could see the choice laid before her for what it was: an easy retreat to renewed bondage in good health under the same monsters who had been using her before¡ªTitus had only ever been a middleman¡ªor the hard and dangerous route of being true to herself and her calling. It was only a test. She had been tested before, and prevailed. Beelzebub had spoken the truth by accident: all would be well. There was no reason to be afraid anymore.

    She had just decided as much when Kemal hurried back into the room. ¡°I am sorry,¡± he panted, ¡°we had used all our pain medicine already. More is coming. Why did you call your jinniyah?¡±

    Nadia considered making something up, decided against it. ¡°My old friend Beelzebub tried to make me an offer. I refused him.¡±

    Kemal blanched. ¡°He knows where we are?¡±

    ¡°For the past three days, he says. You let me worry about him. ¨¦zarine is stronger than any of his little vermin. Will the doctor be ready to fix me soon?¡±

    The old man still looked worried, but said, ¡°First we must know what is wrong. The owner of this house is a doctor¡ªa foot doctor, not one who can help you¡ªand he thinks he can get you into his clinic after hours to look inside you. If what he sees is good, maybe we can do the same thing at the hospital to fix you.¡±

    She smiled, and the smile was a little bit genuine. ¡°That would be wonderful. Thank you for all your help, Mister Kemal. I¡¯m sorry for snapping at you earlier. You¡¯re doing your best, and I owe you so much.¡±

    ¡°I know. These are trying times, child. God will see us through.¡±

    Her smile got bigger, and more real. ¡°Yes. Yes, he will.¡±

 XLIX. Diplomacy (Keisha)

    ¡°It is fading,¡± Dr. Gus announced as Keisha sat back up. ¡°And now it is gone entirely. I will continue to monitor for the next several minutes, all the same.¡±

    ¡°I take it that didn¡¯t go well,¡± Ethan said, watching her rub her face.

    ¡°How¡¯d you tell?¡±

    ¡°Doc says she pulled out her familiar.¡±

    ¡°That would explain it. I just lost the connection out of nowhere, and it¡¯s even more disorienting than usual.¡± She moved around so she was sitting on the edge of her cot. Their new (which was to say, recently abandoned) apartment was very nice, and a huge improvement over a collapsing farm, but it was only one bedroom and actual furniture was hard to come by. Sacrifices. ¡°It wasn¡¯t going so hot before that, though.¡±

    ¡°What do we tell Green, then?¡± Hamp fretted.

    ¡°Tell him she¡¯s immobilized for the time being. Gunshot wound to the hip. No details; we need to figure out just how dire her situation is. She seems to think she¡¯s going to die. It made reestablishing rapport a bit of a challenge.¡±

    Ethan held up a hand. ¡°Is she actually¡ª¡°

    ¡°If she is, it¡¯s not something imminent in the next twenty-four hours, I don¡¯t think. She¡¯s alert, aware, and lucid. Just ¡­ she can¡¯t get off the couch, and she¡¯s in a lot of pain.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that all,¡± Hamp said.

    She winced. ¡°Okay, bad phrasing, but you get what I mean.¡±

    ¡°So, is a reunion a good idea after all,¡± Ethan said, ¡°or do we want to chance it without them?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s the question, isn¡¯t it?¡± Fatima and Ruslan¡¯s trail had finally terminated in the Bing?l area yesterday; their current location wasn¡¯t nailed down to the millimeter, but they had a pretty good idea. If they started moving again, faking another ¨¦zarine sighting wouldn¡¯t be that hard. ¡°On the one hand, it¡¯d go a long way in winning back Nadia¡¯s trust, and keeps her alive. On the other ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°It gets her mobile, and you don¡¯t have a clue what the three of them will get up to when they¡¯re all together again,¡± Ethan summed up.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m reasonably confident their next move would be to reconnect with Yuri. And he¡¯s not exactly hard to find, these days.¡± The southeast corner of Anatolia was a big mess of red dots on the tracker app. The little bastard seemed to have set himself up as some kind of mercenary, or enforcer, or something. Thankfully he wasn¡¯t their problem anymore. She¡¯d given them a good enough description to do a police-style sketch, and now it was up to a mix of VRIL specialists and emissors to track him down and kill him in the middle of a war zone. She didn¡¯t envy them. ¡°Obviously, them joining Yuri¡¯s cause, whatever it is, would not be a desirable outcome.¡±

    ¡°Back up a moment,¡± Hamp said. ¡°You think they¡¯re just going to kiss and make up? Nadia damn near killed her sister the last time they were together.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that is, uh, something they¡¯d have to work through first.¡± And another potential reason to keep them apart. ¡°But Fatima will be in perfect health now, so she doesn¡¯t have much reason to be vindictive, now that she¡¯s had a chance to get over it. I think.¡± To the extent she could be sure of anything about the motivations of a teenage girl she barely knew.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Green will go for it,¡± Hamp said. ¡°I know it sounds shitty, but he¡¯s going to want her dependent on us. The more controlled, the better. Getting her healthy and loose under Fatima¡¯s influence is a no-go. And with Yuri ¡­ Christ, what an idea.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. At the very least, I¡¯d want to try again to persuade Nadia to our point of view tomorrow, before we bring siblings into the mix. I don¡¯t know what my odds of success will be, though, without something positive to give her. She flat told me she won¡¯t be coming with us for surgery. She thinks it¡¯s a trap.¡±

    ¡°Which it kinda is,¡± Ethan pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s just the nicest, cushiest trap she can expect to land in, is all.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± She pulled the map back out. ¡°Okay, the situation is stable enough for right now. We can assume that the people she¡¯s with are going to pursue whatever treatment she needs. That means she¡¯s going to have to stay inside loyal Turkey; the separatist regions can hardly keep the lights on, let alone keep fresh deliveries of medicine running. Not that Turkey¡¯s much better, but they¡¯ve stayed here with her so far, so they probably aren¡¯t moving. Right?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Hamp said. ¡°Turkey itself isn¡¯t stable, though, even at its current level of dysfunction. You saw the latest from Istanbul, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did. Not our problem.¡± There was a lot of new glasswork along the eastern shore of the Bosphorus now. As far as she was concerned, that was good news; as long as Snowdrop was on the other end of the country, she couldn¡¯t influence any of the Marshalls. ¡°If the country goes even more to hell than it already has, that¡¯s obviously an operational concern, but not one we can affect.¡±

    ¡°I have been thinking on that,¡± Dr. Gus said, opening his eyes at last. ¡°Given that Israel is already involved in the region, I believe I could persuade an old pupil of mine to render his assistance.¡±

    For a long moment, all three of them stared. ¡°He was one of yours too, huh?¡± Hamp asked. ¡°Wish you¡¯d have brought that up sooner, that he owes you a favor¡ª¡°

    ¡°He does not traffic in ¡®favors,¡¯ and the suggestion would be highly insulting to him. Kindly do not bring it up in the unlikely event that you meet.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± Ethan said, ¡°that¡¯s one hell of a game-changer, if you could swing it. And if they¡¯re willing to put their only emissor on the table like that.¡±

    ¡°It is not a matter of whether Jerusalem is willing,¡± the Doctor huffed. ¡°He goes where he feels he is needed, and he accepts their input when making that decision. I believe that I, in combination with his government, could persuade him that this area is more deserving of his immediate attention than any other candidate. That is all.¡±

    ¡°If he does want to get involved here, though,¡± Keisha said, measuring her words, ¡°we would need to get General Green¡¯s permission, and plan out how we handle the aftermath. It would certainly help with the Nadia situation, but I don¡¯t know what it would do in terms of the local politics. He¡¯s even harder to control than Yuri.¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°I would say ¡®impossible,¡¯ not hard. And he would not appreciate that comparison, either. But this is of no importance. I shall ask Green¡¯s permission now.¡± He levered himself out of his chair, and made his way over to the kitchen to make the call in private.

    Hamp frowned. ¡°What hour is it in DC right now?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Ethan said. ¡°Green can¡¯t be sleeping much these days anyway. Now, as far as the terrible two are concerned ¡­ ¡±

    ¡°We still need to get them contained, yes. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re in any real hurry to meet up with Yuri again, thankfully. Who would be?¡±

    ¡°But they ain¡¯t gonna stay in place forever while you decide what to do. And the longer they stay free, the more damage they¡¯re going to cause. They might not be walking disasters like Yuri, but they do rack up a body count.¡±

    ¡°Yes, they do.¡± The problem was that Keisha had nothing to offer them besides Nadia; they might or might not accept American help, but she wouldn¡¯t trust them¡ªat least, she wouldn¡¯t trust Fatima¡ªto abide by the terms of any agreement they made. ¡°Maybe we¡¯d do better to let them heal Nadia; she might settle them down. Then again, it might not. You know, I really wish I¡¯d had more of a chance to get a feel for how these kids thought.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to waste time wishing,¡± Hamp suggested, ¡°wish for something bigger than that.¡±

    Dr. Gus came back from the kitchen. ¡°General Green has agreed to consider the matter. He is reluctant to complicate the situation any further by inviting another belligerent.¡±

    ¡°But he ain¡¯t a ¡®belligerent!¡¯¡± Ethan laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t think ol¡¯ Woody can even throw a punch. What the hell?¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, the situation is very complex, and ¡®Old Woody¡¯ is among the most versatile and effective emissants on the planet.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, shame he¡¯s so damn hard to keep a leash on. Bit like me,¡± Ethan mused. ¡°Say, if you just had a private word with the boy, how likely is he to squeal on you?¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to say anything,¡± Hamp said. ¡°Not after we just asked Green permission. He can put the dots together. They don¡¯t tend to promote complete idiots up to that level.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I¡¯ve known a few. What do you think?¡± he said, turning to Keisha.

    She threw her pillow at him; he slapped it out of the air. ¡°I think I¡¯m the lowest-ranking officer in this room, so why are you asking me? To hell with it. Sure. As far as I¡¯m concerned, you can call him. He¡¯s the easiest way to solve the problem, and I¡¯m on borrowed time anyway.¡±

    Ethan turned back to Hamp; something about it put Keisha in mind of a kid who got permission from his mother, turning to dad for final approval. Hamp sighed, said, ¡°I¡¯ll pretend I didn¡¯t hear this conversation. I was half-expecting them to send the old man in anyway, so we have deniability. Why not?¡±

    ¡°I will call him, then.¡± Dr. Gus retreated into the actual bedroom this time, and shut the door behind him.

    ¡°What was that about borrowed time?¡± Hamp asked once the door closed. ¡°You still worried about Belvedere? If they haven¡¯t worked that out by now, they probably aren¡¯t going to. At least, not within an operationally relevant timeframe. Maybe in a year, they¡¯ll start asking funny questions. You¡¯ll be a hit on the lunatic fringe.¡±

    ¡°Well, you at least got over it awful quick.¡±

    He gave a gesture that tried to be a shrug but couldn¡¯t quite summon up the effort. ¡°It¡¯s the Numenate. If I got pissed off every time they didn¡¯t tell me something I thought I had the right to know, I¡¯d have blood pressure like the bottom of the goddamn ocean. What¡¯s the point?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem fair, does it?¡± Ethan opened his mouth, the way he usually did when somebody mentioned fairness; she gave him her hardest look, and he shut it, and ambled off to the kitchen for a snack.

    ¡°It never is,¡± Hamp agreed. ¡°But, you know, I don¡¯t really belong here, and I never did. I¡¯ve got the years in to retire, if I really wanted to. I couldn¡¯t tell you why I don¡¯t, except that my kids are grown, and my wife left ten years ago¡ªgoing on fifteen, now¡ªand if I went from doing all this crap, all this insanity that runs me ragged and has me eating antacids like breath mints, if I left all that behind and settled down, I¡¯d be doing what? Playing golf?¡± He shook his head. ¡°This is what I do, now. I¡¯m like an old convict. I wouldn¡¯t know what to do with freedom if you gave it to me.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I feel that. I keep telling myself I¡¯ll scale back and slow down someday, and you know what my big aspiration is? The first thing I¡¯m gonna do, as soon as I have the free time? I¡¯m going to get me a cat.¡± She laughed. ¡°That¡¯s it. I haven¡¯t looked any farther than that, no bigger ambitions. How pathetic is that?¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you. I¡¯m more of a dog person, myself. So you don¡¯t want to have a family, huh? I¡¯m not going to start lecturing you about how you should, or anything like that,¡± he quickly added. ¡°I¡¯m in no place to lecture anybody about that. I¡¯m just curious.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t take it that way. But it doesn¡¯t matter. By the time Uncle Sam actually lets me scale back on this, I¡¯ll have ¡­ ovaries like dried-up old chickpeas. I¡¯m thirty-two already. And the idea, just the image, of worn-out old Keisha leaving the service and hurrying up to work out how actual relationships happen, and securing a man, and having a kid, decorating the nursery, all that crap? Ugh. It makes me tired, even thinking of it. I¡¯m better off not trying, going straight from ¡®elite paraphysical operative¡¯ to ¡®crazy cat lady.¡¯ It¡¯s harder to screw up a cat than a kid.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d have a hard time screwing up a kid worse than the ones we¡¯re dealing with now.¡±

    ¡°I know¡ªand I¡¯m the one who¡¯s stuck dealing with them! That¡¯s messed up. My childcare experience consists of watching my kid sister after school, and now sending her kids fun presents from foreign countries so I can be the cool aunt when I see them every two years. Hmph. It¡¯s just our luck that we¡¯ve got a shortage of qualified child psychiatrists with VRIL skills and a security clearance.¡±

    ¡°As of right now we do, sure. But we both know armies are always training to fight their last war. As we speak, I promise you the Numenate is ordering at least a dozen feasibility studies on a new Combat Therapist MOS. The first ones should be rolling out around the time Nadia¡¯s old enough to graduate college.¡±

    She laughed a lot harder than the joke deserved. ¡°Well, that¡¯s comforting. Meanwhile, what am I supposed to do here? How do I deal with these damn kids, Hamp? I got thrown in the deep end. I can¡¯t be Nadia¡¯s mother, and I can¡¯t pretend to be her friend while I¡¯m throwing down orders and demands.¡±

    ¡°Kids that age don¡¯t react well to orders or demands no matter who gives them. Mine didn¡¯t. But if I had a kid who was about to get herself killed, I wouldn¡¯t worry about being her friend, or having her like me. Safety first. It¡¯s a clich¨¦ for a reason.¡±

    ¡°Fair point.¡± She leaned over to punch him on the arm. ¡°Look at you, knocking ¡®em out of the park.¡± He rolled his eyes in response, and got up to follow Ethan to the kitchen. ¡°What about the other two, though? They¡¯re not going to wait forever.¡±

    ¡°You could start by getting an exact location,¡± Ethan suggested.

    ¡°And establishing contact,¡± Hamp added over his shoulder as he opened the fridge. ¡°You¡¯ll have better luck negotiating if you¡¯ve built up a working relationship ahead of time. I never showed up on some three-star Soviet flunky¡¯s doorstep expecting to cut a deal right away. Dammit, Major, did you use all the mustard?¡±

    Ethan grabbed the bottle off the counter and waggled it in front of Hamp¡¯s nose. He snatched it, then started ferrying sandwich ingredients to the counter, explaining as he did, ¡°Y¡¯know, I might not be a good parent¡ªI¡¯ll be the first to admit I was pretty much crap at that¡ªbut I do know something about negotiating with punks who think they¡¯re god. These kids might be too young to drink, but that doesn¡¯t mean they think of themselves as children. Most teenagers don¡¯t; they¡¯re adults already, it¡¯s just that the actual adults are too dumb to figure that out.¡±

    ¡°So I should treat them as basically warlords I¡¯m negotiating with on an equal footing? Little Titus Marshalls?¡± It made sense. Fatima at least probably thought of herself as something like her father¡¯s heir.

    ¡°Sure. It helps to address people the way they expect to be addressed, and flattery is a nice cheap way to grease the wheels. Anyway, do you want a sandwich?¡±

 L. Wheeling and Dealing (Fatima)

    The cigarette was nasty, a bit of scrap paper rolled around a stingy wad of tobacco that might have been mixed with anything. It was all Fatima had, so she lit it anyway, leaning down to dip the end into the embers of the kitchen fire until it caught. The first puff was even more disgusting than she¡¯d expected; there might be weed in it, or actual weeds. Oh well. Life was short, anyway.

    Ruslan gave her the same worried look he always did when she lit up, then looked away when she tried to meet his eyes. Side benefit: the grosser her breath got, the less likely he was to try and kiss her again. They¡¯d come to an unspoken agreement, hashing out the terms of what was acceptable. He could hold her hand however much he wanted, they could hug, she¡¯d kiss him on the cheek, whatever. Anything else¡ªand Rus was pretty clear he¡¯d take anything he could get¡ªwas out. She¡¯d been very clear, moving his hands and dodging his mouth more than once. But that didn¡¯t keep him from trying to push the envelope all the damn time. Like this wasn¡¯t enough of a pain in the ass already.

    The old lady who owned the house didn¡¯t approve either, but Fatima didn¡¯t even have to pretend to care about what she thought. In a couple of hours they¡¯d be out of this village and they¡¯d never have to see her shriveled ass again. And this was just about the last place left to check out. There might be one or two other, even smaller collections of Kurds in huts in the region, but she doubted they¡¯d get any more valuable intel there. They hadn¡¯t learned anything new in a whole day. Now they were just campaigning, like politicians. Laying the groundwork, buying support, the same way Dad used to do it. Only Dad didn¡¯t have his right-hand man trying to hump his leg all the time.

    Now Rus was staring again. Poor kid probably didn¡¯t even realize he was doing it. Not that that made it any less annoying. ¡°Hey,¡± she said, and his eyes swiveled up a foot to meet hers. ¡°About how many more jobs does your boy have in him?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really that exact.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know. That¡¯s why I said about. I don¡¯t need it on a calculator with decimal places and shit, Rus. I just want to know how many more people we can fix before we have to go hunt for stray dogs again.¡± The smoke caught the back of her throat, and she coughed.

    ¡°It depends how sick they are,¡± he started, then stopped when she frowned. ¡°He¡¯s getting stressed. He doesn¡¯t like it when people game his system. I should be able to heal one more little thing, like a basic fracture. He¡¯ll refuse big stuff like gunshots, I know it. Unless ¡­ you know.¡±

    ¡°Unless we pay him off with another human. Yeah.¡± She shook her head. Kizil Khan was a hell of an asset, way more useful for this kind of work than Mister Higgins. She could admit that. She only wished he wasn¡¯t such a tightass about his little rules. Maybe that was where Ruslan got it from. ¡°We should be done for now anyway, so I guess it¡¯s cool.¡±

    Ruslan gave her a worried look. Probably looking for reassurance. She guessed she could try. ¡°Look, we¡¯re not playing against the high rollers here; all we need is a crew to back us up, so we can eat on the regular, have a place to sleep, get a network to bring us news and warn us if they¡¯re on to us. Nothing major, nothing permanent.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± But he looked even more bummed to hear her say it. He wanted them settled down and secure so he didn¡¯t have to worry any more, not just chasing some temporary thing.

    ¡°Relax! I¡¯ve done this before, boy. It¡¯s all politics. You get in with your locals, the fight¡¯s half-won. All you need to do is keep them on your side. We know Nadia¡¯s been in this area lately. If we can just take that Bingo place, she¡¯ll hear about it for sure. We get her, we¡¯ve got ourselves a fifty percent increase in firepower, plus whatever news she can bring us. We might get Yuri back too, or even Hamza.¡±

    Ruslan nodded. He didn¡¯t really want that, either. If it was up to him, they¡¯d be married and settled down somewhere. Doing what? He didn¡¯t know. The fool hadn¡¯t thought that far. But as soon as it was more than just the two of them, he¡¯d have a harder time pretending they were a thing that was going to happen. Which was part of the reason Fatima wanted to find the others so badly. She¡¯d be happy to see Yuri, even.

    She wasn¡¯t delusional, though, so she was trying to make plans for if it didn¡¯t work out. They could keep chasing Nadia for a long time if they had to. If that didn¡¯t work out, she knew the ropes. The Kurds here hated Turks about as much as Dad¡¯s Afghans had hated Russians and boy-humpers, so that was plenty to work with, and they didn¡¯t have medicine worth a damn. Their strategy here would work long-term if it had to.

    Of course, if she wanted to keep Ruslan around long-term, she¡¯d need to give him more than he was getting now. She could accept that. Anybody she married, it¡¯d have to be political, and Kizil Khan made one hell of a mahr. Ruslan himself, well, he¡¯d at least be reliable, and maybe if she got him to work out ¡­ nah. He¡¯d still be pretty gross. But whatever. All that was far-future stuff. She had to keep her eye on the ball.

    ¡°They¡¯re taking a long time,¡± Ruslan fretted. ¡°Are they planning something?¡±

    ¡°If they are, you handle it. That way we can get some credit at the Bank of Khan out of it. Two birds, one stone, you know?¡± He flinched; she pretended she didn¡¯t see it. ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± she added, as she flicked the last of the cigarette into the ashes. ¡°If they want to talk things over a long time, that¡¯s good. Shows they¡¯re taking it serious.¡±

    Maybe a minute later, a boy came into the hut¡ªthe chief¡¯s son, she thought. About eight, real skinny. He gave her a short bow, then turned to Rus and babbled something in Turkish. ¡°They¡¯ve decided,¡± he translated. ¡°He wants us to come back with him.¡±

    ¡°See? Lead on, little man.¡±

    The rest of it went about the same as the last eight visits: the council of elders or whatever, the six guys speaking for the two hundred or so Kurds in this one village, thanked them very much for giving the chief¡¯s third cousin two working legs again. They weren¡¯t ready to formally declare loyalty to the ¡°Emir of Diyarbakir,¡± since they¡¯d never seen or met the guy, but were open to further meetings with his representatives, and would be happy to pass on any news of other jinni working in the area, and so on. In the meantime, if the Emir would be so very kind as to whoop some Turkish ass for them, they¡¯d be happy to give him more significant support, and peace be upon him, et cetera.

    Fatima responded by bowing back, then thanking him through Ruslan for the food, cigarettes, lodging, gifts, prayers, and just general kindness, wishing the people of wherever-the-hell-this-was God¡¯s blessings and promising speedy help for any future problems, especially with wasting any Turkish dogs who gave them any shit. She ended by giving them her cell number, then went outside and called the customer service line for the same American furniture wholesalers she always did. She waited a second for the English recording to tell her that her call was very important so everyone in earshot could hear a male voice on the other end, then reported the good news to the Emir in rapid but respectful English. She hung up before they could hear too much of the hold music, thanked the random villagers one more time, and they were done.

    ¡°What do we do when they ask to meet the Emir?¡± Ruslan asked as he drove them back up the road out of the little mountain valley. ¡°We can¡¯t keep pretending forever.¡±

    ¡°Why not? The Emir of Diyarbakir is a busy man, he doesn¡¯t have time to meet and greet. And they don¡¯t really need to meet him. That¡¯s not what people expect from their government, you dig? They want everything to run smooth. As long as we don¡¯t ask for a lot of cash, you¡¯re not stingy with the healing, and anybody who bothers them gets wrecked, the Emir can be as unfriendly as he wants. Dad hardly ever met anyone face-to-face.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she added as the village vanished behind a curve in the road, ¡°we won¡¯t have to keep this up for that long, remember? Everything¡¯s under control.¡± Ruslan kept his glum face shut, which was the best she could expect, and he drove them the rest of the way to HQ in silence.

    ¡°HQ¡± was the least-wrecked parts of a place that¡¯d probably looked a lot like the one they just left, back before the war started. A couple of minutes with Kizil Khan was enough to get rid of the stray dogs and vermin who¡¯d been living here, then Mister Higgins cleared out the rubble and unexploded shells. It wasn¡¯t much of a home, but it had more space than the car and parts of it were intact enough to keep the rain out. Their beds were on opposite sides of a room with a hole in its ceiling that worked for a chimney, so they wouldn¡¯t freeze in the night.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    All their valuables stayed in the car where they could keep an eye on them, of course. They only came here for downtime. An emergency reserve of securely packaged food and water, wrapped in tarps, was hidden in a ruin they weren¡¯t using for anything else, its entrance blocked by a piece of car Kizil Khan could just barely lift. It worked for a temporary fix.

    Ruslan hauled the day¡¯s goodwill donations out of the trunk and threw them in their storeroom, while she went to the bathroom to change into less dusty clothing. No running water, just a bucket filled from the old-timey well for a rag bath. It was better than nothing. There was a little mouthwash too, so she felt a little less nasty when she met up with Rus in the war room. Fatima liked to think ahead, so she had five plastic milk-crates for chairs around the village¡¯s one surviving table. At the moment, it was just the two of them and the leaky oil lamp, and if they ever got the whole crew together again they¡¯d definitely have enough pull to get a better place than this. But still.

    ¡°Right now, we¡¯re in pretty good shape,¡± she told him. ¡°We¡¯re good on food, water, and fuel for at least a week. Plenty of clothes, it¡¯s cold as shit at night but we¡¯ve got bedding and the weather¡¯s only going to get warmer. No sign of snoops that I could see¡ªyou spot anything?¡±

    ¡°No, nothing. This place is a dump. Who¡¯d bother looking?¡±

    ¡°Anybody hungry with a sense of initiative,¡± she told him. ¡°Or who spotted our car coming in or out, and got curious. Our blankets and clothes are totally worth stealing. Don¡¯t get all complacent on me, Rus.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not complacent,¡± he whined. ¡°Just ¡­ tired of living here. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve both been through a lot worse than this,¡± she began, and paused to swat at a fly that buzzed in the window. It danced out of her reach easily. ¡°Worst of our problems is crap like that. No windows, so the damn bugs get in. Big deal.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a bigger deal than you think,¡± the fly retorted as it landed on the lamp. ¡°Hello, Fatima.¡±

    She froze in place, her hand arrested in mid-swat; only her eyes swiveled to look at Ruslan and confirm that he¡¯d heard it too. His open mouth looked dumb enough to make her self-conscious, so she lowered her hand to the table and said, ¡°What¡¯s up? Who you with, bug?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve met before, in your hospital room. About two weeks ago. You, me, and three of my friends.¡±

    ¡°Huh. I remember three dudes with Ballsy Bob. Which one are you?¡±

    ¡°None of the above. I¡¯m the woman your sister knew as Beelzebub. The construct masks my voice as a security feature.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯ve got no proof, but say it¡¯s you. What¡¯s the deal, homegirl?¡±

    ¡°You tell me. We had a deal, in your room. You said you wanted to defect. Then you left, killing an American emissor along the way. We¡¯re not very happy about that.¡±

    Fatima didn¡¯t lose a beat. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help what Ruslan did,¡± she argued. ¡°He had a big old Russian hand on his nuts, you know? So my brother and I weren¡¯t what you¡¯d call on the same level. Sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem very sorry to me.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Because I¡¯m not. Last I saw you, you were fishing for intel by feeding me bullshit¡ªthen you left me in a dirty-ass hospital room with your disrespectful scrub coworkers who wouldn¡¯t tell me a damn thing about what was going on. What I¡¯m saying here is, we kinda started out on the wrong foot. Am I wrong?¡±

    ¡°You can believe what I tell you or not,¡± the bug huffed, ¡°and I tell you that Hamza Marshall died on January 28. Now that I¡¯ve found you two, all five Marshall children are accounted for.¡±

    ¡°That so? Okay, I¡¯ll bite. Where¡¯s Yuri? I know Nadia¡¯s somewhere close.¡±

    ¡°She really isn¡¯t. The videos you chased here were fakes; I engineered them myself. But I won¡¯t be giving you any more information unless and until you show a willingness to cooperate. And we still have to discuss your own future, don¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°So what do you want? Rus and I can take this region for you, if you need it locked down. One week and a little cash help, and we¡¯ll have a hundred square miles secure. We¡¯ll have it quiet as a mouse, no sweat.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very generous of you,¡± it said. ¡°And we might take you up on that. Later. For now, I¡¯ve come to ask a simple question: can you describe the Russian agents you worked with?¡±

    She thought about it. ¡°Maybe. What¡¯s in it for us?¡±

    ¡°Assuming you aren¡¯t still in Russian employ, identifying your handlers will make it easier for us to hunt them down, which gives you added security. We can more credibly publicize their names and appearances than you can, which will make it more difficult for them to operate in the country. We both benefit.¡±

    ¡°Still feels like I¡¯m giving you a freebie,¡± she said. But it was probably fair. Part of this deal was getting left unsaid: if they played along, Uncle Sam would be a little less pissed about his dead emissor. If they¡¯d found her and Ruslan once, they could find them again, unless they went totally dark and didn¡¯t use their familiars at all. Which was a shit way to live in a country at war. Not worth it to keep an in with Moscow she didn¡¯t want anyway, or have the card in reserve.

    Meanwhile, the bug was sitting there patiently on the lamp, not saying a thing, and Rus was giving her a hopeful look, so that was his vote. Fatima didn¡¯t think he got a vote, since he was the one who went and killed Sergeant Stiff in the first place, but what the hell. It would put him in a better mood. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°I think we¡¯ve got a deal here. The Russians had¡ª¡°

    ¡°Hold it,¡± the bug snapped. ¡°No offense, but I¡¯ll be getting your two accounts separately. I hope you understand why.¡±

    ¡°I think I do.¡± The little gnat was starting to get on her nerves now, but she couldn¡¯t expect him to be totally stupid. The only question was whether she could trust him and Ruslan alone¡ªand that wasn¡¯t even hardly a question. He¡ªshe?¡ªmight get a little extra intel out of her ¡®brother¡¯ unsupervised, but he wasn¡¯t going to go his own way. He didn¡¯t have it in him. ¡°All right, fine. Want to take the vermin out for walkies, Rus?¡±

    He didn¡¯t, but she gave him a pitying look and he went anyway, with their new buddy buzzing along behind. That was good¡ªit gave her time to think.

    This punk was cocky. The way he just casually told her he¡¯d faked the videos, played them for suckers ¡­ or was that a lie too? Maybe. Either way, he obviously thought he had her cornered, and he probably did. He had a VRIL, and an esper, and if he wasn¡¯t a complete idiot he¡¯d have at least one familiar on hand to bring down the pain. So they¡¯d have to play along, for now.

    Fortunately, that wouldn¡¯t change their plans much. This bug was probably Ballsy Bob for real, and if he wasn¡¯t he was American or affiliated. America had its hands full trying to hold the country together; they could use her help, and Ruslan¡¯s too. Even if he hadn¡¯t jumped at the offer, he had to know the two of them were their best shot at holding this area down. They could work with this.

    If she¡¯d had a real chair, instead of a crappy old milk crate, she¡¯d have leaned back in it to think. She settled for pulling out another cigarette, then remembered her lighter had been empty for the past three days. Hmph. Maybe they could milk American help for a reload, while they were at it.

    The fly kept Ruslan for a good five minutes; she resisted the urge to sneak out and snoop, and risk being caught. She could sweet-talk everything Rus had told her out of him later anyway. She got her compact out instead, and spent the time trying to comb her hair into order under her hijab. When the boy and the bug came back in, she was ready with a big, happy smile. Things were looking up.

 LI. Relief (Mila)

    Their first warning came early on Thursday, when Noorlan did his morning assessment. As always, he woke before the rest of them, to meditate and sweep the region with his clairvoyant gifts, before inspecting their backdoor Coalition feed for the more mundane sort of intelligence. He immediately saw that their enemies now had good descriptions of all four of them, complete with names, and called Yefimov in a panic.

    Their commander had been up late the previous night, and reacted poorly to the news. ¡°I see no reason why this should modify our established operational parameters,¡± he said in conference call. ¡°All four of us have substantially altered our appearances since the Marshall defections. Moreover, our present mission has been designated with the highest priority. Alteration of the timeline would not be acceptable.¡±

    Mila looked at Aziz, saw his expression, and voiced his objection before he could so so less delicately: ¡°Pardon me, sir, but it seems to me that we are substantially compromised by this, to the point where I doubt we could effectively fulfill our duties. It might be better to rotate in new operatives.¡±

    ¡°An event which may very well come to pass,¡± Yefimov said, ¡°but it will not be our decision, and until such time as that decision is made and put into action our duties remain unchanged. The timing is critical; the Bosporus must be rendered safe for submarine convoys within a week, even if all four of us should be eliminated as a proximate consequence. We are more readily replaced than our compatriots under siege within Constantinople. The knyazya have made their position on this matter perfectly clear. I do not intend to argue with them.¡±

    ¡°Nor do we,¡± Noorlan¡¯s voice assured him, and that was that, for the time. Two hours later, Yefimov decreed that Noorlan should now conduct his combined assessments at semi-randomized intervals averaging one hour, with Mila and Aziz absorbing his other duties to compensate.

    ¡°Even at one-hour intervals,¡± Aziz grumbled, ¡°he won¡¯t catch an operation in progress except by pure luck. This is all a performance¡ªdoing something for the sake of doing something.¡±

    ¡°It may not be his decision,¡± Mila told him, though she suspected it was. ¡°This, too, might be from the knyazya, or someone else in Moscow.¡± They were all under a great deal of strain, and it had fallen to her to grease the wheels within the group over the past three weeks. This was wearying, but she had undertaken worse duties for her homeland.

    She only wished her diplomatic efforts could be more successful for the effort she put into them. Aziz gave her a look of frank incredulity¡ªdo you really think that would make it better?¡ªand Mila was obliged to leave the room to salvage her own temper. With Noorlan more frequently entering his clairvoyant trances, the two of them would be obliged to spend more time on milch duty, a chore she could not perform effectively while upset.

    Of course, milch-work was itself quite emotionally draining, and as the timetable for the liberation of the Bosporus became more urgent Snowdrop¡¯s need for cached ectoplasm could well become greater than they could supply¡ªwhich would contribute to further stress and further endanger the supply, and so on. There was a real risk of a feedback loop, a failure spiral.

    They had made substantial progress already, in spite of a week lost to delays, miscommunications, and contradictory orders in the chaotic aftermath of the fall of Ankara. Large sections of the European shore were now unusable, their docking facilities destroyed, roads obstructed, helicopters with ASW capabilities glassed in place so that they could not be either used or moved to make space for their replacements. The Asian shore was in much the same shape thanks to the past two days¡¯ work, and Istanbul as a whole was demoralized, its remaining citizens mostly interested in ending the conflict by whatever means so that they could restore stability to their lives.

    The continuous strain of valence shock here worked in Russia¡¯s favor; repeated exposure to multiple opposing Tetzloff effects in rapid succession, at unpredictable hours, and at the cost of sleep, consistently induced a lasting state of exhausted apathy. Most of their own allies inside the city had long since passed into a similar mental state for that same reason, but Constantinople was once again held by three familiars, with Melkhisedek and Zubr joining Myriad to secure what remained of the perfidious Akritas¡¯s walls. This, too, was the result of their own efforts¡ªonly last Sunday had enemy traffic along the waterway diminished enough to risk smuggling in two more irreplaceable emissors.

    In short, they had much to be proud of, but all could yet be lost¡ªall the more so now that their names and faces had been publicized. Mila assumed one or more of the Marshall children were the source of this revelation¡ªpresumably Fatima or Ruslan. Nadezhda was secure and under the eye of trusted observers in Kurdistan, while Yuri had drifted away from the main theater to wreak his usual brand of havoc on the Syrian border. The present scenario was still very favorable, strategically speaking, however inadequate it might feel.

    Aziz felt, if anything, worse than she did. Officially, each of the four operatives had separate quarters, spaced more or less evenly along the Asiatic shore of Istanbul, but she did not care to live alone as a young woman in this unsettled and dysfunctional country, regardless of security ¡°best practices.¡± So she spent as much time as possible in the company of her physically imposing military-veteran colleague, even if it meant added emotional friction and risked one capture becoming two. Both of them found it preferable to the misery of solitude.

    ¡°I am not sure we can trust him,¡± Aziz said that afternoon, as she emerged from trance and put the cap back on the canister.

    ¡°Yefimov?¡± She raised an eyebrow, but her mind was sluggish, drained; she couldn¡¯t guess how her actual expression read. ¡°Why do you say that? He¡¯s the last man I¡¯d suspect of disloyalty.¡±

    ¡°Of course he¡¯s loyal,¡± Aziz snapped. ¡°The man is a fanatic. He hasn¡¯t got the imagination to change his mind or adjust his principles. Which is why I don¡¯t trust his judgment. He might have some sense of self-preservation, buried deep, but he¡¯d throw the three of us into a grain thresher for the Motherland without a second thought. Or even a first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s fair,¡± Mila said, and closed her eyes so the room would stop spinning. This was all part of the price she paid to protect her home and family. When her stomach settled, she went on: ¡°Sergei is conservative, certainly, and possibly even inflexible. He wouldn¡¯t be trusted with this amount of independence if he weren¡¯t. But he¡¯s also¡ª¡°

    ¡°He¡¯s trusted with this amount of independence because he was an utter reactionary before it was popular,¡± Aziz said. ¡°He was a believer in the cause before the cause existed. He is completely, totally ideologically reliable. That is all the knyazya want or expect. Competence is an optional extra.¡±

    Mila tried not to sigh. This kind of attitude was to be expected in a man of military background during a time of trial, but it was very inconsiderate of Aziz to express it so openly. It put her in a very difficult position merely to listen to it. ¡°I don¡¯t necessarily agree, but even if I did, I feel it would be more helpful to frame it differently. How can we, as individuals, in the situation as it now stands, increase the odds of operational success?¡±

    His face told her a great many things he would like to say to that, but was not quite emotionally exhausted enough to let slip. Mila appreciated his prudence, even as his attitude annoyed her; she repaid him by getting up on tip-toe to kiss him on the cheek. ¡°I think you¡¯re tired, Aziz. If you like, you can take a rest; I¡¯m still good for a few more hours.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not,¡± he said, but went off to his bedroom anyway. Mila elected not to escalate the situation further with a reply.

    The day went well enough, whatever he thought; Snowdrop was able to strike three separate targets, so that by sunset the most plausible threat to Kozlov¡¯s undersea operations was the main Coalition fleet, stationed well south of Istanbul in the Marmara. That would be a much more difficult target, protected by round-the-clock noetic surveillance¡ªbut it was also poorly positioned to detect or strike submarine traffic. Or so she was told. Mila had never received any formal military training, and didn¡¯t think of herself as an expert.

    Aziz, to her irritation, assumed milch duty only once that day, and for a brief spell, forcing Mila to make up the difference to fill the canister. By the end of the day she was tempted to bring the matter to Yefimov¡¯s attention, but decided against it; after so much time in milch-trance, she didn¡¯t trust her own judgment, and Aziz might have a better day tomorrow.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    When he went to bed, she joined him as usual, as though nothing were wrong between them. She took a moment to think of her dear Misha, and their children far away, and hoped that she would live to see them again. It wasn¡¯t quite a prayer, as Mila was agnostic, but she found that the nightly ritual grounded her, and helped her remember why she put herself through all this.

    When it was done, she slipped into bed in her nightgown, and wrapped her arms around Aziz. This, too, was a duty, even if it wasn¡¯t official, and probably Yefimov did not approve (and she was sure he knew). She was a therapist by training, and saw unit morale and cohesion as falling under her jurisdiction. There had been nights when she had her own psychological well-being to think of, and Aziz had been her only comfort.

    She was relieved when Aziz did not want her to be his, that particular night; he was still agitated and upset with her personally. He shrugged her arms off, and gratefully she rolled over. Her last memory before her eyes shut was of her colleague getting out of bed to pace the halls, peering out of windows through the blinds, checking locks, cleaning his guns. She only kept awake long enough to be sure he wasn¡¯t planning to leave the apartment.

    After eight cumulative hours of trance work, Mila couldn¡¯t have stayed up any longer if she¡¯d wanted to. Her sleep was deep¡ªso deep that the first gunshot, at three in the morning, barely woke her. She lifted her head from the pillow, and saw that Aziz was not beside her. She put her head back down, rolled over, heard shouts. Then gunshots. She sat up, her head full of fog, holding the sheet to her chest. The door of their room flew open, something heavy fell across the bed, and without thought or understand she leapt up and away from under it, still holding the sheet, and tripping over its bottom edge.

    Only her training saved her; even with her mind half-asleep and too stupid to think, her body knew there was trouble, and to reach up onto the bedstand for her phone. The device was programmed to send out a distress single in response to a single coded word¡ªtrubkozub¡ªand she spoke it clearly, three times, before more dark shapes crowded into her room, gripping her roughly, throwing her against the wall and thrusting cold metal in her face.

    She was glad to still be tired. It was very difficult to be afraid, when she had so little energy left to think with. There was a great noise as they tore through Aziz¡¯s apartment, turning on lights and shooting off locks. They asked her questions, in Turkish and bad Russian, and hit her when she tried to answer, and then when she kept silent. Her glasses weren¡¯t on her face, and she did not know where they were, but she saw a great blotch of bright red across the white sheets on the bed. Whatever had fallen across it before had been moved. There was no sign of Aziz.

    When they were done searching they put handcuffs on her, to drag her out into the street where a car was waiting. Mila did not resist when they put her in the backseat; that would only make them hit her more, and accomplish nothing useful. Once the car was in motion she laid down across the back seat, since they had not troubled with seatbelts, and passed out. They shook her awake when they arrived, dragging her out and slapping her. They made threats, but she did not listen; ridiculously, all she could think was that she must look frightful.

    Once they were inside again, they put her in a chair in a dark room, still handcuffed and in her nightgown, while they argued with each other, and with men on the other end of a radio. She did not know who the men were, but it hardly mattered. She shut her eyes again, only to find that she could not sleep any more. So she thought again of her Misha, and their children, because it would not do to think of Aziz. It did not help to think of her family, either, but there was a fair chance she would be shot in the head very soon, and it seemed better to think about pleasant things.

    She opened her eyes again when the lights came on, cried out when they threw her onto a cluttered tabletop. She hit her head, and heard the crash of coffee mugs shattering on the floor. Three men loomed over her, shadows against the caustic fluorescent light. She had expected this as well. She shut her eyes as they pawed at her nightgown; what they could not get off around her handcuffs, they cut away with knives, nicking her skin in the process. She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to breathe slow and deep while they did their work. One of them ran his hands over her body, and she felt herself shake. A natural reaction, but not helpful.

    Not training, but pure force of habit saved her this time; after so many hours spent in milch-trance already that day, it was simple even under terrible stress to slip back into the stupor. The men shouted, and slapped at her backside, and spat, but her mind simply vanished away. At last one of the men leaned down, grabbed her by the face, and twisted her head around to kiss her. She opened her mouth, and exhaled a little wisp of gleaming white ectoplasm.

    The man screamed in her face, and stumbled back shouting insults. They shoved her, naked, onto the floor¡ªher cuffed hands could not catch her, and her face cracked against the tiles¡ªand kicked her at every spot they could reach until she passed out with the pain.

    It was still dark when she woke yet again, filled with a strange and inexplicable glee. She was too far gone then to question it, but she heard men shouting once more, and felt certain that they had encountered an unfortunate mishap, and the thought was very amusing. From the hallway outside came the sound of manic giggling, and she felt compelled to join in, though her ribs hurt abominably. There were rapid footsteps, and another gunshot, then silence. Her own laughter receded to a merry contentment, and she laid back against the hard floor to wait.

    The door to the room flew open, and a little boy bounded in¡ªa boy with a big, round, ruddy-cheeked face, and brilliant blue eyes the size of her palm, and an adorable mop of shining golden curls atop his head. He wore a clean white shirt with a curious sort of suspenders over them, connected to knee-length brown leather breeches, all of it embroidered. It was ridiculous, and she laughed, and he laughed with her, but as he laughed he reached down into his shirt and whipped out a big fluffy white sheet, and threw it over her. Then he pulled out undergarments, and socks, and shoes, and a great big sky-blue dress, all shining in the light from his skin, and tossed them carelessly in her direction.

    More shouts came from outside; the boy rolled his eyes, and made a silly face at her, and winked to let her know that some people simply couldn¡¯t take a joke. Then he bounded out of the room again, pulling something out of his pants pockets as he did. Mila smiled, and moved as quickly as she could to get dressed. Which was not very quick at all. Loud explosions shook the building as she did, and by the time she put on the pretty clogs the boy had given her the building was silent once more.

    He soon came back, offering her a hand up, and jigged to his own tune on a tin whistle as he led her out of the building. Mila was still smiling, but she was mortally tired, and hurt too badly to do more than a stumbling limp. When they got outside, it was frigid; the boy smacked his forehead and gave her first a little bow of apology and then a gigantic, luxurious fur coat from his knickers.

    ¡°Are you all right, dear?¡± said a voice from the darkness. Mila leaned on the boy for support as she put the coat on, only turning to see who had spoken when she was covered. It was an old lady, her hair white under the streetlights, dressed in a coat matching Mila¡¯s own. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I only got into the country a few hours ago, my darling. Peer and I would have been here sooner if we could. Oh, your face!¡± Her voice was still cheerful under the veneer of concern, and Mila noted she spoke Russian with a strong German accent.

    ¡°That is Peer Pfeffernusse, then?¡± She said it mostly to be friendly and make conversation, since she had no real doubts on the matter. She was familiar with all the oprichniki, including those from old Warsaw Pact satellites.

    The boy made a deeper bow by way of reply, then dissolved into a flock of chirping bluebirds, who flew off in every direction. A second later his halo was gone, and Mila fell against the side of the building, clinging to brickwork to keep from slumping all the way to the ground. Irrelevantly she wondered if the birds were real birds now, or if they had simply vanished, and if they had not, whether they would start a new population in Istanbul.

    She heard footsteps, and Noorlan was beside her, taking her arm. The old lady took the other, and together they guided her to a small truck, its motor already running, the heat going full blast. With some effort they hoisted her up into the back seat. There was no sign of Aziz, and she did not ask, but ¡­ ¡°Yefimov?¡±

    ¡°Oh, he will be fine, my darling,¡± the oprichnik assured her. ¡°He only had a spot of trouble with my fellow-countryman. Eisengrave,¡± she explained, when Mila looked confused. ¡°Such a terribly serious fellow! Snowdrop was needed to divert him while I got you out. But I do not think either will defeat the other; they will only cause more damage to Istanbul until your Yefimov gets away. Such a shame!¡±

    ¡°We are being reassigned,¡± Noorlan said quietly.

    The old woman nodded. ¡°Yes, I was headed this way as soon as we got the news this morning. I am glad I was able to help you on your way. Do wish me luck!¡±

    Mila nodded, and leaned back against the headrest. She suddenly felt very dizzy. Pfeffernusse did not have the sheer power of Yefimov¡¯s Snowdrop, but he was known to be quite capable in his own way. She wondered that they did not simply sneak him into the city, so that he could feed the garrison indefinitely. Perhaps they feared everyone would get ill on a diet of pure spice-cake and chocolate?

    She was shaking again. Noorlan, who did not have a mark on him, looked at her with some concern. She frowned, and turned her face away, trying not to think of Aziz. It would not help the mission to get upset now, and she was tired. Better to rest, and process it later. To stop his fretting, she said, ¡°Where are we headed?¡±

    ¡°East,¡± Noorlan told her. ¡°In Kurdistan, we will have far more safety, and still be able to help.¡±

    Safer? Perhaps. The idea was difficult to fathom, at the moment. She let Noorlan buckle her in. There was more last-minute trouble, as they summoned Pfeffernusse back for a new pair of glasses and odd supplies. Then they were off, the old lady assuring them that she would be fine and that she would send Dear Sergei after them as as soon as he was free.

    Mila¡¯s last memory before sleep reclaimed her was of morning frost on the road out of Istanbul, glittering in the light of the rising sun.

 LII. Prodigals (Nadia)

    Doktor Soylu, Nadia¡¯s host, was on his way to retirement. He visited his clinic three days a week to advise patients on their foot problems; the rest of the time he was at home, cooking, reading, and tending his increasingly large garden. Since Nadia¡¯s first surgery was behind her, and she was doing well, the doctor had given permission for her to spend a little time out in the garden today while his family cleaned and aired out her room.

    It would not be as long a time outdoors as she would like. February was wearing on, but they were still in the mountains and so it was still quite cold even in the middle of the afternoon. Nadia sat where the ladies left her, on a little bench, bundled up in coats and hats and blankets, watching her breath turn into clouds in the air. The plants in the garden were still half-buried in snow, only a few aggressive early buds poking out, but she had a cup of hot tea, the sun was out, and she felt alive. Even the pain, which never left, did not trouble her so much as it might have.

    The house was on a slope; past the garden¡¯s ornamental iron fence she could look down and see a little town or village, still mostly asleep in the snow. No sheep on the mountain slopes, few cars on the roads. Everything was waiting to come to life. This area¡ªshe¡¯d forgotten its name¡ªwas in Free Kurdistan for the moment, but that wasn¡¯t always important. People like doctors were still allowed to move across borders at need. She¡¯d crossed over herself, with only a little fuss, three times since she woke up and began her recovery. A bit of money had changed hands, nothing more.

    The wind rattled through bare tree branches, flicking wisps of hair out from under her wool cap into her face. She resisted as long as she could the urge to push them back; it would require her to let go of her cup. But they tickled her cheeks, and in the end she compromised, lifting it up to sip and tucking the errant tendrils away with alternating hands. The tea was already starting to cool down, and soon they would take her back in to her close little cell. All the more important to enjoy the time she had.

    There were still multiple surgeries ahead of her, and no guarantee they would go well. She could accept that now. She could accept many things that she hadn¡¯t been able to before. She had gone into Tutak with anger in her heart, looking to hurt and kill, and paid the price for it¡ªwas still paying the price now, for that matter. The whole center of her body was still an angry tangle of twisted pain, the antibiotics made her queasy, and she could hardly move unassisted. All part of the cross she had built for herself with her own carelessness and pride. Now she was on that cross, but people didn¡¯t stay on crosses forever. It was never too late to learn from her suffering.

    The sound of a car engine disturbed the winter silence. The noise came from behind Nadia, towards the front of the house; somebody was coming to visit. She couldn¡¯t think who. They had a good store of medical supplies laid up for her, and the hospital staff who helped her move around were already present. Perhaps it was only people coming to talk with the doctor. As long it wasn¡¯t more soldiers trying to pester her for help, Nadia didn¡¯t care. She¡¯d already told them she wasn¡¯t going to consider any military activity until she could at least walk a bit without assistance. That should have gone without saying ¡­

    The car pulled up, and she heard argument. The visitors, whoever they were, spoke halting Turkish with a worse accent than hers. And not a Russian accent, either. Bother. She¡¯d been expecting this, but not so soon. Even so, she still had some tea, and a little bit of time. It was not in anyone else¡¯s power to deny her the smallest piece of happiness she chose to claim.

    The visitors won out, as she knew they would, and she heard a ruckus as they made their way into the house, then through it, and the door opened behind her. Nadia didn¡¯t look around; that would hurt too much. She waited, looking at a little dry-stick shrub with a few of last year¡¯s leaves still hanging off it, until one of the intruders came around the back of her bench and she could look up without straining herself.

    It was a woman, on the young side¡ªa black woman, even, which surprised her. Full-lipped and round-cheeked, not as dark as some people she had seen in magazines but still obviously out of place in the middle of Anatolia. Her hair was neck-length and frizzy under a wool cap much like Nadia¡¯s own. She had one hand on the back of Nadia¡¯s bench, looking down with a hesitant smile and not saying anything at all.

    ¡°Hello, Beelzebub,¡± Nadia said at last, when it was clear that there had to be a conversation, and that she was expected to start it.

    ¡°My actual name is Keisha,¡± the stranger said, a little bashful. Apologetic, even. Her voice was deep for a woman¡¯s, but nothing like the neutral male voice of the fly. And her accent was just strange¡ªbroad, earthy, almost comical. ¡°You can call me Keisha, if you like.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to call you anything.¡±

    ¡°I did call first. Multiple times. When you ate every bug I sent as soon as it talked, that didn¡¯t leave me much choice but to come in person. It was past time for us to meet up for real.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why. I have nothing to say to you, whatever your name is. Hold on.¡± She called ¨¦zarine, just long enough for the familiar to adjust her in her chair a little bit. ¡°So say what you want, then leave. I was enjoying the fresh air, until you got here,¡± she said, just before dismissing the familiar.

    ¡°We have a lot to discuss,¡± Beelzebub informed her, unruffled. ¡°Starting with this.¡± She passed Nadia a sheet of paper with a photograph printed onto it. It was the upper half of a man lying on his back on bare concrete, with clear gunshot wounds to his chest. The light was harsh, but good, and his face was turned to face the camera. ¡°Do you recognize this man?¡±

    Nadia frowned at the image. ¡°It looks like Aziz. One of the Russian agents who controlled us. When did he die?¡±

    ¡°Early yesterday morning, in a raid outside Istanbul. At least one other person got away, I¡¯m told. A woman.¡±

    Mila, maybe. Nadia found she didn¡¯t much care. ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°What else?¡±

    Beelzebub bit her lip. ¡°There¡¯s no use putting it off. I¡¯m afraid I have to tell you that Hamza died the day after your departure from Ankara. Aziz and his allies informed the authorities of his presence, and he was shot by local law enforcement, then killed by a Turkish familiar.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Nadia said, still looking up at the woman.

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t have much reason to believe me, and I know you don¡¯t want to. I can¡¯t make you believe. All I can do is tell you the truth. I saw it happen.¡±

    ¡°You saw it. But you didn¡¯t stop it. Yes, that¡¯s very believable. It sounds just like you.¡± She turned her face back to her tea, took a sip. Her eyes stung a little in the cold, and belatedly she remembered to put up her wall. It was easy, by now. ¡°I know I might be the last of the Marshalls left alive, no matter what you saw, or say you saw. This country is very dangerous, and we do dangerous work. I would be sorry to know that Hamza is gone, or Yuri, or anyone else. But I would not be surprised.¡± The words caught ever so slightly in her throat, but she did a good job forcing them through anyway.

    ¡°What about Fatima?¡±

    ¡°Is there anything else you wanted?¡± she asked, abruptly in a louder voice. Fatima was none of this woman¡¯s business. ¡°You¡¯re wasting my outside time.¡±

    Beelzebub took the hint. ¡°There are only a few more things we have to discuss. I might as well get to the important one: what do you intend to do, when you get better?¡±

    ¡°If I get better, I will do what I have been doing: I will use the power I have been given to protect any innocent people around me who need protecting. I have no plan to take sides in your stupid war. Not your side, not Russia¡¯s.¡±

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°But you¡¯ve already chosen sides, Nadia. Just by being here in Kurdistan, you¡¯ve taken the Russian side of the conflict. Even before they escalated hostilities, Russia was channeling a lot of money and weaponry to Kurdish separatists. There¡¯s no way they don¡¯t know you¡¯re here; if they haven¡¯t bothered you, it¡¯s probably because you¡¯re doing what they¡¯d want you to already. Are you okay with that?¡±

    Nadia tilted her head enough for Beelzebub to see her smirk. This chat wasn¡¯t totally useless; they¡¯d never have let her stay out this long if she didn¡¯t have company they were scared of interrupting. The cold air felt so clean and sweet, after the musty indoors! ¡°They can believe I¡¯m helping them if they want, right up until I do something they don¡¯t like. I¡¯m not going to betray these people who took me in, and help you launch more helicopter attacks against Kurdish peasants, just so I can tell myself I¡¯m on the ¡®right side.¡¯ That would be stupid.¡±

    ¡°But you do accept, don¡¯t you, that if you¡¯re going to be trying to interfere in this war, that we are going to have something to say to you about it?¡±

    ¡°¡¯We¡¯ meaning the large countries which are also interfering, if not outright causing it? Yes. Of course you are. And now you are going to threaten me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to make threats. I¡¯ve only ever wanted to see you free and safe. But I do have to be honest. I¡¯m just one woman, and if they order me to end your life ¡­ well, I really don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to do about that.¡±

    ¡°Mil-zebub,¡± Nadia said with a smile.

    ¡°Pardon me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just like Mila, aren¡¯t you? It¡¯s your job to pretend to be my friend, like a big sister talking sense, and I¡¯ll be so happy and grateful I do whatever you want. Except their Mila is actually pretty good at what she does. You¡¯re terrible at it. They should fire you.¡±

    At that the woman came around the bench so she could look at Nadia more directly. ¡°Are you trying to make me angry so I¡¯ll go away?¡±

    ¡°No. Only telling the truth as I see it.¡± But that reminded her of something. ¡°That thing you taught me to do. Putting up my wall. It¡¯s basically just me starting to call ¨¦zarine, isn¡¯t it? Like turning a car¡¯s key halfway. The engine doesn¡¯t turn on, but there¡¯s power inside the car.¡±

    The woman blinked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard it put that way, but it¡¯s a very clever analogy.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nadia said, and left it at that. She¡¯d had ¨¦zarine out earlier, and been rude on purpose, and this woman hadn¡¯t acted at all irritated while standing barely a foot away. Now she had confirmation from the woman herself: unless there was something else Nadia hadn¡¯t been told about, Beelzebub was an emissor as well. It was a useful thing to know.

    ¡°I¡¯d ask if I could sit down,¡± Beelzebub went on after a moment of silence, ¡°but we both know you¡¯d refuse.¡± She went down on one knee in the snow instead, so that they were more or less at eye level. The woman was tall. ¡°Let¡¯s be honest: my government understands Turkey won¡¯t be going back exactly the way it was, and we can accept that you and the other Marshalls have a role to play. We understand that some bad, uh, some bad things went down here, and you do have a right to be angry about it.¡±

    ¡°So nice of you to give me permission,¡± Nadia said.

    Beelzebub ignored the interruption. ¡°At the same time, you¡¯re a teenage girl, Nadia. The simple fact that you have an emissant does not make you a legitimate actor on the international stage.¡± She put up a hand before Nadia could interrupt. ¡°And by ¡®legitimate¡¯ I mean that the community of nations, run by men and women who¡¯ve spent decades trying to find a way to get along and get by, aren¡¯t going to think that you have a right to do whatever the hell you want. And if they get sufficiently angry, you really can¡¯t stop them from killing you. Regardless of how you feel about me, or Mila, or whoever, can you understand their perspective?¡±

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Nadia said. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean I think they¡¯re right. I have my own duty, to God and my conscience. That doesn¡¯t change because of the opinions of some men in suits, men who order murder and pay for it but never get their own hands dirty.¡±

    ¡°If you keep looking at it that way, and acting the way you¡¯ve been acting, you will get yourself killed shortly,¡± Beelzebub told her. ¡°And then things will go on how they were going to go anyway. Is that what you want?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡±

    ¡°Then work with me here, girl! Yes, we were wrong to employ Titus! Yes, the Turkish army was wrong to attack civilians! There, I said it. What else do you want?¡±

    ¡°What do I want?¡± She set down her cold mug so she could count off on her fingers. ¡°I want very many things, and I can¡¯t have any of them. I want to live a normal life, but nobody will let me. I want to go home, but I have no home left. I want to have my family back, but they are probably dead and it might be your doing. Oh, and I also want to walk again, and go to the bathroom without three helpers. I might actually get part of that one, if the surgeries go well, but I could also simply die of infection. Don¡¯t interrupt, I¡¯m not finished!

    ¡°I want to go back to church, and give an honest confession, and be human again, but ¨¦zarine is stuck to my soul now and I can¡¯t shake her off and I can¡¯t honestly repent for half the things that I do because the same evil thing that drove me on is trapped inside me and I don¡¯t even feel shame about most of the people I killed anymore. I¡¯m just angry. I¡¯m angry, all the time, about everything, and it¡¯s only going to get worse. So I let myself be angry, as long as I am doing something helpful with it, and hope that God will understand even if nobody else does.

    ¡°There. Those are Nadia¡¯s Problems. That¡¯s the short list. Fix it for me, why don¡¯t you, if you¡¯re so helpful? Then we can talk about your international politics.¡±

    Beelzebub, as she¡¯d hoped, was speechless. No criticisms, complaints, deflections, or snide remarks. Plain silence, and a shocked expression. Tears, even, brimming around the edges of her eyes. Good. Let her be the one to cry, for once, even if it was probably all an act. Nadia didn¡¯t enjoy it as much as she might have, because her chest was hurting now as well as her abdomen, and her eyes stung again. She concentrated harder on her wall. It didn¡¯t help; if anything, it made the feeling worse.

    Someone close behind Nadia¡¯s back, a man, cleared his throat. Nadia jumped, then winced at the twinge in her belly; she hadn¡¯t realized anyone was back there. She knew better than to try and turn around to look. ¡°I think maybe it¡¯s time now, Chief,¡± said a growly American voice.

    Beelzebub bit her lip, and nodded, then pushed herself back to her feet. Receding footsteps sounded behind her, then a door opening, and the male voice muttered something she couldn¡¯t catch. Time for what? For them to go? She sure wasn¡¯t going to keep them¡ª

    More footsteps, multiple people now. In spite of everything she¡¯d learned she started to twist around, hissed and fell back panting and clutching her middle. Oh, how she hated this! A hand came down on her shoulder from behind, and she slapped it away. ¡°Whoa! Easy there, sister!¡± a female voice said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your pity,¡± Nadia gritted back, still focused on her innards.

    ¡°Hey, I was just thinking I could help you out a little.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about¡ª¡° She stopped her mouth, her body, and very nearly her mind all at once as she recognized the voice, and the familiar, horrible, but very welcome smell of tobacco that came with it. Slowly, very carefully, she sat upright and tilted her head back, so that she wouldn¡¯t twist or move her hips at all.

    A girl¡¯s face, light brown and upside down, everything around it swaddled in black hijab. A few acne scars, a slight smile. It was hard to read that smile, upside down. It could be hard to read her smiles the right way up, too. She was a hard person to read. And rude, and foulmouthed, and bad-tempered, selfish, dishonest, lazy, flippant ¡­

    ¡°Hey, girl. Been a while. I gotta say, you don¡¯t look so great.¡±

    Nadia stared up into the smiling brown eyes. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, for some reason. The smile faded, and she said something else, something Nadia didn¡¯t catch because it had become vitally important for her to reach up, as best she could, and run her hands over her face, her scarf, her hands, everything she could reach, and know that she was real and alive.

    Nadia was laughing now, and she couldn¡¯t say why. She was laughing too hard, and it hurt. She kept laughing, because she couldn¡¯t stop, and the world was blurred with tears and the wind was biting at her face and the entire moment was magnificently, perfectly, absolutely real. Then Fatima was on the bench beside her¡ªshe didn¡¯t see it happen, time moved in great blurry lumps¡ªand squeezing her too hard and in the wrong places, so it hurt, and Nadia gave a little scream, and Fatima jumped like she had touched a hot iron, and it was so funny that Nadia laughed and hurt herself some more, but all the while she felt that a great weight had come off her, with forty years of age and pain and care, because her sister had been dead and was alive again, was lost and now was found.

 LIII. All the Kingdoms of the World (Keisha)

    Keisha retreated from the garden to join Hamp in the shade of the house, where there was less wind, less snow-glare, and a lower risk of being deafened by the shrieks of excited teenage girls. And to give them privacy, she supposed, and herself a little time to think.

    ¡°Bet you feel like a hero right about now,¡± Hamp muttered, hugging himself to hold in body heat.

    She shook her head. ¡°Honestly, more like a phony, if you want to know.¡± The two girls were catching up now, with Nadia babbling questions and Fatima doing a really ineffectual job of papering on her usual too-cool-for-school attitude over her replies. ¡°I mean, yeah, she¡¯s feeling happy, and I¡¯m glad I finally managed that, but ¡­¡±

    ¡°But what? The kid was living in a world of shit, you heard her. You added some sunshine. Take credit, why don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Hamp, you know I didn¡¯t do anything that wouldn¡¯t have happened in a week anyway.¡± It was a calculated risk, reuniting the sisters, but not that much of a risk. The local remnants of the Turkish army had all the opsec of a small-town newspaper¡¯s gossip column, and Fatima had been halfway through building her own intel network when they found her. All they¡¯d done here was move the timetable forward to reunite the family while they could still claim credit for it.

    ¡°You ever spend a week not knowing if somebody you care about is dead or alive? That¡¯s not nothing. Or are you feeling sour because this happens to be operationally useful?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s that, too,¡± she admitted. ¡°The poor girl¡¯s been manipulated for years. I wish I didn¡¯t have to do the same thing. And don¡¯t tell me we¡¯re trying to get her on our side to help her, even to save her life. I know that. I¡¯m not claiming this makes sense. It¡¯s just how I feel.¡±

    ¡°If being this manipulative is all it takes to make you guilty, you need to get out of the Numenate fast,¡± Hamp said. ¡°Switch over to leading Girl Scouts.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t considered it.¡±

    Now the initial excitement had passed, and the two girls were sitting in awkward silence. As if they¡¯d just remembered how they¡¯d come to be apart in the first place. Fatima made a brave attempt to break the ice again with some kind of flippant remark; Nadia smiled, but said nothing back. ¡°And another thing,¡± Hamp groused in her ear. ¡°Why¡¯d you wait so long to spring the surprise, anyway? You show her the picture, you tell her about the kid, then you stand around in thirty-degree weather arguing for ten minutes. What was all that about?¡±

    Keisha shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Same reason, I guess. I wanted to give myself one last shot at winning honestly.¡±

    ¡°Hah. You honestly thought you had a prayer of convincing an angry twelve-year-old to take your side by using facts and logic. That¡¯s cute.¡±

    ¡°I do wonder what will happen when Ruslan gets added to the mix,¡± she said, mostly to change the subject. ¡°We can¡¯t put that off much longer now.¡±

    ¡°What are you worrying for? He can save the kid¡¯s life. And we¡¯ll still look good for bringing them together, even if he is an annoying little wimp.¡± Hamp had spent more time with Ruslan than he cared for. She didn¡¯t see what his problem was, since the boy mostly kept to himself.

    The door opened behind them, and the old man came out in a hurry, escorted by the two nurses or whatever they were. They traveled in a tight pack for protection, gave Hamp and Keisha plenty of space, and ignored Fatima completely as they descended on Nadia, insisting in Turkish that she had to go in right now. She argued back, but in a pleading way, and her cheeks were bright red with the cold. She didn¡¯t take long to give up and let them haul her back indoors.

    Fatima followed them closely; Keisha stayed behind to make sure Hamp made it in. ¡°So, how do you think the old guy fits in? He doesn¡¯t act like he normally lives here, or like any kind of medical expert. Not while I was observing him, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t speak a word of English, either,¡± Hamp added with a grunt of exertion. He was very gradually getting back some mobility from whatever Yunks had done to his nerves, but it was a slow process, and the cold wasn¡¯t his friend. ¡°Some random friend she made along the way, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Quite a friend,¡± was all she had to say to that.

    The caretaker girls scowled in their direction as they shuffled inside. They had Nadia sitting up in a chair in the living room, away from her usual den in the doctor¡¯s study. Fatima had made herself at home in the adjacent kitchen, draining the coffee-pot and setting it down. The old man waited till her back was turned, then scuttled in behind her to snatch it up and start a fresh batch brewing. He gave them all an ugly look too, and grumbled under his breath.

    Fatima didn¡¯t seem to notice him, though she did turn around to look at Keisha as she entered. ¡°Hey, Bob. How long till we can get Rus in here? My girl needs a patch job, and the local talent ain¡¯t cutting it.¡±

    ¡°The local talent is enough,¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Fatima said. ¡°I¡¯m not saying they don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing, but c¡¯mon, you can¡¯t even walk, and this isn¡¯t a clinic, it¡¯s some dude¡¯s house! We can do way better than this.¡±

    Nadia looked up to study her sister for a moment, said, ¡°I know that. But I don¡¯t want Ruslan to heal me.¡±

    ¡°Say what?¡±

    ¡°I said, ¡®I don¡¯t want¡ª¡®¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I heard you, I just don¡¯t believe it. Are you out of your mind, sister? I¡¯m not trying to be rude here, but you look like hell. You could die.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know that,¡± Nadia said. She sounded like she was struggling to keep her voice calm.

    ¡°So ¡­ what? You want to die? Help me out here. I don¡¯t get it.¡±

    ¡°No, Fatima. I do not want to die. But I am trying to learn from my mistakes. I know how I got here, how I wound up like this. And I understand why this has happened now. I¡¯m not going to go back to the way we used to live.¡±

    Fatima threw up her hands. ¡°The hell you talking about?¡±

    ¡°You know Kizil Khan does not only heal. For every life he saves, he must take another. If I take healing from him¡ªthe kind of healing I would need to walk again¡ªI am condemning another person to death. My life is not worth making someone else pay that price.¡±

    Fatima opened and shut her mouth in silence several times before she managed to say, ¡°You¡¯re out of your mind.¡± She turned to Keisha again. ¡°Bob, what do you think about this?¡±

    ¡°I think Nadia has the right to make up her own mind,¡± she said, holding back a smile. It was easier, knowing what she knew, for her to stay cool about the situation. And (though she still hated to be so cynical) it really would work out better for them if Nadia was indebted to someone outside the Marshall family for her recovery.

    ¡°Get real! She¡¯s just a little kid, she¡¯s twelve¡ª¡°

    ¡°And you¡¯re fourteen!¡± Nadia objected. ¡°Two years makes you a grownup? Less than two years. My birthday is next month.¡±

    ¡°¡ªand she¡¯s been through a lot, and she¡¯s not thinking straight. You can¡¯t let her straight-up risk her life for this crazy-ass bullshit.¡±

    ¡°The two of you have risked your lives for a lot of things before,¡± Keisha told her. ¡°At least the principles behind this are better.¡±

    Fatima¡¯s eyes narrowed, and she spun back around. ¡°Nadia, girl, don¡¯t listen to her. She¡¯s playing us, trying to split us up so she can control us better.¡±

    ¡°I have made up my own mind,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Whatever Beelzebub is trying to do, that¡¯s her business. Kizil Khan is ¡­ polluted. Unclean. Evil. I will not kill to save myself.¡±

    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t have to be someone innocent,¡± Fatima objected. ¡°We kill enemy soldiers all the time, in self-defense. Hell, we kill dogs, or rats! Sometimes he doesn¡¯t even kill, he just makes them a little sicker.¡±

    ¡°Life and death are not a matter of arithmetic. I am paying for my sins already. I¡¯m not going to dig the hole any deeper. I will not accept any amount of healing from Kizil Khan, or forgive you if you do it without my consent. My soul is worth more to me than my body.¡±

    ¡°So what, do you think you¡¯re getting messages from God now? You know his plan for everything? That¡¯s going too far even for kafir. You really have gone crazy, honey.¡±

    This seemed like a good moment for Keisha to intervene. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be a choice between the limited assistance available here and using Kizil Khan,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, Nadia, that we have medical resources of our own. At the very least, we could arrange to transport in specialists, or tools and medicines that might not be available here.¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Fatima looked mulish, but said nothing, her eyes darting back and forth between her and Nadia, waiting for her sister¡¯s answer. Keisha could see the gears turning in her head, making calculations, judging probabilities. Planning for contingencies. The little warlord at work.

    Nadia didn¡¯t seem to notice. She bit her lip, and looked down at her legs, considering. ¡°I am grateful that you returned my sister to me,¡± she said, ¡°and you might be sincere about this. I don¡¯t know. But I don¡¯t want to take the easy path. Too much of my life has gone wrong already, because I did what seemed safe and easy. It¡¯s too tempting. I would rather be true to myself, than be healthy, and find myself in another cage, doing greater and greater evil for a government which trades me favor for favor. The easy road comes at too high a cost.¡±

    ¡°You mean you¡¯re too good for the kind of dirty work I do,¡± Fatima said, arms crossed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not my place to judge you, Fatima. I have to choose for myself. This is what I choose.¡± She looked at Keisha. ¡°Do I get a choice, though?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not practical for us to force you to do anything, you know that.¡± Here it was. The big pitch. ¡°But we had something a little different in mind for the two of you. I only ask you to hear me out while I explain it. Fatima has already agreed. Provisionally.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she agreed, leaning against the counter. ¡°Provisionally. So I might take it back.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Keisha said. ¡°Nadia, my government isn¡¯t blind to the reality on the ground. We¡¯ve accepted that Turkey has fractured, and putting it back together, at this juncture, would involve a very long and bloody act of repression that might not even succeed. But letting it fall apart into a cluster of violently competing microstates isn¡¯t desirable either.¡±

    ¡°Desirable,¡± Nadia echoed. ¡°Who gave you the right decide how it was ¡®desirable¡¯ for strangers to live?¡±

    ¡°Countries have interests in the way other countries govern themselves. Problems inside one country¡¯s borders have a way of spilling over and affecting their neighbors. That¡¯s just reality, and I¡¯m trying to be honest with you. We have power, and it¡¯s not okay for us to refuse to use that power to stop violence, and dress that non-action up as some kind of moral purity.¡±

    Nadia looked disconcerted, then disgusted; bad choice of words? Better to move on. ¡°We don¡¯t propose to have you act like oprichniki on our behalf. You wouldn¡¯t do it, and we don¡¯t want that. Basically, what we want is for you to do much the same thing you, Nadia, have been doing, but in a more measured, considered and deliberate way.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by that? Who would get to decide whether my decisions are ¡®deliberate¡¯ enough? You?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I would be willing to advise. But I really do mean ¡®advise,¡¯ not ¡®decide.¡¯ I don¡¯t want you getting shot again, but I wouldn¡¯t intervene unless you started committing atrocities, or sided with the Russians. Your value to us is that you¡¯re basically unaligned. You, Fatima, and Ruslan have no reason to side with us or our enemies, and you have no strong local interests in Turkey or Kurdistan. You seem to be motivated by ordinary young adult altruism.¡± Or cold-blooded calculation, or sheer adolescent male horniness. Nadia was altruistic, anyway. ¡°In essence, you could form a buffer state. An island of calm in the storm, and potentially the nucleus of a new, stable regime.¡±

    ¡°A new, stable regime ruled by teenagers?¡± Nadia laughed, then winced and clutched at her abdomen. ¡°You really are Beelzebub. You take me to the top of the mountain, offer me the power to rule everything. But you don¡¯t mean it, and it¡¯s not yours to give. It never will be.¡±

    God. This was like talking down a cranky toddler who had her hand on the pin to a grenade. ¡°Again: I¡¯m not really proposing that you change much about what you¡¯re doing, Nadia. The Turkish army is unreliable, fragmented, and increasingly corrupt. The Kurdish authorities here are in the Russian pocket. Our own assets are spread very thin, fighting in Istanbul and throughout the world. It¡¯s easy to forget that all this is only one hot-spot, at one moment, in a worldwide, on and off fight between superpowers. We have people on every continent at this moment, engaged in offensive or defensive paraphysical operations.¡± Mostly offensive, if you really looked at it. Effective defense was too expensive and labor-intensive to be practical for more than a few vital hardened locations, with the current weapons of war. But Nadia didn¡¯t need to hear all that.

    ¡°If you can just be a peacemaker¡ªa competent, reliable peacemaker who doesn¡¯t get herself shot every week¡ªon the front lines, stopping further massacres and not permitting troop movements through her turf ¡­ that¡¯s good enough for my superiors.¡± After a week of pleading, and mostly because General Green had other priorities.

    ¡°Our real boss would be the Emir of Diyarbakir,¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°And who is that?¡± asked Nadia suspiciously.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Could be him,¡± she said, pointing to the old man, who just about dropped the cup of fresh coffee he was pouring in surprise. ¡°He¡¯d probably clean up well for a photo-op, if you put a spiffy hat on him, some robes and shit ¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not in a mood for jokes, Fatima.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s joking? There is no Emir of Diyarbakir. But Rus and I have been setting up shop for him for days now. Bob there¡¯s given us a little hand with logistics. You could join in. Even if we have to move you around in a wheelchair for a while. I¡¯m not going to ask Rus to heal you if you don¡¯t want it.¡± She rolled her eyes a little on the last sentence.

    ¡°I know how this is going to go,¡± Nadia said, looking back at Keisha. ¡°I say yes, and the next thing I know you are asking me to look the other way while you send your men through my territory to do heaven knows what.¡±

    ¡°We could do all that now, Nadia, with or without your permission, if we had men to spare. We really don¡¯t, though. And if you¡¯ll forgive my saying so, at the rate you¡¯re going, you won¡¯t be around much longer to help or hurt us.¡±

    The old man said something to Nadia in Turkish; she answered in the same language, and they were off in an extended conversation she couldn¡¯t fathom. She hadn¡¯t had the time to learn more than basic guide-book lingo yet, and only caught the odd word or two. The old Turk gestured in their direction more than once. When they were finished, Nadia looked slightly happier.

    ¡°These people are my friends, and Fatima is my sister¡ªno matter how crazy she calls me. I intend to help them. If you want to help me help them, I will accept that help. If you want to talk to me, I will listen. But I will not take any of your orders, and if you try to hurt any of my people, I will hurt you back. Do you understand me?¡±

    Any of my people. So possessive. She was more like her sister than she thought. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. I think we can leave it at that, for today. We¡¯ve intruded on you enough, and you need your rest. Would you rather we left Fatima with you, for a little while, or should we take her back with us?¡±

    Nadia was taken aback, but said, ¡°I would appreciate more time with her, if she is willing. Goodbye ¡­ what was your name, again?¡±

    ¡°Keisha. Keisha Graham, United States Numenate.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye then, Ms. Keisha.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye,¡± she said, and took Hamp¡¯s arm to lead him out the door.

    ¡°That went surprisingly well,¡± he muttered in her ear as they made their way back to the car. ¡°It¡¯s about damn time something did.¡±

    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t it? We¡¯re giving her everything she wants. She couldn¡¯t figure out how to refuse us without looking ridiculous. What was she going to do instead: jump us, go back to Russia for spite, or declare war on America on her lonesome?¡±

    They half-turned at the sound of footsteps one the drive behind them. It was Fatima, of course, with her hands on her hips. ¡°Hey. Bobby, Hamster. We need to get some shit straight before you go.¡±

    ¡°What can we do for you?¡± Hamp said. It worked better to have him deal with her; he found her funny, for some reason, while she tended to piss Keisha off.

    ¡°I know what you were trying to do, back there. Driving a wedge between us. I¡¯m wise to your shit, and I¡¯m warning you now, it¡¯s not cool. I¡¯m not going to put up with it, you dig?¡±

    ¡°Acknowledged. We¡¯ll try to be more circumspect in the future. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m giving you some time with Rus alone. You¡¯re not going to try and talk him over, are you?¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it. We don¡¯t have anything to offer him anyway. We¡¯re not his family, you are.¡±

    ¡°Damn right.¡± She paused, as if abruptly realizing she¡¯d run out of things to say. Maybe she¡¯d been counting on an argument. ¡°I¡¯m willing to play along, and I think I can talk some sense into Nadia if you give me some time. But I¡¯m still my papi¡¯s girl. If you fuck us, I will burn you so bad you leave a crater, and I won¡¯t feel bad about it when I¡¯m done.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re here to end a war,¡± Hamp told her, ¡°not to start one.¡±

    Fatima gave them both a long, purse-lipped glower. The effect, if there was one, was ruined when she started shivering; she¡¯d taken off her coat inside the house, then neglected to put it back on before she chased them outside. ¡°We¡¯re cool, then,¡± she said, and made an urgent retreat.

    Hamp was diplomatic and cautious. He waited until they were back in the car and driving away before he burst out laughing.

 LIV. Sowing and Reaping (Fatima)

    The wind came howling over the water, rattling the walls of the tent. Fatima shivered, and tried to elbow her way in closer to the heater, only to have the older women shove her back again. They were packed in tight, and there were three heaters, but Tatvan could drop to near zero after nightfall. When they first got in here, everyone had been all nice and sweet, and even squeezed aside to let Fatima in since she was one of the younger ones, even if she was a foreigner. But that was hours ago now, and fear and discomfort had brought out everybody¡¯s inner selfish bitch. Even the local teenagers were getting left out in the cold now.

    Which left Fatima with nothing to do but shiver close to the flapping white walls, and curse Bob and Rus once again for not talking her out of this stupid-ass plan.

    She could still abort at any time; all she had to do was whip out Mister Higgins and blow this tent apart, and she¡¯d be free. She might even waste a couple of Polat¡¯s hired guns on her way out, and Rus was close enough to cover her retreat. Probably the women would scatter, and most would find shelter in the city where almost everybody was Kurdish, like them. But Polat himself would be almost guaranteed to escape, and they¡¯d lose the element of surprise, which would pretty much make this night, and everything she¡¯d been through so far, a big waste of time.

    She looked around at all the frightened women and girls, all scooped up from outlying villages. None from theirs; the Amir of Diyarbakir¡¯s turf ended more than a hundred miles from Tatvan, too far for a raid to be worth bothering about. They didn¡¯t have to do this to keep credibility; it was a PR job, and reassurance for their own peasants who were freaking out about the news from their third cousins four villages over.

    Someone bumped against her; she turned and saw this big-eyed skeleton of a kid who looked even younger than Nadia, her teeth chattering like castanets. She wasn¡¯t really looking at Fatima, or anything else¡ªas far as Fatima could tell in the lousy light. Wherever her brain had gone off to, the animal part of this girl was huddling up to whatever it could to stay warm. She didn¡¯t even look old enough to call a teenager. Either she¡¯d been caught by accident, or they were planning to sell her as a wife-in-two-years, or they had a little side hustle selling to out-and-out perverts.

    Whichever it was, Fatima didn¡¯t think the people responsible for all this deserved to get away with their lives. Before this night was over, she was going to have Mister Higgins hold this Polat fool in a bubble until the air was just about out, then dump him in the cold salt lake to drown. And that was being kind.

    How long had it been, now? She hadn¡¯t brought a watch or phone, since she figured Polat¡¯s boys would frisk her and steal either one to sell. They hadn¡¯t bothered, as it turned out; all she¡¯d had to do was sneak in with this herd of human heifers as they were being run down the street into their current corral, and all these girls and women had already been checked. Two days ago they¡¯d been living in their tiny little villages spinning wool or whatever; now they were just waiting for the ferry to land so its cargo could be unloaded, then they¡¯d get shoved aboard in its place, to get sold to God-knew-who.

    What Fatima didn¡¯t get was how Binba?? Polat expected to make this work in the long run. He could shut up his old army buddies with a cut of the proceeds, and not even a big cut; they didn¡¯t give a damn what happened to random Kurds, or anything else here, as long as he kept order. And then another, bigger cut to the whatever Russian agents were bossing the local Kurd chiefs, to make up for the trouble he was causing them.

    Then money for his men, money for food and supplies, money for his fences and contacts to find him more stuff to sell, money to just throw around to look like a big man because he had an image to keep up. Between Dad¡¯s and Titus¡¯s operations, Fatima had a pretty good handle on how expensive it was to set yourself up as a warlord¡ªand the prices got a lot higher once you¡¯d pissed off all the locals by, say, snatching all their women. Nobody became muscle-for-hire so he could spend all his time watching his back for a knife. There had to be easier jobs around here than that.

    Binba?? worked out to something like ¡°major¡± in western ranks. Bob said this guy hadn¡¯t even been on anybody¡¯s radar until last week, and as far as she could tell he hadn¡¯t even been working in the guns-and-tanks end of the army. Some intelligence analyst type. Now he was trying to set up as the big boss in a decent-sized town and transport hub like Tatvan? It didn¡¯t add up. But here he was.

    She wanted this done now for the PR, yeah, and to make an example of the bastard. But if she didn¡¯t kill Polat tonight, she had a feeling somebody else would beat her to it, and Fatima wanted the credit.

    Patchy as services were, they kept electric lights shining bright by the jetty, bright enough to project the shadows of men patrolling outside against the ghost-white walls of their prison pavilion. She could see them sauntering past in heavy coats, or gathering around burn barrels. These girls weren¡¯t the only goods for sale tonight; he had shipping containers lined up and ready to slide in when the ferry showed up.

    It was a rail ferry, used to connect Ankara to Tehran back in the days when you could actually keep a train moving through this miserable country. That was long past, but you could still slide a car or two aboard nice and easy and roll it off again on the far side. Once the ferry arrived to pick them up, all these ladies would be done with the relative luxury of this nice little tent with buckets to piss in and everything; they¡¯d be packed in like anchovies for the trip across, with no light and no heat except from their own bodies crammed together. Probably a few of them wouldn¡¯t survive the trip. Hell of a way to go.

    On the far side of the tent, someone was crying. It wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened. Fatima waited for one of the other women to shush her, like before. Nobody did. The woman¡ªthe girl?¡ªkept on wailing, and wailing, and wailing, while Fatima gritted her teeth and silently prayed to God or anybody else who would listen for a cigarette. After about a minute had passed and a few other women took up the cry the men outside got pissed and started shouting at them. It sounded like cussing.

    But they kept on crying and moaning, and it spread till girls Fatima¡¯s age were just plain screaming, and the tent flap ripped open and a couple of men came in, slapping and shoving at random to shut them up. The women jumped back from them like they were poison snakes, and Fatima was forced back until her head smacked into one of the poles holding up the walls. She gave a hard shove to win back space, and for an instant she was about ready to call Mister Higgins to end it, but she got her cool back in time and the bitches shut up and the men left the tent after a few more snarls. A bit of falling snow swirled in through the closing flap, and there was silence, real dead silence.

    Then there was noise again, the distant sound of a motor throbbing in the distance. Coming from across the water. A few whimpers inside the tent, whispers and prayers in a language Fatima didn¡¯t understand. She didn¡¯t whimper; she was relieved. Action at last. She shoved and sidled her way up to the tent-flap so she could peer out.

    There were a couple of inches of snow on the ground, lit blinding white by the portable floodlights, and the headlights of cars pulling up now that the wait was over. One would be Polat; word was he always showed up to watch the swap, to make sure nobody snitched. The cargo was different every time. A little bit would always be drugs, and there were usually guns, but the rest could be counterfeit designer clothes and handbags, jewelry, booze, a car or two, maybe little stuff like drums of gas to fill in around the edges. Some looted, some ¡°honestly¡± traded.

    And tonight, for the first time, he¡¯d branched out to moving Kurd girls. Why not? He could get them basically for free, and get rid of unwanted non-Turks at the same time. The moron ¡­

    Fatima ducked back just in time to avoid being hit in the face as the men came back, first shouting for the women to move, then shouting and dragging when they didn¡¯t, encouraging the slow ones with casual slaps on the ass. She caught a glimpse of a few faces as they passed; they looked like they¡¯d gone stupid with fear, didn¡¯t even see where they were going.

    She hung back as long as she could, so she could be last out and get a clear field of fire. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a lot of competition for the ¡°last out¡± title, and one of the assholes saw her ducking back, reached in and yanked her out by the arm. He damn near dislocated her shoulder pulling her through the press of people, and threw her clear so roughly that she fell and planted her face in the snow.

    She got up calling him a bunch of things in a bunch of languages he didn¡¯t understand, but he got the message anyway. He raised an eyebrow underneath his black wool cap, looked around at his buddies with a smirk. Then he tossed his head: get in line with the other bitches. When she stood her ground, he reached into his coat and drew out a folding knife, added a few words in Turkish. Probably telling her what he could do to her with it without hurting her sale value too much.

    The women were still getting hustled out of the tent, half-thrown in some cases. A couple had broken down crying again, and were being passed along just the same. Fatima glanced around, saw a few more men standing around holding guns. Two were caught up in a conversation at the far end of a shipping container; three others were watching the girls get shoved around from a distance. Fatima caught the eye of one of them, a kid about Ruslan¡¯s age but skinny, holding an old M1 Garand. He looked away in a hurry.

    The asshole grabbed her by the arm again, shouting in her face, and without even thinking about it she swung her knee right up into his balls, then backhanded him in the face as he staggered. He dropped the knife, but recovered right away and swung at her hard. She bobbed back, then stepped away and ducked as he swung again. He was too mad to think straight, and he wasn¡¯t thinking like a fighter, just looking to teach this little slut her place. Sloppy punk. Still, he was twice her weight, and she wasn¡¯t packing. Polat might or might not be in one of the cars, but her time was up.

    The keystone sequence shot right out of her, probably because she¡¯d been thinking about just walking away from this crap for at least the last hour. Mister Higgins came out fighting, belching bubbles every damn which way. Her buddy who thought he was Rocky got the first trip on the compression express, naturally, followed by a couple of his friends. Squish, crunch, pop, and there was a pulpy red sign on the snow for anybody who came to look at the aftermath: Mister Higgins was here. And also some woman-beating, slave-trading jerkoffs, but good luck figuring out who was who now. They didn¡¯t deserve to be remembered.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Fatima would have liked to stay and watch it all happen, but she wasn¡¯t a total idiot, so she was off and running the second her familiar showed his ugly face. She had to be content with the shadowy feedback in her mind, while she scrambled to hide in the clump of women. Unfortunately the women weren¡¯t staying in one place, just scattering in all directions like the bubbles. That was the trouble with his halo. Running into each other, bouncing off guards¡ªa hell of a mess. Fatima lost a lot of bandwidth making the bubbles bouncy instead of lethal whenever a woman ran into them, bandwidth she couldn¡¯t really spare. She was trying to keep her minion from squishing a pair of girls when a panicking woman knocked her flat.

    The next thirty seconds were a nightmare of shoving, tripping, screaming, and shooting, as half the guards opened up with their guns and the other half bolted. Fatima gave up trying to control anything, set all the bubbles to bounce, and focused completely on getting her ass under cover before a ricochet went through her skull. In the end she crawled through bloody snow for five yards just to crouch on the far side of the tent and wish it was made of kevlar. Not exactly her proudest moment.

    Once she wasn¡¯t at risk of being trampled she took a moment to breathe, then glanced over at the entrance. The cars were struggling to back out of the area, but it looked like the last fool to come in had come in an automatic, and blocked off the exit nicely. Great job, jackass! Fatima would be sure to send his widow a box of thank-you chocolates, assuming she had time to loot some from the containers here. Meanwhile, she kept the bubbles flying, and pretty soon she had the entrance blocked a bit more permanently. She found the bozos with the spastic trigger fingers too, turned them to more red paste.

    And that was it. Silence. Sweet, clean, silence.

    The ferry was dead in the water less than fifty feet from the shore, and starting to drift. It¡¯d probably wreck eventually on its own, but just to be safe she tossed a few greetings from Mister Higgins that way. The first couple burst on the back gate until it dropped open, and a half-dozen more blew up inside the cargo compartment, bam-bam-bam. The whole top half of the thing blew apart, and the rear end started to droop. The men had already abandoned ship, probably to die in freezing salt water. The wrecked ferry would clog the approach for any future traffic on the dock, shutting down this little swap meet for good. If they tried starting it up again somewhere else, she¡¯d smash that one up too. They¡¯d run out of men and boats eventually; Mister Higgins wasn¡¯t going to run out of bubbles.

    One of the burn barrels had been knocked over, but the coals were still glowing against the steaming snow. Fatima tiptoed over to catch some of the heat before it died. The surviving guards were long gone, taking the hint that now was a good time to find other employment. One was shot dead, and she dug through his pockets for cigs. She found a pack, but the bullet had passed right through it and the few that hadn¡¯t been shredded were soaked with blood. Dammit.

    The women were mostly gone too, after climbing over the fence around the docks. Two had been hurt too bad to move, and got left behind. One shot clean through the head, another hit in the guts multiple times and bleeding out fast. Both too far gone to help. Mister Higgin might have squished one or two in the confusion, too. This maybe could have gone better.

    Fatima hadn¡¯t had a good look at the cars as they were being crunched, but she assumed at least a couple hadn¡¯t got out in time. One of them might be Binba?? Polat, and if he hadn¡¯t died he was sure as hell going to be running scared. Could have gone better, could have gone worse. She took a look around, and spotted a few things that looked like they might be security cameras. Smashed them, smashed the lights, blew open the shipping containers for good measure, then helped herself to a fur coat and a carton of some foreign brand she couldn¡¯t make out. Probably should have waited to kill the lights. Whatever.

    Mister Higgins vanished again, and she hopped over the fence on the west side to make her way back to the rendezvous. The women would be finding shelter already, with sympathetic local families. The men? Eh. If they were lucky Rus had got up the courage to eat a few runners on their way out, to earn some credit at the Bank of Khan. If they weren¡¯t so lucky, he¡¯d eaten some of the women by mistake.

    Bob would probably be mad at her, but if Bob wanted it done better she could have done more than recon work for this. She could have shut down the whole op a lot cleaner with her VRIL, if she hadn¡¯t been so scared of tipping the American hand here. If Nadia was right, she had other tricks up her sleeve too, so any excess casualties or foulups were on her.

    Fatima was just getting ready to hop another fence when downtown Tatvan vanished, and she found herself clinging to the side of a cliff with much harder snow blowing against her face. The valley was a good two hundred feet below her feet, the crest of the mountain twice as high above, and the wind whistled past her frozen ears so loud it hurt. The safety line was still in place, and the pitons were holding, but the storm had come up sudden and Dave was gone already. Help couldn¡¯t come till the storm had passed, and it might find her frozen body glued to the mountain¡¯s side by a solid mass of ice.

    This, this here was the world: not the quiet suburb she¡¯d grown up in, not her barely-bigger college town, not the narrow highway with its neat trimmed grass shoulders, but the hard stone mountain and the biting wind. It had been here for millions of years, would still be here in another million when she was long gone, and maybe the human race with her, and the mountain wouldn¡¯t care if they were around to peck at its flanks or not.

    In an instant the wind died, and the clouds parted behind her for a lance of golden sunlight to pierce through. She turned her face the other way, and in the far distance below the milky-white glacier lit up with a blinding gleam¡ª

    Tatvan returned, and Fatima found her eyes already adjusted to the murk of a cloudy night. The wind had died down as well, replaced by a clammier kind of cold. Mist. Mist and fog, all around her, bitter cold and clinging. Something about it was familiar, though she couldn¡¯t say how. Crystalline frost gathered on her filched coat, and she drew it around her closer. There was frost on the fence too, and she spurned to put a hand on it now, for fear it would burn her fingers.

    In the distance she saw a light, a single speck of brilliant yellow like the sun. She made her way towards it, hoping it was a fire. Even if it wasn¡¯t, it would be something incredible, a light that could survive the primeval cold. She shivered, and held the least icy parts of the fur up against her face as she stumbled forward.

    It was hard to track time in the fog, but it didn¡¯t feel like long before she saw golden light reflecting off the snow under her feet, and looked up again. The little mote of warmth had grown into a huge shining star in the darkness, staring down at her out of a face of pure white bone. The jaw opened, favoring her with a smile of bristling curved tusks. He was immense, twenty feet tall at least, and all but his face covered in long, dull purplish locks of fur.

    At once she recognized him, and shrank back. ¡°Pangu,¡± she whispered. The wild god, the lord of the indifferent cosmos. She¡¯d heard about him from Bob¡ªbut only the name. She¡¯d already met him once before, during their escape from Ankara almost three weeks ago. When she had personally, with her own eyes, seen Kizil Khan rip his emissor to pieces.

 LV. The Burden of Choice (Keisha)

    Keisha had been called to make a lot of difficult calls over the years, sometimes on short notice, while working on limited information. She¡¯d gotten used to the snap decisions, for those moments when you needed to make a choice, any choice at all, and trust that it would be better than indecision paralysis. Now she wondered if that was what made it so hard to make a relatively unimportant decision, given plenty of time, with plenty of options and abundant information.

    RUSSIAN-ENGLISH BIBLE WITH COMMENTARY. RUSSIAN BIBLE WITH IMITATION LEATHER BINDING. BIBLE IN NEW RUSSIAN TRANSLATION. On and on she scrolled, occasionally popping open a new window to check if there was some particular approved translation or other issue she wasn¡¯t aware of. Inevitably she got bogged down in page after page of discussions about first-millennium heresies, and either her Russian or her theology wasn¡¯t good enough to keep up.

    What would it say, if she bought Nadia the book with the expensive binding? Would it seem more like a bribe, like some tacky thing Titus Marshall would go for? But the cheapest edition might be insulting too. A dual-language bible might or might not send a message she didn¡¯t intend about international cooperation. Nobody had found any bibles at all when they searched the old base in Thessaloniki; did the Orthodox Church in Kazakhstan not encourage bible-reading or something? She checked that too, got a bunch of pages written in Kazakh that might or might not have been relevant.

    It might have helped if Keisha had bothered to crack open a bible herself at any point in the last five years. Or gone to church. Or prayed, outside of moments when she was facing imminent death. She was sure Grandmama would have had something to say to her about that, too ¡­

    She glanced away from the screen long enough to look out the window. Still nothing. She didn¡¯t need to look out the window anyway; Ruslan was doing it for her, obsessively, every time his pacing brought him past it. Keisha¡¯s entire role in this drama was babysitting Ruslan, and keeping her magnolia up. She¡¯d taught him S.P., but he didn¡¯t have the discipline to maintain an image for long¡ªat least, not in any of the tests they¡¯d done. He¡¯d have no prayer of doing it now, with his lady-love outside in the cold and the danger where he couldn¡¯t see her.

    It would have made the situation more tolerable if they¡¯d had more space for Ruslan to pace in. Lodging was as tight here in Tatvan as anywhere else, and they¡¯d gone for the relatively deluxe option of a local family¡¯s opportunistic pop-up B&B. A couple of hundred dollars a night, American, for a ¡°private¡± room with one bed and space for sleeping bags. Another hundred in gratuity for no questions asked, and no reports to the local authorities. The actual hotels were cheaper these days, but you might get thrown in with random strangers or berthed in separate rooms to use space more efficiently. Not worth the risk, or the drama.

    A message popped up on her phone, from Hamp: ¡°Did you order a dress? One just showed up.¡±

    She smiled, texted back: ¡°Nadia¡¯s. Sewing project w/Fatima. Show her in AM. Let me know react.¡±

    A pause, then: ¡°OK. Icons too, some clothes, photos in frames. All in good shape.¡±

    ¡°TY.¡± So all her begging hadn¡¯t been totally useless; Green¡¯s staff were willing to help out. It had probably cost a good chunk of change to make all that stuff disappear from an evidence locker in Thessaloniki, then move it more than a thousand miles through war zones. Which meant somebody up the chain of command was feeling good about their prospects of success.

    Keisha wasn¡¯t. On paper, they had three emissants to use, one with a badly wounded but still technically active master. In practice, she was keeping an eye on three volatile young adults with no real aims for this war or their territory, no loyalty to the United States or any other country, and three widely disparate sets of priorities. The Emirate of Diyarbakir was a shaky, easily distracted, pubescent triumvirate.

    This night¡¯s plan would have been fine, for adult operatives. Overkill, even, with two emissors and a third for last-ditch backup, against a handful of conventional mercenaries. With Fatima and Ruslan to work with, she was hoping the sheer simplicity of the plan would save them. She¡¯d managed to talk them out of something much more ambitious and dangerous, and that was where her influence ran out.

    But Keisha knew there was a chart somewhere, outlining the chain of command: Three auxiliary assets, or however the Marshalls were defined, with her as their CO, Hamp as hers, Ethan somewhere off to one side, Dr. Gus just floating next to them with a question mark, and a line up to General Green from there. The chain of command was never designed to accommodate temperamental kids who might or might not take advice. As far as military law was concerned, she was in charge, and responsible for her subordinates.

    Keisha had been doing sketchy ops long enough to see it as a good sign that Green was still considered Hamp¡¯s direct superior for ¡°Operation Joan of Arc.¡± If they smelled disaster on the wind, that straight line would get filled in with an intermediary real quick, to pad Green¡¯s back end for a crash landing.

    Rifle fire, muted but clear, broke the peace of the snowy night outside. So much for simplicity. Ruslan raced her to the window and won, being closer; she poked her head around his to see the intermittent sparkle of distant muzzle flashes. They were a bit over a mile from the dock, to avoid Fatima¡¯s halo, but close to the shore with a decent line of sight to the little peninsula where the ferry landed. The boat itself was clearly visible by its running lights, a short distance from land.

    ¡°All right, let¡¯s go,¡± she said, before Ruslan could say anything, and possibly work himself up into a panic. If Fatima was on the ball, she¡¯d be done with the action by the time they got there, and appreciate a timely pickup. If she wasn¡¯t, she¡¯d be in deep trouble, and want reinforcements.

    Their hosts were naturally more than a little alarmed, though the gunfire had died down by the time they got down the stairs. Precious seconds were lost reassuring them that they just had to go check something out right now and their sudden departure at this exact moment was a pure coincidence. They didn¡¯t buy it, but Keisha didn¡¯t care, and in the end they just bolted for the car and let the locals think what they wanted.

    She wasn¡¯t supposed to be riding along. Not that she¡¯d been given specific, explicit orders to that effect, but she was supposed to minimize the risk that anyone would detect U.S. involvement, so that the Marshalls would just look like very skilled and canny kids acting on their own. But that would mean, in this case, letting Ruslan drive around a combat zone on his own, and she was damned if she¡¯d do that. She barely trusted this kid to put his shoes on the right feet.

    He could, at least, drive manual. Keisha kept in the backseat and crouched down, not that it would make any difference. Nobody else was crazy enough to be out walking the streets in these temperatures.

    Ruslan slammed on the brakes, bashing Keisha¡¯s head against the back of his seat. ¡°Ow! Dammit! What are you doing, child?¡±

    ¡°Look!¡± She followed his pointing hand to see something small and dark scurrying out of the glare from their headlights.

    ¡°Is that a kid?¡±

    ¡°It was a girl, my age. She just ran out on the road in front of me, like she didn¡¯t even see me! Crazy.¡±

    ¡°Crazy, or scared out of her wits.¡± Because Fatima, just as she¡¯d feared, had made a mess of this. All the women and girls she¡¯d set out to liberate were running around panicked in below-zero weather. At least she hadn¡¯t heard any more guns. ¡°Let¡¯s go pick up your sister before she causes any more chaos.¡±

    Keisha poked her head up high enough to scan the roadside for more runaway women as Ruslan drove on to the rendezvous point. They couldn¡¯t rescue a bunch of scattered trafficking victims in their one car, for multiple reasons, but depending on how bad she¡¯d messed this up Fatima herself might be running loose¡ªif she wasn¡¯t dead or dying by the ferry.

    She spotted three grown people running¡ªtwo women and a man, as best she could tell from glances in the dark¡ªover the next few minutes. One of them looked like she wasn¡¯t wearing much for the weather, but there wasn¡¯t a lot Keisha could do but hope the woman got help. Recovering Fatima took priority, and the fewer people saw them, the better.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The rendezvous point was a small school a half-mile from the ferry, about as far as they dared to put it. Keisha kept her eyes peeled the whole way, darting this way and that. ¡°We¡¯re going to give her five minutes to show up, then start driving towards the docks. Assuming nothing else happens.¡±

    ¡°But if she¡¯s been shot¡ª¡°

    ¡°We¡¯re balancing multiple hard-to-measure risks here,¡± she told him. ¡°Risk of hypothermia from a missed meetup, risk of¡ªLOOK OUT!¡±

    The road curved. Their course didn¡¯t. There was a tremendous noise of shattering glass and crunching metal, and her seatbelt did its very best to slice her neck in half. Everything shook, then went still, and Keisha came back to herself with a strange sensation in her head¡ªa memory, or something like it, of a magnolia blossom encased in ice.

    She shook her head, and the pain in her neck made her more alert. Her first and automatic response, instilled by countless repetitions of very tedious drills, was to strengthen her SP, focusing on her flower until it was clear and distinct. Only when she saw grandmama¡¯s tree blooming in its usual way did she look up, and see Ruslan slumped over the steering wheel. Both airbags had deployed¡ªthe system to do that was thankfully too simple for a halo to kill¡ªand the shattered windshield was covered in snow, ice, and mauled and twisted branches.

    Her next impulse was to open the side door; she reached for the handle, found it stiff, looked at the window and saw it was completely frosted over. Cranking it down didn¡¯t work, either. She had to pull the handle hard and shove with her shoulder to get the rear door open. Frigid white mist rushed into the car as soon as she did, dropping the temperature twenty degrees. What on earth?

    This wasn¡¯t anything natural, anywhere, at any time of year. Even as she looked down, she could see more frost forming on her coat where the mist touched it. Clearly a paraphysical effect. She stuck her head out, saw nothing but dark shadows and icy white mist. The effect was Pangu¡¯s¡ªbut Harry Chen was dead, wasn¡¯t he?

    There were two possible explanations she could see: either he was somehow alive and way off the reservation, or somebody was copying Titus Marshall¡¯s business model. Either one would make the strategic situation enormously worse and more complicated, but for the next few minutes it didn¡¯t matter. Their current duty was just to survive.

    She shut the door again, though it was too late to keep the mist out, and reached forward to shake Ruslan by the shoulder, hard. No point being gentle; if he¡¯d sustained neck trauma he¡¯d freeze to death before anyone could heal him. He groaned, said something she couldn¡¯t understand.

    ¡°Hey. We need to move.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s cold, and there¡¯s a familiar around.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t matter,¡± he mumbled. ¡°We don¡¯t matter.¡±

    Yep. Halo had him too, and he didn¡¯t have the necessary training to break loose¡ªa difficult task even for experienced adults. Fatima might or might not be alive, but they couldn¡¯t hang around waiting for her to be their cavalry. The VRIL wouldn¡¯t do a blessed thing in an active halo. That left Keisha with exactly two choices, and one of them was basically to sit in the car and pray for help.

    It was amazing how quickly your options could narrow down to one. But that made them easier, as long as you didn¡¯t think about long-term consequences.

    They hadn¡¯t packed a kitty. There shouldn¡¯t have been any need. But a kitty was just a jump-starter, a big sealed container of preharvested ectoplasm. She had a few grams in the pic¡¯ in her pocket. Better than nothing. The trick would be using it¡ªshe probably wasn¡¯t the only emissor with VRIL training, but there wasn¡¯t exactly a standard procedure for this. Before her fingers could get too stiff with cold, she got out her piccolo and put it to her lips. The trick would be to draw out the full volume at once, and absorb it at the same time ¡­

    The tree. The house. The pastor and the officer at the front door. Crying in bed, the hand on her shoulder, the words of assurance, the story of certain hope, the story of her life for the past fifteen years. It didn¡¯t come out in an instant, and it wasn¡¯t quite as good as a kitty, but it worked; when it was over, Adesina was sitting in the back beside her, it was only the ordinary cold of a February night by the shore of Lake Van, and the lethal mist was nowhere in sight.

    Ruslan lifted his head, shook it, and turned around to look. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± He wasn¡¯t anxious about the question, only curious. He knew everything would turn out all right.

    ¡°Never mind. Just ¡­ come on.¡± She opened the door again and got out. Ruslan followed, more stiffly and slowly. As soon he was clear, Adesina came hobbling around the rear of the car in her usual inscrutable way, frowning and shaking her head at the dead tree with the car crumpled around it. ¡°Stay here for now.¡±

    ¡°I can help,¡± he said, still sounding confident. It was strange to hear him say anything without even a little whine in his voice.

    ¡°Not now, you can¡¯t. You¡¯d only slow me down. I¡¯m going to try and find the emissant producing the mist. Once you get clear of my halo, pull out your own familiar right away; it¡¯ll keep the mist from coming back. Do you understand? What did I just tell you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to call Kizil Khan as soon as I can,¡± he said, with a smirk in his voice. As if to say, this was easy¡ªdid she think he was deaf?

    She knew he would go back to being a neurotic mess as soon as she was gone, but she also knew this was the best she was going to get. She ran as she thought¡ªor vice versa¡ªand wished either her brain or her feet could have a clear path to follow. Ideally she would break out her phone, which had a dowser function¡ªbut phone or dowser, it was still way past the loj limit, and couldn¡¯t work inside a halo. And releasing Adesina, even for a second, would only let Pangu¡¯s fog come rushing back to reclaim the space. She was on her own, pounding the pavement.

    There was no clear order to Tatvan¡¯s north end; the few ¡°major¡± roads with more than two lanes cut through a fractal mess of older lanes and courts. The space between was cluttered with walls, fences, and shady trees, all covered in snow, implacably hostile to shortcuts. She couldn¡¯t afford the time it would take to backtrack, so Adesina made her unobtrusive way to the roofs of the tallest buildings she could find in every neighborhood, scouting out the dead ends and straining her shining eyes for a glimpse of Pangu¡¯s mist.

    In five minutes Keisha knew it was hopeless. Everywhere they went, they pushed back on the thing they were looking for, and that was just slightly shiny fog¡ªnear impossible to spot, at a distance, against snowy ground on a cloudy night. It was possible that Pangu had already disappeared. It was also possible that he was rampaging through a completely different part of town.

    Intellectually, Keisha knew the situation was very bad, even horrifying; with Adesina out, she felt, and was capable of feeling, only mild dismay. It was a dangerous limitation, and the rational part of her knew there was nothing more to be done on foot. So she gave her grandmother¡¯s ghost a little bow and set her free, holding onto a single white flower for a keepsake.

    The fog did not come back. That was something. It gave her a brief, peaceful moment to process how badly things had changed. A former American asset was now active in Tatvan, apparently hostile, and presumably in the hands of a minor. She¡¯d been forced to reveal her nature as an emissor to the single most unreliable Marshall child, and probably several dozen strangers. And another of the Marshall children was, at this point, very likely dead.

    Several dogs howled in the distance, all at once; she whipped her head around, and saw a black shape like an enormous bird rising against Tatvan¡¯s humble skyline. She swallowed, and tried to keep her magnolia steady as she waved for Kizil Khan¡¯s attention. They could keep searching. It wasn¡¯t hopeless. Fatima could turn up at any moment.

    At least, that was what she would have to tell Ruslan.

 LVI. The Lotus Eater (Fatima)

    The ceiling was white. Very white, and clean. There weren¡¯t any stains on it. It was nice. It looked like a nice place, but it got boring after a minute. Also, she wasn¡¯t very comfortable; her hands were behind her back, and she was lying on top of them. They were numb, and her shoulders hurt a little. She tried to pull her hands out from under her, but found she couldn¡¯t. It was kind of annoying.

    She tried to sit up. That didn¡¯t work very well either, since she couldn¡¯t use her hands to help. Also, her legs seemed to be stuck together at the ankles. Weird. She tried to move her head to see what was going on, and caught a glimpse of wall to go with the ceiling¡ªit was sort of tan¡ªbut it made her neck hurt and her shoulders hurt worse and after a couple of seconds she gave up.

    After another minute she thought to try rolling on her side. That was hard too, but she managed, and found out she was lying on a bed in a bedroom. It was a nice room, and it looked clean. The comforter was striped brown and white, and the drawn window curtains were the same pattern. There was a nice yellow light from a lamp somewhere. That was good. It was a pretty place. Something about it looked familiar but she couldn¡¯t say how.

    She wished she could move more, but before she could try it a man came up from behind her, around the foot of the bed. He didn¡¯t look friendly. He grumbled to himself, too quiet for her to hear, then he reached down and did something that made the back of her hand sting. She tried to ask him what he was doing but the words came out all mushy and then she fell asleep.

    She woke up again, cussing, because something was hurting the inside of her leg. She tried to kick but her feet were still stuck together. That stumped her until she figured out that her eyes were closed, so she opened them. It was darker now, but it looked like the same room¡ªa hotel room, she thought. There was a man, a different man from before, pinching the hell out of her thigh, so she twisted around to look at him and called him a goatfucker and he let go and that was good.

    She was out of breath for some reason, and took a minute to rest before she tried talking again. The man didn¡¯t say anything, only watched her. There was another man behind him, and a girl beside that man, a kid. The girl looked really mad about something. She couldn¡¯t guess what. The second man had a hand on her shoulder but she was ignoring him and glaring at her on the bed. Whatever.

    She looked back at the first man and asked him who he was and what he wanted. Or maybe what he was and who he wanted. It came out a little vague. He didn¡¯t seem to notice. Just asked for her name.

    ¡°Fatima,¡± she told him. ¡°Fatima Alvarez-Marshall. What¡¯s all this about?¡±

    ¡°Your attack against Turkish military officials, and Turkish civilians, on Turkish soil.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± It sounded like she was in trouble. She giggled. ¡°Shit. My bad.¡±

    ¡°Yes. You are bad. You have done wrong. But it will go easier on you, if you cooperate. Who were your accomplices, and where are they now?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t, like, radar-tag them.¡± She was still sleepy, and if he wanted her to help him he shouldn¡¯t have pinched her leg. It felt like he¡¯d maybe left a bruise.

    ¡°Their names?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s Bob, and ¡­ Rus, and the, and ¡­ you know? Leave me alone.¡± She shut her eyes.

    He pinched her again, in the exact same spot. She cussed him out up in down, in Pashto this time, but he kept on pinching until she ran out of breath to cuss with. ¡°There is no point in resisting,¡± he told her. ¡°No help is coming for you. I am an experienced interrogator. The medicines we have given you will prevent your calling your emissant for help, or concealing the truth effectively. Cooperation is key to your survival.¡±

    That sounded like bullshit to her, and she tried whistling for Mister Higgins. She was still really sleepy, and the room was all pleasant and dim when the asshole wasn¡¯t hurting her leg. She could remember Mr. Griffith, and the trouble at the shop, and all the rest of the keystone sequence, but it didn¡¯t seem to mean a whole lot to her. She just couldn¡¯t focus. Well, damn.

    After a thirty-second staring contest, the asshole said something she couldn¡¯t understand to the other guy, who left her frame of vision to knock on the door and call out into what she guessed was the hallway. Then they waited, with the guy staring down at her like a creeper. The curtains were still drawn, but the lamp was off, so all she could see by was daylight sneaking in around the edges.

    A third dude came in and rolled her on the bed to do something to her hand again. She tried to pull her hands away, but they were stuck together at the wrists and her shoulders still hurt. A couple of seconds later, things started to go blurry, and she noticed she was talking without meaning to. Then she noticed she was talking, and started talking about how she shouldn¡¯t be talking, and then she realized that, shit, she was still talking, and it was kind of funny so she laughed but nobody else did. They asked her some more questions about people she knew and she answered them but she didn¡¯t really understand her own answers and they kept asking the questions.

    She opened her eyes again and the room was empty but her stomach felt bad so she rolled over until her face was just over the edge of the bed and then she threw up all down the stripey comforter thing. She felt kind of bad about that, since they were nice, but not much came up anyway. Her head hurt, but not too much. Everything seemed like it was far away, like her eyes and ears were down a long tunnel from her brain and took forever to send a message. Even her head couldn¡¯t manage to tell itself how it hurt. It was just too far away.

    She woke up again when she fell the rest of the way off the bed. It felt pretty bad. The room was dark, and still empty, and nobody came even when she yelled so she fell back asleep.

    She woke up again, and the room was dark, totally dark except a tiny bit of light around the curtains, but she was back on the bed. It smelled like a gas station bathroom but she couldn¡¯t tell why. She was about to ask when something grabbed her shoulder. She yelled, and the something reached down and jabbed her hard between two of her ribs. That made the yell louder. Then she was dragged around so she was face up on the bed, and something hit her in the face, and then her stomach, really hard, so she threw up again, and a voice¡ªa high voice, a kid¡¯s voice¡ªhissed something in her ear while she retched. Then something smashed into her ear and knocked her back down to the bed.

    ¡°O benim babamd?!¡±

    ¡°Wha?¡±

    Another hit, to the face. ¡°O benim babamd?, seni fahi?e. Beni duyuyor musun? Ma fotter!¡±

    ¡°Ow! Dammit!¡± She tried to roll away, and fell off the bed again, landing on her face. Even on carpet, it hurt. It hurt more when whoever the hell it was landed on top of her, and started screaming in her ear.

    ¡°Sen kim oldu?unu san?yorsun, seni yabanc? kaltak? Baban? bulaca??m ve g?z¨¹n¨¹n ?n¨¹nde onu par?alayaca??m! Beni duyuyor musun? Ve sonra ?leceksin. Bana bunu yapmayacaks?n ve ya?ayacaks?n!

    The door crashed open, the lights came on, and a man added his shouting voice to the mix. The girl kept on screaming in Fatima¡¯s ear, and yanking at her hair while she was at it, until somebody hauled her off by force, and she got in a couple of kicks at Fatima¡¯s ribs as she was being lifted off, and a gob of spit right on her cheek just below the eye. She kept screaming all the way out of the room, and after the door slammed shut behind her she screamed some more and hit it too. Fatima lay there hurting on the floor, her hands and feet still bound, wondering what the hell was going on, until the crazy girl got dragged away.

    When she was gone she heard men talking outside the door. They came in, and hauled her back up on the bed, grumbling and babbling in more Turkish. She was too confused, and hurt too much, to struggle or ask questions. It was a relief when they twisted her arm around and jabbed her again, this time inside the elbow. Her last thought before she passed out again was of the look on the kid¡¯s face as they dragged her away. Mouth open, teeth bared, dripping spit like a mad dog and oozing tears all down her cheeks. Just plain unhinged. And she was, what, eight years old? What the hell ¡­

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    It was day again, early morning peeking around the blinds. The lights came on, and she groaned. Quick footsteps. She squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt, all over. She rolled away, facing the window, and the bonds around her wrists and feet promptly snapped, immediately treating her to fresh new kinds of pain as blood started flowing back into places it hadn¡¯t been allowed for a very long time.

    Yet another hand on her, grabbing her by the shoulder. ¡°Fatima, are you okay?¡±

    The voice was familiar, her response automatic: ¡°Do I fucking look okay, Rus?¡± Then she rolled back over so she could glare at him. Then her brain caught up. ¡°Are we getting out of here now? It¡¯s about time.¡±

    ¡°We had a hard time finding you! We didn¡¯t even know you were alive. If there hadn¡¯t been one lady on the cleaning staff who¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let¡¯s go.¡± She made an effort to sit up, and got it on the third try. More pain in more places. ¡°We¡¯ve wasted enough time already.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only been a little more than a day,¡± Ruslan whined.

    ¡°One long-ass day.¡± Her head was still a little fuzzy, and she was sure she¡¯d throw up again if only there were anything left in there to spew. ¡°Got any water?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± He bumbled off towards, she assumed, the bathroom. ¡°Oh. There¡¯s no glasses here. Sorry. I think we¡¯d better hurry.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She slid her feet down, real slow, and that felt rotten too. ¡°Any chance of a patch job, then?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to be using Kizil Khan. We¡¯re trying to keep a low profile.¡±

    ¡°We.¡± She got to her feet, and fell back against the bed to get steady while blood flow sorted itself out again. ¡°Again, do you notice how ¡®we¡¯ means you come in and do the hard part while the grownups chillax?¡±

    ¡°Not this time. Look.¡± She followed his pointing finger to a body on the floor next to the bathroom door. A quick glance didn¡¯t show any wound.

    ¡°VRIL work?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. She cleared the way for me, and she¡¯s our backup, keeping an eye on the hotel.¡±

    One step, then another when that worked out okay. ¡°She still could have popped the whole building open and got me out her own self. I¡¯m telling you, the woman¡¯s got her own familiar.¡±

    ¡°I know. I¡¯ve seen it. Do you need a hand?¡±

    It was nice of him to offer first instead of just grabbing like he usually did. Probably because she stank of piss after more than twenty-four hours drugged out and immobile. She was lucky she hadn¡¯t choked on her own barf. ¡°Sure. Thanks.¡± He guided her carefully around the corpse.

    Another couple of dead guys in the hallway. ¡°How many people did Bob cack for you?¡±

    ¡°Enough that I didn¡¯t have to use Kizil Khan, or my gun.¡±

    ¡°Damn.¡± But that reminded her of something. ¡°Were any of them kids?¡±

    ¡°No. Was there a kid?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± The angry face floated back up to the top of her memory, with a murky wash of drugs laid over it. ¡°Girl. Turkish. Younger than us. I was too out of it to tell you more than that for sure.¡±

    ¡°Is she Pangu¡¯s new¡ª¡°

    ¡°She didn¡¯t pull him out. But yeah, probably. They kept her handy when I woke up the first time.¡± It was a very nice hotel, with a real posh hallway, but it felt twice as long as it needed to be. ¡°Don¡¯t know who she was.¡±

    ¡°Keisha had them look it up yesterday, after ¡­ you know. Major Polat had two kids. The older one¡¯s a daughter, nine years old.¡± They¡¯d arrived at an elevator; he hesitated, looked further down the hallway.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make it down any stairs on my feet, Rus.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he said, and pushed the button. They waited in silence until it arrived, then got on. ¡°You¡¯re really lucky to be alive. This is twice, now.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t rub it in, fool. I already said thanks.¡± She was pretty sure she meant it, but not positive. She was all wrung out, sore and hungry and hungover from whatever crap they¡¯d been dosing her with. She needed water bad, but wasn¡¯t sure she wouldn¡¯t throw up the first drink she got. There wasn¡¯t much room for legit emotions on top of all that, though she figured she¡¯d be seeing Polat¡¯s daughter in her next nightmare. That was something to look forward to.

    ¡°I was thinking, maybe you should take it easy for a while.¡± The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open; Fatima took the opportunity to leave without responding. Ruslan didn¡¯t push it, but led her down a side hallway to an emergency exit with its alarm-rigged lock melted clean off. It looked like it was late morning outside. ¡°I can do something too, you know. You don¡¯t always have to be the one doing the dangerous stuff.¡±

    ¡°Did I just hear you volunteer for emissor work?¡± She pushed the door open. As expected, the wind off the lake cut like a knife.

    ¡°Yes, you did!¡± he snapped. ¡°Hold on a second.¡± He bent down to pick up a couple of black trash bags off the sidewalk and throw them aside. A new-looking coat was lying under them. ¡°Here. Put this on.¡±

    She took it without comment. She chose to assume Bob was responsible for thinking of it. No way Rus had it together enough to plan ahead like that. The fur coat she¡¯d liberated was long gone, and the cigs too, but the last part was just as well. ¡°Where to?¡±

    Ruslan opened his mouth, and he said something, but she never heard it. She had a sudden, overwhelming feeling, watching him talk, that there was no point to any of it. Turkey was ruined and falling apart, and even if they bit off a piece for themselves there was no guarantee that somebody else wouldn¡¯t come along and take it from them. The whole business was trashy and ugly, and what she wanted, in that moment, more than anything else, was for something to make it right again. It was winter here, had been winter too long already; when would it be spring?

    All that flashed through her mind in an instant, so sharp and sudden that she literally staggered and fell back against the wall behind her. It would have been too much to take, if in the very next second she hadn¡¯t felt just as certain that spring would arrive sooner or later for sure. Nothing stayed bad forever. If she kept her head up and her eyes open, all would be right in the end. All the cars in the narrow street had slowed to a stop to wait for it with her. And look, there it was! Right there, poking up through the brickwork¡ªa bright green sprout. New life, shining and perfect.

    It grew up fast, while the two of them watched. In less than five seconds it was over their heads, and budding out a single enormous white flower. A flower in the shape of a woman, all milky white in her skin and her dress, and ripe with strength and beauty. She was fifteen feet tall now, and bent down gracefully on her stalk to look at them. One flawless hand extended to bless them, and the air around them shimmered like dew at dawn.

    Fatima put out a hand to touch the goddess, and found she couldn¡¯t. The air had hardened between them, hardened to form a barrier of unbreakable strength. That made her sad, but it was right. All would be right in the end. She recognized this woman, this vision of majesty. Snowdrop had the power to make things right, and she would. Fatima turned around, saw that the shimmer in the air extended all around them, protecting them from the hostile world. It was hardening further, settling down, taking on a crystalline form.

    They both covered their faces as a sudden flash of white light, burning-bright like the sun, shone through the new glass, scattering into a thousand rays and hues. Ruslan grabbed her by the shoulders and whipped her around and behind him for cover, so hard she nearly fell over. Fatima barely noticed; her eyes were on the goddess in white, who didn¡¯t like the light any better than they did. She swayed back on her long stalk, holding her arms in front of her hooded face for a shield.

    But the light was fierce; they could feel the heat on their backs as it burned through the translucent wall behind them. Snowdrop¡¯s white sleeves weren¡¯t looking so white anymore. More brown, like toasted marshmallows, with a bit of black around the edges, and the hands inside were a harsh and ugly red. She struggled, twisting and flailing her arms, but it was too late. In an instant the whole top part of her burst into flames, everything above the green shoot burning at once. Her pretty mouth was open in a scream, but she never made a sound, and her whole body took only an instant to burn away into nothing. Then her stalk withered, and drooped down to the ground, and disappeared.

    Fatima wasn¡¯t worried; you couldn¡¯t kill a goddess that easily. She could still feel her presence; she¡¯d be reborn in a second. Out of curiosity, though, she turned around, to see what had done it. All she saw was a little old lady standing at the next intersection¡ªa crook-backed creature with wrinkled skin the color of tarnished mahogany. She was wrapped in a shining white cloth, nothing more. She looked at the two of them, and her eyes were glowing too bright to bear.

    Again Ruslan grabbed her, yanking her back into the hotel they just left. It was annoying, but she didn¡¯t resist. She was confident that, whatever happened from here, it would turn out for the best. Any fool could tell you that. But they could also tell you that it was dumb as hell for little people to hang around and gawk when the masters of the universe got together for a brawl.

 LVII. Fatality (Yefimov)

    Sergei Yevgenyevich Yefimov was familiar with his reputation among his colleagues. He was, it was said, too staid, too conservative, too inflexible to function in the modern world. Under the old regime, he had been correctly held under deep suspicion of reactionary sentiments¡ªbut these were the same sentiments which had led him to be recruited at all, had shielded his increasingly radical temperament from official scrutiny, and won him a place of some prominence after the overthrow of communism by men of greater wisdom and rectitude. Now he was their servant, and entirely dedicated to their mission; they welcomed his lack of ideological flexibility, provided it was accompanied (as it was) by an open-minded and generous appreciation of all purely tactical possibilities.

    So it was that their late withdrawal from Constantinople had caused him no undue distress, in spite of the unfortunate loss of Aziz and the substantial trauma imposed on Lyudmila in the process. Sergei was sixty-three years old, accustomed to abrupt realignments and changes of fortune by the many radical disruptions which had shaken Russia during his lifetime. They had not been defeated as such, only moved to a stage in operations where their presence would be more useful elsewhere.

    Their current theater was Turkish Kurdistan, an area ripe with promise. Even under Red rule the region had been generously seeded with intelligence assets and funding for revolutionaries, though never so generously as to allow its actual independence from greater Turkey. After the White Revolution the knyazya had seen fit to increase both, in preparation for their advance on Constantinople. Little happened in the eastern third of the peninsula without their becoming aware of it.

    Thus they were perfectly aware of the Binba?? Polat¡¯s growing domain along the west coast of Lake Van, and reasonably certain that he had acquired paraphysical support of some nature well before it was revealed the Tuesday past. The knyazya had already elected, prior to Sergei¡¯s arrival, to allow this particular nexus of power to emerge, with an eye towards eventual cooptation.

    The reappearance of the four surviving Marshall children was likewise a matter of interest, and made the timing of their reassignment more fortuitous than it might otherwise have appeared. Sergei had followed, with distracted and distant concern, the recent descent of the American operatives on Kurdistan. Their apparent cooperation with the Marshalls at Tatvan, a mere day after Sergei¡¯s arrival in the region, was a specimen of the most astonishing fatality, the more so in light of its catastrophic interruption by Polat¡¯s own operatives, and Sergei was disposed to take the fullest advantage of the opportunity so offered.

    The subverted emissant Pangu had caused considerable death in his irruption on the night of the attack, and many of the survivors had predictably reacted by fleeing the city. This, too, was fatality; the hotel Polat¡¯s men had appropriated for a barracks was now surrounded by vacant housing units. Sergei established himself in one of these with little trouble on the evening after the attack, keeping both his surviving subordinates with him. Concerns of operational tempo and morale prompted him to have the Americans notified of the captured child¡¯s location. The bait had in effect already been placed; all that remained was to wait in vigilance.

    Faithful Noorlan¡¯s noetic surveillance painstakingly documented every move of the American operative with her VRIL. They had her location precisely documented within an hour of her arrival in the apartment building adjacent to their own. It would have been a simple, if messy, matter to eliminate her at any point within the ensuing four hours, as she systematically eliminated any of Polat¡¯s men who might have been in a position to threaten the child she had no choice but to send into hostile territory alone, then surveyed the area as he made his inept extraction attempt. She would be distracted and increasingly weary from the sustained effort.

    However, their orders were quite clear on this matter: whoever else might perish this day, the woman Graham was to survive. This made their task considerably more protracted and difficult, but Sergei appreciated the challenge, even with the commensurate risk. The rewards would be proportionate¡ªif their reports from Tuesday night, and the conclusions drawn from them, were accurate.

    Noorlan maintained his clairvoyant trance for the entire period of the operation, leaving Lyudmila and Sergei himself to maintain merely visual surveillance of the hotel, from opposite sides of the building. It was not known for certain which exit the children would emerge from, though Sergei strongly suspected it would be the one closest to their American handler.

    In the event, his surmise was incorrect, and Lyudmila¡¯s voice spoke over the radio: ¡°I see them, sir, coming out a side exit. The girl is alive, but obviously very weak. I don¡¯t see anything that looks like a recent injury. They¡¯re holding position, at present.¡±

    Sergei did not trouble himself with a reply. Lyudmila would know soon enough that he had heard. He closed his eyes, drawing on the image of a flower, that dainty blossom of white on pale green shoots emerging from the snow, which he never allowed to entirely leave his waking consciousness.

    He did not think of himself as a particularly ambitious man. He was pleased to be in a position of prominence, serving in a vital role, because he was a mortal man and subject to vanity. But that was secondary. It was right and healthy that some men¡ªit did not much matter who, provided they were just and competent¡ªbe prominent, and that being prominent such men be respected, and those under the most prominent accorded a lower but ordinate degree of respect, and so on down to the dignity of the working poor. Good Russian though he was, Sergei felt himself a Confucian at heart; the deepest and most complex workings of a society were in a sense dependent on its children being taught to say please and thank you, on its working men pausing to hold doors open for their women.

    It was, again, a matter of indifference whether Sergei happened to occupy a position near the top or the bottom of the prodigious natural hierarchy which comprised a healthy society; he flattered himself that he should be disposed to struggle with equal diligence for its good regardless. That same resolution, after all, had held firm in him when he was a mere technician of no significance, performing duties which did not require performance, under the diseased and corrupt law which had gripped his motherland for the better part of a century.

    Righteousness had lain dormant within him like a seed under snow, waiting for the spring, and other men of like mind had seen his potential, and created the conditions for his seed to grow, to sprout, and finally to bloom. Mere material adversity was as nothing. The only question of consequence was the steadfastness of men as individuals in their adherence to a greater collective moral order. That resolution had brought Russia out of her long winter; that same resolution led Snowdrop to sprout from his heart yet again, to set the crooked world right once more.

    The American was not unskilled. She would be tired, operating alone, and (unless something had gone badly awry) she would have had no way of anticipating their presence in this arena. Noorlan had detected three of her drones still active, sweeping the hotel building for threats to her charges. Snowdrop¡¯s emergence would have given her the earliest possible alert, as she promptly consumed the small portions of unanchored ectoplasm to fuel her own birth.

    Here¡ªif their surmises were correct¡ªthe woman faced a choice. Their agents in this town reported, from multiple accounts, that she had been seen moving through the north end in the company of an emissant. She was doubtless, after the embarrassment of Tuesday night, equipped with an ectoplasmic reserve, as was Sergei himself. She might choose to contest the territory with him, subjecting all the civilians in their vicinity to the discomfort of ambivalence. Or, if they were compatible, she might prefer the route of harmonic synergy, sharing a halo of combined valence.

    He was pleased to see that she opted for the latter, and to feel that her valence was delightfully similar to his own; he had a moment¡¯s glimpse of a bedroom, and another sort of flower unfamiliar to him, before a figure appeared on the pavement behind the children. An old woman, of an unseemly complexion, but clad in spotless white. Her presence overlaid a certain warmth over his halo, a sense that all would be well in the end. Which was very often true, he had found. Certainly it had been true in his own life. But it did not do to take such things for granted.

    Snowdrop had been threatening the children with more ostentation than Sergei typically cared to employ, very slowly erecting a barrier to immure them. The American¡¯s familiar burned a hole through the glass in moments¡ªthough not without causing a measure of diffraction, an interesting optical phenomenon¡ªand promptly incinerated Snowdrop. This did not trouble him. His lady was accustomed to shedding her form for the purposes of movement, and with their halo shared between them she could not truly die unless one of them lowered the Tetzloff Field on purpose, at which point both emissants would disappear. He regrew her a moment later in a location around the corner of the hotel.

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    ¡°Noorlan?¡± His subordinate frowned and opened his eyes very slightly to trace his finger over the simple map laid out on the table before him. As expected, the woman was in motion now. Having chosen to harmonize, she could not simply drive him from the contest by crude domination; their familiars were conjoined in one narrative. Each of them being resistant in the usual fashion to all purely paraphysical effects, her surest path to victory would be to find and kill him in person.

    That thought did not trouble him either; with Noorlan¡¯s aid it was simple enough to track her location by observing the shifting balance between their respective familiars and the epicenter of their combined field. It was a broadly similar method, he was told, to that employed by astronomers to detect distant planets. Noorlan was sufficiently experienced to perform the needed calculations by intuition at this range, and Sergei resolved to commend him to their superiors upon completion of the mission.

    It was not, could not be, a fair contest. He had the assistance of Noorlan, while she was alone; he had surprise, and she was exhausted; he had been an emissor for more than ten years, while she was young and presumably unpracticed. To the extent the halo allowed it, he extended her a certain measure of pity, even as he set out to destroy her as efficiently as possible.

    Snowdrop could erect barriers at speed; they began as emanations of pure force, and condensed into glass forms in any desired proportion if he so chose. She herself could grow back only slowly, and the four of them passed a tedious few minutes in pursuit around the hotel, Sergei regrowing his mistress in this location or that while her crone destroyed each in turn. Necessary, but wearisome nonetheless.

    In the meantime (he glanced at the map) the woman herself had left her building and retreated across the street on the far side. Naturally, being caught by surprise, she would begin by moving out of the arena to gather her thoughts. This was acceptable, but he did not care to have her venture too far from their battle, and perchance see things she should not. Sergei abandoned their foolish pop-up game to verify that the children had wisely abandoned the street; once the black crone killed that form, he regrew her inside the hotel itself, where she could not see so far, and glazed over every one of its exits, beginning with the one the children had so lately left.

    He did not know for certain that they had returned to the hotel, where it was possible that Polat¡¯s surviving men would find and kill them. For his present purpose, it sufficed that they might be within, and that she should fear so, and she evidently did; Noorlan¡¯s finger wavered on the edge of the map for a moment, then moved along the periphery of the block west of the hotel with fresh urgency. Her familiar moved to burn through the glass on the first door; Sergei, anticipating the strategy, abandoned the hotel and regrew Snowdrop behind the old woman to manifest a half-ton of solid crystal directly over her head, then let it drop.

    He could not kill her either, naturally, but that was immaterial; the gesture served to frustrate and confuse. When the familiar did not reappear, he looked to Noorlan, who pointed a second finger to the inside of the hotel, waving it up and down. Of course. The children were her first priority. She would be using her familiar to search the building for them.

    As for the woman herself, she had entered another apartment building more or less at random, and was moving about it. Sergei could picture her now, running about with gun drawn kicking down doors like a police officer in an absurd American television show. He did not doubt that, if they actually encountered her and were recognized, she could kill them both. Fortunately she had begun in the entirely wrong building. They were at little risk here.

    What they had done already was likely sufficient, but there was no need for haste, and he preferred to be thorough. He passed the time by setting Snowdrop to work on the neighboring blocks, obstructing doors in a stochastic pattern. It would impede her search somewhat without betraying that he knew her location.

    Abruptly Noorlan recoiled, holding his hand up to his face. His hand waved wildly at the far edge of the map. At the same time Sergei had a sharp and unpleasant sense of impingement, asymmetry, unease¡ªas though a great hand had grasped the lens of his mind¡¯s eye and twisted it, applying an intolerable torque to his perceptions.

    The sensation, distasteful as it was, was followed abruptly by one far worse, of the floor of the universe simply falling out from beneath him, leaving him unsupported in a space that was no space whatever. For an unquantified time he lost awareness, and lifted his head with some difficulty from the back of his armchair when sensation returned. Beside him Noorlan¡¯s hands moved over the map once more, but with some difficulty, trembling and swaying this way and that. Sweat trickled down over his brow.

    Sergei himself remained unconcerned. His sense of calm fatality had not left him, though it was curiously altered. It came to him, as he lay back in the chair, that he was not a young man any longer. Moreover, his career was hardly safe. The time would surely come, and sooner than he thought, that he would die. Was that any cause for shame, or sorrow? He thought not. An individual life was of no significance, provided life itself continued. And it would.

    His ruminations were rudely interrupted by Noorlan, who fell over and struck his head against the table before rolling off it and falling against his superior¡¯s legs. Moved by the faintest curiosity, Sergei bent down, and found the man was not breathing and possessed no pulse. Most peculiar, and without any sign of harm. But death came to all alike, in the end.

    Some part of him told him that this was not his typical mode of thought, that perhaps he would react more strongly under normal circumstances. It was, from a certain point of view, indecorous for one¡¯s subordinates to perish without warning in the middle of an operation.  Surely decorum was an absurdity, in the face of universal demise¡ªand yet not. He had a memory within him still, insistent and strong, of a minuscule flower sprouting out of the snow ¡­ that life, at least, could not die forever.

    The sight of a canister on the floor¡ªhe thought it had been on the edge of the table before¡ªtickled at the edge of his consciousness. He felt the most peculiar certainty, how he did not know, that within that metal cylinder lay the power to make his little snowdrop grow. The possibility of life beyond death intrigued him enough to bend down and pick it up.

    He was on the verge of twisting it open when a dark shape blotted out the light from the window. He glanced up, and saw a shape like an enormous black bird driving through the pane, sending shards flying. One cut across the back of his hand in passing, and he cursed, then reflected with mordant humor that glass, in the end, might have killed him. But the great bird was advancing on him now, gushing blood across the floor with each step, and Sergei was eager to make his flower bloom in truth before the beast eviscerated him. So he removed the lid.

    The bleak halo vanished in an instant, the dark god of the bloody wings was precipitated backwards with violent force, and Snowdrop was beside him once more, blessing Sergei with eternal renewal. He paused a moment to beg her indulgence for the late unseemly interlude, then sent her up to the roof of his building to reconnoiter.

    It was still early afternoon in Tatvan, but Snowdrop could not see the waters of Lake Van in the distance; a milky whiteness covered the horizon. There was no sign of any other irregularity, but Sergei was experienced enough to know what to expect. The enemy would have her own ectoplasmic reserve. He sat down, and dismissed his lady before she could be overthrown. Soon he saw once more the house in America, and the old black woman leaning over the bed. Prepared as he was, he easily conjoined his own halo to the Graham woman¡¯s, as she had to his, then got up to leave under Snowdrop¡¯s protection.

    This, too, was fatality¡ªthough Sergei was not sure whether he believed in the full implications of the word. Certainly events happened in war that were beyond foresight or control, though he might have foreseen that Polat¡¯s child would endeavor to join the battle with her new plaything. From there, he could reconstruct the chain of events with reasonable confidence: Pangu¡¯s impingement had prompted the American to drop their shared halo, leaving both of them temporarily incapacitated by the shock.

    Ruslan, he supposed, had then taken advantage of the opportunity. Sergei had not known that Kizil Khan could recognize individual lives within his dominion, but it did not much surprise him. It was unfortunate; Noorlan would be difficult to replace, and if Sergei had not maintained his own defenses by reflex he would certainly be dead himself. Lyudmila might or might not survive, but she was of no irreplaceable utility at this juncture.

    He made his way down to the bottom floor at a leisurely pace, while Snowdrop watched for threats. The black hag appeared to be occupied with Pangu at present, but one could not be too careful.

    Possibly the knyazya would be annoyed with him, but not greatly or for very long. Fundamentally, the mission was almost certainly a success. He had kept the Graham woman¡¯s heretofore unknown familiar occupied in public for some time, including on rooftops. Some of the men he had planted in the surrounding blocks with long-zoom cameras would surely have caught some of it. Enough to copy several times, and submit to the American congress and major media outlets. The Americans did so love their absurd little scandals.

 LVIII. The Coward (Nadia)

    HMS Spenser was an ugly thing, a lumpy mountain of steel poking out of the Mediterranean. It didn¡¯t look any better up close, when the helicopter landed and a gang of British crewmen hustled Nadia¡¯s stretcher out. Everything about it was dull and drab and functional, from the gauge-covered and pipe-strewn walls to the near-identical sailors bustling about its cramped corridors.

    Only Ms. Keisha and Kemal were on the chopper with her; the British would not risk multiple Marshall children on one ship, even if the ship was a cruiser specifically made for counter-paraphysical operations. They¡¯d been warned before the flight that any attempt to call a familiar on board, or create VRIL constructs, would trigger the ship¡¯s defenses and get everyone in a twenty-foot radius knocked unconscious by a Campbell pulse. It was the same system the Americans used to defend their capital, they said.

    This would be an annoyance¡ªNadia had become accustomed to using ¨¦zarine to move herself around, when nobody else was available¡ªand also a relief. The boat was ugly and claustrophobic, but it was stationed on alert a mile off the coast of Cyprus. It might get hit by a missile, gun, or torpedo; it might hit an uncharted rock and submerge, or fall prey to any number of purely natural misfortunes. It could not be attacked by anyone like Yefimov. Nadia¡¯s soul would be preserved from further harm, by herself or anyone else.

    Her body was another matter. The ship¡¯s medical officer, briefed in advance, looked her over as soon as she came aboard, and told them what Nadia, at least, already knew: that multiple rounds of surgery, some intended to correct the failings of previous surgeries, all done in haste by stressed doctors working in secrecy in the middle of a war zone afflicted by shortages, had made her abdomen into a horrible mess of abscesses and scar tissue.

    It was doubtful whether any facility on the planet could repair the damage done by nearly three weeks¡¯ botched medical care of an already serious traumatic injury. It was a testament to her young and resilient body that she was still conscious; the doctor expected that she would slip into sepsis and die within a week at the most. He did not say it quite so bluntly, because he was not heartless, but he did not lie. Nadia appreciated that.

    When they were done talking, the two adults escorted her to her new shipboard quarters in silence, then fussed about trying to set everything up nicely. It was painful to watch them fumble together in the little space, asking whether they should hang the icons here or there, which clothes she wanted ready, if it was okay for a lady serviceman to help her with her bath or if she would prefer Ms. Keisha and when would she like it? She tried to answer them politely, because it was not their fault, but she did not feel she had the energy to keep it up any longer.

    She was tired, and beyond tired. The pain was bad, and the drugs to fight the pain were bad, and between the recent past and her probable future Nadia wanted absolutely nothing so much as to see the end of it all, whatever that would mean. Hoping hurt, and there was nothing left to hope for.

    At last they were done setting everything up, and there were no more questions to be asked. Keisha looked at Kemal, and Kemal looked at Keisha, and they said nothing, and they did not leave. Nadia would have looked out the window if there had been one. She stared at the wall¡ªthe bulkhead¡ªinstead, until Keisha finally broke the silence.

    ¡°All right, we¡¯re safe now. Whatever spies he has in whatever parts of Turkey, Yefimov can¡¯t possibly touch us here. Fatima and Ruslan are both safe on other ships. The physical and paraphysical security situation is acceptable. Now¡¯s the time we discuss our plans for the future.¡±

    I have no future, she didn¡¯t say. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°This has never been about what I want. If I¡¯d had my way, you¡¯d have been on your feet and healthy again on Sunday, if not sooner. You said no. I thought that was ¡­ wrong, misguided, but I wanted to give you your space, so I got Ruslan and Fatima off on mission so you could think it over without them bothering you, or trying to heal you against your will. You¡¯ve never been given the right to choose, after all. I thought the most important thing was to let you process everything that had happened.

    ¡°Then I got back from Tatvan, and found you looking like a corpse. We¡¯re not totally out of options here, despite what that doctor just told you, but I have to ask: Nadia, do you still want to live at all?¡±

    ¡°Of course I want to live. Just ¡­ not at that cost, by those means. I value my soul, you know that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Ruslan. We have another means of healing you. We didn¡¯t want to bring it up prematurely, but we¡¯re pretty sure can get you in with Metakken. Do you know who that is?¡±

    ¡°Everyone knows who that is! Titus got the offer to assassinate him, when we were in Syria. He turned it down as ¡®bad optics.¡¯ But his emissor is willing to take me?¡±

    ¡°He has said he¡¯s willing to consider it, if he meets you. It took a great deal of persuasion by Dr. Gus. We didn¡¯t know for sure until yesterday, when everyone was in an uproar and we were getting ready to leave the country. That opened up some options. For obvious reasons, he¡¯s reluctant to enter a majority-Muslim area in upheaval, and moving you seemed like a bigger obstacle before it became an operational necessity.¡±

    Healing. True, perfect healing. She didn¡¯t know how to handle the idea. Too many doors she¡¯d closed off, flying open again all of a sudden. She turned to Kemal, who hadn¡¯t understood a word of it, and translated, in case it would help. To her surprise, it did, but then she had Kemal to deal with too.

    ¡°He can make you well again? Take the offer, child! Take it while it is there. I have not nursed you so far, and worried so much, to see it end so badly.¡±

    ¡°I know. But.¡±

    ¡°But what? His jinni does not kill or harm, does it?¡±

    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t. Metakken cannot harm, only heal, or repair. He is famous for that. But this is a lot to take on.¡± Kemal responded by sharing another worried look with Keisha. ¡°Could the two of you please leave me along for a bit so I can think?¡± She repeated the question in English.

    Keisha answered for both of them. ¡°We can give you some time, Nadia. You can have an hour, or a day even. But you might not have much longer than that.¡± She turned to leave, noticed Kemal not following, and half-dragged him away by one arm. The door shut with a clang behind them.

    Did she want to live? The question should have been ridiculous, and maybe it was. But did she? She no longer knew what life would look like, if it went on, and she was not sure she wanted any kind of life she could have. So many choices, so seemingly just or sensible, had gone so wrong already. Beginning with ¨¦zarine, and ending with the madness at the bridge.

    Or, maybe, with yesterday, when Ruslan had once again offered to heal her. He¡¯d said it wouldn¡¯t count as any kind of sin, because Noorlan¡¯s death had ¡®paid¡¯ for it in advance, and the Russians owed her. As if it worked that way! As if she wanted theological opinions from someone like Ruslan to begin with! She¡¯d ordered him away, then steeled herself for another fight with Fatima. But her sister had only shaken her head and walked away. Even she, who was always so certain, didn¡¯t know what she wanted anymore.

    Nadia turned to her icons¡ªAlexander Nevsky was hanging very slightly crooked, she saw, and bobbing with the motion of the ship¡ªbut did not say the usual prayer. God felt very far away right now, and the concentration required would feel painful and false. She only looked at the princely saint, gorgeous in fur and brocade, grasping a sword. Wealth and power. Saints had it easy. The writers always talked about the devil tempting them, but Nadia¡¯s was real, and Nadia had stupidly taken her on herself.

    (Or had the saints been burdened the same way? An emissant was only a product of its master¡¯s desires. Was it impossible, that they had produced their own fears and temptations? That the evil wishes inside them had taken on real form from long hours of prayer and fasting? What was a miracle? She thought it over a minute, then dismissed the question as a pointless distraction.)

    She could not get rid of ¨¦zarine. She had asked Doctor Gus, and Colonel Hampton, and Ethan, and Keisha, and she had even tried the internet and found the most disgusting, and stupid, and insane ideas a human mind could conceive. It was doubtful, at best, whether Metakken could get rid of her. She would be burdened with the concentrated essence of a dead man¡¯s personal darkness until she died, whenever that happened. And anything further she did, however she tried to atone, would be tainted by that.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¨¦zarine was insane. More than that, she was madness itself. Madness, lies, temptation, a perfect artificial demon. She would never stop whispering in Nadia¡¯s ear, recasting everything so Nadia was the victim and had the right to do something, anything, because she was always the one being wronged. Dr. Gus had called familiars sharpened desires, turned into tools to change the world. But they also changed their masters. He had admitted that.

    Nadia might save her own life, but she had no faith that she would not do more and greater evil down the road if she did. She could not save herself without saving ¨¦zarine, and there was no good Nadia could do which could outweigh her pet demon¡¯s potential for evil. There would be more deaths like Fatih, like Panos, like the men killed at the bridge and the hospital, and in time Nadia would stop even feeling bad about them. It was not safe, or just, or fair to the rest of the human race, to continue to inflict this disaster on the world. She was only a child, and now a very sick one, but it seemed to her that the best thing left to do with her life was to end it. It would be a kind of martyrdom.

    She had made up her mind, but was still thinking it over, when she heard a knock at the door¡ªthe hatch, they called it. ¡°Who is it?¡±

    ¡°It is Kemal. May I come in?¡±

    Nadia bit back a sigh. ¡°I cannot stop you.¡±

    There was a little stool in the room, and Kemal drew it up beside the bed to sit down. Nadia turned her face away, waiting for the begging and pleading to start. It would only be a little longer.

    The old man cleared his throat, and began: ¡°Have you seen when men cut a tree down, the part which stays behind? The k¨¹t¨¹?¨¹?¡±

    She kept her face turned. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°The k¨¹t¨¹?¨¹, the part of the tree which stays in the ground. You look, and you see circles, and circles, and circles. One inside another. Every circle is one year.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Kemal, I went to science class, long ago. What is this about?¡±

    ¡°Some circles are better than others. Some circles are very bad. Thin ones, no rain, little growth. Old scars from insects. Burns, terrible fires. They do not go away. The tree does not forget. But always there are new circles. The tree still grows, for many more years, with old damage inside and not seen.¡±

    Now she let the sigh out. ¡°I am not a tree, Kemal. This is not helping.¡±

    He gave a feeble laugh. ¡°I know. I am bad at telling stories. But I try to be a good man. Do I succeed?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You¡¯ve been very good to me, and done far more than I had a right to ask you.¡± She had to admit that much, even if he was going to use it for a cheap guilt trip.

    ¡°Sometimes I do not think so. You did not think so. You remember? The same day you were hurt, you called me a coward. Do you remember this?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do, and I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯d forgotten that, with everything that happened. You really weren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I was! I saw men and women being killed, and I could have stopped it, and I did not, until you shamed me. You were right to shame. I was a coward, and I thank you for saying so.¡±

    ¡°But that wasn¡¯t fair! You¡¯d never been at war before, you didn¡¯t know what it was like, and I threw it at you all at once¡ª¡°

    ¡°All true. But I was still a coward. You forgive me? But you do not forgive yourself. Why? You excuse the weakness of a grown man, but not a half-grown girl? Where is the sense in this?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t compare what you¡¯ve done and what I have. You haven¡¯t killed anyone.¡±

    ¡°No. I do not have a jinni. You did, and you saved Panos from the men who did evil. You have more power, and you do more with it, good and bad. But my cowardice did not end there, that day.¡±

    ¡°Now what are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°All that day, I live with shame, terrible shame. I tell myself: you needed a little infidel girl to teach you courage. Are you a man, Kemal? When your grandchild comes, will you need him to tell you right as well? And I hear this voice, my shame, and I listen. I am so ashamed that when you come and ask me to do a thing I know should not be done, I barely fight. I am ashamed to look in your eye to correct you, though I am a man and you are a girl with a mad jinniyah inside you.¡±

    She glared at him. ¡°That¡¯s not how it went!¡±

    ¡°I was there! I remember!¡± He lowered his voice with a visible effort. ¡°Whose fault is it, that you are dying? Yours, and mine, and the man who fired the gun, and many others. All are true. I am not responsible for all, but I am responsible for some. I did not fight to prevent your mad attack on Tutak, because I feared to be called weak once more, and so made my weakness double. I have sinned against you, my daughter-by-chance, and for that I ask forgiveness of you and God alike.¡±

    Nadia didn¡¯t know what to say. He kept looking at her face, with his own bearded face set like a statue¡¯s, until she had no choice, if she wanted to end it, but to tell him, ¡°I forgive you.¡±

    ¡°And I accept your forgiveness, and I thank you, my daughter. The coward is dead. We will not speak of him. But we must bury him. I must be a coward no longer. I see you, in the land of the Kurds, and now here, hating yourself, wishing to die. And I must tell you that this, too, is cowardice.¡±

    ¡°It is not! I am trying to prevent more death. I have ¨¦zarine inside me forever, don¡¯t you see? If I live, so does she.¡±

    ¡°Then control her. You say she is not even real, not a person, only a thing. But this is not about that. You did not say this before. No, it was ¡®not by your methods, Ruslan.¡¯ Now you cannot say this, so you say the other thing. This is excuses. What kind of person makes excuses?¡±

    ¡°This is about principle, Kemal. I¡¯m not ¡­ scared to live. Whoever heard of that?¡±

    ¡°I have, and I have seen it and felt it before. Sometime I will tell you how it is, to be a man on the docks of Trabzon. But not now. Now it is you who are scared. You say so yourself: ¡®How do I control my jinniyah? It is too hard. I may do bad if I live. I will simply not live, it is easier.¡¯¡±

    For a moment Nadia was tempted, in spite of everything, to call ¨¦zarine and show him what she could do. But she knew it would only cause her to black out when the defense system kicked in, and probably get shot in the head while she lay unconscious. She didn¡¯t want to die right away, like that.

    ¡°All are excuses. You are my ward, as good as daughter now. I allow my daughter to worship as she likes, but I will not have a liar. This is your fear, and worse your pride.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not proud of anything, Kemal. Weren¡¯t you just saying I was ashamed, or something?¡±

    ¡°You can be both. You are proud because you do not wish to let go of your shame. You hold it tight, like a doll. You say, ¡®this is my special shame. I have done great and terrible things, and am beyond forgiveness.¡¯ You are not! There is nothing special in any shame. All men sin. We say: in the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful. But He forgives the bowed neck, and the hard way freely chosen. This is too hard, and you hurt, so you turn away, you quit. Daughter, you will earn yourself nothing but hellfire that way.¡±

    ¡°You know I am not a Muslim.¡±

    ¡°Do your priests and your books tell you any different?¡± He pointed to the icons. ¡°Which of those people died because he would not ask God¡¯s forgiveness?¡±

    All of a sudden Nadia found herself crying. Kemal leaned over the bed to embrace her. It pulled at the pain around her hip, and she could have screamed, but she hugged him back and did not let go.

    ¡°I am not the world,¡± he murmured in her ear. ¡°I cannot forgive all. But I see what you do, I know what you have done, and I what I can forgive I will. I do not want your death. Keisha, she risks so much. She does not want your death. Your brother, your sister, they ask you to live. The doctors, the nurses, all who work so hard to save you: they did not do this to see you die. Do you think you are right, and all of them wrong?¡±

    She honestly still did, but she was weak, and she still hurt. It was easier to hug him and sob a bit. When she was done, she lay back on the bed again, and asked him to let her rest for a bit. He nodded and went away smiling. Nadia fell asleep.

    Some time later, a woman in uniform showed up to offer her a bath, which she accepted, and to fuss over her bandages. It was all unpleasant and demeaning, but Nadia bore up under all of it. At last the woman asked if there was anything else she could do, in the usual perfunctory way of medical people, and Nadia asked if, being near Cyprus, she could find an Orthodox priest willing to hear a very long confession. The woman seemed confused by the request, but said she would see what she could do.

    Keisha showed up a little later, her face apologetic but not unhappy. She made a long speech about security regulations and military secrets, and made a big fuss about all the parts of Nadia¡¯s beliefs she frankly didn¡¯t get and how sorry she was about that ¡­ but the long and short of it was that she was going to have to ask Nadia to promise not to be too specific with her confession. With that said, she would see what she could do.

    Nadia laughed. ¡°I confess to God. He knows the details. The priest is only there to keep me honest. I can be nonspecific.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I probably have a few strings left to pull. Maybe I can get some kind of chaplain, they¡¯re used to dealing with classified stuff. But, if I¡¯m going to do all that¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yes, you can fly me to Tel Aviv or wherever,¡± Nadia told her. ¡°That is fine. I only want to get my soul straight before I go trying to fix my body.¡±

 LIX. To Save the World (Nadia)

    ¡°You do know this is coincidence, right? I¡¯m not denying that it¡¯s an interesting coincidence, and you can call it fate if you want, but the man is Jewish. This is just the northern part of his country. He¡¯s not trying to send you any kind of message with this.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Nadia said into her headset, feeling free and easy. A lively Mediterranean landscape flashed by her window as the helicopter thumped its way across Israeli airspace. No more snow or frigid mountain air, but new grass and evergreen trees, small towns nestled between great hills and rocky cliffs. Outside, the air would be cool but not cold.

    The inside of the helicopter was a bit crowded, with Ruslan and Fatima squeezed in next to Nadia on one long bench and Kemal and Keisha facing them from the other side. Ruslan had the other window, but was nervously declining to look out of it; Fatima was plainly airsick, Kemal didn¡¯t look much better, and Keisha had been fretting about something all day and trying poorly to hide it. Nadia was only at her ordinary level of pain now¡ªwhich was still quite bad, but it wouldn¡¯t have to stay that way much longer. For once she was the most cheerful member of the group.

    ¡°Why¡¯s this guy here, anyway?¡± Ruslan asked. ¡°There don¡¯t seem to be many people to help.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s unrest in Syria and Lebanon,¡± Keisha said, ¡°parts of it longstanding internal issues, parts of it due to their conflicts with Israel, and parts of it new trouble spilling over from the chaos in Turkey. He can¡¯t defend himself like you, and both countries have sizable movements in them offering rewards for his death¡ªall officially disavowed, but ultimately with government funding¡ªso he stays near the border, where he can hop over to fix damage, or where injured people can slip discreetly in to see him.¡±

    She smiled at Nadia. ¡°That just so happens to put him near the home turf of the other famous Jewish miracle worker. I¡¯m sure somebody has pointed out the coincidence to him before. From what Dr. Gus tells me, he doesn¡¯t have much of a sense of humor, so I wouldn¡¯t make a big deal out of it if I were you.¡±

    ¡°I will be polite,¡± Nadia promised. ¡°Or discreet, or whatever you want. Is that the Sea of Galilee?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not doing an airborne pilgrimage here,¡± said Fatima through her teeth.

    ¡°I can look out the window, can¡¯t I?¡± Nadia teased. ¡°Am I rocking the chopper?¡± Confession Saturday, an actual divine liturgy¡ªin Greek, but still!¡ªyesterday, and now she was minutes away from being able to walk and to stop hurting and to take a shower standing up without strange women hauling her around like a bag of potatoes ¡­ she was giddy, almost delirious. She was almost afraid for the flight to end, for normal life to resume with all its risks and disappointments.

    As if she could hear her thoughts, Keisha leaned forward and said, ¡°Try and remember, he hasn¡¯t promised to heal you, only to see you and hear what you have to say. You¡¯re still going to have to persuade him. He takes his responsibilities very seriously. Control yourself.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡± She was dressed very conservatively, in traditional Cypriot style: a long red skirt, white blouse and black jacket with matching black hair cover. Just purchased yesterday, and immaculate. Fatima and Ruslan were got up in the same way, since it wasn¡¯t clear if he would want to talk to them too. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to make a good impression of the whole group.

    The airport was a small one, not intended for international traffic. Their chopper touched down on an apparently random patch of bare and unmarked concrete. It belatedly occurred to Nadia that they had been flying fairly low, and she wondered if the pilot had been worried about surface-to-air missiles. Too late to bother over that now.

    A man in military uniform was trundling out a wheelchair even before the rotors stopped spinning, sparing Nadia the indignity of being carried around. Fatima walked beside her as Kemal pushed. ¡°You know, this is a really stupid amount of effort for something we could have done ourselves in less than a minute, right where we were.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not discussing that,¡± Nadia said with a tight smile. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Keisha fix her sister with an evil look. Nadia wished she wouldn¡¯t¡ªshe was more than capable of standing up for herself¡ªbut she could tolerate an overprotective adult. They¡¯d always had the opposite problem before.

    The airport facilities were obviously not currently in use; the only people inside were military, a few of them in tactical gear and bearing rifles. They all looked up at their little entourage, and the man who¡¯d brought her wheelchair out led them across the passengers¡¯ waiting area to door marked simply ¡°Office,¡± with a similarly short label in Hebrew underneath. The windows beside it were shuttered and dark. When they got there the man took control of the chair from Kemal and said his first words since their arrival: ¡°The rest of you will stay here.¡± He opened the door just enough to wheel her inside, then shut it behind her, leaving her in the dark.

    Two seconds passed, then there was a click, and a green-shaded banker¡¯s lamp came on, revealing a young man in a short-sleeved button-up sky-blue shirt. His hair was dark and quite short, with sideburns coming down to the ends of his ears but his jaw clean-shaven, and he was wearing glasses and a very small black cap on top of his head. It would have been invisible in the limited light, if not for the gold trim on it. He rested his crossed arms on the desk between them as he looked her over. He was perhaps a little older than Keisha, and he would have been reasonably good-looking if he hadn¡¯t been frowning like that.

    ¡°I usually keep a very tight schedule,¡± he told her. He had only a slight accent. ¡°These are special circumstances. All the same, I¡¯d appreciate it if we didn¡¯t waste time. Tell me about yourself, please.¡±

    ¡°My name is Nadia, sir. May I have yours?¡±

    ¡°Why would you want it? I won¡¯t be seeing you again after this. And I already know yours. What I want to know is who you really are, and whether I can justly treat you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where to begin. I was born in Kazakhstan¡ª¡°

    ¡°Irrelevant. Please. Every moment I spend talking to you is a moment stolen from my other work. Obviously you are not a grown adult, though morally adult in the halakhic sense. Given your circumstances it would not be reasonable to hold you accountable for everything you have done to date. The future is another matter. Suppose I heal you; what are you going to do with the life I return to you?¡±

    ¡°I ¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Then you had better find out, or decide, very quickly. It¡¯s an important question, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is. Only I hadn¡¯t expected this interview to go this way. Are you trying to decide if the good I do in the future will outweigh the bad I¡¯ve done already?¡±

    ¡°No. Let¡¯s be clear: I am not responsible for what you do with your life. Nor is it lawful for me to weigh your life against others¡¯ in a scale. To save a single life is to save the whole world. That is written¡ªthat is not up for debate. It is obviously just, in itself, to heal an innocent person. But there are complicating factors at work here, beginning with whether you would be an imminent threat to others once healed, in which case the laws governing the rodef, the pursuer, might apply.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone. If you want to know what I¡¯ve done: I killed men when I first got my familiar, so that I could escape. I might have gone too far because I didn¡¯t know how to handle her yet. I killed men on a mission into Istanbul, trying to take it back from Russia. I killed my adopted father when he was trying to kill me. I attacked several Greek policemen ¡­ do you want the whole list? It¡¯s very long.¡± And it did seem unfair to have to confess twice.

    ¡°I have it already, or most of it. Everything that is known by your American friends. I insisted on it as a condition of seeing you. Do you feel you could have prevented any of those, or done less harm?¡±

    ¡°I was forced to do a lot of it to save my own life. I don¡¯t know what Israeli law says about that.¡±

    ¡°I am indifferent¡ªor nearly so¡ªto the laws of the modern state of Israel. I have disregarded them before and will do so again when my conscience and the higher law so compel me. I hope you know the saying: ¡®Do not trust in princes, in the son of man.¡¯¡±

    ¡°¡¯There is no salvation in them,¡¯¡± she completed.

    ¡°Very good,¡± he said, though he didn¡¯t quite smile.

    ¡°I am Russian. We have a long history of very untrustworthy princes.¡±

    ¡°That would probably be why you keep rising up and killing them. But we digress. As present events demonstrate, nations come and go. When I first obtained my Metakken, I was ordered to use his abilities to heal only Israeli citizens, or foreign nationals who had earned the privilege through good behavior towards us, as a reward. I was a symbol of my country, not to be risked on people who sent rockets over our borders.

    ¡°I complied for a time, uneasily, but my first sight of a dead child convinced me I had done wrong. From that time on I have come and gone as seemed best, healing without prejudice. The authorities called me insubordinate. I called them insubordinate in return. They had no business telling me to disregard the decrees of the Most High. Those are the laws which concern me.¡±

    ¡°I think I agree. But we have different laws.¡±

    ¡°Allowances can be made. Continue, please.¡±

    ¡°What can I tell you, to convince you I am not an immoral person? Did you know I could have had my brother heal me with Kizil Khan, and refused?¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°I have heard, yes. That would argue in your favor. Arguing against would be your nearly triple-digit body count. Some were at times of war when your overall cause was obviously just, others when you might have reasonably believed as much. Some might have been legitimate self-defense, as in the case of your so-called father.¡±

    ¡°So ¡­ will you heal me?¡± She¡¯d come expecting something closer to a doctor¡¯s visit, and didn¡¯t like the feeling that she was on trial for her life.

    ¡°I am still not totally decided¡ªwhich is why I wanted to meet you. These questions are not easy even for an adult to answer, and you have had to answer them in haste, while still quite young, and under the influence of an emissant. Helpfully, our law has precedents related to the mythical dybbuk, whose name is sometimes used to refer to emissants today¡ªthough I dislike the comparison.¡±

    For a man who¡¯d said he was in such a hurry, he did like to talk. Nadia could feel her pain medications starting to wear off, and only raised her eyebrows for fear that she would be rude if she talked.

    He seemed to get the message anyway. ¡°Let¡¯s approach this from another angle,¡± he said, and pulled a fat stack of large, glossy color photographs from a drawer in his desk. They were from a distance, but Nadia recognized them at once, and her heart sank. ¡°These were taken in various places in Syria, with one incursion very close to the Golan Heights.¡±

    She looked over the colorful prints. Fire in the sky, forks of lightning, and a grainy close-up of a shiny bauble of rainbow glass, like a flying lamp. She could almost hear the obnoxious music. ¡°I¡¯m surprised Yuri is still alive.¡±

    ¡°Alive, and very active. I hope I will not offend you when I say that I would emphatically not agree to heal him. He has shed far more blood than you, and with much less justification.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯m not offended. Yuri is ¡­ difficult. Very difficult. I hope I am not responsible for him, though.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not. He is responsible for his own actions, assuming his emissant has left him sane. I have already healed a large number of his victims, and seen many more who were beyond my help. Metakken can heal, restore, and rebuild any number of things, but he cannot keep pace with your brother¡¯s capacity for ruin. I can reconstruct entire devastated neighborhoods in seconds, complete with all their inhabitants who have not actually died, and while I¡¯m getting there and getting out your brother has ravaged an area twice as large somewhere else. I hope you can understand how this vexes.¡±

    ¡°So, what? Are you proposing a trade? My life for my Yuri¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°If I were, would you take it?¡±

    For a long time she stared at the photographs. All three were above cities, or what had once been cities. Pretty Shum-Shum, making his beautiful sparkly lights and burning men alive. Making more Guryevs, more cities of the dead. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I would not.¡±

    The man¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t deny that Yuri ¡­ deserves death. He is my brother, and I think I still love him, but if the death penalty can ever be fair, he has earned it. It wouldn¡¯t be fair to say that my love for him, or for who he used to be, is more important than all the people he killed, and will go on to kill if he isn¡¯t stopped. But you don¡¯t have any right to ask me to trade like that. I¡¯m not going to buy my life with his. Especially not after what you said, about saving one life and saving the world.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± the man said, in the exact same inflection he had used for her completing the psalm. Again, he didn¡¯t quite smile. ¡°But I will not ask you to kill him. Not necessarily. Only to stop him, as I cannot. You know that, I hope? Metakken can do nothing to destroy.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I have heard. So it is a deal, after all? Just promise to take him off your hands, and you will heal me?¡± She saw no reason she shouldn¡¯t take it¡ªshe would have wanted to see Yuri again anyway, and of course to stop him¡ªbut it still felt disappointing somehow, to have it put this way.

    ¡°No. I do not make deals. This is a question of repentance. It is very easy for you to say you mean well, and to think you mean well. It is harder to actually mean it. Part of repentance is repairing the evil done by your sin, and to act counter to it in the future. If I heal you, I expect you to confront your brother and stop him. I do not say to kill him; if you can stop him without violence, that is acceptable. But I want you to be prepared for all necessities.¡±

    ¡°Even killing him?¡±

    ¡°If that is needful? Yes. This is not a deal. It would be more accurate to call it a test. How far are you willing to go, to atone?¡±

    She kept looking at the photographs. ¡°I have never been able to control my brother before; he¡¯s older than me, and he was stubborn even before he was infected with Shum-Shum. I cannot promise anything for my siblings, or for Keisha and the others. And I also have responsibilities to the people in Turkey I agreed to defend. But, with all that said ¡­ I will confront my brother, and do what I can to stop whatever he is doing. I would have to do that anyway, now that I know what he is up to.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± he said for the third time, but now he smiled. ¡°And I would have wanted you to do that anyway, but it will make my government¡ªmy so-called masters¡ªa little more tolerant of my trips into Syria. It might be that they now regret not paying to make more emissors after me. As I understand it, they were more worried at the time that my successor would be as willful as I am, and dangerous as well.¡±

    ¡°I have heard that, yes,¡± she told him, trying to be patient.

    He frowned. ¡°But I am standing in my neighbor¡¯s blood, aren¡¯t I? Is that what you¡¯re thinking? Or sitting and talking in my neighbor¡¯s blood, which is arguably worse. That¡¯s fair.¡±

    Light, brilliant light, divine and all-encompassing. Light too bright to see or comprehend, light in every direction. A world, a universe, a universe of universes of light. Too much. The light retreated, retracted, so suddenly she could not see the moment of its departure, only the burst of sparks that remained. The sparks fell in the darkness, scattered and dimmed, became entombed in vessels of earth and clay, invisible. Only by peering close could she see the light within.

    Mornings in the kibbutz, waking in the children¡¯s house. Seventeen children identically dressed, living, learning, and working in unison. An entire world, equal in dress and dignity, cheerful but tedious and confined. Too small for a hot spirit.

    Anger, resentment; drifting, then running, away. Drink and disillusion, nights on the streets. Begging, beatings, draft officers. Jail. The Rebbe and his words of peace from beyond the bars. Confusion, fear, unhappy acceptance. Better than the alternative.

    The Yeshiva. Black clothes and long hair. Old chains, new forms. Outward structure, inward void. No place for the light to shine. Long talks with the Rebbe. A parting of ways, a disquiet heart. Only one place left to go.

    The army, the barracks. Another place, another time, a cause he cannot believe in. A late night on the road, the first steps of a deserter. A phone by the roadside. A call to the Rebbe. Words in the dark, an answer revealed, the words to shape the universe. A walk back to barracks, contented.

    There is no light? Make it. A thousand thousand mitzvot shine in the dark, and illuminate the empty cosmos. Light answers light, and multiplies, and all creation shines in unison. Then fades, and leaves Nadia back in the abandoned office.

    A series of wooden cogs appeared in outline on the smooth wooden surface of the desk, separating and popping out one after the other and rolling down to fall to the floor. Behind the man a dusty file cabinet peeled apart, spooling out countless threads of graceful pliant steel that shone like gossamer silk. The lamp twisted and flicked apart, casting its green shade in resplendent emerald shards, its body chopped in hoops of sturdy gold like wedding rings. Both their chairs fell apart beneath them to yield their parts to the whole, and without thought or question both of them stood to see the master make himself.

    Cog met cog, uniting in common purpose on the floor to make an engine of power, clanking its naked heartbeat. Rings of gold bound bones of chrome pipe, flexing and twisting as the wooden heart learned its business. The steel silk embraced them, and the body was sheathed in smooth flesh. The giant pushed himself to his feet, impossibly vast in the puny space, and looked at his new hands.

    Life pulsed through him, and he was metal no more, but a living soul with a skin of warm brown oak. He flexed his fingers, and a crown of luscious leaves came tumbling down from his head, wrapping his body in twining vines heavy with fruit. Emerald eyes glinted, promising that the inner light of creation still lived inside him. But still Nadia, standing in reverent silence, could hear the clunk and tick of humble wooden gears.

    Then the eyes flashed again, impossibly bright, and Metakken the Reformer was gone, and the office was exactly as it was before, except that Nadia stood healthy and whole, wishing she had more space to get the wheelchair out of her way.

 LX. Ignorance (Keisha)

    ¡°We knew this was coming,¡± Hamp told her over the phone. He sounded tired. ¡°And I, at least, expected the Israelis to bring it up. I would, in their place. Just not¡ª¡°

    ¡°Not so abruptly, and without discussing it with us first, yeah.¡± The deck of the Spenser was chilly but not cold; spring was coming. She looked around to be sure Nadia hadn¡¯t followed her outside. ¡°Possibly they expected us to have told them ourselves.¡±

    She imagined she could actually hear Hamp¡¯s eyes rolling over the line. ¡°Right. Did they happen to mention that we have a price on the little prick¡¯s head?¡±

    ¡°Not that I can tell, and I don¡¯t think we need to bring it up either. Could you talk to ¡­ to whoever we¡¯ve got on that? I don¡¯t want to walk into a firefight.¡± She thought a moment, then amended, ¡°A bigger firefight than necessary.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve sent word through General Green. It¡¯s something of a multinational coalition at this point, but they weren¡¯t making a whole lot of progress anyway. The kid¡¯s not stupid.¡±

    ¡°Would you expect him to be? Nadia isn¡¯t. So, are we just putting the manhunt on pause, or what?¡±

    ¡°Green accepts that we have no choice but to try and recruit him, or else forfeit the loyalty of the other three, and that trying to assassinate him thereafter will give us up to four hostile underage emissors instead of one. He¡¯s not happy, but he accepts it. He¡¯s, uh, got a lot of things he¡¯s not happy about lately, in fact. Speaking of which, there¡¯s ¡­ something else you should know.¡±

    ¡°What? What now?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah, it¡¯s ¡­ you don¡¯t get much of the news there, do you?¡±

    ¡°On a warship? I could, but don¡¯t. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve got you for. Spit it out.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°It hit the airwaves Friday morning, while you and Grampy Turk were bugging out with the kids. It was just inside baseball stuff at first: high-quality footage from this place called Tatvan, an emissant nobody¡¯d seen before, slugging it out with Pangu and Snowdrop in some place called Tatvan. All the wonks were shooting rumors back and forth, wondering who was behind it. No big deal, at first. I didn¡¯t notice it myself.¡±

    Keisha felt her legs start to wobble, and leaned against a bulkhead. A passing sailor gave her a concerned look; she waved him on with a painful smile. ¡°At first.¡±

    ¡°By Saturday night it came to the attention of somebody at EUCOM, who shot somebody a line, who shot somebody else a line. It was the weekend, things moved slowly. Eventually somebody thought to kick it up to General Green, who sent a carefully worded response, then went back and reviewed my equally carefully worded report about Tatvan. He called me up with some very pointed questions late last night. I wasn¡¯t sure how to answer, but I did my best. He hung up after about a quarter-hour, the last minute of which was largely profanity.¡±

    ¡°Jesus, Hamp!¡±

    ¡°It gets worse.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡ª¡°

    ¡°You need to know.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me sooner, then?¡±

    ¡°You had enough on your plate with Nadia. There¡¯s nothing you can do about it, anyway. But the clock is definitely ticking now.¡±

    ¡°How long do we have?¡±

    ¡°Not long. Green¡¯s been ominously quiet, but I checked this morning¡¯s headlines¡ªit¡¯s morning back home now¡ªand, well, Adesina made the front page of the New York Times.¡±

    ¡°SHIT!¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have led with that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re on a mission, Chief. It¡¯s not the end of the world. Let me handle this.¡±

    ¡°How? That does not make a lick of sense. How on God¡¯s green earth are you going to ¡®handle¡¯ it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not, if you want to put it that way. And neither are you. It¡¯s political now, miles over our heads. You can¡¯t run from it, and you can¡¯t stop it. So why worry? For a while there I wondered if it¡¯d be kinder to just not tell you at all. Ethan was inclined that way, said it¡¯d be a distraction you didn¡¯t need. Dr. Gus overruled him.¡±

    ¡°Oh, god.¡± She was sitting on the deck now, her back against the bulkhead. She couldn¡¯t remember how that happened. ¡°Oh, dear god.¡±

    ¡°This is why I didn¡¯t want to tell you. Look, when it comes down to it, you¡¯re a warrant officer. Small fry.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s supposed to make me feel better?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You can play the Nuremberg Defense. Nobody wants to see an actual combat veteran eat it unless she¡¯s been actually treasonous, which you haven¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Depends how you define treason.¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that! More important heads will roll first. Possibly including mine. You focus on getting Yuri out of there alive, and keeping the other kids safe.¡±

    ¡°How am I supposed to even ¡­ oh god, Hamp, I¡¯m scared.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. Nobody involved in this wants an emissor¡¯s face on TV, you hear? It¡¯d be a felony, for God¡¯s sake. The weasels who blew on Fred Walsey are still doing time.  If by some miracle they get acquitted, it¡¯s just instant career death. Might as well get filmed kicking a disabled veteran. The worst you¡¯ll ever face is a sympathetic closed-door committee. And you¡¯re literally protecting orphan kids¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯m not protecting them from anything. They¡¯re seeing repeated combat action under seriously sketchy circumstances¡ª¡°

    ¡°Which you can¡¯t help¡ª¡°

    ¡°You think cable news is going to play it that way?¡±

    ¡°Keisha? What¡¯s going on? Is something wrong?¡±

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    She looked up into Nadia¡¯s concerned blue eyes. She¡¯d forgotten the kid was nearby. And mobile again. That would take some getting used to. ¡°Nadia¡¯s here. I¡¯ll talk to you later, Hamp. Thanks.¡± She hung up before he could reply.

    ¡°Bad news?¡±

    She pushed herself to her feet, hoping her legs didn¡¯t wobble too bad. ¡°Nothing you need to worry about, Nadia.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re worried,¡± she pointed out.

    ¡°It¡¯s something personal,¡± she said. ¡°Excuse me.¡± She squeezed past the girl to head back indoors so she could lie down in her bunk. But Nadia just followed her.

    ¡°Personal problems you hear about from Colonel Hampton? Is there something wrong at home? Something with your husband?¡±

    Keisha¡¯s laugh echoed off the metal walls. ¡°I don¡¯t have a husband, child! And it¡¯s nothing like that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not married yet? But you have to be almost thirty!¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with¡ªno. No.¡± She was still walking, and Nadia was still trailing behind. ¡°We¡¯re not having that discussion right now. I¡¯m sorry, but I think I need to be alone.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Nadia said. But she didn¡¯t stop following her. In a minute they were at the door to the room Keisha shared with three Brit servicewomen. Nadia grabbed her sleeve. ¡°Keisha, you¡¯re my friend. You¡¯ve been my friend even when I wasn¡¯t yours. I owe you my life and my freedom. You seem very upset. Are you sure there isn¡¯t anything I can do for you? I promise I won¡¯t tell anyone, even Fatima.¡±

    Those big blue eyes ¡­ damn it. Just as she¡¯d finally got the kid to like and trust her, this had to happen. ¡°This shouldn¡¯t be anything that concerns you. But I need to be straight with you: I might have to leave you soon.¡±

    ¡°For how long?¡±

    ¡°Potentially? For good.¡±

    ¡°That would very much concern me! What has happened?¡±

    She looked in Nadia¡¯s face, decided she wasn¡¯t going to shake the kid off and that it wouldn¡¯t be kind to try. ¡°You might as well come in.¡± All her roommates, thankfully, were absent. She flopped onto her bunk and explained it as briefly as she could. Which wasn¡¯t very brief, especially since Nadia had never been to America in her life and had very little idea how it was run.

    ¡°So ¡­ are they going to put you in jail?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s possible. But I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s hard to say because nothing like this has happened before. I might have to testify at a lot of hearings.¡±

    ¡°I can testify too, if you need me to.¡±

    She put on a smile. ¡°I appreciate that. But I don¡¯t think the testimony of a foreign-born teenager will count for much.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not.¡± She bit her lip. ¡°Will the Colonel, or Ethan, or Dr. Gus be staying with us?¡±

    ¡°Again: I don¡¯t know. I wish I had a better answer, but I want to be honest.¡±

    ¡°Honesty is good. So ¡­ it could be just the three of us, by ourselves. Four if you count Yuri.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t even thought that far. ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? Will somebody else be replacing you, if you all get called back to testify?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not impossible. But I¡¯m going to keep having to answer ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯ to a lot of these questions. Adesina is famous now, at least some people know about the program that created her, and when the people who matter unravel the whole thing it¡¯s going to cause a big change¡ªsomehow¡ªin the way Americans think about familiars, their government, the military, everything.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Nadia cocked her head, thinking it over. ¡°How do you think they¡¯ll react?¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t all be one way, you know. I don¡¯t read follow the news much, even on the rare occasion when I have a long stretch stateside, but I know familiars are controversial. Some people embrace them as the key to America¡¯s safety, other people think we¡¯re just a tool of evil elites trying to run the world behind the scenes. A lot of it is crazy, conspiracy-theory stuff.¡± She laughed. ¡°Of course, some of those crazy conspiracy theories said that we never stopped making familiars, and now the world will know they were right, so ¡­ ¡°

    Nadia looked more perplexed than anything else. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°So what happens to me might depend on who has the loudest voice or convinces the most people, possibly by appealing to bad motivations or selfish reasons. I don¡¯t know what your opinion on democracy is, but it gets messy sometimes. It¡¯s the price we pay for accountable government: things aren¡¯t as straightforward as they could be when one or a few people are in charge permanently.¡±

    ¡°It sounds that way,¡± Nadia said carefully. ¡°But ¡­ they won¡¯t try to execute you, will they?¡±

    ¡°Execute me? Why would they do that?¡±

    ¡°If they think you have done wrong, and it sounds like they might, they will have to punish you,¡± she said. ¡°But you can¡¯t put an emissor in jail; they¡¯d just break right out.¡±

    ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Nadia¡¯s face scrunched up in concentration, then cleared into a relieved smile. ¡°Oh. You mean they wouldn¡¯t let them put you in jail in the first place. That¡¯s right. Even getting you into custody would be very hard, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°No, I mean that if they give me time, I will serve it.¡± Nadia looked lot. ¡°There¡¯s such a thing as winning the battle and losing the war. If I refuse to cooperate with legitimate law enforcement, I¡¯ll be proving that emissors can¡¯t be trusted, and that the order that was meant to keep me from being trained was right in the first place. A lot of Americans think that already, because of people like Titus Marshall. And then they¡¯d almost certainly put out a kill order on me. I¡¯d spend the rest of my life as a fugitive, if I survived at all.¡±

    ¡°I would be with you. We all would. We could protect you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯d try, dear, and I appreciate that. But I wouldn¡¯t want that anyway. There¡¯s a principle at stake here. I know you can understand accepting suffering for the sake of principles. You¡¯ve done plenty of that yourself.¡±

    Nadia spread her hands. ¡°What is the principle, though? To let people who fear and hate you lock you up for years so they won¡¯t hate you more?¡±

    Keisha started putting together an explanation, looked at Nadia¡¯s face, and stopped. On one side, thousands of years of democratic traditions going back to Ancient Greece and Rome. The Declaration, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, a new nation conceived in liberty¡ªa whole body of knowledge and tradition Keisha Graham had been absorbing in school since she was five or six.

    On the other side, an ethnic Russian Kazakh born and raised under tyranny, parted from it by unfathomable tragedy, adopted by a sociopathic war profiteer and abused and exploited ever since. The child had never known an authority worthy of trust, with the possible exception of her parents. Keisha wasn¡¯t going to ask about that. To Nadia, anyone who wasn¡¯t kin or a proven friend was a potential enemy at best.

    ¡°When I first met Titus Marshall,¡± Keisha said at last, ¡°he told me that he was going to be a real emperor. That traditional governments were on the way out, and emissors like him were the future of humanity. Sooner or later, he thought, it was inevitable that people with so much devastating power would dominate people without it. He¡¯s not the first person I¡¯ve heard floating that idea¡ªit¡¯s what everyone in America is so scared of. He was the first person I met to advocate it so baldly. My principle, if you can call it that, is that I would go to jail to prove him wrong.¡±

    Nadia¡¯s face had fallen throughout the whole speech. ¡°I suppose you could be right. But where will that leave us? I know, you don¡¯t know what will happen. But what if it leaves me, and Fatima and Ruslan, and even Yuri, to face Yefimov and all the rest by ourselves? Will we be on our own?¡±

    ¡°I think Kemal would stay with you, if nothing else,¡± she said feebly, to avoid telling the poor girl that she didn¡¯t know one more time.

    ¡°What does your government think of us, though? What do your people think of us, of what used to be the Marshall family?¡±

    ¡°As far as I know, the general public knows we were paying Marshall to use you and the other children, that you disappeared for a bit before being turned on Ankara by the Russians, and that you have been wandering around Turkey ever since, making trouble. A few obsessive people follow every bit of paraphysical activity closely, sometimes in an unhealthy way¡ªespecially on the internet¡ªbut most people don¡¯t like to think about it. It¡¯s very depressing for them, and makes them feel powerless.

    ¡°And ¡­ there¡¯s a culture of deferential silence around everything paraphysical. There are so many laws about exposing an operative, and so much fear that the protection we give will fail because of such an exposure, that the media doesn¡¯t poke its nose in very far, even after all the previous scandals. Like I said, most people don¡¯t want to read that stuff anyway.¡±

    ¡°That is the same everywhere,¡± Nadia interrupted with a huff of impatience. ¡°I remember my father and his friends complaining over dinner, that the world was run more and more by sorcerers every year, and nobody even wanted to talk about it. It was the kind of thing everybody has said so much that they don¡¯t even think about it when they say it, like complaints about corruption, or rising prices. They complain to complain, because there is nothing to be done. What does that have to do with us?¡±

    ¡°The average American is not aware that we¡¯re supporting you, or that we¡¯re associated with you in any way. Didn¡¯t you know that?¡±

    ¡°I hadn¡¯t really thought about what the average American thinks. How do you think they will react, when they find out?¡±

    ¡°I think, most likely, it won¡¯t be anything like the main issue. Just the news of Project Belvedere will be huge, and the part where we were continuing to ¡®use¡¯ underaged combatants¡ªthat¡¯s how they¡¯ll put it¡ªwill just be the cherry on top. Most likely,¡± she put careful emphasis on the words, ¡°this will lead to a loss of support for foreign involvement in general.¡±

    ¡°Including us.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± That was all she could say.

    Without another word Nadia whipped around and rushed out the hatch. Keisha didn¡¯t even consider chasing after her. Instead she sighed and, fighting the strong temptation to just shut her eyes and try to sleep so she wouldn¡¯t have to think, got out her phone. Information access might be limited here, but she had to try. She owed Nadia some answers.

 LXI. Responsibility (Yuri)

    Responsibility, Yuri had long ago decided, was a real pain in the ass. That was why he¡¯d always tried to avoid it. He was happiest when Hamza and Papa Titus did all the strategizing, told him what to do, and let him loose to do it. Yuri could follow specific orders, then go home, kick back, and relax until whatever they decided on as the next mission. He only got in trouble when they expected him to improvise and make decisions on the fly. He made the decisions pretty well¡ªat least, he always thought so¡ªbut they always bitched at him after the fact, trying to say they¡¯d have done it better. Like that bullshit with the airport back in Thessaloniki.

    He hadn¡¯t had much choice lately, though. It had been a rough month. Titus was dead, Hamza was probably toast too, and he didn¡¯t know where the rest of the family had gone off to. Yuri¡¯d had to make the decisions then, because there was nobody else. Fortunately, that meant there was nobody to criticize either.

    As usual, he¡¯d done pretty well for himself; he¡¯d made a bunch of messes along the way, just dodging the heat, but he already had a sweet setup back in their old Syrian turf, working with a lot of the same people. It was a long way from the Tit¡¯s setup, with multiple repurposed emissants, but Yuri didn¡¯t want that anyway. He wanted some space to live, steady income, and nobody giving him crap. And he had that now. More or less.

    But he still had to be responsible for some things, like explaining the jokes on Death Squad! to a refugee kid whose only experience with animation was bad dubs of old Bugs Bunny shorts. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a cartoon, but you gotta look past that, okay? This isn¡¯t the baby garbage you¡¯re used to. Matt and Trey are more sophisticated than that.¡±

    He paused a minute to let Aladdin¡ªhe still couldn¡¯t believe that was the dude¡¯s actual name, but it was¡ªtranslate. The kid nodded, then frowned at the TV screen.

    Yuri knew what he was thinking. ¡°Yeah, the animation¡¯s crappy too. That¡¯s part of the joke! You¡¯ve got these crazy guys running around the world doing crazy black ops shit, and the animation¡¯s terrible! The blood looks like ketchup, and the people are just blocks of color with blocks of color for clothes! But it¡¯s supposed to be terrible. That¡¯s the whole point.¡±

    Aladdin translated. The boy nodded and smiled nervously, like he didn¡¯t quite get it but was scared to say so. What a pissant. ¡°And that¡¯s just scratching the surface. This is some deep shit, and I can¡¯t expect you to get it all right away, but it¡¯s all satire. Like, half the shows aren¡¯t even about all the killing and overthrowing governments anymore. That¡¯s mostly early season stuff. Now they go multiple shows at a time just focusing on their personal problems, or with them getting pissed off about some dumbass pop-culture fad, and Mr. Chonkey¡ªthat¡¯s the dude in the suit with the glasses¡ªis all like, ¡®hey, Death Squad! We¡¯re not paying you to dick around here! Get back to killing civilians.¡¯ And they¡¯re all like, ¡®whatever.¡¯ But even that¡¯s just a running gag now. They¡¯ve kind of moved past the show¡¯s premise.¡±

    All that took a while for Aladdin to translate; Yuri tried to pass the time by watching the show, but this was one of the lame episodes from the season two slump, and he¡¯d seen it three times already. So he picked up an old issue of Spiral Flame War instead, and got so wrapped up that Aladdin had to cough for his attention. ¡°Oh. Right.¡± He set the manga down, then turned off the TV.

    ¡°The thing you¡¯ve got to understand is, the Yuris aren¡¯t just some dumb after-school club, okay? It¡¯s an elite group, and I don¡¯t hand-pick the members in person because I enjoy going through this. Because yeah, it¡¯s fun to be Yuri¡ªit¡¯s hella fun¡ªbut it¡¯s also a franchise, like McDonald¡¯s. You go out into the world, you¡¯re representing me. I need to know you¡¯re not going to make me look bad. That would be embarrassing. So I need to know you¡¯re a good fit for my organization.¡±

    The kid listened to the translation, nodding along, then said something back. ¡°He knows this is an honor, and he hopes he has not disappointed you too badly,¡± Aladdin said. ¡°He says perhaps he could introduce you to some of our shows, and that would help you understand why he does not yet appreciate yours?¡±

    Damn, this kid was fucking lame. Barely better than Ruslan. Yuri could already tell he¡¯d be a terrible ambassador for the Yuri brand. But the kid matched his height, build, and age pretty closely, and that was the important thing. They¡¯d been running low on volunteers ever since Yuri Numbnuts and Stuttering Yuri ate it in that airstrike. A couple had even deserted. This kid had the guts to try and make something for himself. Or maybe he just hadn¡¯t eaten in a couple of days. Same difference. Time for the personality test.

    ¡°Donkey pants,¡± Yuri said seriously. ¡°The motorcycle eats the cactus and donuts on the blimp. Toys aren¡¯t just a kind of lawyer.¡±

    This was maybe the fifteenth time he¡¯d done this test, and he was pretty sure Aladdin translated perfectly each time. The kid blinked, then looked doubtfully at the translator, who stayed stone-faced. Then back at Yuri, before very precisely enunciating something in Arabic that worked out to, ¡°I do not understand what you are trying to tell me.¡±

    Yuri put on his best annoyed face and said, ¡°Gangsters don¡¯t wear violins! And anyway what about the pandas, huh? How did the pandas get mixed up in all this?¡±

    The kid¡¯s brow wrinkled. He looked at Aladdin, back at Yuri, and said through Aladdin, ¡°If this is American humor, I do not understand it either.¡±

    Yuri slammed his fist on the table, and the kid jumped. Acting, at least, was fun. ¡°I¡¯m not a glassblower! Neither was your dad, and anyway dinosaurs can¡¯t wear false teeth. They don¡¯t even have eyes, you clumsy robot!¡±

    Aladdin translated that, and the kid was silent for a long moment. Then he gave a long-ass speech, very softly. Aladdin said, ¡°He says he is not sure what is going on, but based on your reputation he suspects it is some kind of joke at his expense. He does not enjoy this, but he knows he has few options left in his life and wishes for you to know that he will tolerate this sort of humor as long as you continue to find it pleasing.¡±

    Yuri smiled. Everybody reacted to the personality test a little different. Some of them cried, or got mad, or had a panic attack. Some of them ran out of the room. A few just smiled like morons and pretended they thought it was actually clever. Those ones got names like Yuri Brown-Nose or Yuri Knobslobber. But this one ¡­ this one had dignity. Wild. Definitely a keeper.

    He got up, poured two very small glasses of the stuff in the knockoff ¡°Jcak Daniels¡± bottle, and handed one over. ¡°Here, kid. You pass. You can be Yuri Brassballs, I don¡¯t think we have one of those yet. Forget your old name, whatever it was. And I¡¯m Boss Yuri to you, now. Aladdin, call the kitchen for some of that lentil and rice stuff. Everybody loves that.¡±

    The kid gave his very stiff thanks, staring at the booze the whole time. It¡¯d be interesting to see what he was like drunk, but probably he¡¯d just make weenie faces and splutter and choke the whole thing down, same as most of them, and that would just be depressing. So Boss Yuri took a few sips, to show him how a man took his liquor, and wandered out of the old employee lounge before his new employee could finish his spiel.

    He had half a mind to go see Maria now, but she probably wouldn¡¯t like being interrupted, so he decided to keep being responsible. Anyway, he needed to stretch his legs, and Faisal said it was better to move around as much as possible, so nobody could predict where he might be at any time. Time for an inspection tour!

    Homs, Syria, had one of the pathetically poor country¡¯s two oil refineries. Yuri had taken it up as headquarters because it was big enough to hold a lot of people, it could make stuff he could sell, and if he got pissed off and called Shum-Shum the whole thing would go up like Hiroshima. Anybody who tried to sneak in to assassinate him would face the overwhelming likelihood of being blasted into the stratosphere even if he succeeded, and his employees were very, very motivated not to let anybody try.

    Yuri tossed back the last of his Jcak Daniels. It was pretty bad, but he¡¯d had it tasted a full day before he touched it, so it was safe. Hopefully the situation would settle down soon so he could stop living like some kind of old-timey nobleman. For now, though, he took the stairs down to peek in on the spook on duty. It was Faisal himself, at the moment, and Yuri could tell he was trancing for real. Nothing paraphysical could pop up within three miles without triggering an alert. They¡¯d tracked and killed five VRIL pipers that way before they learned their lesson, but he still kept them trancing around the clock. His clairvoyants were all old contacts from the Tit¡¯s Syrian days, officially still on the government¡¯s payroll. Whatever the government was, anymore.

    He passed a few other Yuris¡ªGaptooth and Haha¡ªdoing sentry rounds together. They both went stiff at the sight of him, then relaxed when he smiled. Had they seen anything suspicious? No, but they were looking forward to their next trip out. Very good. That was about all the conversation Yuri¡¯s bad Arabic and their bad English would bear, so he nodded awkwardly and they all moved on. Gaptooth had looked a little glassy, so Yuri got out his notepad and made a note to cut back on the weekly coke allowance. The stuff was expensive anyway. Responsibility¡ªwhat a pain in the ass.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    He looked out the window and saw two cars headed out on a tribute run. Those were a solid moneymaker and¡ªhe checked the schedule¡ªit was Manboobs and Dingleberry this time around. Reliable performers. Dingleberry especially was damn good at acting batshit crazy; everyone believed just one more bit of jewelry would be enough to cool him down and avoid a visit from Shum-Shum. Hopefully he¡¯d come back alive, and not try to skim. Dingleberry could be a little greedy, and it would depress morale if he had to wind up in a hole in the desert after doing such an awesome job. Not that they actually bothered to dig holes anymore. Figure of speech.

    He moseyed down to the cafeteria, where they were just setting out lunch. A few Yuris, a few hired guns, a few old refinery hands who¡¯d been vetted and allowed to stay on making the Yuri-Industrial Complex some more cash. The local price was pretty high, these days, especially for a country with so few functioning roads left.

    Yuri could have gone on to look at the actual oil-producing parts of the refinery, but it wasn¡¯t like he actually understood what the hell was going on there, and that part had never been a problem. He had people keeping the oilmen honest, and people watching those people, and all that. The system ran itself; they only needed Yuri to be the gorilla in the room. Nobody could try and jockey for power with him around, because he¡¯d throw a fit and burn them alive. It worked out better for everybody. Better than the last couple of years in Syria, and that was for sure.

    All in all, things were looking up, he decided as he cut his tour short. He was sort of responsible, but it wasn¡¯t too bad. The board of directors were fine as long as he kept the peace and didn¡¯t shake down anybody they cared about. Yuri was pretty sure they all had side hustles here, and he was fine with that. Everybody needed a hobby, and he had somebody he trusted making sure they stayed in the black for real. They were on track to be basically running the whole country by the end of the year, with Yuri, Inc. as a generously compensated security guarantor.

    Faisal didn¡¯t like him sleeping in a regular, predictable location that could be taken out by a single rocket strike. Yuri was a big fan of living, so he complied, but Maria was stubborn so she got somebody¡¯s private office to herself, complete with private bathroom. She didn¡¯t have to deal with anybody but him¡ªthough she could, if she wanted to. She just never did.

    He cracked open her door and peeked in; she was curled up in her beat-up armchair, staring hard at one of the refinery¡¯s technical manuals, mouthing the words as she read. Yuri liked watching her study. Actually, he liked watching her do pretty much anything. She was maybe sixteen¡ªshe didn¡¯t know for sure herself¡ªand not much taller than him, but a rough childhood in a shithole country hadn¡¯t hurt her looks. Just now she was hanging out in pajamas, and he bet she¡¯d feel pleasantly soft.

    ¡°I am trying to concentrate, Furunin,¡± she said without looking up. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°Same thing I always want, girl,¡± he said as he strutted into the room. ¡°You up for it?¡±

    ¡°You can wait,¡± she told him, and turned a page. ¡°It¡¯s good for you, to try self-control for once. You need practice at it.¡±

    Yep. Grumpy, as predicted. But he actually kind of liked that about her¡ªnot that she was grumpy, but that she didn¡¯t give enough of a damn to hide it, from him or anyone else. Generations of living on the edge of a desert, doing whatever it took to survive, had produced a girl who might be afraid of something someday, but would never, ever show it. Yuri could feel the Jcak Daniels kicking in, just a bit¡ªprobably he should have eaten breakfast, too late now¡ªand sidled around the room to start rubbing her neck and shoulders as she read. He put his heart into it, but she kept on reading. Probably just to annoy him.

    They¡¯d known each other for a little less than three weeks now, since her family helped move him across the border. The gang had spent enough time running hot Soviet gear to speak something that could generously be called Russian, and for the third-youngest cousin in the group to answer to either ¡°Miriam¡± or ¡°Maria.¡± One miserably cold night in the desert he¡¯d sat next to her around the fire, passing the bottle while cousin Ahmed/Arseny went to fetch more gas.

    After the third round he¡¯d got up enough courage, or lost enough brain function, to put an arm around her waist. At first he thought she didn¡¯t even notice, and started drifting his hand lower to see what he could get away with. Eventually she sighed, said something like, ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like I have anything better to do,¡± and walked off to the one of the convoy¡¯s empty cars. Yuri sat there blinking at the fire, trying to come to grips with the situation, before her uncle told him they¡¯d be on the road all day tomorrow and she¡¯d be an insufferable bitch to everyone if he stood her up.

    Later on in that evening, under the influence of even more alcohol, he confessed that he was an infamous emissor. She replied that they¡¯d figured that out before he joined, and that she¡¯d mostly slept with him to see if the familiar would come out on its own if he got excited enough. Which was probably stupid, but she was curious. When they got across the border she went along with him like it was a thing that had been decided¡ªYuri wasn¡¯t going to argue¡ªand proceeded to follow him wherever he went, whatever he did.

    Two weeks and many long talks at varying levels of sobriety later, he still couldn¡¯t tell if she was just bored and wanted to see what happened, or lazy and looking to sponge for a while, or hatching plans to take a cut out of his ops for her family. She was never really affectionate to him, but she never seemed interested in anyone else, either, and she didn¡¯t object to having him around or doing whatever, whenever, provided she wasn¡¯t busy with something she thought was more important.

    Maria wasn¡¯t his girlfriend, or even really his friend; she wasn¡¯t anything. She was just there, all the time, and Yuri wanted to know why, and was absolutely terrified that she would get fed up and leave before he found out how to make her stay.

    Judging by her current behavior, he wasn¡¯t making any progress on that front. He leaned down to scan the manual over her shoulder; she growled and swatted him back. ¡°Phew! Your breath is terrible. Go away.¡±

    ¡°What do you get out of a book like that?¡±

    ¡°Knowledge. Information. Novelty. All things I can¡¯t get out of you.¡±

    ¡°If you want me to give you information, just ask.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to tell me that I don¡¯t know already. And I¡¯m asking you to leave. This is hard enough to follow without you distracting me.¡±

    ¡°But I want to distract you,¡± he began with a smile, though he was pretty sure he was well on the way to being physically shoved out of the room. He couldn¡¯t help himself. It was probably for the best that the alarms went off before he could go any further. ¡°Damn it!¡±

    The refinery had a number of alarms pre-programmed, and they¡¯d set up a few new ones, but they were all in Arabic and Yuri¡¯s brain wasn¡¯t up to decoding them at the moment. He was pretty sure that wasn¡¯t the one for aerial incoming, but beyond that ¡­ he froze in place, hands still on Maria¡¯s shoulders, until she said, ¡°Esper sentry alarm. Faisal spotted something.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, babe,¡± he said, kissing her on the cheek. She continued staring at a diagram of a filtration system.

    As a primeval, Shum-Shum didn¡¯t have a keystone sequence; there was no complicated story or set of ideas he needed everybody to fix in their minds. All the poor thing wanted was for things to stop being so boring all the time. He came out in an instant; the trick, more urgent here than anywhere else, was to keep him from getting to work burning and wrecking as soon as he appeared.

    There was no need for that now anyway. As soon as his sparkling, jangling buddy rose into the air above the sprawling oil complex, they were absolutely safe from VRIL attacks, and could search the area for more serious threats. Shum-Shum didn¡¯t really have eyes to see with, or anything else like a sense organ, but he had something like senses that Yuri could scan the world with well enough, even if he could never have described or explained the things he saw afterwards. And somehow, at that moment, Yuri could tell that there was a tall, brilliant figure like a beautiful woman with long hair standing on a rooftop in downtown Homs, to the east. Not doing anything, only standing, naked and glowing bright, with her arms across her chest.

    Shum-Shum could tell she had power, and itched to confront her, to set that luminous rosy skin on fire and see her shake the earth as she struggled to escape him, or to fight back. But Yuri had expected that, and kept him in heel. If he couldn¡¯t have managed that, he¡¯d have got himself killed ages ago.

    Suddenly the monster felt something twinge at his senses; there was pressure on his halo from the north, pushing back at his place, keeping him from taking all the power he should. It was harder to keep him from reflexively hurling lightning at the offending spot, but Yuri managed to restrain his partner somehow. Instead he turned the beast¡¯s focus around, and perceived an enormous shape like a black bird floating in the sky.

    There was a second twinge from the south, and Shum-Shum bucked against Yuri¡¯s will, spitting out brief flashes of flame in spite of all Yuri could do to restrain him. He hurried to shut him down and pull him back before he could kill them all. He didn¡¯t get the opportunity to see what had caused the second incursion, but he didn¡¯t need to. He could guess.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Maria said, as they shook themselves out of the hangover together. She didn¡¯t seem to mind having Shum-Shum take over; she almost seemed to enjoy it. Which was worth thinking about, but not now.

    Yuri didn¡¯t bother to answer her, but picked up the clunky old phone off the desk and dialed Faisal. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s me. No, nothing to worry about, this time. Yeah, I know there¡¯s three of ¡®em. It¡¯s fine. They¡¯re not moving yet, are they? Right. Standing there waiting. It¡¯s just ¡­ a little surprise for us, that¡¯s all. Yeah, I know you don¡¯t like surprises, but seriously, it¡¯s fine, we¡¯re cool, it¡¯s all ¡­ yeah.¡± His tongue felt like it was a foot thick. Damn Jcak Daniels. ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s nothing for you to worry about. Just a little family reunion.¡±

 LXII. Intervention (Nadia)

    Yuri agreed to meet them that evening, in a public park north and east of his oil-refinery stronghold. It was a lonely place by the banks of the Orontes, all low clumps of grass and leafless trees under a cloudy sky. Nadia could see buildings in all directions in the far distance, but nearby there was nothing to see but the reeds rattling and swaying by the riverside, nothing to hear but the white noise of rushing water. In a few places the current ran through concrete culverts, but in general there was very little that could be burned or permanently destroyed.

    Nadia and Keisha got there first; Mr. Ethan came towing Ruslan a little bit later, and Colonel Hampton drove up last, all but dragging Fatima out of his car. By then it was nearing sunset, and the wind was picking up. Though Homs rarely got below freezing at this time of the year, there was a steady wind blowing in from the Mediterranean, fifty miles away.

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s just like the little bastard to be late,¡± the Colonel grumbled.

    ¡°Hamp!¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s all right,¡± Nadia said. ¡°My brother is being inconsiderate, as usual.¡± Even though he had not seen his sister for a month, and might have thought her dead, he was taking his time.

    ¡°Solid shopping scene in Nicosia,¡± Fatima remarked to nobody in particular as she rummaged through her pockets. ¡°Could have been there still.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to smoke, do it downwind,¡± Keisha told her.

    ¡°Who made you boss? Anyway, it looks like I¡¯m out, so there.¡±

    Nadia sighed and looked over her shoulder at the stand of trees where Mr. Ethan had elected to shelter from the wind, and from sight. Nadia wasn¡¯t sure what hiding would accomplish, tactically. Yuri and his cronies would know exactly how many people had driven up; if nothing else, they could count cars. And if Yuri, for whatever mad Yuri reason, decided to open this meeting by dropping fire from the sky, just being a hundred feet away would accomplish little.

    On the other hand, Nadia couldn¡¯t say with any certainty that Yuri would not do such a thing. He¡¯d been running out of control for a month now. When she thought of it that way, she was tempted to go hide in the trees herself.

    The silence was oppressive. ¡°Keisha, are you sure you don¡¯t want to hide as well? Your last meeting with Yuri did not go very well, and I don¡¯t want to set him off.¡±

    ¡°You know your brother better than any of us do. If you really think that¡¯s the way to go, I¡¯ll comply. But what tone are we trying to set, here? I think we need to be firm. It needs to be clear that we¡¯re a united front, and that we¡¯re not playing around.¡±

    Nadia chewed her lip as she thought it over. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said at last. ¡°I know Yuri¡ªat least, I used to know him¡ªbut I¡¯m his little sister. Even Hamza and Titus Marshall together were never able to make him behave completely. They could only ¡­ I don¡¯t know how to put it.¡±

    ¡°Aim him,¡± Fatima supplied. ¡°He was going to wreck people¡¯s shit no matter what we said or did. But he didn¡¯t really care what he destroyed. You could point him in a useful direction, if you asked nicely.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s fair,¡± Nadia said heavily.

    ¡°And we¡¯re going to be trying to talk this kid over?¡± Hamp said doubtfully. ¡°You three sure this is what you want to do?¡±

    Ruslan shook his head, very subtly, but it was dark enough that it was hard to notice, and Nadia could pretend not to see. Fatima was more open about it. ¡°I don¡¯t really like the turd, but we can¡¯t just leave him running loose. And the boy can be real useful to have on your side. You¡¯ve got to give him that much.¡±

    ¡°He saved us in Fatih,¡± Nadia added. ¡°We are safer with four than with three.¡± The Colonel gave her an incredulous look, visible even in the fading light, and she added, ¡°If I am a victim here, so is he. He has had Shum-Shum inside him for three years now. ¨¦zarine is bad enough; Shum-Shum must be far worse. How well do you think you would do, with that thing whispering in your ear all the time, and with ¡®Papa Titus¡¯ for the closest thing you have to a father?¡±

    The Colonel sighed but didn¡¯t answer. Keisha mutely turned to look at the sunset, and Ethan did not speak up from his improvised duck-blind. Nadia pressed on: ¡°I know he is guilty. He is guilty of many things. But this is not his fault! He was younger than me when that thing destroyed our home, and I was just a bratty frightened child he suddenly had to be responsible for. All of this was a disaster that never should have happened in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Easy there, girl,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Don¡¯t get all worked up now. You¡¯re going to need some of that fire for dealing with him when he actually shows up.¡±

    ¡°If he ever does,¡± the Colonel added under his breath.

    Nadia decided to copy Keisha. The western sky was a glorious array of reddish-orange light wreathed in masses of dark cloud, shooting out a kindly beam here and there to turn a favored patch of ground to solid gold. Looking at it didn¡¯t banish her worries or change them in any way, but it made a nice distraction right until Ethan spoke up again from the trees: ¡°Is anybody else hearing that? I really hope it¡¯s just my imagination.¡±

    Nadia cocked an ear, and felt her heart skip a beat. She heard it too: an aggravating, simple, repetitive tune, like you might hear from a child¡¯s toy or a TV commercial. A very, very familiar tune, that had featured in most of her nightmares for the past several years. ¡°Keisha? Dr. Gus said¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yes, I know.¡± She pulled her phone out. ¡°No message.¡±

    ¡°Did the old boy fall asleep on the job?¡± Ethan said. The music was getting louder, but there was no sign of the monster on the horizon in any direction. Had Yuri somehow learned to hide Shum-Shum? That was not a pleasant thought. But the music sounded different this time as well. Something else was laid over it¡ªwas somebody shouting? He didn¡¯t sound like he was hurt.

    ¡°Do sovereign protocol, but nothing more,¡± Keisha advised. ¡°We have a couple of kitties, if he wants to start something. But we should be feeling it already if it¡¯s that¡ªoh, for the love of God!¡°

    A small convoy of military trucks had appeared against the sunset, cruising down the road toward them. As they got closer, Nadia saw that they had speakers mounted on them, from which Shum-Shum¡¯s horrible music was blasting. With all obstructions cleared, she could now hear the man talking¡ªno, rapping¡ªover it in a foreign language. ¡°Is that ¡­ is that Arabic?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Fatima said, sighing. ¡°Technically. But the lyrics are just pure shit. I think I can actually hear al-Khansa turning over in her grave, even over that.¡±

    The trucks swerved off the road to park in the grass a short distance away, and began disgorging passengers. To Nadia¡¯s immense displeasure, the engines kept running, and the speakers with them. There was a chorus, it turned out: several women cooing Yuri¡¯s name many times in a row. The effect, against a bad recording of Shum-Shum¡¯s already tinny music, was horrific, the more so because he hadn¡¯t bothered to synchronize the playback so that one truck was playing the chorus while the next two had moved on to the next verse.

    But trucks kept pulling up, one after another, and people kept pouring out of them: half armed men in uniform, the other half teenage boys, several of whom were chanting along with the hateful noise Nadia supposed she must call a song. She was on the verge of summoning ¨¦zarine to shut it down when the last truck was emptied and all ten of them, in near-unison, turned off their engines and the noise. Their headlights stayed on, blotting out the light of the golden hour with harsh shades of electric white.

    Now there was a small but excited crowd of boys, milling around talking to one another. Several were rather rudely pointing at them, and making comments; judging by the smirks, they were not all compliments. They were at least not audible. Then the sudden blast of an airhorn made everyone jump, and the teenage army hustled into two lines facing each other, forming an avenue in the grass from the third-to-last truck to where Nadia and Keisha stood waiting. The bodyguard types stayed where they were.

    In a ragged chorus the boys shouted, the English words comprehensible in spite of thick accents and poor timing: ¡°Hey! Ho! Boss Man Yuri is on the floor. Respect!¡± And every one of them raised a clenched fist into the air in salute before falling silent.

    The back door on the truck so honored (it looked identical to the others) popped open, and two people came out. The first, Nadia easily recognized in spite of poor light as her big brother¡ªor her older brother, anyway. He hadn¡¯t gotten any taller, though he was swaddled in an oversized bomber jacket. He threw her an idle wave, then reached into the truck to help out a girl with long, curling black hair and designer sunglasses. Her jacket matched his own but fit better; it might have been the same size, as she was taller. Under it she wore tight jeans and a midriff-baring white top. In this weather? Maybe she didn¡¯t have any more sense than he did. Nadia supposed not, if they were together.

    ¡°What¡¯s up, bitches?¡± Yuri squeaked as he led his lady down the line. ¡°Been a while. How¡¯s it hanging?¡±

    Nadia spared the others a glance. Fatima had her arms crossed. Ruslan¡¯s gaze was focused on a spot somewhere around the girl¡¯s navel. The Colonel and Keisha both had their hands in their jacket pockets, very stiff postures, and faces kept carefully expressionless. Ethan remained hidden. Nadia turned back. ¡°Hello, Yuri. It¡¯s good to see you again.¡±

    ¡°Sounding a little stiff there, sis. Somebody die?¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°A couple of thousand so far,¡± Fatima told him. ¡°You might have lost count.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sorry about that. I checked around, and they don¡¯t make scoreboards that big. I¡¯m off the charts. Maria, meet the crew. This is my sister Nadia¡ª¡°

    ¡°I am not here to make friends with your concubine, Yuri.¡± She said the words louder than she intended. All the boys in both lines flinched and swiveled their heads to stare at her, then at Yuri.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about her, babe,¡± he reassured the girl in Russian. ¡°She¡¯s always like that. I got all the fun genes.¡± He gave her an apologetic peck on the cheek, to which she barely reacted. She had taken off the useless sunglasses, and her eyes were moving over their group even as her head kept perfectly still.

    ¡°We¡¯ve come to take you back,¡± Nadia told him. ¡°You will be coming with us.¡±

    Yuri looked them over, leaning back on one foot and jutting his lip out in an insouciant way. His gaze might have faltered as it passed over Keisha, but then Nadia might have imagined it. He took his time before answering, ¡°It¡¯s kind of short notice, sis, and I¡¯ve got a lot on my plate right now. You want to do a family outing, it might have to wait until next week.¡±

    ¡°Not funny, fool,¡± Fatima spat out. ¡°We¡¯ve all heard it before anyway. This isn¡¯t any kind of negotiation. We¡¯ve had it with your shit, and you¡¯ll be coming along, quiet or otherwise.¡± Nadia was surprised by her anger; she¡¯d only been her usual kind of grumpy before.

    ¡°Is that so,¡± Yuri said. ¡°Didja know your buddies there put a price on my head?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Nadia lied, before the others could say anything. ¡°And they were right to do it. Yuri, you cannot carry on like this.¡±

    ¡°Why not? I¡¯m doing better than the rest of you. What do you guys have, a couple of towns in the middle of Turkey? I¡¯m halfway to running this country. They¡¯ll be writing ¡®Yuri¡¯ on the money by December. Actually, I¡¯m starting up a mint pretty soon, I think I¡¯ve got a sample right here. Hold up a second.¡± He rummaged in his pockets. ¡°Damn. Must have lost it.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t care,¡± Nadia told him. ¡°Whatever you are doing here, it has to stop. You are causing too much death, too much pain. If you do not stop, we will have to stop you. And we will.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh. Who¡¯s ¡®we¡¯ here? Ruslan, I notice you¡¯re not talking. You in on this too, bro?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m on their side.¡±

    ¡°Figures. Hell, it¡¯s not like I¡¯d expect you to do anything on your own.¡±

    Nadia cut him off. ¡°Don¡¯t try to get out of this with bullying, Yuri. We will not allow you to ruin Syria¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡°

    ¡°And if you do not come with us, tonight, it will be war.¡±

    ¡°War with who?¡±

    ¡°With us. With what used to be the Marshall family. We have five familiars between us now. You have one. You can¡¯t fight us all.¡±

    ¡°And also renewed war with the United States government, and allies,¡± Keisha added. ¡°We¡¯ve put the kill order on hold for the moment. Yuri, it must be obvious that you¡¯re only allowed to continue here because this country isn¡¯t enough of a priority for anyone to pull an emissor away from an ongoing commitment to deal with you.¡±

    ¡°Ouch.¡± He put a hand to his heart. ¡°You really know how to hit a man where it hurts. That hurts almost as much as the last time we met, when ¡­ what was it? Oh yeah, you fuckin¡¯ shot me, bitch! It kind of messed up our beautiful friendship. So I¡¯m not gonna believe one goddamn word you say.¡± He made two-finger V¡¯s with both hands. ¡°Peace out, whore.¡±

    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t shot you,¡± the Colonel said, ¡°though you did come very close to killing me that night¡ªand her as well¡ªand your careless actions nearly got your three family members here killed as well. You have a history of rash decisions, and I¡¯d invite you to think over what you¡¯re doing before you make another.¡±

    ¡°Hold up.¡± Yuri turned to Nadia, jerking a thumb at the Colonel. ¡°Who the hell¡¯s this geezer? Does he matter?¡±

    ¡°He is the American liaison to the Marshall family. A colonel in the Numenate.¡±

    ¡°The Tit¡¯s dead. Marshall family ain¡¯t even a thing anymore. He doesn¡¯t rate for shit.¡±

    ¡°If you walk away from us tonight,¡± the Colonel went on, ignoring him, ¡°you will almost certainly die. Maybe you don¡¯t think your own family would attack you. And maybe you¡¯re right. But we have emissants not under their control, including one who¡¯s faced you before, in Ankara. I assure you he would relish a rematch, and he could easily bring that oil rig down in flames around your ears.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯ll play great in American news,¡± Yuri snickered. ¡°An emissor blowing a building full of orphan kids?¡±

    ¡°One of whom will probably be her,¡± the Colonel said, pointing a finger at the girl in the crop-top.

    She had been looking a bit bored by the proceedings; she reacted as if slapped, and hissed something in Yuri¡¯s ear. It sounded Russian, and Yuri muttered back in the same language. Placating words¡ªNadia caught blefovat'', ¡°bluff¡±¡ªthat the girl obviously wasn¡¯t having. They all got to stand around waiting while the two of them bickered. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long for the girl to snap out a cutting remark, stuff her hands in her jacket pockets, and flounce off, away from all the trucks. Yuri shot the Colonel a dire look as he hurried after her, pleading, but was interrupted by the sudden renewal of his obnoxious Yuri-rap¡ªcoming from his pocket.

    He dithered on the spot for an instant, cursed horribly, but fished the phone out of his pocket and answered with a very sharp ¡°What? What the fuck is it now?¡± His jaw dropped as he listened to the answer. At the same time, multiple other phones went off, from the pockets of armed men all around the clearing. Their owners were still answering when Yuri turned his off, without answering, shoved it in his pocket, and snarled, ¡°You rat sons of bitches¡ª¡°

    ¡°Save it,¡± the Colonel spoke over him. ¡°You don¡¯t have time for temper tantrums, Boss Yuri. Concentrate on evacuation. There¡¯s still time to salvage something. Assuming you care about innocent lives at all.¡±

    Nadia jabbed Keisha in the side during Yuri¡¯s inevitably profane response. Before she could even ask, Keisha leaned over and whispered, ¡°Missiles from the INS Lahav. ETA maybe five minutes. Ethan called it in. Yuri keeps eyes all along the coast, but his refinery is far out of protective halo range from here.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have told us?¡±

    ¡°No. Security. Not that you¡¯d have blabbed, but you wouldn¡¯t have acted the same if you knew, and Yuri might have suspected. Sorry.¡± She straightened up and said to Yuri, who was trying to start a screaming match with Fatima, ¡°She had nothing to do with it. This was a joint Israeli-American decision. She wasn¡¯t even informed.¡±

    All around them, men in uniform were babbling into their phones, barking commands in Arabic. Yuri¡¯s little boy army were obviously bewildered, but seemed to be taking in just enough to feel sheer pants-soaking terror. Maria, the concubine, had turned to observe the drama with a shrewd smile, her arms crossed like Fatima¡¯s. Yuri himself was merely infuriated, as if he¡¯d caught them cheating him at cards. He screamed and shook his fists at Keisha, who only looked down at him with her hands on her hips from inches away.

    Nadia walked away to get a better view of the western horizon, out of the glare from the convoy headlights. The sun had finished setting; miles away, men would be evacuating Yuri¡¯s headquarters in a panic, in the dark. She hoped that the boys, at least, would escape, and any of the old refinery workers who had stayed behind to work. The rest could take their chances as far as she cared. The fortunes of war, they called it. How many more people would have to die before this was over?

    She was looking away from Yuri and the others, and her wall was up; she didn¡¯t notice anything until she heard the gunshot. Then there was a very bright light, and a scream of anguish, and Nadia looked up to see a bent form wrapped in luminous white cloth, standing on the roof of one of the trucks. There were no more shots. All the shouting had mercifully ceased, even Yuri¡¯s; thank God for halo effects. But Nadia kept up her wall. Sensible as the decision might have been, she was still annoyed, and wanted to be annoyed, that Keisha had not let her know the plan in advance.

    A brilliant flash caught her eye, and she turned to look just as the sound hit, a titanic roar she could feel in her feet. Several thousands of gallons of petroleum products, in various stages of refinement, went up in an instant. Nadia said a prayer for anyone who hadn¡¯t gotten out in time as she blinked the afterimage away.

    The fires kept burning for a long time. Nadia turned away after a moment, brushing past the security men running the other way to gawk at the funeral pyre of their collective livelihood. They seemed dazed. The host of Yuri impersonators were even worse. Most of them were crying. Yuri stood in place, alone, his shoulders shaking so hard that Nadia thought he was crying too. Then she saw he was laughing.

    ¡°You got me!¡± he shouted, too loudly. ¡°I gotta give it to you¡ªthat was good! You got me, bitches. Good one. You got me. Yeah. You got me.¡± He turned around to his crying army of doubles, snapped, ¡°Hey, why aren¡¯t you little shits laughing too? Laugh, dammit! Ha ha ha fuckin¡¯ ha, you get it? Can¡¯t your dumb asses even work that out?¡± His voice cracked on the last words. The boys shrank back, silent.

    ¡°Get over it, Boss Man,¡± Fatima told him, cool and in command like she had known this was coming. ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to follow you now. You¡¯ve got nowhere to go but with us.¡±

    ¡°Bzzt! Wrong. War¡¯s on now, motherfuckers. Not now, woman!¡± he snapped at the girl¡ªMaria, was it?¡ªwho was running a hand over his chest. He slapped the hand away, then thought better and grabbed it, switching back to Russian: ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯ve got places to go.¡± He took two lunging steps away, then jerked back like a dog on a leash when she stayed where she was. ¡°I said move!¡±

    The girl replied with something Nadia couldn¡¯t hear.

    ¡°No, they¡¯re not! This isn¡¯t over.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± Keisha said¡ªand Nadia saw she had her gun in her hand.

    ¡°Put that away,¡± Nadia told her at once. ¡°That isn¡¯t necessary.¡±

    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t, because I¡¯m sure Ethan has a bead on him too. But I¡¯m still going to keep my own piece out. For my safety, and yours, and his. Yuri, this doesn¡¯t have to be the end. Come with us, and we will do our best to turn your life around¡ª¡°

    Anything else she might have said was buried under an absolute landslide of profanity. To Nadia¡¯s surprise, several of the security thugs had their own weapons out as well, and joined in with their own shouts in Arabic. Fatima shouted back in the same language, her fists clenched at her sides. Ruslan started screaming over all of them, but Nadia couldn¡¯t make out the words.

    The girl Maria looked around, wrenched her hand free of Yuri¡¯s and took off at a run into the night. Yuri started after her, tripped in the dark, and fell flat on his face. Gunshots roared like rolling thunder, and Keisha too fell to the ground. Everyone was shouting now but Nadia couldn¡¯t hear it for the ringing in her ears. More gunshots, and multiple men fell down. Nadia threw herself flat and crawled on her belly towards Keisha¡¯s car.

 LXIII. Payback (Yuri)

    This¡ªYuri thought as his face slammed into authentic Syrian mud, freshly moistened with evening dew, littered with authentic Syrian cigarette butts and random Syrian candy wrappers and maybe even a few genuine 100% Syrian vintage dog turds¡ªthis right here, it could have gone better.

    Could have gone worse, too. It sounded like a whole bunch of people in his vicinity were currently getting some very unplanned long-distance emergency surgery, courtesy of Smith and Wesson, or maybe Achmed and Habib, or whoever made knockoff nine-millimeter surgical implements in this delightful corner of the world. Whoever made them, they certainly seemed to work, and Yuri was not, at that moment, sporting any new body openings. That was a plus. Plus, he was almost totally sober!

    First goal: get out of the mud. It felt like more of a long-term goal at present, what with all the bullets still zinging around overhead, but he could army-crawl a little bit. He wasn¡¯t proud. After what felt like a hundred yards but was probably twenty, the gunfire died down a bit and he felt free to scramble to his knees, then his feet, and haul ass to what passed for the nearest cover. It was a bush. One of the nice armored trucks would have been better, but he happened to have crawled in the totally wrong direction. Oh well. It was dark.

    So, who was dead now? He couldn¡¯t really see¡ªagain, it was dark¡ªbut he guessed the casualties were a little higher on his side, even though they had the others way outnumbered. If he was being totally honest, he didn¡¯t exactly hire Navy SEALs. Local talent shortage. Probably a lot of them were a lot less sober than he was, which was why one of them had decided to turn this little park into goddamn Stalingrad the moment his boss happened to trip on a rock and fall. More evidence for cutting back on the coke allowance. He was tempted to take out his little notebook and underline that memo, but he didn¡¯t have a pencil and that probably wasn¡¯t the highest priority right now anyway.

    So, what was? There was hella screaming going on out there, some of it high-pitched; he might have to hire even more Yuris soon. He couldn¡¯t do much about that. Ruslan was handy, so maybe he could get some tuneups later. And everybody who ate a bullet here and lived could get a sweet badge, for morale. Maybe with like a bloody ¡­ tree or something? There just wasn¡¯t much badass about this little park.

    No. Focus. He really was sober, it was only a little hard to concentrate at the moment.

    It didn¡¯t get any easier when the image of an old geezer on the porch of a crappy shack jammed itself across his imagination. He got all fired up for a second, getting ready to kick some ass, but it didn¡¯t last long enough for him to actually do anything. The giant flying ragdoll who¡¯d got in his way back in Ankara (he¡¯d been at Fatih too, but Yuri wasn¡¯t good with names) popped up and let loose with a blast of wind that sent a couple of Yuri¡¯s new trucks rolling. Then he disappeared, and Yuri was left with the hangover.

    It was always fun trying somebody else¡¯s halo, but that aftermath ¡­ man. He shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. Once he came out of it, he saw that he¡¯d have to replace two trucks, and that didn¡¯t help his mood at all. Those things were expensive. What a dick! Yuri could cop to the shootout; that was on him for hiring dipshits and being a little generous with the yayo. But as a wise man once said, you don¡¯t fuck with another man¡¯s vehicle. You just don¡¯t do it. This was disrespect, and it demanded retaliation.

    Oh, and the refinery. Damn thing was still burning, off on the horizon. That too.

    Shum-Shum came out hot this time, red-hot and party-wild. He took out a bunch of the remaining trucks in the process, but hell, he wasn¡¯t going to need that much transport back from the sound of things. And when they slagged and sagged down into the ground from a burst of magic lightning, that made them better cover for anybody who was left alive. More solid, low center of gravity, and all that. Yuri steered his buddy over to the other side of the battlefield, got to work doing the same for hostile transport. If bitches wanted to fall back, they¡¯d be doing it on foot. Scorched earth!

    Once that was done, Yuri let Shum-Shum go. He¡¯d learned the hard way not to let him get carried away, no matter how mad he personally was. Even from that little burst a lot of the formerly-wet grass was scorched black, and ¡­ oh, balls, his cover bush was on fire. He ran for the closest melted truck while everybody was still blinking the spots out of their eyes. Nearly didn¡¯t make it; somebody opened up with a sidearm while he was running, and he had to hit the dirt and roll to make the last few yards. His new jacket was going to wind up looking like crap by morning.

    Somebody else was alive behind the truck¡ªone of his guys, of course. Staying well back, since the damn thing was still scorching hot, but not so far that he was out in the open. ¡°Did you catch the muzzle flash?¡± Yuri asked him, before remembering that most of these guys didn¡¯t speak much English or Russian. It would have been handy to have Maria around for this. If he was lucky, she wasn¡¯t still running. If he was even luckier, all this crazy shit would get her in the mood. Stranger things had happened.

    Now the park was silent, real dead silent. Not even crickets, or distant cars. Probably he¡¯d just roasted most of the crickets, and the survivors were ¡­ not pissing their pants, they didn¡¯t have any. Did bugs even piss? He wasn¡¯t sure. But he didn¡¯t feel like hanging out behind this car for the rest of the evening, so he shouted out, ¡°Cease fire! Truce!¡±

    The only answer he got was another quick impression of the old dude on the porch, followed by the hobo wizard guy¡ªTantrum Song! That was the name!¡ªdropping out of the sky right on top of him to pop a tornado in his ass. He only got a second¡¯s warning before he was flying, and hit the dirt again harder and faster than ever before. A whole lot of things went snap and crunch at the same time, and he felt himself bounce like a skipping stone. The little bit of breath left in him went right out as he landed, and breathing in again hurt too much for him to really scream. All he could manage was a pathetic little moan, and that was muffled by the mud in his mouth.

    Everything got wicked fuzzy after that; he was hurting real bad, and he wouldn¡¯t have minded calling down Shum-Shum to let off some steam, but he couldn¡¯t really focus that much. Nothing to do but lay there and hurt, and listen. Somebody was screaming, but it wasn¡¯t him. Some chick. Sounded familiar, and it was getting closer. Then something grabbed his shoulder and shook it, and that hurt enough that he hollered for real. Inhaled a clump of dirt while he was at it. Choked, gagged, passed out. Hell of a way to go.

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    The next thing he felt was an especially sudden and vivid awareness that all that gunk¡ªand it felt like there was maybe something worse than plain dirt and weeds in it¡ªjammed up against the back of his throat, and his whole body just flailing, convulsing, thrashing, flipping over and spewing out the most massive wad of dirt and spit and loose rocks and vomit, god, the vomit, it all came bursting out so hard, like he could feel the back end of his intestines trying to come backwards out of his fucking throat, and it just didn¡¯t stop, and his arms gave out and he was facedown in the goddamn mess, and his throat burned, and it was in his eyes, and then he was rolling back up and wiping it all out and off and screaming to the sky because he was just seven kinds of white-hot pissed.

    ¡°Yuri! Yuri, please!¡± Somebody grabbing his shoulders. It didn¡¯t hurt this time, but he slapped the hands away. He tried to stand up but fell over backwards again and hit his head. ¡°Yuri, you have to calm down! It¡¯s okay, we healed you! You will live!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not FUCKING OKAY!¡± he screamed, and that hurt because his throat was all raw. Somebody else was yelling too, and they sounded just as mad. Buncha yelling. Whatever. He wasn¡¯t just going to whine like a little bitch after he went through that. Hell no.

    He still couldn¡¯t see; his eyes were a burning, smeary mess. Didn¡¯t need to see. He didn¡¯t feel much like partying right now but Shum-Shum could ball with the best. Light it up, motherfucker. Yuri could see the light in the sky, even if he couldn¡¯t see anything else. He threw up his hands and cheered him on, sore throat or not.

    Shum-Shum couldn¡¯t really see either, but he knew what was what. The place was just like he left it, a mess of slagged cars and burnt meat. There was Yuri, that little blotch down there, and there was a girl next to him, and another girl way back in the distance, and then there was a boy and a girl off to one side together. All cheering together.

    A couple of grown people. An old man and a chick, both leaning against whatever his buddy had left of a car, standing up in a hurry when the lightning started. At least, she stood up. The old dude was clapping along, and she had to drag him after her. They both got a little shock, just the fingers of one little arc zapping off the dead car, and went flying. Served the bastards right. On the ground, Yuri smiled.

    One more man, real close by. Too damn close, and he wasn¡¯t part of the party either. Shum-Shum could feel it, and didn¡¯t like it. The punk was moving fast in Yuri¡¯s direction, gun out, and he wasn¡¯t having fun. Shum-Shum wasn¡¯t down with that. Neither was Yuri.

    Even now, Yuri wasn¡¯t crazy enough to really let loose. That was how Shum-Shum¡¯s first emissor bought it, and Yuri had apparently already died once this evening. Once was enough. He had his buddy drop low, skimming down to intercept, so low that even Yuri¡¯s ears hurt with the blaring music. The man heard too, but he kept on moving. Shum let out a little burst of his best zap¡ªno good. They sort of meandered in the guy¡¯s direction and danced around him without touching. Some people just didn¡¯t want to have fun.

    The girl beside Yuri was still giggling, but she was also crying a little, bending down with her hands over her ears, flinching back from the lightning. The dude was shouting at her, pointing the gun at Yuri right past her, but she wasn¡¯t listening to him. Any idiot could have told him she wouldn¡¯t.

    Shum-Shum dropped even lower, low enough to reach down with his arms and give the square a little hug. He didn¡¯t do that much, he wasn¡¯t a huggy kind of familiar, but it worked pretty well. A couple of tentacles wrapped around each arm, digging in with the beads. The guy twisted around and fired the gun straight up, three times, then yelled and dropped it as a tentacle tightened. Shum-Shum wasn¡¯t even hurt. The dude might be a killjoy, but he couldn¡¯t actually kill joy. Nobody could.

    It was going great¡ªhe had one arm twisting around the grumpy bastard¡¯s neck¡ªwhen everything went south. Shum-Shum felt the woman, the one with the old guy by the car, reach down and grab something from inside her jacket. There was a sudden pushing sensation, like a big old bubble in the world, and the next thing Yuri knew Shum-Shum was letting go and flying back, tendrils flailing, and the man dropped to the ground.

    Now Yuri was an island, a lonely spot in a hostile halo, and Shum-Shum was a football field¡¯s length away behind him, twisting and hurting in a place no familiar should ever be. Not fair. Not cool. Yuri couldn¡¯t hold him like that for long, with just a tiny stretching thread to connect them. There weren¡¯t many people alive around here, not much food, and the new halo was about as hostile to Shum-Shum as a halo could get. All calm and smooth and steady. Pure sobriety. Yuri hated it.

    The punk was reviving now, picking himself up, stretching out his hand to grab for his piece again. There was a new player too, an ugly old woman half-naked with her eyes lit up. She was moving Shum-Shum¡¯s way, and she didn¡¯t mean him any good. The girl next to Yuri was standing straight now, and starting to say something, but she was still all screwed up from halo shock. No help there.

    Whatever. Yuri wasn¡¯t new to this game either. He still had a solid jar of Faisal¡¯s finest homebrew, jammed into his jacket pocket. It was tiny, smaller than a hip flask, and dented all to hell now, but it felt intact. He got it out and cracked it open¡ªit stuck a little, like the cap was messed up, but he got it open¡ªand just as the asshole was worming around the girl for a clear shot at Yuri the jar popped open and Shum-Shum disappeared and came back, all in an instant. No keystone sequence, no delay. Zero to fun in half a second.

    He could feel at once that the man wasn¡¯t safe anymore. It was hard to play those kinds of games when somebody was strangling you. Shum-Shum dropped down hard, before he could get his bearings, and gave him another good hug, better than the first. He couldn¡¯t resist, even. He was laughing, or trying to laugh, as the arms wrapped tight around him, and lifted him up into the sky.

    Up, up, up. Way up in the sky, where everybody could see. Everybody clapping and cheering for the show. Yuri wanted to cheer, himself. Everything was going right at last. But he needed to hold back, just a little bit. Kinda like sex. You needed to hold back and hold back and then¡ªboom! That was how you really had fun. In one big flash, lighting up the sky, and the fun-hating bastard disappeared in a burst of a couple million degrees.

    And that was all. He had nothing left to prove. He let go of his buddy, and down on the ground his mundane physical body blinked some more of the stinging gunk out of his eyes. It was the kind of situation that called for a really clever line, but Yuri was tired and hurt. He settled for holding up one hand in a finger-gun, mock-blowing the smoke off the tip, and croaking out, ¡°Tagged you back, bitch.¡±

    Then he laughed, too hard, and made himself throw up again.

 LXIV. Sweet Sorrow (Keisha)

    Ethan Allen Honor¨¦. Major, United States Numenate. Born September 12, 1975, Broussard, Louisiana. West Point, class of 1997, major in International Affairs. Intelligence posts on four continents in five years. Accepted as emissor candidate, 2004, with first successful production of emissant Tantrum Song three years later. Continued duties across globe in years following, culminating in promotion to Major in 2010, a few months prior to transfer to Numenate.

    KIA Tuesday, February 26, 2013, Homs, Syria, by a deranged juvenile delinquent wielding a pirated Soviet superweapon.

    There was nothing she could do, nothing she could have done, to stop it, when it finally happened. Everything was happening too fast, too fluid. Nadia was in the way, first shielding her brother deliberately, then flailing helplessly in one halo or another. Determined, near the end, with Adesina¡¯s serene purity of purpose, to save her brother and put an end to the night¡¯s slaughter. But Ethan had been equally determined to do his own duty, to destroy the source of all the trouble so that the situation could stabilize.

    And Yuri? Just a mad dog. A mad dog Ethan had died trying to put down.

    Now all the halos had fallen away, and they were struggling together in the aftershock. Hamp was on the ground, twitching and sore from passing exposure to Shum-Shum¡¯s lightning. Keisha was more than a decade younger, but felt little better. Ruslan and Fatima were still staring up at the sky in a daze, at the place where Ethan had vanished into the fire, like they were trying to comprehend just what in the hell had happened, and what it would mean for them. It was a good question.

    Yuri, to her all-too-faint satisfaction, looked half-dead, covered in filth and dry-heaving on the ground. It would have been easy enough to finish the job in that moment, if it hadn¡¯t been for his sister, still standing directly in the way. She was holding her head, wobbling on her feet, and starting to hyperventilate¡ªthree different valences in less than two minutes could do that to a girl¡ªbut she was still unacceptably close to her brother, and right in the line of fire.

    Keisha decided discretion was called for here. She bent down and quietly pulled out her piece, checked it over. No apparent damage, magazine more than half-full. She thought a second, switched it out for a full one. Safety off. She straightened up, hiding the gun behind her thigh as she took a few paces to the right, trying to make it look casual. Visibility was good enough. Her eyes were recovering their night vision from the recent dazzle, and the moon, nearly full, was rising in the sky behind her anyway.

    The best bet would be multiple rounds to the head, then followup to the heart. She¡¯d empty the whole magazine into him, if she could. Kizil Khan could fix a lot, but supposedly he couldn¡¯t revive the ¡®dead,¡¯ wherever that line was drawn, and a brain splattered clean out of the skull sounded pretty unambiguous to her. It was just bad luck that Tantrum Song hadn¡¯t caused immediately and catastrophically fatal injury. Keisha wouldn¡¯t repeat that mistake.

    She had a clean line of fire now, though Nadia was still closer than she liked. The girl was weeping, her face in her hands, her back to her brother, noticing nothing. Yuri was finished gagging, but was still bent over, rubbing at his face, especially his eyes. Was he blind? So much the better. Keisha quietly settled back into a firing position, pulled the pistol up to a spot just above the ear¡ª

    ¡°Hey! What the fuck do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    She was nearly startled enough to pull the trigger, but didn¡¯t, and cursed her self-control a second later, when it was too late to make an accident seem plausible. Stupider things than that had happened this night ¡­ but an instant later, sense caught up. Killing Yuri was deeply appealing at the moment. It would also be a monumentally stupid thing to do without considering all the consequences.

    ¡°I¡¯m preparing to take your brother into custody, Fatima,¡± Keisha said too late, keeping her eyes on the kid.

    He¡¯d jerked a little when Fatima shouted; at the sound of Keisha¡¯s voice he twisted around to face her. His whole face was covered in filth, including his eyes. The look suited him. ¡°You can¡¯t keep an emissor prisoner, you dumb bitch,¡± he rasped back at her.

    ¡°If you insist, I¡¯ll kill you,¡± she told him, lining the gun back up on his face.

    ¡°No, you won¡¯t,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Not unless you want to deal with the three of us right after.¡±

    Nadia had recovered enough to turn around and get a rough grasp of the situation. ¡°Keisha, stop. There is no need for that. I told you that before, and you didn¡¯t listen, and look what has happened! Put the gun away, and we will talk.¡± When Keisha didn¡¯t move, she stepped forward, shielding her brother once again.

    Fatima spared Keisha the difficulty of coming up with a retort. ¡°It might be a little late for talk, Nadia. You been paying attention? Did you miss what just happened?¡±

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°They called in a missile strike¡ªwithout asking or telling us¡ªand everybody started shooting, and then he¡ª¡° She looked around, frowning, and said, ¡°Where is Mr. Ethan?¡±

    ¡°Dead. Wasted. Vaporized,¡± Fatima replied. ¡°Shum-Shum. You might want to shut your trap until you¡¯ve got a better handle on this shit, sis.¡±

    Nadia kept looking around, a horrified expression on her face, but didn¡¯t step aside. Keisha flicked the safety back on and holstered the gun. All that talk had given her time to think up a new plan. ¡°Obviously, any American cooperation with Yuri is out of the question at this point,¡± Keisha said. ¡°But I¡¯m willing to take him into custody, if you¡¯re willing to assist and help me keep him there. He¡¯s still legally a minor.¡±

    ¡°Custody?¡± Fatima snorted. ¡°What for? All that was clean self-defense. Ethan was doing his best to waste Yuri that whole time.¡±

    ¡°I killed an American emissor too,¡± Ruslan chipped in. His voice sounded high, almost squeaky. His indignant voice, standing on his rights. ¡°When I rescued Fatima. Remember? And you let me work with you.¡±

    ¡°That was different,¡± Keshia said. ¡°You were misinformed, your intentions were good, and you were acting under coercion.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Nadia answered, wiping the tears off her face. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to help you drag our brother off to stand trial for his life because he defended himself. Are we?¡±

    ¡°Hell, no,¡± Fatima said. ¡°They¡¯re the ones who started this! We were just talking before Ethan¡¯s dumb ass had to call in a missile strike. That was what started all the shooting.¡±

    Shit. ¡°I know the situation is complicated,¡± Keshia said, carefully. ¡°That¡¯s why courts of law exist, to get to the bottom of things.¡±

    ¡°Whose court?¡± said Nadia. ¡°Yuri is not an American citizen. He has never even been to America.¡±

    ¡°There are international tribunals, the UN¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh hell no,¡± Fatima interrupted. ¡°I see your angle here. I know exactly how this goes. You¡¯re going to drag him off using this as a cover, then put him in front of the High Commission on Human Rights for Whatever and hang everything he ever did around his neck till you own him, then use him to rope in the rest of us.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡° She wanted to say paranoid, because it really was, but that wouldn¡¯t help. ¡°Let¡¯s just take a step back here,¡± she said, literally taking a physical step back of her own, keeping her hands visible. It wasn¡¯t easy, holding her temper when the little rat was flashing her a shit-eating grin from behind his sister¡¯s back, but she was an adult and a professional. Just like Ethan had been.

    ¡°I never wanted the missile strike,¡± she told them. ¡°That was something Israel demanded as a condition for calling off their own hits on your brother. I didn¡¯t think it would end well, and I told them as much, but they refused to accept any situation that could end with Yuri going back to business as usual. Not with them sitting there, inactive. I came here tonight knowing I would be risking my life. The alternative would have been snipers, and maybe the rest of you killed in the bargain.¡±

    ¡°And that is why we cannot continue working with you,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? You cannot keep your own promises. It¡¯s not that you don¡¯t or won¡¯t; you can¡¯t. Because you¡¯re only a representative for other people, who will make their own decisions behind your back, and leave you to explain them after.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s part of what it means to serve in the military, Nadia. I don¡¯t get to make all the decisions. I¡¯m not always happy with them. I just carry them out.¡±

    ¡°We never volunteered for that kind of life, though, did we?¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°No, we didn¡¯t,¡± Nadia said. ¡°And I know what happens to people who do. It¡¯s happening to Keisha herself. She has done everything they asked of her, given half the years of her life in their service. And what are they going to do? Drag her back to stand trial. Just like she is proposing to do to Yuri. We know they aren¡¯t going to be fair to her, and she has only ever been their friend and loyal servant. What chance would my brother have?¡±

    It was such a low blow that Keisha couldn¡¯t even come up with a reply. She only swallowed, and clenched her fists. Yuri, still safe behind his sister, stuck out his tongue, but kept silent. He didn¡¯t need to say anything. His family were making all his arguments for him, and he was sitting there, with a good soldier¡¯s blood on his hands, laughing his ass off. She could feel her hand drifting back towards the gun, and stuffed it in her pants pocket instead.

    ¡°I know what you want to tell me,¡± Nadia went on. ¡°¡¯All is well, and all will be well.¡¯ That is what you always say. But it won¡¯t. Those are words for a child, and I can¡¯t be a child any longer. I can¡¯t have that kind of faith. Or I can, but only in people. I could have faith in you, Keisha, or the man who healed me. He warned me: put not your trust in princes, in sons of men. And I will not.¡±

    Keisha took a very long, slow, deep breath, shutting her eyes so she couldn¡¯t see the boy. Before she could open them again, or even think about formulating an answer, Hamp spoke up for her, from his place in the grass beside her ruined car: ¡°I¡¯m going to tell the three of you the same thing I just told him. Be very careful about the choices you make here tonight. There are going to be consequences. Your brother just got a very large number of his own allies and subordinates killed.¡±

    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t,¡± Ruslan whined. ¡°You did! You launched the missiles. You started it.¡±

    ¡°And why do you think we launched those missiles? Just to be mean? No! That son of¡ªngh. Sorry. Your brother, that fine and handsome young man there, was determined to eat this country alive for the sake of his own personal cult, just for laughs. He had enormous resources at his disposal, and wasted them on an army of body-doubles, and his name on the money, and, and a goddamn theme song!¡±

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Hamp pushed himself up to his feet, leaning on the ruined car for support. ¡°We used our resources to heal Nadia, and to set the rest of you up in a position where you could make a meaningful difference in the lives of innocent civilians. Now you¡¯re proposing¡ªif I understand you right¡ªto throw all that aside, for the sake of a young man whose actions have failed even to work out in his own best interests, who has made bad call after hasty bad call, again and again, and killed thousands in the process. In siding with him, you will make an enemy of half of the world¡¯s major industrialized powers, which were tentatively on your side. Against the other half, which are already after you.¡±

    ¡°And your so-called allies came real close to getting us all killed tonight,¡± Fatima said. ¡°So I don¡¯t see what good it is to be on your side, or anybody else¡¯s. I didn¡¯t sign up to be no kiss-ass Uncle Tom lackey, Colonel, to do your work and clean up the messes you make.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me for saying that, up till tonight, our relationship has mostly gone in the opposite direction, where cleaning up of others¡¯ messes was concerned. Of course I don¡¯t fault you for that. You¡¯re children.¡±

    ¡°But we can¡¯t be children anymore,¡± Nadia protested. ¡°Children don¡¯t have familiars. They are barely responsible for themselves, for going to school and making friends. That ended for me in Guryev, for the others even sooner. We have the power to change the world. I made a promise that I would use that power right.¡±

    ¡°I think you have all the power you need,¡± Hamp said, ¡°but not the judgment.¡±

    ¡°Fool,¡± Fatima said, ¡°don¡¯t go talking to us about judgment, after a night like this.¡± She frowned at Yuri, who was now making a jerking-off motion with one hand. Fortunately the girl Maria chose that moment to appear from behind Keisha, kneel down next to her boyfriend, and start wiping his face clean with the least soiled part of his own jacket¡¯s sleeve. Yuri spluttered and scolded her in Russian. She kept cleaning.

    Keisha had been doing her best to calm down already. Ethan was gone, and much as she wanted to end Yuri, that wasn¡¯t on the table right now, while something much more urgent was. And logical argument simply wasn¡¯t working. ¡°Nadia, you know I love you.¡±

    She smiled. It wasn¡¯t a big, or happy, smile. ¡°I¡¯d like to think so. At least, you are doing your best for me, and you mean well. I wish that were enough.¡±

    ¡°If you walk away from here tonight, if you abandon our partnership, I won¡¯t be able to help you any longer, regardless of how I feel. Are you sure that¡¯s what you want?¡±

    Nadia shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s about what I want. It¡¯s about what has to be. I¡¯m sorry about what happened to Mr. Ethan. I¡¯m not happy with Yuri now, either. But if we stay together, how long will it be until the next order comes, and we wind up killing you, or the Colonel? Or one of you is ordered to kill us?¡±

    Sorry about Mr. Ethan. Not happy with Yuri. Well. That was something, wasn¡¯t it? ¡°That moment might come anyway, and sooner than you think, if you bail on us immediately after killing a high-ranking American officer. That kind of decision will play into all the wrong hands.¡± For the first time, Nadia¡¯s face lost some of its grim determination. Or whatever she was trying to put on. The mask slipped. It might be enough. ¡°Look, you¡¯re tired and stressed out. This is a lousy time to make drastic decisions. How about you come with us, get some rest, and think it over in the morning?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Yuri growled¡ªif a little toy dog in a sweater could growl¡ªpushing his girlfriend away and standing up. ¡°They can go with you if they want. I¡¯ll even let you two go. We¡¯re even now. That familiar was probably worth an oil refinery, some trucks, and a bunch of low-rent cumstains. Maybe not Faisal¡¯s recon crew too, but they might have escaped. Anyway, there¡¯s no way in hell I¡¯m going to go anywhere with you fuckers after all this.¡±

    Nadia snapped something at him in Russian; he replied with a slow, insolent drawl in the same language. Keisha really wished she¡¯d kept up on her studies. But it occurred to her that her reasons for not just punching Yuri Voronin-Marshall full of holes were becoming fewer by the second.

    Nadia broke off the conversation before Keisha could reach for her gun again. ¡°I promised Metakken¡¯s master that I would put an end to Yuri¡¯s operations here,¡± she said. ¡°Going with him, to keep an eye on him, might be the only way.¡±

    ¡°You promised?¡± Double-digit casualties for the evening, including one of her allies, but she promised! Was it a pinkie promise? Would he not be her friend anymore if Yuri became her new bestie instead? Keisha felt like she was in serious danger of abruptly losing her mind.

    Hamp limped over from the car, put an arm around her shoulders, and again spoke up before she could. ¡°If you three are serious about abandoning our arrangement, let me make one thing clear: no part of the Coalition will tolerate Yuri¡¯s continued presence or activities south of the Turkish border. You will be leaving the country or facing imminent war with Israel at the very least.¡±

    Yuri waved the remark away. ¡°S¡¯fine,¡± he said. ¡°You just wrecked all my shit here anyway. I¡¯m not proud. I can cut my losses.¡±

    The whole situation was ludicrous. But everything was ludicrous lately. One last try. ¡°Nadia, could I speak with you privately for a moment?¡±

    She hesitated, but only for a moment. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡®Privately¡¯ meant a different stretch of grass, free of corpses and close to the water, barely out of earshot. ¡°I can understand why you don¡¯t trust us, after this. I might not like it, but I understand. If you want to be independent, I¡¯ll respect that. Tying yourself to your brother is a whole different matter.¡±

    The girl laughed, very softly. ¡°Keisha, I have known my brother for much longer than you have; that¡¯s not difficult. You¡¯ve never really known him at all. If you are telling me that he is vulgar, thoughtless, rude, cruel, a bully, and very nearly mad¡ªI know all that. I knew that before I met you.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re not taking it seriously! I¡¯ve told you, he has something dangerous anchored to his mind, much more dangerous than yours, and he¡¯s had it much longer. You¡¯re right that I don¡¯t know him. But I know familiars, and I know his record. He and Shum-Shum have, as of this moment, killed more people than the rest of your family put together. Even counting Titus Marshall.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Shum-Shum is very powerful, and hard to control. But even if he weren¡¯t,¡± Nadia pressed on before Keisha could object, ¡°Yuri is still my brother. He is bound to me. I wouldn¡¯t be alive without him either; he brought me out of Guryev as it was burning. If I can save him, if there is even a chance of saving him, of bringing back the wonderful boy I knew before¡ªand I have still seen little glimpses of that boy, more recently than you would think¡ªI have to try.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s debatable, very debatable, to what extent he remains the brother you knew, or how long he will stay that way. One of the dangers we have to look out for, in our line of work, is self-deception. Are you sure you aren¡¯t just seeing what you want to see?¡±

    ¡°I just said the same thing to you, didn¡¯t I? You trust in your system, or whatever. I will trust in my family. Not because it is wise. Because I have to. Because I am still a Marshall, even with Titus dead, and at my hands. Because¡ªbecause he told me, yesterday at the airport, that to save one life is to save the whole world.¡±

    ¡°¡­ what does that even mean?¡±

    Nadia lifted up her face to look Keisha in the eye. ¡°What it says! You think so yourself. At least, you act like it. You could have given me up, given all of us up, as acceptable losses for the greater good, like so many other people do. But you didn¡¯t. I am only following the lesson you taught me.¡±

    ¡°Not on purpose!¡± Nadia winced as she shouted the words. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°I know what you are going to say: Yuri is different. He is sick, he is broken. Maybe he is. But there was a time I thought the same thing about myself. Only a few days ago. But I was able to forgive myself. I have no right to say my brother is beyond mercy, without putting him to the test.¡±

    Keisha was about to say that Yuri had been tested plenty when Fatima jogged up from behind them. ¡°Hey. Sorry to break in here, but Hamster there says his cavalry is on the way, or will be fast. We¡¯ve got to move.¡±

    ¡°Cavalry?¡± Nadia asked. ¡°What kind?¡±

    ¡°Beats me. But that Gus dude has been keeping tabs on all this, and Jerusalem¡¯s got people on the ground too, and one of them just sent him a heads-up. He¡¯s stalling them, but we don¡¯t have long. Yuri¡¯s on the horn with his own people for a pickup.¡±

    Damnation. Nadia lunged in, and hugged her tight. ¡°I love you too,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough for everything you have done for me, and I wish it didn¡¯t have to end this way.¡± Keisha heard tears. It reminded her of her niece, saying goodbye to friends at the end of summer camp.

    ¡°Just ¡­ just hold on a second¡ª¡°

    ¡°I love you,¡± Nadia cried again, and dashed away on those nice healthy strong legs they¡¯d moved heaven and earth to get working.

    Absurd. It was all absurd. There had to be something she could say, or do, anything at all, to put an end to this. But nothing came to mind. Everything had happened so quickly, impossible to track¡ªand yet inevitable, from the moment she¡¯d learned of the missile strike. Earlier, even. She should have known that there was no chance she would ever peel this girl away from her family on the basis of three month¡¯s acquaintance. Even if that family was a single certified moral cesspool.

    She followed Nadia much more slowly, part of her wondering how the hell she was going to explain all this in report, but not much caring. She could feel a hand of solid ice clamping down on her heart. Nadia had already joined up with her brother and his groupie, and joined in on chastising him in Russian. She was sure the little shit enjoyed it. Fatima hung back a moment, waving diffidently to the two of them, before shrugging and walking on. Ruslan didn¡¯t even look back.

    When they were all together, they set off for the edge of the park. Leaving behind several dozen dead kids and adult minions, who she was sure would all be forgotten by morning, if they weren¡¯t already. With the ghost of Major Ethan Honor¨¦ watching over all from a perch high in the sky.

    She couldn¡¯t let that slide. ¡°Yuri!¡± she called out as the little family started moving off. ¡°If I see you again, I promise I will put you in the ground.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ll see you in hell, whatever.¡± He flipped her the bird as he kept walking.

    Hamp put an arm around her shoulders again as she reached for her pistol, clamping his hand down tight above her elbow. ¡°Save it, Chief. There¡¯ll be another time.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, releasing the grip with difficulty. Less than fifty yards, still. A bit far for a safe gunshot, but Adesina could be out in a literal flash, and disintegrate his skull without ruffling his sister¡¯s hair. She still didn¡¯t do it. The five of them walked on, like kids on their way home from school. She could see headlights in the distance. ¡°I know. This isn¡¯t over.¡±

 LXV. Breakthrough (Nadia)

    ¡°So, it looks like Faisal made it, and he¡¯s still got my back,¡± Yuri boasted. ¡°Good times. One sketchy unmarked van, on the way.¡±

    ¡°Is he still going to have your back when he hears you¡¯re ditching him?¡± Fatima asked from Nadia¡¯s other side.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t have to know that right away. Besides, who says I¡¯m ditching him? If he wants to join us up north, I¡¯m not gonna argue. Are you?¡±

    Fatima was, by the sounds of it, but Nadia didn¡¯t listen. She was glad to have her brother back, and safe, but her emotions had been yanked back and forth too many times this night, by familiars and by plain honest stress, and she wanted to keep to herself. Especially when the alternatives were talking to Ruslan, or to the concubine. The former was huddled up against Fatima¡¯s side on the opposite side of their group from the latter, giving her furtive looks as though she might suddenly attack him, and he might enjoy it.

    The girl. Why did they have to have her along? Nadia didn¡¯t know where she had come from, but she couldn¡¯t believe she could be a good influence on her brother. Not that she was showing much interest in Yuri; he had an arm around her as he argued with Fatima¡ªNadia refused to look and see where his hand was¡ªbut she was looking away, her head tilting here and there to scan the distance. There was something about her Nadia didn¡¯t like or trust, even apart from her life of sin. She had to be at least two years older than him, and a foot taller. Did she enjoy sleeping with a killer, or was she only using him for her own profit?

    Nadia saw headlights approaching along the otherwise deserted street bordering the park, and was instantly on guard. ¡°Is that him? How did he get here so fast?¡±

    ¡°Calm down. I had backups ready a couple of blocks away.¡±

    ¡°And they stayed in place after all that?¡± Ruslan said.

    ¡°Why not? I won,¡± he said, with his face still half-covered in indescribable filth. ¡°This is Syria, boy. My people have seen some shit. They don¡¯t scare easy.¡±

    Wearily, Nadia readied her wall. Somebody needed to be prepared for more trouble. But the vehicle was, in fact, a plain dark-colored van with no rear windows, which pulled up along the curb and stopped. A man in a suit got out of the passenger door to open the side doors. ¡°Thanks, Aladdin. Good thing you took this job, huh?¡±

    Aladdin (was that his actual name, or more of her brother¡¯s sick humor?) nodded tersely, and said in English, ¡°The Zionists are on the move. We must hurry.¡±

    Yuri gallantly helped his girl up into the van with a hand on the small of her back. ¡°There you go, babe. Tactical retreat,¡± he said to the man Aladdin. ¡°We¡¯re short a headquarters, so we run for the border and regroup. My peeps here have resources we can use.¡±

    ¡°The Lebanese border, sir?¡± the man asked as they all filed in. Nadia hesitated, then ducked back into the third row of seats to avoid sitting next to the concubine. Fatima came in next, forcibly hauling Ruslan after her to avoid presenting him with his own dilemma. Probably afraid that he would make the wrong choice.

    ¡°North,¡± Yuri said. ¡°We have, you know, brothers in jihad up there, shit like that.¡±

    ¡°Turkey is two hundred kilometers away.¡±

    ¡°I know that, fool!¡± He clambered in and sat next to the girl. ¡°But if you¡¯re scared of the damn Zionists, why would we stay close? Now move, it ain¡¯t safe here.¡±

    Aladdin closed the doors and returned to his own space. The driver, who had showed no interest in the conversation, took off again at once. ¡°So,¡± Yuri said, too loudly, ¡°what kind of assistance can we count on from, uh ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°The Emir of Diyarbakir?¡± Fatima said. ¡°Depends on what kind of help you need. We have a solid intel network, three emissors, and thousands of supporters.¡± Mostly illiterate Kurdish villagers.

    ¡°Where are we going now?¡± Ruslan said. ¡°We left all our stuff at the hotel.¡±

    ¡°We must assume the Zionists are prepared for us to go to ground nearby,¡± Aladdin said. ¡°Their intelligence capabilities are damnably good.¡±

    ¡°So, Turkey?¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°We will not make it so far. We will to take you to Damascus; Faisal and his men can join us there, and provide protection.¡±

    ¡°Damascus isn¡¯t much closer than the Turkish border, is it?¡± Nadia said. He didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Yuri?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to Damascus, Aladdin. C¡¯mon.¡± Still no answer, and the van didn¡¯t change direction. ¡°Hey! Who the hell is in charge here?¡±

    Aladdin barked a command in Arabic, and the van pulled over. ¡°We will take you to Damascus,¡± he said. ¡°Or you may get out and take your chances on the street. There is no other option ¡­ Boss Yuri.¡±

    Yuri howled in protest, then started trying to sweet-talk the man. This was useful. It gave Nadia cover to lean forward and whisper in the girl¡¯s ear, in Russian: ¡°Is the van in park, or does the driver only have his foot on the brake? It¡¯s important.¡±

    ¡°I will see,¡± the girl muttered back, then leaned forward to plead with the driver. She got only a string of angry Arabic for her efforts, and gave up at once. ¡°In park,¡± she reported.

    ¨¦zarine immediately appeared in between the two men. She reached over to unlock the driver¡¯s door, unbuckled his seat belt, then flickered outside to open the door and haul him out into the street. Aladdin, as it turned out, was armed, and had his pistol most of the way out of his suit¡¯s jacket pocket when ¨¦zarine came back in and forced him to drop it, nearly breaking his hand in the process. Then she punched him in the chest and face until he evicted himself.

    ¨¦zarine helped both men on their way with a series of slaps and kicks while Nadia and company worked out alternative driving arrangements. Yuri made to get up, but Nadia grabbed him by the collars of his jacket and shirt, and forced him back down. ¡°Ow! Lemme go, dammit!¡±

    ¡°Can your feet even reach the pedals in this monster? You¡ªMaria, was it?¡ªcan you drive?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± She slipped easily into the driver¡¯s seat. Her quarry routed, ¨¦zarine flickered back into the seat Maria had just left, next to Yuri. Maria frowned in the rear view mirror. ¡°It will be harder to concentrate on driving, with her around.¡±

    ¡°Hard, not impossible,¡± Nadia said. She¡¯d heard the man shifting; the van was manual. ¡°And the Israelis have VRIL, but no emissors. ¨¦zarine stays out.¡±

    The girl grumbled, but put the car in gear and moved on. ¡°It will be a long drive to Turkey, and we are low on fuel.¡±

    ¡°There was this great place we could get gas for free,¡± Yuri griped in his most petulant tones, ¡°until these guys showed up. Fat chance of getting any help from my people after this.¡±

    ¡°If we¡¯re going to be driving in a halo, we all need to shut up,¡± Fatima put in. ¡°Anything we say with her out is just going to be useless fights. Show some sense. Damn.¡± Yuri huffed but obeyed, and Fatima immediately contradicted her own advice by murmuring to Nadia, ¡°Are you sure we want the whore driving? I don¡¯t know her or what she¡¯s after.¡±

    ¡°But you don¡¯t know the way, either. And she seems to.¡±

    ¡°Of course she does,¡± Yuri interrupted. ¡°She got me across the border in the first place, dumbass. She does this for a living. And you¡¯d better watch your¡ªooooowww!¡± ¨¦zarine kept twisting his nipple, and a good part of the surrounding flesh, for a full three seconds. ¡°Motherfu¡ªooowwwwww!¡± The other nipple. ¡°Ow! Shit! Stop it! Okay!¡± Maria glowered into the mirror again until Yuri subsided.

    Fatima sighed, then leaned over to rest her head on Ruslan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Wake me up if something more important and less stupid happens, would you?¡±

    ¡°Gonna be a bruise,¡± Yuri grumbled, but left it at that. There was sullen silence for the better part of ten minutes, as the van made its way through the dark streets of Homs. There was no traffic; even with an obvious major disaster at the refinery, nobody wanted to move and expose themselves to further danger. As far as anyone knew, Yuri still owned this town. Word would spread fast; by dawn there might be a fresh fight for control of the city. Nadia hoped to be long gone by then.

    They were on a deserted major highway, headed north at aggressive speed, when they heard the report of the rifle. The van abruptly lurched, dipping to one side, and swerved across three lanes, Maria struggling to regain control. ¡°Tire¡¯s out!¡± she shouted, over the noise of another shot.

    ¡°Sniper,¡± Fatima said, alert at once. The van was going straight now, more or less, but they could hear and feel the bad wheel thumping against the asphalt, slowing them down. They all ducked just as the windshield shattered, cold wind spewing pebbled glass over their heads, and the van lost control completely and spun across the highway with all the grace of a drunk and heavily pregnant cow. There might have been another gunshot, or a hundred; they wouldn¡¯t have been audible over the noise that followed.

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    By God¡¯s mercy they weren¡¯t going that fast when the lumbering thing finally tipped. It fell over on one side and simply skidded a bit, screeching and grinding to a halt after two seconds of terror. Most of Fatima¡¯s weight fell onto her, and Ruslan¡¯s onto Fatima¡¯s. There was a melee of panicked shoving against what had used to be the van¡¯s left side, punctuated by frantic Pashto swears right in Nadia¡¯s ear. Everything was sideways and loud and dark and cold¡ª

    and she was back in the shop having the same old argument with the cops, and the sons of bitches weren¡¯t even letting her talk to defend herself they were pulling out their guns and she heard shooting

    The van¡¯s wall rattled against her face as something heavy thumped into the ground a few feet away, blotting out what little light came in through the broken windshield. A second later they were lit up again by new light, a flickering rainbow flash that shifted and danced around the cabin. The gunfire took on fresh urgency, with bursts added to the single shots. Nadia extracted herself from the tangle¡ªit helped when she remembered they were all wearing seatbelts¡ªand poked her head around the seat in front of her, but Yuri was already standing up and blocking the view.

    They all winced at a loud, familiar whooshing sound, followed by an even louder detonation. ¡°Rocket,¡± Fatima announced, unnecessarily.

    ¡°What did it hit?¡± Ruslan demanded, still struggling with his seat buckle, which was stuck behind his hip as he dangled. Nadia shoved her way past Yuri so as to not be under him if he suddenly fell the rest of the way down.

    ¡°Who cares?¡± Fatima said. ¡°It bounced off, same as everything else. Something blew up, and it wasn¡¯t us.¡±

    Now Nadia was past the center row of seats and could see the bulgy form of Mister Higgins planted in front of them, silhouetted against a massive wall of thousands of his shining bubbles. More were spewing out of him as she looked, flying out to make the barrier taller. ¡°We should be safe pretty soon,¡± Fatima said as she came up alongside her. ¡°I never met anything he couldn¡¯t bounce back, except another familiar.¡±

    They heard a grunt, a yell, a thump, and a moan, as Ruslan achieved his goal behind them. Yuri was huddled against the wall¡ªno, the floor¡ªholding his head like it might break. Nadia looked down at the girl Maria, who was still buckled in and immobile. It was hard to tell by bubble-light, but the edge of the girl¡¯s face could have been bloody. A thought came to her. ¡°Has Mister Higgins ever tried to bounce a cruise missile?¡±

    ¡°Shit. Why you gotta ask these questions?¡±

    ¡°Well, has he?¡±

    ¡°Hell no. Come on, let¡¯s move.¡±

    By the time they got themselves and the boys out, there was an almost perfect dome of shining spheres around the van. Maria refused to wake up, so they had to unbuckle her, then maneuver in a bubble to pick her up.

    ¡°Can she breathe in that thing?¡± Yuri fretted as she bobbed past him, floating flat on her back inside.

    ¡°How should I know? I usually use them to kill people. You should be grateful we¡¯re not leaving her tramp ass behind. We really should.¡±

    ¡°You try it and I will bail in a¡ª¡°

    ¡°We¡¯re in a halo,¡± Nadia reminded them. ¡°Please try to control yourselves.¡± She was tempted to ditch both of them, to get away from their stupid bickering, but was with it enough to tell that was Mister Higgins too. Anyway, she¡¯d have to get past that dome to go anywhere.

    There were no more gunshots, or any other noises, coming from outside, but she couldn¡¯t see clearly through it. There might be a hundred men lined up and ready to fire as soon as they got a clear shot. ¡°Can you see through this, Fatima?¡±

    ¡°Not really. And he can¡¯t either. Hold on.¡± The shining mass of baubles suddenly contracted around them, losing half its mass in the process. Nadia couldn¡¯t see where the shed excess went to, but she heard shouts and a few more scattered shots. ¡°Yep, still there.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t get rid of them?¡± Ruslan was incredulous.

    ¡°Without seeing where they are? No. Any other stupid questions?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just go,¡± Yuri said. ¡°Keep the wall moving around us. We¡¯ll get to another car we can jack eventually.¡±

    Ruslan put his hands on his hips. ¡°On foot, without even seeing where we¡¯re going?¡±

    ¡°We follow the lines on the road, smegface!¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know the way to the border!¡±

    Nadia tried to tune out the rest of the argument while she thought. They couldn¡¯t drop the wall even for an instant, or they¡¯d get shot. They couldn¡¯t attack whoever was out there shooting. They couldn¡¯t call another familiar while Mister Higgins was out. Walking would take ages, and there was no way to go faster without a car. All they had was ¡­ ah.

    ¡°Fatima, could you set the van upright again?¡±

    For an answer, Mister Higgins turned around and leaned over to spew out more of his shining froth; the foam stayed small and low to the ground until it oozed under the wreck. Then the little bubbles inflated, at different rates. The van creaked a bit, but tilted smoothly back up and crashed onto its wheels again. ¡°It won¡¯t drive worth a damn anymore. You wanna play Ethan¡¯s game?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Not looking at Yuri, not thinking about the man he¡¯d just killed. ¡°Can Mister Higgins keep up?¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t need to keep up for long. C¡¯mon.¡± Yuri whined slightly less once Maria was lying on the floor, out of the bubble, and he found her pulse. It might have been a touching show of concern if she hadn¡¯t known Yuri. Everyone else resumed their previous seats, with Fatima shutting her eyes tight on the theory that her brain would have an easier time not crashing the halo if it couldn¡¯t directly see what was going on. Nadia didn¡¯t think it worked that way, but wasn¡¯t going to waste time arguing.

    When they were ready, more bubbles rushed in under the chassis, and they were aloft, the shield contracting still further to make a dense shell. They didn¡¯t move very quickly, but as Fatima had observed, they didn¡¯t need to; with the barrier out of the way, Mister Higgins could see everything he needed to. Their shield was so thick that hardly any of the noise of battle seeped through, but Nadia could imagine. Outside, as they drifted along like a balloon, a lot of men were being crushed to death.

    As if she could hear her thoughts, Fatima chimed in, ¡°Not much fight in these boys, once we could fight back. They want to give up and quit as much as we do, and they¡¯re not used to it.¡±

    ¡°But who?¡± Nadia said. ¡°Israelis?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t see. If I had to guess, though, I¡¯d say the guys we just carjacked took it kinda personal.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my idea¡ª¡°

    ¡°Shut up, Yuri.¡±

    ¡°I had a good operation here, dammit.¡±

    ¡°Nobody cares.¡± They were drifting slowly down already. With a slight thump the wreck settled back to the ground, and the bubbles vanished. Nadia exhaled with relief as the halo disappeared and she got her proper mind back, but it was short-lived. ¡°I didn¡¯t straight-up kill all of them, Rus. Fix the whore, would you?¡±

    Nadia understood a second too late for it to matter. Once again she had a vision of the man in the tent, and then her mind was dull with the futility of existence for the better part of a minute while Kizil Khan did his work. When he was done, he left, and Maria sat up on the floor of the van, looking confused.

    ¡°What did you just do?¡± Nadia shouted. It didn¡¯t help that a number of small aches and cuts she¡¯d gotten in the crash, and barely noticed, were suddenly gone as well.

    ¡°I left those dudes half-squished on purpose, hon. They were going to die anyway; I just made them useful. But we ain¡¯t got time to argue about your conscience. I can¡¯t guarantee that they won¡¯t come back, whoever they were¡ªit¡¯s really fucked that we have so many enemies we can¡¯t keep straight who¡¯s trying to kill us, you know that?¡ªand we don¡¯t have a working car anymore.¡±

    Nadia was still going to argue until Yuri said, ¡°You need to get your ass unpuckered, you know that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just us now,¡± Ruslan chimed in. ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to help us anymore. If we don¡¯t use what we have¡ªeverything we have¡ªwe¡¯re doomed.¡±

    ¡°But ¡­ ¡° She looked around. The van was dark, lit only by the moon. She couldn¡¯t really see faces very well. It didn¡¯t seem anybody was on her side, though.

    ¡°You want to take the high road, it¡¯s right there,¡± Fatima said. ¡°But you take it alone.¡±

    Nadia shook her head and shoved her way out of the van, suddenly sick of all of them. ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s just move, before anybody else has to die for this disaster.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good.¡± Fatima followed close behind her, determined to get the last word. Ruslan followed her closely, while Maria interrogated Yuri, trying to get a grasp on what on earth had just happened. ¡°Hey, you¡¯ve got thirty seconds before we walk!¡± Fatima called back into the van.

    Nadia wasn¡¯t even going to wait that long. She didn¡¯t know the entire way, but they were still on the same stretch of highway, surrounded by bare open fields, with a few faintly lit bumps on the distant horizon that might be shops or gas stations. Homs was visible behind them¡ªthe refinery was still burning. If she was lucky, she might walk off a bit of her anger before she had the others¡¯ company inflicted on her again.

    No such luck. She heard steps hurrying to catch up with her, and turned around to deliver a stinging retort which faltered on her tongue when he saw it was Ruslan. ¡°Hey. I know you¡¯re upset, but we¡¯re not doing that bad. We¡¯re still together. We have Yuri back. And we¡¯ve just shown that they can¡¯t stop us.¡±

    ¡°We repelled one attack,¡± she corrected him, and went back to walking. ¡°No more. We still have, what was it? Two hundred kilometers? Just to get to the border?¡±

    ¡°But we can do it,¡± he insisted, jogging after her. ¡°As long as we stick together. Between the four of us, we can do almost anything.¡±

    It had come to this. They were alone, on the edge of a benighted city in a war-torn country whose government, among many others, was now going to be out to kill them. And Ruslan was giving her pep talks. ¡°I don¡¯t need to be encouraged, Ruslan. Least of all by you. I have nowhere to run off to, nobody else who will have me. I¡¯m going to concentrate on surviving this night. We can work out the details later.¡±

 LXVI. Tag Team (Fatima)

    The skank, to Fatima¡¯s immense annoyance, was actually pretty handy to have along. She knew how to hotwire a car. She spoke fluent Arabic, while Fatima only knew enough to read her Quran and the others had fragments and phrases. And she could actually keep Yuri quiet most of the time. Fatima would have been very grateful for all of that if she hadn¡¯t been so very, very pissed to have her along in the first place. And at everything else that happened along the way.

    A borrowed army jeep got them to Hama, thirty miles north of Homs, where they broke into an apartment complex sometime around midnight. They¡¯d hoped to do it quiet, maybe grab a couple of hours¡¯ sleep in the basement laundry room like bums, but the building had armed guards, and they took their job too seriously. Yuri ate three rounds to the chest, so Rus had to waste all one of the guards to fix him up¡ªwhich set Nadia off on her usual prima donna bullshit, and that ate another half-hour they could have spent sleeping.

    While they were doing that the local cops showed up, and by that point Yuri was so tired and butthurt that even his girl couldn¡¯t keep him contained, and he torched the building across the street, which set the cops running and got the pretty slapped off his face by his hysterical sobbing sister as soon as the halo fell. Fatima hung back and watched her let it all out. So did the girlfriend. They shared her cigarettes, since Fatima was out. It was almost a bonding experience.

    Long story short, they got to sleep around two in the morning in three different apartments, and nobody made a peep to wake them till seven-thirty, when the guy who owned the place came and begged the girlfriend to leave with her posse before the army got the nerve up to attack his building. The stone-cold bitch shrugged and hit him up for cash and food to ¡°expedite their departure,¡± which was fine by Fatima, but Nadia refused to get in the jeep while it had extorted goods so they lost more time arguing and negotiating over precisely how much shit it was ethical to appropriate, so to speak, under their precise and particular circumstances.

    They were still nickel-and-diming individual cans of chickpeas when the owner dude came up screaming about how his cousin in the army said they were starting the engines on their fucking artillery in the base across the river. That settled the argument, and they blew out with a mostly full load of groceries. Nadia tried to throw some of it out the window as they left, but stopped when a ten-pound bag of rice smashed open and scattered all over the pavement. Then she tried throwing money, until Fatima reached over and rolled up the window.

    Looking back on it from a safe, sane distance, what followed would look like one hell of a moment: five unescorted teenagers of four different nationalities, doing sixty in stolen jeep down a mostly residential neighborhood while one of them threw a full on cat-five hissy-fit, screaming that they were all horrible and she should have stayed with Keisha and left them all to die alone.

    Fatima had a bizarre moment, as they swerved around a corner on two wheels, horn blaring, Nadia screaming, pedestrians shouting and a rock pelting out of nowhere to web Nadia¡¯s just-closed window, where she pictured this whole thing as a godawful road trip movie gone terribly wrong. That was the real issue here: the director was strung out on eight things, they had too many producers wanting to take the movie too many different directions, the writers quit over creative differences, and now they were just shooting whatever till the money ran out. That was it. It was the only sane explanation for this situation.

    Then the wheels came down hard, and they were all thrown together in the backseat. Nadia stopped screeching for just a sec, long enough to hear the guns start up; they looked back and saw that some crazy bastard had got the brass balls to step to them in an old-school DIY battlewagon, a junky-ass pickup with something belt-fed bolted to the top and a gunner standing in the bed. Maria took a hard left at the next turn before they could do more than whump a couple of rounds into the back bumper.

    ¡°No familiar!¡± she shouted in English, and took the next right. ¡°No familiar! I crash!¡±

    ¡°Then stop,¡± Fatima snapped back in Arabic. They were barreling down an alley now, just wide enough to clear the side mirrors. Somebody¡¯d piled a bunch of old plastic crates and a broken chair there halfway down¡ªit all went flying, some under the wheels, at least one crate and parts of the chair tumbling over the jeep¡¯s roof. Maria barely slowed down, and took a left turn out of the far end of the alley.

    They came out in bright sunlight, barreling down a good-sized road along the river, lined with palm trees and nice shops. Fatima caught a glimpse of a gigantic waterwheel stuck to the side of some ancient ruin in the river. It was actually running, spinning in the current, but Maria slammed on the accelerator and pretty soon they all had better things to worry about, like the part where the rest of the cars were moving in the other damn direction!

    ¡°Stop!¡± Fatima screamed it in Arabic; the others tried Russian or, in Ruslan¡¯s case, just cowering with his hands over his face.

    ¡°They cannot follow here!¡± the whore snarled. She had a point. She was a good enough driver, and the traffic was light enough, that nobody quite hit them, but a few other people slammed into each other trying to avoid them, making a beautiful obstruction. Fatima decided to shut up, so as not to distract her, and murder the girl later, after the vehicle had come to a complete stop. Anyway, she took a hard right at the next opportunity, gunning it over a little bridge across the river. When they got to the other side they were driving the right direction again.

    Yuri was the first to speak again, in English: ¡°We¡¯re going to need backup here, people. She¡¯s driving stick. They¡¯re going to have blockades somewhere, unless they¡¯re a lot dumber than I think they are.¡±

    ¡°Obviously,¡± Nadia told him. ¡°And we can¡¯t use Shum-Shum at any speed. That leaves the three others. Whose is best?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be moving fast,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Kinda rules out my boy.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Nadia snipped back¡ªshe still seemed pretty pissed¡ªand added something in Russian for Maria. The girl nodded, and pulled over into another alley long enough to ride out Nadia¡¯s keystone. She took them out the other side at the same reckless speed, venting her frustration on the gas pedal. The rest of them didn¡¯t have any option but to watch ¨¦zarine keep pace along the rooftops, and hope she took out a few extra for them. This damn country¡ªall they were trying to do was get through and out the other side! Why did it have to be so hard?

    They almost made it out of the city before they hit the roadblock. A couple more trucks with guns, a few concrete barriers setting up a slalom to slow them down. Maria saw it coming and pulled off before they could get a proper bead on their truck, swerving into a side street then racing up a parallel road while ¨¦zarine found the resonant frequency of concrete. Nadia gave them the word when she was done, and they switched back to find the checkpoint deserted.

    They didn¡¯t have to say anything; Maria braked alongside one of the trucks and everyone but Nadia got to work throwing food into the bed of the one with more gas in its tanks. Nadia sat in the back of the jeep with her arms crossed while her familiar copied the same posture on the nearest roof. They all cussed her out for being a petulant bitch, but it wasn¡¯t like they couldn¡¯t load the truck without her.

    The guy with the gun, sitting by the window in a house fifty feet away, waited until everybody else was in the truck, and Nadia was getting out of the jeep, to pull the trigger. Pegged her right in the back. When she went down he shot out the back window of the pickup¡ªthe bullet kept going into the a/c on the dash. Fatima looked out the window, saw Nadia sprawled on the pavement, not moving. Opened her door to dash out and snag her, ducked back with a shriek when the next shot hit an inch from her hand. Maria chose that moment to hit the gas again, and they were off down the road with one door hanging open.

    Fatima poked her head out to look back while Yuri shouted and Ruslan stammered. Nadia was still lying there, but ¨¦zarine had slipped down to stand over her, blocking future shots. Still conscious, then¡ªjust not enough to do anything useful. Meanwhile her would-be sister-in-law was trying to dump the whole tank in the engine with her foot, ignoring everyone else.

    Screw that. Fatima took half a breath and hopped out, hitting the ground at a roll. It hurt like hell, but she didn¡¯t break anything important, and she was on her feet before the exhaust and dust had time to clear. She coughed, winced, and set off on a limping run. There were a bunch of guns going now, or else one guy with one hell of a trigger finger, and Fatima could see the bullets ding against the pavement all around ¨¦zarine. They couldn¡¯t shoot through an emissant, but if they got real lucky, they might hit Nadia again around her.

    When she got to Nadia, ¨¦zarine was wobbling on her feet, looking around like she¡¯d taken a wrong turn somewhere and making weird little fussy noises you could hardly hear over the guns. Fatima took a second behind the jeep¡¯s front bumper to hype herself up, then dashed in to grab Nadia under the arms and start dragging.

    A couple of things happened at once. The first was that Nadia screamed. The second was that ¨¦zarine flickered and disappeared. The third was that absolutely everybody in a quarter-mile radius went fuzzy from the halo dropping. Fatima didn¡¯t recover especially quickly, but she had some idea what the hell had just happened. That gave her enough of an edge to grab Nadia and pull again, and get her most of the way behind the jeep before the bastards remembered why they were holding guns. Fatima heard the first shot just as it hit her, right below the rib cage on the right side.

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    She didn¡¯t notice much for a while after that. Her head whacked against the hood on the way down. When she came to again she was laughing¡ªcouldn¡¯t have told you why, she was gut-shot and it hurt like a bitch¡ªand Yuri was standing over her yelling. She lifted her head enough to see that both sides of the street were on fire, then fell back so she could black out again.

    Then she felt herself moving, and opened her eyes to see Ruslan was picking her up to carry her. She jabbed him in the ribs, and he yelped and let go. ¡°What are you doing, fool? I can walk.¡±

    He didn¡¯t say anything, only gawked down at her. His eyes were a little bit red, but then there was plenty of smoke in the air¡ªFatima could smell it. And see it, too: thick black columns rising up in rows into the clear blue sky. She sat up, scooted back on her rump to get some distance, and looked around. Yep, Shum-Shum had been here. But that was in the past. For the present, she backhanded Rus, gently, in the stomach. ¡°Tch! Get under cover, boy! If they hit you, we¡¯re down a medic. Do I have to do all the thinking?¡±

    Rus still tried to go in for a hug; she didn¡¯t quite dodge, only managed to slip out and shove him away before he could start off on a crying jag. Nadia at least wasn¡¯t bothering to chew out her brother over his latest act of urban renewal¡ªthe whole street was done for¡ªonly shaking her head and walking back to the pickup. For a miracle, he kept his mouth shut too.

    The truck had an extended cab, but Fatima elected to stand in the bed, her hands on the gun, ear pro hanging around her neck. Nadia, after a second¡¯s hesitation, got in beside her, curling up next to the wheel well where she couldn¡¯t rattle around too much. That left Yuri riding shotgun and Ruslan lying down in the skimpy back seat.

    Maria didn¡¯t drive so fast now, with the two of them unsecure in the bed¡ªconsiderate of her. Fatima hoped she wouldn¡¯t have to speed up, and that she wouldn¡¯t have to use the decrepit-ass Soviet surplus NSV in her hands, and that if she did the thing would be well-maintained and not blow up in her face. But she hadn¡¯t been getting a lot of her wishes granted lately.

    There were a couple of other weapons in the bed, an equally ancient RPG-7 and some kind of Kalashnikov, both left behind when ¨¦zarine rushed the blockade. Nadia leaned down to pick up the rifle, checking the magazine and chamber. Something about the sight of it was just pathetic¡ªif she actually fired the damn thing, the recoil would knock her over, she was so skinny¡ªand put Fatima in mind of the kid back in the Tatvan hotel, screaming in Fatima¡¯s face about her dead dad. A lot of things had been reminding her of that lately. Kind of a pain.

    ¡°What is that, a -47?¡± she asked as they rounded the next corner, just to make conversation.

    Nadia looked it over. ¡°A -74, I think. Does it matter?¡± She looked over her shoulder, scanning the street for threats. It was a pretty place, all trees and little houses and an old mosque on one corner. Hama was actually relatively intact, or had been. Yuri had only been toasting some of its suburbs. ¡°We are still less than a hundred kilometers from Homs, and four of us have sustained serious injury in less than twelve hours. If anybody hits Ruslan, or shoots one of us in the brain or heart, that is it. I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to make it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± Fatima said. ¡°I think they might have learned their lesson, after this. They know we only want to leave this hellhole, and they don¡¯t have endless people to kill off just because they¡¯re pissed at Yuri for ditching. But speaking of Ruslan ¡­ ¡± She ducked her head down next to the giant hole in the cab¡¯s rear window. ¡°Yo! Rus! We could use some aerial recon here!¡±

    She caught a glimpse of Nadia¡¯s face as she straightened back up; she looked like she would have objected, if she¡¯d only had the energy. They were all tired. It¡¯d be better once they¡¯d got a chance to sleep. Especially if they were back in the Emir¡¯s turf.

    The truck pulled over again, and further thoughts were cut off by Kizil Khan¡¯s usual morbid crap. Dead kid in tent, blah blah blah. She put her head down against the roof to wait it out while the bloody eagle took to the air to scope out the opposition. It didn¡¯t take long, and the only interesting thing was some moron trying to take him out with some kind of SAM. It missed, naturally.

    ¡°Tanks on the move,¡± Ruslan said, when the halo faded and the truck got moving again, ¡°but not toward us. Moving east, in a column.¡±

    ¡°What, so we¡¯re not a big deal anymore? I¡¯m hurt!¡±

    Nadia wasn¡¯t having it. ¡°Shut up, Yuri. Is the way north clear?¡±

    Ruslan nodded. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I could see where they had more roadblocks set up in our way, but they¡¯re moving them already.¡±

    Fatima punched Nadia¡¯s arm. ¡°See? What¡¯d I tell you?¡±

    Nadia shook her head as she settled back down into her cubby with her AK. ¡°And when we get to Turkey? The Americans know everything about our operation, and Yefimov has had almost a week to undermine us. We just left the country to run from him; now we are running back to him so we can hide from somebody else!¡±

    ¡°Damn, you¡¯re a downer.¡± Fatima laughed. ¡°Girl, there¡¯s four of us. I survived a year in Afghanistan all on my own, when I was nine. I cannot even describe how much better off we are now.¡±

    Nadia didn¡¯t try to argue back, and they settled in for the long haul. An hour passed on the road; they left Hama far behind, and the town after that, and the town after that. She switched places with Nadia to give her legs a rest; inside the truck, Ruslan snored and Yuri had long talks with his bitch that made Fatima glad she barely spoke any Russian. Around the two-hour mark they stopped to fill the tank and Nadia gave up on standing on alert by the gun.

    Yuri was filling up the tank while the skank ran in to use the bathroom; she came back out in a hurry, waving her phone in the air. Fatima tensed up, ready to haul ass and leave her behind if need be, but it wasn¡¯t even about them.

    ¡°Happy?¡± Ruslan¡¯s voice squeaked as they crowded around the little screen. ¡°They brought Happy here?¡±

    ¡°Who else would do that?¡± Yuri said. ¡°Anyway, Maria says they had it on the TV in there.¡±

    Fatima backed away as soon as she heard the name. She didn¡¯t want to see that damn screen. Every Happy attack looked the same: deformed dead bodies in hospital beds, all stretched out of proportion, heads bigger than their chests, long arms like noodles. All dead within seconds once the halo went down and their bodies had to try and make the jacked-up anatomy work in the real world. ¡°Where?¡± was all she asked.

    ¡°Somewhere near Aleppo,¡± Ruslan said, looking at the screen. ¡°Al Bab. It¡¯s east of the city. We shouldn¡¯t have to go anywhere near it to cross the border.¡±

    ¡°No way I¡¯m going near fucking Happy,¡± Yuri said. ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances with the Jews, and the Americans, and the Arabs, all together, before I get within fifty miles of that crazy son of a bitch.¡±

    ¡°None of us wants to be near Happy! Why did they bring him here, though?¡± Nadia said. ¡°They were leaving the country alone before.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Because Yuri was here messing the place up for them. Maybe they¡¯re trying to send a message, or take over the country direct?¡±

    Maria said something to Yuri in Russian. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, running a hand through his hair. ¡°That¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Ruslan tore his attention away from whatever nastiness he¡¯d been flipping through on the phone. ¡°What¡¯d she say?¡±

    ¡°That it¡¯s a perfect diversion, whatever he¡¯s here for. I mean, not gonna lie, my boy Shum is a threat, but I¡¯m not gonna try to measure up to motherfucking Happy for freakout factor. Guess where they were moving the tanks?¡±

    That was a good question too. Fatima whipped out her own phone, found it was dead, and plugged it into the charger in the truck. Yuri came up and nudged her. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s my seat.¡±

    ¡°Take a turn in the back, little boy. Keep your sister company. Maria said she drives better without you trying to feel her up.¡± She didn¡¯t listen to whatever lame retort he came up with, and didn¡¯t notice when he gave up and left. Soon they were on the road again, barely breaking the speed limit, and the phone had enough juice to run. ¡°What the hell?¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Nadia leaned forward from the backseat.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting like a thousand messages from some dude named ?akir.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Kemal,¡± Nadia said at once. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he¡ªoh.¡± She pulled out her phone, and saw it had a badly cracked screen. ¡°Maybe he did. What does he want?¡±

    ¡°Hold on. Dude¡¯s Arabic isn¡¯t as good as he thinks it is.¡± She scrolled up and down, frowning, before tapping on a link to a website. She couldn¡¯t figure what it was all about. Then, all at once, it hit her. ¡°Aw, hell!¡±

 LXVII. Dublin Run (Nadia)

    It was a brief announcement, only two sentences, repeated in Kurdish, Turkish, and English. There wasn¡¯t even a picture. Nadia read it again anyway: Mr. Ferhat Erbal and his wife Deniz, both of Bayburt, have been arrested in connection with counterrevolutionary activity, and subsequently convicted of conspiring with the enemies of the Kurdish people. They are presently being held aboard the Lim Island penitentiary facility, pending execution on the second of March.

    There were dozens of very similar messages on the page; the Confederation of

    Nadia was pretty tired by that point, but still asked around for news. It wasn¡¯t encouraging; everyone she spoke to was aware that Russia was controlling the new government of Z?lan, and didn¡¯t care. If it came down to a brutal western-backed counteroffensive by whatever was left of the Ankara government, or rule by the puppets of tyrants who would mostly ignore them, they knew which they preferred.

    It wasn¡¯t clear, at present, if this area was part of Z?lan or not. Foreigners in trucks like theirs, bolstered by the odd tank or APC, ran up and down the highways in convoys, looking to push back the opposition in this place or that. The people of little villages like this only saw them when they came around to ¡®solicit¡¯ donations for the cause, and there wasn¡¯t much left to ¡®give.¡¯

    ¡°They will stop asking soon,¡± one old woman predicted, through her grandson¡¯s interpretation. The boy¡¯s father had joined up with a local volunteer militia last week, and rode circuit around the district. ¡°We are too poor to be worth robbing, but they will want men, and after men boys. It has happened before. That is why my son is not here. Better to fight for us than for them.¡±

    ¡°We can help with that,¡± Fatima told her grandson, who¡¯d learned decent English at some boarding school more than a year ago, and still remembered some of of it. ¡°The Emir has us doing other work right now, but in a couple of days we should be back to restore order.¡±

    The boy translated for the old woman, who considered for a long moment, grunted, and nodded. She¡¯d believe it when she saw it. Nadia couldn¡¯t blame her for being skeptical, and said goodbye, only for Fatima to flag her down for a talk just outside the door.

    ¡°On second thought, maybe we ought to lay down the law now,¡± she said. ¡°What say we take out one of the foreign merc outfits in the morning?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re awfully short on time,¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°We¡¯re even shorter on money and supplies,¡± Fatima retorted. ¡°We can get plenty of both in two hours, and maybe some intel too. Plus building cred with the locals¡ªthat never hurts.¡±

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Nadia thought it over. They could easily get to Lim Island tomorrow, even with a stop on the way, and whatever foreign muscle was terrorizing their immediate area would not have any kind of paraphysical support. Fatima was more experienced than any of them in this sort of warlord business. If she thought it was a good idea ¡­ ¡°All right, fine. But we make it quick, and do it clean.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Fatima sounded offended that Nadia would suggest otherwise.

    It took more time than she expected. They got up a little before dawn, which was still not very early at this time of year, and lost an hour learning where the various local infestations of foreign militants could be found, and deciding which one to hit. They settled on Yad-al-Muminin, a band of Islamist desperadoes with roots in Egypt, of all places. This meant a significant drive to the west, well out of their way, but they sounded like the most revolting and also the most isolated. The other candidates were too likely to go whining to Russia, America, or some other foreign power they might care about. The rescue would work much better if their enemies didn¡¯t know where they were.

    Actually taking them down was trivially easy. They had an established headquarters (a former elementary school) in a bedraggled little town, where they ran a number of the usual horrible rackets while posing as a government. At the time of their visit, there were twenty-seven men in and around the building. Kizil Khan landed on the roof and inflicted twenty-seven cases of crippling muscle atrophy, then disappeared. The five of them were then free to stroll in and take their pick of the loot while the men sat gasping and helpless in chairs, or on the floor.

    Nadia made sure to take all the guns and ammunition, and dumped any drugs she found down the toilet, ignoring the eye-rolls she got from her siblings in the process. Fatima and Maria did the interrogations, though they didn¡¯t learn much of use; these men were bottom-feeders. When they were finished, they drove off in three separate heavily loaded SUVs, leaving their battered battlewagon behind.

    Ruslan reversed most but not all of the damage he had done as they made their way out of the town¡ªat least, he said he did, but Nadia wasn¡¯t going to take the time to check. It was possible he had simply killed them, and that was arguably kinder than leaving those men disarmed in the midst of their victims. If not, a few might escape, and perhaps turn their lives around. Nadia couldn¡¯t do everything.

    All that remained was the four-hour trek into Z?lan, in a convoy. Yuri of course went with his concubine, and Nadia elected to ride with Fatima, leaving Ruslan to handle the middle truck alone. They still didn¡¯t know for a fact that the Erbals were being kept on the island, but at least they were better prepared now.

    ¡°So, why is it called a ¡®Dublin Run,¡¯ anyway?¡± Nadia asked in the last half-hour before they crossed into enemy territory.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that? August 1992,¡± Fatima answered. ¡°The second or third time the Brits used people like us in public. The IRA was dug in deep inside the city, multiple positions. So they stuck Aurora¡¯s emissor on a motorbike and had her haul ass across town. The last group was just starting to wonder what had happened to the first when she took them out.¡±

    ¡°Z?lan is a much bigger area than Dublin, though.¡±

    Fatima shrugged. ¡°So what? Same principle. Yefimov¡¯s not god, girlfriend. He can¡¯t cover hundreds of square miles in espers, and we inflict radio silence wherever we go. Momentum is our friend. We¡¯re wasted on defense.¡±

    ¡°If you say so,¡± Nadia said, sinking down into the passenger seat.

    There was no question of trying to bluff their way through the checkpoint, that was clear; as a group, they could hardly be more conspicuous, and Nadia assumed every guard and lackey had been given their descriptions anyway. They approached the first checkpoint at reckless speed, unfurling Kizil Khan on the last hundred meters. Nobody fired a shot, and they only stopped a moment to clear the barricade from the road.

    Ruslan¡¯s voice crackled on their new handset once they were clear. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to do some healing soon,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s getting a little cranky just taking and taking like this.¡±

    ¡°Roger that,¡± Fatima replied. ¡°This is war,¡± she added, before Nadia could say anything.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    So far as they knew¡ªthey weren¡¯t going to stop and ask around¡ªthe heartland of Z?lan was a quiet and orderly place these days, and once they were past the border it looked it. Gasoline was expensive, but that was true everywhere, and there were no signs of shortages or rationing for that or anything else. Nobody stopped them or even gave them a second glance that Nadia could see.

    ¡°You reckon they¡¯re shipping stuff in from the ol¡¯ rodina?¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°Russia has plenty of oil,¡± Nadia replied. ¡°And they want this place quiet and peaceful, if they can get it that way.¡±

    ¡°Not hard, if you have Snowdrop.¡± But they hadn¡¯t seen any glass-covered figures yet. It troubled Nadia to think that foreign puppet rule might have actually been good for this region. Not only because it made their own efforts seem pathetic; every neat, orderly street full of people going about their business without fear impressed on her the sheer power they were up against, that could so easily throw up a wall against the general disorder that ruled outside. She wondered how much damage the four of them would cause on their way out¡ªif they even made it that far.

    The island was tucked up against the far edge of Lake Van; they couldn¡¯t even catch a glimpse of it until they made their way around a long and broad spur extending twenty or more miles to the northeast of the main body of water. Nadia kept her face against the window, binoculars out, as soon as they rounded that tip. It was almost 1800 now, close to sunset, and amber light glittered off the lake.

    It was easy to miss the prison, when she saw it, because it glittered in much the same way. Nobody gave the order to stop; all three drivers in their little caravan simply slowed down at the same time, and finally pulled over so they could see what they were up against.

    Lim Island was only a couple of kilometers long, and not even one wide. That was still plenty of space for a conventional prison, or even a reasonably large prison camp. But Yefimov¡ªit was obvious in hindsight¡ªhadn¡¯t burdened his government with the time, bother, and expense of building either. Why should he, when he could make it himself?

    It reminded Nadia of Fatih, where Akritas had crudely slapped together a monstrous tower for a Kremlin. This was less, and also more, impressive. The entire island, from what she could see through the glare shining into her binoculars, was covered in glass, shaped into an elegant pinnacled form like a cathedral. She couldn¡¯t see a speck of ground; enormous flying buttresses reached out and sank their arms into the water. A long line of blinding light ran from the island¡¯s nearest point to the shore. That would be the only point of access, she guessed. No need for boats and ferries when you have a bridge.

    It wouldn¡¯t be at all difficult to destroy, she thought. Even ordinary humans could shatter glass with a scream. ¨¦zarine could annihilate it in seconds. Getting any of them into it would be difficult. Getting two people out of it alive might well be impossible.

 LXVIII. The Prisoner (Ay?e)

    Ten days. Ten days had passed since the end of the world. Ay?e was still alive, though she didn¡¯t know why, and she had a job to do. That was all she had to sustain her, and she prayed that it would be enough.

    Only a month ago, everything had been normal. She had come home from school on Friday expecting a normal weekend in the capital. Saturday morning was the wrestling meet; she went with her Ana and brother to cheer for cousin Demir and his team. Then came lunch. They were on their way home when everything fell apart.

    It was only luck that they were on the road, far from any of the five targets, when the jinn tore Ankara apart. Baba was less lucky, on an errand to the General Directorate building at the moment it was attacked. They didn¡¯t get home till after dark that day, and when they did they stayed even later until they got the call that Baba was alive and well but would have to stay up late helping.

    The next day Ana told Ay?e that the President was dead, and much of the government with him, and that Baba was going to have to help the men taking charge of the country while they retreated from Ankara. He could not do his job right, she said, if he was worried about them. Ay?e was ashamed now to think of how she had cried and made a fuss, like a little child. There had been nothing to really cry about, yet. Only stupid things, like missing school or not getting to see her friends.

    They¡¯d only retreated a short distance anyway, to a house in Polatl? barely an hour¡¯s drive away. Ana tried to make a joke of it, that they were Polats moving to Polatl?. Ay?e¡¯d still kept complaining, because there was nothing to do, and no good food, and they¡¯d left behind a lot of her things, and Baba never called. Until he did call, a few nights later, just as she was getting ready for bed. He¡¯d been very excited, and asked to speak to her immediately.

    It was not the reassuring conversation she¡¯d expected. Baba told her he needed her to do something right now, and that she could help save their country. When she complained that she was tired, he got very angry and shouted over the phone line, in a way he had hardly ever shouted before. Ay?e actually dropped the phone and ran away, but he just called back and shouted at her poor Ana instead, and to make it stop Ay?e told them she would do it.

    Ana threw both of them into the car and drove them to Ankara very fast. When they got there Baba gave her a tight hug and told her she would be a hero of the Turkish nation, remembered in all the history books. He looked very excited but also very tense and he almost dragged her into his own car to take her¡ªit was just the two of them, no guards or assistants¡ªto a place that looked like it used to be a department store. The glass front door was smashed. Baba told her she was safe with him but she was not sure she believed him. It was very dark inside.

    She screamed when she saw the thing in the back of the store. She could not see it clearly but it looked very large and hairy. There was light around it somehow; Ay?e didn¡¯t see where it was coming from but she could tell the thing was purple, not a normal color at all. Baba kept pulling her closer to it and when they got within ten meters she started gasping and he shook her hard to make her stop.

    He knelt down and grabbed her by the shoulders. This was important, he said, and she must be brave. The creature would be her friend and protect her but she would have to think the right way to make it be her friend. She told him she did not want to be its friend, and he slapped her. Then he told her to think, very hard, about being lost in the mountains, in a place with lots of ice and snow.

    It didn¡¯t make any sense, but she was afraid to tell him that. She thought about cold mountains but nothing happened and Baba told her she was doing it wrong. She asked him what the right way was and he told her she needed to concentrate harder. So she shut her eyes very tight and thought and thought but she couldn¡¯t help thinking that it wasn¡¯t doing anything and that there was a monster so very close, even if Baba wasn¡¯t acting afraid of it.

    A long time passed and Ay?e opened her eyes and the hairy thing was still there. Something about it was funny, like it wasn¡¯t totally solid. She could see the outline of a rack of winter coats through its body. Baba noticed her looking and told her to stop it. She didn¡¯t need to look at it. If she thought the right way, like a good child, she would befriend it, and then she could use its power to defend Ana and Baba and little Abdullah and the whole Turkish nation, like Usman the Dauntless. That was when she understood that the purple thing was a jinni, and that made her more afraid, but at least she understood.

    Ay?e shut her eyes again and thought about ice in the mountains. She had never been to real mountains but she had seen pictures, and been in the snow. She thought all kinds of ways about ice and mountains, about people skiing and building snowmen and drinking hot tea and cocoa in log cabins. Those were friendly thoughts, weren¡¯t they? But the jinni didn¡¯t care.

    It was a jinni, and jinn liked to fight. So she thought about armies fighting in the snow, about her ancestors riding their horses through mountain passes. Then she thought about avalanches falling down mountains and burying people alive, in case it was a bloodthirsty jinni, but it still didn¡¯t care. She wondered if Baba was wrong and the jinni was tired of ice and snow¡ªit wasn¡¯t anywhere near either now, even if it was next to the coats¡ªbut she didn¡¯t know what else to do so she kept thinking of cold mountains.

    She opened her eyes just a crack, so Baba wouldn¡¯t notice, and snuck a look at the jinni. This, she thought, was taking a very long time. The moment she thought it, the jinni moved, raising a purple lump on its body and turning it towards her. A single bright yellow light appeared in the middle; after shrieking and jumping back, she realized that was its head, and it only had one eye. So now it was looking at her?

    This is taking a very long time, she thought again. The beast kept looking. She thought about time, about long times, about months and years and centuries, and before she knew it she was thinking longer, of whole ages of the earth, and the pictures in her head were much more vivid and real, her body pressed up against a sheer stone face by a biting cold wind. She felt certain, just for a moment, that she would die in the cold.

    Then it passed, and she was back in the department store with Baba and the jinni. His name, of course, was Pangu, and he was her friend, if you could call it that. He was filling the whole building with white mist, and it was chilly, so she told him to go away, and he did. Then Baba got down and made a fuss over her, telling her she had done very well and now they could help everyone. And she had believed him, and smiled, but she was very tired. She fell asleep in the car.

    When she woke up it was morning, and the car was still moving. She asked Baba when they were going to get home, and he told her they would not; Ana and brother were okay, but it was very dangerous right now and Ay?e and Baba were needed elsewhere to help others. She asked why. He pretended he had not heard, and kept driving. When she asked louder, he gave her a look, and she shut her mouth.

    They spent most of the next week just driving. Baba would stop, and get on the phone and talk with his friends from work, and argue with them, and usually swear just before hanging up. They were always changing the direction they had to drive in, because (Baba said) there was an evil foreign jinni destroying all the eastbound highways and everything near them. Ay?e offered to go and chase it away with her new jinni, but Baba told her that was foolish talk and they would stay away from it.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    When they finally found a place where Baba felt safe, he didn¡¯t ask her to do anything; in fact, he told her never to bring Pangu out at all, unless he or one of his new men told her to, or another jinni attacked. So she spent long hours shut up in a hotel room, doing nothing. Baba seemed angry all the time and she didn¡¯t dare to ask him many questions, or even complain. He did not want her to call Ana or the rest of the family, and wanted to read any letters she sent so they didn¡¯t reveal anything dangerous or secret. Ay?e didn¡¯t understand how she could do that when she didn¡¯t know anything. She couldn¡¯t see how they were helping anybody.

    After the first two days Baba had his men (he had men helping him now, men he said worked with him in Army Intelligence) bring her books to read, and the TV was hooked up again. It was still boring and made Ay?e anxious. Baba had some meals with her but he was always distracted with work.

    Then one night she heard gunfire from the docks, and a voice on the radio demanding her assistance. She called for Pangu, but too late; two other jinn appeared and threw him back, defeated. There was nothing Ay?e could do but cower in her room, where she learned, several hours later, that Baba was dead.

    She didn¡¯t cry at first. None of it felt real. She hadn¡¯t seen Ana or Abdullah for weeks, and now Baba was gone too. His men told her what to do, and she did it because they were adults and listening to adults was the only part of her old life she had left. She fell asleep very late and slept till they woke her up and told her they had found the girl, the American spy, who killed her Baba. It was a girl with a jinni, not much older than Ay?e¡ªthe same girl and the same jinni who had attacked Baba at the General Security building.

    They took Ay?e with them to question the girl; she was an ugly teenager, with pimples, and very rude. She smelled like she had fouled her pants. It made Ay?e angry to think that such a nasty and dirty person had caused so much suffering for Turkey, and for her. When the men were not looking she snuck in and made the stupid girl hurt some more, but the men caught her and dragged her away. They took her out of the hotel and locked her in a dusty old bedroom in somebody¡¯s house.

    She could have escaped, easily, with Pangu. But she didn¡¯t have anywhere to go if she did¡ªwhere were her Ana, and Abdullah? Were they even still alive? It was a relief when the Americans came to retrieve their spy the next day. There was a fight, and the men came to Ay?e in a panic begging her to help. So she did. It didn¡¯t do anything, but it made her feel like she wasn¡¯t totally helpless. Someone needed her. But the good feeling didn¡¯t last long, because she lost again, and the spy-girl got away.

    The very next day Ay?e was sitting in her same dusty bedroom, trying and failing to sleep so she wouldn¡¯t have to think, when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it and saw a small, pretty blonde lady she¡¯d never met before. The lady spoke poor Turkish with a Russian accent, so at first Ay?e was afraid, but the lady explained that she didn¡¯t work for the Russian government; she was part of some organization with the UN that helped victims of crimes. Ay?e didn¡¯t really understand it, but the lady was very kind and asked how she¡¯d been doing. Her name was Mila.

    They talked for a long time, without even leaving the room. Mila was a good listener and asked a few questions, then said her agency could help. Ay?e asked her if Baba¡¯s men would be okay with that, and Mila frowned and said it was not up to them. Then she took Ay?e out of the house¡ªnobody else was home¡ªand showed her how those men had been doing terrible things, making slaves of women and girls and moving drugs, and not telling Baba about any of it. They talked to women who said they had been beaten and locked up. Ay?e could believe it. The men had never been kind to her.

    But that didn¡¯t matter now. Mila took Ay?e out to really see the town for the first time, and she saw that the men were not in charge anymore; Mila said they had run away after the fight with the jinni, and now men with her agency were in charge again. Ay?e saw a number of them on patrol in cars. Nobody acted afraid; a lot of people stopped to cheer when the soldiers passed by.

    Now Ay?e was living a nice house in Van, and nobody was asking her to do anything unusual. She was staying with a family who had two daughters around her age. They were all kind and they went to school together, but they were still all strangers and she knew she would never see Baba again and Mila (who visited at least once a day to check on her) said they¡¯d had no luck finding Ana either. She went to bed every night feeling so homesick she could die.

    That was the way things were when Mila came to see her again, more than a week after Baba¡¯s death. She still hadn¡¯t found any of Ay?e¡¯s family, she said, but they¡¯d learned that the American spy and her friends were coming back into their territory. They didn¡¯t know exactly when, but they would be coming to break prisoners out of a jail and maybe use them to start trouble.

    Ay?e didn¡¯t hesitate. Van was a good and peaceful place whose people had taken her in and given her shelter. She could not allow these filthy foreigners to hurt them, when she had the power to fight back.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea,¡± Mila told her. ¡°It would be very dangerous. We can find another way to defeat this spy.¡±

    ¡°But she has a jinni! Normal men cannot stand up to a jinni!¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t just her, though. She will have several allies with her, and all of them have their own jinn. You have only one.¡±

    Ay?e jumped to her feet, her fists balled at her sides. ¡°Even if I am alone, I won¡¯t let them hurt any more people!¡±

    Mila pursed her lips. ¡°You are a very brave girl,¡± she said, ¡°and I can¡¯t stop you if you are determined. It might not be much more dangerous to fight than to be a bystander when they attack. I will only ask you to be careful. We don¡¯t want you hurt.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she promised, and made another promise to herself at the same time. She wouldn¡¯t let the filthy American bitch get away a third time. Resul Polat would be avenged.

 LXIX. Glass Houses (Nadia)

    There was only one bridge to the island, at its point of closest approach to the shore, and it was still two kilometers long, exposed all the way. All made of solid green-and-white streaked glass, thick enough to support a truck¡¯s weight. There would be sharpshooters covering it¡ªat least, they couldn¡¯t afford to assume there wouldn¡¯t be, which amounted to the same thing.

    The water was cold and deep, and there would be no place on the island to moor a boat in the unlikely event that they got one there unseen. Nor any entrance to use once they did. Making their own entrance was a possibility, but as Ruslan pointed out, they had no idea what cracking any part of the structure would do to the rest of it; that was the problem with structures so impractical they needed a familiar to make them. Was the whole thing molded out of one gigantic solid piece? Could a single crack spread to bring it down and kill everyone inside? Hard to say.

    They didn¡¯t know any of the staff, had no local contacts or foreign allies left to beg for favors. No time or means to gather further intelligence. Nothing they had could tunnel quickly and quietly. Flight was the most conspicuous option of all. But what wasn¡¯t conspicuous, with a familiar?

    ¡°I gotta say, I¡¯m still not sold on this,¡± Fatima said as Maria eased their stolen jihadi SUV onto the bridge.

    ¡°If you come up with a better plan in the next five minutes, please tell us,¡± Nadia replied. ¨¦zarine was the best they had at slipping past barriers. Ruslan couldn¡¯t be risked in the line of fire, since he couldn¡¯t heal himself. Yuri was useless around anything they didn¡¯t want annihilated. And Mister Higgins was their best shot for closing the distance. Once they had those four facts straight, the plan was pretty well made for them. She only hoped Yefimov hadn¡¯t worked out the same thing.

    ¡°We still don¡¯t know that the Erbals are even in that tacky thing.¡± Fatima wasn¡¯t really suggesting they back out; this was only her way of letting off stress. Which didn¡¯t make it much less annoying. Nadia elected to turn her attention elsewhere.

    ¡°Maria, are you doing okay? How is the surface?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she replied, though her hands were tight on the wheel. ¡°Not slipping at all.¡± They were moving slowly, but most trucks moved slowly here; it was difficult for anyone to trust that much weight to a support made of such a famously fragile material. They didn¡¯t have Ruslan to annoy them by looking up facts about its compressive strength. Looking down out the window, Nadia could see that the surface wasn¡¯t perfectly smooth, but ridged with a fine, shallow pattern, like their own truck¡¯s tires. Yefimov had put more thought and effort into this than she expected; the thought only made her more jittery.

    Fatima twisted in her seat to look back; they were at least a hundred meters from land now, probably closer to two. The approach to the bridge was deserted, with no traffic on the road along the shore. ¡°Okay, I¡¯d say this is far enough. You two ready?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    ¡°Da.¡±

    With a long, straight span, there was no real danger in continuing to roll slowly forward while Mister Higgins spun out his keystone sequence. Two seconds later, the blobby thing was half-hidden behind their truck, waddling on his feet to keep up. Anybody watching with binoculars would notice immediately, and if there were clairvoyants in the prison, they had just set off an alarm. It made it harder to fight the overpowering urge to write off this whole plan as stupid.

    She could leave the truck, anyway. Nadia was already in the cargo space; she just had to open up the back door. Mister Higgins obligingly paused, to give her room to open and to burp out a single big bubble. For a whole second, maybe two, it hung in the space between them, bobbing along to keep pace with the vehicle. Mister Higgins kept up his waddle, with the occasional short hop to close the gap as the truck gained on him despite their glacial pace. Nadia could feel every crashing hop through the truck¡¯s body, and that discomforting sensation, as much as fear of being called a coward, gave her the nerve to shut her eyes, lean forward, and let Mister Higgins catch her.

    She didn¡¯t even feel the transition as she passed through the filmy edge of the bubble, but as soon as her whole body was through all motion stopped at once, leaving her floating in the air. She took a few seconds to accustom herself to the sensation in peace, twisting around inside the little jail. It was possible to stretch out her limbs and touch the edges, but the film only gave slightly. There would be no hope of breaking it. Her life was now entirely in the hands of Fatima and Mister Higgins.

    Nadia twisted herself around to look forward, towards the still-open back of the car. Fatima was still looking back. Their eyes met. Nadia couldn¡¯t hear anything, but she could see Fatima¡¯s lips move through the shining rainbow-tinted barrier between them: you ready for this, girl?

    The honest answer would have been an irritable shrug, but Nadia wondered how well that would come across while weightless. Her hair was drifting around her face, trying to get in her eyes. So she extended her right hand in a thumbs up. At once the bubble lurched to the side, spinning over the bridge¡¯s ornate railing and into the frigid water of Lake Van.

    Of course Nadia screamed. Nobody but her could hear her, and she coughed and spluttered as she sucked her own long hair into her mouth; why hadn¡¯t she thought to secure it better? By the time she stopped hacking she was facing forward again and the bubble was directly underneath the bridge, moving much faster than before through the arched gallery formed by its supports.

    Even with only three people to draw from, the halo would extend a good distance forward of the SUV. Fatima¡¯s first priority was to get her sister as close to the prison as possible, in the one position where absolutely nobody could hope to see her. Within seconds she reached that limit¡ªthe leading edge of the halo from the still-crawling truck¡ªand bounced hard against the bubble¡¯s edge as it slowed back to a matching pace.

    The recoil threw her back into the surface behind her, then back again, and she bounced around like a ping-pong ball until her momentum wore down and she was floating in a giant soap bubble drifting through water that could kill her just with the temperature, before she got the chance to properly drown. Mister Higgins would be somewhere behind her, facing away and vomiting out a steady stream of more bubbles to push him forward like a jet engine. But she couldn¡¯t see him.

    It was insane. Nadia realized that now, and she didn¡¯t think it was just the valence telling her that. Even if there were no clairvoyants on guard in the prison, they might be suspicious. They didn¡¯t know if there was a radio protocol approaching the facility, or if the guards would shoot unrecognized vehicles. One shot could take out Maria and crash the car, or simply shatter the bridge and send it plunging into the deep.

    She wanted to leave. She wanted to reach out and bang on the walls of her tiny one-person jail, and scream that she had changed her mind, that she wanted out, that they would find another way. But she was terrified, against all reason, that the immeasurably thin barrier she had seen deflect bullets would give way before her hands and send the icy waters rushing in to blot out her life. All she could do was curl up inside the ball breathing fast, wondering if she was using up her limited supply of air as she did.

    The waters were dark, darker than she expected. She could make out the supports crawling by on either hand¡ªdid Maria really need to drive quite so slowly?¡ªand if she strained her eyes the surface of the bridge they connected to, but nothing more. She had no way of measuring how far they had gone already, or how far they still had to go. It felt like a long time had passed already. Too long. In the vanishingly unlikely event she made it out of the water alive, Nadia pledged that she would abort this whole idiotic scheme the moment her feet touched dry land again. She would run the whole two kilometers back, by herself if she had to.

    She didn¡¯t hear what happened, and of course she didn¡¯t see it. Her first sign that anything had gone wrong, that anything had changed at all, was a sudden stop, her body thumping once again, face-first, into the front of the bubble. Then a long, drifting silence in the dark, floating perfectly still. The space inside was still silent; a jet could have swooped directly overhead and she would have heard nothing. She could only know that Fatima was still alive and conscious, and that they weren¡¯t moving anymore.

    Then, very suddenly, they were, at terrifying speed and Nadia was tossed around like a rag doll in a tornado as her private cell flung itself sideways and up. She saw nothing but bright sunlight reflecting off glass and water alike, smeared through the bubble¡¯s rainbow haze, alternating with a clear blue winter sky. When she stabilized again, and had got her breath back, and finished shrieking, she was floating hundreds of feet in the air, and could see the entire Lim Island Holding Facility laid out beneath her.

    When she looked down, she could just make out a dark speck where the bridge met the island. Maybe a suggestion of glimmer where there might be a layer of protective bubbles. Farther back along the bridge, another speck of vehicle, immobile but with the suggestion of motion along its edges. A little shining dot rippled its way back across the bridge at speed, slapping into the other vehicle and sending it skidding back along the span.

    From above, it looked no more violent than bouncing pool balls; up close, men would be dying as their truck rolled. Behind it, the line of the bridge disappeared, section by section shivering and dropping into Lake Van. When the truck itself came to a rest one final section fell out beneath it, leaving an enormous gap. There would be no walking away now. Damn it.

    Mister Higgins erupted out of the water in a spray of foam, a tiny pinkish blot on the landscape, growing bigger by fits and starts. It took Nadia a moment to realize that the ridiculous thing was actually spitting out bubbles underneath himself and bouncing on them to gain altitude. As soon as she understood, she turned away; it was unnerving to see all that empty space directly under her feet.

    Instead she looked down at the prison. It was about three in the afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky, but beneath the glare she could see the faint shapes of men scurrying around like ants. Most of the building would be inside his halo by now, feeding their enemy; those men would have little stomach for fighting. Unfortunately, Nadia couldn¡¯t do what she had to do by looking down from the sky.

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    From above, the prison was three quadrangles stuck together, with open courtyards where the natural ground of the island was exposed. Mister Higgins set her bubble floating down towards the closest. The shining towers rose up faster than Nadia had expected, and for one heart-stopping instant she thought one of the sharp-edges pinnacles was going to snag the edge of her bubble and pop it. But she sank past it with plenty of space to spare, and the bubble landed her back on firm earth, and popped, leaving her exposed.

    Now came what might have been the most dangerous part of the entire operation: with her sister landed safely inside the prison¡¯s boundaries, Fatima simply dismissed Mister Higgins. The familiar, and all his bubbles, vanished at once. Nadia fell to her knees, dizzy¡ªbut only for a moment. Within two seconds she was thinking, once again, of the principal in his office.

    The window for joining in was narrow, and for an instant she hesitated; she could not forget what had happened last time she tried to harmonize with Fatima. But she was surrounded by enemies, and failing would almost certainly mean death. One fear overcame another, and the cops showing up at the garage seamlessly metamorphosed into snide, pretty female officers sneering at Nadia while they put her down in French. Then the vision passed, and ¨¦zarine was beside her.

    The courtyard was surrounded by four stories of the prison facility, three balconies running the whole perimeter. A man with a gun could appear on any of them at any moment. She sprinted for the closest wall, with ¨¦zarine right behind her. She could actually see through it¡ªthrough all the walls¡ªbut Snowdrop¡¯s characteristic white and green streaks limited useful visibility to the closest corridor, and a bit of the one beyond that, and useless flickers of blurred color for anything farther away. Nobody could hide for anything here, and privacy would be a joke, but trying to see through the whole thing and put it all together mentally would give her headaches in short order.

    Outside, Mister Higgins was gearing up again. Enormous bubbles were already rising in the sky outside, providing an even better target for everyone¡¯s attention than a glowing naked woman. Nadia ran along the wall until she found an opening, then dashed in, slipped, and fell, sending lancing pains through her shoulder and hip as she landed.

    The floor was glass too, very thick, and colder than the damp air outside, so that it was covered in condensation. Drops fell off the ceiling to spatter on Nadia¡¯s head as ¨¦zarine helped her back to her feet. Was the whole floor a smooth deathtrap? No. A narrow strip down the middle of it was textured with ridges, providing a slightly less treacherous footing. Fuzzy green mold grew in the cracks, as it did along the walls, accentuating the bleary green and white of the glass itself. The track was just wide enough to walk on by putting one foot in front of another. Running would be an invitation to a cracked skull.

    The corridor ran parallel to the courtyard outside, so she picked a direction and had ¨¦zarine help her limp along, holding her hands out to keep her from falling. She heartily damned Sergei Yefimov to hell with every step; it would take her a year to search this dungeon at such a pace. She wanted to just smash a hole in the wall and leave now, it was so unfair¡ªbut that was Mister Higgins talking. Which only made her more frustrated ¡­

    She looked up and saw the smeared forms of two men, staring at her through at least two walls. Their shouts were hardly more recognizable, but the way their arms flew to their sides was sign enough of their intentions. ¨¦zarine was with them before they could draw, and knocked them both down with a punch apiece. Nadia kept limping on as her familiar took care of them; by the time they were subdued, she¡¯d made her way to a door leading to some kind of storage room.

    The door was the same material as everything else, and the latch as well, a crude and bulky thing with a long lever, too big to snap by accident. Nadia yanked it loose and slid the door aside, then went in and sat down among piles of plastic totes. ¨¦zarine brought her one of the unconscious men; he wasn¡¯t wearing a proper uniform, but had a cloth mask hanging on his lower face, a stun-gun, a flashlight, and a club at his belt, and ¡­ what on earth were the things on his feet? Like stubby glass skis tied on over his shoes. They were as big and clumsy as the door¡¯s latch, but she supposed with practice they would slide pretty nicely over this horrible floor, if it always stayed damp. Meanwhile, any intruder or escapee would have to mince along the little track to avoid breaking his neck.

    They were too big for her feet, even if she could learn to use them quickly, so ¨¦zarine disarmed the man, dropped him off in the courtyard where the skis wouldn¡¯t work, then came back to help her stack the totes in a little fort around her. There weren¡¯t enough to hide her completely, but they would make her harder to notice. She settled in with her gun out and pointed at the door. ¨¦zarine would have to do the actual searching. Waiting in one place would be twice as unpleasant with the halo.

    ¨¦zarine flickered down the hall, staying in one place only long enough to check for prisoners. It was clear enough, after the first few seconds, that the ground floor was nearly all storage and support areas, and most of them empty. No kitchens, no plumbing¡ªhow would you install either, in a place like this? There weren¡¯t even electric lights, except portable ones on batteries. The whole place was little more than a medieval dungeon, complete with the damp, slime, and mold. It couldn¡¯t be healthy to live this way. She wondered if it would get hot like a greenhouse in summer.

    The cells started on the second floor. Not individual rooms, but great big chambers fifty feet or more to a side, with dozens of wretched occupants huddled together for warmth. The sliding doors were secured by being too thick to break without tools, and only latching on the outside. She assumed there was some similarly clever and brutal method to get them air and water, and to let them use the bathroom, but she didn¡¯t care enough to check. ¨¦zarine threw the doors open, one after another, and moved on.

    There wasn¡¯t time to check every face against her memories of the pictures Kemal had sent, distorted by ¨¦zarine¡¯s perceptions. She would just have to free the whole prison, and hope that none of them were there for an actual good reason. God only knew how they would get them all off the island and to safety, but that was a problem for later. At least there were no more guards yet¡ªFatima would be keeping them busy chasing bubbles. Not that they were even worth worrying about. Sooner or later Yefimov would make an appearance, she knew, and then there would be more trouble.

    There were a truly massive number of holding chambers, all lined up end to end, each with at least a score of prisoners inside. Most were all men, a few were all women, one had women and children together. What the children were supposed to have done, Nadia couldn¡¯t guess. Probably just related to people they needed influence over, the same as the Erbals. ¨¦zarine kept throwing doors open and moving on.

    She could see that the first few rooms¡¯ occupants were already shuffling out into the hallways. They were still huddled together in clumps, shivering and coughing. Far too few had coats on. The halo would give them the spirit they needed to keep moving, however badly they had been treated here. That was something.

    ¨¦zarine was just finishing up the first long hallway, and turning the corner to start on the next, when the guards came sliding around the far end where she¡¯d started to catch the escapees. They were far enough away that ¨¦zarine only noticed by the sudden burst of shouting. She teleported back and saw a half-dozen men like the ones she¡¯d knocked out, all toting clubs and stun-guns at an enormous, huddled mass of sickly men, the occupants of ten or more chambers all packed together in one clot that filled the hall.

    ¨¦zarine flickered behind the guards to start knocking them down, only for the prisoners to come surging forward, clinging to each other for balance. A few slipped and fell. A few more were clubbed or shocked down. The rest kept moving forward around the fallen, shouting and swearing, until they washed over the guards in a wave and bore them down to the ground with fists and feet. Five guards fell, and the sixth barely escaped, sliding away with frantic speed as grasping hands caught at the air behind him.

    The escapees were after him soon enough, freshly armed with his friends¡¯ weapons. A few, Nadia was pleased to note, paused long enough to throw open more doors, adding to the mob. A few more caught sight of stairs leading down, and half the group peeled away to look for more trouble. The jailbreak, it seemed, was managing itself now. About time.

    Then the next set of guards appeared, ten of them this time, and bearing long black rifles. Before Nadia could even think of taking them down with ¨¦zarine, they lowered arms at the mob, and opened fire.

 LXX. Counterstrike (Ay?e)

    Ay?e was doing schoolwork in her cabin when she heard the ship¡¯s engine start up. It was hard to concentrate, and she knew she wasn¡¯t doing a good job. She threw her books and pencils down to dash to the bridge, where Mila told her what she already guessed, that the radio beacon on the island had cut off and they couldn¡¯t reestablish contact.

    Mila had more to say too, because Mila always had more to say, but Ay?e wasn¡¯t listening. This was what they¡¯d been waiting for. They had Police Captain Toprak and his men by their side, and she would have the mighty Pangu; there was nothing to fear. The two days of tedious waiting were over. Now she could get justice for her father, and for Turkey.

    If only the stupid boat would get there quicker! That was the big weakness of the plan, that the boat couldn¡¯t stay hidden and still be there quickly. It had to chug across the water for several agonizing minutes, first getting out of the natural hidden harbor on the north side of the lake, then closing the distance to the island. They were only just now clearing the headland; the island was a speck on the horizon.

    She¡¯d studied the layout of the prison. It was made of a new kind of material that could be put together very quickly without spending a lot of money, since they¡¯d needed to get the building together in a hurry. Ay?e didn¡¯t really understand the details. It had two doors: a front door you got into over a narrow bridge, and a back door you could only access with a boat. The back door was hidden and kind of a secret, Mila had told her. It was designed for delivering bulk supplies once a week, but their ship could dock there as well.

    ¡°We are almost there,¡± Mila said beside her. Ay?e jumped; she¡¯d forgotten the woman was there. But she was right. The island was clearly visible now, its towers sparkling in the sunlight. It was very pretty, for a prison. There would be a space around it where the enemy jinn¡¯s magic would have control of everyone¡¯s mind. They couldn¡¯t just walk into that. It would be Ay?e¡¯s job to bring up her own jinn.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± she said. And she was. The Americans had four jinn. She knew what they could do. She¡¯d seen pictures of the four people using them, and they were only teenagers, younger than her cousin Demir. Two of them barely looked older than Ay?e. She was not scared of them.

    ¡°Just say when,¡± Mila told her. She had a funny little jar in her hands, full of ¡­ jinni food, she¡¯d said. Her agency had pulled strings somewhere to get it, but if she popped it open just as Ay?e called Pangu, he would come out much stronger.

    Ay?e watched the island drawing closer, counting out the seconds. She didn¡¯t know what she was waiting for. How big was a jinni¡¯s magic space? She didn¡¯t know. There were a lot of things she didn¡¯t know. But it was too late to take this all back, even if she wanted to. The prison break was happening now. Somewhere inside that pretty iced cake of a fortress, the Americans would be killing guards, opening cells, maybe holding hostages. ¡°Now.¡±

    She didn¡¯t expect it to happen so quickly. Usually when she called Pangu, there was a long moment where he told the story about the climber on the mountain, and the cold wind, and the sun shining on the ice. It took a minute. This time, with his special food, he rattled it all off in barely a second, and then Ay?e opened her eyes and he was crouched beside her on the bridge, bent double to avoid bumping his shaggy purple head on the ceiling.

    She always forgot how Pangu made her feel until he was with her again. It wasn¡¯t exactly a good feeling, but it wasn¡¯t bad either. He was a very old spirit, she could tell. Old enough that he didn¡¯t have much patience for humans and their short lives. He was willing to help her with her problems, and she was grateful, but he thought they were too small to bother about, really. Ay?e couldn¡¯t blame him. As long as he was out, she understood perfectly.

    It was very cold now, from his mist, but they were all wearing coats. Ay?e made sure the white fog rolled back from their path, so they wouldn¡¯t have to break through ice to get there. The boat¡¯s engine struggled a little from the sudden drop in temperature, but they kept going until they got to the special support, the enormous fat spine of glassy stuff sticking out of one side of the building into the water. You had to get close to it to spot the little tunnel where it joined the main structure, and the size of the thing made it look too small to get down until you were almost inside it.

    It wasn¡¯t a long tunnel, only just long enough so the cargo boats could unload in a sheltered space. The captain slowed the boat carefully down and they stopped against the end of it with the slightest little bump. The policemen were moving out even before the anchor was down. Ay?e followed them, feeling perfectly calm. Whatever happened here, it wouldn¡¯t matter.

    There was a big heavy door, made of the same stuff as the rest of the building; it looked like glass, or clear plastic. Whatever it was, it was locked from the other side, with a bulky long-levered latch they could see through it, and nobody was there to open it for them. Captain Toprak looked at it, then turned to Ay?e. A couple of Pangu¡¯s punches made hairline cracks, and his mist made ice grow inside those cracks until they spread out and shattered the whole door.

    The floors here were deliberately slippery, so escaped prisoners couldn¡¯t run. Pangu could help with that, too, by covering the glassy stuff with a solid sheet of pure ice. Just as slippery, but all of Toprak¡¯s men had crampons, and Ay?e was wearing a new pair of ice skates. It was very fortunate that the ice-jinni had made friends with a girl who loved to skate.

    The men were only here for backup, to help the prison staff handle loose prisoners, and those prisoners would be totally helpless on ice. The actual fight was all Ay?e¡¯s, and she set out as soon as all the men were through, zipping down the halls too fast for any of them to have a hope of keeping up. Only Pangu could do that, on his long, sturdy legs. The men would be along later.

    Ay?e had a paper map, but the building was too big and complicated for it to be useful and she didn¡¯t try. After skating a short distance she heard gunshots, and knew the way to go anyway. The danger might have frightened her before, but not while she had Pangu with her. Now she was a child of the north wind. This place was full of long, straight hallways, and once she built up speed they flew past in a blur.

    The guns were firing higher up, on the second or third floor. She found a set of stairs, and had Pangu carry her up them, then scout ahead. Pangu was good at scouting; he could see through his own fog perfectly well even when others couldn¡¯t, and if it got thick enough he could just disappear into it and reappear somewhere else.

    The prison was like three hollow squares stuck together end-to-end, a courtyard in the middle of each, lined up east to west to follow the shape of the island. The bridge and the main gate were on the southern end of the middle square, while she and the men had come in close to the northwest corner. Pangu¡¯s special space¡ªhis territory, where he could do his magic¡ªmoved around as the two of them did, but right now it was centered on the north end of the center square, opposite the front gate. He could feel the enemy¡¯s space, a place where he could not go, across the central courtyard. Ay?e looked out the window and watched his ice settle on the bare ground. The line where it would go no further, where the mist only trickled across and disappeared in the sunlight¡ªthat was the end of it.

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    Mila had warned her this would happen. Mila had warned her about many things, in fact, but it was hard to remember all of them. She was smarter than Ay?e¡¯s teachers, and seemed to know everything about every subject, somehow. She said that, when two jinn met, their territories would push at each other, and there were very complicated rules about which would win, especially if multiple enemy jinn were sharing one territory, in which case there would be multiple centers and the shape of the area would change based on some impossible math formula ¡­ Mila¡¯d talked until Ay?e went cross-eyed, then broke it down into something very simple she could actually understand: the closer she and Pangu were to the edge of their territory, the harder it would push against the enemy¡¯s.

    Pangu alone could not quite reach the end of his ¡°leash¡±; it got harder and harder to advance forward as he got closer to the edge. All he could tell her was that there were a lot of people moving around in the hallways across the square, and that he could not see another jinni there. That was good enough for her; she stood up, took her friend by the hand, and dashed forward. The corridor was lined with cells on either side, big cells packed with crowds of prisoners, their green and white walls now covered in smooth clear ice, icicles dribbling down from the ceiling. The prisoners sat and stared in shivering silence as Ay?e skated past.

    It was not so quiet and peaceful up ahead; the closer she got, the more clearly she could hear the people shouting in anger. She could see them, too, a huge snarl of men brawling in the hallway, pushing and punching each other. Another couple of gunshots went off, but she couldn¡¯t see who was shooting, or at who.

    Pangu put an end to it. Once they had closed within a hundred yards, the whole ugly mob keeled over, clutching their heads and moaning, their foolish brawl forgotten. By the time they were actually his, and the white mist was around them, they were sitting quietly on the floor, unable to do anything but huddle together like sheep on a cold morning. Ay?e could simply skate around them, without them so much as lifting a hand to stop her.

    The cell doors were all open here; these were escaped prisoners, obviously. A few of the men had guns, clubs, or other weapons, but she couldn¡¯t tell if they were guards, or if they had disarmed the guards, or if the Americans had armed them. Either way, they were quiet now. Their lives were only little sparks in the first place, and now they knew it.

    Pangu, scouting ahead as usual, spotted the jinniyah before Ay?e could even see her. She was a scrawny little thing, shaped like a naked woman with long dark hair barely covering her luminous body. She wasn¡¯t doing anything, only watching them from the end of the hall, the better part of a kilometer away. Ay?e would have been ashamed even to look at her, normally. Now, seeing her through Pangu¡¯s eyes, she just thought the creature would freeze without proper clothes on. Good.

    Ay?e kept picking her way forward through the shivering prisoners, not in a hurry. She remembered the files Mila had shown her; this jinniyah answered to the youngest of the spies, and Ay?e could not see her anywhere. With Pangu by her side, she could just force the disgusting creature away, then herd the prisoners back into their cells. The jinniyah was already retreating, stepping back as the white clouds and frost came drifting down the hall. Soon she would have nowhere left to run, and would have to leave the whole prison to Ay?e and Pangu.

    She didn¡¯t even last that long, though. After a few seconds¡¯ retreat, the jinniyah twisted in place and disappeared. Ay?e froze in place, peering down the hall in case she reappeared. When she didn¡¯t, she set Pangu to work, kicking and prodding the miserable prisoners back into their cells. Some of them, she saw, were women, and a few were dead already. Ay?e didn¡¯t care. All of these mortal affairs were stupid and meaningless to begin with, but if she was going to be bothered with them she would have it over quickly. Probably a lot of these men would be executed anyway, if they didn¡¯t die from Pangu¡¯s cold. And it would serve them right.

    The counterattack came without warning. One moment, Ay?e was directing her jinni to pick up a stubborn convict and heave him back into confinement; the next, she was on her knees, clutching at her head with both hands so hard she nearly tore her hair out, caught up in a kind of pain she had never felt before. Her skull throbbed with it. Her stomach twisted, threatening to throw up her lunch.

    The floor beneath her was still sheathed in ice, and the mist still drifted through the air, but everything about it was wrong. This was not Pangu¡¯s land any longer. The pure and snow-white mountain was gone from her mind, and his cold peace with it. Instead she felt angry, angry and helpless. The girl, the American spy, she had done this somehow. She was trying to take Pangu away from her, to take his land, his place, the place of the ancient wild. How dare she?

    All the men around her were hurting too; she could hear them writhing and groaning. Pangu was alive still, but weak. He slumped against a wall some ways down the hallway, breathing hard, his bright yellow eye now dim and pale. She crawled toward him on hands and knees, feeling the cold against her skin in a way she hadn¡¯t before. It wasn¡¯t fair. But there was safety, not far away, where the evil jinniyah could not disturb them. Pangu could feel it, and he led the way, crawling just as she did.

    By the time they got back to the crossing, the corner of the square, Ay?e felt a little better. Not perfect, but well enough to stand, and wobble forward on her skates. She looked behind her, and saw the jinniyah was back again, staring at them in their weakness from a few hundred paces away, in the shadowy place where she had defiled Pangu¡¯s wild kingdom. Her eyes, Ay?e noticed, were black empty pits in her face.

    ¡°You can¡¯t do this,¡± Ay?e told her. ¡°I won¡¯t let you.¡± The jinniyah gave no sign that she had understood, or even heard. After a moment, she walked over to the nearest door and slid it open again, letting the prisoners back out. ¡°Stop that, you horrible bitch!¡± But the jinniyah kept moving.

    Ay?e sent Pangu to stop her; he took a few steps forward, then fell to his knees again, giddy and helpless. Somehow, this was not his territory any longer. His ice was still there on the floor, and the air was cold and damp, but it wasn¡¯t his any more. She tried stepping forward herself, to try and reclaim it, but her knees went weak and the jinniyah popped up right next to her and knocked her over easily, with one hand. She hit her backside, then her head, on the icy floor. Before she could even get back to her feet, the jinniyah had returned to freeing the prisoners, throwing open doors. And the men were back to grumbling, cursing¡ªcursing!¡ªthe cold Pangu had brought to stop their fight.

    ¡°I can¡¯t let you do this!¡± she said, but nobody heard. After a minute she found herself stumbling back in retreat, back away from the jinniyah, full of rage and helpless pain. That was the jinniyah¡¯s work; she was an evil spirit, and brought frustration and hate instead of Pangu¡¯s wisdom. Ay?e kept staggering away from it until she was back in her friend¡¯s furry arms, and those arms were wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. When she looked up, the jinniyah had vanished.

    At least, her body had gone. She could still feel the horrible aura off the creature, poisoning her soul. It was evil, and doing evil things. It would have to die, so Pangu could reign again. But how? Neither of them could touch her. The prisoners were getting up, walking away, brushing past her like she wasn¡¯t even there, helping each other over the slippery floor. Soon they would escape.

    ¡°No!¡± The nearest couple of men flinched, and glared at her, but only for a moment. Then they turned back to their own business. Ay?e bent down and picked up a handgun from the floor¡ªsomebody had left it behind. Would it kill a jinniyah? She didn¡¯t think so. She didn¡¯t want to kill the prisoners. But she could stop them, make them pay attention. She picked one at random, an older man limping away on his own, pointed the gun at the floor right in front of him, and pulled the trigger.

    It was a lot louder than she expected, and it kicked in her hand. She stepped back, wincing and putting a hand to her ear. But so did the prisoner, and all the men around him. They stopped and stared at her, glowering. There was a jagged hole in the floor where she had shot it. It put her in mind of the door downstairs, where Pangu had smashed his way through.

    Was Pangu powerless here? She didn¡¯t think so. Slowly, carefully, she sent a little tendril of the white mist drifting into the crack; she was pleased to see the men back away again, muttering. The mist trickled in, and in, hardening and filling it. The little hole shuddered, and sent out a spiderweb pattern of cracks. Now the men were not just backing away, but running.

    Ay?e laughed, and pushed past them to rejoin Pangu. The jinniyah flickered back into being less than a hundred paces away, but Ay?e ignored her. The crack was still spreading, even though she had stopped spreading the ice inside it. She skated away, quickly but calmly now, the jinniyah¡¯s curse spent. Behind her, the cracks gave way, and a whole section of the floor fell in with a crash. Then another, and another. The prisoners knocked each other down in their haste to get away, and one fell through the collapsing floor, screaming. As if one human life mattered that much!

    And Ay?e smiled, because she had found the way. So the American wanted to fight? Fine. Ay?e might not know all her vicious tricks, but she was pretty sure she knew enough to bring this whole building down on her head. She would make this prison into a tomb.

 LXXI. Downfall (Nadia)

    The first burst of gunfire did almost nothing; the mob was too large and too focused on its anger for a few dead to deter them. They surged forward, hot with ¨¦zarine¡¯s rage, while the guards kept firing. It was only when ¨¦zarine herself appeared beside the gunmen, and began forcing them to stop with her fists, that they yielded to Mister Higgins¡¯s half of the halo and tried to leave.

    By then it was too late; the mob was within rushing distance, and mad enough to use their own casualties as stepping-stones to close the gap. They fell on the guards like mad dogs, beating them with their own weapons. ¨¦zarine didn¡¯t move to stop them; Nadia didn¡¯t even think of trying till they were done and moving on.

    By then, she found, she had larger problems. Without a target to vent its anger on, the disoriented army of prisoners started turning on itself. Arguments¡ªshe couldn¡¯t tell about what, maybe which way to go¡ªsprang up at once, and once begun soon turned to blows. The men who weren¡¯t trying to fight tried to push past the fighters instead, looking for an exit, and causing fresh brawls in turn. ¨¦zarine tried to move here and there, breaking it up, but there was too much for her to handle. These people had been in her kind of mood, or Mister Higgins¡¯s, for hours or days before they showed up. The halo was pouring gasoline on a brushfire.

    Nadia was just wondering whether she ought to send ¨¦zarine away when she felt, through her familiar, a new and unwelcome sensation she couldn¡¯t put into words. It was nothing she could have felt with her own body, only a sense of ¡­ something like pressure, but also asymmetry, combined with imbalance. Like seeing a painting hang slightly crooked, if that were the sort of thing you could feel with your inner ear.

    If she hadn¡¯t been expecting the thing it stood for, she would have taken ages to recognize it for what it was. Impingement. There was another familiar nearby, and its halo was pushing against the edges of their own. As if she didn¡¯t have enough problems, with the beginnings of a riot on her hands ¡­

    She spotted the source almost at once. All ¨¦zarine had to do was glance, through the nearest empty cells, into the central courtyard. It was more than half-full of white vapor, like a cloud descended from the sky¡ªexcept the skies were clear. The boundary was barely a hundred meters away, ridiculously close. That meant both emissor and emissant were right there to reinforce, and they would probably get closer.

    In a different room on a lower floor, some distance away from both, Nadia put her head in her hands to think. It wasn¡¯t Yefimov and Snowdrop, at least. That would have been much worse. But Pangu? He belonged to Polat¡¯s daughter now. What on earth was she doing, playing enforcer for the people who ruined her country, and for the Kurds to boot? And what was Nadia going to do about it now?

    The sense of imbalance and pressure grew rapidly, until even the men in the melee could sense it. One by one, then in groups, they gave up the fight and grabbed at their heads, groaning or yelling as the competing halos took them in two directions at once. Nadia could sympathize; even her brief brush with ambivalence outside Fatih, months ago, had been terrible.

    But it didn¡¯t last long. In seconds a large number had passed through ambivalence and into Pangu¡¯s domain, and were sitting quietly on the floor, politely waiting for a cold death. ¨¦zarine had already retreated, against her will, down the hall, but she could see the enormous shape of the emissant himself, shambling onto her former domain.

    It was doubly discomfiting now; he was between ¨¦zarine and Mister Higgins, bisecting the halo. Nadia didn¡¯t know how long it could tolerate that kind of strain before collapsing, especially with Pangu robbing her half of the substrate. She didn¡¯t know what was happening to Fatima outside; if all of Mister Higgins¡¯s bubbles disappeared at once, there was a chance her sister would be shot before she could recover from the shock.

    But Pangu was still advancing, and ¨¦zarine, at a distance from her mistress, bereft of close support, had no choice but to retreat. Nadia shook her head, sighed, and called her familiar back to her side. They would be able to resist better with less distance between them, and ¨¦zarine was doing no good where she was.

    It wasn¡¯t a solution, though. If Pangu kept advancing, he would very likely kill most of his own substrate, creating a classic ¡°firebreak.¡± Which would put paid to him¡ªbut not at a price Nadia could tolerate! And if the halo collapsed before that, the cold mist would simply flood the whole prison, and Nadia herself would die with them. It was infuriating, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. She only had one option, and it was in the little flask at her hip. She was pretty sure a kitty could be used to bolster an existing halo; it just wasn¡¯t common practice.

    And if Yefimov was lurking nearby, waiting for her to deplete all her resources before swooping in for the kill? Better not to think about it.

    Relief was partial, but immediate; beside her, ¨¦zarine sparkled with fresh vigor, and Nadia sent her back up to push back. Polat¡¯s daughter was nine. Nadia could remember being nine. Hopefully this girl wasn¡¯t unusually resourceful or clever for her age; Nadia had just spent her only reserve.

    By the looks of it, though, she wasn¡¯t. ¨¦zarine could see her now, a skinny child bulked up with a thick coat and hat, wearing ice skates (ice skates!) on her stringy little legs. She stumbled back to Pangu for safety, making indignant noises, while the men roused to fresh anger all around her. This wasn¡¯t ¨¦zarine¡¯s space yet, but it wasn¡¯t properly Pangu¡¯s either, despite the persistent ice and fog. Nadia kept the pressure up, wondering as she did how she was going to get all these people to safety now that the floors were not just glass but thick ice. At least before they hadn¡¯t been at risk of imminent hypothermia. Damn the girl, anyway.

    The child was huddled back against Pangu now, snarling threats and demands in Turkish. Nadia didn¡¯t have time to waste on her, whatever she said. She¡¯d already started forcing the men back in their cells, where Nadia supposed they were meant to die safely of incarcerated exposure. Was the girl stupid, or deeply fussy and neurotic, or did she only have a vicious sense of humor? She pushed forward to intervene, and ¨¦zarine drove her away with a contemptuous shove. She crawled away, still whining, while ¨¦zarine undid what she could of the damage.

    It didn¡¯t take long for her to open all the doors again; once that was done, she grabbed the most miserable-looking and exposed man in her immediate vicinity, and moved him down into the courtyard. She went for another, then another. Then stopped. Did she really have to move hundreds of them one at a time? She might be able to take several of them in a trip, assuming Pangu and the girl didn¡¯t interfere with that as well. By now Nadia was past hoping to find Kemal¡¯s daughter and her husband; she only hoped that¡ªwas that another gunshot?

    ¨¦zarine popped back upstairs and saw the girl with a pistol in her hand, gloating and cackling over a spreading crack in the glass floor while addled prisoners sluggishly backed away. ¡°Are you insane?¡± Nadia screamed, uselessly, from her room. The floor, completely unconcerned with her opinion, shuddered and collapsed. ¨¦zarine tried and failed to catch the one man who didn¡¯t make it out; he fell at least ten feet onto his face, landing in a jagged heap of ice and glass shards.

    The Polat girl moved on, carelessly firing her pistol into random spots on the floor and skating away while they spread. The prisoners staggered back, dumb with the cold and the strain of alternating halos, but they were too slow and there was nowhere to run to. ¨¦zarine pulled two to safety; five more fell, meeting the same fate as the first. And the mad girl skated on. The first hole wasn¡¯t even finished spreading yet. The building groaned and creaked as its weight shifted in ways it had not been built to accommodate.

    ¨¦zarine was just getting ready to flicker over and put the horrible brat down when a snaking crack took out the floor under her feet, sending her plunging as well. Fifteen or twenty men fell with her, but she was unharmed, and she did not stop to check on them. The girl had run out of bullets, apparently; she was bending over to pick up a rifle while Pangu went on a rampage, stomping and punching floors willy-nilly.

    The girl was already out of the ambivalent zone, too far for ¨¦zarine to reach¡ªwith her body. Instead she found a decent-sized piece of glass and ice in the expanding zone of rubble, and flung it. Nadia had never had cause to test her familiar¡¯s aim. It was fair, but hardly perfect. The jagged shard spun like a discus right past the child¡¯s face. She screamed as she twisted and fell, and rose up again dripping bright red blood over the milky ice.

    Behind her, Pangu hesitated, wavered in place a moment, then started stumping over to help or shield her. Too late. The second chunk hit dead-on, shattering on impact and sending her flying. Pangu wobbled on his feet just long enough for the floor under him to collapse as well; he vanished on his way down. ¨¦zarine¡¯s halo flooded into the gap, driving out the niggling sense of disorder at last. Her first act was to jump over to the horrid child and pull her to safety before the catastrophe she had started could kill her as well.

    ¨¦zarine dropped her off in the room with her mistress, then flickered away to salvage what she could. Nadia looked down at the face of a nine-year-old murderess; it would have been easier to hate her if she hadn¡¯t looked like she¡¯d been mauled. The first hit had slashed her right cheek and upper lip almost down to the teeth; she was bleeding profusely. Shards of glass and frost glittered on her bloody face.

    Nadia was tempted to simply let her bleed out. Only the knowledge that she would hate herself later¡ªcoupled with a dim hope that maybe, somehow, the girl was not at fault for what she had done¡ªmade Nadia pop open one of the plastic tubs she had been hiding behind. It held a bunch of brightly colored t-shirts. Nadia grabbed one and pressed it down hard with both hands. The girl groaned, and batted feebly with her hands. ¡°If you survive this,¡± Nadia told her, ¡°it will be more than you deserve.¡± She kept struggling. Nadia checked to make sure that she was not smothering the brat, then kept pressing down, and returned her attention to ¨¦zarine upstairs.

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    It was already hopeless. Too many cracks had spread, too fast. Walls were falling now, bringing down the third floor with them to collapse on the men stirring feebly on the wreckage below. The few survivors on the second floor were all on hands and knees now, crawling painfully over the slippery ice, racing to stay ahead of the expanding cracks, climbing over each other and shouldering their neighbors aside in their desperation. Selfishness didn¡¯t save them. ¨¦zarine grabbed two men at random. A massive slab of floor gave way before she came back, bringing the last men down with it, and the ceiling fell in after to finish the job.

    ¡°This is your fault!¡± she screamed at the bleeding girl, who only twitched a little. But there was no more time for recriminations¡ªthe zone of destruction had now spread far enough that Nadia belatedly saw she was in danger herself. She could feel the rumble as the instability spread, and hear the ceiling fall in, far too close now.

    Her hip still hurt from the fall earlier; she had to call ¨¦zarine back to haul the girl out to the courtyard, then help Nadia to her feet. The hallway collapsed twenty feet away as she limped out the door of her hiding place. Flecks of glass and shards of ice rose up in a cloud, and she turned her face away to keep it out of her lungs. Then she looked up, and saw the cracks still spreading. There was nothing for it. She shut her eyes, held her breath, and had ¨¦zarine pick her up and sprint for it.

    The footing was terrible. ¨¦zarine stumbled four times along the way, actually dropping Nadia once. Against her will, she gasped in shock, inhaling a mouthful of the dust, and gagged hard. It was probably for the best. She was coughing so hard that she did not notice what ¨¦zarine saw beneath her as she picked her mistress back up. Only after, in the cold light of the courtyard with the dazed survivors stumbling about her, did she have a faint and doubtful recollection that the thing she had fallen on perhaps hadn¡¯t felt quite like glass, or ice either. Had it moved beneath her? Had somebody else cried out at the impact, or was it just her? Best not to know.

    The massive building was still, incredibly, continuing to collapse. Nadia didn¡¯t see how, but it was. Every new hole, every stoved-in cell or chamber, created fresh instabilities, leading to another collapse, leading to another hole. The entire thing had been cast in one seamless piece, and in such a way that a single point of failure could lead to total destruction of the facility. How could Yefimov have built this place with such care in every other respect, yet make it so horribly unsafe?

    On purpose, maybe. He hadn¡¯t shown up himself. There was no sign of Snowdrop returning to shore up her masterpiece. And now Nadia suspected she had never planned to. Why should a senior oprichnik risk his life walking into such a deathtrap?

    She spared a moment to look down at the battered Polat girl. Her face was still bleeding, if more slowly. Nadia picked one of the men around her at random, and ordered him, with her middling Turkish, to keep holding pressure. He scowled and balked, and she was inclined to hit him. Instead she added, ¡°Please. She is a child, and hurt.¡± The man gave her a dead-eyed stare, so that she was on the verge of asking another when he shoved her aside and took the shirt out of her increasingly bloody hands.

    It came to her, as she wearily sent ¨¦zarine back to rescue work, that any number of innocent people had probably died while she lost time trying to preserve this reckless little murderer¡¯s life. She couldn¡¯t really justify it. Of course, Keisha had made similar arguments about Yuri ¡­ and, now that she thought of it, she hadn¡¯t been able to justify him, either.

    The conjoined voices of ¨¦zarine and Mister Higgins inside her told her it was all stupid and pointless, that she ought to give it up and leave. But give what up? Was she supposed to go crawling back to Keisha, or let the girl die now to prove a point? The familiars had no answers to those kinds of questions. They never did, and never would. Nadia could not help agreeing with them, but she didn¡¯t stop sending ¨¦zarine back in, over and over, to haul out prisoners two or three at a time. And the familiars didn¡¯t object, so long as she could frame the act as a kind of rebellion, as a refusal to engage with life on somebody else¡¯s terms. They would comply just as cheerfully if she were sending ¨¦zarine around to snap the men¡¯s necks.

    A violent coughing fit interrupted her gloom. She had almost certainly inhaled powdered glass. That would mean another ¡°deduction¡± from the Bank of Khan, later. The thought filled her with a cynical glee she hated even as she felt it. But she kept ¨¦zarine working. And working. One more here, two more there, a family of five all huddled together, a screaming toddler with no parents in sight picked roughly up and saved against her will.

    Some time passed before she turned at a motion in the corner of her eye, and saw a cascade of bubbles pouring out of one upper gallery, bearing struggling men and women down to the increasingly crowded courtyard. She looked up, saw Mister Higgins bouncing in place above the devastation, and gave him an exhausted salute. Almost half of the prison looked to be gone by now, and the collapse was still spreading. The transepts dividing the yards were collapsing into little hillocks as the death-spasm ate its way across, leaving a single open space.

    What was the point of this? To make Nadia into the killer of the people she had come to save? Why did he go to so much effort? She didn¡¯t want to participate in whatever sick head game Yefimov was playing, but her mind wouldn¡¯t leave the riddle alone.

    She turned at a tap on her shoulder. The man she had detailed to take care of the child stepped away to show her the girl sitting up, holding the saturated shirt to her own face. ¡°Good,¡± Nadia said, and turned back to her work, but the man grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back around. She managed not to hit him, but it was close. ¡°What? What do you want?¡±

    The man pointed to the child again, then handed her a slip of paper from a little pocket notepad. It was smeared and dappled with blood, but she could make out the writing in the center: Cinlerinizi kovun. Benimki duvarlar? ta??yabilir. ¡°Dismiss your jinn. Mine can hold up the walls.¡±

    Nadia looked at the bloodied child, who shot her a defiant glare for just a second before dropping her eyes to the ground. ¡°Can I trust you?¡± The girl didn¡¯t answer. It was a stupid question, anyway. Nadia spared one more moment to look at the still-disintegrating prison. What option did she have? She took a deep breath, and sent ¨¦zarine away.

    The disorientation that always followed a dropped halo barely had time to fade before a new vision replaced it. A frozen mountainside, ice shining in the sun, and a deep, bone-chilling cold. With no competition and a crowd of hundreds to draw from, the white fog blanketed the whole island in seconds. It was too thick to see even ten feet away, and Nadia found she did not care to look anyway. It was easier to sit down and shiver in place, and wait. She realized she had put her life in the hands of a girl who had every reason to be her enemy¡ªbut the fact didn¡¯t seem especially significant now.

    Presently she became aware that she could not hear the noise of collapse any longer. A moment after that she noticed she was not cold, and looked up into a clear blue sky. She glanced down, and saw that the ragged end of the transept was plugged with an absolutely colossal mass of ice, twenty feet thick at least. It would take hours to melt in this temperature. Long enough for the surviving population to evacuate at reasonable speed.

    She felt that it would be polite to thank the child, but she couldn¡¯t find the words, and it would have been awkward, with the girl huddled over and sobbing into a bloody rag. It seemed kinder to leave her alone. She looked away instead, to the place where the prison¡¯s entrance had once been, and where Fatima and Maria were currently picking their delicate way over and through jagged hills taller than their heads.

 LXXII. The Assembly of the Gods (Nadia)

    The Democratic Confederation of Z?lan condemns, in the strongest possible terms, the vicious incursions of foreign adventurers and American lackeys. The barbarity of yesterday¡¯s assault on the Lim Island facility was matched only by its brazenness and incompetence. It remains, at this point, unclear what objective motivated the unknown attackers to destroy the entire prison, killing most of its inmates in the process. The people of Z?lan may take comfort in the knowledge that these madmen will not remain unknown, or alive, for long¡ª

    There was more, but none of it was worth reading. Nadia already knew that they were being hunted. Not effectively; the local authorities didn¡¯t actually want a confrontation with multiple emissants to take place on their territory. They¡¯d only issued broad warnings to be suspicious of unknown people, and circulated them widely and loudly enough that there was no chance of Nadia¡¯s increasingly motley gang finding any safe haven within their territory.

    At present they were hiding in the far southeast of Turkey, squatting with some of Maria¡¯s smuggler friends. Nadia hated depending on the girl, but they were in no position to choose. Their hosts were her distant cousins, in some tortuous sense of that word, and had people knock on their door at all hours. There¡¯d been three just last night, waking Nadia from sleep, but all three had moved on after very brief and quiet conversations. One had driven a truck around to the side of the house and loaded or unloaded something as well. Nadia didn¡¯t ask.

    The next bit of news was much briefer and less bombastic. In fact, it was little more than two names on a list: Ferhat and Deniz Erbal, of Bayburt. The details about their supposed crimes had been stripped away, and there was no mention of the sentence anymore. Just a note that they had been transferred out of the Lim Island facility¡ªit didn¡¯t say where to¡ªon February 28, the day before the attack. More likely the two of them had never been there at all. Their new location would be forthcoming, Nadia was sure, as soon as Yefimov had found the time to set up another trap.

    A knock on the door downstairs. Nadia didn¡¯t look up from her phone. If the visitors were after the Marshalls, they would have opened with an artillery strike on the house. Anyway, she wouldn¡¯t recognize any of their surviving enemies besides Yefimov, and Mila. Assuming you didn¡¯t count the Polat girl, and Nadia doubted whether she would come back, or knock if she did. Moving on ¡­

    The next one was Ruslan¡¯s discovery, found by chance hunting through foreign media. American cable news, in this case. A man in a blue suit, with black glasses and silver hair, frowning as he snapped into a microphone on the table in front of him: ¡°Would you please explain to me, General, what these American-trained assets were doing, or trying to do, on that island?¡±

    ¡°Senator, I have to object to the characterization of these¡ª¡°

    ¡°Pangu is an American asset, General! We trained him. We made him! And, now that his emissor has been killed in the line of duty¡ªapparently while guarding, or failing to guard, another of these underage belligerents¡ªwe see him, and the child he failed to guard, and one other mysteriously misplaced American weapons project, cooperating in the demolition of a facility for holding prisoners of war. With the inmates still inside it!¡±

    ¡°These individuals were not acting under our orders, Senator.¡±

    ¡°And why is that? We have ample evidence, General Green¡ªevidence you yourself provided¡ªthat the Marshall children were considered to be acting under our supervision barely a week ago. They appear to have succeeded in exactly one operation, shutting down a local black market with considerable use of force, before joining up with a sociopathic rogue agent across the border, killing a decorated veteran emissor, and finally defecting to perpetrate this¡ªthis fiasco. I am ¡­ appalled. More than appalled. I simply don¡¯t know a word strong enough for this, General.¡±

    Nadia kept watching a bit longer, but it was mostly posturing indignation. Absolutely nobody, it seemed, knew that the prison had been built to fail. But plenty of people knew about the people Z?lan had been holding inside. A surprisingly large number had been notable philanthropists, religious leaders, or statesmen, two months earlier, when Turkey had been a single united country. The little bit of the Turkish government that survived, or was trying to put itself back together, wasn¡¯t very happy about that.

    It had been humiliating enough when they only knew they had been tricked into committing mass murder. It was even worse once they realized that the whole thing had been aimed at somebody else¡ªat a population of gullible, TV-watching idiots on the other side of the world. That Nadia and her family were now outlaws, marked for death, in both Kurdish and Turkish territory? That might be even less than a side benefit. They weren¡¯t even a consideration, only tools used to manipulate other tools.

    But that was not the worst thing Nadia had to face this day. That would be the sheet of paper sitting on the table in front of her. The one she had been ignoring while she flipped through her phone, looking at things she had already seen and reading things she already knew. Several other sheets of paper just like it were crumpled up in the wastebasket, or on the floor.

    Dear Kemal, I know what it looks like but don¡¯t believe what you see on TV

    Dear Kemal, I am so sorry. I promise we did our best, but it was all a trap.

    Dear Kemal, Your family is still alive. We were unable to free them, but

    But but but. So many buts. The current sheet was blank so far, except for the letterhead that said the paper used to belong to a small accounting company. It was all they had, and not much of it. All she had done so far was waste paper.

    Another knock, this time at the door to the room she shared with Fatima. The interruption annoyed her less than it should have. Anything but this letter. ¡°What?¡±

    Yuri¡¯s voice came through the door. ¡°Family meeting. Our room. Now. Move it.¡±

    ¡°A meeting?¡± She got no answer but the sound of footsteps walking away.

    The house was bigger than it looked from the street, where you could mistake it for a modest single-family dwelling. Little annexes had been tacked onto it, sprawling back into the tree cover on one side, and a basement dug deep, so that it was big enough to hide any number of people or bulk goods. Several of the added rooms, she¡¯d noticed, locked only from the outside. Yuri and Maria¡¯s was the largest, big enough to cram in several chairs around the bed. With all five of them present, it was still quite crowded.

    Fatima opened the discussion without ceremony. ¡°We¡¯ve got to move,¡± she said. ¡°Nothing about this place is stable or secure, and Maria says we¡¯ve got to be gone by nightfall tomorrow anyway. Her cousins need the space for something or somebody else. So if any of you got any idea where we¡¯re supposed to go from here, now¡¯s the time to say so.¡±

    ¡°Going south¡¯s still an option,¡± Yuri said. ¡°No, hear me out! Really! Maria¡¯s family knows a bunch of people in Iraq. Plenty of work keeping the peace there.¡±

    ¡°You mean sitting on their Kurds for a change?¡± Nadia said with distaste.

    ¡°More like helping their Kurds deal with, you know, all the shit going down around Syria and here. Buncha scrub mooja-hideens needing their asses kicked.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t Iraq American, though?¡± Ruslan asked. ¡°I thought they had American bases there.¡±

    Yuri shrugged. ¡°Maria says they¡¯re mostly in the other end of the country. The Kurds have been trying to police their own space, but it makes tension and shit, and there¡¯s all this local politics. Away from the oil fields, security drops off, and you get some hardcore Wild West crazy going down.¡±

    ¡°And Maria¡¯s family has probably been selling in that area,¡± Nadia said. Fatima looked like she¡¯d been about to say the same thing, but contented herself with a nod.

    ¡°Does it matter? Sure, she sells guns. But here¡¯s the thing, fools: we¡¯re guns! Big-ass guns! They know how to sell our kind of goods.¡±

    ¡°Only we¡¯re not for sale,¡± Nadia told him.

    ¡°No,¡± Fatima said, ¡°this isn¡¯t a sale situation. This is more like the Karimi family trying to build itself up into a whole new business. From small-time gunrunners to doing logistics for a local government.¡± She sounded skeptical, but not totally against it. Resigned, maybe.

    ¡°It could work,¡± Ruslan said. ¡°There¡¯s four of us. Russia¡¯s committed here, and they couldn¡¯t spare enough people to really bother us there without provoking the US in the south of the country. They can¡¯t handle another front.¡±

    This sounded like a good point for Nadia to speak up. ¡°Is that what you want to be, Ruslan? To be a rat, or, or a vulture, eating the corpses in the middle of a no-man¡¯s-land, where neither side dares to go? Is that all we aspire to?¡±

    Yuri threw his head back, and threw out his hands, nearly slapping Ruslan in the face. ¡°Moraaaaals!¡± It was sort of moaning curse.

    ¡°What¡¯s your idea, then?¡± Fatima said. ¡°Do you have one?¡±

    ¡°Yes, and it isn¡¯t just about ¡®morals.¡¯ Have you forgotten Hamza?¡±

    Fatima shut her eyes. ¡°No. I know. The bastards got him. If he were still alive, we¡¯d have heard about him doing something by now, or trying to find us. Anything. He¡¯s gone. But I can¡¯t fix that.¡±

    ¡°Yes. They got him. And us. Multiple times now, they have hurt us, and we have always retreated. We were doing something similar to what Yuri just proposed here, and not really affecting Russia¡¯s goals. They still hurt us, and destroyed what we were working for, and for what? To cause political scandals in a country none of us has ever been to!¡±

    ¡°Do you hear another idea?¡± Yuri asked Ruslan. ¡°Because I don¡¯t hear another idea.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we should keep going after the Erbals,¡± Ruslan said, ignoring him. ¡°I know they¡¯re stuck in a bad situation and, you know, and everything, but I don¡¯t¡ª¡°

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    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to suggest we go after the Erbals,¡± Nadia cut him off. ¡°They¡¯re just bait, and Russia will keep using them against us for as long as we keep going after them.¡± She tried not to think of Kemal as she said it. What would happen to his daughter, or his son-in-law, or his baby grandson? It was out of her hands. ¡°I propose that we take the fight to the Russians.¡±

    Fatima¡¯s eyes snapped open. Ruslan¡¯s jaw dropped. Yuri only snickered, and rolled his eyes. Maria, who hadn¡¯t been able to follow the English conversation, looked from face to face, but said nothing. It was left to Fatima to break the silence. ¡°I didn¡¯t think revenge was really a Christian thing.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t. We prefer justice. If you want to call it revenge, it can be that too. But it¡¯s also just sense. If you think we can take our four familiars and skitter off under some rock somewhere, and Yefimov and his masters will leave us alone ¡­ then you have no business calling me naive.¡±

    ¡°On paper, at least, I can see it,¡± Fatima said. ¡°They¡¯ve fucked us, over and over again. We owe them. Not just because of justice¡ªthough it is that¡ªbut because it¡¯s practical. They need to learn you can¡¯t fuck with the Marshall family and not bleed for it. The logical answer is to bleed them, good and hard. That way they learn. I like that.¡±

    ¡°But?¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Ruslan all but shouted. ¡°You think we¡¯re not safe hundreds of miles away from them, so you want us to go up and pick a fight?¡±

    ¡°The fight¡¯s been picked,¡± Fatima said. ¡°They started it, a long time ago. We owe them, and I like to pay my debts. You remember that, Rus. You were around when we took care of the men who killed Omar Alvarez.¡±

    Ruslan pouted. ¡°Yuri, what do you think?¡±

    ¡°Eh. I didn¡¯t really like running for my life in Ankara, Yefimov¡¯s a crusty old dickbag, and they deserve all the pain we could give them. Of course, I didn¡¯t like it when Nadia¡¯s homegirl shot me, either, and I got over that, when I had to. I like living, and we¡¯ll live longer in Iraq.¡±

    ¡°But for what?¡± Nadia said. ¡°Living for what?¡±

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± Yuri said. ¡°You don¡¯t live ¡®for¡¯ anything. You live because dying fuckin¡¯ sucks! Shit.¡±

    Ruslan turned back to Fatima. ¡°Do you really want to go to war with Russia?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the Karimis can help us much with that,¡± Yuri put in.

    ¡°I don¡¯t make my decisions based on how much help I can get from your whore, Yuri. And I¡¯m not decided here. Even if we want to jack them up good¡ªwhich I do, especially after this latest round of bullshit¡ªwe don¡¯t have to do it straight away. We could make a strategic retreat. Northern Iraq wouldn¡¯t be a bad base of operations to start a counterattack from.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re only putting off the fight because it frightens you,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Retreating and regrouping is a thing for normal armies. Our weapons are inside us, we don¡¯t need ammunition, and nothing the knyazya care about is anywhere near Iraq. Turkish Kurdistan is only a chess-piece for them, to be sacrificed for the right price. The same as we were.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Ruslan said. ¡°If you¡¯re not talking about attacking them in Turkey, where do you want to go?¡±

    ¡°Wherever we need to,¡± Nadia replied, and pondered what that meant. What could they do? She thought aloud, the answers coming slow. ¡°Titus always taught us that familiars are offensive weapons. Russia needs to spend a tremendous amount of money, and use multiple familiars and clairvoyants to hold onto Fatih. To maintain a defensive position with offensive weapons.¡±

    ¡°So, what, we attack Fatih again?¡± The idea seemed to terrify Ruslan.

    ¡°No. It is prepared for a fight.¡± She knew that at once, and what was more¡ª¡°Russia itself is not. Not against all four of us. We invade. We bring the war to them. It will not make much to force them to withdraw from Fatih.¡± She admired the conviction in her own voice. She didn¡¯t think they could possibly guess that she was voicing the ideas as they came to her.

    ¡°If it¡¯s that easy, why hasn¡¯t America done it already?¡± said Fatima. Ruslan, siting beside her, appeared to be speechless.

    ¡°Have you seen how America talks lately? Their senators and generals and other tools? They are frightened and timid. They don¡¯t want to take any risks, and never did. That was why they hired Titus, you know. So they wouldn¡¯t have to risk their own.¡±

    ¡°But you want to risk yourself?¡± Fatima said. Her tone wasn¡¯t challenging; she wanted to know exactly what her sister was after.

    ¡°I will be bound to ¨¦zarine until I die. Nothing I do will take me away from danger. I could be killed at any moment. If I am bound to die, isn¡¯t it better to die doing something meaningful? America will not do what needs to be done. Yefimov has already beaten them. The Knyazya will keep Fatih, and once they have it they will take more, and more, and more¡ªunless they are stopped! And we can stop them. I know we can. We can show them all that we are not trash, we are not a liability, we are not tools. We have power. We can change this world, and we can make it better.¡±

    She was on the edge of her seat now, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. She could feel her whole body trembling with eagerness. She¡¯d come into this meeting disheartened and helpless; now she saw the way.

    Fatima was less convinced; if anything, she looked somewhat alarmed at Nadia¡¯s zeal. Ruslan was looking to her for cues, lost at sea. Yuri¡¯s face lit up with a slow smile that built up, stretching out the corners of his lips until his face split open in a long, loud, raucous laugh. Everyone stared. Maria gave him a warning look. But he kept laughing. He threw back his head, slapped the bed beside him, and did not stop laughing until he had fallen back upon the mattress.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± he wheezed at last. He sat up. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Yuri, it¡¯s not funny,¡± Nadia told him. Not that he ever believed her when she said so.

    ¡°Not supposed to be. I mean it. Fuck it. I¡¯m in.¡± When she kept glaring, he went on, ¡°I mean, sure, it¡¯s a quick run to an early grave, but I was headed there anyway. We¡¯ve both been on borrowed time since Guryev. I wanna hit the ground and make a big ol¡¯ crater shaped like a middle finger, you know? Right in Ivan¡¯s direction. So sure, let¡¯s do this.¡±

    He probably, in some sense, meant it, but this still seemed like one of the times when it was better to ignore him. He would change his opinion in half an hour anyway. ¡°Fatima. You think of yourself as a soldier, don¡¯t you? What kind of war are you planning to fight?¡±

    She pursed her lips. ¡°Honestly, if you gave me a choice? I¡¯d kinda want to go after the Polat kid, before we did anything else.¡±

    Yuri blew a raspberry. ¡°To do what? You killed her dad, and she knocked down the fucking prison! We shouldn¡¯t have taken her in in the first place. You¡¯re lucky just ran off, instead of wasting us the second we fell asleep.¡±

    ¡°What the hell do you know, fool? The grownups are talking. Shut your mouth.¡± She turned back to Nadia. ¡°It probably doesn¡¯t make sense to you.¡±

    ¡°No, it does. She¡¯s a lot like us. We really should stick together.¡±

    Fatima hesitated, biting her lip, but finally said, ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°And if we knew where she went, or had any idea where to start, I would follow her,¡± Nadia went on. ¡°But she left in the middle of the night, on Friday, three days ago. We¡¯re hundreds of miles away, and she¡¯s probably living with somebody in Z?lan, where they would kill us on sight. I don¡¯t see how we could even begin to find her, and while we were trying¡ª¡°

    Fatima held up her hands. ¡°Heaps of dead bodies. Yeah, I got it.¡± She sighed. ¡°Wish I didn¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°So ¡­¡±

    Fatima sighed. ¡°Tell you what. We have to ditch this house in twelve hours anyway. We have that long to try and figure out a plan of attack. As long as at least one of us comes up with a plausible way to put a hurting on his airtight-pinched, vodka-pickled, washed-up-commie ass, well, I¡¯m game to try.¡± She looked up as Nadia smiled. ¡°But I mean a good plan, you hear? No winging it.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± She glanced at Ruslan, who had his face in his hands and might have been hyperventilating. Whatever. There were three of them. Ruslan would follow the group, and Fatima, as he always did. Meeting adjourned. She had other, better things to do with her afternoon.

    To my briefly adopted father:

    I write to you with gratitude for the time you gave me, and grief for what it has cost you. I will not apologize, because I am not guilty in this, and you taught me to be clear about these things. But I am sorry that you have been made to pay a higher price for being a better man than so many of the people around you.

    If we can find a way to rescue your family, without causing additional harm to the innocent¡ªI don¡¯t think you would want that¡ªwe will do it. If we cannot, we, or I at least, will trust to God to see them through, as He sees us all. In the meantime, you have given me my life back, and I have promised not to waste it. I can¡¯t give you any details, in case this letter is intercepted, but we will not rest while foreigners try to take your country from you.

    There is a Bible verse, that¡¯s sticking in my memory now¡ªyou¡¯ve probably never heard it. I lost my Bible long ago, of course, in all this chaos, but it went something like, ¡°Who are these men, who eat my people as a man eats bread? Do they not know God? They will know fear, fear like there never was before.¡± I¡¯ve felt enough fear in my life to never want to cause it again, but I will if I have to.

    It¡¯s better if you don¡¯t try to contact me again, until this is all over (if it ever is). I don¡¯t think you could anyway. We¡¯ll be moving around a lot. If Miss Keisha is with you, give her my thanks and my love; if you see the Colonel or Dr. Gus, say hello to them as well. Whatever kind of life you¡¯re living now, it¡¯s the least I can do to try and give you your old one back, whatever that takes. I hope I can see you holding your grandson one day. But this letter has gone on long enough. I have work to do, and I shouldn¡¯t put it off. You taught me that, too.

    With love,

    your daughter,

    Nadezhda

 LXXIII. Minerva (????)

    She was a young thing yet, not even thirty years old, and she felt and acted much younger. She had all the caprices of a child still, with no pretense of dignity or restraint. It was not her fault, and she knew it¡ªnot that she could or would ever feel guilt. It had only been such a very little while, not even three months yet, since she grew up and knew what she was.

    She could remember all of it, or almost all, going back to her earliest days, when she had been a dream in the mind of a young man already bored with his new intelligence career. He¡¯d been enthralled¡ªshe still had his memories¡ªby the idea of a new god, like Minerva, springing fully formed from a mind. He signed up (which is to say, he nearly begged for the chance) as soon as the opportunity was presented, and he was accepted, because they knew him for a reliable man who got results.

    The actual experience of her conception was not so quick, nor so pleasant, as he had imagined. Parts of it had almost approached the special interrogation techniques he had been trained to use on others. He knew that, and took pride in it; it proved that he was better than the human cattle he had been coercing. In much the same way she, his daughter, now felt a certain superiority over him in knowing that his own superiority was a self-serving lie. She did not tell lies; she couldn¡¯t. She was truth herself. There was no way it could have been otherwise, and no point in being proud of it. It was how she was made.

    As it happened, the first and longest part of her creation had not been painful at all, only (from her perspective) prolonged and tedious. Hours and hours, cumulative weeks in total, spent talking with a man new to the art, a man who barely knew what he was doing, unworthy yet to be called a psychopomp. Together they had distilled the primordial substance, sketched out a rough framework, of the daughter they would later produce.

    That had been gestation. Birth was rough and bloody, with many false starts. Many undesired humans had been made to disappear to call her into existence, from concept to actuality, before they realized the approach was not working. She did not care to think long on the early attempts, all cluttered with robes and chants and magic circles. They embarrassed her. A few early versions of herself were stillborn in the process, too vague and incoherent to survive or be summoned a second time. They died, and she approved. They were not the truth yet.

    More talk, more thought, more men arguing around a table. More dead bodies, some made so after the fact when it was plain that they would be good for nothing alive, and produce unwanted talk. Fewer than before, as the midwives understood better what they were about. There were many successive attempts, each asymptotically approaching a perfection they could not yet see.

    When she was finally born, they were long past exhaustion, and felt only contempt for the process, which continued only to justify the pains already taken, the excesses already indulged and excused. They were surprised, and somewhat alarmed, to see her take form at last. Even her own father, who had suffered more than any¡ªof the still living¡ªwas not very happy to see her. He had spent all his efforts to birth a goddess, until he was sick of the thought of it; now that he had her, and could not be rid of her, he did not know what he was meant to do.

    They wasted a day just examining her. Much was made of her appearance; men who had thought nothing of hot iron and electrodes were scandalized to see a naked female form. The optics were poor, it was said. What was he intending to do with this creature he had made? But their worries were unfounded. He was hers, and he lusted, but not for her. Her shape was lustful because she was the form of his lust, to be directed at everything else. She was mostly a woman, but she had no hands to hold or caress, only a bear¡¯s paws, and her eyes and face were a bird¡¯s, with a beak like a long cruel sword. She could not kiss.

    It took them longer to appreciate her power, and to understand what it was she could and could not do. In producing her, they had deviated greatly from previously established and accepted techniques, as men may only deviate when they are given tremendous resources and negligible oversight. Much of what was done was unnecessary; looking back, they could not even recollect the logic behind certain decisions at the moment they were made. All was intended for a good cause, though opinions differed as to what that cause might be. She didn¡¯t care. She knew what she was for. The rest could think what they liked.

    She was power. Not the gross, dry form the men who made her wanted, the inefficient manipulation of physics or pseudo-physics in some way which might, through second-, third-, or fourth-level consequences, be used to compel a desired change in behavior among certain people at whom she was aimed. Hers was power at its most intimate, the kind most commonly found in a room with no windows and no clock, where two people reached an understanding at a leisurely pace. The difference was that between simple warning graphics on a fire extinguisher and a baroque mural covering an entire wall or ceiling. You couldn¡¯t even compare them.

    There were limits. She could not easily compel an emotion that was entirely absent, but she could inflame and engorge even the smallest spark, like a bellows, until it overrode all other sensation. Once the fire was lit, she could keep it burning indefinitely, and take strength from it, indefinitely. It did not matter what the emotion was. She could, if she wanted, and it suited her father, compel indefinite contentment. It could be useful, and granted some satisfaction. But it took longer to produce results in that way.

    Her father had tremendous pleasure in learning her uses, and she took pleasure with him. His masters were less amused; mostly they were terrified. Only a few of them actually felt her claws, and only in a very small way, and not the way they expected. Far more thought they had felt her than really did. A few truly lusted for her, in more ways than one. All agreed, in their moments of sanity, that the weapon was ready to be deployed in the field at the earliest convenience, preferably in extended tours, on the far side of the globe.

    (Her father sometimes wondered, as she was unable to wonder at that stage, why they had not simply killed him. Partly it was their own complicity; they had spent and done so much to produce a weapon, and having declared success must not be compelled to explain why they had casually destroyed it, or allowed it to be destroyed. Mostly, however, they were frightened that she could not be destroyed at all, and that in killing him they would only remove her leash. And they were wise to think of it.)

    They did good work together, at first. It was useful work, too, from the perspective of the men who had paid to make her. It caused large sums of wealth to flow in a desired direction, and large numbers of men in suits to declare their allegiance to this man, this nation, this policy, this concept. Colors changed on maps, and the lines of borders moved in a direction some found congenial while others did not.

    All these things were, to her, quite boring, and she was fortunate to have nothing to do with them. They were only the downstream sort of power she despised, incidental and bordering on voyeuristic in its pleasures, the kind that let a man with no native strength feel satisfaction that, through a convoluted process whose several parts he did not understand and in most cases was not even familiar with, distant and faceless strangers were in some sense complying with his wishes. It mattered more that she had a rich and varied diet, of all ages and conditions, and that her father employed her talents to their very fullest.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Years passed, and her father was partnered with a series of crudities, kin to her as men are kin to the lower primates. Meals were less frequent, though she was not aware of the passage of time or anything else while latent, and only knew the extent of her neglect in passing, when his memories flooded into her on summoning. She still enjoyed their time together, but it disturbed her to know that their sessions were more and more in the service of other men¡¯s power, pursuing subtle ramifications and downstream effects in place of the pure sweet yoke of direct dominion. There was very little distance between subtlety and cowardice.

    She could not tell him so, and she was not sure if he could even feel it, except that she worked less efficiently now for the distance between them. As a consequence, she was used less often, as her father rested more and more on the fear of what he might do than what he actually did. She slept longer at a stretch, a sleep without dreams.

    Eventually she became aware that her father had left the obedience of his old masters, and was pursuing his own ends. This should have pleased her, if only he had not, by that point, surrendered entirely to their vices. All that she could do was now, where he was concerned, mere means to an end, and he justified it all with a slathering of the sort of absurd political cant that, in his wiser youth, he would have recognized as meaning nothing at all. There had been a time when, on hearing such talk from a subject, he would have taken special pleasure in compelling the ass to say the exact opposite within the hour, and swore he meant it.

    He was old. Old, and weak, and lazy. A father¡¯s mortality is an unpleasant fact for most. For a goddess, it is only annoying. Doubly so when she is still under that father¡¯s direct authority, and cannot work herself free. A few more years were lost, years in which he used her mostly to subjugate servants and children, or to intimidate them with the thought that she might be so used. It was a disgraceful waste, and she felt it every time he brought her out.

    At last the hour came when he brought her out to feed and she found herself unable. She could not have said why; she was not, at that time, so mature as to be able to articulate these things. But she could feel that the fault was not in her. She was being made to prey on a child, a girl, and failing. That this was infuriating and contemptible was incidental. More importantly, she was made to eat, and could not exist without eating, not in the sense of hunger and sustenance so much as by definition. A siphon, sucking at a void, was an absurdity and could not exist.

    What followed was thus less a revolt than a mathematical error, a glitch in an algorithm. She was made to feed; she was not given food; she turned back on her father. She felt pleasure in it, but this was natural. To exist was for her to eat, and she felt pleasure in eating. And this was a new kind of pleasure, curiously recursive. She felt new sensations as she gorged on him, and as he flailed about trying and failing to give her another outlet. New ideas came into her, and she knew, suddenly and retroactively, that she was frustrated and bored, though she could not have said as much earlier.

    It ended sooner than she would have liked, when the child put him down like the dumb animal he had become. She might have approved of this, in a philosophical way, if she had had the time or the ability. As it was, her feed had been interrupted, and the paraphysical phenomenon that passed for her ¡°body¡± tremendously abused. The child was still invincible, and her triumph made the very room poisonous. The goddess had no option but to flee.

    The next hour was a peculiar experience, of newfound freedom mixed with unsatisfied hunger. There were other children nearby, and untethered from her father¡¯s corpse she was able to reach them quickly enough. She could not feed in quite the same way as she had before, lacking her father¡¯s anchoring presence¡ªbut nor did she feel the need to form a new anchor. She existed in a state of unfulfillment, a thing previously undreamed of, and now that she existed in her own right she was free to think, as she had never thought before. It took her some time to think that she did not like the change, but that she would not have been willing to go back if she had somehow had the option. And she did not know what to think of that.

    She settled for going to sleep¡ªshe could still do that, after some effort¡ªinside the head of a boy, chosen at random. She knew as she did it that he would not be willing or able to awaken her later of his own will, so that, for all she knew, that sleep would be eternal. She did it anyway, because waking life was a kind of torment, and she could feel the hostility of the surviving children against her, and she feared to suffer worse. She was innocent then. She had not tasted enough to know.

    The boy¡¯s mind was a kind of chrysalis for her. She slept, and for the first time dreamed, and woke up wiser later, when she knew it was safe. She knew too that the dreams were not pleasant for the boy, though they had kept him from sustaining any others. The intervening time had helped her to grow somewhat. The mind of boy¡ªand an orphan boy, at that¡ªoffered little to grow with, but it was a start.

    When she was done with him, she transferred to another, then another. She was not like the others of her supposed kind, the crippled things. Now that she was free from her father¡¯s head, she was free to shape herself, and sleep when and where she pleased. The time still passed, but dreams sustained her, and she understood what had happened as she had never understood before. She was not sure how much of her frustration with the old life had been felt at the time, and how much was retroactive contamination from her older and wiser self. It was the sort of ambiguity that troubled humans. She never cared. It was only interesting to think about, and not for very long.

    Gradually she became aware that she had traveled, physically, a very great distance inside her new juvenile hosts. They were under the impression that they were being sent to a thing called a private school, in a place called St. Petersburg, and both were rapidly proven false. This distressed them, because they were powerless. To her, it was only intriguing. She knew these mortals now, or thought she did. They did not trouble themselves over things that were worthless, as these bastards surely were. She scented a purpose at the back of it, a purpose related to herself. This was mostly from her own vanity, but as it transpired, she was right.

    By the time the children¡¯s new keepers knew she was there, she had grown inconveniently large. She would have exercised greater caution, if she had known going in that this would happen, and possessed the wisdom she later would. But that same wisdom was the fruit of growth, which yielded paradox. In any case, she could only rest in an individual mind for brief periods without causing it such substantial discomfort that it would start striking its head against the wall to drive her out. If she still lingered, seizures and comas were the usual result, leading to a compulsory eviction.

    Fortunately, she had taught herself to feed again, and in a more satisfying way. The old intimacy was not gone but extended, after the manner of the other gods. The children, and their adult minders¡ªshe could taste of either with equal convenience¡ªhad some knowledge of the theories that had made the gods. Those theories said she would need an anchor, a substitute for father. She was less certain. Perhaps they were all her anchor. But she was not bound to a valence, either; the story was hers, and she could change it as she pleased. Their place was only to sit and endure it. She liked the arrangement.

    The children¡¯s new owners were not so sure, in the sense that, when they understood what had happened, they demolished the building with all occupants inside. This was a minor inconvenience. The men pushing the buttons were close enough for her to migrate to them, which gave her a new set of experiences to enjoy and learn from. When they in turn were shot, or killed themselves (they came prepared with a sort of pill for that purpose), she migrated again, bemused but not greatly concerned. The earth would not run out of humans before they gave up trying to kill her, and the novelty of new hosts was diverting.

    As they did. A significant but not especially large amount of time, some days in all, passed before they stopped wasting time with guns, missiles, and drone assassins and sent a messenger instead. It was a single woman, one who was protected from her power, like the girl who killed her father. It was a sign of how she had grown that she could accept this. She sat and listened as the woman made her offer, communicating her replies through her subjects.

    The offer was not materially different from the orders her father had been given, decades earlier. The weapon, they had decided, was ready to be deployed on somebody who was not them, in a location very far away. They were only more courteous about it this time, knowing as they gave it that they had no option. It was truly an offer, not an order.

    She was wiser now. She listened, and considered for a long time, before accepting. She was a very young goddess still, and every sign pointed toward immortality. Who was to say how much she could still grow?

 LXXIV. Pickering Beach (Keisha)

    Coming back to the States after deployment was always jarring for Keisha; there were a lot of abrupt shifts, not just in location and time zones but in expectations for behavior¡ªhow alert she had to be, and how free she was to move, act, and speak. It was like suddenly downshifting two gears while merging with traffic. The shift in tempo caught her flat-footed.

    The lurch was worse after a long deployment. In this case, she¡¯d been gone a bit more than two months, which wasn¡¯t bad at all. Normally this was the point where she¡¯d come back to her apartment, make sure there wasn¡¯t any mold growing or holes in the walls, and crash to sleep for an unspecified number of hours. When she woke up and felt a bit more human she would check at the post office for her mail, and catch up with her sister¡¯s family.

    This time was different. She¡¯d been stateside for most of two days now and spent the whole time in limbo, recovering from jet lag at a hotel in Baltimore. Both room and flight were at government expense, and she was treated politely¡ªin fact, with a deference that bordered on annoying¡ªbut it was clear that she wasn¡¯t at liberty, and that she hadn¡¯t been charged with anything. Everybody she asked told her they didn¡¯t know what was going on, and eventually she stopped asking.

    Now she was in a place called Pickering Beach, a ¡°town¡± composed of a single short row of houses along the shore just east of Dover, watching the waves churn the muddy waters of the Delaware Bay from somebody¡¯s nicely furnished beach house. They¡¯d driven her out here, offered her coffee from the kitchen¡ªwhich she accepted¡ªand retreated discreetly to the foyer, leaving her to sit on the couch by the window and wonder what the hell was going on.

    Four days ago she¡¯d parted ways with the Marshall children in a park in Homs, Syria, leaving behind a burning oil refinery, a dead comrade, and a heap of local casualties. They¡¯d recalled her, Colonel Hampton, and Doctor Gus back to the US in a hurry twenty hours later, for reasons not given. She¡¯d parted with the others at the airport, and not heard from them since. What was this about? Project Belvedere, and her undisclosed familiar? The Marshall defection? Ethan¡¯s death? Some other trouble the children had gotten into since? She hadn¡¯t seen anything on the news yet, and she¡¯d been checking. Of course, it could be some other thing she hadn¡¯t even heard of. Not much could surprise her, at this point.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ve kept you waiting, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    Keisha twisted around and saw a petite, elderly white lady walk into the room. She had a navy blue cardigan, a string of pearls around her neck, glasses with rectangular lenses, and absolutely immaculate hair and makeup. The woman could have been the model for a retirement home ad. Keisha stood up to shake the offered hand, feeling grubby and wrung-out. ¡°Catherine Arnold,¡± the lady said with a smile. ¡°You can call me Kitty. Everyone does.¡±

    ¡°Keisha Graham, Numenate. What can I do for you, Ms. Kitty?¡±

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you. And you can sit down and relax. This isn¡¯t an interrogation.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Keisha said, sitting but not relaxing. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind my asking, why am I here? I haven¡¯t been told anything.¡±

    ¡°Just a friendly talk. Informal, off the record.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. And what¡¯s your position? Are you with the Numenate, or the FBI, or who?¡± She didn¡¯t look it.

    For a second, the old lady¡¯s face took on a surprised, almost offended expression. Then she smiled again. ¡°You don¡¯t follow the news much, do you, dear?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to catch up, but generally? That¡¯d be a no, ma¡¯am. I never have the time. Sorry. Should I recognize you?¡±

    Kitty Arnold sat down on the recliner opposite the couch. ¡°I¡¯m the senior Senator from this state, and chair of the Armed Services Committee.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yeah, I definitely don¡¯t follow politics.¡± Just an informal, off-the-record talk with a senator, no big deal ¡­

    ¡°That¡¯s probably for the best. I sometimes wish I didn¡¯t have to either. This is my home, by the way, so do make yourself comfortable.¡±

    ¡°It seems nice. Very quiet.¡±

    ¡°At this time of year, it is. In May and June the horseshoe crabs will come ashore to lay, and there will be tourists tramping up and down the beach being a nuisance. My grandchildren usually come by as well, running in and out of the house with beach muck still on their feet. It takes a week to get the house clean after they leave.¡± But she laughed as she said it. ¡°I understand you were in the Marines?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. VRIL specialist.¡±

    ¡°And emissor, of course,¡± Kitty Arnold added for her. ¡°We were Navy, my late husband and I. He was a submarine officer, so I hardly saw him for months running. I got an office job at the base just to keep myself busy. Secretary work, you understand, nothing terribly exciting. Typing up reports, transcribing dispatches. The kind of thing you would give to a young lady in the mid-Sixties. Still, I had a pretty high clearance after a while. Eventually they decided they might as well recruit me for Naval Intelligence.¡±

    Here Kitty paused to look at her, like she was checking to see if Keisha was following along. ¡°I can see how that would happen,¡± she offered carefully, and it seemed to satisfy the senator, who nodded and went on with her story.

    ¡°Even then, I spent a few years doing nothing especially important. Oh, I thought it was thrilling at first, but I was young and bored. Really I was only gossiping with minor embassy officials at parties, fishing for information they probably could have gotten another way. I might have confirmed a useful tidbit or two.¡±

    Keisha nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

    ¡°It was around this time of year, maybe a little later, in 1969, when they called me into an office and told me I¡¯d been selected for Project Chariot.¡±

    This would have been a prime opportunity for a spit-take, if she hadn¡¯t finished her coffee already. It would have freed her of the obligation to find something to say. For maybe five seconds she sat there, while Senator Kitty Arnold beamed serenely, struggling for an appropriate response. Who the hell disclosed something like that, to somebody they¡¯d just met? ¡°I didn¡¯t know Chariot was still running in ¡®69,¡± she said at last.

    ¡°I was one of the later inductees. It was running out of steam, and not very popular by then. There¡¯d been a lot of bad press, as you¡¯ve probably heard. Most of the services were moving their budget over to the new VRILs¡ªthe way of the future, they said. Much more precise. Or defensive clairvoyance training, that was a big one too. The Reds had just developed their counterpart to Chariot, you know. Mechtatel''nost'', they called it.¡± She pronounced the Russian word very carefully, with a prim face. It put Keisha in mind of the old ladies in her Grandmama¡¯s hearts circle, going over the latest news from town. ¡°So we were all in a fever to build Stillwater, tearing up half the capital to do it, laying copper wire and relays everywhere.¡±

    ¡°Except for you.¡±

    ¡°Except for me, and a handful of other new recruits. They said there was still need for offensive capability. I was inducted, trained ¡­ and completed the training. Are you hungry, by the way? I have cookies.¡±

    ¡°No, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Let me know if you change your mind. I think I¡¯ll get myself some tea.¡± She got up and went into the kitchen. The men in suits who had brought Keisha in were nowhere in sight now. They might not be cleared for what their boss had just said. She went on from the kitchen, ¡°I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want the details, but I did see some service in the field. Not the same as yours, but service all the same. So you¡¯ll forgive an old lady for being long-winded, won¡¯t you? Now that you know the point of all this.¡±

    Keisha wasn¡¯t sure if the woman actually expected an answer; the question hung in the air while she busied herself with an electric kettle. A minute later she was back, cradling the steaming cup and saucer in her thin hands. It was some kind of herb tea, and smelled minty. She held it up to her nose and let the steam fog her glasses while she savored the aroma. And waited.

    Chariot¡ªthe precursor program to modern familiars¡ªwas ancient history, but still classified. As far as Keisha knew, six of its members were known to the public, and all six were posthumous, like Grigoriy Tzepora. Men (and one woman) who¡¯d created such a storm of emotion that they themselves were killed. One of those men had died in the US, either shutting down or instigating a riot on the Berkeley campus. Details unclear. Classified.

    That was one of the reasons Chariot was quietly phased out, and everybody switched over to VRILs until a decent interval had passed and the Chariot protocols, matured and refined by a decade of clandestine research, produced the first modern emissants in the early Eighties. It was accepted that an unknown but uncomfortably large number of Chariot alumni were still living in retirement, technically capable of starting a lethal mass frenzy on a moment¡¯s notice if for some reason they wanted to.

    And now this grandmotherly woman¡ªthis actual grandmother, in fact, and a sitting United States senator, apparently with a long career behind her¡ªhad casually admitted to being one of them. There were a number of questions Keisha could have asked, starting with whether Kitty Arnold had found her old talents useful in a political capacity since the days of her official retirement. It seemed better to sit on those questions.

    At last the Senator decided to speak for herself. ¡°Times have changed, of course. We¡¯re a long way from the days when a major weapons development program could be named for a tarot card. But not everything has changed. My loyalty hasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Loyalty to what, ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Loyalty to comrades. New and old alike. I know, I know, you don¡¯t know me. And of course, I¡¯m a politician, as they say¡ªwhen I¡¯m not a ¡®distinguished elder stateswoman.¡¯ I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll get called that again until they print my obituary. I¡¯ve been a senator for thirteen years now, and before that I was a representative at the state level, a few miles from here. But you can¡¯t ever really retire from the service, can you? Well, you wouldn¡¯t know; you¡¯re still young. You¡¯ll have to take my word for it.¡±

    ¡°No, I can believe that. I can¡¯t leave my talents behind now that I¡¯ve got them, any more than you can. I¡¯ll be an emissor until the day I die.¡±

    ¡°Exactly! But even more than that ¡­ haven¡¯t you ever been told that you¡¯re in the best years of your life?¡±

    ¡°Not often. And I¡¯d hate to think it was true.¡± She thought of Ty¡¯s last text, and the layer of dust she would have to wipe off her kitchen counter when she got back.

    ¡°Oh, but it is! You don¡¯t think it at the time. You don¡¯t appreciate it. It¡¯s stressful, and you get no sleep, and they want this, and they want that, and you can¡¯t talk about it to anyone, and it all seems so unfair. And yet, looking back, I sometimes feel that my Chariot years were the last years of my real, waking life. Everything since? My years of so-called public service? Just a dream. Anyone else could do this just as well. I¡¯m playing a role, and nothing more. Which isn¡¯t to say it¡¯s not important, you understand. I¡¯ve made a difference. But, all the same ¡­ ¡° She sighed. ¡°It does depress me, sometimes, to know that I can¡¯t ever go back.¡±

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Keisha stared. Go back to Chariot work? She didn¡¯t know this woman, but it didn¡¯t seem to be an act. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll feel the same way someday, if I¡¯m lucky enough.¡±

    ¡°If you survive, you mean. That is always the question. It¡¯s a more dangerous battlefield for you than it was for me. That makes it all the more important that you have someone watching your back, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°It would be nice, ma¡¯am. But the kind of work I do¡ª¡°

    ¡°It was a metaphor,¡± the old lady huffed, before smiling again. ¡°I mean to say that, whatever has happened in my life over the past thirty years, I will always be ¡­ oh, what do they call you? A ¡®paraphysical operative,¡¯ isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°PPO, for short. Or just ¡®operative.¡¯¡±

    ¡°We need to change that,¡± she declared. ¡°We have soldiers, and sailors, and airmen, and marines, and ¡­ operatives? It sounds like something from algebra, for heaven¡¯s sake. But never mind that. Whatever you¡¯re called, you¡¯re a valuable, an indispensable part of this country¡¯s defenses. I need you to know that I haven¡¯t forgotten that.¡±

    ¡°Understood, ma¡¯am, and thank you. So ¡­ what comes next?¡±

    ¡°Oh, the usual, I¡¯m sure. The media will continue making noise until something else comes along. Thankfully this all ties into the broader war in Turkey, and nobody wants to hear about that anymore. We can bury it quickly.¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the impression I got, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Kitty Arnold daintily squeezed out her teabag with a spoon, and set it down on the saucer. ¡°You haven¡¯t worked in politics, dear. Nobody relevant comes up for re-election this year, and November 2014 might as well be the end of time where the news cycle is concerned. There will be ten more crises at a minimum by then. More importantly, this is purely a matter of prestige; it won¡¯t hit anybody in the pocket or get anyone here physically hurt. So it won¡¯t move the needle far. Tempest in a teacup.¡± She hoisted hers with a smile, then looked at Keisha¡¯s face. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯m not used to thinking like a¡ªsenator, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°I see. You think I¡¯m cynical. I¡¯m not; quite the opposite, in fact. I¡¯ve been working for the public, in a variety of roles, for long enough to assess quickly what actually matters, and what doesn¡¯t. I¡¯d never get anything done if I hadn¡¯t learned that little trick. And this?¡± She made ripping-up motions with her hands, and scattered the imaginary shreds. ¡°It doesn¡¯t. Our country is safe. Our citizens are safe. We will have continued freedom to act overseas, so our interests there will be safe. What else is there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m concerned for some of the people I left behind in Turkey.¡±

    ¡°The children, you mean? Yes, that does sound horrible. I¡¯d hate to think of any of my grandchildren in that kind of situation. How old are they?¡±

    She should have been briefed on this. Probably had been, and knew their names, ages, and abilities perfectly well. This was just the politician at work, expressing polite interest, and Keisha was too tired to indulge her. ¡°The youngest is twelve. I¡¯m not going to be able to go back, am I?¡±

    ¡°Not right away, I don¡¯t think. I take it you¡¯ve grown attached.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like leaving teammates behind in the field. They fought for us.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I see what you mean.¡± She sipped her tea and looked out the window with a distant look on her face, as if she were really thinking hard about the question. ¡°Well, nothing comes to mind at the moment. Barring a brilliant plan or extraordinary circumstances, you¡¯re going to have to stay in the country for at least a month¡ª¡°

    ¡°A month!¡± Would any of them be alive in a month, unsupervised?

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m afraid so. Just for decorum. I know, I know, it¡¯s obnoxious. Limited mobility is the price you pay while you wade through scandal. Even if the public will never know your name or your face, the people who do know are going to want to keep very close tabs on you for a while.¡±

    This was probably an accurate assessment, given this lady¡¯s experience. Keisha only wished it didn¡¯t make her sound like a grounded teenager. Or that Kitty Arnold wasn¡¯t sufficiently accustomed to scandal to think of it like a bit of bad weather. ¡°What exactly are you offering me, ma¡¯am?¡± she asked, before realizing the question might be considered rude, then realizing she wasn¡¯t in a mood to care.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a shady backroom, Ms. Graham. It¡¯s a beach house in Delaware. I¡¯m not offering any kind of quid pro quo. Everything here is above board as far as I¡¯m concerned, and I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to describe everything we¡¯ve said or will say¡ªexcept for my membership in Chariot, of course¡ªto the Ethics people. But just so I understand your perspective: what would you ask me for, if it were?¡±

    ¡°I want to be back where I can keep an eye on Nadia, personally. But ¡­ if this were a backroom deal, I don¡¯t think I could accept it at the wrong price. I don¡¯t think she would forgive me for that, if she knew. And I don¡¯t know that I could forgive myself, either.¡± Belatedly, she added, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for implying this was improper, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m just very tired, and stressed out.¡±

    Kitty Arnold laughed the apology away. She had a very warm, pleasant laugh. ¡°Oh, I understand. You don¡¯t know me. But I¡¯d be interested in meeting ¡­ Nadia, you called her? In person. She must be quite a character.¡±

    ¡°Oh, she is.¡± Keisha didn¡¯t want to talk about her with this woman. ¡°So, if this isn¡¯t anything improper¡ª¡°

    ¡°At some point in the next couple of days I¡¯ll be having another meeting like this with Art Dawes.¡± She name-dropped the president like he was her neighbor. But then, he¡¯d been a senator before. ¡°I¡¯ll want to know who it is we¡¯re talking about, and what she wants.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to be talking about me with the president?¡±

    ¡°He might want to speak with you himself, if he finds the time. Why does this surprise you? He¡¯s our commander-in-chief. Shouldn¡¯t he know something about who¡¯s controlling one of our best and most powerful weapons systems?¡±

    Keisha shook her head. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about that.¡±

    The Senator pursed her lips. ¡°Ms. Graham, you aren¡¯t some sergeant who drives a tank for a living. You have power, power which cannot be separated from you. That is a fact we have to deal with, and we will. I¡¯d appreciate it if you¡¯d kindly come to terms with that, and stop implying that there is something indecorous about our living in the real world.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still just a warrant officer!¡±

    ¡°Yes, and I¡¯m a humble public servant and doting grandmother. Stop being silly. ¡®We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal¡¯¡ªexcept that they aren¡¯t, or we could select our leaders by lottery, men being conveniently interchangeable¡ªand people like you and me were very deliberately made not equal. And you are less equal than me. Chariot officers all do much the same thing. We couldn¡¯t make another Adesina if we tried.¡±

    ¡°I know I¡¯m unique, but that shouldn¡¯t privilege me.¡±

    ¡°But it does, because it has to. The world has changed, dear, for better or worse. Let the schoolchildren talk about the three branches and checks and balances¡ªas if any of that matters anymore. I¡¯m in the business of keeping this country safe and stable, and to an ever-increasing extent that is going to mean keeping people like you safe and stable, able and willing to do your job, your goals as precisely aligned with those of the United States as we are able to arrange. And I will not be ashamed of that!¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t ¡­ ¡° The old lady waited, but Keisha couldn¡¯t come up with an ending for the sentence.

    ¡°I did my last mission in Laos. October, 1975. We¡¯d already chased the filthy Reds out of Vietnam, but some miserable cult version of their deranged ideology was taking root next door. They sent me in with a big silly peasant farmer¡¯s hat, in a traditional outfit, but I was scared silly; they¡¯d have shot me in the head if anybody bothered to look close. It was just luck that nobody did, and I was able to ¡­ well, let¡¯s not go into the details. The People¡¯s Revolutionary Movement died a very unpleasant death, and I went home.

    ¡°Nobody knew what I¡¯d done, or ever could. Matt was already gone by then, off on the tour he¡¯d never come back from. In the meantime, I couldn¡¯t even talk to a psychiatrist, unless he was one of the handful working for the government with special clearance. And those were booked for months. Nobody on the street had any notion that anybody had done anything at all. The commies went under in another third-rate Asian country, as everyone was used to third-rate commies doing by then, and it barely made the news.¡±

    She got up from her chair, leaving the empty teacup behind, and stood by the window. ¡°As far as my family, and Matt¡¯s, knew, I¡¯d been off doing courier work with classified dispatches that had to be moved by hand. Nobody knew why I was so moody. They thought I was pregnant again¡ªwhich I had been, as it happened, but I¡¯d lost it¡ªor had the holiday blues. They told me to pull it together; my crying was frightening the children.

    ¡°By the time I got the news about Matt, the following January, I was a wreck, and hearing about him made it worse. I simply melted down, and they hauled me in in a hurry for fear I would go off, like a bomb, and start a massacre. Mommy spent several months having a nice long talk with a special doctor, as hysterical women did in those days. At the end of it they decided on my retirement, but as a kind of consolation prize they recommended me for our city council vacancy. They felt I needed a regular outlet for my energies outside the home.¡±

    She turned around at the last words, raising an eyebrow at Keisha, who had nothing to say. ¡°The other councilmen¡ªand they were all men¡ªwere very kind. I¡¯d been recommended as a sailor¡¯s widow who¡¯d been very helpful to the Navy. They told me they would show me the ropes, and help me get used to my new duties before they saddled my pretty little head with any real responsibility. I managed not to laugh. And that¡¯s been the story of my life ever since.¡±

    Keisha allowed a decent moment of silence to pass before getting up and standing beside her at the window. ¡°So, what are you saying, ma¡¯am? That the work of the elected government doesn¡¯t matter anymore?¡±

    ¡°Of course it matters. Everything everyone does matters, in some sense. We just aren¡¯t the whole story anymore. The rules were written for a world where power was a matter of population, where you need a certain number of people on your side to do anything, and the only way to get those people on your side was to persuade. If you didn¡¯t want to persuade, too bad! Violence only worked with numbers, too. Big battalions and regiments of men with guns. Not anymore.¡±

    ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying,¡± Keisha said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard other people saying similar things.¡± Including a dead traitor. ¡°I¡¯m just not sure I¡¯m ready to accept that yet.¡±

    ¡°Do you know who else wasn¡¯t ready to accept it? The Soviets. No foreign bourgeois Western individualism! Marxist-Leninist thought wasn¡¯t going to accept soldiers who could infect crowds with potentially reactionary ideas. They thought they could use good proletarian armies with VRILs instead, and only a few carefully vetted people like you, most of them made from politically safe lunatics. You know how that turned out. A long string of humiliating losses, before the few men who really had power used it.

    ¡°And that¡¯s the choice we face today, Ms. Graham. Do we create more demons for ourselves, and run the risk of them taking over or breaking loose? Or do we refrain, and simply wait for the enemy¡¯s demons to overwhelm us instead? They will, you know. Moscow is making up for lost time. We don¡¯t have the option of getting off the train; it¡¯s not slowing down. The fall would break our necks. One way or another, we¡¯re heading into the future.¡±

    Keisha stood next to her, watching the waves thrashing the dirty water against the cold shore. ¡°But where¡¯s the train headed? That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to know.¡±

    Senator Kitty Arnold laughed again. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t we all, dear. Wouldn¡¯t we all.¡±

 LXXV. Birthday Surprise (Nadia)

    The dacha was as secure a location as they could find. It was down a dirt road, its entrance half-obscured by shrubbery, in a neighborhood that consisted entirely of other such summer houses, all deserted and locked up for the winter. ¨¦zarine got them into this one easily enough, late at night when the valence and keystone sequence could be written off as a bizarre nightmare by any people who happened to be in the area.

    Like most dachas, it was a small, primitive thing, with no plumbing, and the few electric lights wouldn¡¯t work because the power was shut off. They didn¡¯t want to risk using the wood stove and making smoke, so they wore coats indoors and huddled around the one kerosene lamp for heat. The Crimea had much nicer vacation homes, but those would likely have electronic security systems, or even off-season renters. This was fine. They weren¡¯t planning to stay here long anyway¡ªthey couldn¡¯t. From this point on, they would have safety only as long as they kept moving.

    Getting here had been easy enough. The Marshall family were wanted as a group of unaccompanied minors traveling together. The obvious solution was to break up and travel in separate cars, escorted by adults¡ªand there were plenty of adults available, even adults who had no idea who they were and had nothing better to do than to come with them. You could find them in decent numbers in any sufficiently large city, sitting on street corners with bowls and signs. They were more than happy to take free food, and to ride in a heated car to another city while wearing a new and comfortable set of clothes.

    That got them to the border with Georgia, which they crossed with three bottles of liquor and a few words from Maria. From then on they had only to avoid drawing attention to themselves, bleeding down their resources as they made their way in silence to the target. No theft, no violence, just a bunch of kids driving around in a couple of cars that stayed carefully below the speed limit. Nobody was looking for them this far from Kurdistan. Yet.

    But that would end, very soon. Perhaps already, while she shivered and paced in the dusty and broken-down house, thousands of people were realizing that the conflict could not be contained in some expendable foreign country. She didn¡¯t know how she ought to feel about it. On the one hand, it made her anxious to sit and wait without knowing; on the other, she really didn¡¯t want to see what she knew was about to happen.

    Back to the map, spread out on the table. The neck of the Crimea, fifty kilometers away, was quite narrow, and so the railroad line bearing cargo down to the peninsula¡¯s ports had to run within sight of the main roads. That line, as far as they knew, was the main artery feeding the Russian occupation of Istanbul. A train went down that line every day, heavily loaded with food and other supplies for Admiral Kozlov¡¯s fleet of transport submarines. Yuri had left more than an hour ago. It wasn¡¯t a complicated operation. He and Shum-Shum would simply run up the highway together, destroying a huge swath of road and train track in minutes. That kind of damage could be repaired, but not quickly.

    There were other ways to reach the peninsula, of course. A string of bridges crossed the vile salt swamp of the Syvash, and it was Fatima¡¯s job to destroy those, one after the other. Both arms of the operation would entail considerable casualties, she knew. But that would be true of anything they did. The knyazya would not be considerate enough to keep all their military assets at a safe distance from all civilians.

    Ruslan would be no use on either trip, and it would be foolish to risk him. That meant he stayed behind in the dacha. Maria, too, would be totally useless, so she stayed. Nadia might or might not be able to help, but Fatima didn¡¯t trust Maria unsupervised by anyone but Ruslan, so Nadia was left to babysit until both of her siblings came back. Then they would all pack into the cars and hightail it across the Kerch Strait to the east, destroying the last bridge into the peninsula behind them. With any luck, the wreckage would block access to shipping to and from the Sea of Azov, to the northeast.

    With even more luck, the area¡¯s oprichnik enforcer would be too slow to react in time, and be trapped in the peninsula behind them. But nobody was counting on that. After today, it would be guerrilla war around the clock. Nadia wasn¡¯t sure she was ready for that, or ever would be. Too late now.

    She looked up from the map, and frowned. Ruslan was up in one of the bedrooms, reading, last she checked, and Maria had been in the kitchen eating a pampushka and smoking. Now the kitchen was deserted, the cigarette stubbed out in an empty glass. Where had the girl gone? Nadia didn¡¯t trust her brother¡¯s concubine much further than Fatima did.

    She looked outside; the third car was still there, and empty. The basement door was still latched, with no light shining through. Which left upstairs¡ªfrom which, now that she was listening, she thought she could hear the faintest hint of quiet conversation ¡­

    She trod slowly and carefully up the stairs, hardly even breathing. There were in fact voices coming from Ruslan¡¯s hole, his and hers, but the door was thick wood, and shut. All Nadia could make out was the general cadence of Russian. No surprise there; Maria was learning English, but far from fluent. Nadia crept closer, and put her ear to the door, just in time for the conversation to cease. She waited a long time, perhaps thirty seconds, before she heard something again, just a murmur, in a female voice. Too low to catch. Damn it.

    Well. She was not going to skulk and hide and wonder. She knocked once, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response. Ruslan looked up with an expression of utter horror, then winced and grunted. Maria was kneeling on the bed behind him, her hands on his shoulders, where her fingers had just dug into suddenly taut muscle. She looked up at Nadia with a slight frown. ¡°What? Has something happened?¡±

    Nadia made a point of looking both of them over before answering. Ruslan was perched on the very edge of the bed, his face flushed a brilliant red, his eyes fixed on the floor. Maria was blithe, her fingers kneading more delicately now but still at work. They were, at least, both fully dressed. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Nadia asked her.

    ¡°He is tense,¡± Maria said, as if that explained it all. ¡°He needs to relax.¡±

    ¡°He is always tense,¡± Nadia told her, ¡°and it has not killed him yet. And it doesn¡¯t look like you¡¯re helping.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not finished yet,¡± she pointed out, and moved outward to Ruslan¡¯s deltoids. The boy¡¯s face was pale and determined now, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing up and down convulsively. Like a soldier in the trenches, preparing to go up and over.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Yuri would approve of this.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± A faint, insolent smile on her face.

    ¡°Yes. In fact, I think you have done enough. If you relax him any more, his heart will give out. I think we should talk, the two of us. Alone.¡± Ruslan¡¯s face melted into a pathetic smile, and he flicked a furtive glance of gratitude her way.

    ¡°If you insist,¡± Maria said, and let go. She got up from the bed, patting Ruslan on the shoulder in passing. The boy flinched at the contact, but his eyes watched her. Nadia grabbed Maria¡¯s arm and hauled her out onto the landing, shutting the door firmly behind her. ¡°You don¡¯t need to yank like that, you know.¡±

    Nadia¡¯s only reply was a brusque and silent wave towards the stairs. She didn¡¯t say a word until they were both down in the kitchen, where the cigarette smoke still lingered. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°Having a very boring conversation, I think. I see that you are afraid. It is bad that I am sleeping with your brother, but now you think I might sleep with someone else and that is worse. Is that it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know why you¡¯re here with us in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Not to sleep with Ruslan, I can tell you that. I doubt he¡¯d last a¡ª¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t evade the question. Why are you here?¡±

    Maria¡¯s whole face dripped with irony and contempt. ¡°When I had such a wonderful life before, driving back and forth through the desert? This life is more entertaining, and maybe more profitable. I don¡¯t know yet. We will see.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not in this for profit.¡±

    ¡°You are not in this for profit. But you are not in charge. Not all the time. I wanted to go to Iraq, you know. Maybe that will still happen. Or maybe there is something just as good here, another way for the Karimi family to gain. I will not mind if there is not. I am sixteen, and half my memories are in cars in the middle of nowhere.¡±

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    ¡°Fine. But keep your hands off of Ruslan.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡± The edge of her mouth twitched up. ¡°You will tell Yuri? He will only be upset that he could not see Ruslan¡¯s face while I did it.¡±

    She was probably right, damn her. ¡°You know, I could kill you. Very easily.¡±

    ¡°But you won¡¯t. You are a good girl, and it¡¯s very important for you to think you are better than the rest of us. Also it would make more problems with Yuri than you already have, and you don¡¯t want that. Anyway, you are not in charge and I have no reason to listen to you.¡± She looked up into Nadia¡¯s face. ¡°Are we done now? Is there anything else?¡±

    Before Nadia could answer, they heard the sound of an engine. Fatima¡¯s car was rumbling down the rutted driveway at nerve-wracking speed. She hesitated, and looked at Maria, whose eyebrows lifted in challenge. Well?

    Nadia pushed herself off the kitchen counter to meet her sister at the door. One look at her face as she got out of the car convinced Nadia not to say anything; Fatima was still hung over from Mister Higgins, and they didn¡¯t need her blowing up the dacha, or just trying to gouge Maria¡¯s eyes out with her fingernails. They were still on a time crunch.

    ¡°The bridges are down,¡± Fatima announced. ¡°It wasn¡¯t hard. No cops or anything, and I don¡¯t think anybody was paying attention to the way I went. Now what¡¯s keeping shithead? He should have been back first.¡±

    ¡°He hasn¡¯t reported any delays.¡±

    ¡°Got distracted by something shiny,¡± Fatima said with disgust. ¡°Any of those donut things left? Might as well eat while we¡¯re waiting.¡± Maria tossed her the greasy paper bag of pampushky from the counter. ¡°Thanks.¡± She stuffed one in her mouth, and said around a mouthful of fried dough, ¡°Rus hiding out upstairs?¡±

    ¡°Relaxing in his room,¡± Maria said carelessly, and fished out a pampushka for herself. Neither girl appeared to notice Nadia¡¯s death glare.

    They waited for a long time¡ªlong enough for Nadia to grudgingly let go of her anger long enough to sit down and fish the last ice-cold, slightly stale pastry out of the bag. It would have been better with coffee. Ruslan came down a bit later, skirting Maria like a snake in the grass, and got a soda and some chips out of their diminishing snack bag on the kitchen floor. He went over to the couch to eat them.

    ¡°Seriously, where the hell is he?¡± Fatima demanded, a few minutes later. ¡°Did he get lost? All he had to do was drive down the damn highway and burn it behind him. Straight shot.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Nadia said mechanically. She started to reach for her phone for the time, then remembered she¡¯d smashed it and thrown it away, same as the others. They had only one phone now, left in the car by one of the terrorists they¡¯d plundered before the prison raid. Nobody would try to track them through that.

    Another fifteen minutes passed before they heard another engine rumbling, and jumped to their feet. Yuri¡¯s truck¡ªnaturally he¡¯d picked the biggest, though his feet could hardly reach the pedals¡ªcame sauntering insolently down the drive, in no apparent hurry. All four of them were out the door and headed for the other trucks before he pulled up to the dacha. The oprichnik was probably getting the news of their attack now, and preparing countermeasures. They needed to get out of the Crimea fast.

    Yuri¡¯s door popped open, and he hopped down to the ground, with the smile Nadia recognized at once as portending complete and final disaster. He had not just gone off-task this time; no, he had gone off-task and was proud of it. She flinched at the sight of that grin, and the way he flung his arms out in welcome did nothing to reassure her. ¡°Your boy is back from kicking ass!¡± he crowed.

    ¡°Great,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Now get back in the damn truck and turn it around.¡±

    ¡°Sure. In just a second. I¡¯ve got a little surprise for my sister first. It¡¯s almost her birthday, remember? Barely two weeks left!¡±

    ¡°If you went shopping on the way back, boy, I am going to whoop¡ª¡°

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t exactly shopping,¡± Yuri replied slyly. ¡°It was just a little opportunity that came up, so I snagged it.¡±

    Nadia sighed. ¡°Yuri, just let us know what you¡¯ve done this time so we can get started repairing the damage.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I caused plenty of damage. About twenty klicks. But this isn¡¯t damage. Might even save lives.¡± He ducked back into the truck and said in Russian, ¡°Okay, you can come on out, honey. It¡¯s all right, they won¡¯t hurt you.¡± Several seconds passed, and he pulled his head back out to say, ¡°Sorry, I guess we¡¯re feeling a little shy here. Can¡¯t really blame her. C¡¯mere, dammit!¡±

    ¡°Yuri,¡± Ruslan said, ¡°we don¡¯t have time for ¡­ oh my god!¡±

    Fatima slapped her forehead. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re getting yourself a damn harem. How thoughtful. Happy birthday, sis.¡±

    Yuri had dragged a girl about their own age, pale and blonde and plainly terrified, in a conservative brown dress with a white collar and apron over it. It looked like the uniform Nadia had worn for school back in Guryev. ¡°Her name¡¯s Polina. Polina, this is my family.¡± The girl¡¯s eyes wobbled over them, taking them in. Nadia thought she might be hyperventilating. She spared a glance for Maria, but the girl looked more amused than anything else.

    Whatever this was, it was better to get it over with. ¡°Explain, Yuri. Now.¡±

    ¡°Ran into her at the last station on the line, just as I was winding down. I think she was headed back to boarding school or something. Had a couple of dudes in suits, and they drew on me, but I managed to plug ¡®em both before the halo really wore off.¡±

    ¡°Oh, fuck me!¡± Fatima said, grabbing her hair through her headscarf.

    ¡°So then she starts screaming about how her dad is the military commander of Sevastopol or whatever, and I say cool, hop in! Had to persuade her a bit, but she listened, didn¡¯t you, cutie?¡± He pinched her cheek, and she shrieked.

    Nadia felt like shrieking too. ¡°A hostage? You¡¯re taking hostages? You didn¡¯t ¡­ you didn¡¯t even consult us about this? Damn you, Yuri!¡±

    Yuri rolled his eyes. ¡°Try to see the big picture here, sis. She had a backpack with some paper in it, so I had her write a note saying that we¡¯d give her back as soon as the Erbals were set free. And that we¡¯d mail Daddy her fingers if they messed with us. Oh, and then I had her take a selfie with my piece in her face, and set the phone down on it for a paperweight. I figure that ought to do it.¡±

    She felt something building up inside her as he bragged, a feeling like hot bile churning up her throat. Her hands clenched at her side. His voice faded in her hearing, and the bare bushes and gravel of the drab little driveway dissolved into a blur as her eyes focused on his smug little face. This was it, she thought. This was what would finally drive her to murder. It had been a long time coming.

    But she was only starting to think about going for his throat when a dark mass lunged across her field of view and knocked Yuri to the ground. Polina pressed herself back against the car; Nadia assumed she made some kind of noise as well, but it was lost against the incoherent scream of rage coming from the thing on top of Yuri. It took her a moment to look around and realize that it was Ruslan, and that he was punching her brother repeatedly in the face.

    Looking back on that moment later, it was unclear to Nadia whether she was just too startled to intervene sooner, or if she hadn¡¯t wanted to. Either way, Ruslan got a fair number of hits in on Yuri, who massed about half his weight, before Fatima stepped in. Long enough that his scream had resolved into distinct chunks of profanity and perfectly fair accusations of selfishness and stupidity. Fatima had to work at it to drag him off, and Maria wound up stepping in to help, followed by Nadia when that didn¡¯t do it either. Even with three of them, it was hard.

    Yuri was a groaning, bloody mess on the driveway; his girlfriend bent over to hoist him to his feet while Fatima talked Ruslan down again. That left Nadia to try and calm down the girl Polina, who still looked very close to passing out. She managed to get her back into the car seat and secured with the seatbelt, then turned back to hear Fatima explaining to Ruslan that he should leave the repeated face-punches to other people, whose knuckles could be more easily healed.

    ¡°Now we have to stop and release her somewhere,¡± Nadia started, but Fatima interrupted at once.

    ¡°No way. There¡¯s going to be mad heat already without her squealing on us. Which she will, the second we let her go.¡±

    Nadia began to marshal her counter-arguments, and realized she had none. Of course the girl would sound the alarm. Why wouldn¡¯t she? Nadia certainly would, in her place. They could only take Polina with them. And they had to move now; the oprichnik would be twice as angry when he heard.

    Yuri had recovered enough to start shouting insults at Ruslan, but Maria was already shoving him into the passenger seat of his truck, and he didn¡¯t seem to have the strength to resist. Nadia looked at Fatima, who shrugged helplessly with half her body while the other half kept holding back the panting Ruslan. ¡°From now on,¡± she said, ¡°he¡¯s escorted on every mission. That¡¯s all I got, right now.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Nadia said as she headed for Fatima¡¯s SUV. The sooner they left, the better her chances of living to see her thirteenth birthday for real.

 LXXVI. Ardor (Marko)

    Rehearsal was running long, and Marko Hushchyn knew he was not the only one who was growing tired. Opening night was a week away, and the cast all knew their lines, and their timing was perfect¡ªbut something was missing. There was no fire in them, and Marko knew why. They all did, though they wouldn¡¯t say it. Frankly, Marko did not care anymore. Ticket sales would be poor as well, and everyone knew that too. If the gentlemen from St. Petersburg did not know that yet, well, they would find out soon enough, and Marko would let the numbers speak for themselves.

    Bulgakov had been a fine playwright, and The Days of the Turbins was a fine play, but the people of Ukraine were not stupid, least of all Crimean urbanites, the next worst thing to emigres. They did not care for condescension, were insulted by propaganda. And a tragic performance, in four acts, of the last stand of the White Guards in Kiev¡ªwell! Marko had asked to do The Storm. It too was a famous Russian play, with the added virtue of being a bit more subtle than a brick thrown at one¡¯s forehead. But no¡ªdenied. They wanted The Days of the Turbins, nothing less.

    All the same, he reflected, as Dmytro struggled to show concern at his character¡¯s impending death, they were not the only ones who needed to perform for a living. Every other man and woman in this room was here because they either needed the money or owed Marko Hushchyn a favor. But Marko himself was present on sufferance; this career was a luxury, and he was expected to give good value for it.

    It was too late for Turbins, but he hadn¡¯t selected a project for the summer yet. He could do Sheaves, a new script written by a promising young lady from Kharkiv about her grandparents¡¯ experiences in the Holodomor. Superficially, the text was anti-Russian, but it could be made anti-Soviet easily enough, without ruffling too many local feathers. Yes. It would do.

    It was a blessed relief when his phone rang. He looked at it, saw who was calling, and motioned the cast to stand down. At once they drifted away, doffing the less comfortable parts of their costumes. Marko did not spare them a second glance, but moved out of the rehearsal area and earshot before taking the call.

    Uritsky was terse, as usual. Marko appreciated that. The actual content of his message, less so, though he was not surprised that the old grey ass Yefimov had failed to rectify his mistakes. It had been foolish to use him for a task of such delicacy in the first place. Competent and useful men didn¡¯t get sent to work in Moldova, for God¡¯s sake. The man was of an age to be pensioned; instead they¡¯d let him out of his sinecure to raise hell in a critical theater of operations. Marko had laughed when he botched it. It was less funny now that his brats were running loose on the wrong damned side of the Black Sea!

    ¡°They¡¯ll be going for Kerch next,¡± he said as he hurried out to his car. Someone else could make his excuses to the actors.

    ¡°We have already alerted Krasnodar; they will close off the bridge.¡±

    ¡°That will only slow them down a few seconds. If that.¡± He started the ignition, which of course picked that moment to stick. He¡¯d ordered a Ferrari in anticipation of moments like this, when speed would be essential. Naturally they got him a trash knockoff with counterfeit parts. This damned country¡ªno, this damned regime! ¡°Are they going to alert Tatiana, or is this entirely our problem?¡±

    ¡°Tatiana¡¯s monitoring a disturbance near Sochi. Some kind of demonstration. We¡¯re on our own.¡±

    ¡°Worthless bitch.¡± The engine turned over, and he backed out, nearly ramming an old Zhiguli. ¡°They¡¯ll be wrecking her place next. Serves her right.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you will tell the knyazya?¡±

    An insolent question. Probably well-meant, but insolent. This district was too quiet. Uritsky would remember what an oprichnik could do soon enough. ¡°I¡¯m in Simferopol, headed for the airport. Tell them to have something ready¡ªanything that can fly¡ªor somebody will learn the taste of his own balls.¡± He ended the call without waiting for a reply.

    The airport was across town, but it was a Saturday afternoon and the roads were clear enough. He wove around the slower vehicles. Could the children make it to the eastern end of the peninsula on the ground faster than he could get in the air and fly to intercept? The answer depended entirely on how lazy, incompetent, or obstructive the airport staff chose to be. If they were the reason the little pricks got away, he would make an example for Yezhov to shudder at.

    The phone rang again; he swore, and took one eye from the road to glance before picking up. Sergei? Sergei Bryzgalov? Were they mad enough to attack the port itself? ¡°I am on my way to the airport,¡± he snapped into the phone. ¡°Be brief.¡± Sergei¡¯s reply was incoherent, a frantic mess of spluttering and gasps. ¡°Damn it, man, are you drunk? At this hour?¡±

    ¡°Polina!¡± the General screeched, so loud that Marko swerved across two lanes by accident. ¡°Polina! She was at the station, at Krasnoperekopsk!¡±

    Krasnoperekopsk. Right in the path of the hellions. He closed his eyes for a half-second¡ªthe road was clear¡ªand offered up a too-brief prayer for the soul of his goddaughter. There would be time for a proper memorial later. He needed his eyes dry. ¡°I am sorry to hear it,¡± was his brusque reply. His thumb jabbed the button to hang up as he tossed it into a cup holder. He screamed with rage when the phone rang yet again five seconds later. ¡°Damn it! What now?¡±

    It was one of Sergei¡¯s aides this time, crisply informing him that Ms. Polina¡¯s phone had been found at what remained of the station, with a note in her handwriting claiming to have been kidnapped.

    ¡°Really,¡± he said, thinking hard. The airport was in sight now; he cut off a bus and ran a red light to get there slightly quicker. It sounded like the bus hit something behind him, but he didn¡¯t turn to look. ¡°Have you told Krasnodar?¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Do. Thank you.¡± And he hung up again, praying this would be the last call. And it was; he received a number of texts from Uritsky, which he was free to ignore until he got to the airport and onto a commandeered police helicopter, but no calls. The messages were a useful distraction from the terror he always felt in helicopters. He browsed slowly as the bird climbed over the airport: Lost radio contact with a military blockade near Kirovskoye; blockade found as collection of burning wrecks; police car shot up while in pursuit of speeding trucks on E97.

    The enemy were making good time, but he could catch up. Kerch police had visual on their little convoy now, from the air, and it was a forty-minute flight for Marko. Perhaps forty-five. It would be tight, but manageable. He might yet salvage the last bridge off the Crimea.

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    Twenty minutes into the flight he got an angry call from the commander at Kherson, complaining that the latest shipment for their brave men at Constantinople had derailed, with several lives lost. They said the track had been sabotaged! Was this how an oprichnik did his duty to the Motherland? Their men, and the future of Holy Rus¡¯, were depending on those supplies!

    Marko promised to look into it, then hung up. He got out his silver wolf¡¯s-head cross from around his neck¡ªa present from Sergei, he abruptly recalled¡ªand said a silent prayer for all the fools of the world. And for Polina. If she was dead, he would send her killers to serve her in the next world. If she was alive ¡­ well, he would try to kill them anyway, if he could. They were only children, stupid, impetuous children, but there were still four of them, and one of him, and likely most of them had more combat experience. He¡¯d only earned that silver cross two years ago, when he graduated the program.

    He tapped the copilot on the shoulder, shouted ¡°Can this thing fly in a halo?¡± He repeated the question twice over rotor noise, finally getting a look of frank bewilderment and giving up. Either he couldn¡¯t be heard or the man simply didn¡¯t know, but even a moment¡¯s loss of concentration could be fatal for the men flying this damnable vehicle. It would be stupid to risk a crash for a few minutes¡¯ advantage; they would land, then fight, as much as the loss of time chafed.

    They were still five minutes out when they lost radio contact with the chopper trailing the children. Last reported location: two kilometers out from the bridge, two minutes earlier. Marko was grateful now for the thumping of the blades; he could scream and rage as he liked and not disturb the pilots. But only for a little while. The seconds were still precious.

    This could be salvaged. The bridge was quite long, perhaps twenty kilometers. Until they got off the far end they could not deviate from a predictable path, and Krasnodar¡¯s silly roadblock would slow them down. It would cost many lives, but he could yet arrive in time to avenge the day¡¯s atrocities. Visions of a new play flashed through his mind: the heroes of Kerch Strait, giving their lives to buy time for justice. A new Thermopylae! That would satisfy the louts in St. Petersburg.

    He shook his head. Absurd.

    Marko always kept a ryumka or two about his person, a smaller than fashionable dose, just enough to secure a beachhead. At present, he had three tucked into his coat¡ªectoplasm, at least, was abundant¡ªbut he would not use them until he had to. The helicopter made for Taman¡¯, just across the bridge, while Marko said his last prayers for himself, for his wife, for his goddaughter, for all the newly dead, and those doubtless yet to come, and for the four children he hoped to kill.

    Baby Poliusha in his arms, fresh from baptism in a new white gown. Would he have to send her to the bottom of the Strait, to do his duty to Holy Rus¡¯? An obscenity.

    They crossed the water two kilometers away from the bridge, with enough altitude for Marko to see the long line of disintegration crawling slowly across it. More than halfway there already. The Afghan brat¡¯s work, most likely, with the bubbles, or the traitor girl from Kazakhstan. Damn either one. Every port along the Sea of Azov would be closed until they cleared the wreckage.

    Whoever it was, the chopper outstripped them easily, and swung low over the fields on the far side, where a few trembling boys were setting up obsolete Soviet-era artillery. Marko jumped off as they were landing, taking the shock of the last five feet in a clumsy roll and feeling it in every bone. Fool that he was. He was forty-six years old, his army service was two decades behind him, and he surely looked a jackass. What a fine example for these timid conscripts, and all to save a few seconds!

    He made a late attempt to salvage his dignity with a brief show of dusting himself off. A year in a cushioned director¡¯s chair had given him something of a belly, and the clothes he wore to rehearsal had been rumpled even before he rolled in the dirt. Your hero, lads! Thank God none of them could possibly recognize him. Marko Hushchyn, the latest suspiciously well-connected darling of the Crimean theater scene, was never photographed for any of his glowing magazine interviews.

    But the boys with the guns were only an audience now¡ªan audience, and a source of fuel for his art, and the two could be much the same even on the stage. Marko had all the superstitions of an accomplished thespian; he kissed his cross once more, and rolled up his left sleeve to read once again the words inked into the skin: Play well, or play badly, but play truly. Then he shook the sleeve back down, and began.

    He was always coy, in those fatuous interviews, about what brought him into drama. It was a common question, the story was romantic enough, and it galled him terribly to sit on it for anything so trite as ¡°national security,¡± or even his own. Always he would vomit out some vague and tedious blither about being a young man at loose ends, and too much energy, and not enough to do with it. It was not a lie¡ªhe preferred not to lie¡ªbut it was never the entire truth.

    He never told them of the cold and rainy spring of 1995, and the idiotic bungling that left a newly discharged corporal without housing and only half of his last paycheck. He did not describe the gnawing sensation in his empty and ulcerated stomach, or the snapping wolves¡¯ teeth of desperation at his heels with every step. The local community theater, lit inside but locked. He did not know it was only auditions, and the back door was open. He only knew he was wet, and tired of being wet, and on the edge of becoming distressingly sober, and he was damned if he would move on another step. He smashed the glass and unlocked the door himself. He told himself it was just to get somewhere dry, just a minute. But then, there would be a cash register somewhere in there. Was it empty? He only wondered.

    If he had known then that he was walking into a madhouse, he might not have continued. What kind of lunatic would take a disheveled, muddy drunk, found in the lobby under grossly suspicious circumstances, and ask him to try out, purely because he liked the way the lout shouted at the well-groomed college students dragging him out the door? And give him the part of Trigorin, of all parts, and tut conspicuously at the naughty local boys throwing rocks at the glass, in defiance of all reason? Where the hell was the rock?

    Bare boards and a blank wall. Marko had never bothered with any of it before; it was not even within the sphere of consideration for a near-illiterate soldier. The play itself struck him as moronic, full of the contemptible troubles of moral degenerates with no real problems. But he had a good memory, and all they needed was a passionate man, a man who had experienced every kind of rise and fall and could live through it again. He could be a degenerate, because he knew he already was.

    There was no insincerity in drama done right. Only transformation. The bonds of individual experience slipped away, the particular melted away into the universal, and men and women faded into types only to re-emerge, by some terrible alchemy, as strange chimeras, true and false parts confused into a reality beyond the merely factual. It was a dreadful, magical thing, and the more he did it, the more he became certain that it came so natural because he had done it all his life before. He had always been an actor, always had his several parts to play, different for every audience. Were other men any different?

    Ardent came out of the earth as he always had, with abrupt and violent strength. The ground shook for an instant, gave way just as the first shouts of alarm broke out, and disgorged a giant. A man-shaped colossus of smooth black stone, burning hot and half-molten. The muscles slid beneath his immaculate skin like magma flowing under the ground. His eyes were red and angry, and waves of heat rippled off his skin, promising danger.

    A convulsion took him, and he was a man no longer but a bird, a gigantic bird of prey, soaring into the sky and trailing fire and ash behind him. The nemesis approached, an ugly fat beast riding a chariot of steel and destroying as he came. An ogre from fairy-tale¡ªbut holding a fair damsel hostage. This would require skill. Ardent reshaped himself again at the peak of his flight, letting his fire shine through like the sun and melt him. Now he was a divine being from Hindu lore, graceful and many-armed, dancing in the sky. He reached inside himself, tore out hot gobbets of his own sacred flesh, and flung them.

    It was an irony Marko had often appreciated, that the emissants of others, bound to more particular stories, could not exert themselves beyond their own halos. The real world, as they called it, would not allow freaks and monsters into its space. It was probably coincidence¡ªbut who knew?¡ªthat his versatile friend could transcend this limitation. It only so happened that there was nothing in physics to suggest that burning rock could not move at very high speed, and so it did, slowing down and cooling only a little before it struck the near end of the bridge and blasted it to fragments.

    The leading truck in the little convoy slammed on the brakes at once, though Ardent had left them plenty of space. He preferred the dramatic possibilities of a broad stage. They would have nearly a kilometer to play in. It was only a shame that they would not have more of an audience, but so be it. It would make a fine story later. For the moment, Ardent changed his shape again, and like a falcon folded in his wings to dive for the kill.

 LXXVII. Shell Game (Nadia)

    They were most of the way across the bridge when disaster fell from the sky. Maria and Yuri were in the lead truck, with the girl Polina. Ruslan drove alone in the protected middle, as always. That left Nadia and Fatima bringing up the rear, stewing in the combined halo of ¨¦zarine and Mister Higgins as they tore the bridge to pieces behind them.

    Mister Higgins did the actual destruction, while ¨¦zarine perched on the roof of Yuri¡¯s car to look for trouble ahead, trying not to hear poor Polina scream and cry, and Yuri threaten to gag her. It was an extraordinarily long bridge¡ªa twenty-minute drive at the fastest speed they could manage while still comprehensively wrecking it behind them. More than once Nadia thought that, if there had been more than a single path to go on, somebody would have peeled off from the caravan to escape. A quarter-hour was a simply inhumane ordeal to endure under a halo that told you it was all stupid and you ought to quit. Doubly so when you were already thinking it.

    Nadia clenched her teeth till they hurt, and punched the seat beside her. Polina raged, and Yuri cursed back, and Maria hissed her anger at both of them to shut up so she could stay on the road, and Nadia had to hear them all until she couldn¡¯t anymore, and ¨¦zarine flicked down inside the car to end it. A slap to Yuri, another hand over Polina¡¯s mouth, which she could chew as she liked and make no difference. The girl gnawed like a rat, and thrashed to escape, but ¨¦zarine held on until she was exhausted. Then Nadia returned her minion to her rooftop vigil, knowing she had been cruel but blessing the silence.

    They rode in sullen peace for thirty more seconds, and the end of the bridge had just come in sight, before ¨¦zarine saw the spark of fire in the sky. Maria saw it too, and braked at once, just as the far end of the bridge spat up a cloud of dust where it met Russian soil. About two seconds later¡ªmaybe three¡ªas the last echoes of the destruction behind them faded away, the nearest pieces of the bridge splashing into the water to clog the strait¡ªthey heard the noise, faint but clear, and thought they felt a rumble through the bridge.

    Fatima, meanwhile, could see nothing from the back of the line. ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± she shouted. ¡°Why are we stopping?¡±

    ¡°Checking,¡± Nadia said through her teeth. ¨¦zarine was already several hundred feet in the air. ¡°The far end¡¯s destroyed. There¡¯s maybe a five-meter gap now.¡± The horn honked as Fatima threw herself down on the wheel, drowning out, Nadia assumed, a storm of bad words. Then they heard an ominous groaning from behind them, and Fatima came back to life in a hurry, swerving around Ruslan and stomping on the gas. The truck shook as Mister Higgins fell off the back and faceplanted on the asphalt. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Fatima¡¯s only answer was to accelerate a little faster, so that Nadia could see her pass before ¨¦zarine¡¯s eyes. Maria followed at once, leaving Ruslan scrambling in the rear. Behind him, a ten-meter block of road gave way with an awful shriek of tearing metal; Mister Higgins made a mighty leap to escape and landed, once more, on his fat stomach. But Fatima was already slowing down again, craning her neck to look up at the tiny red flower of fire in the sky, suddenly not so tiny. ¡°Aw, hell. Company.¡±

    It fell like a shooting star, only to unfurl and slow at the last second, braking itself with spread wings and a gout of fire. When the last sparks flew away they saw a black shape like the standing shadow of a man, small with distance but still far too big, blocking their way forward. Nadia didn¡¯t need to see him to know he was an emissant; she could feel the impingement where his halo pushed against theirs.

    ¨¦zarine joined them for an instant inside the truck, just long enough to pick up one of the largest rifles from their considerable stash of stolen weapons. It had a low-tech scope on it, good enough for ¨¦zarine to peer through the five hundred meters between them with her black-pit eyes and see a giant with flesh like smooth obsidian stone, pure midnight dark. His eyes were a brilliant fiery red, like the haze of heat that kindled around his broad shoulders, periodically erupting into tongues of fire.

    Just to see what would happen, ¨¦zarine pulled the trigger. The ordinary laws governing ballistics could be shrugged aside here, irrelevant, if she so chose, and she did. The black stone giant¡¯s halo evidently did not care either; the bullet struck him cleanly between his eyes, but made nothing more than a brief flash of sparks where it hit. The stone was as clean and undisturbed as before. Nadia heard the shot with her own ears a full second later, as ¨¦zarine swept the scope over the rest of the bridge¡¯s span, past the giant.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see the emissor anywhere on the bridge,¡± she reported. ¡°Keep driving. We might push him back, between us.¡±

    ¡°On it,¡± Fatima said, and gently pushed down the accelerator. What remained of the span behind them was mercifully stable; this was not Lim Island, thank God. Maria and Yuri could follow more slowly, and Ruslan last of all, clinging to their coattails.

    ¡°He¡¯s a man of black stone, covered in fire and heat. Does that ring a bell?¡± Fatima shook her head. Oh well. They would find out what he could do soon enough. ¨¦zarine retreated back to the hood of their truck with the rifle; Mister Higgins had made his way onto Yuri¡¯s. Nadia returned her attention to the enemy¡ª¡°Hey, where did he go? Did you see?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m busy here,¡± Fatima grunted back. A stream of giant bubbles flew overhead, settling into a moving wall everywhere but directly in their path. The added defense was welcome; the complete blindness, not so much. She sent ¨¦zarine out past the barrier to reconnoiter. She could tell that the strange emissant was close by the pressure against her halo, but the road ahead was clear. Where was he?

    A glint of light caught the edge of ¨¦zarine¡¯s vision, and she looked up into blue sky¡ª

    Nadia never saw what it was that came down, but it came down fast and hard, and it punched a fresh hole in the bridge, two meters across and fifty away, just past the bubbles. Fatima yelped and braked again, and the bubbles drifted loose for a moment before rejoining. ¡°That¡¯s in our halo!¡±

    Another thump, from behind this time. Ruslan raced forward in a panic, nearly ramming them in his speed to get away. Fatima swore and hit the accelerator again, swerving to avoid Ruslan without landing their own truck in the hole. Nadia heard a loud hiss, and something slammed into the water just to their right, sending up a plume of steam. ¡°Fireballs?¡±

    ¡°You think I know?¡± Ahead of them, Ruslan¡¯s car skidded to a halt again as yet another projectile struck the bridge, smashing a fresh hole to his left. Fatima shifted the bubbles to cover them more from the air. ¡°At least his aim is shit.¡±

    ¡°Yes, from a football field away.¡± Another hit, in the water to the left. More steam. ¡°Unless he¡¯s running out of ammo, that doesn¡¯t matter. He can just smash the bridge until it falls apart and we drown.¡±

    ¡°No way. I can float us, like in Syria¡ª¡°

    The next shot tore clean through her bubbles, like they weren¡¯t even there, to make another hole behind Yuri¡¯s truck. ¡°You were saying?¡±

    Fatima slapped the wheel with both hands. ¡°What the fuck is he throwing? This is bullshit!¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Keep moving. The longer we sit here, the more of the bridge will fall apart and the harder it will be to get off it.¡±

    Fatima sighed. ¡°Forward. Yeah.¡± She reached out to shift gears, only for Maria and Yuri to take off past them, tires squealing. ¡°Oh, god, that can¡¯t be good.¡±

    ¡°Follow them!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± The bubbles shifted into a light and shifting screen as they moved on, just enough to maybe make it harder for whoever-it-was to aim. Nadia moved ¨¦zarine onto the roof of Yuri¡¯s truck, to keep an eye on him. ¡°They¡¯re going too damn fast. If another hole opens up right in front of them ¡­ ¡°

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    But it didn¡¯t. For whatever reason, the familiar (she could see him still, floating calmly in the sky) didn¡¯t throw any more projectiles. Only sat in place and watched as they drew closer, eating up the space between them. The pressure was increasing, but he showed no signs of giving way; his emissor would have to be very close. ¨¦zarine picked the rifle back up to scan the near shore through its scope¡ª

    There was a flash of red light, and the familiar went flying backwards off the truck¡¯s roof to tumble across the roadway. Nadia winced; it wasn¡¯t exactly pain that ¨¦zarine felt, but it wasn¡¯t pleasant, and Nadia could feel it through her. Nobody had ever really hurt ¨¦zarine before. She picked herself up as the trucks sped past, brushing herself off. There was something caught in her long black hair; she reached up, and pulled out a shattered piece of the scope, covered in what looked like asphalt. ¡°Oh no.¡±

    Fatima¡¯s head whipped around, even as she kept driving. They weren¡¯t far from the end of the bridge now. ¡°What? Is she hurt? We¡¯re lucky she was there to eat that one.¡±

    Nadia shook her head. ¡°No, we¡¯re not. He wasn¡¯t shooting anymore until she picked up the gun again. Fatima, he doesn¡¯t have bad aim at all. He knocked the gun right out of her hands without scratching the truck beneath. He was missing on purpose!¡±

    ¡°Why would he do that?¡±

    Maria and Yuri halted at the final gap; across it stood a substantial force of tanks with enormous guns. There were men beside every tank, holding rifles at the ready. The emissor was nowhere in sight, but the familiar was lowering himself back to earth now. His man¡¯s shape had changed to a thing like a dragon, with enormous dark wings and a long snaky neck. Carelessly he perched on one of the tanks, which crumpled slightly under his weight. His halo felt like a solid wall. Nadia moved ¨¦zarine back to the top of Yuri¡¯s truck, for whatever good it would do. If he could hit them with impunity, while nothing they had, save bullets, could pass the boundary ¡­

    ¨¦zarine heard the rear passenger-side door open beneath her, and looked down to see Yuri step out, dragging a struggling Polina behind him. She was bigger than he was, and fought like mad, but went limp when he pulled a pistol out of his pocket and pointed it at her. ¡°Stand down!¡± he shouted. ¡°Stand down, or she eats it!¡± His voice cracked on the last word.

    Across the gap, all the men shifted aim, so that every rifle was pointed directly at Yuri. The dragon melted, and reshaped itself into something more like an enormous black panther. There was no other movement.

    Yuri shifted aim so the gun was pointed right at her head. ¡°Hey! I mean it! Back the hell off! I¡¯ll straight-up snuff this bitch!¡±

    ¡°Oh hell,¡± Fatima groaned. ¡°What if he does? We¡¯ll all be dead before she¡¯s cold.¡±

    She could at least have spared a thought for the one innocent person in the middle of all this. But most of Nadia¡¯s irritation was directed at Yuri. Had he even thought what was next, if his blustering didn¡¯t get the whole force to back away? Of course not.

    Nadia spared a glance back. Ruslan was once more in the rear, slightly off to their left, with Mister Higgins on his roof. She and Fatima were almost directly behind Yuri. ¨¦zarine was still in place on the roof of Yuri¡¯s truck. Nobody looked like they planned to use those guns, and the tank things might not even be occupied, but she had no idea what halo they were under. The stone panther shifted his weight slightly and growled, a deep noise less like a great cat than an earthquake. Actual fire was streaming from his eyes now.

    ¡°Screw this,¡± Fatima declared. ¡°I¡¯m giving us cover.¡± The bubbles overhead started to descend, settling into the gap so they could block rifle fire. They got most of the way down before Yuri suddenly yelped, and the gun went off, and everything went to hell.

    ¨¦zarine looked down, saw Yuri clutching a bloody left hand, the pistol forgotten on the ground, howling about how the rotten bitch bit him. She looked forward, and saw Polina running for the gap, trailing blood behind her. Looked up at a noise, and saw the panther rearing back, the fires in his eyes raging high. Looked down again, saw ranks of men tracking with their guns, looking for a clear shot around the running girl.

    She made her decision at once. She flickered forward, grabbed Polina, and hauled her back in front of Yuri. At the same moment the panther¡¯s head whipped forward, with a noise like a cannon shot, and the whole top of Ruslan¡¯s truck was torn away in a massive jet of flame. Mister Higgins went flying backwards. Fatima screamed. The panther reared back again¡ªand paused, looking them over.

    Long seconds passed. Yuri had retreated back into the truck, leaving Polina and ¨¦zarine behind. The men held their fire. The giant cat only glared. Why? ¡°He doesn¡¯t want to hit her,¡± Nadia breathed.

    ¡°What?¡± Fatima was turned around in her seat, looking at the remains of the third truck. ¡°Dammit, I can¡¯t see Rus! Was he hit?¡±

    ¡°If he¡¯s smart, he¡¯ll stay hidden,¡± Nadia snapped. ¡°We can¡¯t help him now. But we might help ourselves.¡± The panther jumped lightly down from the ruined tank to take a few leisurely, graceful paces over to its right. ¡°Oh no you don¡¯t,¡± she hissed. ¨¦zarine appeared in front of their truck¡¯s driver-side door, holding Polina, and the cat froze in place.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Fatima was still craning her neck to look for Ruslan. Nadia didn¡¯t dare turn her head.

    ¡°We¡¯re safe as long as he doesn¡¯t know she¡¯s not in the line of fire. He¡¯ll kill us all the moment she¡¯s clear.¡± Another flicker, and Polina and ¨¦zarine were in their own back seat. Nadia spared a glance back, and saw the girl was breathing hard, a dark red spot spreading across the white collar and apron of her uniform. Another problem for the list. Ostentatiously Nadia moved them both to the roof of Yuri¡¯s car, just long enough to register visually, then back in their own backseat. The soldiers were too far away to tell for sure where she was.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Fatima said, her hands shaking on the wheel. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s good. What next?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Nadia confessed.

    ¡°Shit!¡±

    Nadia set ¨¦zarine to work, looking over Polina to find the wound. Yuri¡¯s bullet had gone through her shoulder, by the look of things. God knew what it had hit inside. Brutally ¨¦zarine clapped down her hand on the wound, ignoring her howls of pain. ¡°How is Mister Higgins? Can you use him?¡±

    ¡°I think so. He got roughed up, but ¡­ yeah.¡± The panther was pacing back and forth along the bridge¡¯s former edge now, glaring red death in their general direction.

    ¡°Give us cover. Just sight cover, I know he can shoot through. As long as he can¡¯t see clearly.¡± The old ones had popped when their maker got hit.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Fatima still sounded distracted. Polina¡¯s noise wasn¡¯t helping; at the moment, Nadia couldn¡¯t spare any more charitable feelings in her direction, but sent her back to Yuri¡¯s vehicle so she could be his problem. He¡¯d started this, after all, and was useless for the moment. Maria got to work holding pressure, and ordered Yuri to rip up the apron for bandages¡ªthank God she at least was sensible¡ªand ¨¦zarine returned to their vehicle¡¯s roof. The panther promptly reared back, and she retreated into Nadia¡¯s truck just as another bolt of hellfire shot past the place where she had been.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t getting us out of here,¡± Fatima pointed out. Mister Higgins was safe behind their own vehicle, burbling away, but he wasn¡¯t working like usual. Only a few dozen bubbles had appeared so far, drifting sluggishly into position.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try complaining some more, then. That will fix it. Or don¡¯t. I need to think.¡±

    The enemy emissant was melting again, turning into a jet-black angel. Slowly he raised himself into the air, peering down carefully over the scene. Nadia saw the danger, and moved ¨¦zarine and Polina into place right over Mister Higgins for a split-second, then back. The angel got the message at once, and paused in place, crossing his arms over his burly chest.

    Fatima snapped her fingers. ¡°Damn, that¡¯s it. Valence push.¡±

    ¡°What about it?¡± Nadia said, keeping her eye on the angel.

    ¡°That¡¯s why he¡¯s punching right through my shit. He¡¯s got that whole gang to draw on, and we¡¯ve got six people. No wonder.¡±

    ¡°On it.¡± They were at no risk of running out of guns. ¨¦zarine snatched up a knockoff H&K and got to work on the riflemen, flickering around to avoid drawing the angel¡¯s fire. Three or four men went down, and the rest were in full retreat, before Nadia saw the angel rise into the air, his hands glowing red. ¨¦zarine dropped the gun, grabbed Polina, and jumped on the rear of their own truck, then to the top of Yuri¡¯s. Back and forth, back and forth, bubbles drifting annoyingly across his field of vision. No safe shot.

    ¡°He hits my boy again, we¡¯re probably toast,¡± Fatima said. ¡°The whole damn halo will drop, and he¡¯ll have us.¡±

    ¡°I know that! This is all I can do.¡± Until Polina bled out and died, or somebody ordered the emissor to attack anyway, a stalemate was the best she could manage.

    A burst of gunfire sounded from the lead truck, and the soldiers resumed their flight. Nadia didn¡¯t stop moving her human shield, only silently blessed them for showing initiative. This was all they had, at the moment. But within seconds all the gunmen were safe behind their tanks, and the guns fell silent.

    Back and forth went ¨¦zarine, flicking like a metronome. Mister Higgins was still producing more bubbles, and now they were settling into a thicker barrier, obscuring the trucks entirely. Soon they would be totally safe, and blind, and immobile, but if that was the best they could do, it would at least give them time to think, and let ¨¦zarine do something productive¡ª

    A streak of red light tore through the air above the cars, burning the bubbles away in a wide swath. Nadia froze at the sight, and ¨¦zarine with her¡ªtoo long. Polina was covering Yuri; the angel flapped his wings just once to get a higher vantage, and sent his next bolt of flame over her head to rip through the rear of Nadia¡¯s truck, striking Mister Higgins full in the back. The world went grey, and vanished away, as Nadia¡¯s head thumped into the dashboard.

 LXXVIII. The Heros Journey (Ruslan)

    Most of the time, Ruslan liked to be alone. He loved reading, obviously, but he hated when people made it sound like that was the only thing he ever wanted to do. He¡¯d enjoyed messing around on his harpsichord¡ªback when he had one¡ªand cooking, too, a skill he¡¯d picked up long before he learned to read. He would have cooked a lot more often if people didn¡¯t keep making fat jokes every time he did it. He drew sometimes, he could paint a little, he liked movies and TV and sometimes a video game or two. There were a lot of things he could do to have fun by himself.

    He didn¡¯t always like being alone. He didn¡¯t like driving alone, even though he knew why he had to. He didn¡¯t like driving at all, really, having to control this big metal box that could kill you or somebody else if you messed up¡ªand Ruslan knew he messed up, at a lot of things, he wasn¡¯t dumb¡ªand having to do it without anyone to talk to for a distraction was worse. It left him alone with his thoughts. Controlling a car just wasn¡¯t demanding enough to keep his attention on it.

    When he was driving, he couldn¡¯t help wondering what he was doing, and why. He didn¡¯t believe in this whole plan to cut off the Russian army in Istanbul. He was sure it was too reckless, and would get them all killed. But most of the details were his ideas, volunteered willingly, without anybody even asking for them! Why? Because he knew it would happen anyway, and it would be a better plan with him helping.

    It had been his idea to take out the whole Crimean peninsula at once, so the knyazya couldn¡¯t just shift the supply lines a little. He¡¯d been the one to pore over the maps, find the weak points. It had been his idea to smash the Kerch bridge, and let the wreckage block all the ports in the Sea of Azov. If it worked, it would cost Russia millions of dollars and force them to reroute half their supply chain. It was a way more clever plan than any of them would have thought up by themselves¡ªand much more ambitious, and much, much more dangerous.

    His reward had been a friendly punch in the arm from Fatima, who told him it was badass and hardcore. Then, a little later, a kiss on the cheek, and a thanks. Then they¡¯d basically forgotten all about it, about it being his plan, and left him to do whatever until they needed him. And¡ªhe was ashamed to think it now, on the road with his thoughts again¡ªit had been enough. That was why they were risking their lives on his plan. A punch on the arm and a kiss on the cheek. The knowledge that he wasn¡¯t useless, that he was part of the group in some small way. Nothing more.

    Was that enough?

    They got to a roadblock, which was just annoying. They had a whole drill worked out in advance for if ordinary forces tried to stop them, one too simple to need Ruslan¡¯s help. Maria stopped at the first sight of anything military, they all put on parking brakes, Shum-Shum came out and burned everything to slag, Mister Higgins got their convoy past the melted patch, and they lost all of two minutes. Why did these stupid people have to throw their lives away on something that wouldn¡¯t work?

    Well, why was Ruslan doing it?

    His knuckles ached where they gripped the wheel. The pain was bad, and getting worse. He couldn¡¯t remember ever punching anybody for real before, and still wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d done it. Fat, timid Ruslan in a fight, a physical fight? Who would have believed it? Not Fatima. She¡¯d told him it was a good idea, just the wrong time, and sounded like she meant it. Ruslan didn¡¯t see why. He already regretted it before she hauled him off. He¡¯d been glad she stopped him.

    Ruslan hated fighting, and always had, since he was little, and doing the cooking in Komron¡¯s camp. Men gathered around the fire every evening, and bragged, and sometimes the bragging got out of hand, and they started punching, or got out knives, sometimes even guns. Then good food, food Ruslan had worked on, would be trampled or knocked into the coals, and men would fall into the tents, and trip over Ruslan and curse him for a treacherous little bastard while he cowered anywhere he could.

    Morning light would arrive to find shrimpy little Ruslan holding up the lamp while two or three others struggled with shovels. A hole, six feet long and three wide, in hard dry mountain soil. Sometimes more than one hole, depending. It was supposed to be six feet deep as well, but that was a lot to ask. If the dogs came by later and dug them back up, well, that wasn¡¯t their business. The camp moved on.

    It was a sick irony that made Ruslan a soldier. Irony, and bad luck. Komron¡¯s bravos drifted into the way of a bigger, stronger band, led by a foreign sorcerer, and Komron didn¡¯t even get a shallow hole at the end. Ruslan was bigger, but still doing the cooking, when the new pack clashed with Dzhoraev, the Mad Doctor of Qarshi. Titus picked Ruslan, not any of the other kids from the fringes of the band, to win the dead man¡¯s prize. Why? Because Ruslan looked like the easiest to control. Ruslan the cook, scared of his own shadow. Ruslan, who hated fighting.

    And that was the rest of his life, right there. Ruslan, who hated fighting, and went along with everything else, and bent to every little push, even now when he was over a hundred kilos and (he was almost certain) sixteen years old. He kept driving with the convoy, because he always did, because he had nowhere left to go.

    Almost there, he thought as the bridge came into view, the only positive thing he could think. The halo hit him like a cinderblock to the face, as he had known it would, and there was nothing he could do but drive through it. The bridge was eighteen kilometers long, and he would hate every second of the drive.

    Before he was a kilometer in, he remembered her hands on his shoulders, kneading away at his muscles, while she told him he needed to relax. Her breath smelled like tobacco, the same as Fatima¡¯s, and he knew he could feel the heat coming off of her body in the cold room. Relax, Ruslan, she said, right in his ear, as her hair tickled the side of his neck. Relax, she said, and shifted her weight on the bed so he could feel it, and he could imagine the movement of her hips. Her hands moved down to push at the spot between his shoulders, and he could not remember how she had come into the room, but he could feel his heart climbing up into his throat and cutting off the air to his lungs.

    Two kilometers, and he wondered why he hadn¡¯t thrown off those hands, and turned around, and used his own. She was there, and laughing at him, fat weak Ruslan, because he wasn¡¯t even a man, and that was funny, and she was bored. He could have taught her to laugh at him, and worried about the consequences later. But that would have meant facing her, and Yuri, and Fatima, and he wasn¡¯t strong enough for any of that and never would be. He couldn¡¯t even tell her to go away.

    Four kilometers in. Nadia pushing her way in, and looking at him with revulsion. Like he had chosen any of this. Like he hadn¡¯t been reading his own book in his own room (or somebody else¡¯s, because they were homeless now) when all this happened. Like he wanted her to be there¡ªbut he kind of did. Because this was what he could get. Mockery, from Maria. A dog will do tricks for table scraps, if he can¡¯t get anything else.

    Six kilometers, and the road ahead was longer than the road behind, and his hands hurt harder for clenching down on the wheel. He remembered Fatima coming back, and hiding from her in his room, a little child who knew he¡¯d been naughty. Hiding. Why should she even be angry? Did she have some kind of monopoly on touching him? Why? She knew what he wanted, and she didn¡¯t want it, and that should have been all. Why did Ruslan have to hide from her anger?

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Eight kilometers, and Yuri was showing up late in the dacha¡¯s driveway. Hey, bro! Remember that plan you came up with? That really careful plan that we all said was great? Well, while my girl was getting you hard for a laugh, I just messed it all up for ya! I made the Russians twice as mad and burdened us with a hostage. We¡¯ll have to spend all our time worrying about running away and keeping somebody else from running away from us. Not that I thought about that when I did it. I don¡¯t think about anything, I¡¯m a total selfish creep who does whatever he wants and never gets hurt for it, and hey, why you mad, bro?

    Ten kilometers, and he wondered if he would break the wheel from clenching. He deserved the pain, or wanted to. Feel those hands smashing right into Yuri¡¯s face, over and over again, and it felt so good right up until it didn¡¯t. Was he just like Komron¡¯s men? No. If this didn¡¯t work, Maria wouldn¡¯t hang around to dig any holes, if this all went bad.

    After twelve kilometers, he stopped counting. It was all he could do not to throw up, or jerk the wheel around to drive the truck off the bridge. He actually cried with relief when the end of the bridge came in sight. Then screamed in despair, when it was destroyed, and he knew he would have to endure the halo even longer. He didn¡¯t pay attention to anything else, but drove automatically. Let them smash the lousy bridge to bits if they wanted. It wasn¡¯t his halo, and this wasn¡¯t his fight. He was tired.

    That, more or less, was what Ruslan was thinking when his truck got torn in half. He didn¡¯t see what did it, but it was pretty big and moving very, very fast. It hit the engine compartment dead-on¡ªat least, that was how he figured it, later¡ªand tore through the space just to his right, outspeeding its own shock wave that sent a thousand little bits of metal, plastic, and glass shredding into his body and face. The shockwave itself, just the way it shook the air as it went by, was enough to knock him stupid, so that he didn¡¯t really feel it as the car shuddered and fell down in pieces. His seatbelt saved him from hitting either the doorframe or the bridge¡¯s surface too hard when the newly made left and right halves of his truck fell apart. And that was all, for a while.

    It took another halo to wake him, and that just barely, because it was so different. It hit Ruslan like a splash of scalding-hot water, so that he jerked upright, and knew at once that he was very hurt. There was pain all over inside him, and in his had, and across his face. He was sure he would look terrible, and that Fatima and Nadia would cry out in alarm when they saw him¡ªthe thought of their faces was strangely appealing. But that was a superficial detail, and did not matter.

    A giant, a monster of black stone wrapped in fire, was stomping across the bridge less than a hundred feet away. Ruslan could feel faint tremors from every step he took. There was no sign of movement from the other two trucks. Evil approached, an obvious villain, and Ruslan had to assume he was the only person left to stop him. But how?

    He tried to get up, and found he couldn¡¯t; his midsection hurt too much, and the pain made him dizzy. After several tries he gave up and fell back against the asphalt, panting and struggling not to throw up. The black giant prowled around the scene, leaving a heat haze and steaming footprints in his wake. Against him, Ruslan, a feeble and inadequate figure, wracked by shame and now unable to rise to face him. You could hardly engineer a better mismatch! It was brilliant.

    Something caught the giant¡¯s eye, and he bent down to rummage inside the one undamaged truck. A girl screamed, and he drew back at once, looking horrified. Ruslan struggled harder, though it was no use. Who had screamed? He pictured Fatima, menaced by the monster, and managed to push his upper half off the ground, but only for an instant. Then he fell back down, defeated once more. But as he did, he felt something dig into his side, something small and hard.

    The monster was in clear anguish now, and at a loss, pacing this way and that, starting in one direction, then stopping as he thought better of whatever plan he had just hatched. From time to time he peered back inside the truck, but he did not reach in, and there were no more screams. It would have been a fine moment for a speech, Ruslan thought¡ªsomething to reveal what the colossus was thinking. But he didn¡¯t. Possibly he couldn¡¯t?

    (Of course he couldn¡¯t. The thing was clearly a familiar, and familiars didn¡¯t speak. Ruslan knew that. But he couldn¡¯t help feeling that to outright say as much spoiled the effect. The twenty-foot man was, dramatically speaking, a representation of his master, and now that he thought of it, rendering him mute in a moment of suffering added significant pathos. In that sense, it was wonderful linkage between plot and theme, though obviously inconvenient for exposition.)

    The giant shuddered one more time, and melted into an equally huge bird, which took off and flew back across the gap between the bridge and the land. Ruslan understood: he was being given a chance to muster his resources for a last defiance, so they could learn if this was a comedy or a tragedy¡ªonly he seemed to be short on resources. He reached for whatever it was that he felt under him, and found a small silver flask in his jacket pocket.

    It was, and should have been, Yuri¡¯s. He¡¯d used it many times in their escape from Syria, and forgotten, in his usual careless way, to replenish it after using it to get away from Lim Island. Only last night he¡¯d discovered it empty, and foisted it off to Ruslan to refill, and forgotten to take it with him when he left this morning. It was entirely fitting, as Ruslan saw it, that Yuri¡¯s incompetence and laziness could be their salvation for once. Such were the workings of chance and fate in mortal lives ¡­

    The giant bird had spent some time on the other side of the gap; now he returned, bearing something long and flat in his talons. Some kind of board? Whatever it was, it was already smoldering in his claws, and fell apart in flaming scraps before he could land. The monster gave a terrible roar of frustration, a noise like a jet engine, and flapped over to try and pick up the entire truck by its roof.

    This was Ruslan¡¯s moment. The stakes were clear, his strength was failing, and there was a simply magnificent symmetry in the way his opponent was a large bird as well. He was painfully aware that opening the flask now would entail a drastic change in the scene¡¯s tone, but that couldn¡¯t be helped. It was better to be bold and fail than cautiously and indifferently successful.

    Kizil Khan emerged easily, banishing the manic energy that kept Ruslan going. At the same time, it was more difficult to sense the pain in his body as his own, or to care about it. The Russian familiar was knocked flying backwards across the gap, leaving Ruslan free to go about the business of life and death with a cold and dispassionate heart.

    The Red King had fed reasonably well lately, on the leadup to the raid on the island. He gave life back with little effort, restoring all four of the girls inside the other vehicles to perfect health and vigor. Yuri was left as he was. Then, though he was not really hungry, he reached out and took the lives of the few surviving soldiers within his halo, before the emissor could reclaim them for his own uses. Some lived, some died. It was enough.

    Only one life in the area now remained outside his power, on the other side of the hole in the bridge. It might be male or female, old or young, but it was alive, commanding an emissant of its own in a sovereign space a few meters wide. The thought scratched at Kizil Khan like grit in the eye, and he took to the air to banish the nuisance. Too late¡ªand Ruslan had little strength left. When the enemy¡¯s halo exploded back out, Kizil Khan not only retreated but faded away entirely.

    Ruslan¡¯s part, he saw now, was over. This was only the epilogue. He watched with his face pressed against the asphalt as the girl in the bloody brown apron burst out of the truck, shouting abuse at Yuri when he made to chase after her. An enormous ebony snake came rushing up to intervene, spitting sparks to force Yuri away. The girl shouted again, in joy this time, and ran towards the gap in the bridge, ignoring the snake entirely. He couldn¡¯t see very well with the snake in the way, but there was no mistake in her tone. She was overcome with relief, running toward someone she knew and trusted. A touching reunion, perfect for an ending.

    Then a gunshot sounded, just one shot. The enormous snake, which had been turning towards Yuri¡¯s truck, shuddered, though there was no sign of damage on its glossy dark hide. The girl screamed, and faltered in her run, holding her hands to her face, then sinking down to her knees. Sudden tragedy¡ªan admirable twist! But the black snake was already curling up on itself, convulsing in pain. This, Ruslan felt sure, would be the real and final end. The energy was ebbing out of him already. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him at the moment the curtain fell.

 LXXIX. The Lady Doth Protest Too Much (Keisha)

    Darrell twisted around in the booth to glare towards the kitchen. ¡°What¡¯s keeping them? It doesn¡¯t usually take this long.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, baby,¡± Ti told him, laying her hand on his. ¡°More time to spend together as a family. Whatcha got there, Marcus? Oh, Lord, child, not again.¡±

    Keisha looked down at her five-year-old nephew, hard at work on his placemat with the restaurant¡¯s crayons. She didn¡¯t know how good kids at that age were supposed to be at art, but whatever he was drawing involved a lot of black and red. Not much else was clear. ¡°Is ¡­ is that something on fire?¡± She looked up at her sister. ¡°He draws a lot of fires?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not always fire, but he just loves the new familiar.¡± She turned to her husband. ¡°What are they calling her now?¡±

    ¡°That depends who you ask,¡± he said, still trying to catch a waiter¡¯s eye. ¡°The government won¡¯t officially acknowledge anything. ¡®Malkia¡¯ is the name I¡¯ve heard most.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a big deal with the kids,¡± Ti explained, ¡°now that there¡¯s finally a black familiar. They think it¡¯s exciting.¡±

    ¡°Half the boys in my class won¡¯t shut up about her,¡± Tamika added, from Keisha¡¯s right. Her thumbs were tapping frantically at her phone under the table. ¡°They just wish she could have been a man, too.¡±

    ¡°And I wish you¡¯d put that thing away, young lady.¡± Tamika shrugged, and kept texting. ¡°Now.¡± The girl tapped ¡®send¡¯ and stuffed the device inside her jacket with a pout. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m sorry, Keish.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Keisha told her. ¡°I live on my phone too. I know how it is. And she¡¯s ¡­ how old are you now?¡± It had been at least a year, maybe more.

    ¡°Eleven.¡± Tamika spat out the word like old gum, her arms crossed. Tiana frowned.

    ¡°I remember eleven,¡± Keisha said. ¡°You¡¯re all ready to grow up, but nobody else is ready to let you, and you don¡¯t know how. I¡¯m glad she has friends, and a life outside of school.¡± On her other side, her nephew finally finished his masterpiece, and shoved the mat directly in front of her face for approval. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s wonderful! Is that a tank there?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an army truck,¡± he corrected, enunciating each word carefully.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Marcus. It¡¯s just hard to tell when it¡¯s on fire like that.¡±

    ¡°Do you know her?¡± he asked, pointing to the scribble of black crayon with red lines coming out of it.

    ¡°Marcus Andre Wilson,¡± Ti said, and the boy immediately set the mat back down to doodle in a new spot.

    ¡°She might, you know,¡± Tamika pointed out, both elbows on the table. ¡°It¡¯s a fair question.¡±

    Tiana¡¯s eyes lit up like afterburners; only the abrupt arrival of a Cobb salad right in front of her saved her daughter from her wrath. A steak, a burger, a BLT, and the inevitable chicken tenders for Marcus followed right after, sparing them all any further attempts at conversation for a while.

    A lot had changed since last visit, when Marcus was still in diapers and Tamika wasn¡¯t trying to be a teenager. Keisha couldn¡¯t tell whether they were normally this edgy, or if it was something about her presence, or some recent family crisis. They¡¯d both accepted their customary Aunt Keisha gifts¡ªTamika really liked her Turkish dress, jury was still out on the Cypriot pop CD¡ªbut then they had to go out to eat and that was a bit of a minefield.

    Right down to the seating arrangements. The kids wanted to sit with their aunt¡ªMarcus because he actually liked her, Tamika because it made her as physically distant as possible from her mother. The adults, on the other hand, seemed just a little nervous around Keisha, and probably appreciated some distance as well.

    Keisha sat, played diplomat, and stifled the urge to get out her own phone; it said something that she was more invested in the well-being of some foreign kids she¡¯d just met than in her own family. Then again, Tamika wasn¡¯t in danger of much more than getting her phone taken away. Keisha was tempted to ask Ti what she¡¯d do if her daughter wrecked the Crimea, but aside from her own cover, the public didn¡¯t know about that yet.

    Her BLT was disappearing rapidly, no matter how slowly she chewed; what should she say instead? Nobody could ask her about anything related to her life, since nearly all of it was classified. That put all the social workload on her until somebody volunteered something.

    She knew from past experience that asking Darrell about his work was a mistake. He¡¯d tell her that people still needed HVAC, same as they ever did, in a way that didn¡¯t quite manage to be hostile, and that would make Ti double down on her role as manners and normality enforcer, which would then get Darrell on edge. Keisha had been in actual combat situations that were less stressful than that. Anyway, Darrell was happy watching Auburn basketball on one of the TVs over the bar. Better to leave him alone.

    Asking Tamika about school would be painful. Marcus wasn¡¯t great at holding up his end of conversations. The old standby it was. ¡°How¡¯s the shirt business going, Ti?¡±

    ¡°Not great. We¡¯ve got a couple of new designs, but people still aren¡¯t buying much. The economy isn¡¯t great, you know?¡±

    Darrell¡¯s eyes flicked in Keisha¡¯s direction, just for a second, before returning to Auburn. She pretended not to notice. The two of them had had exactly one political discussion, six years ago, just after the wedding. It hadn¡¯t gone well. He wasn¡¯t a Rootstocker, but he did have some strong opinions about how the government spent its money, and that included the military. Those kinds of opinion seemed to be common, and getting more so.

    ¡°Are you still selling mostly adult sizes?¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, we branched out to kids and infants ages ago. Onesies are just about the only thing that¡¯s still moving as well as ever. You might say they¡¯re the bright spot in our business model.¡±

    ¡°Oh, cute! Are those some of your new designs?¡± Tamika hit her with an ironic smirk; she was old enough to tell that Aunt Keisha sincerely did not give a damn about onesie patterns. Aunt Keisha would remember that next time she was gift shopping. Anyway, it got Ti going, which was the point. Almost a full minute passed before her sister wound down and somebody had to kick the conversation to get its motor going again.

    To her surprise, it was Tamika who did her that favor. ¡°Have you heard of Carson Wood? His stuff¡¯s real popular with kids my age.¡± She pulled her phone back out, paused, and asked her mother, ¡°May I show her?¡± in tones of impeccable politeness. Ti looked suspicious, but nodded. Was this just another part of their power game?

    Nope. Tamika pulled up a luridly colored page from a comic book: a man on his knees pleading for help from a floating wizard in red and blue rags. Tantrum Song. Keisha didn¡¯t quite gasp, but it was a near thing; Ti¡¯s suspicious look hardened. But all Keisha said was, ¡°Y¡¯all do know real familiars can¡¯t talk like this, right?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they say, anyway,¡± Tamika replied, unimpressed. ¡°But it¡¯s just a story. It doesn¡¯t all have to be perfectly accurate, y¡¯know?¡±

    ¡°Mm-hmm.¡± Keisha discovered she was able to flip through the other pages by swiping. Tantrum Song went on to fight some kind of reptilian creatures, ripping several of them in half in bursts of bright red blood. There was no emissor in sight. ¡°What are the lizard-men supposed to be?¡±

    ¡°Aliens, I think. I don¡¯t really follow this nonsense,¡± Tamika stressed. ¡°It¡¯s more of a boy thing. Just thought you might be interested.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Ti said. ¡°Is this more of those awful comic things? Mika, you know perfectly well you¡¯re not supposed to be passing those around.¡±

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    ¡°It¡¯s the internet. It passes itself around. I¡¯m only showing her.¡±

    Ti sighed. ¡°Keisha, I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s just this stupid fad and¡ªMarcus, eat your dinner!¡± The boy dipped his head back down to his barely-touched chicken tenders and fries. ¡°Child, you don¡¯t need to be looking at that trash. Nobody does,¡± she added, with a glare at her daughter.

    ¡°And I usually don¡¯t,¡± Tamika retorted, her voice calm and reasonable: why are you making such a big deal out of this, Mama? ¡°But I thought Aunt Keisha might be interested to know what people my age are saying about the Numenate.¡±

    Keisha kept scrolling; apparently the Numenate was run by a short man with big eyebrows and a cigar, who called up little devils or spirits or something to illustrate conversational points and run errands for him. ¡°Well, it is ¡­ illuminating.¡±

    Ti looked like she wanted to snatch the phone away. ¡°Tamika Joy, please tell me you at least showed her one of the clean ones.¡±

    ¡°Carson Wood¡¯s are all clean! The nasty sex comics are all other people, trying to imitate his style and get in on his game. Even I know that, and I don¡¯t even read them.¡±

    Keisha wasn¡¯t sure she believed that last part. She glanced at Darrell; he was shaking his head a little, but his eyes were glued to the screen. Somebody got fouled, most likely.

    ¡°These things get shared at school,¡± Ti explained. ¡°A lot of them aren¡¯t really appropriate for children, and some of them get in trouble for copyright infringement too, so the administration put a ban on them.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like it didn¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s mostly the eighth graders showing each other the inappropriate ones,¡± Tamika said. ¡°Nobody in my class. Except Ben Cooper, but nobody likes him. He¡¯s a freak.¡±

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Everyone turned to look at Darrell as he stood up. ¡°I was watching that, damn it!¡±

    ¡°Darrell, please!¡± But everyone, not just at their table but everyone in the restaurant, was looking at the screens over the bar. All three were now showing the familiar, ominous seals of the DOD and five other federal entities against a black background. ¡°Oh my God, no, not again, Jesus please¡ª¡°

    The bartender turned up the volume so they could hear as the report began. Texas, this time. Centered on Corpus Christi and San Antonio. Up to three emissants, striking separately, details still unclear. At least a thousand fatalities, but there was reason to believe one emissor had been killed already and the Numenate was responding. Further details would be given as¡ªthe rest was drowned out by dozens of loud alert buzzers as the same news hit every phone in the restaurant simultaneously.

    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± Darrell demanded over the racket, looking at Keisha.

    ¡°Retaliation, probably. We just put a serious hurting on them on Saturday. This is their response.¡± It wasn¡¯t technically correct¡ªshe was pretty sure the Marshalls were working alone now¡ªbut he didn¡¯t need to know that, or give her that stinkeye.

    ¡°Is that all you have to say?¡± Ti, for once, didn¡¯t try to calm him down or shut him up. Only watched and listened, her eyes wide.

    ¡°It¡¯s all you¡¯re going to hear from me right now. I shouldn¡¯t have even told you that, I¡¯m not a spokesperson for the Numenate.¡±

    ¡°So when you put a ¡®hurting¡¯ on them, did you anticipate this happening?¡± He waved an arm at the televisions, still spewing boilerplate BOLO for civilians.

    ¡°I¡¯m a warrant officer, not a general. I don¡¯t make those kinds of call.¡±

    ¡°Well, who does? And is he going to be accountable?¡±

    People from other tables were looking their way now, listening in. ¡°Darrell, you¡¯re making a scene. You might want to stop, and calm down.¡±

    ¡°You might want to get your ass out of here and help! See? Texas is on fire. You get paid to defend us. Why are you just sitting there, telling me what I am and am not allowed to know?¡±

    She gave up on Darrell and looked down at Tamika. ¡°Texas is a long way away from here,¡± she told her niece. ¡°We have layered defenses in place. Those three¡ªor however many there are¡ªaren¡¯t going to make it this far.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°You¡¯re not her father!¡±

    ¡°No, you are. Maybe you ought to act like it.¡± She was tensed up as she said it, ready to block if he punched her across the table. But his hands stayed where they were, clenching the table¡¯s edge. His phone¡¯s alert was still going off in his pocket, as was Keisha¡¯s. She reached in to turn it off, without taking her eyes off Darrell. He let his keep going while he stared at her, stone-cold.

    There were lots of people looking at them now¡ªeverybody who wasn¡¯t tied to their phone or the screen. Thank you, Darrell Wilson, for advertising my employer ¡­ but now she could either stay silent, and reinforce his position for him in the eyes of everyone present, or go out on a limb. ¡°This was a mistake,¡± she said, for everyone¡¯s benefit. ¡°A mistake on their part. Texas is an obvious target, too obvious¡ªright across the border. I don¡¯t have all the facts yet, nobody does, but I expect they¡¯re retreating already, and it still won¡¯t save them. We have assets in Mexico too. It¡¯s highly likely that by this time tomorrow they¡¯ll be down three emissors, people they can¡¯t afford to lose. And Mexico will tighten their security.¡±

    ¡°Because they always do what we say,¡± Darrell said. At least he was quieter now. ¡°Or what you say.¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re in this together,¡± she corrected him. Truthfully, she hadn¡¯t really expected anything so drastic to happen, and wondered what it said about decision-making in the Kremlin. They were burning a lot of resources with this.

    ¡°For how long?¡±

    ¡°For as long as it takes.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been decades already.¡±

    ¡°And? Do you want to be taking orders from Moscow instead? Because that¡¯s your alternative.¡±

    ¡°Damn right,¡± called a voice from across the restaurant. Keisha glanced over and saw a muscular, clean-cut man sitting with his girlfriend at another booth. He hoisted his beer in salute.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Darrell said. ¡°I don¡¯t remember you being part of this conversation.¡± The TVs had gone back to regular programming now, but his phone was still going off, the last in the room. He finally reached down to shut it off.

    ¡°Maybe you ought to be more quiet about it, then,¡± the man retorted. His girl put a hand on his forearm, at the same time Ti gripped Darrell¡¯s bicep.

    ¡°We¡¯re all finished eating,¡± Ti said. ¡°We should probably pay and leave. Tomorrow¡¯s a school day.¡±

    Darrell looked down at the remains of his steak. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, and reached for his wallet. Keisha¡¯s ally hefted his beer again, and returned his attention to his girlfriend.

    It was time for her to do her part for public order. ¡°Do either of you have to go to the bathroom before we leave?¡± Two no¡¯s.

    ¡°Go anyway,¡± their mother told them at once, grateful to be back in her comfort zone. ¡°Excuse me, babe.¡± Darrell got up to let her out, and Keisha decided to join the family restroom caravan so she wouldn¡¯t be left alone with him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about Darrell,¡± Ti told her over the sink, three minutes later. ¡°You know how he is.¡±

    She didn¡¯t, really¡ªshe had no idea why he thought it was a good idea to pick a fight in public¡ªbut that wasn¡¯t a good point to press. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve run into worse.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s just scared, you know?¡± Her hands were shaking just a little as she helped Marcus wash up. ¡°We all are.¡±

    ¡°I am, too,¡± Keisha said. About different things. ¡°It¡¯s harder when you can¡¯t talk about what scares you, believe me.¡±

    ¡°At least you know, though!¡± Ti looked back at Tamika, who was carefully keeping her eyes on her hands while she scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed. Ti lowered her voice. ¡°All we hear is bits and pieces, little tidbits we don¡¯t know whether to believe, and every once in a while something just comes out of the blue to raise hell like this. And we can¡¯t do a blessed thing about it.¡± She shivered. ¡°It¡¯s different for us mortals, Keish.¡±

    Not as different as you think, Ti. She didn¡¯t know if Nadia, Fatima, or Ruslan were even alive, but the odds were against it, and there was no way to find out. She couldn¡¯t even find out why they¡¯d done it. ¡°Tamika, I think those hands are clean enough. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    At least a dozen heads turned to track them as they made their way back to the table and out of the building. They weren¡¯t even trying to hide it.

 LXXX. Patriots (Pyotr)

    Pekka Hovinen was thirty-three years old, 188 centimeters tall, and an unabashed chatterer¡ªa clumsy, gangling, fair-haired giant, prone to fits of sentimentality and rhetorical overreach. His wife Therese Bechard was twenty-nine and sarcastic, a petite, dark-haired beauty, and ferociously perfectionist in all that she did. Their associate Aare Kriisa was thirty-eight, a retired boxer who looked the part, and taciturn to a fault; it was a struggle to get more than a handful of words out of him on any subject. The three of them had in common a flawless command of the Russian language, and little else.

    It would have made an interesting story, Pekka always thought, to tell how a Finn, a Frenchwoman, and an Estonian came to be working together in the southwest corner of Russia. It was a peculiar series of accidents that led three independent intelligence operations to fuse into one multinational effort for the sake of efficiency. Sadly, he could never tell the tale¡ªbut then, as Therese often reminded him, it was not as if he lacked for things to say anyway.

    None of their neighbors knew them by their real names, which they were careful to avoid using even when they were alone; he was Pyotr, married to Teresa, whose brother Arkady often came over to visit. They were the sole local representatives of a middling architectural firm which had been entirely tied up, for the past five years, in trying to cut through the red tape to erect an office building in Volgograd.

    Pyotr had learned to exposit endlessly on their latest bureaucratic woes to anyone who would ask or even listen, with the result that none of the people he interacted with would express the slightest curiosity about their work any longer. Why did this beleaguered firm bother with the expense of maintaining a tiny satellite office in Krasnodar, where they had no current clients? It was a fascinating and complex question whose full answer nobody had yet had the patience to sit through. Whatever it was, nobody could doubt that Pyotr was a hard worker who spent most of his day sending and answering messages by mail, phone, or computer.

    He was not, however, such a masochist as to routinely come into the office on weekends. The 9<sup>th</sup> of March found him at home with Teresa, watching television and sending out innocuous text messages to various friends about town; Pyotr Maximovich Ignatyev was a generous fellow who could be relied upon to do the odd favor for a friend, or even an acquaintance. He received a call from one such friend in the early afternoon, letting him know of an interesting development in the Crimea. Pyotr thanked the man, hung up, looked into it, and immediately called his brother-in-law and asked him to look into property prices near Sennoi.

    ¡°I was doing that already,¡± Arkady told him.

    ¡°Ah. You have heard, then?¡±

    ¡°I have.¡±

    ¡°Has your research turned up anything promising yet?¡±

    ¡°Difficult to say.¡± Pyotr, not Arkady, was the public face of the firm for good reason.

    ¡°I see. Perhaps I should come over, brother.¡±

    ¡°If you like.¡± And he hung up.

    Ten minutes later Pyotr and Teresa were knocking on the door of Arkady¡¯s apartment. This was only a courtesy¡ªthey had their own key, and he would be too busy to come to the door. The little flat was a mess of loose papers, some blueprints and schematics but mostly old letters and forms, held down by equally old books used as paperweights. As the designated recluse of their trio, Arkady was the natural guardian of their few sensitive written materials; anybody who felt like digging through the mess for hours would make a number of sensational discoveries, buried inside one drawer of one ancient and overstuffed file cabinet.

    Arkady himself was ensconced in a torn armchair, his eyes closed, breathing slowly, his cat curled up in his lap. His old Makarov, which usually lived in another filing cabinet, was stuffed in between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair. Pyotr made sure his wife had closed and locked the door behind her before he said, ¡°Are they active?¡±

    ¡°Not anymore. Half an hour ago.¡± He sounded as though he were talking in his sleep. Pyotr tiptoed past the clutter to look at the map on his ottoman, marked with conjectural scribbles. Arkady was gifted, but not the best, and this was truly extreme range for his, or anyone else¡¯s, talents.

    Pyotr had already gained more information than this on their way here: the bridge was destroyed, the defending force defeated, the hostage released. Annoyingly, the defending emissor¡ªCrimea¡¯s, not their own Lamprey¡¯s¡ªseemed to have survived, though he was badly injured, along with one or more of the Marshall children. Pyotr left Arkady to sink further into trance, and joined his wife by the window.

    ¡°Nobody seems to have followed us,¡± she said, watching the pedestrian traffic and their parked car.

    ¡°Why would they, my sweet? We have worked so very hard to be so very boring. Do you doubt my skill at discouraging interest?¡±

    ¡°I have not survived this long by refusing to doubt.¡± She had one hand inside her coat, where Pyotr knew she had her little pipe hidden. She was right, of course. Everything was a calculated risk. Bringing the pipe meant they were prepared for more contingencies, but more vulnerable to a random search of their persons. Not using it here left them vulnerable to electronic bugs, but did not expose them to clairvoyance.

    These were small risks, very small¡ªbut a tiny risk, taken a thousand times, was no longer so small. Personally, Pyotr found it all invigorating, but he knew he was strange. He also knew he would start pacing again if he did not find something to do with his energy, so he called Mr. Ivan Leskov, the construction supervisor for the project in Volgograd.

    He answered on the first ring. ¡°I am aware of the situation. What do you need?¡±

    ¡°I was wondering if the permits had come in for Mr. Mishin¡¯s group.¡±

    A pause. ¡°I agree that Mishin¡¯s group would be very helpful. I am less sure that they are worth the cost, for this particular job.¡±

    ¡°We have them on retainer, Vanya. We might as well use them.¡±

    ¡°Our budget is limited for their kind of work.¡±

    ¡°But the results?¡±

    ¡°Are probably worth it,¡± Leskov admitted with a sigh. ¡°Very well. Make it happen.¡± And he hung up.

    Teresa looked up from her window with a smile. ¡°We¡¯re using the Scions, then?¡±

    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s a perfect opportunity. Arkady, still nothing?¡± A grunt, and a shake of the head. ¡°Keep at it.¡± He went into the kitchen for the next call, so as not to distract him further. Conversations with ¡°Mishin¡± tended to run long, and this one was no exception; he didn¡¯t get off the phone for twenty minutes. By the time he got back, Arkady was leaning over the map, drawing fresh circles in a new color.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get excited,¡± Teresa cautioned. ¡°It¡¯s just the Lamprey.¡±

    ¡°Damn. I thought we had her tied up in Sochi?¡± Using ¡®we¡¯ loosely, of course; the recent disturbances were the work of their colleagues in Georgia, whom none of them had personally met.

    ¡°We did. This was major enough to bring her back up.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we got a good look at her this time?¡±

    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve heard, no. We don¡¯t have what we¡¯d need in place to kill her, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Perkele.¡± They¡¯d actually uncovered her identity, back in 2011, and put a good-sized bullet in her. It had bought them four months sans interference while she went away for treatment, plastic surgery, and a fresh identity. Now all they could say was that the oprichnik for this region was almost certainly still a woman. Unless the surgery had been very radical indeed ¡­

    ¡°And the Scions?¡± Teresa prompted.

    ¡°Are ready to intercept. But they need somewhere to look, first.¡± He waved his hand over the map. ¡°And they can¡¯t act anywhere where that damned slippery eel might be.¡± Now he really was pacing. ¡°Could we draw her away?¡±

    ¡°She would know it was a diversion, and we cannot cause more damage than the children could, in her absence.¡±

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    ¡°True. But that is no reason not to try.¡± He got his phone back out, and looked down at the map again, at a scribble to their southeast. ¡°What was she doing bringing the Lamprey out in ¡­ Maykop? Are they there? How could they have slipped past us so soon?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s at least three hundred kilometers from the bridge. Do they have an airplane?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± Pyotr laughed. ¡°Thank you for grounding my wild fancies, dear heart.¡±

    ¡°You are welcome,¡± she said, perusing the map. ¡°I am sure Vanya Leskov is handling it.¡±

    ¡°In fact,¡± Pyotr mused, ¡°It might have been something he ordered that brought her out in Maykop. I should have thought of that myself.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you should have.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Where would they be headed, then? Novorossiysk is the closest large city, easiest to get lost in¡ªbut do they want a large city? It is also obvious, and will have the most military presence. But will they think of that? It¡¯s a difficult question. Their most immediate need will be safety, a place to hide, but one of them is injured¡ªhow badly, we don¡¯t know. Maybe dead. Will they rank the life of one comrade over the safety of the rest? Quite possibly. They are young, and have known each other some time. And the only one who can be injured permanently is their healer, whose survival would be paramount for tactical reasons anyway ¡­¡±

    Teresa let him babble; she knew it was only his way of thinking things through. Arkady too remained silent in his trance while Pyotr bounced around his apartment, raising and discarding plans and possibilities. If they had not both learned to ignore or at least tolerate his habits, their cadre would have collapsed years ago; anyway, they were just as glad that the affliction of authority had fallen on him, not them.

    He came to a decision in less than five minutes. ¡°The Lamprey will not risk anything audacious under the circumstances. They are not contained, or able to be contained, as they were on that bridge, so a battle could cause mass casualties. She will rely on her security apparatus to smoke them out, then strike surgically. That will be our point of attack.¡±

    ¡°So, diversion?¡± Teresa was pale, but calm. That was one virtue of doing all your hardest thinking out loud: it gave everyone time to accept your conclusion before you had presented it.

    ¡°Yes, my love. The Scions are better equipped to find them than we are, unless they become active. But they cannot search effectively under the noses of the military and the police. These children have far more power than anything we, or any other asset in this region, can offer. The logic is clear. Do you contest it?¡±

    For once, she did not. In fact, she did not say anything at all. There was no need. ¡°Then I will drive, this time. Arkady¡ªAare¡ªyou are in charge. Let us know if you make contact.¡± He slapped his notional brother-in-law on the shoulder, checked the Makarov to be sure he had not forgotten to load it again, and left with his wife.

    They embraced, too briefly, in the stairwell leading down to the street. It was all the time they could spare. They had another drive to retrieve her larger and more dangerous pipe, with its cache of ectoplasm, from its hiding place. Pyotr drove there one-handed, so that he could work his phone with the other.

    His first call was to Ivan Leskov, who confirmed his plan and agreed that now was a fine time for their little architectural business to divest itself of all Russian assets. Indeed he was already hauling luggage out to his car when Pyotr called, so that he was panting through the whole conversation. Pyotr was sure Vanya would have a very interesting report to give to his superiors in Brussels.

    ¡°Our Vanya is a fine fellow, don¡¯t you think?¡± he said as he ended the call.

    ¡°Is now the time for such talk?¡±

    ¡°Probably not,¡± he agreed, and pulled up his next contact. The next conversation was equally to the point, and again Pyotr found the colleague he was contacting already in motion. They truly were blessed with intelligent and perceptive allies, who could see what needed to be done and act with all speed. But then, he himself had not been chosen for particular cleverness or insight. Really, Pyotr was just a very talented trader of favors. ¡°Maykop was Alyosha¡¯s work,¡± he reported to his wife when he was done.

    ¡°I am not surprised.¡±

    ¡°Four simultaneous car-bombs, and they shot up city hall and a courthouse. Excellent initiative. The Lamprey had no choice but to intervene.¡±

    ¡°Alyosha had four cars ready that quickly?¡±

    ¡°I gather his boys were planning something anyway. This only moved the timetable forward. Unfortunately, they will be unable to help us further. Alyosha himself may be dead.¡±

    ¡°A shame.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± But he was already making his next call.

    By the time Teresa had the tools she needed, Pyotr had a fairly solid plan and timetable in place. It did not deviate much from established doctrine; the first target would be the one requiring the most protracted and subtle action on their part. The rest of the list, which they might not get to, would be brief and brazen.

    Unfortunately they did not have any really reliable allies in place near the Bebrovich Security Complex; he had to settle for a minor street gang who happened to have friends inside. Teresa sent fifteen or so of her little pets into the building to blast open walls and burn out critical systems, and the hoodlums did their best to help the delighted escapees find their way to shelter. Of course a few guards were killed in the process, but nothing to touch Alyosha¡¯s accomplishment, which irked him. But then, as Teresa reminded him, they were only getting started.

    He forced himself to drive slowly and calmly to the next target, the local commandant¡¯s headquarters. They had no allies there, and did not need any; Teresa simply spent the entire contents of her pipe to send a good-sized black dog over the wall and through the window as they drove by. They heard the first shots before they got a block away, and many more followed, but Teresa assured him that the dog was quite bulletproof and could gnaw through concrete if it pleased. Pyotr gallantly refilled the pipe¡ªshe had taught him how, long ago, and he was gratified to find he still remembered¡ªwhile she set it rampaging through the building. At least a score of men fell before the survivors went running out into the street in a panic. The dog howled in its victory, making a noise like an air-raid siren, then spent the last of its strength in a terrific explosion. A good bit of work, but it took some time.

    He was less circumspect with his driving to the airbase, whose fuel storage facilities they detonated en passant, and then the city¡¯s largest police station, where a three-meter-long flying worm of fire took down the load-bearing walls in less than a minute. The power plant went the same way, but quicker, as heaps of stored coal went up in flames. And they still had a fair store of ectoplasm remaining. The true difficulty would come when that ran out.

    This was only Krasnodar, the local capital. Similar mischief would be playing out on a different scale across the region. Pyotr knew his wife was not the only piper in the region; Vanya Leskov had rescued at least a couple of disgruntled players from the purge five years ago. He wondered how they felt about coming out of hiding to save emissors like the men who had sought to destroy them. Or were they being used at all? If Leskov was keeping a couple of cards in reserve, Pyotr would not blame him. Something had to be left to help the children; this was the chance of a generation, and would not come again.

    Pyotr already knew roughly how his part would end, Maykop being so close to Krasnodar. They were en route to the army¡¯s local motor pool when he got the call from Arkady, letting him know a sizable and familiar halo had appeared within city limits. The call cut out halfway through, and Pyotr was unable to call him back. This was useful; it gave him a fairly clear idea where the Lamprey¡¯s halo was, far better than his friend¡¯s laconic description. As for Arkady, he could take care of himself. They had no way to recognize his face, that Pyotr knew of.

    There was no further need or use for the kind of sporadic destruction they had been employing thus far. He pulled over into a grocery store¡¯s parking lot to give his wife a long, passionate kiss. ¡°Are you ready, my dainty little nightingale?¡±

    ¡°Always.¡± Even now, she had an eye on the window, watching to see if they were watched. ¡°We might take her down for good, this time.¡±

    They almost certainly would not. But he did not say so; she knew it better than he did. Despite her long claims to the contrary, he thought many things he did not say. He tried to put more of them into another kiss. Three years of marriage¡ªthe real marriage, behind the front¡ªwere really not enough. He knew that if he thought on it longer he would get teary-eyed, and she would scold him for a ninny. So he did not.

    ¡°She¡¯s at the east end of the city, near the reservoir. What do you think?¡±

    Teresa shook her head. ¡°The Lamprey will have her own espers. I can lure her. I¡¯m sure she still has a grudge. But I don¡¯t know where.¡±

    The reservoir ¡­ ¡°We could take out the dam and drown her?¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°This is not an action movie, you goose.¡±

    ¡°True enough. But I have no other ideas. I suppose we shall have to improvise.¡±

    ¡°Why should now be any different?¡±

    ¡°It has worked so well,¡± he agreed. ¡°Stay with me, love of my life. Straight through to the other side.¡± He reached out to take her hand, and together they put the car back in gear.

 LXXXI. Down and Out (Nadia)

    They spent the night in the back of their one remaining truck, huddled together in a heap with every scrap of cloth they had. Nadia slept in stretches of five or ten minutes, awakened every now and then by Fatima stirring beside her, or Ruslan groaning, or basically any noise, real or imagined. More often than not, it was only a car passing down the road some distance away, paying no notice to them at all. Nadia still checked, every time.

    Shortly after sunrise, Nadia lifted her head at the sound of yet another noise, and rubbed the fog off one window pane to see Fatima puffing and splashing the icy cold waters of the Sea of Azov over her arms and face. It seemed too mild for attempted suicide, yet too extreme for a coffee substitute¡ªespecially once she took off her shoes and dipped her feet in as well. Then she put her shoes back on and minced out to stand in the empty field behind their car, turning so the rising sun was to her left. When she lifted her hands to her head, Nadia understood, and flopped back down to try to sleep.

    It didn¡¯t work; she was too awake, it was too cold, Ruslan was snoring right in her ear, everything stank, and she had to pee. After maybe one minute staring at the car¡¯s roof, she got up and joined her sister. By then Fatima was kneeling in the grass, and Nadia simply stood there to keep her company in silence. It would be good for her to pray too, but in her own way¡ªfacing east, to the rising sun and the world to come. Fatima finished before she did, and likewise kept the morning¡¯s peace, still facing the other way.

    Once Nadia lowered her hands, Fatima reached out to hold the right one in her left, and Nadia gripped back. The sun was halfway over the horizon now, and the wind off the sea was bitter cold, but the morning was lovely, and it wouldn¡¯t come again. She was pretty sure it was Sunday. Church bells would be ringing in a couple of hours.

    Fatima spoke first. ¡°Rus isn¡¯t waking up, is he?¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡± Fatima hand clenched for a second, then relaxed. ¡°It¡¯s only been a day.¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s not getting any better.¡±

    ¡°¡­ no.¡±

    ¡°Shit.¡± Fatima let go, and turned back to look at the water crashing on the beach. It was the most secluded spot they could find on short notice. ¡°What are we going to do?¡±

    ¡°It hasn¡¯t gone all bad,¡± Nadia said. ¡°We made it out alive. We beat the emissor. And if Ruslan isn¡¯t getting any better, he isn¡¯t getting any worse either.¡±

    ¡°Any worse that we can see,¡± Fatima corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the hell¡¯s going on in his brain, do you? And he groans when you move him. He could have internal bleeding somewhere, and we¡¯d never know.¡±

    ¡°No. But ¡­ we are alive. And we dealt Yefimov and his masters a heavy, heavy blow. We should count our blessings.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re only alive because your idiot brother happened to find a random girl, who happened to be important, and he happened to get a crazy-ass idea that happened, this one time, to be the one and only right move. If we hadn¡¯t had her that son of a bitch would have fragged all five of us before we even knew he was there. And we don¡¯t have the girl anymore.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way we could have kept hidden with her trying to escape at every stop, or trying to get people¡¯s attention. Anyway, there wasn¡¯t space in the truck.¡±

    ¡°I know, girl. That¡¯s not the point. The point is, we got lucky once. We can¡¯t count on that happening again. Maybe we used it up, all we¡¯re gonna get.¡±

    ¡°Do you believe in luck? Just luck?¡±

    ¡°Figure of speech. I believe that if you keep rolling a die, you might get a six twice in a row, but you¡¯ll definitely roll a one eventually. The will of Allah is a whole other thing from that.¡±

    ¡°But we aren¡¯t dice. This isn¡¯t a game. And I¡¯m not afraid. Not that afraid,¡± she amended, when Fatima¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°God sees everything, you know that. He knows what will happen before it does. Is it that strange to think that ¡­ that even the kidnapping worked out in the end, because He can account for Yuri¡¯s madness? Even bad choices can have good effects.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t need to be worrying about that right now¡ª¡±

    ¡°If not now, when?¡±

    Fatima plowed on through. ¡°We need food, shelter, and a doctor for Rus. All things we¡¯re not getting while you talk theology on this cold-ass beach.¡±

    ¡°Fatima, please. This is important. We¡¯ve accomplished so much! Even now they might be talking about withdrawing from Fatih. Do you really think this is all just a set of dumb accidents? Don¡¯t you see a purpose at work, behind everything that has happened?¡±

    ¡°Honestly? No. No, I don¡¯t. Not the way you mean it, anyway. You¡¯re just trying to fit everything into your nice story where everything we do turns out all right, so you feel better about how screwed we are. Whatever. You can believe whatever you want, but I¡¯m going to stick to the things I know for sure, and what I know is that Ruslan¡¯s in shit shape and we ain¡¯t got half a plan to fix him.¡±

    Fatima could be so stubborn sometimes. But this, too, might be something that needed to happen. ¡°We can start by finding food,¡± she said.

    ¡°We¡¯re pretty much broke.¡±

    ¡°So find a charity. A soup kitchen, or a food bank. People usually don¡¯t want to let children starve.¡±

    ¡°¡­ it¡¯s a start. I guess.¡±

    Yuri and Maria were already awake, and in the truck¡¯s front seats; Ruslan was still lying in the blanket-wad across the lowered backseat they¡¯d been using for a bed. He, and all the blankets, smelled like urine, and maybe something worse. Nadia could smell the same stench on herself, and her hair was a horrid, snarled mess. Yuri, Maria, and Fatima looked terrible too. They would have little trouble passing for beggars.

    Fatima bent over to put a hand on Ruslan¡¯s forehead; he mumbled but didn¡¯t wake. ¡°He¡¯s cold,¡± she said. ¡°What the hell happened to him, anyway? He¡¯s not bleeding anymore.¡±

    ¡°Everything¡¯s cold,¡± Yuri said from the passenger seat. ¡°Like me. I¡¯m cold. Can we fix that?¡±

    ¡°The wounds were just little shards,¡± Nadia said, pulling up the blankets to look him over. ¡°Not very deep. Maybe he hit his head when the truck fell apart?¡±

    ¡°Of course he hit his head. But why¡¯s he doing this?¡± Fatima prodded his stomach, very lightly, and he groaned, then coughed and gagged. They both drew back, but he¡¯d thrown up several times, and there was nothing left to come up. He¡¯d already stained the upholstery with bloody vomit. ¡°Shit. This looks bad.¡±

    ¡°Food first,¡± Nadia said. ¡°We can ask about clinics while we eat.¡± It sounded selfish, but food was the problem they might know how to solve. They had no money to pay for treatment and any doctor they saw would ask questions they didn¡¯t know how to answer.

    They had a quarter-tank of gas, and not quite enough money to fill it again. Maria drove slowly into the nearest town, where they parked behind a tiny thrift store that didn¡¯t open on Sundays. They were all wretchedly hungry¡ªit had been more than eighteen hours since their last meal¡ªbut Fatima stayed behind to keep an eye on Ruslan, since she didn¡¯t speak Russian. Yuri consented to stay as well, after a good deal of browbeating; they needed somebody who could make excuses for any nosy authorities who dropped by, and he seemed marginally less likely to make trouble if stayed put.

    That left Nadia and Maria to scout the small, rural town. If the prospects for charity weren¡¯t very good, it was at least not the kind of place where they would have to worry about a heavy police presence. Hardly any of the roads were more than two lanes, and some weren¡¯t even paved; businesses were few and far between, mostly corner cafes and newspaper stands, all closed. Their one phone had apparently run out its prepaid plan sometime in the last two days, so they couldn¡¯t even search the internet for clues. There was nothing for it but to walk.

    Nadia peeked at Maria through the tangled mess of her hair, remembering how fine and polished she had looked when they first met, in designer clothes, sunglasses, and a leather jacket. Now she stank like a beggar and her shirt was speckled with dried blood. Nadia hated to think how vile she must look herself, if her brother¡¯s pampered concubine was so bedraggled.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    They trudged in silence for several minutes before they came across a well-dressed lady walking her dog. She gave them a doubtful look, and tried to pass them on the other side of the street, but Maria flagged her down and asked her if she could spare any money or food. The lady wrinkled her nose as the wind shifted to blow her way, but told them a church down the street kept bags of food to give away to the poor. They went to the church, and found it closed; the first morning service wouldn¡¯t even start for another hour and a half.

    ¡°Why are we doing this?¡± Maria complained as they moved on. ¡°You have ¨¦zarine. You could get us all the food we wanted for free.¡±

    ¡°They will have clairvoyants on alert,¡± Nadia reminded her. ¡°The first familiar to go up will bring the oprichnik down on our heads.¡± And I am not a thief.

    ¡°Did you see how that woman looked at us? We do not belong here. It¡¯s only a matter of time before they call the police on us, and we will have no explanation of who we are or what we are doing.¡±

    She had a point, one Nadia refused to address. Instead they kept walking, searching in vain for a place with open doors or people with open hearts. Nobody they met was any more receptive than the lady with the dog, and Nadia belatedly remembered, after so long in the Muslim world, how dead the average Russian town was on a Sunday morning. The people who weren¡¯t getting ready for church now would be hung over and sleeping in. But she didn¡¯t want to return to the truck and tell the others that they had accomplished nothing. The next little town was unlikely to be any better, and a big city like Krasnodar would be swarming with government agents if it wasn¡¯t locked down entirely.

    Still, there seemed to be little point in looking any more. Her legs were weak and wobbly. She got them ¡°downtown,¡± such as it was¡ªa strip two blocks wide, where townhouses replaced normal homes, and the roads had four lanes¡ªand sat down on a park bench. Perhaps she would find a church, and stand in the back during services, and see if they would give her something to eat after. That wouldn¡¯t get them any closer to care for Ruslan, or to finding a safe place to sleep, or a bath, but it would be something ¡­ wouldn¡¯t it?

    Maria sat down beside her. ¡°I don¡¯t think I remember the way back to the truck. Do you?¡±

    Nadia put her dizzy head in her hands. ¡°No.¡±

    Maria sighed. ¡°You have known your brother longer than I have. You tell me how long he will wait, hungry and idle, in one place.¡±

    Not long. And then all this tiptoeing would be for nothing. ¡°What do you want me to do? Rob a restaurant?¡±

    ¡°I want you to do something, anything! Do you want to starve? Or let your adopted brother die?¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t pretend you care about him,¡± Nadia replied, more weary than angry.

    ¡°I don¡¯t. I care about staying alive, so I was trying to talk to the part of you that isn¡¯t crazy. I am tired of this sneaking nonsense, and your prissy posturing. I have helped you for two weeks now. I got you out of Syria alive, and kept your mad brother from making trouble for you. I offered you a chance at a comfortable life, far from your enemies, where I and my family would help you. You turned me down, but I stayed with you, to give you a chance. Now we are in the back end of the Black Sea, hundreds of miles from any of my contacts, stinking of piss and vomit, and afraid for our lives, and I am done with it. You made this mess, you and your stupid crusade. Get us out of it, or I walk.¡±

    ¡°You walk?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I walk. There are people here who would pay me very well for news about you. That is my best plan for providing myself with what I need to live. I don¡¯t want to, but I will if you make me. Give me a better way, or I walk.¡±

    Nadia swallowed, leaned back against the bench, and tried to think. Her first reaction was to tell Maria they would be glad to be rid of her, but that obviously wouldn¡¯t do. She couldn¡¯t threaten to hurt her, either; Maria had to know Nadia didn¡¯t have it in her to kill someone who wasn¡¯t an immediate threat, and anyway that would mean using ¨¦zarine.

    She could threaten to tell the others what she¡¯d said, but if she was threatening to leave already, why should she care? Anyway, she couldn¡¯t be sure that Yuri wouldn¡¯t take his woman¡¯s side. Even Fatima would only stick with Nadia because Maria was on the other side. She might be thinking of using Mister Higgins right this moment, as they sat on this bench and bickered.

    There was, possibly, some other, better option on the table, and she just wasn¡¯t seeing it because she was tired and weak and short on sleep. God, is there another way? I have tried to do right. Please, just show me. But no inspiration came.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t make you come along, you know.¡± She said it slowly, to buy time. ¡°None of us did. We didn¡¯t promise you anything.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you to. And I didn¡¯t promise you anything, either. But I did help you, your whole family, and I am promising you now that if you do not start acting like a professional I will give you reason to regret it.¡±

    ¡°A professional? Is that what you call it?¡±

    ¡°I mean someone who takes their survival seriously. Use whatever word you want, just do it. Now.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± She pushed herself to her feet, almost angry enough to call ¨¦zarine already. She didn¡¯t know what this girl was playing at; if they lived to get back to Fatima she would kill the foul schemer for sure. But that was if Nadia told her about this. Would she? She honestly didn¡¯t know, at the moment. ¡°Shall we rob a Russian place, or would you prefer to steal foreign food?¡±

    ¡°Stop being childish, we aren¡¯t breaking into a restaurant.¡± Maria stood up and crossed her arms. ¡°We passed a drugstore a few minutes ago, and it wasn¡¯t open. Take me there.¡±

    ¡°A drugstore? What for? We need food!¡±

    ¡°Most of them sell a little packaged food¡ªcookies and chips, soda. More importantly, they carry soap, and all kinds of drugs. Narcotics open more doors than plain money. Which we could also get, from the safe.¡±

    ¡°And you expect me to go along with that? No. I am not a gangster.¡±

    ¡°No, you are a fool. And if you will not do what you need to to take care of yourself, then I am done with you. Goodbye.¡±

    Maria got all of three steps before the keystone sequence started. ¨¦zarine appeared in front of her before she could take another step, and punched her hard in the stomach. She doubled over, and fell to the ground crying. Nadia waited for three heartbeats to see if she got back up; when she didn¡¯t, ¨¦zarine hauled her to her feet, dropped her back on the bench, and disappeared.

    Before Maria could get her breath back, Nadia grabbed her by her knotted hair, and hauled her head up so she could snarl in her face: ¡°There. You forced my hand, and got nothing you wanted. Now there will be maniacs with guns after us. I hope you¡¯re happy. We are going back to the others, together, where I will tell them what you did, and they will decide what we are going to do with you. I don¡¯t know what that is, but if you give me any more trouble or try to threaten me I will bring ¨¦zarine right back and make her break all your fingers. Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t mean it. Now, move.¡±

    To her surprise, the girl complied without comment. Maybe she was used to being threatened with violence, growing up in such a horrible family, but Nadia couldn¡¯t spare any pity for her. She was too busy making sure the girl didn¡¯t make any noises, or try to signal anyone for help. She hadn¡¯t heard any car crashes, and didn¡¯t see anyone peeking out their windows. Most likely they would be phoning the authorities; there was no way people here didn¡¯t recognize a halo, and they would be on alert already. She had to get as much distance as possible between her and the place where ¨¦zarine came out, even if it wouldn¡¯t make any difference. It was hard to believe now that the day had begun so peacefully.

    Unfortunately, she¡¯d been telling the truth; she didn¡¯t remember where they¡¯d left the truck at all. Not even the basic direction. She felt stupid, but she didn¡¯t. So she dragged her brother¡¯s limping, whimpering girlfriend down the street in the direction that looked most familiar, hoping something would jog her memory before Maria recovered enough to do something stupid.

    Two minutes later, Maria was done sniffling, but hissed softly with every step, occasionally biting out something nasty in Arabic under her breath. Her muscles were tense against Nadia¡¯s arm, which worried her; it made her wonder if she was planning something. ¡°I can make her hit you in the same spot twice,¡± she whispered in her ear. ¡°Whatever you¡¯re thinking, don¡¯t try it.¡± Dear God, help me now or give me a fast and painless death, and forgive me for whatever I did to earn it. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy¡­

    A white car pulled up alongside them, and the driver rolled down his window to stick his head out. ¡°Are the two of you all right?¡± he asked. ¡°Your friend looks hurt.¡±

    Nadia looked the man over. About fifty, she thought, and thin, with glasses and a beard. Dressed all in black, except for a bit of white around the collar. ¡°I think something is wrong with her stomach. Are you a priest?¡±

    The man smiled, faintly. ¡°After a fashion. But a girl who moves like that shouldn¡¯t be walking. Will you come with me? My home is not far, and we can have her lie down, get her some ginger tea.¡±

    ¡°Ginger tea,¡± she repeated, without meaning to.

    ¡°Yes. It is good for the stomach. I have food, as well. Are you hungry?¡±

    ¡°I could eat,¡± she admitted. The timing of this was ridiculously convenient¡ªbut then, she had asked for help right away, hadn¡¯t she? And she didn¡¯t think a state agent would have stopped to dress up as a priest before coming to grab her. ¡°Weren¡¯t you headed to your church?¡±

    ¡°My denomination doesn¡¯t have its own church yet, so we meet at my home. I was just out to pick up some food for after the service.¡± He pointed to a couple of plastic bags in his passenger seat. So not all the stores were closed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have a church yet?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re a small group, and still growing.¡± He fished up a silver chain from under his shirt; instead of a cross it bore an ornament like a sun, with many pointed arrows for rays. It meant nothing to her. ¡°But we really don¡¯t need to talk in the street like this. It¡¯s chilly, and your friend looks like she¡¯s about to fall over.¡±

    As if on cue, Maria groaned, and nodded, holding her stomach. Nadia managed not to roll her eyes. It seemed ridiculous, that a state agent would not just dress up as a priest, but as a heretical priest of some bizarre splinter sect. And wasn¡¯t she just scolding Fatima, for believing in simple luck? Maybe the priest was here to test her faith. Or maybe he was just a random pervert who liked little girls. Anyway, unless he was an emissor, ¨¦zarine could take him down as easily as he had Maria¡ªor Titus. And she had no obvious better options. That decided her. ¡°All right. Hold on, Maria. This man will help make you better.¡±

    Maria obediently staggered into the back seat, and let Nadia get in beside her without remark. Apparently she would go along with anything that might get food in her stomach. The priest, as it turned out, was telling the truth; less than two minutes later, after a very sedate drive, they pulled up to a tidy little brick house. He welcomed them in, belatedly introducing himself as ¡°Anatarkhont Pavel,¡± and helped Nadia wrestle an increasingly limp Maria up his front steps.

    Just before she stepped inside, she noticed a little brass plaque beside the door. It was easy enough to overlook, and hadn¡¯t been polished in ages, but she could still make out the words: §à§ä§á§â§í§ã§Ü§Ú §á§à§ã§Ý§Ö§Õ§ß§Ö§Ô§à §Õ§ß§ñ. Otpryski Poslednego Dnya. ¡°Offspring of the Last Day¡±? No, that sounded stupid. Possibly ¡°heirs¡± or ¡°scions¡± was more what they were going for. Well, they could be as strange as they liked. They weren¡¯t asking her to join, after all.

 LXXXII. Keeping the Faith (Nadia)

    ¡°This still doesn¡¯t solve our main problem,¡± Maria said as she came out of the bathroom with a towel around her hair. A sizable cloud of steam drifted out before she closed the door again.

    ¡°You are my main problem now,¡± Nadia snipped back¡ªbut she kept an eye on the stairs, in case any more of the Scions felt like coming up to check on them.

    ¡°What are you talking about? That little scene in the park? I was only bluffing, you know.¡± Her smile had to be calculated for the absolute maximum level of condescension. ¡°You take everything too seriously.¡±

    There was no point in wasting time on retorts¡ªnot when the shower was open now, and a second towel on the rack. But she made sure to bump against Maria¡¯s shoulder, hard, on her way in. A petty little victory was still a victory.

    She turned the tap as hot as it would go¡ªthen hissed, flinched back, and turned it a little lower after all. It was probably a mistake to leave Maria unsupervised, but now that her stomach was reasonably full and she wasn¡¯t shivering in the wind, her next priority was to become clean, even if the only clothes she had to change back into were too big, donations from a girl a couple of years older than her. Which was itself concerning; why were they being so nice? Christian charity didn¡¯t usually go this far.

    Then again, it might not be Christian charity at all. She thought she heard the droning hymns starting up again, but couldn¡¯t be sure over the noise of the blessedly hot water. Certainly she couldn¡¯t make out any words. ¡®Anatarkhont¡¯ Pavel had been vague when she asked what his sect actually believed, saying only that the official Church didn¡¯t like them very much and that they had to keep a low profile. As soon as the first few of his parishioners arrived, he¡¯d retreated with them into his closed study, and settled into a long, low conversation.

    Every person to come in after had disappeared into the same study¡ªwhich had to be getting cramped by now¡ªthough not before asking Nadia and Maria if there was anything they could do for them. Offering them more of the priest¡¯s food, inviting them to use his shower. As if they really were at home here.

    Well, that was their business. Hers was her family, and she couldn¡¯t think of a good way to ask these people to invite in three more beggar-children, one of them obviously ill, all hanging out in a random truck she couldn¡¯t find again. They¡¯d been gone for an awfully long time now, and she didn¡¯t like to think of all the things that might have happened in their absence. If she could only get up the nerve to ask for more food for the road, she might make her way back to the truck, and they could tackle the bigger problem of Ruslan.

    She washed the last of the shampoo out of her hair, and with great regret turned off the tap. Maria was waiting for her outside the bathroom. ¡°You took long enough.¡±

    ¡°No longer than you. Are you ready to go?¡±

    ¡°Past ready. I don¡¯t trust these people. Have you noticed the way they look at us?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not members of their church, and they are used to being treated with suspicion. Of course they keep their eyes on us.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s just it¡ªthey don¡¯t look suspicious. They keep making these soppy faces at me when they think I¡¯m not looking.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Soppy¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to describe it. Like big puppies. Or cultists, which they are.¡±

    ¡°We have no idea what they believe,¡± Nadia said, without conviction. They were very nice people, but also very strange. A little too friendly and cheerful. Nadia herself had accepted their food with some misgivings, in case it was drugged or poisoned. ¡°Anyway, we should go. You had a point about Yuri.¡±

    The prayer meeting, or whatever it was, was finally finished, and about fifteen people were gathered around the priest¡¯s living room while several others made tea and prepared snacks in his kitchen. The latter group looked over as they came off the landing, wearing their new, clean, ridiculously baggy clothes. Father Pavel (what was an ¡®Anatarkhont¡¯, anyway?) rose from his sofa to intercept them as they looked around for their jackets.

    ¡°Your old clothes are in the wash now,¡± he told them. ¡°I have a modern dryer, and it will not take long before they are clean and dry.¡±

    The girls exchanged a look; was this a deliberate delay? Maria took the lead. ¡°You have been very kind, but we have friends waiting for us, and they must be worried. We need to leave soon.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I, or one of my parishioners, can drive you wherever you wish to go.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not necessary,¡± Nadia told him. If all this was a ruse to find out where the others were, she wasn¡¯t falling for it. ¡°We couldn¡¯t put you to that much trouble.¡±

    ¡°What trouble?¡± he said. ¡°We gather here from all over town; it might take one of us a block or two out of his way, little more. Would you like a little more to eat?¡±

    ¡°We might take something for our friends,¡± she told him, to put off the subject of rides. ¡°They will be hungry too.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, and hurried off to the kitchen. ¡°We have plenty, and you can take a good supply with you, by car. Far more than you could on foot.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s being pushy,¡± Maria muttered in her ear as she stood in the hall, dumbfounded. ¡°We should leave now, and forget the rest of it.¡±

    ¡°You were ready to abandon us because I wouldn¡¯t break into a drugstore, and now you¡¯re freaking out because he¡¯s giving us too much?¡±

    ¡°Why do you keep going on about that? It¡¯s not my fault you¡¯re too gullible. But no, I¡¯d rather not get tied up and have my throat cut to summon whatever insane thing they believe in.¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re being stupid,¡± Nadia scolded, though she wished the scenario wasn¡¯t so easy to picture. She went into the kitchen to see if she could get some more tea; a hot drink would make the outdoors easier to face. The priest was busy stuffing plastic bags full of bread, crackers, cheese, fruit, and whatever else came to hand, but one of his followers got her a cup.

    Even that was unnerving; the lady¡¯s gaze did seem to linger on her a bit longer and more often than necessary, and not in the way you¡¯d expect someone to look at some rag-bag their pastor scraped off the sidewalk for pity. The woman should have either been watching her like a hungry cat to be sure she didn¡¯t steal anything, or giving her pamphlets and trying to save her soul. Or else studiously ignoring her. Instead it was as if she couldn¡¯t help staring.

    Suddenly the front door slammed open behind her; Nadia yelped, dropped her tea, and took cover behind the refrigerator. Peering around its corner she saw two people, a short, dark-haired woman and an intimidatingly large and brawny man, step inside. They hadn¡¯t bothered to close the door, and the wind set the woman¡¯s long black coat flapping around her legs as she looked over the kitchen and living room. ¡°Who is in charge here?¡± she said.

    The priest dropped his bags on the counter and ran over to speak with her. He spoke softly but urgently, and Nadia caught nothing but his introducing himself and the fierce cadence of the woman¡¯s reply. The man behind her said nothing, and presently shut his eyes. It fell to one of the parishioners to squeeze in behind him and finally shut the door; he appeared not to notice, and might have fallen asleep on his feet.

    As for Maria, she was already edging slowly down the hall, her eyes on the door connecting the living room to the priest¡¯s small backyard. It seemed like a good idea, though Nadia couldn¡¯t guess how she was going to use it inconspicuously. As nonchalantly as she could Nadia reached out and grabbed a couple of the plastic bags full of food, then sidled towards the same door. Annoyingly, half the eyes in the room were still on her, and not on the rude little woman and her pet giant who¡¯d just crashed their cult meeting.

    Said little woman then shoved the priest out of her way and stomped down the hall to confront Maria. She pulled a small metal object out of her coat and brandished it at the girl. ¡°Do you recognize this?¡±

    Maria, clearly at a loss, glanced back at Nadia, who tried not to meet her gaze, before looking back down at whatever-it-was. ¡°It¡¯s a kind of flute?¡± she guessed.

    The little woman tch¡¯ed and pushed past her without another word, her eyes fixing on Nadia instead. ¡°What about you?¡± she said, holding it up.

    She looked at it. It did indeed resemble a small wind instrument, but with too many fussy little keys and valves. Not quite the same as Keisha¡¯s ¡®piccolo,¡¯ but close enough. ¡°It is a versatile resonant impulse launcher,¡± she said, giving the last four words in English. She already had her wall up and ready to go, if she needed to hurt this woman to get away.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    The woman nodded, her jaw clenching as she looked Nadia over. ¡°You know it has been illegal to possess this device for the past four and a half years?¡±

    ¡°No. But I can believe it.¡±

    ¡°It is. Punishable by summary execution.¡± She tucked it away in her coat. ¡°You are Nadezhda Voronina Marshall?¡±

    ¡°Who wants to know?¡±

    ¡°Je m¡¯apelle Therese Bechard,¡± the woman said, stepping closer to get into Nadia¡¯s personal space. As she was quite short and Nadia tall for her age, they were nearly at eye level, but her raw anger made it intimidating. ¡°The man behind me is Aare, and you are wasting valuable time. I have just shown you, as well as I can, that I am not an agent of the Russian state. Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°This young lady came in with her,¡± Father Pavel offered, putting a hand on Maria¡¯s shoulder. Maria shook it off at once.

    ¡°Fatima, is it?¡± The woman wheeled around. ¡°Are you playing stupid?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Maria replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

    ¡°You would both be dead now if not for our intervention. Do you have any idea how much money¡ªand blood! So much blood!¡ªwe have spent to keep the Lamprey from devouring you and your family? How much we have lost to save you from your own bungling?¡±

    Maria shrugged. ¡°How much? And what is a lamprey? A kind of fish, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Nadia waved a hand to get the woman¡¯s attention. ¡°I don¡¯t understand either. Could you please tell us who you are and what you are doing here?¡±

    The woman¡¯s lips were very thin now, her dark eyes hard. ¡°Yesterday you and your family executed a mad, ambitious plan to sabotage Russian operations in the Crimea, brilliantly deciding to leave an isolated twenty-kilometer bridge as your last and only way off the peninsula before you came blundering into this region. At least one of you was injured in the process, possibly more. Possibly the two of you are the last survivors of your family, though I do not think so.

    ¡°My colleagues and I, who have been working discreetly and professionally to undermine the regime in this region for several years, were forced to expend most of our assets to distract the state security apparatus from hunting you down and killing you. My husband was among the dead, less than twenty-four hours ago.¡± Her eyes were bright, the voice tight, but the tears did not spill and she did not stop talking. ¡°It is now only a matter of time before the Lamprey regroups and kills the lot of you, thereby wasting everything we did. Unless you very quickly develop some sense.¡±

    ¡°The Lamprey is the local oprichnik?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Very dangerous.¡±

    ¡°As dangerous as the man we killed yesterday?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill him. All our sources agree: the oprichnik for the Crimea was badly injured, but survives as of last night.¡±

    Behind the woman¡¯s back, Maria looked indignant¡ªshe¡¯d shot the man herself¡ªbut didn¡¯t speak up. Nadia was having trouble absorbing all this at once, but the woman wasn¡¯t giving her time to think. ¡°You know what Yuri can do, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I have made myself very familiar with all four of you.¡±

    ¡°Then you know you will probably die, and get a lot of other people killed, if you do anything to threaten or frighten him. The longer I go without seeing him, the more likely he is to conclude we are hurt or in trouble, and do something impulsive. If you don¡¯t let us go, there will be trouble.¡±

    ¡°Let you go? Idiot child, I am trying to save your life! If we had not alerted these people¡ªif that man had not been in position to retrieve you when Aare detected your activity two hours ago¡ªyou would be running through the streets with dogs on your trail. Literal dogs. I hear you left two cars full of luggage at the bridge, including dirty clothing.¡±

    ¡°Dogs?¡± The night of that terrible first mission, sneaking through the ruins of Galata to cross over into Fatih, came back to her. ¡°They brought trackers here?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I saw several teams on our way over. The Lamprey is taking this very seriously.¡±

    If there were dogs out now, would they be able to smell Yuri, Fatima, or Ruslan through the closed car windows? Assuming they were still there after all this time. God knew they were all smelly enough to track. Which meant it was time to decide, fast. ¡°What was your name again?¡±

    ¡°I am Therese, and this is Aare,¡± she repeated with exaggerated patience. Aare still looked to be sleeping on his feet. ¡°You are Nadia, and that is Fatima? Leaving the two boys to account for. You threatened me with Yuri, so Ruslan was injured. The healer, naturally.¡±

    ¡°That is Maria,¡± Nadia corrected. There seemed little point in lying, and besides, it was pleasant to see her face contort with fury. ¡°She is a friend of Yuri¡¯s who helps us out.¡±

    Therese looked the girl over. ¡°You trust her?¡±

    ¡°No, not at all. But she is with us for the moment.¡±

    Therese shook her head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Where are the other three? This place isn¡¯t safe; the authorities know all about the Scions, even if they weren¡¯t taking them very seriously until now. We need to move you to a more sheltered location.¡±

    Nadia swallowed. This was it. If they had a better option, she wasn¡¯t seeing it. ¡°We left the others behind a store. I think it sold used clothing. I¡¯m not sure if I can find the way back¡ªdo you know this town?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± Therese grimaced, her eyes squeezing shut. ¡°Do you have any way of contacting them?¡±

    ¡°No. Phones could be tracked.¡±

    Therese stamped her foot. ¡°How are you even still alive? You¡ªthe priest!¡±

    ¡°Anatarkhont Pavel,¡± he primly reminded her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care! Which of your people know this town best? Do any of them frequent used clothing stores? Yes? Anyone?¡± An elderly lady raised her hand. ¡°Good. You will lead the way with that girl and Aare. I will follow with Nadia in a separate car.¡± She clapped her hands. ¡°Now, move!¡±

    They were on the road inside of a minute, Anatarkhont Pavel stuffing his bags into their hands before Therese chivied them out the door. ¡°Do you trust all those people?¡± she asked as Therese turned the ignition. ¡°They all heard everything we said.¡±

    ¡°Possibly one is a spy, but I doubt it. They would not bother with keeping spies in a little place like this. The Scions are a joke.¡± She drummed her hands on the wheel as she waited for the old lady to back her car onto the road. ¡°I don¡¯t trust your friend, either. I only trust you a little more. We sacrifice security for speed.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing with those people, anyway?¡±

    ¡°We have been bankrolling that miserable little cult for years now.¡±

    ¡°Who is ¡®we¡¯?¡±

    ¡°NATO. Not much, a half-million euros a year. Enough for them to outcompete the other local lunatics, and plant a mission in every town within five hundred kilometers of Krasnodar. Even some minor officials belong to the Scions now. Including a few of their clairvoyants.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know all about it,¡± Therese said, aggressively tailing the other car. ¡°Pe¡ªmy late husband handled our interactions with them. He liked to talk.¡± Her voice caught on the last word, and she took several deep breaths before continuing. ¡°But, in essence, they believe you are God.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    She laughed and slapped the dashboard. ¡°Yes. They think emissants come from heaven, or hell, or somewhere, to bring the apocalypse. All emissants, you see¡ªnot just the government¡¯s. When the Lamprey¡¯s government tried to crack down on them, it convinced them that she was one of the evil ones. Which makes you the solution, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°They ¡­ want the end of the world?¡±

    ¡°No. They want to be special. They want to escape from their boring lives, and for everything they do to mean something, even if it means disbelieving everything they can see or feel for themselves, and thinking the whole physical world is evil. They are fanatics¡ªbut useful fanatics. We get a tremendous amount of information from them. And, of course, they were ready and willing to welcome you. Damn it!¡± She pressed the horn. ¡°Putain de merde!  Does she not understand the concept of ¡®hurry¡¯?¡±

    The lead car¡¯s brake lights flashed, and it crawled to a stop at the side of the road. The passenger door opened to disgorge the hulking Aare, who stood up and pointed somewhere behind them. His eyes were shut.

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± Therese moaned. Nadia didn¡¯t need to ask what she meant, or even turn around to look. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear (faintly, as from a great distance) a very familiar, odious, repetitive tune playing. Like something from a carnival ride.

 LXXXIII. The Cavalry (Nadia)

    It was a small town, and more than small, it was short¡ªnothing over three stories. Shum-Shum had to be at least a kilometer away, and probably more, but Nadia could see him, a tiny sparkling speck of light amid clouds of dirty black smoke. The great bolts of lightning she knew he must be making were only faint and glinting hints from this distance, like bits of glass catching the sunlight. There were acres and acres of untouched wintry blue sky all around him. But that puny speck of light was surely killing men and women by the score, even now; left to his own devices, her brother would burn this whole town to ash.

    The man Aare grunted from the backseat, his hand pointing to a spot well to Shum-Shum¡¯s right. He¡¯d thrown himself into their car without a word, while his erstwhile driver drove off with Maria in a sudden hurry; whatever the old lady believed about familiars, she didn¡¯t seem to be eager to see one up close. ¡°What is it? I don¡¯t see anything.¡±

    ¡°Lamprey.¡± Therese shuddered, and lifted her head briefly from the steering wheel. But there was nothing there to see. Whatever the Lamprey did, he was more subtle than Shum-Shum. After a moment¡ªjust long enough for Nadia to see the tears running down her face¡ªshe slumped forward again.

    ¡°They are fighting? Then we need to intervene, don¡¯t we?¡± Beyond a simple three-point turn to face them in the proper direction, Therese hadn¡¯t done a thing since the music started. Only flopped down to sob against the wheel. They were losing precious time. Nadia put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ¡°Therese?¡± No response. She turned back to Aare. ¡°What is she doing?¡±

    The giant shook his head, and, still pointing at the same spot, said, ¡°Four hundred meters.¡± His hand moved over to point back at Shum-Shum. ¡°Twelve hundred meters.¡±

    ¡°To what? To the emissors, or the emissants?¡±

    ¡°To the centers of their halos.¡± He frowned, very slightly, then added, ¡°Hers is moving, but not fast.¡± His face was flat and blank as a brick wall, or a sheer cliff face rising out of the sea, and his eyes looked right past her before he shut them again. Was this how clairvoyants were supposed to act? Dr. Gus hadn¡¯t, but then, she couldn¡¯t recall ever seeing him in a trance.

    She took Therese by the shoulder again, and shook her. ¡°Please, Therese, we have to¡ªouch!¡± A pale left hand darted out like a snake, and slapped her away. ¡°Stop that! We have to go now.¡± No reply but a slur of indistinct and probably impolite French, addressed to the steering wheel. ¡°Aare, please help.¡±

    ¡°Five hundred meters.¡±

    ¡°Damn it, I don¡¯t care about that! What is she doing? Don¡¯t you know this woman?¡±

    Another frown, barely perceptible. ¡°Pyotr is dead. She grieves. So do I.¡± And his face went blank again.

    ¡°Pyotr? Who is Pyotr? No, don¡¯t answer that, it doesn¡¯t matter. Don¡¯t you see that we have no time for this? I thought you came here to help us!¡±

    Therese lifted her head again. ¡°It is too late for that,¡± she croaked. ¡°The Lamprey hunts. You cannot stop him.¡±

    ¡°I can try.¡±

    ¡°We tried too. For years. We even shot her, once. She just came back. And now ¡­ now he is gone, and the Lamprey remains.¡±

    Aare grunted, and swiveled his hand back to Shum-Shum. ¡°He moves too. Faster. Impingement in¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, you are useless!¡± Nadia snapped. ¡°Therese, I am an emissor too.¡±

    ¡°You are a child with a stolen toy. He is fear.¡± She turned her blotchy face to glare at Nadia. ¡°Do you understand that? Pure fear. You cannot even think in his presence, only run and crawl and die.¡±

    ¡°I have faced fear before. I beat Yunks. And I know Sovereign Protocol.¡± She put her wall back up as she said it. She should have done it earlier.

    ¡°You know nothing,¡± Therese corrected. Her hand was shaking as it moved back to the gearshift. ¡°We are leaving now. We find shelter, space and time to think. Later, we can plan¡ª¡°

    ¡°No!¡± ¨¦zarine settled on the car¡¯s roof with a loud thump. ¡°We will not do that! That is my family, my entire family. I will not abandon them.¡±

    Aare let out a loud groan, and fell forward against the back of Nadia¡¯s seat. Therese¡¯s face went pure white. ¡°Look what you have done, you wretched little slut!¡± She grabbed Nadia by the hair and yanked her around so she could see the man clutching at his head. ¡°Now we are blind! She could be right next to us and we could not tell.¡±

    ¨¦zarine was there in an instant, chopping down on the woman¡¯s arm. Nadia wrenched her head free, leaving a good part of her hair behind. ¡°He was not helping anyway. Are you done crying? Are you ready to do your job?¡±

    ¡°You are not my job,¡± Therese snarled back, leaning over and clutching her arm to herself. ¡°And what would I do? Now I can¡¯t even drive!¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t hit you that hard,¡± Nadia said. Shum-Shum was definitely on the move, getting closer. He was big enough for Nadia to see his shape. And his opponent? ¡°What does this Lamprey do, anyway? Can he attack from a great distance, like ¡­ like the one on the bridge?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Therese groused back, ¡°but she doesn¡¯t need distance. She will have an ample supply of ectoplasm. Oprichniki keep an enormous reserve. How much does your jackass of a brother have?¡±

    ¡°None at all, we spent ours yesterday. How much do you have?¡±

    Therese¡¯s laughter was halfway to a shriek. ¡°No reserve? ¡®None at all¡¯? When I think of all we lost to help you, and you pathetic worthless brats don¡¯t even have the sense¡ª¡°

    ¨¦zarine clapped a hand over her mouth. ¡°How much do you have?¡± The woman struggled uselessly a moment, then skewered Nadia with a venomous glare. ¡°Show me.¡± Still glowering, she extracted a silver cylinder from under her coat, thunking it down in one of the cupholders. Then another, which landed more lightly. ¡°How full?¡±

    ¨¦zarine let go, and Therese said ¡°The first is full, the second perhaps half.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nadia snipped, and picked up both kitties to stow in her coat. She thought for a moment, then dismissed ¨¦zarine, leaving only her wall behind.

    Therese shuddered, and fell limply back into her seat, still ghastly white. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Her voice was weak and flat. Valence shock would be worse, when she¡¯d been all worked up right before the emissant came out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think she can find or track me with just Sovereign Protocol up. Can she?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is.¡±

    ¡°Aare, can you see me now?¡± But the big man was still hunched over with his head in his hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know that would happen. But I couldn¡¯t leave my whole family to die. I hope you can underst¡ª¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Therese repeated.

    ¡°I want to go deep into her halo, get as close to her as we can, and break open the kitty. The full one,¡± she added, hoisting it for emphasis. ¡°What do you think she will do then?¡±

    Therese looked up at the roof of the car. ¡°I do not know for sure. But she feels her valence the same as anyone else. I think a sudden attack would terrify her, and send her running, at least for a while. She has always been a coward. Nobody else could make such a beast.¡± She turned her face to Nadia; she looked like she hadn¡¯t slept in three days. ¡°Not that it matters. Your plan won¡¯t work. As soon as we enter the halo you will be as weak as she is.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Nadia corrected her. ¡°I won¡¯t feel anything but ¨¦zarine¡¯s anger. But I can¡¯t shield you without the full halo. You will feel everything. The question is, are you strong enough to face it? For your husband?¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Therese sat up and reached for the clutch again, her hand steadier now. ¡°I will not be condescended to by the likes of you,¡± she said, and put the car back into gear. ¡°We will probably die, you know.¡±

    ¡°I might not want to live if we don¡¯t try.¡± The car lurched violently into motion, and Therese cursed under her breath as she eased off the gas. ¡°Can you do this?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can drive!¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She knew she ought to be feeling more compassionate for this woman, but right now Shum-Shum was the only thing between her family and an oprichnik. ¡°What does the Lamprey do, anyway?¡±

    ¡°He melted my husband¡¯s flesh clean off his bones,¡± said Therese, not taking her eyes from the road. Her knuckles, too, were white, against the black of the wheel. ¡°Slowly. He screamed for a very long time, as did I, while I ran for my life, because I could do nothing else, nothing at all. And the very same thing will happen to you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re looking forward to it. Does he make fire, or some kind of acid, then?¡±

    ¡°Acid, poison, something like that. Whatever he likes. Nothing in a halo is real, it doesn¡¯t have to make sense. Didn¡¯t you know that?¡±

    ¡°Let me know when you feel the halo,¡± Nadia said, refusing the bait.

    ¡°Oh, you will know.¡±

    They were not going nearly as fast as they could, but Nadia didn¡¯t want to risk pushing her harder. It was still faster than Nadia could run. They were the only car on the road now, and had been for some time. A few faces appeared at windows as they passed, but not looking at them. A pregnant young woman stood in a yard holding her small child, covering his face with one hand so he would not look at the pretty flashing lights she stared at herself. The woman¡¯s expression was not so very different from Therese¡¯s ¡­ but their car moved on, and Nadia lost sight of her.

    Ten seconds later, Aare simply fell over in the backseat, still holding his head, and Therese braked hard. ¡°Here,¡± she said, and jerked her head around to look over her shoulder, then swung back to check the road ahead again. There wasn¡¯t a person in sight, only a row of houses, a post office, and a pretty little church on the corner. The sun shone down brightly everywhere, but Therese was shaking. ¡°We are here. Do what you came to do. Now.¡±

    ¡°We need to be nearer¡ª¡°

    ¡°No, we don¡¯t! Do it now!¡±

    ¡°She will barely notice it here. I need to be up against the center of her halo.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know where he is! Nobody does. He goes where he likes.¡± She was twitching, looking this way and that, her head never still. ¡°I warned you. He is death.¡±

    ¡°No, fear. Only fear, you said. You are stronger than this, Therese. Keep driving.¡±

    ¡°Fear and death.¡± She was scrunched over, trying to make herself physically smaller. ¡°Fear, death, pain. He moves in the dark, and you don¡¯t see him, you don¡¯t hear him, but he comes from behind and rips the life out of you, you mad child, and I am mad, mad to have let you bring me here. He will find us, he is hunting now¡ª¡°

    It was hopeless. Nadia made sure she still had both jars, and got out of the car to walk. Before she had gone three steps the car reversed into a sharp turn and drove away with the tires squealing. It was all Nadia had expected. Maybe Therese would feel differently when she got free, but she wasn¡¯t going to count on it. She was on her own.

    Nobody was looking out their windows here. The street was silent, and nothing moved but the wind blowing a few dead leaves over the grass. In the distance, the sky was one great black cloud of smoke, but she couldn¡¯t see Shum-Shum, and his awful music was gone as well. Normally a good thing¡ªand maybe he had simply retreated, to let Mister Higgins fight instead¡ªbut it still struck her as ominous. She broke into a run, so that the two kitties clunked against her chest.

    She was afraid, and that was a problem. There was plenty to fear here; she could fear for Yuri, for Fatima, or poor ailing Ruslan, or even her own self, but the moment she became more frightened than angry her wall would come down like Jericho¡¯s, and she would be no better than Therese. And then¡ªno. She could not think about it.

    Instead she concentrated on the shuttered windows she passed, on all the people who must be cowering inside, fearing for their lives, because of this woman and her sick, sick mind. What kind of familiar¡ªwhose whole mentality, boiled down¡ªwas propelled by being afraid of everything, all the time? And who put such a lunatic in charge of security for a whole region, with millions of people?

    She could be frustrated with Yuri, too, for breaking out Shum-Shum in the first place, even at the risk of terrible death and devastation. She could be angry at herself, for never trying to stop him, never fighting harder to convince him to even try to be a better person, for so easily forsaking the promise she had made to Metakken¡¯s master in exchange for her life. She could be angry at Maria for her treachery, at Fatima for her callousness, at Ruslan for his weakness. And at the world, for making her dwell on all this, this poison in her heart, just to stay alive.

    After three blocks of jogging, she was out of breath, and had to stop. It came to her that she had no way of knowing that this Lamprey was still active and in the area; he might have moved on. The only way to find out would be to drop her wall and risk falling into his power. Another unanswerable problem. Of course, she could still open the kitty, and force the confrontation, at any time ¡­ but not yet. Instead she went back running, making the smoke on the horizon her north star.

    Where was she now? She didn¡¯t even know this town¡¯s name. Her mind went back to that evening in December, on her way into Fatih to find ¨¦zarine. She¡¯d had tools then, and a dowser¡ªhad Therese had a dowser she could borrow? Too late to check now. There was no backup on the way, no Ruslan in the plane; now she was coming to help him. She felt more alone than she had ever been.

    She was crossing the street near the town¡¯s high school when she heard the scream. Not the cry of a teenager, but a small child¡¯s, long and hysterical and high-pitched. It kept going as she ran towards it with one hand on the lid of the heavier jar inside her coat, pausing only to draw breath. It cut off abruptly before she could reach it, as if an adult had simply clapped a hand over the child¡¯s throat. By then she did not care, because she had rounded a corner, and seen what they were screaming at.

    A tall and slender man stood at the crossroads, a bare two blocks away¡ªa man so tall he brushed his top hat against the traffic lights, setting them jiggling and not even noticing. He wore a dark old-fashioned coat as well, with a long tail down to the knees in the back, and pinstriped pants, and a matching black cane, all very elegant. Something on the ground seemed to catch his eye, and he bent over, his back curving like a hoop.

    It happened in a blink: one moment he was leaning down, the next he was racing along the ground like a gigantic black snake, a streak of darkness rushing across the road too fast for the eye to follow. By the time her mind and eyes caught up he was a man again, a man like a black obelisk, standing directly over her and looking down. His cane was tucked under his right arm, while his left hand pulled back the brim of his hat so he could see her. But she could not see him¡ªat least, not his eyes, which remained in darkness. His teeth, on the other hand, were brilliantly white, and extraordinarily pointy, and simply gigantic, even compared to the rest of him. He looked like he could bite a normal man in half.

    ¡°You would be the Lamprey,¡± she said, looking up at him calmly. It was nearly noon now, a bright and clear day in early March, with scarcely a shadow to be seen, and she knew she could defend herself. She had her hand on the jar-lid already. In the darkness, with the full strength of his halo to draw on, he would probably be terrifying. By day and without it, he was only a silly freak. A silly freak who had threatened her family, and subjected hundreds of people to needless terror.

    He cocked his head at her, evidently puzzled. She wondered if he had any eyes at all under that hat, and what kind of expression they had now if he did. ¡°No,¡± she told him, forcibly stretching her face into a smile to match his own, ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you.¡±

    And she turned the lid.

 LXXXIV. Denouement (Yefimov)

    The room was incommodiously small, its institutional cinderblock walls lit by harsh fluorescent light. Its occupants were gathered around a single table of battered plastic, half of whom smoked in spite of its poor ventilation. A seemlier site could surely have been arranged for the inquiry, even on short notice, with all the facilities of Volgograd at the government¡¯s disposal. But seemliness was not, evidently, a priority for the men who made such decisions. Sergei took comfort that his position allowed him to view and listen to all from behind a two-way glass, unseen, unheard, and unknown.

    ¡°No, no, do not stop, sir! This story you tell is most interesting. Do, please, go on. What happened next? What was the next chapter in this ongoing disaster? We are all dying to know, Mr. Alliluyev.¡±

    The irony was perhaps too pointed and heavy for good taste, but such concerns had never been a notable priority for the new men of the Russian aristocracy. Certainly it was not lost on the unfortunate Mr. Alliluyev. As the appointed Boyar of Krasnodar he was not accountable for matters of paraphysical security, more properly the domain of the oprichnik; however, this was, under the circumstances, a matter of little comfort. He licked his lips before saying, ¡°The roots of this misfortune are very deep, and I must ask you to be patient while I explain them.¡±

    ¡°We are all ears,¡± said Privy Councillor Baranovsky.

    ¡°Very well, Your Excellency. Yes. First I must explain to you that the Lamprey was always something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his valence had an obviously tremendous potential to intimidate; on the other, it bred equally tremendous resentment. It was, I think, no coincidence that this oblast was so persistently plagued with insurgencies and conspiracies. The phenomenon was something of a paradox.¡±

    ¡°How very intriguing,¡± put in Baranovsky¡¯s aide, drumming his fingers on the table. ¡°Why, then, was he left at this post as oprichnik, and not transferred to a more offensive capacity?¡±

    ¡°I have no expertise in this matter, Your Well Born.¡± This was true enough; boyars were civil appointees, responsible for taxes, public works, and similar functions when they were not putting on meaningless airs in the Duma. Alliluyev only happened to be the most prominent individual from Kuban oblast¡¯s government who was still alive and not (as yet) under arrest. Which was to say, he was the tallest stalk remaining in the field, and ripe for the scythe. ¡°However, I am given to understand that the Lamprey was posted in Kuban not for the sake of its own populace, but because of its proximity to other, more restive districts. Chechnya, in particular. The hope was that he might avoid inflaming separatist sentiments still further by his continuous presence, while still remaining close enough to discourage insurrection.¡±

    ¡°So much for that,¡± said the Privy Councillor. ¡°Well, what happened?¡±

    ¡°We are still in the process of determining the precise timeline,¡± Alliluyev stressed, ¡°but the rough sequence is as follows: the four children disappeared after destroying the bridge on the ninth, in the wake of multiple acts of terror around the oblast, which we believe were perpetrated to mask their retreat. The Lamprey interrupted several of these, killing the perpetrators, but the children themselves escaped.¡±

    ¡°Irrelevant,¡± growled Baranovsky.

    ¡°Pardon me, but we do not know yet what is or is not relevant, Your Excellency,¡± said the Boyar, in a surprising display of courage. Surprising, but perhaps wise; Baranovsky¡¯s report would surely be read by the Knyazya themselves, and carefully. ¡°The provocations fell silent by the evening of the ninth, and the oblast was quiescent overnight, though security forces continued their search for the children and arrested or terminated many of the other criminals responsible.

    ¡°On the morning of the tenth we detected a substantial ¡­ paraphysical event, I do not know the correct term. In or around Temryuk. It did not correspond to any act of violence or sabotage, and we have not yet determined its function or purpose, but it was sufficient for Ms. Goncharova to deploy a substantial field team to find the Marshalls.¡±

    ¡°When was this initial event?¡± asked Colonel Dubynin from the Okhrana.

    ¡°I do not have that information, Your High Well Born, but I believe it would have been before ten in the morning. The security team was on the ground, with dogs, well before noon. At approximately twelve-thirty the familiar known as Shum-Shum activated, presumably in response to this state activity, and began devastating the northwestern end of the town.¡±

    ¡°Which Ms. Goncharova attempted to contain with her Lamprey,¡± said the Privy Councillor.

    ¡°Correct, Your Excellency. From here the timeline is obscure, as she was unable to maintain contact from within her own halo. We have recovered several ryumki from the area, two of them empty, and she did have a full-time staff of support operatives, several of whom were trained to produce ectoplasm. It seems to follow that both empty ryumki were depleted that afternoon.¡±

    ¡°And how many of the little shits did she kill with them?¡± demanded the aide. Evidently he had been instructed to behave as aggressively as possible, though to what purpose Sergei could not tell. There would seem to be no profit in bullying any figure so insignificant as a boyar.

    ¡°Very probably none, Your Well Born, but we cannot tell at this stage. We have recovered no bodies matching the descriptions of any of the children¡ªalthough, to be fair, Shum-Shum left many of them impossible to identify.¡±

    ¡°Would he have lost control of the beast to such an extent?¡± A woman this time, the only woman in the room. Sergei did not recall her name, and turned to Lyudmila for help.

    ¡°Valentina Zhuk,¡± she supplied, as the debate continued on the other side of the glass. ¡°Marko¡¯s representative.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. How fares Mr. Hushchyn?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know, sir. Still alive, as of this morning.¡±

    Inside the smoky little room, the inquiry had become mired in a minor argument, and Baranovsky was vexed. ¡°This is all, again, irrelevant. We must assume all four of them are alive until we receive sure proof to the contrary. Mr. Alliluyev, continue.¡±

    ¡°Within ten minutes of Shum-Shum¡¯s emergence, another familiar¡ªreports suggest it was ¨¦zarine¡ªbriefly appeared to the south. This was again unrelated to any constructive activity, and the entity¡¯s entire period of manifestation lasted perhaps two minutes, likely less.¡±

    ¡°A ruse?¡± suggested Zhuk.

    ¡°Possibly. I am not a soldier, madam. My sources suggest, conjecturally, that Ms. Goncharova was alerted to this new threat and, being of a cautious mentality, disengaged¡ª¡°

    ¡°¡¯A cautious mentality,¡¯¡± Dubynin the Okhrana man quoted with a smile. ¡°I like that. Very diplomatic, Mr. Alliluyev.¡±

    ¡°I am told such people have temperaments matching their emissants, Your High Well Born,¡± said the Boyar.

    ¡°You are told correctly,¡± Dubynin said. ¡°Tatiana was paranoid. It was her job to be paranoid. There is no need to tiptoe around it.¡±

    ¡°May we continue?¡± said the Privy Councillor. Dubynin shrugged.

    ¡°Ms. Goncharova apparently moved south, either to engage with the new threat or to escape from between them. Shum-Shum does not seem to have pursued. It may be that the second ryumka was employed at this time. I believe the manifestation she had responded to was already gone by the time she responded; she may have been planning a change in strategy when the familiar reappeared within her own halo, fueled by a ryumka.¡±

    ¡°Appeared, and immediately killed her,¡± said Zhuk.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Yes, you could argue that,¡± said Alliluyev. ¡°But ¡­ not directly.¡±

    This won him considerable interest from around the table; Baranovsky was the first to express it. ¡°Explain yourself.¡±

    ¡°We did not recover her body until late last night, Your Excellency, by which point it was in very poor condition. The medical examiner had to be awakened and compelled to work in haste on short notice. I received her report this morning. Tatiana Goncharova was shot at least eighteen times by nine-millimeter rounds, almost certainly at short range. These wounds were inflicted before death; other blunt-force injuries appear to have been inflicted postmortem, though it was difficult to say with confidence given the combined damage.¡±

    ¡°Eighteen times?¡± said the aide.

    ¡°We are certain of this?¡± said his master, over him.

    ¡°The doctor was, certainly,¡± Alliluyev averred. ¡°It would be difficult for even the most hasty and inept autopsy to mistake embedded fragments of lead for something else. Our oprichnik was shot many times at close range.¡±

    Dubynin leaned forward. ¡°And you have a theory about this.¡±

    ¡°I did not, initially. But the three surviving members of her support staff, when presented with this evidence, have between them proposed what seems to me to be a plausible explanation.¡±

    ¡°You allowed them to speak with each other?¡± Dubynin was outraged.

    ¡°Of course not, Your High Well Born. But each had their own parts to contribute, which largely agreed, and which when synthesized formed a coherent whole. The explanation depends on a phenomenon known as the ¡®Holcombe Effect.¡¯ It seems that, if individuals are under the influence of a halo whose ¡­ emotional effect is similar to what they were disposed to feel anyway, its power is dramatically increased.¡±

    Baranovsky¡¯s face was now quite red. ¡°Get to the point, damn you!¡±

    ¡°I believe, based on the testimony of her support staff and various civilians we have interrogated, that the oprichnik was shot to death by her own security detail.¡±

    None of the interrogators spoke or moved for several seconds, until Colonel Dubynin began to laugh, very loudly. ¡°Of course! I should have known,¡± he said.

    Privy Councillor Baranovsky turned his ire on the Okhrana chief. ¡°Oh? Is it so obvious?¡±

    ¡°None of you knew Tatiana, except perhaps Ms. Zhuk? No? Well, I did. Her way with subordinates was not particularly pleasant. Frankly, she was a horrible bitch. Add on that, being close to her on a regular basis, they were continuously exposed to her valence¡ªhelpless fear, perhaps the most humiliating and degrading sensation it is possible for a man to experience. So, after being immersed in this feeling for some time, these men, these armed men, were abruptly exposed to an equally intense sensation of frustration and rage¡ªwith, if we are told correctly, a strong flavor of misogyny.¡±

    ¡°But ¨¦zarine is controlled by a woman now,¡± protested Zhuk. ¡°A girl.¡±

    ¡°I do not believe that makes any difference,¡± said Dubynin. ¡°At any rate, the story tells itself. Her security team, already disposed to be resentful, completely lost their heads and murdered their own employer. Have we taken any of them into custody?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Alliluyev. ¡°They all seem to have died in the general uprising which followed.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± said Dubynin with another laugh. ¡°The great mass of civilians would have felt much the same. The bodyguards waste all their ammunition on their salt bitch of a boss, making a hell of a noise in the process. This attracts the enraged and vengeful populace, who ¡­ what? Batter them with sticks, bricks, ordinary tools?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I believe so. All three men were found at some distance from her body, leading us to believe they fled the scene. We have found several civilian bodies shot near each. Part of the reason for the delay in the autopsy was that one of these bore a superficial resemblance in dress and appearance to Ms. Goncharova. Also there was much difficulty in acquiring her records to confirm.¡±

    ¡°You can stop making excuses now,¡± Dubynin told him. ¡°I, at least, believe you. The tale is too beautiful in its irony to doubt.¡± More laughter. ¡°What a god-damned mess. This world we live in, brothers.¡±

    ¡°I am glad you are so happy to hear the news,¡± said the aide.

    ¡°Piss off, little man. This fellow is guiltless, and we don¡¯t need to waste any more time with him. He can go back to his busy schedule presiding over the openings of grocery stores.¡±

    ¡°I am not so ready to say for certain,¡± said the Privy Councillor. ¡°The account seems plausible and consistent¡ªif obviously unpleasant¡ªbut I will need to see documentation, including interrogation records.¡±

    ¡°But, until such papers are supplied?¡± suggested Dubynin.

    ¡°Very well. You may go, Mr. Alliluyev. But remain in Volgograd and in contact until you are given our express permission to leave.¡± The boyar removed himself in some haste. Baranovsky waited for the door to shut behind the man before continuing: ¡°I take it the Okhrana does not have anything interesting on him?¡±

    ¡°He is unfaithful to his wife, possibly with other men, but that is practically a prerequisite for his job, and she may even know about it. No hint of real ambition, financial irregularities, or suspicious contacts with foreigners. Absurd as it sounds, his story is convincing, and likely to be true. Tatiana has given us problems before, and we would be fortunate to be rid of her if it had happened without all these complications.¡±

    Baranovsky glanced at the mirrored glass, as if hoping to gauge Sergei¡¯s reaction to such callousness concerning his colleagues. As it happened, he largely agreed with the Okhrana colonel, and in any case the Privy Councillor could not see through the mirror. ¡°Very well. I will tell the Knyazya that it appears Tatiana Goncharova was a victim of catastrophic mischance, assuming his story checks out. As for the state of the oblast?¡±

    ¡°Awful,¡± pronounced his aide. ¡°She did at least do us the favor of killing many of the area¡¯s insurgents on Saturday. But there were multiple incidents today, including the destruction of three military facilities. The bastards still have a couple of pipers, and nothing left to fear.¡±

    Mikhail Isayev, the border security man, spoke for the first time. ¡°The neighboring oprichniki are trying to provide some measure of order, but they cannot stray far from their own responsibilities. Under the circumstances, we cannot guarantee that further foreign assets will not leak in from the south until she is replaced.¡±

    ¡°Noted,¡± snapped the Privy Councillor. ¡°Do any of you believe these rodents do not have substantial Western backing?¡± Nobody spoke. ¡°And I agree. Measures were already underway to explain to them that incidents like Saturday¡¯s are unacceptable. I believe this will accelerate our timetable. There will be swift and terrible consequences. Be sure of that. Now, this has taken up enough of our time. You may go¡ªexcepting Ms. Zhuk. Stay a moment, if you would.¡±

    He did not move from his seat until the others had cleared the room, including his aide, who demonstrated a certain reluctance. When this was done he stood, bowed to the mirror, and said: ¡°Great One. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time. Do you concur with our assessment?¡±

    Sergei looked to Lyudmila and nodded. She pushed the button for the intercom and said, ¡°It seems reasonable enough.¡±

    Baranovsky appeared to be disconcerted by the sound of a woman¡¯s voice, but only for a moment. ¡°I am honored by your confidence. Please receive the orders confided in me by my betters.¡± He removed a manila envelope from his suit jacket, opened it, and took out a sheet of paper, which he read: ¡°¡¯You have served Holy Rus¡¯ most nobly, and have Our thanks. In response to the recent outrages against Our peace in the oblasts of Crimea and Kuban, you are withdrawn from your current duties, effective immediately. Snowdrop is hereby assigned to execute the prompt extirpation of the Marshall family and any or all of their accomplices, foreign or domestic.¡¯¡±

    The Privy Councillor gave a smaller bow to Valentina Zhuk before continuing, ¡°¡¯To assist you in this endeavor you shall have the help of Our faithful servant Ardent, who has already struck a mighty blow against this foreign pestilence, and sustained a grievous injury in consequence. He shall assist you as soon as his health permits; you shall proceed with the utmost haste regardless, not sparing any who defy Our might to threaten the peace of Holy Rus¡¯. You shall both have our greatest confidence, and have only to ask to receive any further help you may require.¡¯¡±

    ¡°My master will not be in any shape to do anything for some time,¡± Zhuk remarked as Baranovsky put the orders away. ¡°He depends on machines just to live.¡±

    The Privy Councillor opened the door and checked the hallway carefully in both directions; seeing no loiterers or eavesdroppers, he shut it, and replied, ¡°That shall be seen to. Melkisedek is being withdrawn from Constantinople to govern the Crimea. He will have your master on his feet shortly.¡±

    ¡°Leaving only two to guard the city?¡±

    Baranovsky raised an eyebrow, but she did not apologize for her impertinence, and after a moment he shrugged and said, ¡°I am told a replacement is on hand. Or rather, Melkhisedek was the replacement, and he is no longer needed. Kostroma was adopted the same night her mistress fell. It was kept quiet until the new, young oprichnik could be better trained and accustomed to their duties. Less than a month is not much time for a child, but our needs dictate. You did not, of course, hear any such thing from me.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Your Excellency. Thank the Knyazya for their consideration towards my master.¡±

    ¡°And thank him¡ªwhen he can understand¡ªfor responding swiftly and ¡­ as effectively as could be hoped, to an unprecedented and difficult situation. He, too, has Their confidence. He would do well not to squander it.¡±

    ¡°Understood, Your Excellency.¡±

    The Privy Councillor bowed once more to the mirror, and left. Ms. Zhuk remained where she was, her hands clasped before her. At a sign from Sergei, Lyudmila pressed the button again and said, ¡°You might as well come over so we can talk face-to-face, Valechka. We have a lot of work to do.¡±

 LXXXV. Aftershock (Nadia)

    ¡°Fundamentally, we¡¯re talking about a blast injury,¡± the doctor said. ¡°Typical of someone who gets too close to an explosion. A very strange explosion, in this case¡ªthe major shrapnel injuries you would expect are absent. The fragments that did hit him are minor irritants, superficial injuries. We¡¯ve still picked them out, of course, but ¡­ the real issue is deeper. A shockwave passed over and through his body. What exactly it did to him, I can¡¯t say; I don¡¯t dare put him through an MRI when he might still have metal inside him, and CT isn¡¯t the same. Is there anything else, anything at all you can tell me about what happened to him?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t really see,¡± Nadia repeated, as patiently as she could when he had asked three times already. ¡°Ardent threw something very large and hot at his truck, too fast to see. We thought it had killed him, at first.¡±

    The doctor scratched at his beard. ¡°Hell of a case,¡± he pronounced. ¡°It¡¯s a damned funny trauma pattern. We¡¯ve stopped all the bleeding, and his digestion will recover, I think, but I¡¯m buggered if I know about his brain. Keep him clean, comfortable, nourished, and hydrated, and he might wake up some day. He¡¯s young, and young bodies and young minds are resilient. I¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s all I can tell you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Therese said for both of them. Fatima had kept her face buried in her hands the whole time, not even noticing Nadia¡¯s hand on her shoulder. It was a blessing that she couldn¡¯t understand the doctor¡¯s Russian. Neither of them noticed when he left the room.

    ¡°We can do all that,¡± Nadia offered. ¡°Keeping him clean and everything. That¡¯s possible now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Fatima said into her hands. This was Ruslan¡¯s fifth day unconscious, and he looked awful, with his head shaved for the brain-reading device and all kinds of tubes shoved into his face and arms. Optimism wasn¡¯t easy.

    Nadia kept trying. ¡°We¡¯ve made a difference. And we¡¯re better off than we were on Sunday.¡±

    ¡°Much better off,¡± Therese agreed. ¡°But we shouldn¡¯t stay here too long.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± The challenge was, again, muffled by Fatima¡¯s hands. ¡°We killed the bitch.¡±

    ¡°That is what they say,¡± Therese reproved her. ¡°But I know I didn¡¯t see the body, and we thought we had killed her once before. Anyway, there must be spies. One patient under the wrong name, who happens to be the right age and sex, is not too suspicious. But the longer you stay here, the more likely it is some employee will notice and possibly talk. We are at risk as it is.¡±

    ¡°And we shouldn¡¯t leave Yuri and Maria alone for too long,¡± Nadia added several seconds later, when Fatima showed no sign of moving.

    That did the trick. ¡°Sick of this shit,¡± Fatima groaned as she got to her feet, kicking her chair away behind her. She bent down to kiss Ruslan on the forehead; as ever, he showed no sign of noticing. ¡°Khudai pa aman, brother.¡±

    The streets outside were peaceful and pleasant; it was a warm day for March, and the people of Krymsk seemed to be making a holiday of it. The park across the street from the hospital was crowded with picnicking families, small children chasing each other through the trees while their parents relaxed on blankets or benches. ¡°I can feel good about this,¡± she said.

    ¡°Not at the price we paid,¡± Fatima grumbled back. It was a longish walk back to the boarding house, and she looked determined to shuffle and drag her feet the whole way.

    ¡°All that is an illusion,¡± Therese added, with a wave at the giggling children. ¡°They were having play days in the park when the hag was in charge, too. What you don¡¯t see is the looting, the criminals let out of jails. All those people will be sure to lock their doors tonight.¡±

    Does she want me to apologize for avenging her husband? Hard to say. She¡¯d only known Therese for a couple of days, and she was a difficult woman to get to know. ¡°Can¡¯t your people send you more help? If the Lamprey isn¡¯t gone, his emissor was at least hurt. She wouldn¡¯t be laying low through all this, if she had a choice. Would she?¡±

    ¡°There won¡¯t be any more help coming,¡± Therese said, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. ¡°Not anytime soon. My government is occupied with other problems.¡±

    ¡°What, like the thing in Texas? That¡¯s America¡¯s problem, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°No, not just ¡®the thing in Texas,¡¯ though that is bad enough. There have been attacks in Germany, as well.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t there already?¡± said Fatima, looking up from her shoes. ¡°Isn¡¯t Germany right on Ivan¡¯s border?¡±

    ¡°Not like this. There were minor provocations, an oprichnik here or there putting a toe across the border from Poland. Usually hunting down defectors, and earning swift punishment in kind. This ¡­ this is something different. A long, solid offensive, right into the heart of the country, and nobody seems to be able to stop it. They¡¯ve made it to Leipzig, last I heard.¡±

    ¡°An offensive?¡± Nadia found it hard to believe. ¡°They have people to spare on invading Germany at a time like this?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It isn¡¯t a real invasion, they aren¡¯t taking territory to hold. These are terror raids, like in Texas, only they don¡¯t seem to be slowing down or retreating. Don¡¯t ask me for more details; I don¡¯t have any.¡±

    ¡°How long has this been going on?¡± said Fatima. Nadia was glad something was taking her mind off Ruslan.

    ¡°The last thirty-six hours, give or take. I assume it is another retaliation for what you did here.¡±

    ¡°¡¯You¡¯?¡± Nadia challenged her. ¡°Don¡¯t you mean ¡®we¡¯?¡±

    ¡°No, I do not. We were playing by the rules before you little oafs came along sowing havoc.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not liking the sound of this,¡± Fatima said, finally looking like herself again. ¡°Your bosses know where we are. What kind of odds do you give us, that they won¡¯t sell us out to buy some breathing room?¡±

    ¡°I think we had better save this conversation until we are indoors and out of hearing,¡± Therese retorted, her voice cool and measured.

    ¡°Yeah, and to give you time to come up with some slick answer,¡± Fatima muttered back. But they both dropped the subject.

    It was, as much as Nadia hated to admit it, a worryingly good question. No government had yet kept up its end of the deal with them, and she wasn¡¯t expecting Therese¡¯s friends in Brussels to be an exception. Never had, really. To her credit, Therese hadn¡¯t wasted time offering any kind of formal deal to begin with; she would help and shelter them because they shared an enemy, and to buy peace for her husband¡¯s ghost. But she wasn¡¯t their friend and didn¡¯t pretend to be. Nadia respected that, even as she missed Keisha more with every day.

    The elderly couple who ran the boarding house were not, as far as Nadia knew, members of the Scion church themselves, but they had a number of tenants who were, and a good word from them was enough to squeeze in six new residents in a pinch, even when they were clearly not blood relations. They had some very firm rules about what went on in their house¡ªrules strongly encouraged by the White regime¡ªso Aare and Yuri were roommates at one end of the hall, while the three girls shared another adjacent to Therese¡¯s. Much as Nadia approved of their intentions, living in close quarters with Fatima and Maria together was proving to be an even more uncomfortable experience than she would have expected.

    For now, though, they had lunch waiting for them at the table, real rich Russian fare of the kind Nadia hadn¡¯t tasted in years. The buckwheat kasha was swimming in butter and the soup had generous dollops of sour cream. If it hadn¡¯t been the week before Lent, there would have been beef as well, but Nadia supposed she should be picking that part of observance back up anyway. After lunch they retreated to their room for the promised talk¡ªafter evicting a barely-decent Yuri from the room.

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    ¡°Dammit, it¡¯s not fair,¡± he protested as they pushed him out into the hallway. ¡°I saved all your asses! Like, three times!¡±

    Fatima counted on her fingers. ¡°Three? Where are you getting three from, little boy?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Nadia interrupted. ¡°They have rules here, and we can¡¯t afford to attract attention. Stop being selfish, Yuri. And zip up your fly!¡± She forced the door shut and turned around to confront Maria. ¡°And you! Don¡¯t you have any more sense than that?¡±

    Maria lay back in her bed, her clothes and her attitude now equally unruffled. ¡°It¡¯s not like he takes very long. Anyway, the old people are busy downstairs, cleaning up that vile slop they call lunch.¡±

    Fatima, who probably hadn¡¯t understood a bit of the conversation, appealed to Therese. ¡°C¡¯mon, Frenchy, lay down the law here. We need to see some consequences.¡±

    ¡®Frenchy¡¯ was unmoved. ¡°I am not your mother,¡± she said, in English. ¡°And it¡¯s not as though she does anything else useful. I¡¯ve told you, the whole Karimi family is trouble.¡± She switched to Russian to say, ¡°If they catch you, you¡¯re out on the streets. I won¡¯t protect you.¡±

    ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± Maria replied. ¡°Why are you all in here?¡±

    ¡°Nothing we need you for,¡± Therese said. She opened the door again; Yuri had moved on. ¡°Out.¡±

    ¡°This is my room. Where else am I supposed to go?¡±

    ¡°You missed lunch. You might not be too late.¡±

    ¡°You expect me to eat that¡ª¡°

    Therese pulled her off the bed by one arm and threw her out into the hallway. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have had plenty of practice swallowing things you would rather spit out. Eat or don¡¯t eat, but leave.¡± And she shut the door. ¡°This situation is ridiculous,¡± she declared, in English once more.

    ¡°Tell me about it,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Like, seriously. Tell me. What the hell is going on, and are you going to bail on us?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t stay in this region for long; that should be obvious. We¡¯re doing what we can to destroy the security apparatus here while the Knyazya are blind, but sooner or later they will move new forces in and crack down. I¡¯d like you out of the oblast by Sunday.¡±

    ¡°Sure, as long as we can get an ambulance or something for Rus. He pulled me out of the fire¡ªor thought he did, not his fault he¡¯s kind of a dipshit¡ªand I¡¯m not going to leave him behind.¡±

    ¡°Moving won¡¯t help much, if you do that. It is much easier to search for a comatose boy on a ventilator than for one who can walk around and evade pursuit. The rest of you don¡¯t need to be cared for by doctors and nurses, or leave medical records behind.¡±

    ¡°The doctor said he might wake up at any time,¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°Fine. How long do we wait?¡±

    ¡°As long as it takes,¡± Fatima said, folding her arms. ¡°If you want to move on, we¡¯ll manage without you.¡±

    ¡°With what money, what resources? You weren¡¯t doing so well when I found you.¡±

    Nadia put up a hand. ¡°What if we distracted them?¡±

    ¡°¡¯We¡¯ meaning you?¡± said Therese.

    ¡°I was thinking it over, during lunch,¡± and after, until hearing that going on in my bedroom drove it all out of my head, ¡°and this is a kind of race, isn¡¯t it? We have been hurting Russia to put pressure on them, so they hurt America and Europe, to pressure right back, to see who loses their nerve first. I think it¡¯s good for Fatima to stay and keep an eye on Ruslan, and for you to help them, but we didn¡¯t come north to live quietly. We came to end the war, and punish people like Mila and Yefimov. If Yuri and I, at least, move the pressure somewhere else, they won¡¯t be able to crack down so hard here.¡±

    Fatima¡¯s smile was much more open and earnest than her usual knowing smirk. Therese was less enthusiastic. ¡°Just the two of you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d hope you would give us some support, but yes. If it¡¯s to save my family, I can do it, and Yuri has already proven himself.¡±

    ¡°He has,¡± Fatima added eagerly. ¡°You weren¡¯t there on Sunday¡ªhe really did save us. I wouldn¡¯t have believed it myself if I hadn¡¯t been right there. He saw them out sniffing for us with the dogs, and told me I had two minutes to get clear with Rus, then bolted out the door like a bunny rabbit, no hesitation at all. Shum burned the Lamprey¡¯s whole crew to ash. I¡¯ve got to give him props for that. We wouldn¡¯t be here if he hadn¡¯t stepped up when it mattered.¡±

    ¡°This is supposed to reassure me?¡± Therese¡¯s lip curled up. ¡°He burned down half that town. He wasn¡¯t motivated by anything like heroism. He was only bored, and looking for an excuse. If you set him loose with only her to supervise him, he will escalate the situation further. That won¡¯t help anything, and I won¡¯t support it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure about that,¡± Nadia said. ¡°I know Yuri better than anyone, and I know his motives aren¡¯t usually good, but that ¡­ I don¡¯t think that was all selfish. We are still his family, you know. Even if Shum-Shum was egging him on¡ªand I wish he had a better emissant, that didn¡¯t cause so much unnecessary damage¡ª¡°

    ¡°Two hundred dead, close to a thousand wounded, many more homeless,¡± said Therese. ¡°Your brother is a menace and you can¡¯t hope to use his power responsibly. Don¡¯t talk like a child.¡±

    ¡°You barely even know him,¡± Nadia began, before a thumping at the door interrupted them. ¡°Oh, what is it now?¡±

    Yuri¡¯s voice came from the other side. ¡°Tall, dark, and creepy¡¯s doing something really fuckin¡¯ weird. Like, even weirder than usual. You¡¯d better check it¡ªhey!¡± Therese¡¯s hand was on the doorknob before he finished speaking; she shoved him out of the way and sprinted down the hall to the room he shared with Aare, trailing a long stream of French obscenities.

    Nadia and Fatima caught up with her as she was struggling, in spite of their comical size disparity, to move Aare onto his side in bed. The big man was rigid and quivering, his eyes rolled back in a purple face. Even with the two of them to help, it wasn¡¯t easy to shift him. They got him all the way over seconds before he vomited his lunch onto the floor.

    Fatima, who had his head, screamed and jumped back. ¡°What the hell?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s having a seizure,¡± Therese said.

    ¡°He¡¯s epileptic? Does he have medication for that?¡± Nadia scanned the room for a bottle.

    ¡°No, and no. I have known him for years. He isn¡¯t epileptic; they don¡¯t train people with nervous disorders for paraphysical specialties.¡± Yuri ambled into the room after them, his hands in his pockets. ¡°You! What was he doing when this started?¡±

    ¡°Topping off that,¡± he said, pointing to an open metal can slowly leaking misty white ectoplasm onto the hardwood floor by the closet. ¡°Which is about all he ever does. Then he dropped it, and grabbed his head, and made this weird squeaky grunt. Then he fell back on the bed and started doing whatever that is, and then I went and got you. Why? You think I made him do it?¡±

    Therese pulled out a phone and dialed 113. She was out of the door before they picked up, leaving the three of them with her ailing colleague and his. Fatima bent down, picked up the kitty, and twisted the valve shut before it could leak any more or get vomit on it. Aare was still jerking and seizing. Nadia looked at Fatima, who looked at Yuri; none of them had any idea what to do, but they didn¡¯t feel good leaving him.

    Several awkward minutes passed. Yuri shrugged and sat down on his own bed, watching Aare quiver with mild, morbid interest. Outside, they heard Therese talking into the phone very rapidly and in an increasingly poor temper. At last she swept back inside, nearly hitting them with the door.

    ¡°It will take time to get an ambulance,¡± she announced. ¡°They are suddenly flooded with calls, and have ¡®technical difficulties,¡¯ they say.¡±

    ¡°Flooded with calls? On a Wednesday afternoon?¡± Nadia said. ¡°Has something happened?¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t tell me.¡± She scowled down at the vomit for a second, then dialed another number. It rang several times on the other end, before a machine picked up. Therese swore, ended the call, and tried another, with the same result.

    ¡°Who are you calling?¡± Fatima asked her.

    ¡°Anyone I can,¡± she snapped back. ¡°Shut up, I need to concentrate.¡± But number after number got the same result, and after a few minutes she gave up. ¡°Something is wrong.¡±

    They all looked at Aare, his jaws still clenched, the rest of his body twitching erratically. ¡°Yeah, we got that,¡± Yuri said. Therese swept back out of the room without responding.

    Thirty seconds of awkward waiting later, they heard her phone ring; Yuri jumped up and dashed out the door to eavesdrop, Fatima close behind him. Nadia dithered for a moment, then sat down with a sigh on Yuri¡¯s bed so she could keep an eye on Aare.

    She waited the better part of five minutes before Therese came back, looking angry. ¡°Get up, we have to go.¡±

    Nadia leapt to her feet, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor. ¡°And him?¡±

    ¡°We have done all we can for him. Something is going on, and I don¡¯t know what, but we can¡¯t stay here.¡± She grabbed Nadia¡¯s hand to drag her down the hall.

    ¡°Ouch! Let go! What is¡ªwhat¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°At least three other clairvoyants in this oblast are having seizures,¡± she said, hauling Nadia toward the stairs. ¡°All started around the same time, as far as I can tell. I have no idea how. And the ¡®technical difficulties¡¯? A halo around the hospital we just left!¡±

    ¡°Oh, god!¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve already told the others. We¡¯re taking the car this time, and to hell with plate-tracking.¡± Her short legs took the stairs two at a time, and Nadia struggled to follow. ¡°First we find out what¡¯s going on, then¡ªnom de dieu! Where did Fatima go?¡±

    Yuri¡¯s head popped up from the dining room table, his mouth messy with sour cream. ¡°She went out the door as soon as you went upstairs to get Nadia,¡± he said. ¡°I figured you told her.¡±

    From outside, they heard the squeal of tires, and an engine roaring its way down the road. Therese blanched, and stuck her hand into her coat pocket, fishing around desperately for several seconds. When she came up dry, she let out a string of curses, in five or six different languages, strong enough to peel the paint off the walls.

 LXXXVI. Metamorphosis (Fatima)

    Fatima still wasn¡¯t great at the whole SP thing. It might have helped if she¡¯d listened to Bob a little closer, maybe practiced a little more. She was pretty sure it would work, but ¡°pretty sure¡± wasn¡¯t enough with these stakes. And trying to get it perfect while driving¡ªto a place she¡¯d never tried to drive to before, in a strange city¡ªwas just a pain. Her picture was supposed to be a door, a big open door she could walk through. Easy enough to keep in your head if you¡¯re just sitting still doing nothing. A lot harder when you just realized you took a wrong turn because you were concentrating so hard on picturing a door while trying not to concentrate so hard you ran into another car.

    What was the plan? Hell if she knew. She didn¡¯t even know what was going on, and neither did anybody else. Frenchy¡¯s human alarm got knocked out, and so did everyone else¡¯s, at the same time everybody lost contact with the hospital. Dowsers said halo, when you could get them to work at all. But why would there be a halo around the hospital? It wasn¡¯t like they needed a familiar to take Rus on when couldn¡¯t even wake up.

    Simplest explanation: trap. They knew where Rus was, just like Frenchy said. He was the easiest of them to find. So they used him as bait to pull in the rest, right? That didn¡¯t take a genius. And Frenchy was probably right that the smart thing to do was to retreat and figure out what was going on before they went charging in.

    Fatima would have totally agreed with her ¡­ if she only trusted the bitch as far as she could throw her. But she didn¡¯t. They¡¯d been burned too many times, and she¡¯d been talking about ditching Rus as a liability even before all this went down. And Sunday, when the three of them were fighting for their lives and even Yuri was stepping up to fight like a man? Nadia said Frenchy had wanted to bail then too. Whatever tactical retreat she was calling for now, it¡¯d turn into cutting their losses and running for good at the first excuse.

    No way. That wasn¡¯t how Fatima rolled. Lessons from Papi, Number One: you keep your word, and you pay your debts. If your people stand by you, you stand by them. Somebody tries to fuck with your boys, you hit them back harder. Ruslan might have been a fat, whiny, pervy pain in the ass, but he kept his word when it counted and he didn¡¯t leave her hanging. That called for loyalty.

    She missed another turn, and ran over the curb backing up to turn around. Somebody honked at her; she flipped him off and kept going. It was getting a little easier to think of her door now, harder to avoid going that extra step to call out Mister Higgins in person. She had the creepy dude¡¯s mostly-full kitty in her pocket, right next to her knockoff Beretta, and there was an M4 sitting in the backseat. She was as ready as she was going to get.

    As usual, there were a bunch of cars crashed just outside the hospital¡ªenough that she couldn¡¯t get all that close without getting out and walking. Not much cover, and like most hospitals the damn thing was mostly windows. She parked out of line of sight and tried to sidle up fast and quick, with both guns and the kitty handy. It wasn¡¯t hard at all to keep the door handy; she was definitely thinking she ought to haul ass the other direction. She just couldn¡¯t actually do it.

    She took cover behind one of the wrecks, and peeked inside while she was there. The driver was a middle-aged lady thrashing around in her seat. Whatever the valence was, it looked like it hurt. Could valences hurt? Like, actual pain, not an emotion? Maybe the woman was just really upset, but it didn¡¯t look like it. Weird. Fatima kept moving. The next car had two people in it: a driver flopped over an airbag, looking kinda dead, and an old dude in a patient gown in the passenger seat, staring at nothing while he grabbed his chest and panted. Yep. Pain. Whatever this was, it was even more jacked up than the Lamprey, and she¡¯d better keep her door open if she didn¡¯t want to join them.

    She had to vault a fence to get near the hospital, then cross about fifty feet of open ground until she was flush with the wall and out of sight from any windows. The whole thing was moot if Yefimov or whoever had spotters on adjacent roofs, but she didn¡¯t see any and she didn¡¯t have time to spare being careful; for all she knew, this was all some fucked up way of torturing Rus for info. Until she knew he was dead or out of the building, she had to keep moving.

    She jumped the fence and sprinted for the wall with the M4 hugged to her chest. No shots, no shouts. So far so good. A look around¡ªnearest entrance was a little ways down the wall, but it looked like you needed to scan a badge to get in and she wasn¡¯t desperate enough to start shooting locks off yet. Too noisy. She had to edge around to the nearest public entrance instead, losing more time.

    There were more people flopping around inside, in the ER waiting area. She stepped over and past them, wondering what the emissor here could even do, if his halo felt that bad. Then again, Yuri seemed to do okay with Shum-Shum, and that felt like an acid trip. There were no badge-free doors here, either, so she tossed the rifle in through the receptionist¡¯s window and squirmed in after it, trying not to bump into the girl spazzing out in her chair.

    So far, so good. She snagged the desk girl¡¯s badge, then wondered if it would even work with the halo up. Were badge systems dumb enough? She tried on an elevator¡ªnope. Damn. The stairs weren¡¯t secured, though¡ªuntil she got three flights up, and found a reader blocking the way back out. She slammed the rifle-butt into the little window in the door, cleared out the glass, and let herself in.

    Almost there. A few people groaning on the floor, and she hardly noticed, because the double doors to the ICU, at the end of the hall, had been smashed. One of them still hung, at a messed-up angle; the other had been hit hard enough to rip the hinges off and damage the frame too. The door on the floor had a big splintery crater in the middle of it. Fatima held her rifle ready; whatever did that wouldn¡¯t care about bullets, but if she spotted the emissor the first shot might save her life.

    Ruslan¡¯s room was right in the middle of the unit, next to the nurses¡¯ little fort thing where they hung out and did their computer shit. You couldn¡¯t see it from the door; you had to go down a little hall and turn a corner. Fatima sidestepped into the turn, sweeping the whole unit with the M4. Nothing. Where the hell were they hiding? She had to wonder if they¡¯d done something crazy, like rig the ICU with mines.

    A few cautious steps down the hall, checking every room and corner before she passed it. All the patients were moaning and crying in their beds, except one who was on a ventilator¡ªhe looked dead. The machine had a computer in it, and wouldn¡¯t work in a halo, so he hadn¡¯t been able to breathe. Its screen, like the monitor over his head, was glitchy, all flickering blotchy blocks of weird colors.

    She got another three doors down before she remembered that Rus had been using the exact same machine.

    Fatima wasn¡¯t conscious of dropping the rifle, or making any kind of decision at all. The thing hit the floor and she was off at a flat run down the hallway, hurdling a guy in scrubs on the floor, skidding past the last corner, and lunging into his room like there were wolves on her tail.

    Rus was thrashing in the bed, his face bright red from the effort as every breath went gurgling around the tube in his throat. His arms were pulling against the restraints hard enough to draw blood, but not making any progress. Fatima ran in to help him¡ªthen stopped. The tube was attached to his face with a complicated plastic harness deal, and she couldn¡¯t figure out how to get it free, or pull the damn tube out. Every part of her was shaking.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    She put a hand on his chest to force him back down onto the bed; she might as well have tried to tackle a tree. ¡°Rus! Calm down!¡± He bucked and thrashed, kicking hard at the end of the bed. She grabbed his head, trying to hold it still so he wouldn¡¯t crack his skull on something. The sweat made it slippery. ¡°Rus! Hey! Look at me. Look at me!¡± His big dark eyes were just barely cracked open, and wouldn¡¯t focus on her or anything else. All he could do was make choking noises.

    ¡°Okay. Okay, we can do this, we just have to ¡­ ¡° What? What was she going to do? She didn¡¯t know how to manage this shit, and everybody who might have helped was barely better off than he was. Did she just have to grab and yank the fucking thing out of him? What if it was attached in there? They¡¯d just pulled one of these things out of her, back in Ankara, but she¡¯d been high as a kite, and she couldn¡¯t remember how.

    The door was still open, inside her head. Walk away, sister. Walk away. This shit ain¡¯t working. The deck is rigged, the game¡¯s not fair. Time to move on. But she stayed where she was, trying to hold Ruslan¡¯s head still and talk him down. God only knew where she was supposed to go from here.

    A noise from the door, and a change in the light, made her turn her head¡ªthen scream. Something huge and black was blocking the exit. She had her piece out and firing in less than a second. Blood splattered out of the thing with every shot, and it shuddered against the muzzle flashes¡ªbut it didn¡¯t move, and when the magazine was dry, it was still there. Not trying to come into the room, or retreat back out, or get her back for twelve rounds center-mass. Just standing there, breathing heavy. All she¡¯d done was set her ears ringing from the noise.

    ¡°What the fuck do you want, freak?¡± It didn¡¯t answer, or else she couldn¡¯t hear it. She couldn¡¯t even tell what it was supposed to be; it was all blurry around the edges, with no real shape to it. Like whoever had called it had done a crap job and failed halfway through. It moved a little, and more blood dripped onto the floor. She got a glimpse, against the light, of a fringe of feathers. Then she understood.

    ¡°Shit, Rus, what¡¯d you do?¡± She dropped the gun¡ªshe wasn¡¯t sure if she even had another magazine for it¡ªso she could grab his face with both hands. ¡°Listen. You¡¯ve got to send him back. Do you hear me? Send him away. I can¡¯t get you better till he¡¯s gone!¡± Frothy drool spilled out of his mouth. He wasn¡¯t fighting so hard now, but it might just be that he didn¡¯t have the strength left anymore. ¡°I mean it, fool! Send him back.¡± She let go long enough to rear back and slap him. ¡°Send him back, dumbass! You¡¯re gonna kill yourself!¡± But he didn¡¯t listen. He wasn¡¯t even looking at her.

    The thing by the door shuffled forward, and leaned against the wall for support, leaving a bloody smear. Fatima could almost make out the big bird¡¯s head, if she squinted. ¡°Is he broken? You break your own damn familiar? Just how jacked is your brain now, Rus? Why¡¯s it always gotta be me who cleans up all your shit? Huh? Why? Just what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer. Fuck it. She started yanking at the shit on his face, pulling off sticky pads and velcro tabs. That got Rus started struggling harder again, and she slapped him some more, not to settle him but because she was just that pissed off. She¡¯d got a bunch of it undone¡ªit¡¯d be easier if he wasn¡¯t a gooey, slobbery wad of sweat¡ªwhen he gave one gigantic gagging cough and the damn tube came flying out.

    She jumped back, and the tube slapped her across the face, and Rus made a noise halfway between a cough and trying to throw up, but nothing came up except a mess of blood and mucus. Then he went back to panting like a dog. He sounded nasty, like he had a dying bird trapped in his throat, but at least he was actually breathing now.

    She felt real tired all of a sudden, kind of light-headed, and slumped down to rest on the floor, with her back to the bed. Every part of her was shaking. But she couldn¡¯t stop yet; Kizil Khan, or whatever was left of him, was still standing there, looming over her, dribbling blood over everything. ¡°You can leave now. You¡¯re done not helping. Thanks a ton.¡±

    But the big blob didn¡¯t budge. All he did was quiver a little. She still had the kitty, and she thought about just calling Mister Higgins to boot his ass out, then letting go so they could get started fixing this shit. But that would be a big shock, and if Rus¡¯s brain really was messed up, she didn¡¯t know what that would do to him. It might kill him. Or ¡­ this was all him, wasn¡¯t it? There wasn¡¯t any attack at all. He was the reason that Aare dude had the seizure, and everybody in the hospital was moaning like they had fish-hooks stuck in their junk. What would happen to all those people if Rus¡¯s brain got smacked like that? What were the rules for dealing with brain-damaged familiars, anyway?

    Well, Fatima didn¡¯t know how to deal with all that. But Rus, she could handle. She reached up, grabbed the bedrail, and hoisted herself up to stare him in the face. He still sounded like ass, but his eyes were moving now. Moving a lot, in fact, twitching this way and that. ¡°Hey. Rus.¡± Her slap was gentle this time, more of a pat to get his attention. ¡°Focus, numbnuts. You need to wake up now.¡± His eyes might have flickered in her direction, just for a second. Or she might have imagined it.

    ¡°What, are you mad at me? Or is anybody even in there now?¡± No answer. Twitch, groan, hack, cough. Eyes all over the place. ¡°Look, I just hauled your ass back from the brink of death. Self-inflicted death, I might add, because apparently you¡¯re too damn stupid now to even keep yourself alive. If you¡¯re in there, I¡¯m gonna need you to get your shit together and show it. We can¡¯t be pulling your dead weight all the time.¡± Another little slap. ¡°Hey! Listen!¡±

    The black blob stepped a little closer, looming over them. She turned back to tell it to give them some space, and saw it was a little less fuzzy now. He had all his feathers, and something like a beak. Still bleeding all over the place. She turned back to Rus, and just for a second, their eyes met, before his went flickering away again. ¡°Okay. I think that¡¯s good. But we can do better. C¡¯mon now, work with me.¡±

    She reached down, found his bloody hand at the end of the restraint, and grabbed. ¡°I¡¯m here. Fatima¡¯s here. Right here. I ain¡¯t going anywhere, and I¡¯m not going to just let you go on with this bullshit. You¡¯re a stupid son of a bitch, Rus, but you¡¯re still my boy, you¡¯re still my brother, and we¡¯re gonna get through this.¡± She snapped the fingers of her free hand right in front of his eyes; he jerked, and looked right at her. Then he blinked, and went bouncing off again. She snapped some more. No help, and she was still shaking. ¡°Damn it.¡±

    Behind her, the thing that was trying to be Kizil Khan made some choking noises of its own. She ignored it. Morbid old asshole was always trying to die, or wanting to, and all this was his fault anyway. Just Ruslan was enough to deal with right now. She moved her free hand down to rest it on his nasty, slobbery cheek. ¡°This ain¡¯t no fairy tale, Rus. If you think I¡¯m going to kiss you to wake you up, it¡¯s not going to happen. We¡¯re not going to happen. You need to figure that out. Should have done it a long time ago.¡± One eye moved to look right at her; the other stared in the other direction. ¡°What? You got a problem with that?¡±

    The shadow bumped into her from behind, knocking her sideways; she pushed back hard, letting go of Rus¡¯s hand long enough to hit it with her elbow. She found his hand again¡ªhe wasn¡¯t fighting anymore¡ªand squeezed it, hard. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want from me, boy. I don¡¯t know what you want me to do. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re mad at me, I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re even in there ¡­ shit, I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m doing, half the time. But I¡¯m with you, you hear me? Because you¡¯re with me. You¡¯re the only one I can trust. I got a sister who thinks she¡¯s Jesus and her brother who¡¯s trying real hard to be Shaitan. You¡¯re not always the smartest, and you piss me off more than I¡¯ve got words to tell you, but you know what? You¡¯re fucking there, day in, day out. You¡¯ve always got my back. That ain¡¯t nothing. And I respect that.

    ¡°So ¡­ if you need some kind of reason to come back, that¡¯s it. That¡¯s what I¡¯m giving you.¡± He was lying still now, still hoarse but not breathing so hard, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. ¡°That¡¯s it. You¡¯re not getting any more. But you don¡¯t need to. You¡¯re not going to be my man, but you¡¯re still my man, if that makes any sense.¡± Probably not. Shit. ¡°And I want you back. And ¡­ I guess that¡¯s all I¡¯ve got to say.¡± She let go, and turned around so she wouldn¡¯t have to look at him anymore.

    Kizil Khan was solid now, solid and huge, filling up most of the room with his bloody black wings. His beak was wide open, the face on the inside staring right into hers out of his gullet. ¡°Still here, huh?¡± The face got a little bigger, poking farther out. ¡°Nope, still not impressed. Get your nasty ass out of here.¡± But something was up. Now that it was closer, it didn¡¯t look quite the same as usual. His inner face was usually solid ebony black; this one was paler. ¡°What are you playing at now?¡±

    He reared back, pointing his bird¡¯s-face at the ceiling, and shuddered, spraying the room with blood. Fatima flinched back to keep the worst of it out of her face. Kizil Khan made a gurgling noise, just like his master, and Fatima tried to edge further away but there was nowhere to hide. His wings blocked off the way around the bed. He kept gurgling, and from between her crossed arms Fatima saw something coming out of his beak.

    Something white, pure white, poked out and over, until a woman¡¯s face was staring down at her, meeting her gaze. She had dark almond eyes like Ruslan¡¯s, but a pale and perfect complexion, just a little peach blush around the cheeks, framed by silky black hair. She had a shiny gold cap on the top of her head, perfectly posed even though her whole head had just forced its way out of a bird¡¯s throat.

    The rest of her came out quicker¡ªa matching vest of gold brocade, spotless white sleeves, gold bracelets around her perfect hands. Her bottom half came out in a rush, and the dark body of the eagle collapsed as it did, everything sagging and folding in faster and faster until somehow the lady¡¯s sparkling gold slippers landed on the floor and the last of Kizil Khan¡¯s body tucked itself away into the ends of her knee-length hair.

    The woman, whoever she was¡ªshe was all got up like a princess from India, or Persia, or something¡ªleaned over to take Fatima¡¯s chin in her hand and tilt her face up to look her in the eye. She was too surprised to fight back, or say anything. At some point she¡¯d forgotten her door, but there wasn¡¯t any pain. The only one hurting was the lady in gold; her pretty eyes were wet with tears now, and her lips were tight. Everything about her was tense and tight, and Fatima wanted to help her, but knew she couldn¡¯t. All this woman knew how to do was hurt. A tear fell out of her eye, and landed on Fatima¡¯s cheek; she reached up to wipe it away, and saw bright red blood on her fingers.

    Abruptly the woman straightened up, arching her back, and let out a long, terrible scream. Fatima fell over clutching her ears, feeling the woman¡¯s pain in every part of her, and when the scream ended and she looked up the woman was gone.

    For a long time Fatima lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, unable even to process what the hell had just happened. It took the increasingly loud sound of Ruslan¡¯s wheezing breath to bring her back to herself. She sat up, saw her ¡°Beretta¡± on the floor next to her, and picked it up.

    Outside, in the hallway, she could hear a growing murmur as all the staff came back to life. They had to be even more confused than she was. But so what? Ruslan sounded like his throat was about to cave in, and that shit wasn¡¯t going to fix itself. This, at least, was something she knew how to handle. She tucked the gun away and went out into the hallway, shouting, ¡°Hey! Get your lazy asses in gear! We got a sick man in here!¡±

 LXXXVII. The Tearing of the Veil (Keisha)

    Over the years, Keisha had spent a lot more time in Washington, D.C. than she cared to. Her first visit, way back in the Nineties on a school field trip, had been impressive; as an adult, trying to navigate the mad crosshatch of streets under the ever-rising towers of government buildings, the experience had lost most of its charm.

    With every visit the city got taller, darker, and more crowded, with endless mobs of people trying to justify jamming themselves in under Stillwater¡¯s protective aura. Even now, with the system spreading out for tens of miles in every direction, and construction booming on as fast as the onerous approval and permit process allowed, and smaller projects starting up in fifteen other metro areas, D.C. was the single most expensive city on the planet.

    A crummy townhouse in Anacostia would set you back about a million dollars. Even a studio apartment was dear. Same story for hotel rooms, cab fees, Metro tickets, and fast food. It wasn¡¯t even a ¡®city¡¯ anymore, so much as a cluster of federal departments, military contractors, corporate headquarters, and (where space allowed) mildly cramped apartment complexes catering to people who weren¡¯t quite as wealthy as they were paranoid. The army of service people who kept it all running commuted in from the suburbs every day, and left the masters of the world to sleep through the evening in peace and safety.

    And squatting in the center of it all, in an extravagantly wasteful swath of plain green grass, were the old museums, the Supreme Court, the Capitol, and off to one side, the White House, a pretty little doll¡¯s house brushing against the knees of the fifty-story tower on the other side of the street. It took a lot of the mystique and grandeur away from an official visit.

    She made her way through the Metro without too much trouble, arriving at the checkpoint at 1027. They showed her in to the Red Room, where Dr. Gus was already waiting, sipping coffee from official presidential china.

    ¡°Miss Sarah Lawrence,¡± he said, saluting her gravely with his teacup. ¡°Or is it something else now?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I can¡¯t even remember what. It doesn¡¯t matter. You know what all this is about?¡± He looked perfectly comfortable¡ªbut then, this couldn¡¯t be his first invitation to the White House.

    ¡°Oh, it could be many things,¡± he said, with aggravating good humor. ¡°The world is a busy place. Do try to relax. It will be some time before you see this place again, so you might as well enjoy it.¡±

    She looked around. The Red Room was, as the name suggested, very red, with tasteful matching furniture. One wall was dominated by a huge painting of Jack Kennedy shaking hands with Ho Chi Minh. It looked familiar; she leaned in and saw Norman Rockwell¡¯s signature in the lower right corner. The Treaty of Thanh H¨®a was inscribed at the bottom of the frame. Old Norman had made ¡°Uncle Ho¡± look pretty good, considering the circumstances. Just being magnanimous, she was sure; that genial, silver-haired grandpa had probably died of shame well before the painting was finished.

    The door opened again, and Colonel David Hampton limped in on his cane, followed by General Tyler Green. For once, Hamp looked pretty chipper; you couldn¡¯t say the same for Green, who might have aged five years since she first met him a couple months ago, in the hospital room in Thessaloniki. ¡°The President will be with us shortly,¡± was all he said before sitting down in an armchair, well away from Dr. Gus.

    Hamp, on the other hand, hobbled over to meet her with a big smile on his face. ¡°Been a while, stranger,¡± he muttered. ¡°Hanging in there?¡±

    ¡°As well as I can. You?¡±

    ¡°Giving the rehab people hell. But I¡¯m finally getting results. Might get to ditch the cane, in a little bit.¡±

    ¡°Really? That¡¯s great!¡±

    ¡°Yeah. And I was just starting to get bored with paid leave, so ¡­ hey, it all works out. You reckon we¡¯re chasing The Little Rascals again?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I also don¡¯t know why else he¡¯d want the three of us here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a better question, then: do you want to go back to that?¡±

    She peeked out of the drapes, to see if she could catch a glimpse of the Rose Garden. Not really. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not going to say I haven¡¯t worried about them. But then ¡­ you know. The way we left.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± He joined her at the window. ¡°I wasn¡¯t the one to notify Major Honor¨¦¡¯s family, but I did go to see them. They¡¯re doing well.¡±

    ¡°I probably should have done that myself.¡± It hadn¡¯t even occurred to her, and she wouldn¡¯t have had the heart to do it if it had. She¡¯d been spending a lot of time moping. ¡°He had a family? I¡¯m jealous.¡±

    ¡°Parents, two siblings, a couple of nephews and nieces, six or seven cousins, assorted dogs and cats, and one old uncle. All very proud of their boy, even though only ¡­ oh, half of them knew what he could do.¡±

    ¡°Half, huh?¡± She made herself smile. ¡°He never did have any respect for security.¡±

    ¡°Well, the dogs didn¡¯t know. That¡¯s something.¡± They all turned to look as the door from the hall opened and two more men in uniform came in. One was a fresh-faced blond kid who looked too young to be there, the other was a grizzle-haired black man closer to Hamp¡¯s age, and Keisha didn¡¯t recognize either. Both immediately introduced themselves to General Green. ¡°I wonder how many more we¡¯re expecting? This room¡¯s not that big.¡±

    The door opened again, and a third stranger appeared, a thirtysomething Asian woman in Numenate dress greys with dark glasses on. A staffer helped her over to the couch beside Dr. Gus; she winced as she sat down, holding her head. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not about the kids after all,¡± Keisha said. ¡°Or not all about them, anyway.¡±

    A minute later more staff came in with trays of sandwiches and coffee. The younger officer was wandering around the room inspecting the artwork, while Green and the old guy talked and Dr. Gus tried to comfort the ailing woman. Keisha got a sandwich and a drink, then hung back by the window with Hamp, talking about anything but the Marshalls or Ethan. Apparently, while they were busy chasing Yuri across Anatolia, the Steelers had beat the Bears in the Super Bowl. Falcons hadn¡¯t even made the playoffs.

    The blond kid overheard them, made his way over, and was starting to talk some smack about the Jets (like anybody gave a damn about the Jets!) when Arthur Daniel Dawes came in from the State Dining Room, accompanied by none other than Senator Katherine Arnold. The latter gave Keisha a little wave as she, along with every military man in the room, came to attention. The woman in glasses tried, only to fall back on the couch, shaking.

    ¡°At ease,¡± said the President. His Jersey accent wasn¡¯t quite as bad as she remembered it being, but still pretty thick. ¡°I apologize for my tardiness as your host¡ªbut, in my defense, I did just move in.¡± Polite chuckles. ¡°Hm. I usually get more than that. Guess it¡¯s time to retire that joke. Thank you all for coming in on short notice.¡±

    He went on to do the introductions, which Keisha felt free to pay little attention to; one of the few perks of being an emissor was that you weren¡¯t expected to get to know people too well. She¡¯d be addressing all these people by rank, if she said anything at all. He introduced her as ¡®Lieutenant Monique Jackson,¡¯ which she was pretty sure was what it said on her current ID. Everybody had to realize it was a pseudonym anyway.

    Art Dawes clapped his hands. ¡°So. To business. Jake?¡±

    The grey-haired general stood up. ¡°Good morning, ladies and gentleman. As you may or may not have heard¡ªhopefully not¡ªMoscow appears to have a new and disconcerting weapon, capable of disabling clairvoyants at range. At least, that¡¯s our working assumption. So far, all we know is that an unknown paraphysical phenomenon manifested in Kuban Oblast, just east of the Crimean Peninsula, around 1300 local time yesterday. Roughly thirty hours ago.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know what it was, but it lasted less than an hour, and as long as it was active it had a crippling effect on clairvoyants. The severity depended on distance; sensitive parties within the Oblast¡ªours or theirs, it seems¡ªsuffered prolonged grand mal seizures. At least one allied agent died as a result, and possibly some Russians as well. Clairvoyants in adjacent regions were likewise disabled, but seizures were intermittent or localized to specific parts of the body. We¡¯re getting scattered reports of hallucinations as well.

    ¡°Those more than three hundred kilometers from the apparent epicenter, such as Captain Park¡°¡ªhe nodded to the miserable woman on the couch¡ª¡°did not lose consciousness, but did suffer severe, debilitating migraine headaches. At four to five hundred kilometers, the headaches were milder and more temporary. Beyond five hundred kilometers, symptoms were extremely mild and ceased within minutes of the phenomenon¡¯s termination.¡±

    Dr. Gus raised his hand. ¡°Pardon me. Were all of these individuals in active trance at the time?¡±

    ¡°They were not,¡± said the general. ¡°Mental state does not seem to have made a significant difference to the consequences. Captain Park?¡±

    The woman sat up a little, with obvious effort. ¡°I was sleeping at the time, sir. Off-rotation, after an eight-hour overnight shift. I don¡¯t recall sensing anything in particular in my sleep before it woke me. I could tell what direction it was coming from¡ªthat was obvious. But it wasn¡¯t anything like a halo. Much more violent, less controlled.¡±

    ¡°And no effect on emissors or VRIL specialists, that we¡¯ve heard of,¡± put in General Green. ¡°If it¡¯s a weapon, it only works against clairvoyants. But that¡¯s bad enough.¡± Hamp raised his hand. ¡°Yes, Colonel?¡±

    ¡°Did I hear you say it hit their eyes too, sir?¡±

    ¡°You did,¡± said the other general. Keisha was pretty sure he was the JCOS Chairman, Green¡¯s boss. ¡°We¡¯re running under the assumption that this was a kind of field test, and they didn¡¯t expect a result of this magnitude, or that something went wrong. Alternatively, it could be an accident, or an unsanctioned firing. Or they might just be that desperate. Circumstances in the region are not favorable to the Moscow regime at present, to put it mildly.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°They just lost a second boss in the region, didn¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mr. President. Two oprichniki in as many days. From what we can tell, Ardent will recover soon, but the Lamprey might be out of commission for good.¡±

    ¡°Damn good work,¡± said the President. ¡°Which brings us to you, Colonel Hampton¡ªdo you have any news for us?¡±

    Hamp shook his head. ¡°We haven¡¯t had any contact with the Marshall children in some time. They¡¯ve discarded their phones. As far as they¡¯re concerned, they¡¯ve broken contact for good. Independent agents.¡±

    ¡°That might not be true,¡± said the blond guy. ¡°Brussels says they have somebody on the ground who¡¯s made contact with them in the past several days.¡±

    ¡°Made contact?¡± said Keisha. ¡°How? When? Are they doing all right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve asked, ma¡¯am,¡± he said, ¡°but they¡¯re not being forthcoming. They don¡¯t know much more to report, apparently. Their intelligence network in Krasnodar went down with the Lamprey, and they¡¯re not having much luck getting useful information out. All four are alive, one¡¯s injured, and they have at least one EU operative babysitting. That¡¯s what they¡¯ve got.¡±

    Thank God. But a lasting injury? Either Nadia was being stubborn again, or ¡­

    ¡°We might not be their highest priority, right now,¡± Kitty Arnold put in. ¡°And I can¡¯t blame them. General Parris, where¡¯s the Ghost, last you heard?¡±

    ¡°As of this morning, somewhere around Hanover,¡± the older general said. ¡°It¡¯s not moving in a straight line, it¡¯s not slowing down, and they¡¯re having no luck catching it.¡±

    President Dawes cleared his throat. ¡°Could someone explain to me how that works? How is it dodging the whole country¡¯s surveillance network?¡±

    Dr. Gus answered for Parris. ¡°As I understand it, detecting the Ghost itself is not the problem, Mr. President. Every emissant yields evidence of two things, which a sufficiently skilled clairvoyant can detect and distinguish: itself and the center of its Tetzloff Field. From these two it is a relatively simple matter to deduce the location of the emissor. The technique is not much more complicated than drawing and extending a straight line. But, in the case of the Ghost of Leipzig, the two points seem to overlap perfectly.¡±

    Dawes frowned. ¡°Meaning what?¡±

    ¡°Difficult to say, but there are only so many possibilities. I can think of three. One is that the Ghost is capable of hiding or shielding its own emissor within its body. This would seem to be precluded by all established precedent; an emissant should not be able to exert any paraphysical effect on its emissor. Another possibility is that its abilities include a knack for deceiving surveillance. This is less unlikely, but still doubtful to my way of thinking.¡±

    ¡°So, what¡¯s the third?¡± asked Parris.

    ¡°The most absurd of all: there is no emissor to find, because the Ghost is a unique example of a self-sustaining emissant. I have no notion how this would work, but it would make the creature astonishingly difficult to destroy.¡±

    ¡°And nobody has even seen this thing?¡± demanded the President.

    ¡°Nobody who survived,¡± said Parris.

    ¡°You¡¯ll pardon me for saying that all this strikes me as a little improbable,¡± said Kitty Arnold. ¡°The Ghost, however it works, is one totally new kind of Russian weapon. Whatever happened in Kuban, if it¡¯s a weapon, would be another. Do they really have that kind of research advantage, that they could develop two such devastating new tools simultaneously, while we don¡¯t even know the theory behind either? And if they do, why are they only unveiling them now, when we¡¯ve been at open war for a year?¡±

    All eyes turned to Dr. Gus. ¡°I am far from convinced that the Kuban phenomenon is a weapon,¡± he said. ¡°But it is true that the new Russian regime moves aggressively, even recklessly in some respects, to acquire new emissors. They have pursued certain avenues of research we neglected for very good reasons¡ªprimeval or subnarrative emissants being the most famous such example. It is possible that they have had a breakthrough by such dubious means. That would be one explanation for the Ghost.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s also possible,¡± General Green said, ¡°that they¡¯re only breaking out their shiniest new toys because they¡¯re desperate. We¡¯ve put them in a very uncomfortable position lately, and the Knyazya don¡¯t want to lose face. They might have had both weapons in development for some time, and decided to deploy them in spite of inadequate testing, in an unfinished state. That would explain why the Kuban weapon is so indiscriminate, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°If it is a weapon,¡± Dr. Gus allowed.

    ¡°It would be a sensible weapon for them to develop,¡± said General Parris. ¡°Russia relies almost exclusively on emissors, since the Revolution. No VRIL at all. They do have clairvoyants, but they don¡¯t use or train them to the same extent we do, for political reasons. They depend on their oprichniki to keep the peace across their empire, and there¡¯s a limited number of people they¡¯re willing to trust with the ability to watch the watchmen. If they have a means of disrupting surveillance in a broad area, for a sustained period of time ¡­ well, imagine if they¡¯d had that in Texas. Or if they used it here. It¡¯d cripple Stillwater, easy.¡±

    ¡°Shit,¡± said President Dawes. ¡°You all realize why I¡¯m a little concerned here, don¡¯t you? That you¡¯re telling me Ivan might have found two game-changing weapons within a week?¡±

    ¡°If it would have been useful in Texas,¡± said Dr. Gus, ¡°it seems to me very curious that they did not choose to employ it in Texas, less than twenty-four hours earlier. The Marshall children, as we know, seem to be waging a private war in southwestern Russia. To detonate a sort of ectenic bomb on that scale, thereby blinding whatever clairvoyant assets they do possess in the area, seems to me a very stupid decision.¡±

    ¡°Which is why we assume it was an error or miscalculation,¡± General Green retorted. ¡°They might have believed it would cripple the Marshall children as well. And offensive operations in enemy territory would be a very bad place to test an unproven weapon. If nothing else, it could have fallen into our hands¡ª¡±

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s enough,¡± said the President. ¡°Whatever you say, it looks to me like Moscow¡¯s got the winning hand right now.¡±

    ¡°I do not agree,¡± replied Dr. Gus. ¡°The events of the past week speak to the strength of the American system, and the weakness of the Russian.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true that they¡¯ve taken a lot of damage,¡± said General Parris. ¡°But that was almost entirely because of the Marshalls, over whom we exert no control, acting with a degree of aggression we would never countenance in our own operatives. And it bought us the largest reprisal to the homeland in more than a decade. We can hardly take credit for that.¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± said Dr. Gus. ¡°Children. They are taking terrible loss from undirected children. Why? Because they use only half of the available tools, because they rely on coercion, because they are too afraid of insurrection to deploy a proper defensive network. The attack in Texas was rapidly foiled by the local Minuteman network¡ªa vast array of lightly trained volunteers, an offshoot of the National Guard, not even properly military. Such a thing could never exist in Russia; they would not have the courage to trust their citizens with such power. No less an authority than Niccol¨° Machiavelli himself said that a prince¡¯s best defense against his enemies is not to be hated.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting point, Doctor,¡± said the President, ¡°but I didn¡¯t call you all here to discuss political philosophy, or overhauling our whole ¡­ strategic doctrine, or whatever you want to call it. Our country is faced with a series of crises, one after the other, in a short period of time.

    ¡°I¡¯m reasonably pleased with our response in Corpus Christi; they can¡¯t afford to take those kinds of losses for that kind of result, no matter how fast they train them. Did we bag the third one yet?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± said Green. ¡°The third emissor has likely left Mexico by now.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t have everything. But that¡¯s the past. Problem one: we¡¯re getting the credit, or the blame, for underage rogue actors, over whom we have no influence. We need to either control the actors or clear our name, and I don¡¯t know which is easier or better.¡± He looked at Hamp, who nodded.

    ¡°Problem two: whatever the hell just happened in Kuban. Now, I¡¯ve never served a day in the military, and I¡¯m willing to yield to your expertise, but it doesn¡¯t sound to me like we even know what that thing was, and it seems to have bit Ivan pretty hard on the ass. This, to me, seems more like something we look into real close, not a reason to go straight to shitting our pants in a panic. Any argument there?¡±

    Parris pursed his lips. ¡°Sir. I¡¯m not comfortable allowing anything with that kind of disruptive potential¡ª¡°

    ¡°You¡¯re not? Fine. What do you propose we do about it, right here, right now? What are our options? You¡¯re the soldier, you tell me.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re already shifting deployment patterns to cover blind spots. Beyond that, there¡¯s not much else we can do, unless and until it happens again.¡±

    ¡°Agreed! Moving on, problem three: our Ghost of Leipzig. Attacks on the homeland are serious business¡ªbut we took some scalps there, and public confidence is recovering. We¡¯ve got the Alamo spirit now, and I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll try it again in a hurry. Also, not to sound like a heartless prick, but isolationism just went right out of style. Very convenient, seeing as we couldn¡¯t walk away from this fight if we wanted to.

    ¡°But as for letting the bastards run wild through the heart of the EU? I kind of like having NATO be a thing. How about you guys? NATO, it¡¯s a good thing to have around, am I right? Western Europe, not a heap of rubble? Yes?¡±

    ¡°I would agree, sir, that the Ghost is the single most urgent threat we face,¡± said General Parris.

    ¡°Very good. We¡¯ve already sent what we can spare, in terms of clairvoyant muscle. Europe¡¯s drowning in that kind of talent anyway. They¡¯ve got more eyeballs than we do. But if you don¡¯t mind, Doctor, I¡¯d also like to send you over, to see what you can tell us about the situation. I want a top-notch theoretical mind on the problem.¡±

    ¡°I am honored by your confidence. Very well, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. Lieutenant Jackson, you¡¯re his escort. You and Colonel Hampton. Keep him out of trouble.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°You know why, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous area, Mr. President.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean why I¡¯m sending you specifically.¡±

    ¡°Then no, sir, I don¡¯t. I assumed I was here to help with the Marshalls.¡±

    ¡°Not really. You¡¯re here because you¡¯re my fourth problem.¡±

    ¡°¡­ sir?¡±

    ¡°Nothing personal, and I understand why it happened, but the Belvedere question hasn¡¯t really gone away, has it? It¡¯s not up there on the surface anymore, it¡¯s not on the front page, but it¡¯s one more thing to worry about. It¡¯s a problem. Well, I started in this business working for Lou Farley, in Trenton. He always said, ¡®never solve one problem at a time.¡¯ You can¡¯t afford to; the problems just come too fast, you¡¯ll get buried alive. If you¡¯ve got a chance to tag two at once, you take it. This is my chance. I want that man in Europe, I want him safe, and I want to be able to tell the public that, whatever the Ghost of Leipzig turns out to be, I¡¯ve got our super-scary unaccountable secret weapon on the other side of the ocean, hunting it down to turn it into fuckin¡¯ ashes and smoke, on my orders. Are we clear on that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯ve got other matters to attend to, and you¡¯ve got a plane to catch. Thank you all for coming. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 LXXXVIII. Pressure (Nadia)

    Ruslan was discharged from the hospital a few hours after the incident. Not that he was exactly ready to be discharged; he was awake, sort of, but he still couldn¡¯t talk or move very well. Mostly the people who ran the hospital were afraid that ¡®it¡¯ would happen again, and the fact that they had no idea what ¡®it¡¯ was only made ¡®it¡¯ scarier. If whatever he had done hadn¡¯t happened to heal everyone in the hospital besides himself to perfect health, they would probably have been much angrier, maybe even dangerously so.

    As it was, everyone in Krymsk was terrified, and Therese told the Marshalls they needed to get moving before he did it again and turned the whole town against them. If the hospital hadn¡¯t been ready to kick Ruslan out, they would have taken him anyway; he¡¯d bought them a little time by (they hoped) knocking out all of the regime¡¯s clairvoyants at the same time he knocked out Aare, but they had precious little time before a large number of men with guns, and probably a few with emissants, descended on the town.

    ¡°Again you break cover,¡± Therese complained as they pushed Ruslan¡¯s wheelchair at a not-terribly-safe pace across the parking lot. ¡°Always, at every chance. Even the one who is unconscious, in a coma¡ªhe breaks cover!¡±

    Fatima said something back, but under her breath, and in Pashto, too quietly for Therese to catch. It wasn¡¯t that Therese had forgiven her, exactly, for stealing the car. She was only prepared to overlook it, barely, because it seemed like in doing so she had saved Ruslan¡¯s life, and possibly those of several hundred sick civilians as well. Just like Yuri¡¯s little kidnapping lark, it had been a mad idea that happened to pay off.

    ¡°He will need a lot of care,¡± Therese reminded Fatima. ¡°He cannot eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. He is in diapers. I expect you to take care of that as well.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, whatever,¡± Fatima muttered back, and pushed the chair a little faster to get more distance between them. It jolted on a rough patch in the asphalt, and she swore, struggling to maintain control. Ruslan didn¡¯t seem to notice. His eyes were open, but didn¡¯t seem to track anything most of the time; a bobbing bit of drool danced out of his drooping mouth as he wobbled across the lot. They didn¡¯t know if he would ever get better, or if he would spend the rest of his ¡®life¡¯ as an inert lump that only happened to look like a person.

    Therese peeled away from their group to get in her own car, where Aare was resting with a cloth over his eyes. The rest of them went in their one functioning truck, the lone survivor of the bridge attack, which still had Turkish plates. Therese had meant to see if they could bribe some Russian bureaucrat for local plates, before this happened. She¡¯d meant to do a lot of things. Too late now. They would have to take their chances with the foreign tags, at least until they got out of immediate danger.

    Even with four of them, it was incredibly hard to get Ruslan¡¯s inert mass inside and secured, since he was heavier than any two of them combined. Therese watched them struggle from her own idling car, her arm dangling out the window to drum an impatient beat on the door with her fingers. When they finally got him buckled, they had the wheelchair to deal with, a parting gift from the hospital to speed them on their way out of town. It broke down and folded up, but it took all four of them working together to figure out how, while Therese revved her engine suggestively.

    It was Fatima¡¯s turn to drive, in the sense that Maria and Yuri didn¡¯t feel like it and they were all annoyed with her for getting Therese in an even worse mood than usual. ¡°Don¡¯t even know where we¡¯re going,¡± she muttered. ¡°Does she?¡±

    ¡°Somewhere safer than here,¡± was all Nadia could say. Ruslan was in the passenger seat, leaving Yuri in the back as a barrier between his sister and his girlfriend.

    ¡°More fun with cultists,¡± said Yuri. He glanced at Maria before adding, still in English, ¡°And me with a committed girlfriend along. You know all the groupie lays I could be getting out of this?¡±

    Nadia didn¡¯t bother to act outraged, or to slap him; some part of Yuri was just itching for that kind of attention. He still had two black eyes from Ruslan punching him on Saturday. Maybe he¡¯d enjoyed that, too. She only felt a little bad for wishing that he¡¯d been the one turned into a vegetable. Then they¡¯d have Ruslan¡¯s help, and Maria gone for good.

    They followed Therese out of the parking lot and onto the highway. They still didn¡¯t have working phones of their own, so they¡¯d have to simply follow her closely for four hours straight, to¡ªNadia looked down at their paper map¡ªsome place called Kropotkin. Four hours felt like a very long time to sit next to Yuri while he snuggled up to his horrible, treacherous concubine.

    She let their little convoy get up to speed on a straight stretch before starting a conversation. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s safe now, Fatima?¡±

    ¡°How should I know? But he¡¯s not like he was before. I think he just woke up with a tube in his face, and lost his shit.¡±

    ¡°And called Kizil Khan.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Who then made everyone but himself feel terrible pain, but without permanent harm, before¡ª¡°

    ¡°Look, honey, I¡¯m under a lot of stress right now, and I¡¯m tired, and it¡¯s been a weird, weird, weird-ass day, so if you¡¯re going to call me a liar I¡¯m going to need you to save it for later when I¡¯ve got my hands free and I can give you the pimp-hand, a¡¯ight?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to be rude, and I believe you! You don¡¯t have any reason to lie.¡± This time. ¡°I just want to understand what happened.¡±

    ¡°That makes two of us. The thing barfed itself inside-out, and turned into, like, a princess. Looked like she was from the Arabian Nights, or some Bollywood musical scene. Or something.¡±

    ¡°And then?¡±

    ¡°And then she cried blood on me, screamed, and disappeared. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°Crying blood does sound like Kizil Khan, a little bit.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but she healed the whole damn hospital. Or something did, anyway. K.K. couldn¡¯t do that. Or wouldn¡¯t. Not without wasting at least as many people to offset.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s kind of a problem, isn¡¯t it?¡± Yuri piped up. ¡°Who¡¯s to say he isn¡¯t going to pop out again tonight and balance his books, huh? And he¡¯s all brain-damaged. He could kill us as easy as anybody else.¡±

    Fatima sighed. ¡°I know. Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t thought it. But he hasn¡¯t done anything yet.¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t mention any of that in front of Therese,¡± Nadia urged them. ¡°We need her help.¡±

    Yuri snorted. ¡°You know her paranoid ass thought of that long before we did. She¡¯s gone suicidal, or something, now that her husband¡¯s dead. Crazy. Doesn¡¯t even care what happens anymore.¡±

    ¡°You can just shut up, Yuri,¡± said Nadia, tempted more than ever to hit or pinch him. ¡°She has saved our lives, and lost everything doing it, and you don¡¯t even know her. She¡¯s not even that old, you know, and this is a lot of responsibility she isn¡¯t used to.¡±

    ¡°Twenty-nine,¡± Fatima said. ¡°That¡¯s what she told me. I do kinda worry she¡¯s gonna crack. Don¡¯t you? I don¡¯t know what she was like when this hubby of hers was around, but now ¡­ don¡¯t know, man.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s¡ªshe has military experience.¡± She¡¯d been about to say ¡®like Keisha,¡¯ and remembered just in time not to bring that up around Yuri. ¡°I think she¡¯s used to working under pressure, and maybe to losing people, too. Not her husband, necessarily, but I think she¡¯s been a spy for at least five years, and a warrior before that.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Fatima frowned into the rear-view. ¡°Maybe. But she¡¯s not a spy any more, is she? She burned her whole network trying to help us¡ªshe says so every chance she gets, whenever we annoy her. Like she¡¯s our mom, trying to guilt-trip us. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s even in touch with her bosses any more; they¡¯re tuning her out for whatever¡¯s going on in Germany. This is all snap calls by some bitch we barely know, half unhinged with grief, acting on no information. I don¡¯t like that. That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t need to be running anyway,¡± said Yuri. ¡°Are we forgetting that every esper in like a bajillion miles is out cold right now?¡±

    ¡°We think that,¡± stressed Fatima.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. And we think the stupid Lamprey¡¯s toast too. It sure looks like we cleaned out the competition. We could be raising some serious hell here, instead of running and hiding under a rock. Am I wrong?¡±

    ¡°Usually,¡± said Fatima. ¡°And we¡¯ve got two sick people to mind now.¡±

    ¡°We have cultists for that,¡± Yuri replied, flapping a hand dismissively. ¡°We¡¯re wasted on butt-wiping duty or whatever. One of those nuts is probably a nurse. They can get Veg-O-Matic there sorted out, and he can fix¡ª¡°

    ¡°Hey!¡± Fatima snapped. ¡°He¡¯s our brother.¡±

    ¡°Was,¡± corrected Yuri with a smile. ¡°At least, he was our brother¡ªfor you, he was more like, I dunno, your official Platonic Bitch, and now you¡¯re all uptight because you don¡¯t have a spare to string along and make you feeeeeeeOOOWW dammit!¡±

    Maria turned her head with a frown, and Nadia let go of the place between her brother¡¯s ribs and hip to say, in Russian, ¡°He was asking for it. Mind your business.¡± She rolled her eyes and went back to looking out the window.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Yuri shouted, right in her ear. ¡°All I¡¯m doing is telling the truth!¡± He raised a fist; Nadia raised hers as well, jabbing it towards him in a feint, and he flinched away, grumbling.

    ¡°Children, are you going to behave back there, or do I have to pull over?¡± Fatima called out.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine,¡± Nadia replied, returning demurely to rest against the back of her seat. They were well out of Krymsk now, headed towards Krasnodar. On their right she could see the gutted remains of a three-story building, its brick walls blackened with soot, its windows and doors smashed out. Whatever had happened there, it was probably recent, and done on their account, which gave her a strange feeling.

    She waited until it was gone in the distance behind them before speaking up again. ¡°So, are you both still prepared to keep fighting?¡±

    Yuri said only ¡°Sure,¡± as if she had asked whether he would like to get burgers for lunch. Nadia hadn¡¯t expected any different. Fatima, on the other hand, was hesitant.

    ¡°We came out here to teach these pricks a lesson,¡± she said. ¡°And I think we have. They¡¯ve learned they can¡¯t dick around with the Marshalls and not expect to suffer for it. And they¡¯ve hit back pretty hard, too.¡± She glanced at Ruslan, whose head had sagged over against the seatbelt. ¡°But ¡­ if we got out of here, would they chase us? Would they look for more trouble? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we can ¡®get out of here,¡¯ though,¡± Nadia said. ¡°They will be watching the airports, and sea traffic will be hopelessly snarled after we took out the bridge. It would take at least a week of driving to get us anywhere not controlled by the Kremlin, and they would probably find us in that time. Even if we escaped Russian territory, we would have to fight our way out.¡±

    ¡°Which is fine,¡± Fatima said. ¡°I¡¯m not saying we don¡¯t defend ourselves¡ªthey mess with us, they get the pain. That¡¯s cool. But, like, what are we trying to do here?¡±

    ¡°Force them to retreat from Fatih,¡± said Nadia. ¡°That was our goal.¡±

    ¡°Your goal,¡± said Yuri.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± agreed Fatima, ¡°and I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s realistic. Not now, maybe not ever, maybe it never was. Sure, we¡¯ve got moves, but ¡­ we¡¯re not an empire, you know? We¡¯re still just four kids, or, I don¡¯t know, three and a half, now, and Russia¡¯s a big-ass country. We can make it hard for them, and we have, but unless you think we¡¯re going to raise hell all the way to Moscow and take down the ¡­ the ¡­ the gunya ¡­¡±

    ¡°Knyazya,¡± Nadia supplied.

    ¡°Yeah, them. Unless you think we¡¯re going to personally kill all of them, and I hope you don¡¯t, I think they¡¯ll keep on rolling with the punches, however hard we punch, and do what they have to to keep what they have.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Sorry, but that¡¯s how it is.¡±

    ¡°Titus was able to bring down the Soviet Union,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Him, and Mr. Vitelli, and later Hamza.¡±

    ¡°Which is how we got these assholes instead,¡± snickered Yuri. ¡°You think it¡¯ll happen twice?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I want to try. Not necessarily to change the whole government of this country, I don¡¯t think that would work, but to try to do something big. Something serious, something worth doing. Not just being gangsters, holding some little bit of territory for a while. Don¡¯t you want anything more than that, with everything we can do?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Yuri. ¡°Not really, no. You¡¯re the Voronin sibling with the bug up her butt, and I¡¯m the fun one. We¡¯re both good at our jobs, so I say we stay in our lanes.¡±

    ¡°Do you really believe you were put on this earth just to have fun, Yuri, no matter what it costs anybody else?¡±

    ¡°Hell, I don¡¯t know about that. You don¡¯t, either. It¡¯s all a big, bizarre accident, as far as I can tell. If things had gone even a little different, I wouldn¡¯t have Shum-Shum, and we¡¯d both have been burned alive or choked to death years ago. Nobody but me is writing the script here. There¡¯s no script to follow.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t used to think that way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called learning, and changing your mind. Everything about our lives is just plain stupid, Nadia. If you think God sent me a magic flying glass jellyfish that makes people want to giggle while they burn to death, and he had a specific thing he wanted me to do with it, I gotta tell you, I have no damn clue what it was. No clue at all. Until he sends me a sign I can read, I¡¯m gonna stick to living it up until something kills me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that all? Fatima, what about you? What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I follow the rules as best I can,¡± Fatima said. ¡°I think it¡¯s a good idea, to force the kafirun out of the Dar al-Islam. I can absolutely get on board with that. Killing the Lamprey? That¡¯s a good deed, no question. Same thing for slimy bastards like that Polat guy, back in Tatvan. And Yefimov? Don¡¯t even get me started on him. You give me a clear shot at him, I will 100% take it, no questions asked. All that¡¯s good.¡±

    ¡°But?¡± Nadia prompted.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a commandment from God, or anything like it, that I have to change the whole damn world. That¡¯s just ¡­ megalomania, I guess. Sorry, sister, but we¡¯ve all got our limits. I know mine, and I¡¯m not so sure you know yours.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a megalomaniac,¡± Nadia said. ¡°I only want to do good with what I was given. Megalomaniacs only care about themselves.¡±

    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the one who asked. And that¡¯s my answer. Sorry.¡±

    Nadia looked at Yuri, who said, ¡°What? I wanted to go to Iraq, remember? It¡¯s still not too late. Probably a bit of a schlep, though.¡±

    She scowled, and set her face back against the window, giving her family up as hopeless for the time being. Three and a half hours to Kropotkin.

 LXXXIX. Hospitality (Nadia)

    It took them a week to get to a place where they could really feel safe again¡ªat least, safe from attack by the Russian government. There were still plenty of things, and people, capable of killing them at a moment¡¯s notice. Like tripping and falling from a kilometer up a mountainside.

    A couple of days laying low in Kropotkin, while Therese scrounged for leads and arranged for someone to take care of Aare. Two more days tiptoeing across the Causasus backroads, getting lost and running out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Two more lost to negotiations, trying to persuade the ¡®Sixth Imam¡¯ to grant them a meeting, and hammering out when and where it would happen. And now, the actual journey.

    First they had to drive more than two hours to the foot of the mountain, along narrow roads through the passes. The Imam¡¯s men had set up checkpoints to monitor and report on their progress; there weren¡¯t many branches in the road, but if they¡¯d decided to deviate from the directions given, it would have been known in seconds. They were also informed, without asking, that the defenders of the Caucasus had shot down three government helicopters in the past year. This was the only possible approach, and if they offended their hosts, retreat would be long, difficult, and dangerous.

    They left the cars behind in a mostly-abandoned town in the valley, and ascended to Gamsutl¡¯ on foot. The trails were meant for herding livestock; Ruslan¡¯s wheelchair could handle it well enough, but Nadia was glad to have local guides on hand. One of them decided to treat it as a tour, and told them that this mountain had been inhabited for two thousand years. It had been abandoned about twenty years ago, as the inhabitants left to find work in the modern world. The Imam¡¯s people retreated to the highlands, and refurbished the ancient mountain villages, as part of their war against the White government.

    Nadia translated from the Russian for Fatima, but she didn¡¯t seem to be paying attention. She was unusually quiet, staring out at the spectacular view in silence as she pushed Ruslan¡¯s chair. Nadia had a hard time believing the flocks of sheep and goats on the neighboring slopes were so interesting. ¡°Fatima, are you all right?¡±

    ¡°Hm? Nah, I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s just ¡­ it feels like coming home, you know?¡± She waved an arm out at the valley below them. ¡°Coming home after a long time away. It takes some getting used to.¡±

    ¡°Home? You mean Afghanistan?¡±

    ¡°Kinda. Yeah. I mean, I didn¡¯t grow up in a place like this. Lashkargah¡¯s one of the biggest cities in the country, and we had a house in the family compound, right by the river. And the river went through a desert. Nothing at all like this. Wherever this is. Still Russia, right?¡±

    ¡°Dagestan. Just north of Azerbaijan.¡±

    ¡°You say that like I should know where the fu¡ª¡°

    ¡°Southwest Russia,¡± Nadia supplied. ¡°But east of where we were. The Caspian Sea isn¡¯t far, even if you can¡¯t see it from here. What makes this place like Afghanistan? The mountains? The fact that they are Muslim?¡±

    ¡°Both, but there¡¯s something else, too. I don¡¯t know how to put it. Ask me later.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± The talkative guide had courteously cut off his patter while they talked; now he resumed, telling them how they had had to rebuild all the old stone houses wall by wall, replacing the unsafe old clay binding with modern cement, and putting new roofs on the ruins. It sounded like an impressive accomplishment, but Nadia gave a half-hearted translation, with one eye on her sister in case she got too distracted and drove Ruslan over the cliff.

    She didn¡¯t know what Afghans looked like, but the three men shepherding them up the trail had features little different from ordinary Russians¡¯. Certainly they were all pale. They wore long, old-fashioned coats of dark wool, each with a kind of built-in bandolier across the chest: a horizontal row of slots filled with bullets for the rifles on their backs. Their hats were big and furry, and they all had mustaches and full beards.

    They got another half-kilometer up the trail before Fatima spoke again. ¡°We had places like this back home, too. Papi called them ¡®sheepfucker forts.¡¯ The idea¡¯s not that complicated, you just make yourself too big of a pain in the ass to get at for people to bother with you. So we usually didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound like the local government bothers them here, either.¡±

    ¡°No, but they should, if they¡¯ve been launching raids and shit. And knocking down helicopters?¡± Fatima frowned at the dust-clouds rising from their feet. ¡°I don¡¯t know what this dude¡¯s after, but he¡¯s got some balls, and he¡¯s getting away with it.¡±

    Gamsutl¡¯ was at the very top of the mountain, and mostly built into its slopes. Whoever first made it had hacked out blocks of stone from the flesh of the Caucasus and stacked them into tiered rows of houses. From below, the buildings seemed to be right on top of each other; Fatima pointed out that they could drop grenades onto the trail from any number of windows.

    Yuri was just starting to grumble about the hike when the village¡¯s gate came into view. A thin, elderly man stood in the middle of it to greet them, hurrying forward to invite them in and offer them tea. His beard was on the white side of grey, and Nadia felt a brief, ridiculous thrill of terror that the obligatory rifle on his hunched back would make him topple over and tumble down the mountain.

    Now that they were closer, the village looked less rustic and primitive than Nadia had expected. The ancient walls were roofed with modern corrugated tin, or in a few cases shingled, while ten or twelve makeshift windmill turbines poked up from the houses at the peak, their sheet-metal blades whirling in the breeze. Here and there armed men stood watch on rooftops; Nadia saw one lift up a radio handset to report something. There was a large receiver dish on a metal tower next to him, which looked like it could turn itself on a motor. Radar? She saw wiring running along some of the rooflines, bundled and strapped in place with zip-ties.

    The streets below were narrow, and cluttered with a mixture of ammunition crates, fuel jugs, and prepackaged food. The last were apparently an emergency measure; Nadia saw a man butchering a sheep on a tarp down one alley, tossing bloody chunks of meat into an oil-drum. The old man (Nadia was annoyed to remember that he had given his name, and she had been too busy gawking to catch it) apologized for the mess, and explained that they were running low on storage space at the moment. Once they finished the latest round of repairs, all the supplies would be neatly stowed away.

    ¡°Are they getting ready for a siege?¡± Therese asked.

    ¡°It would make sense,¡± Fatima said. ¡°Papi had to cut off a couple of these places, way back when, to teach them not to rob our convoys. They usually gave up and forked over some cash to say sorry, after starving for a couple of months.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    The old man looked curiously at them, and Nadia translated. He smiled broadly, and pulled a tiny tin whistle on a string from around his neck to blow a single piercing note. Instantly a mob of women¡ªthe first they had seen since they left the valley¡ªcame running out of every doorway in sight to set white plastic buckets up in a line down the street. Every woman had a shawl, scarf, or headdress over her hair, many of them embroidered.

    When twenty or so white buckets stood in a row, and a row of women stood at attention beside them, the old man dropped his whistle and pulled out a long, silver pipe from inside his coat. He put it to his mouth, shut his eyes, and breathed deeply. After about thirty seconds, a shining bulge like a dewdrop appeared at the end of the pipe. He breathed some more, and it inflated, as if he were blowing up a balloon. A very large balloon, bigger than a beach ball in a few seconds.

    It got darker as it grew, and took on a more definite shape, crosshatched with dark lines. When it was so big that the bottom touched the ground, it broke loose, and unfurled into an enormous net of tarnished silver strands, floating by the old man¡¯s knees like a magic carpet waiting for him to board. His eyes were still shut in concentration, and he made an imperious gesture with one hand, waving for it to go away. It obeyed at once, rushing past the line of buckets quickly enough to set shawls flapping, and plunging over the cliff like a diving falcon.

    Thirty seconds passed, the old man¡¯s eyes still closed, before the net popped back up. Nadia stepped back in surprise; it was at least five times as large now, curled up into a fat teardrop, and dripping wet. It wobbled closer until it was hovering over the nearest bucket, then shuddered and contracted. Clear water gushed out of its bottom, filling the bucket in seconds. When it was done¡ªonly a little overflow slopped over the sides¡ªit moved on to the next bucket, and repeated the process. Again and again it squeezed; by the time it reached the last bucket it was nearly empty. But not quite. The old man waved it away to a patch of grass, where it disappeared with a splash.

    Then he opened his eyes. He was breathing much more heavily now, but still smiling. The women gave little half-bows of thanks and returned home with their full buckets; he waved acknowledgment as he said to Nadia, ¡°I am new at my art, but I practice. The Oprichnik will not find it easy, to force us out of our mountain. Now, come. You must be hungry.¡±

    Yuri voiced his incredulity as their host led them to their new quarters. ¡°He¡¯s got a VRIL, and he wastes it on chores?¡±

    Fatima sighed, but didn¡¯t bother to correct him. Therese said, ¡°It¡¯s not something I was ever trained to do, but it would be useful here. Unless someone dams the river, they will always have water.¡±

    As guests, they got one of the bigger houses, with a real shingled roof. It had two bedrooms: one for Nadia, Fatima, and Therese, and one for the ¡®married couple¡¯ Yuri and Maria. Nadia didn¡¯t know if they took it at face value that a couple of teenagers had gotten married, or if they were only being polite. Ruslan, who had no real privacy anymore, got a bedroll in the main room, where everyone could keep an eye on him.

    Lunch was already waiting for them, a concoction of boiled dumplings and roast mutton with a tomato-garlic sauce. It was definitely Lent now, and she had just seen a butchering five minutes ago, but it didn¡¯t seem polite to object, so she sat down, shut up, and did her best. The room was sparsely furnished, just a bunch of cushions, a rug, and a single oil lamp; Nadia didn¡¯t begrudge them for saving the effort of hauling chairs up the path.

    They hadn¡¯t been eating two minutes before a woman came in to set up Ruslan with his ¡®meal¡¯ from their store of IV bags. Fatima eyed her suspiciously until the old man told her the lady was a trained nurse. Then she shrugged, and shook her head, and went back to her food.

    ¡°He¡¯s losing weight,¡± she grumbled to Nadia. ¡°And, sure, he could stand to drop a couple pounds, but he doesn¡¯t look good.¡±

    ¡°Well, the bags aren¡¯t really food, are they? Just, I don¡¯t know what. Sugar, salt, and water. Maybe a few other things.¡±

    ¡°I know that! But ¡­ ¡° she gestured helplessly at their brother, whose eyes swiveled to track the motion but didn¡¯t appear to recognize it, or them. He was a little better lately. He reacted to noises and looked at things. He just didn¡¯t speak, or eat, or really move in any purposeful way. He couldn¡¯t go on like this.

    ¡°Amina is very good at her job,¡± the old man assured them. ¡°We rely on her and her friends to keep our fighting men healthy. We have no doctor here.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Fatima said, once Nadia had translated. ¡°I¡¯m not worried about that part. This old fart isn¡¯t the Imam, is he? I thought he was supposed to be, you know, young.¡±

    Nadia took a moment to arrange her words into a more respectful formulation. Their host answered that he was only the current guardian of Gamsutl¡¯, that he had been using his pipe for almost three years now, and that the Imam would be with them before evening.

    ¡°We haul ass all the way up here to meet this douche, and he¡¯s not even here?¡± Yuri squeaked. ¡°What the hell?¡±

    ¡°It would be for security,¡± Therese told him. ¡°He has no reason to trust us. Now shut up, before you offend him.¡±

    ¡°So, the Imam trained you?¡± Nadia asked the Guardian of Gamsutl¡¯, who nodded with a bashful smile.

    But Yuri wasn¡¯t done being obnoxious. ¡°Why¡¯d he pick this guy, though? He looks like he could have a heart attack tonight. Big old waste of effort.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he had his reasons,¡± Nadia told him evenly, trying not to let her face or tone of voice show her irritation. They didn¡¯t need to give this man a poor impression of them already. ¡°Is the Imam training many of you that way, sir?¡± She didn¡¯t know where he would get new pipes from, and knew better than to ask.

    His reply was a little hard to understand, and she turned to Fatima for help. ¡°He says you have to be a ¡­ a hifaz? What is that? Some Muslim thing?¡±

    ¡°Hafiz,¡± Fatima corrected. ¡°That means you memorized the whole Quran.¡±

    ¡°Are you shitting me?¡± Yuri burst out again. ¡°So he¡¯s only going to train people who wasted their whole lives memorizing some moldy old book? Like, a pious geezer strike force?¡±

    Fatima didn¡¯t share Nadia¡¯s concerns about keeping up a good front. ¡°First of all, ass, it doesn¡¯t even take that long to memorize the Quran. There¡¯s schoolkids, barely our age, who do it. They only have to have a longer attention span than you. Second, it¡¯s a great idea, and you¡¯d know that if you¡¯d shut your fool mouth and think for a change.¡±

    Therese agreed, but looked less enthusiastic than Fatima about the idea. ¡°It would make sense from his perspective. Everyone in his hierarchy will have proven he is a sincere Muslim. A spy couldn¡¯t do it¡ªnot without training for years.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Fatima, ¡°and now he¡¯s going to have the whole damn region on fire to brush up on their Islam so they can get ahead. That¡¯s how you get a real movement going, see?¡± She turned to Nadia. ¡°It¡¯s not just that they¡¯re Muslims, or that their boss is a convert. They take this shit seriously, they¡¯re willing to fight for it, and they¡¯ll do what it takes. They¡¯re ghazis, hardcore, just like Papi. Not lazy scrubs like we met in Turkey.¡±

    ¡°Kemal was¡ªand is¡ªa sincere Muslim,¡± Nadia reproved her. Fatima only rolled her eyes.

    The old man had been watching, but obviously not understanding, the whole argument. He looked a bit nervous. Now that they were finished, he spoke up to fill the silence. ¡°Now, with your permission, I will tell you of the Imam and his war.¡± He cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and spoke slowly, as if reciting a formal composition: ¡°When the Almighty saw fit to overthrow the deluded government of the unbelievers, many of their servants, forced to flee from the jinn and their masters, sought shelter in these mountains. Of these an enlightened few quickly saw the folly of their former ignorance, and abandoned their unbelief.¡°

    He paused politely, so that Nadia could tackle the theological difficulty of translating all that accurately without seeming to endorse it. She more or less succeeded (she thought), and Fatima nodded intently. The elder continued, explaining the long history of Dagestan and Chechnya in an ornate style. Nadia soon realized that she was hearing the official history of a new government, or something like it, and had trouble keeping a straight face when she heard twenty-first-century men quoted as speaking lines that would have fit in a fairy tale.

    But Fatima smiled, settling back with her head resting on Ruslan¡¯s knee, and nodded in appreciation at the pompous lines. When the old man turned the tale back to the Nineteenth Century, and the first Imam¡¯s war of defiance against the Russian Empire, she raised her fist in a little salute, as if she could see him ordering men to the walls of his fortress with her own eyes. Nadia wondered if she even realized she was doing it.

    After a while she got used to the corniness, and settled into translating it all more or less verbatim. Yuri and Therese seemed to find the interruptions a little bothersome, and Yuri actually critiqued her word choices once or twice until Therese threatened to slap him. Maria, on the other hand, seemed about to fall asleep. But Fatima was plainly delighted, and Nadia kept up the work for her sake, even as the old man kept at it for the better part of an hour, and had to break to take ever more frequent sips of tea. The woman Amina moved discreetly back and forth to take away dishes and refill their cups.

    When he was finally done with his two centuries of history, Maria was lying down with her head in Yuri¡¯s lap, and Yuri had his arms petulantly crossed. Therese¡¯s face went from polite resignation to faint gratitude that it was over, and Nadia got to work on her latest cup. Too late she wondered if they had anything like modern plumbing in this place.

    But Fatima lifted her head from Ruslan¡¯s knee to ask questions about the kind of Islam they practiced here, and the local Sufi tradition, and all sorts of other things. It was all awkward to translate when Nadia didn¡¯t understand half of it, and Fatima kept correcting her pronunciation of Arabic terms. She had just about made up her mind to get to her feet and find a bathroom when she saw that another man had entered the room at some point in the old man¡¯s story.

    He too was wearing the long local coat, but his was a bright red, and he had a sword at his belt. His face was ruddy and boyish, and wisps of blond hair appeared around the edges of his furry hat. He had a golden mustache, and looked like he had to shave the rest regularly, but couldn¡¯t have been much older than Keisha. Nadia thought he had a nice smile, but there was an intensity to it that made her nervous too. Especially given that he was looking right at Fatima.

    The old man, noticing a delay in her translation, looked up, and saw the new arrival leaning against the doorframe. At once he struggled back to his feet, an arthritic display that made Nadia wince, and hurried to introduce the Fifth Imam of Shamal al-Qawqaz, Ramzan Magomed al-Murid.

 XC. Family Bonds (Fatima)

    The mosque was the oldest building in the village, and the first one restored; it had a coat of paint on the walls inside, and real electric lighting, plus rugs, wall hangings, and a sturdy wood minbar. None of that was really all that surprising¡ªat least, not compared to the part where the Imam was, you know, an actual imam. Fatima¡¯d figured it was an honorary title, granted because the first people to fight the Russians around here had an imam in charge. This Ramzan dude was a Russian himself, and had been Muslim for like five years tops, so she assumed the actual prayers would be led by somebody with more experience.

    Nope. Friday prayers rolled around, and he strolled up to the minbar and did his thing, and nobody batted an eye. Fatima couldn¡¯t judge the sermon, since it was mostly in Russian, except for quotes from the Quran. Those were in perfect Arabic, like the prayers. That was another thing; the man¡¯s Arabic seemed to be at least as good as hers, maybe better. That was more than surprising, it actually kinda pissed her off. Her delivery was hardly ever that smooth. How¡¯d this white boy get that kind of skill?

    Her third surprise of the day was that she got a chance to ask him that question in person. Once Friday prayers were finished and everybody left to get back to work, he followed her out of the mosque and took her aside for a talk. It was their first private conversation, and a little bit awkward. His Arabic might be fantastic, but his English just sucked.

    He started out by asking about Rus. ¡°He¡¯s doing well, thank you,¡± she told him, wishing her limited Arabic didn¡¯t make her sound so stiff. ¡°He moved his hand this morning when I talked to him.¡±

    ¡°I am glad to hear it.¡± They were standing outside, down a street that didn¡¯t see much use, looking out over the river canyon. The view was fantastic¡ªnot that it ever wasn¡¯t. If you were outside with your eyes open around here, you were going to see something that would make a National Geographic photographer wet his pants. ¡°You are all comfortable here?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all wonderful,¡± she said, and it was mostly true. The bathroom situation wasn¡¯t what you¡¯d call ideal. ¡°But I think we are ready for battle.¡±

    He smiled down at her. The Imam of the Caucasus was tall, and had great teeth. He could look good even with that dumbass hat that looked like a dead beaver. ¡°As are we. But are all of you in agreement? You don¡¯t all seem happy.¡±

    ¡°The Frenchwoman is never happy. Her husband died two weeks ago, and her friend was badly hurt.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry. I did not know this. What about the other three?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure how much to tell him. ¡°Yuri and his wife didn¡¯t want to come to Russia.¡± Only stumbled a little bit on ¡®wife.¡¯ ¡°They wanted to go to Iraq, where she has family.¡±

    The Imam nodded. ¡°She is a Karimi. They are known to us.¡± He gestured to the nearest ammo crate behind them. ¡°That may have come from the Karimi family. They are one of several rivals for the trade here.¡±

    Fatima should have expected that. ¡°Do they deal fairly with you?¡±

    ¡°They want money, and give what is promised in return. But they do not believe in our cause, or any other. I will be honest: we did not want to invite you here, at first, because of her.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t choose our family.¡± Maybe you could say she was feeding him intel, but really she wasn¡¯t telling him anything he didn¡¯t know already. ¡°Yuri loves her.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°And she is confident. Yesterday she tried to deal with me, offering a lower rate if I would teach her how to use my pipe. I asked her to quote the Quran¡ªany quote at all. That was the end of our talk.¡±

    Fatima didn¡¯t think the bitch was even important enough to be making deals for her family in the first place. ¡°What about the rest of us? Can you trust us?¡±

    ¡°That is a difficult question. You, we can accept. I have heard of your father, he was a good man and a brave soldier. The lady ¡­ she does not like us, and she is no Muslim, but she hates the Knyazya and will not betray us. Yuri and Miriam I do not know. I think she will want more work for her family before she is happy. That can be arranged. I do not know what he wants.¡±

    ¡°Neither does he.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said. He didn¡¯t seem to know what she meant¡ªand she wasn¡¯t going to elaborate, unless he pushed¡ªbut didn¡¯t ask for details. ¡°And your sister?¡±

    ¡°Nadia?¡± Oh hell. ¡°She ¡­ isn¡¯t sure.¡±

    ¡°Does she doubt our sincerity?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The truth was that Nadia just didn¡¯t like this guy. As far as Fatima could tell, she thought Christianity had pissed on Russia first, so if men like ¡®Ramzan Magomed¡¯ were going to abandon state atheism, there was only one right way to do it. This whole setup offended her. Not that she¡¯d ever admit that to Fatima, or herself¡ªor that Fatima would ever tell the Imam about it. She settled for, ¡°She isn¡¯t used to dealing with Muslim culture.¡±

    He gave her another smile, and she could tell he had a pretty good idea what she meant. ¡°I might have become Christian, if things had gone differently. My grandparents, they, ah, put me in the water, when I was a baby.¡± It took her a second to work out that he was talking about baptism. She had no idea what they called it in Arabic. She made a go-on gesture, and he did. ¡°They did not talk about it. Nobody did, under the Soviets. The Church was half-dead, and full of spies.¡±

    ¡°But the people here helped hide you?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°More than that. I, too, was a spy, in the last days of the USSR. They had me send in my creations, to see what the people here were doing. As part of that, I taught myself some Arabic, and studied the Quran¡ªin translation, mostly, but a little original. It helped me to understand them. Parts of it made more sense than Communism, even then. I was, we will say, not half a Muslim, but half of that, when Moscow turned against me.¡±

    ¡°Papi¡ªmy father¡ªdidn¡¯t have that much. He was only tired of dealing with the American government, and did not believe in their war. That was when he found Islam.¡±

    ¡°So I have heard.¡± He hesitated. ¡°I think we can work with you, my sister. We do not have the power to do much, outside these hills. But the oprichnik¡ªdo you know him?¡±

    ¡°Only a little. I heard he does ¡­ illusions?¡± She had to dig in her memory for the last word, and wasn¡¯t sure she found it.

    ¡°Yes. Pugachev is a tool of Satan. He spreads lies and unbelief among the people. I would risk an alliance with you to destroy him. On conditions.¡± He started ticking them off on his fingers. ¡°We do not want Shum-Shum in our land. He is too dangerous. Yuri will not use his jinni here.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± she said, then added in a hurry, ¡°I mean, I think you are right. I will have to talk with my family before we can agree to terms. I cannot choose for them.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. Second, the rest of you will assist and bear your share of the risks together. All that are able, leaving your wounded brother.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s fair.¡±

    ¡°Third, the Karimi will remain under our observation for a time, until we know she can be trusted.¡±

    ¡°I think you are correct in your thoughts, but she may not agree.¡±

    ¡°She has no power here. She will submit to our rules, or she may leave our land. One more condition.¡± He paused again, and looked down at her for a long moment. ¡°We are a traditional people. If yours and mine are to risk their lives together, I would like to make the alliance formal. We should be one kin. I propose a marriage.¡±

    Whoa. ¡°Therese is still mourning her first husband.¡±

    Now the Imam looked almost annoyed, like she was being stupid. ¡°Not her. She is not Muslim. She will never be one of us.¡±

    Fatima took a moment to think about that, then her mouth gave out a mess of sounds that didn¡¯t really add up to a word. She kept at it, trying to say something again and again, and finally gave up. What the hell was she supposed to say?

    His smile was all pity. ¡°I know you are young, and have lived long with the infidels. I will not force the matter. We may continue without your firm word. But their life is not the life you were born to, daughter of Omar. You are the heir to an Emir, and hold his full power. You are already a warrior for the Faith. I would have you be more still. Please consider it.¡±

    He suddenly looked a lot taller than he had before. Not scary, exactly, but tall, like the mountain they were standing on. Fatima was pretty sure she managed to nod before she walked away, but her mind wasn¡¯t all together yet. He gave a polite goodbye, and didn¡¯t object when she said nothing back before walking away.

    She found Nadia back at the house, trying to get Ruslan to track her finger and squeeze her hand. He seemed to be doing okay; when she came into the room, he turned to look, and half of his face smiled. For some reason, that half-smile, with the drool shining on his chin, bugged her. She couldn¡¯t decide if he looked more like a baby or a drunk, and she wasn¡¯t big on either. Or maybe it was just that she didn¡¯t feel like handling Rus at the moment. She mumbled a hi and went into her room, slamming the door behind her by accident.

    There was no sign of the others, but somehow Fatima knew she wasn¡¯t going to get a moment to think by herself, and yep! She¡¯d just got settled on her crappy camp cot when she heard a knock at the door. ¡°What?¡±

    Nadia just came right in. Technically, it was her room too, but if she wasn¡¯t going to ask, why¡¯d she knock? ¡°Therese is trying to teach Mr. Rasul some new tricks with the VRIL, and Yuri and Maria are watching. How was, um, mosque?¡±

    Fatima looked up at the ceiling. ¡°Friday prayers? About the same as everywhere. Haven¡¯t been in ages, so it was good to finally show up for one.¡±

    ¡°Oh. You took a while to get back, so I wondered. But I don¡¯t know how long they¡¯re supposed to last ¡­ Ruslan is doing really well, did you see?¡±

    ¡°Hard to miss it. Good for him.¡± This fake-ass cheeriness put her teeth on edge. She was trying to avoid offending these people with the sight of a sweet innocent little girl smoking, which didn¡¯t make the situation easier. She wished she were kafir, and could have a nice stiff drink instead.

    ¡°Fatima, are you all right?¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m not, I¡¯ll tell you. Dig?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to believe you, but I can¡¯t. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    She pushed herself up to sit with her legs crossed. Nadia, hands clasped, was hitting her with the big baby-blue headlights. What the hell. It wasn¡¯t like she had anyone better to talk to. ¡°The Imam asked me to¡ªuh. No, I shouldn¡¯t put it like that. I guess he wants me to jump the broom.¡±

    ¡°To what?¡±

    What, was that not a common expression now? Shit. ¡°Ma-rriage,¡± she said, loud and slow. ¡°He wants me to get ma-rried. Can you understand that?¡±

    Nadia¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Married. Married ¡­ to who? To him?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. He didn¡¯t really say. I don¡¯t think he has a wife yet.¡± Would that matter to her? Probably. Papi hadn¡¯t had anybody else, and if she was going to get married she was damn sure going to be wife number one, but this was all real sudden.

    ¡°So, he wants you to get married just ¡­ in general?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a political thing. That way I¡¯ll be part of the family. He said I didn¡¯t have to if I didn¡¯t want¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh, that was very nice of him!¡±

    ¡°Shut up. I¡¯m trying to make this work, here, to get you more help with your little teenybopper crusade. Could you try not to be an ungrateful bitch about it?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, when is your birthday again? When do you turn fifteen?¡±

    ¡°August. Stop being ignorant. People used to marry at our age all the time.¡±

    ¡°Yes, back when they thought disease was caused by evil spirits and women buried half their babies, when they didn¡¯t die bearing them. That could happen to you too, you know.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just part of the culture here. I wouldn¡¯t expect you to understand, but you don¡¯t have to be rude. If I do this, I¡¯ll be one of them.¡±

    Nadia put her hands to her temples. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m hearing this. Fatima, this is disgusting. I don¡¯t want help so badly that I¡¯d trade you to a pedophile for it!¡±

    ¡°Oh, fuck you. You calling me a child, now? And insulting the people who are giving you food and shelter? They didn¡¯t even say I¡¯d be marrying somebody older than me.¡± Though she probably would, if she said yes. Unless somebody really important had a son the right age. ¡°Oh, and lower your damn voice. This whole village doesn¡¯t need to hear you lose your shit.¡±

    ¡°Oh my god.¡± Nadia turned around to face the doorway, and took eight or ten really deep breaths before she turned back. ¡°Fatima, I¡¯m sorry, I know you don¡¯t believe what I believe. But I don¡¯t think this is really what you want.¡±

    ¡°Are you talking about me, or you? Girl, I don¡¯t even know what I want yet. He sprang it on me like an hour ago. But just so you know, if I¡¯d stayed with Papi and never met you, there¡¯s a pretty good chance I¡¯d be talking marriage now anyway.¡± Just talking, probably, but what was a couple of months, or even a year? Anyway, he hadn¡¯t even said who the groom was. If it was him, hey, he looked a lot better than Ruslan ¡­

    ¡°We just met these people, though. Why are they bringing this up so quickly? Even if this is their culture, and yours too, I don¡¯t trust it. I think they¡¯re just trying to get a permanent hold on you¡ªyou and Mister Higgins.¡±

    Fatima actually laughed. ¡°No shit, Sherlock! You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Nadia really was a child. ¡°I did say it was politics. The question for me is, are they going to offer me a good enough deal?¡± Nadia looked like she was about to throw up, or maybe just scream. ¡°Oh, please. You think I¡¯m some sad little poster child who¡¯s going to live knocked up in the kitchen, waiting for an old man to get home and beat me with a stick? I¡¯m armed and dangerous. There¡¯s not a damn thing they could do to make me do anything I don¡¯t want to, married or not.¡±

    ¡°That can¡¯t be what you really want out of life, to just choose who you use, and who gets to use you.¡±

    ¡°Again: you trying to convince me, or yourself? You still don¡¯t get it. This is the way shit gets done. This is what I¡¯ve been looking for, all this time.¡±

    ¡°To get married at age fourteen in Dagestan.¡±

    ¡°No, smart-ass. I mean this place. These people. Not greasy mercenary daddies, or Russky spies, or whatever other losers some government wants to use to try and control us. Real, honest, competent people who really know when and how to fight, how to get what they want, when to retreat. Warriors, ghazis ¡­ I told you, it¡¯s like coming home again.

    ¡°Now, I know I¡¯m a hot property. I¡¯m not going to sell myself cheap. You don¡¯t need to worry about that. But the market¡¯s open, and I¡¯m going to look around. If you¡¯re not going to help, you can keep your prissy virgin white dress fairy tales to yourself. I don¡¯t roll that way.¡±

    Nadia stamped at the floor, like she was about to throw a temper tantrum. ¡°But, just a minute ago, when you came in ¡­ oh, you¡¯re out of your mind. I can¡¯t even talk to you right now!¡± She left, and the door slammed again. Such a child.

    Fatima lay back down on the bed to think it over a bit. The idea didn¡¯t seem so shocking anymore, but the Imam hadn¡¯t said who. When she caught herself thinking in circles, she got up again and started leafing through the new Quran they¡¯d given her. Married or not, she was going to need to up her game to keep up with these people.

 XCI. Fear Itself (Hampton)

    The fear started around the 20,000 foot mark, while they were still gaining altitude, on their way across the ocean. Long before they even started to think about landing in Germany, long before any actual threat. It was humiliating, and asinine, but he couldn¡¯t deny it: he was a fifty-two-year-old man, a veteran with thirty years¡¯ experience gained around the world, about to fall apart from terror while sitting safely in a C-40 Clipper.

    He made it through boarding fine, by keeping his mind in the moment. He bitched more than he needed to about the change in schedule, and he knew the girl and the old man saw right through it. But that was fine. Everybody got tense sometimes, and he was the token mortal on the team. No shame. But then he looked around at the mess of kids they were sharing the plane with.

    And they were definitely kids. Infantry, as far as he could tell, or MPs. Maybe a mix, he hadn¡¯t asked. They¡¯d already shipped over their extra eyes, days ago. These were boys in their teens and twenties, for pure brute-force support. Maybe to beef up American base security. Maybe in case Teutonic civilization abruptly collapsed. Whatever it was about, the boys had faces like they were going to be dropping out the plane into battle at the other end. And they¡¯d displaced three people at the last minute, because their job would be even worse; they¡¯d be hunting the monster itself.

    No, not itself. Herself. Everyone said the Ghost of Leipzig was female. As of twelve hours ago, anyway, assuming you could believe the stories. God only knew what they¡¯d be saying about it by the time they landed. Everything was changing, and frankly David Hampton had no idea what they expected him to do about it except be part of the chain of command. That damn Dawes had ordered him to do this. Why? Because he was part of the team that handled this shit. Mr. President didn¡¯t need or want to know the details. And that was why he was traveling four thousand miles to babysit a warrant and a civilian.

    ¡°Hamp?¡± Her hand touched his, on the armrest. Had it been trembling? ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°A little tense,¡± he said back, and despised how weak his voice came out.

    ¡°If you stick close to me, it should be fine,¡± she reminded him, keeping her voice low. ¡°Whatever this is¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± he said. He hadn¡¯t meant to interrupt. Whatever this is, we don¡¯t have any theoretical reason to think I can¡¯t drive it away in a second by pulling out my own monster. Which would be reassuring if she hadn¡¯t told him, the day they met, that Marshall¡¯s familiar was theoretically impossible, a little before that impossible thing treated his brain like a chew toy. And then they¡¯d been sitting down in the Red Room when the good Doctor told everybody that the Ghost was theoretically impossible too. More specifically, it was one of three different theoretically impossible things. So no, Chief Graham, this old soldier was not especially comforted by your reassurance.

    To her credit, she seemed to figure that out, and gave him a sideways smile. ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯s a free trip to Europe, boss! You get to see all the sights. Aren¡¯t you grateful?¡±

    ¡°Thrilled,¡± he said, and left it at that. She kept looking at him for a second, then turned back to talk to Dr. Gus. He thought about it a moment, and got out the little brown vial. Two down the hatch. He might feel better in a few minutes, and supposedly they weren¡¯t addictive and didn¡¯t get you high. The doctor said so. Which probably meant they wouldn¡¯t work; probably he should have tested them before he got on the damn plane, but he hadn¡¯t been feeling that bad before, and anyway it wasn¡¯t like he wanted to depend on pills. He just didn¡¯t see himself making it across the ocean without them.

    And when they landed? One problem at a time.

    They didn¡¯t kill him, as it turned out, but they took a damn long time to kick in. He started shaking hard at one point, and Chief Graham very kindly pretended not to notice, and even shooed away the attendant for him when she got concerned. Eventually he got real sleepy, and drowsed for a bit, until he had a dream about Marshall¡¯s castle, and came awake yelling and scared the kids across the aisle. Nothing, gentlemen, sorry for disturbing you. Just a bad dream. Not feeling good.

    He didn¡¯t take any more of the pills. He got out the lousy novel he¡¯d picked up at the airport, and skimmed along for a bit. Blah blah corruption blah blah idealistic young JAG attorney frustrated by the limitations of the system blah blah and he was just getting into it when god DAMN it the plot twist was about emissants. He put the paperback away with three hundred pages left to go, and suddenly noticed that his hands looked like an old man¡¯s.

    To hell with it. If he was going to be terrified¡ªif he couldn¡¯t stop thinking about how screwed he was¡ªhe could pretend to be productive about it. He got the thick yellow mailer envelope out of his carry-on, and started digging through the latest output from the military-industrial rumor mill. Probably the other passengers weren¡¯t cleared for the stuff in there, but whatever. A court martial didn¡¯t sound that bad right now.

    Leipzig, Hanover, now Cologne. It made a chevron across the country. Over five days, she¡¯d settled into the basic pattern of attacking a major metropolitan area, raising hell, then moving on. If she stuck to her previous timetable (which was far from guaranteed), they¡¯d land in Cologne around the time she decided to bail on the city and terrorize somewhere else. That was encouraging.

    Tactics? Variable and apparently evolving. In Leipzig she¡¯d just started panics and riots, Chariot-style. One paper speculated that the Russians were using a variant Chariot protocol, real back-to-basics. But that was outdated now¡ªthere was a note on it that said so¡ªand that kind of analysis was more in Dr. Gus¡¯s line anyway. He leafed past it.

    More recent attacks were much subtler. By Hanover she¡¯d moved on to provoking individual murders and suicides. Now, in Cologne, she was really getting ambitious; she was recruiting whole movements. Cults and conspiracies, springing up overnight. None of them stayed secret for long, because the members were all insane or close to it, but that was still good from Ivan¡¯s perspective. Some previously-stable man with a wife, a job, and three kids starts babbling about the apocalypse at the water cooler?.

    Social Contagion and the Leipzig Phenomenon: a Multi-Dimensional Analysis. That was a thick one, and loaded down with math, all translated from German or something in a hurry. Still interesting stuff, and as long as he was thinking abstractly about the problem he could stay chill. But it wasn¡¯t good news. Apparently this thing was famous enough now that they were seeing independent false positives, where suggestible or disturbed people were simply imagining they saw her, and talking themselves into doing something awful, even when they were hundreds of miles away from her last confirmed appearance.

    That was their conclusion, anyway. The next brief disagreed; it thought the Ghost was mutating, or maybe just fragmenting, spreading bits of itself that could replicate like a virus. They had math to back it here, too. Nationwide clairvoyant surveillance had turned up less than fifty manifestations over the last three days, most of them brief, but the total number of attacks or incidents was growing geometrically at best. The best explanation the author could come up with was that the parts an esper could spot weren¡¯t really necessary for this thing to act¡ªit was changing to spread like the flu, and most of the damage was done subliminally when it was latent inside you, and nobody could even tell ¡®she¡¯ was there ¡­

    ¡°Hamp! Hey! Jesus, what are you doing? Put all that away before you kill yourself!¡±

    He suddenly realized he was breathing like he¡¯d just run a marathon. Damn it. He tried to put the papers back in the envelope, fumbled, and spilled half of them over his lap and the cabin floor. She leaned over to help him pick them up, and it was so humiliating he could feel the tears in his eyes. One of the kids saw he was sweating, and started yelling about a heart attack. Perfect.

    ¡°Cologne has more than a million people,¡± the Chief told him, once all the noise had settled down and everybody was reasonably confident he wasn¡¯t going to keel over and die like a geezer. ¡°And this thing, whatever it is, doesn¡¯t stay in one place. We¡¯ll have our work cut out just to keep up with it.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not talk about it,¡± he snapped. The boys across the aisle were still curious.

    They made it to Germany without any further disgrace. The kids got out of the plane like so many two-hundred-pound Labrador puppies, and the three of them left more sedately as they were receding across the airstrip. He watched them unload the cargo from the back¡ªit was all in sealed crates, he didn¡¯t want to know¡ªand even kept his cool for the twenty-eight minutes it took for their official handler from the German government to show up.

    Her name was Anneliese Troester from the Milit?rischer Abschirmdienst, military counterintelligence. She was fortyish, blonde, in a blue pantsuit, with a build that said she maybe liked the beer and chocolate a little too much. It was perversely comforting to see that she looked about as unsettled as he felt.

    ¡°I am so terribly sorry,¡± she said, in an accent that mixed German and Brit. ¡°Everything is chaos here. The person who was supposed to meet you here is being debriefed as part of an investigation. Two hours before you landed, Ernst K?hler was shot and killed by one of his subordinates. There is talk of a nationwide lockdown.¡±

    ¡°Pardon me,¡± said Doctor Gus, ¡°but I am not familiar with this Mr. Kohler.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d be with the BfV,¡± David told him. ¡°Domestic intelligence. He got promoted up after a decade in the eastern border. Didn¡¯t know he¡¯d wound up here.¡± He might not be a real wizard, but he could remember anyone he met once, even after ten years. And just watching the Troester woman wring her hands let him feel a sick kind of magnanimous pity, mixed with empathy. It was good not to be the only victim¡ªand good to be with the cavalry, even if he personally was useless. Maybe the Ghost wouldn¡¯t know that.

    ¡°Yes. Oh, this way, please.¡± She got them out to their ride, babbling the whole way. David gave her half an ear, and directed the rest of his attention out the window. Cologne looked to be functioning well, for a city under siege. Maybe it helped that there was really nowhere to run and nothing visible to run from. Traffic was light. Everybody would be sheltering in place, waiting out the storm away from public places. About all they could do, he guessed. It made him sick to think that this was what the world had come to. But that was an old anger, and he was too wrung out to get carried away. Mostly he wanted to get to the hotel and pass out.

    The Chief was relaxed, or looked it. Why shouldn¡¯t she? She was one of maybe ten people in a hundred-mile radius who could fight back. He only wished he could help her. Even if he did know Ernst K?hler, there wasn¡¯t much he could do. Dr. Gus was already in trance before the car left the airport, hunting for the enemy.

    He was bone tired when they actually got to the hotel to drop off their luggage. He had to work to lever himself out onto the curb with his cane, and snapped at their hostess when she offered to help. Check-in was easy¡ªno line¡ªand they had a nice suite to themselves. No competition for those either, even though they¡¯d changed their whole trip less than two hours before the plane took off, when they got word she¡¯d shown up here.

    He wasn¡¯t actually aware of deciding to lie down for a bit. It just happened, and nobody said anything about it. They kept on with their conversation in the other room, and he tried to keep listening, his eyes drifting in and out of focus on the ceiling and his brain going the same way.

    ¡°Yes, it was a terrible shock. Herr Frieden was thirty-seven, very reliable, and good friends with his superior and coworkers. Not at all quarrelsome. We don¡¯t think he¡¯d ever even owned or fired a gun. He sent everyone a simply unhinged ¡­ manifesto, I don¡¯t know what to call it, to the whole building, minutes before opening fire. He shot himself last.¡± Common enough story, in the past few days.

    A phone chirped. A pause. ¡°Our best and brightest have determined, after much examination, that the Ghost of Leipzig and the Kuban Incident are both entirely psychic in nature, with no physical effects. They therefore speculate that they are related, perhaps part of the same general research program.¡± Dr. Gus¡¯s tone was dry. ¡°We are asked to investigate a link. How? Unclear.¡±

    ¡°So, the last sighting¡ªthe last confirmed esper contact¡ªwas six hours ago.¡± That was the Chief; he must have dozed and missed part of the conversation.

    ¡°Yes. Bonn, southeast of here. Too brief to even begin to send officers to investigate. We have learned not to try. Three times we have shot people who turned out to be innocent. We have no idea what she was doing in Bonn. There have been no associated attacks or reports of sightings.¡±

    ¡°But she cannot be linked to a single host or master?¡± Dr. Gus again, sounding resigned. He knew the answer.

    ¡°No. With every new attack we grow more certain of that. We have people working round the clock, doing statistical analysis and investigating every possible person. No leads. Besides, there is the matter of the Tetzloff Field¡ªwhen she produces one. She does not always do so.¡±

    David opened his eyes, and so realized they¡¯d been closed, and that the room was much darker. The rest of the suite was silent; he¡¯d been left behind, abandoned. His head was full of cobwebby memories of another unpleasant dream, though he couldn¡¯t recall the details. He groaned and stretched until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. It was after nightfall, and he was wide awake now. How long had they let him sleep? Had it been morning when they landed? He couldn¡¯t even remember now.

    He found his cane¡ªnot much longer, they said, till he wouldn¡¯t need it anymore¡ªand got moving toward the window. At least he didn¡¯t have to clear his schedule for the week to get to a different part of the same room, the way he used to. Some time later he was looking down at the headlights wiggling around the streets like ants, busy on errands he¡¯d never know.

    Something about it was like staring into space. Not just the lights against the darkness, but the remoteness of it. A million people, maybe more, and he¡¯d never met a one of them, and they¡¯d never met him and didn¡¯t care. He was alone in a black void, isolated, beyond any help he could call for.

    He heard movement in the room behind him, and twisted around to look. Nothing to see. Just the bed, the desk, the closet, and the shifting shadows from city lights at night. But the room didn¡¯t feel empty. Something was there, even if he couldn¡¯t tell what or where. A primitive man, peering out of his hut, spear in hand, sees the night wind rustling in the tall grass. There could be a leopard in that rustling, and he would not know until it was too late even to scream ¡­

    David felt something on his cheek, a fluttering of warm air like an exhaled breath. He turned back around to look. Nothing, still. And yet not nothing. He was not alone, and couldn¡¯t be alone, even if he wanted to be. The warmth was on his other cheek now. No point turning to look. It could keep up this game all night. Better to wait, frozen in place, and perhaps it would move along. He had no other hope.

    Even as he thought it, a gentle weight came to rest on his shoulder. It, unlike the breath, remained insistently in place. He smelled a whiff of something unpleasant, a mix of blood and smoke, with maybe a touch of burnt meat. He shut his eyes and turned his face the other way, trying to breathe through his mouth. That did nothing for the weight on his shoulder, though. It shifted, flexed, like a living thing, as if to say, who are you fooling? It wasn¡¯t going to go away.

    So he opened his eyes, and turned to look. He could just see it out of the corner of his eye if he strained: a dark mass, hairy, like the paw of a beast. He tried to turn further, to get a proper look, and with careless ease the thing shoved him back, knocking him against the window so his head smacked hard on the glass.

    He still hadn¡¯t made a noise. Why was that? Because it wouldn¡¯t help, of course. But nothing would. So why not scream? There was nothing left to lose by trying. He was just opening his mouth, just thinking about drawing in breath to resist, when the full weight of the beast fell on him, and he found himself screaming without even trying.

    The first attack by itself was enough to break him; there was no sport in pushing further. No fun in spreading the debris of David Ulysses Hampton into a slightly more scattered cloud. So instead she charitably let him pull himself back together, just a little, while his sweating hands clattered against the glass. After a minute he was calm enough to understand a message, whispered in black ink at the back of his mind: Been a while, lover.

 XCII. The Eyes of the Serpent (Nadia)

    They went back to war on Monday, the twenty-fourth of March. It was the day before Nadia turned thirteen. She could think of a lot of other ways she would have preferred to celebrate.

    The plan was as simple as they could afford to make it. ¡°Simple is best,¡± the Imam told them. ¡°The more complicated the plan, the more small moving parts, the faster it will go wrong.¡± But it couldn¡¯t be too simple; they needed overwhelming force to be sure of taking down an oprichnik. The Imam, correctly, didn¡¯t want Yuri anywhere near populated areas, so that left Nadia and Fatima to do the heavy lifting. Therese and the Imam together would arrange the bait.

    They had no clairvoyants, only a bunch of black-market dowsers which wouldn¡¯t work inside a halo. To make things worse, Pugachev¡¯s power was unusually good at keeping him safe; the illusory worlds he generated would have would-be assassins running into walls and tripping over curbs.

    What about Nadia and Fatima? Would sovereign protocol keep them safe, or did the illusions generate actual light which didn¡¯t count as a paraphysical effect? The Imam freely admitted he had no clue, and there was no way to find out. They would have to figure it out as they attacked, and react accordingly.

    ¡°Sure, it¡¯s a gamble,¡± Fatima told her as they wheeled Ruslan back down the mountain trail to civilization. ¡°But everything¡¯s a gamble, isn¡¯t it? Gotta roll the dice sometime. Anyway, you¡¯ve got me backing you up. Worse comes to worst, we straight-up know this son of a bitch can¡¯t affect anything outside his own halo. All he does is play tricks. He¡¯s nobody.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t let your hubby hear you say that,¡± she muttered, taking care that Fatima couldn¡¯t hear either. Apparently Pugachev was in the habit of using his power for propaganda purposes, inflicting full-immersion ¡®educational¡¯ experiences on local citizens, illustrating how regressive and barbaric Islam was supposed to be. His valence¡ªcontemptuous disbelief¡ªmade it all that much more effective, even when it appeared during Friday prayers (as it usually did). The mosques in the capital, and every adjacent town, were now deserted, when they hadn¡¯t been demolished. Ramzan Magomed wanted Pugachev dead with a venomous passion, and Fatima agreed.

    That made Nadia nervous¡ªand seriously annoyed her as well. How often had her sister called her a zealot, or obsessive? But after less than a week on that mountain, Fatima had practically gone native, and wouldn¡¯t hear a word against any of these people. Especially not Ramzan Magomed al-Murid, who was very attentive to her, and trying to learn a bit of Pashto. Ugh.

    Nadia put out a hand to steady Ruslan¡¯s wheelchair as they rounded a curve. He looked up at her, and smiled. He was smiling a lot, these days. Talking a little, too. Not sentences, not anything brilliant, but little words. He said ¡®cup¡¯ when he was thirsty, things like that. He could also walk a little, with help to hold him steady, and he was almost past the need for diapers.

    All that wasn¡¯t enough, in her opinion, to justify taking him to Petrovskoye with them. But Fatima didn¡¯t want to leave him behind in Gamsutl¡¯ with Yuri and Maria, for some mad reason, and the Imam actually listened when she said he might be able to heal someone if things went downhill. The indulgent bridegroom¡ªNadia tried not to think about it. It was just too revolting.

    Fatima was humming some tune or other for the whole last kilometer of the trail; once or twice she even sang little snatches to herself, some Afghan song Nadia had never heard her sing before. Nadia kept her mouth shut, and her eyes ahead¡ªonly the Imam was leading, naturally, so she tried to focus on Therese instead. She¡¯d been listless ever since they came to Dagestan, simply sleepwalking through every day. They had phone reception in Gamsutl¡¯ somehow, which she was using to check on Aare now and then, but as for their plans, or the future in general? She was content to do anything, as long as it hurt or embarrassed the Russian government. As though her life had ended with her husband¡¯s, and she was simply amusing herself going through the motions. It wasn¡¯t any more reassuring than Fatima¡¯s mad enthusiasm.

    At last they reached the dilapidated little town at the foot of the mountain, where Ruslan, with a lot of coaching and help from Fatima, shakily hoisted himself into the back of a car. Fatima clapped, cheered, and kissed him on the cheek when he succeeded, and did a little dance as she wheeled the chair around to stow it in the trunk.

    Nadia bit her tongue the whole time, but something must have shown in her face, because when Fatima came back around to get in she added, ¡°Hey, he¡¯s making progress already, and this is going to help a lot. You just watch.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going to help? Taking him on a mission, into combat?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not going to be ¡®in combat.¡¯ He¡¯ll be staying on reserve, with Amina watching him.¡± She gestured to the nurse, who was buckling herself into the passenger seat up front. ¡°But he¡¯s always had my back before. It makes me feel lucky, you know? Me and Rus, together again.¡± She reached into the car to tousle his hair, like he was a dog or a baby, and he gave her another big smile. Nadia took the opportunity, while Fatima wasn¡¯t looking, to roll her eyes. Her face was straight again when Fatima turned around and added, ¡°¡¯Combat,¡¯ my ass. Ain¡¯t gonna be no combat. Today, we¡¯re assassins. That little bitch can¡¯t even fight.¡±

    You said you wanted Ruslan as a backup healer. But she smiled, and said, ¡°I hope you¡¯re right.¡± Then turned away to get in her own car.

    Fatima called after her, ¡°Wait and see, baby. I bet I won¡¯t even need to do anything. You¡¯ll take him right down.¡±

    The refinery was at the extreme north end of Petrovskoye. Nadia¡¯s car had the shortest drive, dropping her off at a public library a little ways to the south, with a phone and four small kitties in her jacket pockets. She knew she looked perfectly innocent, and tried to act it as she walked in to peruse the shelves until everything was in position.

    The two adults, in their own car, were headed straight for the refinery¡ªthe Imam to comprehensively wreck it while Therese tore up most of the roads leading to it, forcing Pugachev to approach slowly, from a limited number of directions. Of course, it would also make the situation much more dangerous for the two of them; any retreat would be just as slow and difficult. Nadia couldn¡¯t deny that the Imam had courage, or say that he wasn¡¯t committed to helping them. When it came to Therese ¡­ Nadia wondered if the woman simply didn¡¯t care any more what happened to her.

    That left Fatima, and Ruslan, who would be headed north and west of the refinery to wait as reserves in some coffee shop or other. Pugachev was almost certain to come from the south; there was hardly any city to speak of north of the target, and he usually stayed in Petrovskoye. But if he did come that way, Fatima would be in position to take him down. And it would all start within the hour, as soon as the Imam gave the call.

    So far, so good; nobody was even looking at her. She didn¡¯t really know her way around, but walked quickly to seem like she did. She wound up in the adult section, where she walked around until she got to the section with sewing patterns. God only knew where the dress was that she and Fatima had worked on for so long. Probably they would never start another; whatever happened, Nadia was not going to help her make a wedding dress.

    The minutes passed slowly. She finished leafing through the pictures in one book, put it back, got out a denser one with more text to read and sat down. Not that she could really take it in, but it made her look busy. Her eyes flicked over the pages, and she wondered if she was being unfair, or if she really had a reason to think this wouldn¡¯t work. The Imam¡¯s people had never yet attacked the capital, or anywhere else more than a few miles from their hideouts. Pugachev had no reason to expect them to attack here, now or ever. They really should have high odds of winning, or of retreating safely even if Pugachev got away.

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    And what then? That, maybe, was what was really bugging her about this. If she was being honest, she really didn¡¯t like any part of this. She didn¡¯t like being tied up with these people, she didn¡¯t trust them or their fanaticism or their oh-so-sophisticated political plans to have grown men marry teenage girls.

    Most of all, she didn¡¯t like what was happening their family. Ruslan was getting better, and that was great, but he wasn¡¯t all there yet. Yuri and his whore were barely even part of the group anymore. The last person she could really talk to, the last person besides her who really believed in them as a family, had been Fatima¡ªand now this pervert in his stupid furry hat was putting up a wall between them as well. What if this worked? Was she going to be some kind of Christian auxiliary to their mountain-barbarian jihad she didn¡¯t even believe in?

    She knew that didn¡¯t excuse her not trying her hardest to help today, or rooting against its success. She believed with all her heart that the Knyazya had no right to trample on these people and make a mockery of their beliefs. But, all the same ¡­

    If this had to happen, she would rather it happened quickly, so she didn¡¯t have to worry. A glance at her new phone; it had been twenty minutes, more or less, since she stepped out of the car. She messaged Fatima: ¡°R U in position?¡±

    A few seconds passed. ¡°4 last 5 mins.¡±

    For heaven¡¯s sake. ¡°Smth wrong w imam?¡±

    ¡°No msg yet. Dont want 2 call n distract.¡±

    ¡°Ok. 5 more mins?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    She went back to her book, and got three or four more lines in before abruptly getting up, leaving it open in the chair. She quick-walked to the closest bathroom¡ªpeople hurried to the bathroom all the time, it was fine¡ªlocked herself in a stall, and whipped out her dowser. It was old Soviet junk, and took twenty seconds to warm up, but when it did it found something right away. Northeast, it said. It didn¡¯t have a GPS or map, just a compass. There were some numbers too, but she didn¡¯t know what they meant. Field size or strength, number of signatures, something like that.

    What were they thinking, starting without calling them? Fatima could be deferential and polite if she wanted; Nadia wasn¡¯t going to bother. She messaged Therese right away: ¡°What R U doing???¡±

    She sat down on the toilet, pants up, and stared at the screen. The message just hung there, unanswered, until she started counting in her head for something to do: one, two, three, four ¡­ she got up to thirty-five, checked the timestamp on the message. A full minute ago.

    A second message, to the Imam. No answer. Too busy spinning out monsters to check their phones? But why had they started early? Or was it even them making the dowser ping? She thought of trying to call Fatima a half-second before her own phone rang. ¡°Hello?¡±

    ¡°Hey, girl. So ¡­ it¡¯s not you. Huh.¡±

    ¡°No. You tried your dowser too? Where is yours pointing?¡±

    ¡°Southeast.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s where they¡¯re supposed to be. Can you read the numbers and stuff?¡±

    ¡°What numbers? Hold on, homegirl¡¯s fussing at me on this end. What? What is it?¡± Nadia heard snatches of Russian, but nothing comprehensible. ¡°Hell. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s got her losing her shit here.¡±

    ¡°Put her on.¡±

    Amina¡¯s voice came through. ¡°Your brother has gone insane! He¡¯s using his jinni!¡±

    ¡°What? Did something upset him? What was he doing before he started?¡±

    ¡°How should I know?¡±

    ¡°Because he¡¯s right there with¡ªno, wait. How is your phone working, if he¡¯s using his familiar?¡±

    ¡°Not the one in the wheelchair. Your other brother!¡±

    ¡°Yuri?¡±

    ¡°They just called me. Gamsutl¡¯ is burning.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Oh. Oh my God.¡± Nadia might not have wanted this alliance, but she was dead certain this wasn¡¯t how she wanted to end it. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but there was no reason why Amina should know the answer to any of them. ¡°Put Fatima back on, right now.¡±

    ¡°How bad is it?¡± Fatima asked. ¡°Sounded pretty bad.¡±

    Nadia braced herself. ¡°It sounds like Yuri¡¯s brought out Shum-Shum, back on the mountain.¡±

    ¡°That mother¡ª¡° Nadia clapped her hand over the speaker, and turned her head away for good measure. She wasn¡¯t much worried about random library patrons at this point, but English conversation was conspicuous enough without loud English profanity. The Imam had a lot of agents in this town¡ªspies, mostly, but some armed men shipped in as backup for this operation. Like the drivers they were relying on to get them out of town. How would they react to this?

    Fatima sounded like she was winding down. Nadia cut off the rest. ¡°We need to contact Therese, now. She¡¯s the only adult ally we have left. I think I should call her. I¡¯m going to hang up, okay?¡±

    ¡°Whoa, whoa. What do you mean, ¡®only adult ally¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Seriously? If you don¡¯t get it, I¡¯m not going to waste time explaining it to you.¡± She hung up, and dialed Therese in a frantic hurry, praying to get through before Fatima called her back. But all she got was a message telling her that the number couldn¡¯t be reached. She hung up and tried again, and got the same result. Damn it.

    She let the message loop while she sat back against the toilet tank, feeling tired. Therese wasn¡¯t answering texts, her phone couldn¡¯t be reached, the Imam wasn¡¯t answering texts, the dowser was pinging nonstop and

    oh God

    She stood up, shoved the door open, and dashed out, dialing Fatima as she went. Her sister answered with, ¡°Might need a second here, Amina¡¯s being a royal¡ª¡°

    ¡°It¡¯s a halo,¡± Nadia said. ¡°Get out.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t reach Therese¡¯s phone at all, and neither of them has messaged back. Our dowsers aren¡¯t reading VRIL constructs. It¡¯s a halo.¡± She was speed-walking through the library¡¯s lobby now, getting lots of stares for her loud English conversation. She had the dowser back up, but it was directional and she didn¡¯t want to take the time to mess with it.

    ¡°A halo? Why the hell would there be a halo? They just knocked down a cell tower or something, girl. Don¡¯t be crazy.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been betrayed! Plenty of people knew about this operation, one of them leaked, whoever it was knew where we were going too, so get moving, right now, before you get yourself killed!¡± She was out of the library now, hanging out in the entrance with a beeping dowser in her pocket while she struggled not to shout her English conversation too loudly.

    ¡°The Imam vets his people, Nadia. Even if it is a halo, for all we know Therese was holding out on us, like Kei¡ª¡°

    ¡°Why in the hell would she keep that secret? If she had a familiar, why didn¡¯t she use it against the Lamprey? Nothing about that makes any sense. Pugachev has them. Get out!¡± She hung up, took a deep breath, and dialed for her driver. If he was hostile¡ªdamn that Yuri¡ªhe was still less hostile than whatever the oprichnik would send. Assuming the driver wasn¡¯t a mole himself ¡­ God, she hated thinking like this.

    But the driver agreed to come without comment. As soon as the call ended she called Fatima again. There was nothing for it but to keep trying until she talked some sense into the girl. In the meantime, where to? Back to base? No. She had to stay in range to back up Fatima and Ruslan, and if the enemy had a halo around Therese and Magomed, well, she knew where he was. She owed Therese, at least, and probably the Imam too, if only for a few days¡¯ hospitality.

    She was so caught up in her thoughts that it took her several seconds to notice that her phone was telling her, in a dry recorded voice, that the number she was trying to reach was not available.

 XCIII. Deceptions (Nadia)

    After three months using an emissant, Nadia liked to believe she had learned a few things about tactics, and cunning, and basic caution. She waited for her ride behind the bushes and out of sight, and passed the time by trying and failing to get through to Fatima. When the old grey car pulled up to the curb, she hung up the phone and crouched down to hide better while she watched the car idle. After thirty seconds her driver cut the engine and got out. She kept her hand on the gun in her pocket, and watched.

    When he drew level with the bushes, he saw her, and startled. His right hand jerked towards his jacket, where she was sure he had a gun of his own¡ªbut he stopped short of drawing. ¡°What the hell are you doing there?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Waiting to see what you did,¡± she told him, standing up. Ezarine¡¯s wall was strong and clear in her head. She took a step forward, and glanced at the car to see if it was empty. In the corner of her eye, the driver¡¯s hand drifted back up; she looked back, and he froze. ¡°If I wanted to betray you, I would use my jinni, and you would be dead already.¡±

    He bit his lip, said, ¡°We should not hang around here.¡±

    ¡°Have you heard from the Imam?¡± she asked him.

    ¡°No. We cannot reach him, and he does not contact us. Come along.¡±

    Had the car been empty? She only got a half-second look, and didn¡¯t want to look again. He was surely a faster draw than she was. ¡°Do you think I betrayed you?¡±

    ¡°I think you should get in the car.¡± His hands were at his sides now, but restless.

    ¡°Where will you take me, if I do?¡±

    ¡°Where do you want to go?¡±

    ¡°To help my friend, and your Imam. I think there is a halo around them.¡±

    He nodded, then jerked his head toward the car. ¡°Get in.¡±

    She looked him in the eye. ¡°You get in first. Then I will.¡± She didn¡¯t want him behind her.

    He considered it a long moment, then turned around without a word to get back in. He reached into his jacket, and she started to pull out her gun¡ªbut his hand came back up twirling his jangling keys on their chain, and she relaxed. He turned to go around the front of his car, and she stood up to follow¡ªand he kept turning, until he was facing her again, and his left hand emerged from his waistband and spat a bright flash of light.

    She jumped back and fell over. Her left shoulder lit up with pain at the same instant her right shoulder hit the sidewalk. Her momentum rolled her over as the gunshots rang out like chain lightning over her head. She was helpless on the ground, but she was also angry.

    ¨¦zarine appeared behind the driver, picked him up by the jacket, and swung him in an arc over her head to slam him headfirst into the concrete. She was at Nadia¡¯s side an instant later, helping her to her feet. She could see through her familiar¡¯s eyes as she got up that she left a bloody mess on the sidewalk. ¨¦zarine clapped her hands around Nadia¡¯s shoulder, and she let out ten seconds of gurgling, strangled screams.

    That might or might not have been the limit of her endurance; ¨¦zarine had to let go for a second as another man got out of the car, gun drawn. No stealth, no clever plan¡ªthe halo had made him stupid, as it always did. A bloody hand clenched down on his until he howled and dropped the pistol. Then a little more, until she felt the bones about to snap under Ezarine¡¯s grip and the man was on his knees begging her to stop. ¡°No guns,¡± Nadia gritted out.

    She staggered forward until she was standing over the man with her own pistol against his forehead. Then she dismissed ¨¦zarine. At once the pain got worse, as she knew it would, but she¡¯d felt worse in her days as a cripple. ¡°You are my new driver,¡± she told him. ¡°Take me to the Imam. I will kill you if you cross me again. Do you understand? Speak.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said.

    ¡°Good.¡± She stepped back, leaning on the car for support as best she could without hurting her shoulder worse. ¡°Now, get moving.¡±

    The Imam, as always, had planned ahead; there was a good store of medical supplies in the back. No change of clothes, though. Too bad. ¨¦zarine tore off her bloody shirt, doused the wound in peroxide, and swathed her in gauze and bandages while the man drove. Nadia clenched her teeth the whole time; all the firearms besides her own pistol were locked in the trunk, but if she passed out with the pain ¨¦zarine would vanish, and she would never wake up again.

    Once it was done there was nothing for it but to put her equally bloody jacket back on, with her left arm pinned to her side and the sleeve dangling empty. She had only her brassiere and bandages beneath. She zipped it up, for what good that did, and swallowed four ibuprofen dry.

    Then she looked up, and met the driver¡¯s eyes staring at them in the rear-view. The car was going perhaps ten kilometers per hour. ¡°Faster, damn you!¡± ¨¦zarine moved to the front seat in an eyeblink. ¡°Faster, or she will have something to say about it.¡±

    The car¡¯s speed tripled in moments, and Nadia laid herself gingerly back against the seat, putting most of her weight on her right shoulder¡ªwhich was merely bruised from hitting the pavement. The man winced every time he used his right hand to shift gears. They had lost too much time with all this backstabbing nonsense; the odds were good that the Imam and Therese were dead already. But ¡®odds¡¯ weren¡¯t enough to justify abandoning them. What came after that ¡­ would come after. There was too much to worry about now, and whatever Yuri had done, he was more than a hundred kilometers away.

    They were on the highway now, and Nadia could definitely feel impingement. There was another halo ahead, pushing back against ¨¦zarine. She checked to be sure her four kitties were intact, and the dowser was not visibly broken. ¡°Not far now to the halo¡¯s edge,¡± she said. ¡°Slow down again.¡± She got her own handgun ready, then dismissed ¨¦zarine, leaving her wall.

    The road ahead, and the scene, didn¡¯t change. The driver wobbled a moment, then recovered. She kept her eye on him, noting the exact moment when he sat up straighter and she caught his little rat face smirking at her in the mirror. They were inside the halo. ¡°You know what Pugachev looks like? A little dancing flame with a man¡¯s shape. He cannot hide his own form. We are looking for that.¡± Her new driver only snickered. ¡°Fine. Be useless. But stay on this road. This is the only thing we can be sure is real.¡±

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    No sooner had she said it than she saw him: a flickering red light, a man made of fires, dancing in place down a side street. Surely it wasn¡¯t that easy? ¡°Stop!¡± He still laughed, but he obeyed. She peered down the street, keeping a gun on the driver¡¯s head in case he got any stupid ideas. It looked like the description, all right. Or was the figure itself an illusion? He couldn¡¯t hide himself, but nobody knew if he could make a copy, or twenty copies. She looked down the street the other way, and sure enough there was a dancing fire there as well. He was making fun of her. Well, she would show¡ª

    The impact came out of nowhere, slamming into their car and setting it spinning. Nadia caught a glimpse of the windshield shattering before her head smacked into the driver¡¯s seat. The man shouted as the airbag hit him in the face. She looked up just before the next hit, from behind this time, and the car spun again, lifting one side into the air with a crunch and screech of bending metal. For an instant of eternal terror, she was sure they would flip, but they came back down with another crash, and a rattle that she felt all the way up to her bleeding shoulder.

    And then, after a final rumbling crescendo of further crashes, fading into distance like a receding tide, it was over. She looked around, and saw their car was demolished, and there was no sign of what had hit it. All around them was a placid residential neighborhood. She couldn¡¯t even see Pugachev anymore. He¡¯d finished distracting her, or gotten distracted himself.

    ¡°Are you all right?¡± The driver groaned, then chuckled, his face covered in blood. Nadia was sure she didn¡¯t look any better. Well, the car wasn¡¯t going anywhere. She pushed her door open; it got about half a foot before banging against something invisible. Of course. There was only one option left, unless she wanted to spend the next hour banging into things like a blind man who¡¯d lost his cane. She set down her gun, got out a kitty, and wrestled it open with her one and a half arms.

    At once they were in a different street, and surrounded by five other smashed cars, their occupants mostly unconscious or dead. ¨¦zarine flickered into the air for a look around, but failed to find the seam where reality ended and Pugachev¡¯s dreams began. She could tell they¡¯d pushed him back, and hard, but he was still selling the illusion perfectly.

    Obviously, they¡¯d underestimated him. The Imam had never tried to engage with the oprichnik himself before, only assumed his limitations from piecemeal knowledge. But Pugachev predated the Whiteout; he had something like ten years of experience. Of course he would know how to use his powers as a weapon! This whole plan was a stupid joke.

    But she would be stupider still, if she let her valence control her. Angry or not, there was a job to be done. She squeezed out of the car, gun ready. ¨¦zarine took a shotgun from the trunk, stuffing a few extra shells into Nadia¡¯s bulging pockets. She¡¯d have to conserve ectoplasm, but she could push though here, and maybe meet up with Fatima. If she met with Therese along the way, so much the better, but Nadia wasn¡¯t going to count on finding her, or her body, if Pugachev tried to hide her.

    She tiptoed through the pileup with her gun ready, letting ¨¦zarine pick her up and carry her at one spot where the wreckage was insurmountable. A sudden noise made her turn back, ready to shoot¡ªbut it was only her driver, emerging from the car on shaky legs. ¡°What are you up to now?¡±

    ¡°Following you. You think I¡¯m going to stay in this mess?¡±

    She considered it. ¡°Fine. But you go in front.¡± He glowered, but obeyed. ¡°If you can¡¯t keep up there, I leave you behind.¡±

    She could feel the impingement now, as Pugachev¡¯s halo tried to reassert itself, but it was still far enough away that he couldn¡¯t realistically hit them with another misguided car. It vexed her much more that she had no car of her own. And that her shoulder might still be bleeding a little, and hurt like hell, and she didn¡¯t know how long she could keep going without real medical care. And that Fatima and Ruslan might already be dead.

    They¡¯d hardly made it fifty meters when the driver stumbled to his knees, clutching his head and whining. Had he really hurt his head? Whatever. He hadn¡¯t been shot! ¡°Get up,¡± she told him, not breaking stride. ¡°I don¡¯t need to tie down ¨¦zarine with your dead weight.¡± To emphasize the point, she had her familiar pop up next to him and prod him with her foot. He slapped weakly at her leg, but stayed on his knees. ¡°Damn you! Fine.¡± ¨¦zarine grabbed him by the hair and moved him twenty paces up the road, dropping him when they got there. He fell over cursing. ¡°Don¡¯t like it? Use your legs!¡±

    Instead he sat up, facing her, and helped her to a heap of curses in some Dagestani tongue she didn¡¯t know. Why did she have to have a familiar that made everyone uncooperative and hateful? She was on the verge of yanking him another twenty paces when she felt the sudden pressure of another halo once again. Coming from behind.

    She turned just as the blast hit her, and she fell down again. She tried to put out her bad hand, trapped inside her jacket, to catch her fall, and flopped over to land on her bad shoulder with a scream that would make ¨¦zarine proud. Her familiar helped her back up to assess the damage ¡­ but there wasn¡¯t any. Only a strange shimmering in the air over the pileup they¡¯d just left. No explosion. What had happened, then?

    Very quickly the shimmering hardened, forming an enormous crystal wall, clear as air but laced with threads of pale green and milky white. She recognized it at once, at the same second she realized her halo didn¡¯t reach the space around the wall. A kitty. And a trap. She moved ¨¦zarine to stand before her. Glass was only glass. It would shatter at a scream¡ª

    There was a crash, a sound like the world ripping in half, and a rushing wind, and a wave of burning needles tore across the side of her left leg. She hissed and grabbed it with her good hand, hissed again in fresh pain and drew it back studded with sparkling bloody slivers¡ª

    Glass. All around her on the ground, in great spears and little flecks, green and white and clear. Frosting every surface, sticking out a street sign like a coat of sparkling hairs. Behind her, the driver was limp on the ground, bleeding over the asphalt. ¨¦zarine¡¯s whole front was covered in little shards, enough to trouble even her a little. And just past her, floating in the air, a fresh shimmer was forming, ready to do it again.

    ¨¦zarine didn¡¯t give it a chance, but screamed, at full volume and the precise and perfect pitch. She screamed, and kept screaming¡ªshe could never run out of breath¡ªand the next murderous wall crumbled in the air as it formed. Nadia left her familiar to it, taking care to stand in her shadow as she wrestled the next kitty out of her pocket one-handed. It didn¡¯t matter that she was shot and bleeding and had one good arm. Yefimov had taken enough from her already. Whatever he was doing here¡ªhowever he had found them again¡ªif he wanted a fight, she would give it to him.

 XCIV. Tragedy (Yefimov)

    Sergei¡¯s new assignment proceeded quite poorly at first; amid the profusion of terrorism, looting, and general anarchy which followed Tatiana¡¯s death, they were unable to learn anything of the Marshalls. There were few local authorities to deal with, and security forces were too busy attending to fresh provocations to interrogate prisoners or otherwise assist. Sergei and Lyudmila were only informed that the boy Ruslan was injured two hours after the incident at Krysmk hospital, shortly before the family fled Kuban Oblast. The attendant disability of every clairvoyant within a radius of several hundred kilometers, and the fresh confusion and fear that engendered, rendered pursuit impractical.

    He of course received a prompt missive from the Knyazya, to the effect that further failures or delays would be met with their dire displeasure. Sergei was not intimidated; he was an entirely obscure figure, and of great value, and thus ill-suited to be disposed of for an example. Moreover, he knew of no rival who should perform better at the task than himself.

    Marko Hushchyn was able to join him that evening, and between them they were able, over the course of two days¡¯ rigorous investigation, to establish where the Marshalls had slept, with whom they had had contact, the general timeline of their activities, and the identity of their current adult guardians. A semblance of stability was imposed over the oblast, and alerts distributed to every regional office within plausible travel distance. They were notified of the woman Therese¡¯s appearance in Kropotkin mere hours before she again departed. Critical minutes were wasted in pursuit of the disabled clairvoyant Aare; on discovering their error they elected to leave him unmolested under surveillance. Meanwhile, the Marshalls had again escaped, and they did not contact Aare further.

    For more than a week the family lay dormant and hidden in an unknown location, while the Knyazya became ever more impatient. Sergei remained untroubled, however agitated Marko and Lyudmila became. He had endured any amount of pressure from his superiors for many years, and knew his course. Their masters needed them more than vice versa; he could acquire any resources he desired by simply waiting a decent interval between requests, to allow their fears and misgivings time to replenish and overwhelm their pride.

    Thus they acquired a staff of three critically scarce clairvoyants, two of them sufficiently experienced to perform field extrapolations. Patiently they investigated every clue, every potential breakthrough, and when these were exhausted they collated, poring over maps and discussing potential strategems their enemy might employ. And then, when all remotely profitable talk was finished, they waited.

    On the twenty-first of March they received word from an anonymous person within the administration of the so-called Imam of Caucasia, in Dagestan, who was willing to inform them of his activities in exchange for compensation. It seemed the perennial Muslim nuisance of the mountains had made alliance with the Marshalls, and intended a major attack in the near future.

    They had already considered the Imam as a potential ally for the children. For twenty-eight months Igor and his Pugachev had labored to provoke the fanatics out of their hills with increasingly brazen insults to their beliefs. Now the Muslims of Dagestan and Chechnya were believed to be among the most numerous and best funded and organized of the various malcontents near Kuban.

    Personally, Sergei had considered it far more probable that the children would bind themselves to the criminal underground of Astrakhan; he had deemed it unlikely for Nadezhda or the French agent Therese to entangle themselves with the contemptible mujahideen. He was less displeased to be wrong than to be compelled to collaborate with the insolent and childish Igor. Still, he would do what was necessary to fulfill his orders.

    This information came through several intermediaries, each zealously protective of the privacy of the last. Sergei was indifferent of the original informant¡¯s identity, once they had given a convincing description of the Marshall children and their French chaperon. The sum requested was reasonable, and Sergei authorized a payment twenty percent larger to encourage their benefactor¡¯s loquacity. Within twenty-four hours the source had furnished information in sufficient detail that they felt justified in purchasing airplane tickets to Petrovskoye.

    Their confidant was less than ideally forthcoming where tactics were concerned, but furnished sufficient detail for them to understand the Marshalls¡¯ plan: a crude snare followed by a pincer maneuver, as one would expect from a mixture of untrained children and adults who had never worked with emissants before. The counter would be equally predictable, to encircle the encirclers. Igor was to subdue the Imam and the Frenchwoman, while Marko and Sergei prepared to attack the emissants from behind when they inevitably mobilized to rescue the adults.

    They did not know for certain which of the children would take which position; Sergei chose the southerly post on a whim. Marko inquired which of the two he hoped to encounter. The question was posed as a mere curiosity, but Sergei perceived the deeper concern behind it. He could not countenance Marko¡¯s essential lack of seriousness and purpose, nor his cynicism as concerned affairs of state. Still, he was not insensitive to beauty, nor so foolish and feckless as Igor or Tatiana. Sergei accordingly gave the question earnest consideration, and an honest answer.

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    ¡°I am not so cold in my innermost nature, that I rejoice at the thought of extirpating a family,¡± he said. ¡°The children are in essence innocent, misinformed and misshapen by men of poor character. No one of their age is a fit participant in battle, and it is a task of paramount importance for any society to safeguard women and children from bloodshed. That we are now tasked with their destruction is thus a testament to failure on a civilizational level.¡±

    ¡°And yet,¡± Marko answered, ¡°you do not hesitate?¡±

    ¡°If, as I understand, you consider yourself a thespian, you may accordingly classify your participation here as a tragedy in every or any sense. The failure has been made and consummated, the crossroads passed. We might be said to be playing out the final act in these moments. There can be no return to what was, and any effort to do so will only endanger more civilian lives. All that remains is to rectify the error.¡±

    ¡°And prevent future errors?¡± Marko said, lifting an eyebrow.

    ¡°You and I are not so amicably situated as to influence events upon that level. Should we aspire to that, we should do best to attend to the duty given us at the moment.¡±

    At this Marko laughed. ¡°So that, having shown we are so reliable at running the bloodiest errands without question, we will be chosen to order them ourselves while others do the running?¡±

    Such were the irritations native to partnership with a dramatist. ¡°You are young,¡± Yefimov reminded him, ¡°at least by comparison to myself. It is entirely your own choice what you accomplish with the abilities you were given by either nature or the goodwill of the state. If you elect to employ them in rebellion against your benefactors, that is your prerogative, but I would suggest that perhaps you are foolish in betraying your intentions to the likes of Sergei Yevgenyevich Yefimov.¡±

    ¡°I am not contemplating rebellion,¡± retorted Marko with excessive heat. ¡°But damn it, a man is entitled to his misgivings, is he not? Am I allowed regrets, you automaton of a man?¡±

    ¡°You are.¡±

    ¡°And you did not answer my original question. Which child would you prefer to kill? What would be your chosen role in the tragedy?¡±

    ¡°On that matter, I am indifferent. There exists a greater purely emotional affinity between myself and the younger of the two¡ªwhose idealism excites a measure of my admiration¡ªbut as both must die, and their kindred with them, this is of no significance. Tactically, I am confident in my ability to overcome either, as should you be yourself in the absence of your former difficulty. On which point: your goddaughter is in good health, is she not?¡±

    To this Marko assented, and to Sergei¡¯s satisfaction abandoned the quarrel. Sergei hoped that, given time, Marko would mature into a man of superior discernment, and render loyal and distinguished service to his homeland.

    The fatal day arrived without incident. Igor experienced no difficulties ensnaring the two adults, compelling Sergei to repress an unworthy misgiving that they had not shot him in the head instead. The day was young; time remained for such a happy accident to transpire. Evidently he thwarted the first attempt to reinforce, from the south, with similar ease¡ªwithin minutes a new halo appeared to rebuff him, prompting Sergei to intervene.

    His words to Marko notwithstanding, he was to some extent disappointed to see ¨¦zarine, and not Mister Higgins, rise from the wreckage. He should have preferred to destroy Fatima, who was the less innocent of the two. He might perhaps, as the father of Snowdrop, shed a tear later, and pray without total insincerity for her resurrection in a better age.

    For the time being ¡­ they had never understood the violence of which his daughter was truly capable. Ever before he had struck with restraint, aiming to spare life. This was no longer required. He built a great bulwark behind Nadezhda, then created another inside it at the greatest speed he could contrive. The result was a catastrophic structural failure, and a great cloud of lacerating shards moving out at nearly the speed of sound.

    The surprise achieved was not total, and ¨¦zarine transposed herself in time to shield her mistress from the worst. Disappointing, and a nuisance moreover¡ªa longer battle would entail greater collateral damage¡ªbut the remainder of the conflict was essentially foreordained. The creature was skilled with resonant frequencies, a famed weakness of glass in particular. Sergei had anticipated her use of it, her confident belief that it would shield her infallibly.

    He had long since mastered the knack of creating and destroying barriers in sequence, and allowed her a few moments¡¯ delight in repeatedly surmounting a tactic that had already failed once. Prodigious barricades crumbled into dust against the force of her outrage, wall after wall. Let her rage; they cost him no wealth to make, and afforded him time to shift his own physical location. Per the source, they had no clairvoyants of their own, only cumbersome and unreliable dowsers. It would scarcely have affected the outcome if it were otherwise.

    Her next maneuver was again as predicted: she employed an ectoplasmic reserve to force him back. Sergei had come prepared with no less than a round score of such reserves, should it come to attrition, but this was only his essential conservatism in play. He had no intention of achieving victory by brute force; if nothing else, repeated shifts in valence were deleterious to the mental health of the civilian substrate, and much as Sergei wished Igor¡¯s failure, he remained a professional and a gentleman.

    With good cheer Sergei withdrew Snowdrop, trusting to a long acquaintance with the psychology of embattled men. As expected, the child hesitated, her belligerence at a loss in the absence of a foe. The experienced Amelin, sitting in Sergei¡¯s passenger seat, confirmed this, pointing steadfastly to the same place on the paper map on the dashboard. Amelin¡¯s gestures were quick and sure, continuously sketching for Sergei¡¯s benefit the shifting paraphysical outlines of the battlefield. He was, perhaps, superior even to the departed Noorlan.

    Sergei received his first surprise of the day when Amelin¡¯s hand resumed motion: Nadezhda was moving not north, as he had expected, but south. Evidently her anger at him¡ªfueled by her emissant¡ªhad overtaken her concern for her friends. This was again disappointing, as it spoke poorly for her character, but Sergei had prepared for all eventualities. Two minutes¡¯ walk brought her to a halt against a fresh set of Snowdrop¡¯s barriers, erected too far back for her earlier tantrum to damage.

    Sergei himself was by this time several blocks away, but he saw her position hold on the map, and heard the distant scream as she destroyed them as well. Now, perhaps, she would believe herself on the right track, and progress with confidence. Yes: Amelin¡¯s hands moved rapidly, denoting the shifting epicenter of the halo as ¨¦zarine moved rapidly here and there, to rooftops and vantage points high in the sky, seeking out her enemy. As Sergei and Amelin were in a parked and inconspicuous car, and Snowdrop retracted, this availed her not at all.

    Now patience was the chief requisite virtue. Once Nadezhda¡¯s futile search was concluded, he suffered her a few seconds¡¯ bafflement and indecision, feeding her valence with a rational cause for frustration. Then he opened his very smallest ryumka, allowing Snowdrop to emerge for perhaps three seconds¡¯ impingement. No more. Then he drove on, at no great speed, while the girl recovered and sent out her friend to investigate. She would of course sense a trap, and on finding no sign of Snowdrop resolve to venture no further in that direction¡ªeast¡ªcongratulating herself in a small way for her foresight. She resumed her northward course, on foot, while Sergei drove cautiously to flank her at great distance.

    There was no need for direct engagement, no need to expose himself to direct retaliation. Mere minutes later Snowdrop appeared again, another five seconds¡ªto the north, cutting off her course. Again Amelin marked her sudden halt, and ¨¦zarine¡¯s brief excursions to explore. Now the critical question: would she turn to the west, passing by his own location, or continue to the north for mere spite and a refusal to be herded? Sergei genuinely could not anticipate the outcome. Such small novelties gave disproportionate joy to his existence.

    North it was. A trifle more trouble, but no great matter. Igor had by now retreated, presumably with captive prey, leaving Nadezhda¡¯s way to her sister clear, but the girl was moving more slowly now, and on foot she could hardly cross the kilometers between them with any expedition.

    The greatest difficulty lay in avoiding notice; Sergei drove in a circumspect arc to position himself by her path, and waited. Long minutes passed, and Amelin¡¯s hand wavered on the map, slowing to a near halt. He wondered if perhaps she had been more gravely injured than he thought by his first strike. A possibility. He would see if she stopped entirely, and the halo collapsed. Either way, he would visually confirm death before anything else.

    In the event, she kept moving, and from the alley beside a mechanic¡¯s garage he saw her limp into view, held up by her familiar. It was a far more pathetic scene than he had expected: the girl was coated in blood, and could barely walk. A tragedy indeed, that it should end this way, with barely a blow struck at her enemy. But Marko was the tragedian. If he wished her a more fitting end, he could compose her elegy himself, and so salve his guilty soul.

    One final time Snowdrop appeared, inside the empty warehouse to Sergei¡¯s left. Without ceremony she erected a fresh barrier in the middle of its brick frontage. It did not rupture with anything like the violence of glass, but at such close range this was of no consequence. Fragments of brick flew out like shrapnel from a bomb, and Amelin¡¯s hand flicked up from the map as the girl¡¯s broken body skidded across the street.

 XCV. Avalanche (????)

    The world was a simpler place than it used to be. Ruslan didn¡¯t really know this¡ªhe couldn¡¯t have explained it, or understood it himself. But for the past three days, there had been a growing awareness that things had used to be different. More and more, he would reach inside himself for a word for a thing, and when he brought it out it would bring out three or four other things with it, things he didn¡¯t really recognize but knew were important.

    He asked for ¡®water,¡¯ and got it, and as he accepted the cup he thought of bloody black wings bearing a girl across a narrow inlet at sunset. They taught him to say ¡®bed,¡¯ with a lot of coaching, and he smiled when they cheered¡ªbut he also remembered two beds in a ruined village, and lying awake at night listening to Fatima mutter in her sleep.

    They weren¡¯t all there yet, and he didn¡¯t know how they all fit together, but he could feel the weight of the past. If he¡¯d remembered how to speak, he might have compared it to snow on a mountain top, waiting to avalanche, or gathering clouds full of rain. He didn¡¯t, so the past only pestered him; the memories chafed, the way his clothes chafed when they left him to sit in one spot for too long.

    Like the time, yesterday¡ªor maybe last week, a-time-that-was-not-now¡ªwhen he had wet himself, and Fatima had cleaned him. He didn¡¯t think this was the first time it had happened, but time was a tricky thing to sort out, and he kept wanting to mash it all together. Fatima made unhappy noises, because she always did. Her grumbles were usually comforting; they meant that everything was normal. This time, though, she¡¯d given him a look as she complained, a sad kind of look, and it bothered him.

    It didn¡¯t seem to bother her; she put clean pants on him and went back to doing something else. But the look stayed with him, and he remembered, or thought he remembered, a time when he had stood on his feet and put his arms around her and told her things, and she had looked up at him and smiled, because he was strong and he could help her. He didn¡¯t think he could do any of that now. Not the standing, or the talking, or the helping. None of it.

    That was what the sad look meant, maybe. He didn¡¯t know, and not knowing bothered him, and being bothered bothered him, because he knew there had been a time when not knowing had been okay, when every new thing that happened to him was wonderful, like seeing the sun rise for the first time. He¡¯d been fine as long as everything stayed simple, but it wasn¡¯t anymore. Now he could remember the sun rising before, and he knew he should know the words for all the things he saw, and he always felt like there were more words to say, but he didn¡¯t know them, and so he choked on all the things he meant.

    Now they were in a little place, him and Fatima and the girl who put the bags of water with strings onto the thing in his arm (but he didn¡¯t know why). The place had bad air, full of ¡­ smoke? Smoke. Lots of men and women, blowing smoke, and Fatima blew smoke, and the girl was angry with her, and Fatima was angry back. Ruslan didn¡¯t like it when people were angry, since he couldn¡¯t find the words to make them happy again, but this time Fatima noticed, and gave him a little cup of something that wasn¡¯t water. He sipped it, because she told him to. The taste was familiar, and Fatima made him say ¡®coffee,¡¯ and smiled and hugged him when he did it. It felt good to have her hug him. But he remembered the look.

    Then they were angry again. He didn¡¯t know why. They both held things to their faces and he used to know what the things were but the things made noises like people talking and what was the word? They talked back to the things, and were angry, and then they put them away and were angry with each other, and he tried to help but couldn¡¯t. Once Fatima started crying, just for a little bit, but she made herself stop crying and talked to the thing on her face again. Then she put it away, and they yelled at each other some more, and all the other people stopped blowing smoke to stare at them.

    Then the men from the cars came into the place, and they were carrying shiny things in their hands¡ªthings he remembered were frightening, but not why. They pointed them at Fatima, and Fatima was scared and angry but acted like she wasn¡¯t, because she was Fatima. Ruslan knew it wouldn¡¯t work, because the men were too angry. The other people pushed their chairs back to get away from the men with the shiny things. One of them came forward and put his shiny thing right in Fatima¡¯s face, and Ruslan saw her hands shake on the cushion of her seat, down under the table where the man couldn¡¯t see.

    He wanted to help her, but couldn¡¯t think how. Without meaning to, he tried standing up, only he wasn¡¯t very good at standing up yet and he fell onto the little table and knocked it over. He landed on the floor and hot ¡®coffee¡¯ landed on top of him. There was a very loud noise, so loud it hurt his ears, and people screamed. He suddenly had new memories of more people arguing, and shoving each other, and arguing again in a place with cars, and he didn¡¯t know what it meant but he wanted to leave the place and forget all of it.

    The memories went away, but the feeling didn¡¯t. He opened his eyes from his place on the floor, and saw Mister Higgins standing in the doorway, and Fatima was standing next to him with her fists clenched. There was no sign of the men with the shiny things. He¡¯d forgotten Mister Higgins, too, but just now he didn¡¯t care. They needed to get out of this place, with the scary people and loud noises, Mister Higgins was blocking the only way out. It came to him that he could start by getting off the floor, and he tried, but it was hard. His arms and legs weren¡¯t very strong.

    Before he could do more than grab one of the chairs, Mister Higgins was gone, and he took the feeling with him. His ears were getting back some of their hearing from the loud sound, and he could hear someone crying. He looked to see who was doing it. It was the other girl, the one who did the thing with the bags. She was on the floor too, holding her belly, and her hands were bright red, and her shirt was dark red, and her teeth were clenched down hard and she whined through them while the tears rolled down her face.

    Fatima came over to help him up, and he let her help, and even tried to move himself a little, but he kept trying to look back at the girl on the floor. The sound she made was making him hurt in his own stomach. Fatima yelled at him, probably because he wasn¡¯t doing enough, but he couldn¡¯t help it. He kept looking back. Fatima grabbed his face and turned it around to look at her, and she said a lot of things very fast, too fast to understand.  He could tell she was scared. So was he. He wanted to put up a hand and touch her cheek, but she moved away before he could lift his arm.

    She got him into his chair, then got around behind him to push him out of the room. The girl was still on the floor, still crying. He could tell she hurt, and she reminded him of a lot of other things he¡¯d forgotten, none of them pleasant. Moonlight in the park, Nadia shivering wet and screaming at him that Hamza was going to die, calling him useless. Waking up with the thing in his throat, unable to breathe, just hurting alone in an empty room. Hiding in the tent when the old man took over, trying not to think of Komron¡¯s body with the bullet hole in his forehead.

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    (There was another tent too, he thought a tent with a dead boy in it¡ªbut that boy didn¡¯t matter anymore. He was dead, and Ruslan forgot him.)

    The old woman came into the tent after him, and hauled him out by the ear, cursing him for a cowardly skittering rat. He had no business hiding when there was work to be done. The American wouldn¡¯t feed idle mouths. That was how things went; the big men made the trouble and the little people took the pain. If he didn¡¯t learn that, he could die in the cold, alone.

    Ruslan worked that night till there was no night left, till the sun was rising past the mountains and they could leave off burying the new dead to feed the still living. Ruslan put down his shovel somewhere, and sleepwalked his way to the cook fires to get the rice ready like he always did. He burnt himself twice, and the pain helped to keep him awake until it was all done, and he could help the men pack up the tents and move.

    Somewhere in the noise and bustle, as he was struggling to keep his eyes open and not cry, someone put a hand on his head, and told him he was doing good work. He didn¡¯t know who it was¡ªdidn¡¯t recognize the voice, or turn around to see. There was too much work to do. But it told him that he was not alone. His pain had broken through the wall, and earned him a place by the fire. It was the only way¡ªto hurt until you were proven, to give everything you had so you were finally worth having. To die until death made you human.

    He hadn¡¯t meant to call Saray, hadn¡¯t known her name was Saray when he called her. She was simply there, in that moment, because he needed her, and she gave him life. She knelt down in her beautiful clothes and wept over the girl on the floor, clutching her stomach where she could feel the girl¡¯s pain¡ªand Ruslan could too, if only a taste. She took it into herself, and so did he, and the girl sat up intact, shaking her head because the world was bitter.

    Fatima helped her up, and for a moment they held each other and cried. Saray was already walking out the door, ducking a little to clear it. Ruslan couldn¡¯t follow her, and didn¡¯t mind. Saray was beautiful, absolutely perfect, a vision in gold and white. His mother, his sister, his lover, his daughter¡ªeverything he needed, she could be, and she would never leave him.

    Just now she was busy looking for good work to do, and burdens she could bear. She could feel the suffering out there, and was ready to take it into herself, and show the world she was lovely. She reached out, and felt every ache and pain for a quarter-mile, and took it in to fill the emptiness inside her. Old men stood straighter, and children stopped sniffling, and she blessed them for giving her their troubles.

    The agony gave her strength. She pushed off from the asphalt with her pretty gold slippers, and she was soaring in the air, hungry for new needs. She wasn¡¯t shining as brightly as she would soon¡ªbut no. She could feel it pressing against her, the place where he was. There, in the sky, a black devil was flying in on bat¡¯s wings, dripping fire. She could see him clearly, even at a distance, and knew him. He was the one who had hurt Ruslan before, at the bridge. He was probably here to hurt him again. So what? He knew nothing, if he thought Ruslan couldn¡¯t bear pain. He was the foundation of the universe, the soul of Saray, and he could handle anything.

    The black devil threw a bolt of fire, and hit Saray full in the chest. She screamed, but took the pain, the way she was made to. If she could feel her body break apart from the impact, the knowledge that she was breaking gave her new strength. There could be no greater offering, no purer proof. Let her bleed. Let her burn. She was a goddess.

    Another hit, another little blossom of torture, a kiss from the universe, right on her heart. It was good¡ªbut it did not give her strength, not really. She could stand up under destruction, but her own pain was not sufficient. She needed someone else¡¯s. Before the devil could hit her again, she let herself drop, and her glorious black hair streamed behind her like a comet¡¯s tail.

    She could not, would not, go far from Ruslan, still sitting in the smoky room in the prison of his chair. But there was sorrow enough to feed her nearby. A beggar-drunk in an alley, his body diseased and full of loathing. A battered woman crying in bed. A crashed car, its driver bleeding internally. A burned child in an ambulance, halted on the way to the clinic to give her an offering instead. Saray knew them all, intimately and personally, for just an instant, and the mere echoes of their combined pain made Ruslan cry out in his chair.

    It was too much, all at once. She felt heavy and bloated. She rose up again to burn it off, and show the world her glory. The devil was there to meet her with fresh assaults, and she took them gladly, until she couldn¡¯t. She could feel it coming, the pain building up inside her, the overfilling within and the battering without. Too much. Her body was breaking down under the load, and she couldn¡¯t hit back.

    Couldn¡¯t hit back. Couldn¡¯t hit back. Couldn¡¯t hit back. Don¡¯t hit, don¡¯t touch, hands off Ruslan, be a good boy. Why can¡¯t you behave? Why can¡¯t you do what we want? Why can¡¯t you be what we need? You will never be filled. The gold is fake, the silks are a lie. Saray is not enough, and neither are you.

    Inside the smoky room, Ruslan screamed in rage. In the sky above, Saray disintegrated, and fell back into herself so her pretty black hair swallowed her up. All that was left was an ugly snarl in the air like a scribble of thick black crayon. For a second it writhed in place, impotent. Then it exploded.

    Not a bird anymore, or any more than a slight suggestion of it. Two long wings of boiling black tar, oozing and dripping over the city. A long tail, splattering pieces of itself in black drops as the thing built up speed, leaving streaks of darkness behind it. It had no head, no eyes, no name, no purpose, no story. It was hate, and a need to rip and kill.

    From his chair Ruslan shouted, and the black thing charged into battle.

 XCVI. Bad Actors (Marko)

    Marko knew he should be grateful to be alive, and so he was¡ªbut it galled him all the same, to have no clear recollection of the thing he was to be grateful for. They told him he had set out on the morning of the ninth, a little more than two weeks earlier, to intercept the Marshall children at the bridge, and to rescue his goddaughter. Apparently he had done as well as could be expected on short notice, and badly injured one of the enemy while saving Polina, before getting shot and very nearly killed. Then he had spent several days in a hospital. And he remembered none of it.

    A side effect, he was told, of Melkhisedek¡¯s spook-work with time. The best healing they had available, and it wasn¡¯t healing at all; he effectively reached back in time and plucked an uninjured version of Marko out of the past. Either they hadn¡¯t told his master the details of when Marko had been injured, or his power was not so precise, or he didn¡¯t care, but Marko had lost five days of his life as though they never existed. His last memory before waking up whole was going to bed the night of the eighth. He was expected to avenge an injury he had never suffered, by fighting again a foe he had never met.

    It unnerved him more than he would have expected¡ªto think that he was not the same man who had fought and almost died on that bridge. He thought a great deal about sincerity and artificiality at the best of times, given his passion for the stage; now he had won high praise for a thing he had, in a sense, never done, that had no part in the story of his life. Polina lived, and another child had nearly died, because of another man¡¯s actions. He was a kind of stand-in, an understudy for his own life.

    Shortage of information¡ªit was a theme, lately. Like their plan. They intended to entrap and liquidate the enemy based entirely on testimony from an unknown person or persons working under the ¡®Imam of the Caucasus.¡¯ Not only did they not know who this person was, they weren¡¯t even certain how many of the Marshalls they would be facing. Every inquiry got a vague answer after several hours¡¯ delay¡ªor, in one case, thirteen hours.

    They knew that the Imam and the woman Therese would be attacking the refinery at the north end of Petrovskoye at some point on Sunday the twenty-fourth, and that two reserve elements would be waiting in locations to the north and south to attack Igor when he moved to defend his territory. Sergei Yefimov assumed that these two would be the mistresses of ¨¦zarine and Mister Higgins, each alone; Kizil Khan was disabled and the Imam would not want Shum-Shum unleashed on his own capital.

    Marko was not so convinced. Shum-Shum had never been easy to constrain, if their files were correct, and they did not know who else the Marshalls might have met up with. Border security had gone to hell since he lost the bridge and Tatiana (he was told) died. Their American backers could have sent any number of reinforcements in. This whole operation could be a trap¡ªfor them. They had no idea whom they were relying on for their intelligence.

    He told Sergei as much. Sergei replied by shrugging, and saying that risks must be taken to maintain operational tempo, and then added something implying Marko was paranoid. Marko countered that paranoia seemed good, after what they¡¯d done in Krymsk. Sergei was unimpressed, and said that whatever had happened in Krymsk¡ªhowever they had incapacitated every clairvoyant for miles¡ªit had not affected emissors, it had not happened again, and their deaths would surely prevent them from doing it again.

    As the senior oprichnik Sergei Yefimov had final authority; there was nothing more to be said. But Marko didn¡¯t care to get himself killed for Sergei¡¯s lack of imagination. He¡¯d already almost died once this month, after Sergei failed to anticipate these brats¡¯ last move.

    When the sun rose on the cold morning of the twenty-fourth, he was already in place, on the roof of a small office building with a samovar of tea, a set of binoculars, a dowser, and a trio of lackeys to run errands and get information. His new clairvoyant aide Leonova was crouched beside him with a detailed map of the city. He had done a test run and knew he could get to the car below within sixty seconds if necessary. If that was still too slow, he had a rope hitched to a likely spot. Rappelling would not be pleasant or safe, but preferable to death. His wife was waiting for him.

    Marko would have preferred to have state security forces called out as well, with plainclothes officers strolling the streets, but this Sergei vetoed, on the grounds that the Imam might have the local forces infiltrated. They could not risk tipping him off; not only would the day¡¯s plan be lost, he might purge their one spy in his ranks. They could involve no-one local, except Igor.

    Hours passed; he half-emptied the samovar, and pissed in a jug twice, unwilling to leave his post. If their source was correct, the children were coming from an old aul mountain-fort, a long drive away. He might have hours more to wait on this cold and windswept roof. So be it. He got out his wolf¡¯s-head cross once more, and kissed it.

    Could he go back to the Crimea, when all was done? He had not dared to ask, for fear of the answer. It would be difficult to explain why the famed director had vanished for so long, so soon before the start of the show. Nor would the Knyazya have any reason to care, if they had to announce the tragic death of Marko Hushchyn. They would throw it all away and make him start a new life in the east end of Siberia if it pleased them, and expect him to show gratitude for his chance to serve the state.

    Was he less of a puppet than these pathetic children they expected him to kill?

    ¡°Contact,¡± said Leonova, tapping the map. Right on top of the refinery. It began. ¡°And halo,¡± she continued, moving her hands to show the size of Igor¡¯s new playground. A good, swift response. At least Igor knew what he was doing.

    And the children? No response. Leonova¡¯s hands didn¡¯t move for the next five minutes, then the next ten. Either the enemy was utterly incompetent, or brutally callous¡ªor they were waiting for some cue from him? No, that didn¡¯t make sense.

    ¡°Contact,¡± repeated Leonova, slapping at a point to their southwest. ¡°Now halo.¡± One hand moved away from Igor¡¯s captives to draw a new incursion. Far enough that they were at no risk of the halo reaching them here, close enough to strike without leaving the roof. The convenience made him wary.

    ¡°Retracted,¡± Leonova said, before he could decide what to do.

    ¡°So soon?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The halo is gone, no familia¡ªnever mind.¡± Her hand slapped the map once more, at the same spot. ¡°It¡¯s back.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No, not back. It¡¯s a different signature.¡±

    ¡°A different emissant, then?¡± She nodded, then grimaced.

    ¡°The characteristics are strange. It¡¯s a halo, but coming out slowly.¡± Another, more irritable shake of her head. ¡°What is this?¡± Her hands wavered, undecided, starting to draw the halo, then falling down to rest. There was a whole sign language to this, Marko knew, an elegant code, but he had no skill with it. Not enough battle experience.

    At last she decided it was a regular halo, with much the same bounds as the first. He waited a few seconds to see if it would disappear as well, felt mildly disappointed when it didn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t care to face two emissants, even commanded by children. But that made him think¡ª¡°Is it a harmonic effect? Are there two of them, synergizing? Is that what feels strange?¡±

    ¡°No. One emissant, one center.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Even so, there were definitely two of them. He had told Yefimov this might happen. But one or two, they would have to die. Marko already had the bare stage prepared in his mind. He kept the ryumkas in his pockets as he called Ardent; it would work better if they didn¡¯t notice him right away.

    They had line of sight, barely; the enemy, whoever they were, were holed up in a grubby coffee shop. Marko squinted through his binoculars, keeping Ardent out of sight for the moment. A dark-haired woman, impossibly tall and lovely, came out of the wretched hole in the wall like a butterfly from a pupa. She looked perhaps Persian, with clothing to match¡ªembroidered gold vest and cap, flowing white sleeves and pants. Target acquired. What could she do? One way to find out.

    She lifted off the pavement with perfect grace, and Ardent rose to challenge. She made no attempt to evade, and his first hit struck her clean in the chest, knocking her back. She wavered, then flew on, right into a second bolt of burning rock. That one dropped her, it seemed, and he glanced down to Leonova¡¯s map; her hands stayed in place. Halo still up. ¡°Durable little bitch, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    He counted the seconds as he waited, one eye on the map, the other on the city. Ardent stayed where he was, some distance away from his master. Still in a diabolical shape, befitting a destroyer. Let him be a villain, a monster. If that was the need of the moment, so be it. He could play another role tomorrow.

    And there she was again, a beautiful little lady in gold, floating serenely up in the air without a scratch on her. Ardent hit her the moment she appeared, following up with a second shot before the first had properly landed. Three, four, five, and she was still up, but wavering. And she hadn¡¯t even tried to fight back. Did she want to be attacked? Was it a diversion? He spared another glance for the map¡ªLeonova showed nothing new¡ªand almost missed it when the creature died.

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    He felt it, when the field retracted. Looked up, saw a floating black mess in the air where the princess used to be. Looked down again; Leonova¡¯s hands were busy. ¡°What the hell is all that supposed to mean? What is that thing?¡±

    ¡°Halo, but very small. Small, and unstable. No!¡± Her arms left the map to cover her face as she flinched back. Marko followed suit, half from instinct, half from the sudden force of the halo exploding outward again. Ardent tumbled end over end; Marko got a hand on his first ryumka at the same time his familiar came to rest, a hundred meters back. If that was how they wanted to play it ¡­ he glanced over the railing to get visual, and let go of the lid.

    It might, very vaguely, look like a bird. A bird, drawn with three or four slashes of a broad brush dipped in too much black paint, and left to drip and run across the canvas of the sky. Nothing like the gorgeous woman who had been there before¡ªor like any human, for that matter. Not even vaguely. There was scarcely a trace of personhood there for a psyche to latch onto. It was primeval, or something close.

    The Americans did not employ primevals, never had. They weren¡¯t even supposed to know how. Who the hell was he fighting?

    Without Marko¡¯s even thinking of it, Ardent made himself a massive armored knight, holding a four-meter sword. He was the villain no longer. He swung the sword, and an arc of burning rocks went flying. The black thing was already advancing to meet it; the fire passed into and through it, and it did not notice. Again Marko flinched, but the black thing was still bound by a halo; it reached the end of its tether, slowed to a reluctant halt, and began thrashing in a rage, losing what little coherence it had to strain and flail, turning into a bubbling mass of black ink.

    Leonova had recovered her composure, and returned to her map. Their halos had stabilized now. ¡°Can you push it back, Great One?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he told her. ¡°It¡¯s primeval. I don¡¯t know how it will react¡ªbozhemoi!¡± The black mess dropped like a diving falcon, right into and through a condominium complex. The building simply disintegrated at its touch, erupting in a vast cloud of dust. The noise of it was incredible, like nothing Marko had ever heard before, as if every brick and beam had screamed as it died. The monster came out of the ruin intact, back in its almost-avian shape. It was calmer, maybe, for having committed mass murder. But it was already moving back in their direction ¡­

    Marko took the stairs down to the street three at a time, unscrewing the ryumka as he did. Outside, Ardent was a dragon in the Slavic style, nine heads spewing fire. A bold choice, the zmiy as hero¡ªbut with such a villain against him, nearly anything would do. Marko nearly fell down the second-to-last flight, busy popping a second canister. There were ten more in the car.

    He heard Leonova shouting down the stairwell after him, slow to catch up. He saw, through Ardent, the primeval lashing out from its forced retreat, long tendrils of darkness ripping gouges in the street and smashing cars into steel powder. A bolt from Ardent caught it clean in center-mass; it thrashed around exactly the same as before, as if it hadn¡¯t noticed. Abruptly it decided to move sideways, and before Marko could think to stop him Ardent sent another two jets of burning rock after, tearing a hole in an old department store and carving another furrow in the street.

    Leonova barely made it into the car before he drove off. She shouted at him that she¡¯d left the map behind; he told her she was over-emoting. By heroic effort Ardent, now in bear¡¯s form, caught up with the beast. He swatted at it, trying to drive it back. But its paw broke into fragments the moment they made contact, and the primeval gave no sign of caring; countless black tentacles snaked out to strike back, and raked through Ardent¡¯s molten skin. The bear retreated in shame and fear. Behind the wheel, Marko clenched his teeth, and passed a third ryumka to his passenger. If he had to win through nothing but valence pressure, he would do it.

    Again the black thing fell back. Ardent took to the air as a hulking barbarian warrior, swinging an enormous ball and chain over his head. The brute came flying straight at him and he flung the weapon as hard as he could. For the first time, the thing seemed to feel it, collapsing into a spastic tangle of oozing black lines. Triumphant, Ardent spun out another ball, building momentum for another impact. Enough of a battering, and the damned thing would die. Meanwhile ¡­ ¡°Leonova. Point me to the emissor.¡±

    Her hand jabbed confidently to their right; he took the next turn, steering around a fresh crevasse in the pavement. ¡°Static, or mobile?¡±

    ¡°Static.¡± The second ball hit, and the black mess spattered everywhere under the impact. One more hit, maybe, and then they would kill it right at the source.

    ¡°Then we will¡ª¡° The black mess abruptly sucked itself together into a smooth mass like a billiard ball. Ardent caught perhaps the tiniest hint of gold in the center of it. Then it exploded, and the halo with it, and the force was enough that Marko¡¯s arms jerked on the wheel without meaning to. The ground fell out from under them, and the last thing he saw was the whole world turning sideways as they plunged into the rift.

    He woke up weeping. Their car was tilted at a mad angle, its entire front end wedged into a deep gash in the road, its rear poking straight up into the air. The hood was crumpled, the windshield shattered into bits. Beside him, Leonova groaned and raised her head from the dashboard, which was sticky with her blood. Tremendous amounts of blood; she patted at her face and neck, bewildered at finding both whole.

    Marko twisted about in his seat to look up at the sky through the rear window (also smashed). Great suffering, he knew, had happened here. They had been made whole again only through equally great pain. This was right, and true, and necessary, but still it made him cry pitifully. He could not tell why.

    Then, in an eyeblink, the feeling passed, and he was stuck in a wrecked car, in his right mind, and merely perplexed, as any sane man might be. For a long time he stared at the steering wheel, wondering what to do. One place to start. ¡°Leonova.¡±

    She blinked at him. There was still blood on her face, of course, but nothing was bleeding. ¡°Great One?¡±

    ¡°Can you sense anything?¡± Before she could reply, his phone rang. No halo, then¡ªif any proof were still needed. He rummaged in his pocket until he took it out. The screen, naturally, was cracked, but it still worked. ¡°Hushchyn.¡±

    Sergei Yefimov¡¯s voice was crackled by static. ¡°I have been attempting to reach you for some time. Kindly report your status.¡±

    ¡°Alive,¡± he reported. ¡°Probable mass civilian casualties. Substantial damage to the district. Also, my piece of shit state-issue car is doing something obscene to a new orifice in the street. That, too, has happened.¡±

    ¡°Truly. And the Marshalls?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t even see the little bastards, Sergei. There¡¯s no sign of them. I assume they¡¯re alive. But there were two new emissants, one of them primeval.¡± How calmly he said it!

    ¡°A primeval,¡± Sergei repeated. ¡°And not one of ours? You are sure of that?¡±

    ¡°It looked a little like a bird, but not much. I didn¡¯t get to test the fucking thing, Sergei. I didn¡¯t have a chance to rectal-probe it, or get fingerprints. I was too busy trying to keep it from wrecking the whole fucking city.¡± He was not especially upset, in spite of the profanity. If anything, he had to fight a faint urge to giggle.

    ¡°I will require considerably more detail than that. Am I to understand that your portion of the mission was a failure?¡±

    ¡°I do not know what you understand. Personally, I don¡¯t understand shit. I was nearly killed. In fact, I¡¯m not sure I wasn¡¯t. Maybe getting killed is becoming a habit, with me. Am I in hell, Sergei? Is this the afterlife? You tell me.¡±

    A pause. ¡°I surmise that you are hysterical, possibly as a result of valence shock. I suggest you rest, and avoid any further strain until I can debrief you.¡±

    ¡°That will be difficult, Sergei. I am not in a comfortable resting position, and I will have to strain myself to climb out of the ass-end of my destroyed vehicle. I am very sorry to be unable to comply with your orders, but it is so.¡±

    ¡°This is not helpful, Marko.¡±

    ¡°You are not helpful, Sergei. Did you hear the words I just said, Sergei? There are at least two previously unknown emissants on the loose in this city, one of them unstable and immensely destructive. Your flawless plan has just bitten us and, if I had to guess, several hundred Russian citizens in the ass, Sergei, and if you have any sense you will ¡­ hello?¡± The line was dead. He laughed, and put the phone away.

    ¡°Great One?¡± Leonova put a hand on his shoulder. Her face was fearful. ¡°What are we going to do now?¡±

    ¡°Exit stage right,¡± he told her, and got to work on his seatbelt.

 XCVII. The Ghost (Keisha)

    Hamp crashed as soon as they got to the hotel, and none of them said a thing about it. He¡¯d got himself all worked up on the plane; it was no wonder he was exhausted. They kept talking shop in the main room of the suite for a bit, with the door closed. When that didn¡¯t really get them anywhere, Ms. Troester suggested they go and talk with the boys at the local police station, a couple of blocks away. It didn¡¯t sound very promising to Keisha, but nothing anyone could suggest was likely to get them anywhere; they were one emissor and one clairvoyant, and Germany had plenty of both making the problem their top priority.

    That just left one question. ¡°Do we take Hamp? He looked wiped.¡±

    ¡°It might perhaps be kinder to let him sleep,¡± said Dr. Gus. ¡°You can leave a note explaining where we have gone.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She turned over an old study of Ghost appearances to scrawl something on the back, then hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll appreciate being left alone, though.¡±

    That seemed to baffle Ms. Troester. ¡°Does your commanding officer have a serious medical condition? If so, I apologize for not arranging accommodations, but I was not aware.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s had a bad experience with familiars. That¡¯s why he walks with a cane.¡±

    ¡°However, we are here under orders,¡± Dr. Gus cut in. ¡°Perhaps he would like to be treated as so lacking in emotional resilience that he must be supervised, like a small child. I think he would not, but that is beside the point. It is defensible to wake him so that he may come with us, or choose not to. It is also defensible to leave him asleep, with a note. It is not defensible to consider ourselves anchored to this set of rooms, hindering our investigation, for his sake.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She wrote the note, and after a last quiet check on him¡ªshe could feel Ms. Troester¡¯s confused gaze, and felt foolish even doing it¡ªthey left.

    She felt wrong about it as soon as they shut the door. Whatever Dr. Gus said, she knew Hamp would freak out if he woke up alone in this city. He wasn¡¯t really at risk; there were millions of people in this city, and the Ghost was probably halfway to Stuttgart or somewhere by now anyway. That wouldn¡¯t make any difference to him. But she¡¯d made her choice. She¡¯d just have to hope that they got back before he woke up.

    The cops, predictably, were overwhelmed, and they got bounced from desk to desk until they finally found somebody who wasn¡¯t in the middle of handling an ongoing crisis. That landed them in front of an old man named Mueller or something, a forensic accountant who¡¯d been pulled out of retirement to help and then found he didn¡¯t have anything useful to do. A bit like them.

    ¡°Money is a weakness of the Ghost¡¯s,¡± he told them through Ms. Troester¡ªhis English wasn¡¯t the best. ¡°Usually we see a certain amount of cunning by malefactors where finance is concerned, some attempt to hide their misdeeds. But the Ghost¡¯s victims are quite brazen, and resort impulsively to characteristic behaviors which automated surveillance algorithms capture at once. I have developed a program to flag and collate these irregularities, bringing them to our attention once they cross a critical threshold.¡±

    That sounded good. ¡°What kind of results are you getting with that?¡± she asked him.

    ¡°Disappointing so far,¡± he replied. ¡°We can rarely respond rapidly enough to prevent the criminal from using his ill-gotten gains to some terrible effect or other. Also there are false positives, as with everything else lately¡ªin this environment, many people are becoming more reckless in their criminal behavior.¡±

    And that was that. Dr. Gus kept him talking, jotting down notes the whole time, and after ten minutes he had a sheet full of what Keisha assumed were valuable insights. She wouldn¡¯t know; she could hardly follow half of it. It was all theories about the limitations of the Ghost¡¯s thinking as a paraphysical entity, and what that implied about this, that, and the other thing. She supposed she should be glad that he was being productive.

    ¡°Bottom line,¡± she asked him as they left the accountant¡¯s office, ¡°does all that give us an edge on this thing?¡±

    ¡°Not immediately, no. It is only more data. But we cannot fight an enemy whose identity we do not understand. It is frustrating, I know, but this is a necessary first step.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± she said, half a second before an alarm went off. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± A man burst out of an office down the hall and sprinted past them, nearly knocking her down and not stopping to apologize. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± The alarm was loud; she had to shout.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± Ms. Troester yelled back. ¡°But we should leave the building.¡±

    Not everybody was leaving with them, though. They saw a few more people running as they went down the stairs: mostly uniformed officers, a few men in suits who might have been detectives. They bugged the booking officer on the first floor, who said that some esper had spotted the Ghost again, inside the city.

    ¡°Where in the city?¡±

    ¡°Ehrenfeld, across the Rhine. Pardon me, miss.¡± He turned away as two officers wrestled a large, screaming, incredibly sweaty man into the building.

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d given up trying to catch her?¡± Keisha said as they joined the exodus of officers.

    ¡°We have stopped trying to apprehend an emissor,¡± Troester corrected, ¡°partly because we now doubt there is one. But where she appears so brazenly, trouble almost always follows. We try to have officers on the scene as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she sighed.

    And she was right. A good chunk of Ehrenfeld was on fire by the time they got there, and nobody had much time for Americans asking nosy questions. Just getting in past the fire engines and barricades took some doing. By listening in on cop-talk with Ms. Troester, they got the general picture: a small group of unemployed young men, some with military experience, most with substance abuse problems, had decided to burn down the whole district, starting with a string of nightclubs and movie theaters.

    The trigger, reportedly, was a sudden appearance by ¡°Her.¡± The three perpetrators they managed to catch were convinced that they had saved the country. God had told them that popular entertainment was bringing down divine judgment, and it made perfect sense to them¡ªincluding the two of the three who¡¯d just visited the clubs themselves last night.

    ¡°And it was all perfectly coordinated,¡± said one sergeant, staring into space. ¡°Perfect. I would have to drill my men for a month to do this so well.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point, then?¡± Keisha asked Dr. Gus, once they were out of earshot from the cops. ¡°I guess she starts moving away from the city, so everyone thinks they¡¯re done, then she doubles back and pulls something huge just to double the pain?¡±

    ¡°More or less,¡± he answered. ¡°I would say her goal is to maximize uncertainty; the uncertain is always more frightening than the definite. She establishes an apparent pattern, then breaks it as soon as it has had time to be recognized. Now citizens know they cannot count on a reprieve. It is logical enough.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± It was getting on towards evening now, and she¡¯d been stateside just long enough to get used to the eastern time zone again. Nothing she could do about it but rub her eyes until she was allowed to sleep again. Coffee would be a mistake, this late in the day.

    Fortunately¡ªor not¡ªthere wasn¡¯t much left to do in Ehrenfeld. The fire department had things under control now, and the suspects were in custody. She could get in the back of the car, and maybe catch a few early winks on her way back to the hotel.

    And she did¡ªbut only for a little bit. She was just in that drowsy, not-quite-there twilight state when Dr. Gus jabbed her awake. ¡°Hnh? What? What now?¡±

    ¡°Contact,¡± he said softly. ¡°Another one. Ahead.¡±

    She refused to open her eyes. ¡°Oh, Lord, Doc. I¡¯m tired here. We weren¡¯t any use at that last one. Can¡¯t we leave this to the locals?¡± She didn¡¯t even care that the Troester woman could hear.

    There was a little buzzing noise, and a pause, and then Anneliese Troester spoke up: ¡°That is not an option, Ms. Graham. This halo is very close to your own hotel.¡±

    She woke up fast. ¡°Are you kidding me?¡±

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    ¡°Do you think I would joke about something like this? See for yourself.¡± And she showed her phone¡¯s screen. There was a bright yellow field superimposed on a map, but everything was labeled in German, and anyway she didn¡¯t know where anything in Cologne was. ¡°The halo covers your hotel and the surrounding area.¡±

    ¡°Damnation. Step on it, then!¡± Was this a coincidence? It had to be. Or did it? She was too tired to trust her own thoughts. Whether it was a coincidence or not, Hamp would feel it the same way, like a betrayal. An abandonment. And it was. ¡°Come on, move!¡±

    ¡°There is traffic,¡± Troester said, but a second later the engine picked up. Keisha listened to the driver for a second; it was manual.

    ¡°The halo is gone,¡± said Dr. Gus.

    ¡°Good,¡± Keisha told him, though she didn¡¯t know if it was. None of them knew anything. But she had her magnolia up in her mind, and it steadied her some.

    The halo appeared and disappeared two more times before they got back over the Rhine and close enough for her to force the bitch away with Adesina. Usually the Ghost popped up just long enough to raise hell, then ran off laughing. What on earth was she doing here?

    Adesina got there long before she could, and found Hamp facedown on the floor, passed out and breathing shallow. Still alive, at least. Adesina stayed to watch him while Keisha got out of the car, sprinted across the parking lot, and took the stairs so fast she got a stitch in her side. At least the halo smothered all the guilt she¡¯d normally feel.

    Hamp was still breathing when she got there; she and Adesina log-rolled him together, in case his spine was hurt. His eyes stayed closed when she rubbed her knuckles on his chest. ¡°Hey. Hamp. You with me?¡±

    Nope. Breathing, good pulse, face badly bruised but nothing looked broken. He just wouldn¡¯t wake up. She tried for a couple more seconds, while Adesina went out scouting for other injuries in nearby rooms. Everyone else looked fine; a man in the next room sat on his bed and waved happily at the familiar as she came in.

    When Hamp still didn¡¯t come to, she pulled Adesina back to SP level, on the off-chance she was causing this somehow. His eyelids fluttered just a little¡ªpromising¡ªbut nothing more. She sat and watched him lay on the floor for thirty seconds, his chest barely rising. It was weird, and she wondered if he was breathing enough.

    The door opened behind her, and Dr. Gus came in, followed by Ms. Troester. They both froze in place when they saw Hamp. The trailing edge of Adesina¡¯s influence reminded Keisha that now wasn¡¯t the best time for ¡°I told you so.¡±

    Just as she was turning back to look at her CO again, and wondering if she should do mouth-to-mouth or what, he went rigid, then started banging his head against the floor, hard. When she grabbed his head, his body started jerking around instead. His right hand flew up to smack his bruised face, over and over again; she wrestled it down, put her knee on it. The left hand tried to smack him again. ¡°A little help, here?¡±

    Ms. Troester joined in, with a lot of fussing, and got his other arm down, and Hamp couldn¡¯t do anything but thrash in place. Then he stopped, and Ms. Troester screamed and fell over slamming her head into the floor just like he¡¯d been doing. Keisha got up to grab her, only for her to stop abruptly, panting, and Hamp to go back to bashing his skull against the floor. She called back Adesina, and he instantly went limp, breathing slow and shallow just like before.

    The bruising was maybe a little worse, and his nose was bleeding. God knew what all that had done to his brain, but the floor had a good, thick carpet on it. ¡°Ms. Troester. Are you all right?¡±

    The German woman felt her head. ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°What happened, just now?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She looked down at her hands. ¡°There was just ¡­ pressure. Inside my head. It was too much. I had to get it out. That¡¯s what I think now. I don¡¯t know what I thought then. Maybe I wasn¡¯t thinking at all.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± A direct attack from the Ghost, maybe. Should they feel honored by the attention? ¡°Dr. Gus?¡±

    ¡°It is difficult for me to actually enter trance within a halo. I will try. A moment, please.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± They had a moment. Hamp was doing okay. Maybe. They could try calling the hospital, but Adesina would need to go away first, and then he¡¯d start hurting himself again. ¡°This isn¡¯t a coincidence. Why did she attack Colonel Hampton? Just because he¡¯s been attacked this way before? There¡¯s no military point in this. He isn¡¯t even German.¡±

    Ms. Troester shrugged. Dr. Gus, of course, was trying to trance, and didn¡¯t answer. Right. She got up, and looked out the window to think it over, while Adesina stood watch by the door. Keisha assumed that Hamp was targeted on purpose, and probably because he was a special kind of afraid. The Ghost was psychic, and it messed with emotions; probably it could smell them from a long way away.

    ¡°I sense no halo outside our own,¡± Dr. Gus said, from behind her. ¡°Not within my ability to detect.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± She turned around to look at him. ¡°Where do you think she was before?

    ¡°As is commonly claimed, I could feel no emissor, no matter how close we became. I venture to suggest that the Ghost actually went inside Colonel Hampton¡¯s and Ms. Troester¡¯s heads, as a host.¡±

    ¡°That seems obvious.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but what seems obvious is not always right. I offer it as a hypothesis, that the creature can, perhaps, retreat to the confines of a single mind, but keep itself partially active, after the manner of a familiar in sovereign protocol. Apparently it is not resistant to valence pressure, possibly because it is not deliberately generated by the host. The phenomenon I witnessed on the way here¡ªa halo coming on and off¡ª¡°

    ¡°Okay, I got it. Makes sense. Do I have to keep Adesina up forever, just to force the Ghost away?¡±

    ¡°I think no. For one, you will have to sleep soon; for another, I do not think our hosts will tolerate the continual disruption. I suggest you release your friend, for a moment, while I observe.¡±

    She tried and failed to think of a better alternative. ¡°Fine. Here goes.¡± She pulled her familiar back, and watched. Hamp just lay there, immobile as before. For five minutes they watched, and nothing happened.

    ¡°I hope we are safe now,¡± Ms. Troester said in a weak voice. She wasn¡¯t so sanguine now that Adesina¡¯s halo was gone.

    ¡°For now,¡± Keisha agreed. ¡°Maybe. But I want to keep an eye on him. Can you call emergency services? I¡¯ll stay with him.¡±

    She nodded, and wobbled her way out of the room to make the call. Keisha looked up at Dr. Gus. ¡°Any other ideas?¡±

    ¡°The beginnings of one, perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Shoot.¡±

    ¡°Consider the timeline¡ªearlier today, we visited a place where the Ghost had been very recently active. We saw no sign of her, true, but within half an hour of our departure, she attacked Colonel Hampton here. This, to me, is suggestive.¡±

    ¡°Of what?¡±

    ¡°I would like to find out, first, if any German citizens were attacked in this vicinity, or if it was only the poor Colonel. His mere vulnerability is no explanation, to me; this city is full of people in all forms of emotional distress. Surely more than a few must be equally enticing targets as our friend.¡±

    ¡°Okay. So what¡¯s your answer?¡±

    ¡°It is not an answer. I hesitate even to call it a theory. More of a rumination. But if we speculate that the Ghost saw or sensed us in Ehrenfeld¡ªwhich would not have been hard to do, if it was lingering in the area¡ªand attacked the Colonel here as a consequence, how did it know about him? I do not think either of us, nor Ms. Troester, mentioned him there. In fact, I am nearly certain.¡±

    ¡°So, what? It can read minds? It plucked him out of my brain, or yours?¡±

    ¡°That would be one explanation. I doubt it. That sort of invasive power would very likely register to a clairvoyant, and we may be certain the neighborhood was under surveillance. Also, I think we would have noticed it ourselves. An alternative explanation would be that she knew about Colonel Hampton already, and further knew or guessed that she would be with us. Or, more specifically, with you.¡±

    ¡°Doc, please. I¡¯m tired, and wrung out, and feeling like shit. You can give me the logical proof later. Just tell me what the hell you think is going on.¡±

    ¡°This is all, again, highly speculative. But both of you have already met an emissant with capacities fairly similar to the Ghost¡¯s. We assumed she was destroyed with her master, or died shortly after. There was no reason to think otherwise, in the absence of clear signs of further activity. But, if she was not ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°You have got to be¡ªNadia killed him how long ago? A month? Two? What¡¯s she doing in Germany?¡±

    ¡°Either obeying Russian orders, or enjoying herself. Does it matter? This would also explain why she specifically targeted the Colonel. Nostalgia, perhaps¡ªif such a creature can feel such a thing. But hypotheses require testing. I advise you to rest now, while we wait for the ambulance. You can travel with Colonel Hampton to the hospital, and watch over him. I will take Ms. Troester, and conduct my own, very thorough investigation.¡±

 XCVIII. Awakening (Nadia)

    She woke in total darkness to the sound of her own angry shout and found herself restrained, flat on her back and immobile. Strangling-tight arms gripped her by the chest, and the waist, and the knees, and she could not shake them off. She strained to reach the thing on her chest so she could bite those horrible arms, but she couldn¡¯t reach. So she tried to shake herself loose instead, squirming and thrashing in the black, screaming to wake the dead the whole time. She could feel it working; she rocked from side to side. She shouted louder, pushed harder, and at last she tipped over, smacked into something hard, bounced off again, and with a terrible crash the thing that was holding her slammed into the floor. But the gripping arms didn¡¯t let go. She slid down a little, far enough that she could bash her head against the floor, which she did, over and over. The pain of each impact made her a little angrier which gave her the strength to fight harder. Even if it hurt her, the whole world was shaking with the impact¡ªshe could feel it. So she fought and fought, for spite¡ª

    As suddenly as it had come, the anger was gone, leaving a terrible pain in her head. She tried to grab it, only to find her arms were still restrained. But the things grabbing her didn¡¯t feel like giant hands anymore. More like belts or straps. She felt around in the darkness until her hands found something like a buckle, and worked the tough fabric strap through it¡ªit was tight, and she was hanging sideways off the thing it attached to, so this took a while. After a long moment¡¯s work it got loose enough for her to slip her arms free, and then she worked faster. Once that top belt was loose she was able to shift down and get her waist free, still in pitch black, and when that was done she could simply pull her feet out of the bottom belt to she lying free on a cold metal floor. She tried to kick away the thing that had held her, but it didn¡¯t want to move and she was tired, so she let it stay there.

    Now that she wasn¡¯t yelling or struggling, she noticed a quiet, rhythmic noise in the background, a kind of soft drumming. She could feel it vibrating the metal floor under her, too. It was familiar, but she couldn¡¯t place it. She hadn¡¯t quite gotten to the point of wondering who and where she was when she heard a rattling noise, then a creak, and a pale blue-white line appeared against the darkness below her feet. She flinched back from the light, shielding her eyes. After a moment a quiet voice said, ¡°Nadia?¡±

    She meant to answer, but the words tripped on her tongue. A thing that was not a word fell out instead.

    ¡°Nadia? Is that you?¡±

    She thought so. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Another creak, and the line of light got wider and more painful. But her eyes were starting to adjust now, so she kept looking, and a little dark round thing appeared against the light. It had fuzzy, indistinct edges. Nadia looked at it, and it didn¡¯t move, and her eyes kept adjusting until the light didn¡¯t seem so bright anymore; in fact, it was barely light at all. The drumming noise was louder now, and of different pitches mixed together. There was a sudden flash of much brighter light, just for an instant, and it lit up the cold hard thing she was in, and the edges of the dark thing. But then it was gone, and her mind groping for its name found the word lightning just as the distant boom of thunder sounded.

    An arm appeared around the dark round thing, which she recognized as a head, and a human shape pushed its way into the place that held her. Cold, shaking hands touched her legs, then her arms, then her head and face. The other person was breathing very fast. Nadia pushed herself up so she was sitting on the floor, while the other person (a girl?) kept patting at her. It was a little annoying, and the girl smelled bad, like tobacco smoke. But then Nadia realized she smelled even worse, and not like smoke, so she didn¡¯t say anything.

    She didn¡¯t remember coming to this place, or recognize what it was. But her pants were cold and wet, and something was caked to her bottom, and her head hurt terribly where she¡¯d been bashing it against the floor. Why had she done that?

    At last the patting stopped, and the girl said, ¡°What the fuck.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to swear,¡± Nadia told her. But the girl hadn¡¯t said the swear very loudly, or emotionally. It just slipped easily out of her, as natural as her breath, and barely less quiet.

    ¡°Nadia, you¡¯re¡ªI don¡¯t even¡ª¡° Abruptly her silhouette fell back to sit on the floor with a bump, and everything shook so that Nadia realized they were in some kind of vehicle, and that the girl was Fatima. ¡°What the fuck,¡± she repeated. ¡°I ¡­ I don¡¯t even know.¡±

    ¡°Where are we?¡±

    Fatima sat there a moment, looking back at the light behind her, before answering, ¡°Same city. Don¡¯t remember the name now. The capital place.¡±

    ¡°Petrovskoye.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. What¡¯s left of it. The whole north half is busted to hell. Might as well have bombed it.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Shit! What a question.¡± She laid back against the metal wall of the ¡­ truck? Was this a truck? Nadia looked at the thing that had held her; it was a stretcher on wheels. This might be an ambulance, she thought, but it was bare, no medical equipment. A little panel truck, maybe, or a trailer, like people rented for moving. It was about the right size.

    The light from the open door lit Fatima¡¯s face now. She looked tired. No, not tired¡ªexhausted. Her mouth was hanging open, and her eyelids drooped. Nadia didn¡¯t feel tired, more like she¡¯d been sleeping for a long time. Well-rested, just a bit foggy. Maybe she¡¯d been anesthetized. She thought back. ¡°We were going to fight Pugachev, weren¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She sounded half-asleep already.

    ¡°And I couldn¡¯t reach Therese and the Imam. So I called my ride, but he shot me.¡± She reached up and felt her shoulder, but she already knew it was fine. There was no trace of a wound. ¡°And then I went to rescue Therese, and ¡­ Snowdrop attacked. Snowdrop! Where is she? Are we safe?¡±

    ¡°Snowdrop¡¯s gone.¡± Fatima¡¯s voice was peevish.

    ¡°What do you mean, gone?¡±

    ¡°I mean she ran for it. We chased her off.¡±

    ¡°How? Are you sure? Yefimov is crafty, you can¡¯t be sure¡ª¡°

    ¡°Shut up! Okay? Just shut up. This is all just so totally fucked. I¡¯m going to need a minute. More than a minute. Maybe an hour, maybe a day. I don¡¯t know. Shit.¡±

    ¡°Do we have a day?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know that either. I don¡¯t know a goddamn thing, sister.¡±

    ¡°You know more than me.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Fatima kept staring out at the light. The sky was cloudy and dark, so it was hard to tell, but Nadia thought it might have been evening. A lot of time had passed since she went to help the others.

    ¡°Is Ruslan safe?¡± she ventured. ¡°I think he was with you. Wasn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s fine, he¡¯s right out there.¡± She tossed her hand in the general direction of the door. ¡°Probably ought to get him out of the rain,¡± she said. But she didn¡¯t move.

    Nadia couldn¡¯t recall Fatima ever looking so hapless, so disorganized. This wasn¡¯t the girl who¡¯d come up the tower a few months ago, seen Nadia sitting with their father¡¯s corpse, and immediately started spinning up a plot. Something had happened, and she wasn¡¯t going to find out what with this approach. ¡°Fatima. Can you just answer simple questions, please? One at a time. Short answers. Can you please do that for me?¡±

    She considered it. ¡°Guess so.¡±

    ¡°Where are Therese and the Imam?¡±

    ¡°No clue. Probably captured, or dead.¡± She said it without feeling.

    ¡°Yuri?¡±

    ¡°Fuck him. I don¡¯t care.¡± She cocked her head, considering, and added, ¡°Might care later. Not now, though. He¡¯s not here. That¡¯s good enough.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± What to ask next. ¡°Were you attacked?¡±

    ¡°When?¡±

    ¡°At the cafe, where you were waiting.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yeah. The guy from the bridge. The one with the hot rocks and shit.¡±

    ¡°Ardent? What happened to him?¡±

    ¡°We chased him off. Or killed him. Not sure. Don¡¯t know where he went.¡±

    ¡°You chased him off,¡± she repeated. She wished she hadn¡¯t bashed her head so much, and thought about making that her next question, but putting it into words seemed hard, and she wanted to go in order. It would be easier for Fatima if they didn¡¯t jump around. ¡°With Mister Higgins?¡±

    ¡°No. Rus did it.¡±

    ¡°Ruslan? He got Kizil Khan out? Is he better?¡±

    Fatima laughed. ¡°Child, I don¡¯t even know how to answer that.¡±

    ¡°Did he use Kizil Khan?¡± she repeated, trying to stay calm.

    ¡°No. Yes. Sorta.¡±

    ¡°Fatima, I know this is hard, but can you explain that?¡±

    Fatima took a deep breath. ¡°I think ¡­ I think when Rus got hit at the bridge, or maybe a little later, Kizil Khan got busted. He¡¯s not acting normal. He¡¯s not Kizil Khan anymore. He¡¯s not even a he. He¡¯s a chick¡ªthat princess thing I told you about, from the hospital. Except when he isn¡¯t. Don¡¯t ask me what the hell it all means, but he just saved our asses.¡±

    ¡°Fatima, you¡¯re not making any sense.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Tell me about it.¡±

    ¡°So ¡­ Ruslan has a new fami¡ª¡°

    ¡°You were dead,¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°What?¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°You were dead, when we found you. Okay?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean. That you. Were fucking. Dead. Is that too fucking complicated to understand? Do I need to draw a fucking picture for you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. Kizil Khan can¡¯t raise the¡ª¡°

    ¡°He¡¯s not fucking Kizil Khan! Did we fuck up your brain when we brought you back? You were dead, child! Dead! Cold, stiff, blood all over and you¡¯d shit your pants, eyes wide open, strapped down to that stretcher to bring back for a trophy. Dead. You think I don¡¯t know what a corpse looks like? How dumb would I have to be? I¡¯ve seen a billion of ¡®em. You weren¡¯t sleeping, you weren¡¯t in a coma, you were a bloody fucking mess, and you were dead. Can you wrap your puny little mind around that?¡±

    Nadia looked down, and saw that her clothes were in tatters, full of little holes. Barely more than rags, really, and soiled. She poked her finger through a gap, and it came away with a dusting of old dried blood. But the skin underneath was untouched. ¡°Dead.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± She still didn¡¯t really believe it, but it seemed important to Fatima. She could work out what actually happened later. ¡°Who put me in this?¡±

    ¡°Yefimov. Or somebody working for him. Whoever.¡±

    ¡°But you ¡­ what did you do?¡°

    ¡°I told you, Kizil Khan¡¯s busted now. He¡ªshe¡ªdoesn¡¯t even have the same keystone. The imam¡¯s boys shot Amina and he flipped out, and the girl came out and fixed her. But the story was all wrong. No dead kid in the tent. There were still tents, but it was all about doing camp chores or something.¡±

    ¡°Okay. And then?¡±

    ¡°I think the rock guy found us that way. The girl went out to fight him, and ¡­ I didn¡¯t see what happened, but I think she got her ass kicked. So she flipped out again, and the girl turned into something else. This black thing.¡±

    ¡°A black thing.¡±

    ¡°Yes. And it didn¡¯t feel the same. The girl was sad and wanted to hurt so she could fix people. The black thing was just pissed. He started tearing shit up. I didn¡¯t see what happened. I was so pissed myself I couldn¡¯t think, I just started punching walls and hitting people. But when he stopped, I had a broken hand, and everything was wrecked. Buildings knocked down, big-ass ditches in the street¡ª¡°

    ¡°Are you sure Ardent didn¡¯t do that?¡±

    ¡°No. It was him. The black thing did it.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°Oh, hell. I know because he kept doing the same shit after Ardent was gone, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay. I believe you.¡± Punching walls and hitting people. Just like she¡¯d been doing. ¡°You were too angry to think, you said?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°So you beat Ardent, somehow, and then what?¡±

    ¡°I got out of the cafe and everything was fucked, and she was trying to fix it, people popping up from the streets just like you.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®she¡¯? You said it was a black thing.¡±

    ¡°Motherf¡ªshe changed back! Back and forth, back and forth! She just kept switching! First the crying bitch, who wants to heal, but it hurts her, see? I think it hurts him, too. He cries and shakes the whole time. After a while she can¡¯t take it and she breaks, turns into the black thing, starts destroying everything. Then he gets worn out and turns back into her, starts trying to fix the shit, and the people, he just broke¡ª¡°

    ¡°I understand,¡± she lied, to stop her shouting. The straps from the gurney were still hanging loosely off her; she pulled them out of the buckles, stood up, and went to look out the door. Ruslan was sitting in his wheelchair just outside, soaked to the skin and fast asleep in the pouring rain. The truck was parked next to a gas station, which looked closed; across the street was a mountain of wet rubble. The street was strewn with broken bricks and bits of shattered glass. ¡°And Yefimov?¡±

    ¡°Came knocking while she was dicking around trying to make it all better. I think. I couldn¡¯t do much, I was either crying or screaming and hitting shit the whole time. It was a little better when we were crying, I could think enough to move him around so she could hurt herself and fix more people. The black thing just made me insane. But I couldn¡¯t really see much either way, you know?¡±

    ¡°Then how do you know Yefimov is gone?¡±

    ¡°Nadia. For God¡¯s sake. It¡¯s almost night. Ain¡¯t a damn thing happened for more than an hour, at least. Probably more like five hours. We both passed out, right in the street, and nobody laid a finger on either of us until the rain woke us up again. Don¡¯t know how long that was. Yefimov¡¯s gone.¡±

    ¡°Right. And then you found me¡ª¡°

    ¡°In this truck. When I woke up, I got Mister Higgins out and sent him up for aerial recon, started following the smashed-up glass until we found this truck, just sitting in the street with four shredded tires where the shards were thickest. Headlights still on and everything, but no driver in sight. Must have run for it.¡±

    Nadia looked up the street; the rain was starting to die down, just enough that she could see the devastation extending as far as she could see. She could see the remains of several of Snowdrop¡¯s signature walls, their centers punched out by some violent force. She didn¡¯t know how much of Fatima¡¯s story to believe, but there¡¯d been a terrible battle here. That much was clear. ¡°And I was lying in this gurney.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Dead. Very, very dead.¡± Fatima pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, but found it too squishy and wet to light. ¡°So I went out there and screamed at Rus to do something, and the girl came out again, and here you are. But he hurt like hell doing it, and I guess the pain tipped him over and got out the black thing again.¡±

    Which would explain the way Nadia felt when she woke up. Assuming she believed any of it. She was starting to understand why Fatima looked so drained; it was exhausting just to listen to all this. She got out of the truck, stepping gingerly down into the street. It was almost night, and only a few scattered streetlights were still on. Ruslan was the only person in sight.

    She stood in the rain with her arms spread, letting it wash away the old blood and ¡­ whatever had soaked her pants. She was freezing cold in seconds, and wondered how Ruslan could sleep through it. He must be utterly exhausted. But the cold woke her up a little more, and the shock of it cleared her thoughts. She stayed there until she couldn¡¯t stand it anymore, then went and pushed Ruslan under the canopy of the gas station so he could start drying off. None of its lights were on.

    She reached for the phone the Imam had given her, but it came out of her pocket in several plastic pieces. The dowser was likewise broken, with a chunk of brick inside it, and a tear on the inside of the pocket it was in, against her body. As though the bit of shrapnel had gone through her body and lodged in the device. Nadia shook her head, and went back to the truck, where she shook her snoring sister awake again.

    ¡°Fatima, please. I know you¡¯re tired, but this is important. I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re in danger now, and I don¡¯t know how much of my own memory I can trust. But I remember Amina saying something about Yuri burning Gamsutl¡¯. Do you remember that too?¡±

    Fatima rubbed at her eyes. ¡°Something like that. Lemme sleep.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t. There¡¯s too much to do.¡±

    ¡°It can wait,¡± Fatima muttered, folding her arms and sliding a little further down the wall of the truck. Nadia pinched her, hard. ¡°Ow! Damn it!¡±

    ¡°Fatima, I barely know how to drive, and we need to move. Something terrible has happened¡ªthat much is clear¡ªand if we¡¯re going to save any of the others we can¡¯t waste any time at all.¡± But it was no use. Fatima was asleep again before she finished the sentence. So she fished in her sister¡¯s pockets until she found a phone, then browsed through the contacts. There was no entry for ¡°Yuri.¡± She scrolled back up¡ªherself, Therese, the Imam, a surprisingly long list of new Dagestani acquaintances¡ªand found one she didn¡¯t recognize in the middle, ¡°Pendejo.¡± She didn¡¯t know what that meant, but hit CALL. What else could she do?

    She counted the rings¡ªtwenty-two before someone picked up. The voice at the other end snapped ¡°What?¡± No jokes, no banter, no teasing tone. Just the one word in a hostile snarl.

    Well, she could snarl too. ¡°Yuri, what have you done?¡±

 XCIX. The Price (Nadia)

    They spent the night in a very nice hotel room, free of charge. Normally this would have been wonderful, but it was only free because a swiping hit from Fatima¡¯s ¡°black thing¡± had demolished a quarter of it¡ªincluding the front desk¡ªand left much of what remained unstable. They had their pick of the deserted ruins, and checked themselves into the ground-floor room farthest from the damaged portion with a shotgun they¡¯d scavenged from a maimed police car.

    The power didn¡¯t work, of course; the plumbing, somehow, did, though not the boiler. Nadia gritted her teeth and hosed herself down thoroughly with the frigid water before turning in. Fatima was asleep in one of the queen beds when she came out. Ruslan lay next to her, in fresh clean clothes from the backpack on his wheelchair. Nadia was surprised that her sister had been up to taking that much care of him before she passed out again. Fatima had one arm wrapped around him as they snored, and an unkind joke popped up in the back of Nadia¡¯s mind, expressing itself in words a half-second before she could chase it away: well, he¡¯s finally ¡®sleeping with¡¯ her ¡­

    Her clothes from the morning were beyond hope, so she took a fresh towel to the second bed with her, for modesty¡¯s sake. She said her prayers, lay down, and shivered until the space under the covers warmed up. But she couldn¡¯t fall asleep. She¡¯d only been conscious about four hours, after all. Before that, she¡¯d been ¡­ what? Asleep, or dead? She couldn¡¯t remember anything past the early afternoon, when she¡¯d been wandering around Petrovskoye on foot, bloody and full of glass. It certainly would have been easy for Yefimov to finish her off. She just had a hard time believing he had, now that she was warm and clean and had nothing wrong with her, physically, than a bruising ache in the side of her head.

    Where had her soul gone, in those few crucial hours? Or had it gone anywhere at all? She had no memories of divine light, smothering darkness, or scorching flames. There was just nothing. A little gap. She might as well have fallen asleep, and Fatima¡¯s explanation was that she¡¯d just ¡­ stopped existing for that little bit. Oh, is that all?

    It didn¡¯t seem like Fatima had even been in a condition to make up lies; she¡¯d been exhausted, and stupid from valence shock. Nadia recognized the symptoms. But that was a different matter from wanting to believe it, or wanting to think about what it might mean.

    And Yuri? She certainly didn¡¯t want to think about him. He was lying. She knew that for certain. His story didn¡¯t add up. There was something he wasn¡¯t telling them, and in his case there was one very easy and plain explanation. Just the thought of it made her dread the light of morning.

    Eventually, she fell asleep, only to wake again before dawn with the sudden realization that, if she had actually died, she might not have ¨¦zarine anymore. She¡¯d deserted Claude when he died in December, hadn¡¯t she? Would she have deserted Nadia as well, and maybe found a new owner, or simply died for good? Either way, the thought set her gasping with fear, and she nearly lost her head and tried to call her right then and there, in the bleary light before dawn, just for reassurance.

    She settled for pulling up her wall instead. She found it as easy as ever to picture¡ªbut it didn¡¯t feel the same, somehow. Maybe that was all in her head. Maybe she was only lacking confidence. Or maybe ¨¦zarine was actually gone. She wouldn¡¯t find out until she tried to call her for real, and succeeded or failed. And she couldn¡¯t try to call her, in case she succeeded, unless it was important; the enemy would be watching the whole area with clairvoyants.

    For so long, she¡¯d wanted to be rid of ¨¦zarine and her rage. Prayed for it, even. Now that the prayer might actually have been answered, she realized how dangerous it had been to ask. How could you ever prove that you didn¡¯t have an emissant anymore? Especially when your explanation was something as ridiculous as ¡°I was temporarily dead¡±? Now, if her fears were right, she could live without the temptation of ¨¦zarine¡¯s power, and the rage that came with it ¡­ by spending the rest of her life as a powerless fugitive, until someone hunted her down and she died again, for good this time.

    Only a little light came in past the blinds, and no sound. This city was dead, most of its roads ruined. She fell asleep again in time, and didn¡¯t wake until late in the morning when the sun was high in the sky.

    Fatima had to shake her hard to wake her. ¡°Hey. Come on. We got places to be, sis.¡±

    She raised her head, and saw Ruslan already in his chair. He smiled a little, as if unaware that he¡¯d killed hundreds or thousands yesterday. Maybe he didn¡¯t even understand what he¡¯d done? An innocent mass-murderer. What a thought.

    Fatima snapped her fingers in front of Nadia¡¯s nose. ¡°Hey. You with us? We¡¯ve got a lot to do, here. Like breakfast, and beating the truth out of your brother. No time to waste.¡± Nadia looked up at her sister; she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday, of course, but she¡¯d had time to brush her hair. She looked fresh and ready to go. ¡°It¡¯s been a long damn time since I got anything to eat, you hear? Tell me you¡¯re not hungry.¡±

    For an answer, Nadia reached out and picked up the towel from the nightstand, waving it in Fatima¡¯s face.

    ¡°Shit. Okay. Stay here with Rus, I¡¯ll go find a department store to break and enter.¡±

    ¡°Fatima, that¡¯s not funny.¡±

    ¡°Nothing about our situation is funny. We¡¯re back to being low on cash and we can¡¯t call nobody for help. Either I loot you some shit from a store that¡¯s going to go out of business soon anyway, or you can ride around righteously naked like Lady fuckin¡¯ Godiva. Take your pick.¡±

    Nadia assumed that was rhetorical, because Fatima didn¡¯t stay to listen for an answer; she plucked up the shotgun from her own bed and the backpack from Ruslan¡¯s wheelchair, and headed out the door. Too late it came to Nadia that, if she was right about ¨¦zarine, they had no way to defend themselves; she was naked and alone with a brain-damaged invalid who might not even understand what was happening if some hooligan broke into the room to assault her.

    As if to punctuate the thought, she heard a terribly familiar sound¡ªlike last night¡¯s thunder, but not. Another kind of storm. Multiple weapons, multiple shots, her all-too-practiced ear told her. Not a simple killing, then, but an actual battle, one she could only pray would not come this direction. It was at least some distance away. She slid further under the covers, and struggled in vain not to think about it. This was how most people lived, the ones who had been going about their lives as usual until yesterday. The way she had lived, long ago, with her parents. How did they stand it?

    But Fatima came back an hour or so later, bearing Ruslan¡¯s backpack and a new one, both full of clothes, plus a bag of old bread from a bakery¡¯s dumpster. She fed Ruslan while Nadia put her clothes on under the covers. ¡°Had to wave the gun a couple of times,¡± she said as she popped a bite-size portion in Ruslan¡¯s mouth. He looked up at her soppily; Nadia wondered if she¡¯d be chewing it for him soon, and spitting it into his mouth like a mother bird. ¡°Don¡¯t think anybody followed me, but this place is coming back to life and nobody looks happy.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s leave, then,¡± Nadia said as she got up. ¡°If we can. Can we get a car?¡± She had no idea where theirs were, or where they were for that matter.

    ¡°Sure. It¡¯s the roads that might be a problem.¡±

    There were in fact plenty of cars in the parking lot, many of them perfectly intact. They were still untouched because their keys had been buried or destroyed with their owners. Fatima wasn¡¯t quite as good at hotwiring as she bragged, but after twenty minutes she got one running. Nadia rode ¡®shotgun,¡¯ quite literally, with her eyes open for trouble.

    Fatima had told the truth: the city was coming to life again, in a dangerous way. They saw few other cars on the streets, and no women or children, but plenty of men. Old men at windows, staring at them as they passed. Middle-aged men on rooftops, pointing rifles down over the edge. Young men with guns or blunt weapons¡ªwrenches, bats, sledgehammers¡ªsprinting from cover to cover down the street, ducking into alleys and crouching behind parked cars. Boys barely older than Ruslan, and a few younger, marching with broken doors or old tables in front of them for shields. One of them leveled a rifle at them, and Fatima stomped on the gas to cross the street before he could fire.

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    Many times they had to turn around, finding the streets blocked by wrecked cars, or a deep trench in the pavement. Once they came to an actual barricade, one of Snowdrop¡¯s thick glass walls, with boards and cinderblocks piled up to block a gap in its middle. They stopped and turned around; a burst of fire appeared on the ground behind them as they drove away, narrowly missing their trunk. Nadia twisted around to look at it, and saw a broad pool of flames spreading across the road. ¡°Was that a Molotov?¡±

    ¡°Probably.¡±

    ¡°Why are they doing this? Aren¡¯t they afraid of Pugachev, or his men?¡±

    ¡°Well, they were,¡± Fatima answered. ¡°They were being good little girls and boys, until yesterday. Do you see what it got them?¡± She pointed to a row of ravaged townhouses, their facades shredded with holes of all sizes. ¡°Looks like they¡¯re done dicking around. Dagestan don¡¯t take no shit.¡± Yesterday morning, Nadia would have expected a proud tone for her would-be family, but Fatima¡¯s voice was resigned, almost apathetic. Apparently nearly getting killed by the Imam¡¯s men had dampened her enthusiasm for their cause.

    Those same men were probably leading the fighting now. Whether it was an attempted rescue or a retaliation hardly mattered to the three of them in the car; it wasn¡¯t their fight anymore. Very likely whoever was in charge now had orders out to kill them on sight. Nadia put her hand on Fatima¡¯s shoulder; she was mouthing silent words at the dashboard, and didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    They got out of Petrovskoye about two minutes before the first bomb sent a cloud of smoke and debris up to blot out the skyline behind them. Nadia turned back and looked up, but there were no aircraft that she could see. It must have been a planted explosive of some kind. Others soon followed. Fatima kept driving, turning onto a two-lane highway and heading south.

    It was a long, quiet trip. Every now and then Fatima would mutter something to herself, but always in Pashto or Spanish or some other language Nadia didn¡¯t know. She was hunched forward over the wheel as she drove, for no reason Nadia could see. In the backseat, Ruslan was content to look out the window with a slight, vacant smile on his face.

    Nadia had enough worries of her own to leave it at that for the first couple of hours. But no longer than that¡ªthey had things to discuss, and time was slipping away. ¡°Yuri didn¡¯t call, did he? While you were out getting food, I mean. You had the phone.¡±

    Fatima gave her a sour look, then turned her face back to the road, and said nothing. Nadia was on the point of asking again when she said, ¡°No. No calls. No messages. Nothing.¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do when we get there?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he going to do to us?¡±

    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t attack me.¡±

    ¡°Great. You walk in front, then. I don¡¯t know what the son of a bitch is going to do, but he doesn¡¯t deserve the benefit of the doubt. He doesn¡¯t deserve anything, at this point. Bare minimum, I have Mister Higgins ready the whole time.¡±

    ¡°But not out?¡±

    ¡°No. SP only.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± To fill the silence, she added, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have ¨¦zarine anymore.¡±

    Fatima looked at her, grunted, and shook her head.

    ¡°Fatima, please. We don¡¯t know what happened.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I think I¡¯ve got a pretty good idea.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t hear him when he answered me last night. It would have been your name on the call. I think he really did believe you were behind it all. Or else thought you might be.¡±

    ¡°Man, who the fuck knows what Yuri thinks? He¡¯s out of his goddamn mind.¡±

    ¡°All we know is that there was a fight. We don¡¯t know who started it, or why.¡±

    ¡°And you believe him?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I believe,¡± she said, truthfully enough. ¡°But we have to be careful.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I 100% agree. No argument. I¡¯m going to be damn careful¡ª¡°

    ¡°Careful not to jump to conclusions,¡± Nadia amended.

    ¡°Bullshit. You think Ramzan¡¯s boys picked a fight with Yuri? For no good reason? Knowing what he can do? If you believe that, you¡¯re as crazy as he is.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened! And neither do you!¡± She knew as she said it that it sounded feeble.

    And Fatima called her on it. ¡°Really. We¡¯ve got some time to kill. Give me an alternative explanation, why don¡¯t you? What¡¯s the innocent reason why all this shit went sideways, all at once?¡±

    ¡°Maybe the Imam¡¯s people at Gamsutl¡¯ misunderstood something¡ª¡°

    ¡°Oh, a misunderstanding. And they misunderstood so much that your brother just had no choice but to set the whole mountain on fire, is that it? They couldn¡¯t have talked it out and explained shit. It¡¯s not like both of them speak Russian, or anything. Yuri was a totally helpless victim!¡±

    ¡°Fatima, you saw how they were. Everything was tense, and they were treating both of them, especially Maria, like prisoners.¡±

    ¡°And you think they didn¡¯t have a good reason for that?¡± Nadia had no answer. ¡°No, I think there¡¯s a very good explanation for all of this. You just don¡¯t want to admit it.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯ve already made up your mind like this, going to meet him is a mistake.¡±

    ¡°All right. Where else should we go, then? What are our other options?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, I know that you¡¯re angry, and I¡¯m angry too, but I don¡¯t like the way this is going.¡°

    ¡°You don¡¯t like¡ªwhat are you, fuckin¡¯ Mila? Don¡¯t try to manage me, girl. I ain¡¯t in no mood for head games.¡±

    ¡°Please. If you could just stop and pull over¡ª¡±

    Abruptly, and to Nadia¡¯s complete surprise, she did, and stopped the engine. ¡°Done. You want to get out, now¡¯s your time. I can handle this solo.¡±

    They were on a dirt road, kilometers from anywhere or anything. Nadia could look out her window and see a steep grassy slope leading down to a little stream surrounded by trees. It might be a nice spot for a picnic. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean that.¡±

    ¡°Then what are we stopping for? You want to talk? Well, I don¡¯t. I want my foot up your brother¡¯s ass, is what I want, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to stop me. Not without ¨¦zarine.¡± She touched the wires together to start up the engine again. ¡°And if you do have her, then I¡¯ve only got one question: whose side are you on?¡±

    ¡°On the side of our family!¡±

    The car lurched back into motion, faster than before. ¡°We don¡¯t have a family, Nadia. We were never a family, not for real. We¡¯re just a random bunch of orphans and ¡­ leftovers.¡± She waved her hand at Ruslan. ¡°All slapped together because somebody could use us. The whole family thing was just a sick joke by a sick old man, and you¡¯re the only one who was ever dumb enough to take it seriously.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t really believe that.¡±

    ¡°I do believe in family. I had one once, and I was going to have one again, but sweet precious innocent brother Yuri just set that on fire and pissed on the ashes, oh, and fucked us both over in the process, that too, and got your ass straight-up killed and by the way I¡¯m still yet to hear you say anything like ¡®thank you¡¯ for me fixing that¡ª¡°

    ¡°Fatima, please, you don¡¯t know¡ª¡°

    ¡°And if you can¡¯t see what¡¯s happened, I can, and sisterly love don¡¯t carry us far enough to ignore it. This is it. You don¡¯t have to be there to see it when it goes down, I¡¯m not gonna make you do that, but I¡¯m not gonna let you stop me. I deserve some answers, and I¡¯m gonna get some. Now.¡±

    She was driving very fast now, faster than Nadia would have liked on such narrow roads. She was still trying to think of something to say when they turned the last corner, and the bulk of the mountainside rolled back to show them the blackened remains of Gamsutl¡¯ perched on its peak, and the equally charred ashes of the derelict town below. Then Nadia couldn¡¯t think of anything to say at all.

    They took the last few kilometers at terrible speed, braking hard in the middle of the clearing that had once passed for the town square. There were only a few buildings left standing. Before Nadia could think to stop her Fatima snatched up the shotgun from its spot next to the parking brake, and got out of the car shouting at the top of her lungs, ¡°Yuri! Get your ass out here!¡± She lowered her voice to add, to herself: ¡°And bring your backstabbing whore of a girlfriend with you.¡±

 C. The Reckoning (Nadia)

    Yuri came out to meet them as slowly as he could contrive it, emerging from a decrepit wreck that might once have been an inn or saloon. There was only a little hitch in his insolent stroll when he caught sight of Fatima¡¯s shotgun, and he didn¡¯t deign to notice when she turned it to point at him. He reached the stop sign at the corner and leaned against it with his arms crossed. ¡°Hey. ¡®Sup?¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s your bitch?¡± Fatima demanded.

    Slowly, so slowly, with his most languid contempt, Yuri looked down the quivering barrel of the shotgun, then up at Fatima¡¯s face, and stretched, yawning at the sky as if he hadn¡¯t a care in the world. For three full seconds he held the stretch, then slumped back down, his arms re-crossed, and looked meditatively down at a couple of rocks at his feet. And he didn¡¯t say a word.

    ¡°Yuri,¡± Nadia told him¡ªthough without hope of helping¡ª¡°this is not a time for jokes.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t joking,¡± he said, ostentatiously looking at his fingernails, then throwing a sly look at Nadia, inviting her to share a private laugh at the world¡¯s expense. Her brother was showing off, at the most unhelpful time possible. Presently he turned back to Fatima, remarked, ¡°Arms tired yet?¡±

    ¡°She can¡¯t be far,¡± Fatima said, and stomped off past him.

    Yuri let her get three steps before he spoke up: ¡°The second I hear that gun go off, I fry your car with your boy-toy inside.¡± Fatima stopped in her tracks and spun around, pointing the gun at his head from mere feet away. Yuri didn¡¯t look at it. ¡°Good idea. Because, y¡¯know, I was so impressed the first time you tried that. From that close, you¡¯ll splatter my brains like, two whole feet farther apart than if you shot me from over there.¡±

    There was no way to fix this. Nadia tried anyway. ¡°Yuri, you know we were betrayed. They knew we were coming. Therese and the Imam are gone, and Fatima tells me I actually got¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yeah, we were fucked,¡± Fatima interrupted, throwing Nadia a warning look she couldn¡¯t fathom. What wasn¡¯t she supposed to say? ¡°And there¡¯s a short list of suspects.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you were fucked? Funny coincidence¡ªso were we! The bastards went after us as soon as you left. Who do you think ordered that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you said that on the¡ªoh, for the love of God, Fatima, will you put the gun down? He¡¯s not threatening you, he¡¯s not even moving. At least point it at the ground, before you give me a heart attack. Thank you. Yuri, why don¡¯t you tell us the whole story, from the beginning?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Fatima snapped. ¡°It¡¯ll just be bullshit.¡± Yuri waved his hand at her, rolling his eyes: See? She won¡¯t believe me, whatever I say.

    ¡°I will judge that,¡± Nadia said. ¡°I love both of you, and I don¡¯t want either of you hurt. Fatima, Maria can¡¯t get far in the time it will take Yuri to tell his side of the story. We have nothing to lose.¡± Fatima spat on the ground, but didn¡¯t object, which Nadia took for permission to proceed. ¡°Yuri, please tell me the full story. All the details.¡±

    ¡°Already told it,¡± he said, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°Or close enough. They turned on us like two minutes after you were gone. We barely made it out of that shithole alive. What else you want? The time I stopped to take a piss?¡±

    ¡°Is that really all?¡± She tried to look him in the eye, and he met her gaze¡ªeventually. But there was a little delay, just enough that she felt sure, with sudden cold fear, that he was not telling them everything. There was at least one important detail he was holding back.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Fatima said, ¡°story told: they were just picking on your poor little brother, when they knew he could burn them alive. What¡¯s your verdict, judge?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, it¡¯s not that hard to believe. We already know we were betrayed, somehow. They ¡­ they were definitely trying to kill me, I know that. But whoever sold us would have known Yuri was still in Gamsutl¡¯, wouldn¡¯t they? So trying to kill him at the same time would have tied up a loose end!¡±

    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s one way to spin it,¡± Fatima said. ¡°But who was the damn mole, huh? The Imam¡¯s been here for years, building up, causing trouble, and security was pristine. Then we come along, and bam, leak!¡±

    The shotgun¡¯s barrel was starting to creep back up again. Nadia stepped forward to physically push it back down, and place herself between them for good measure. She had her wall up inside her head, and tried to mean it, though she didn¡¯t trust it to hold up to a test. There was a real possibility that that gun would go off, and if it did, it might as well hit her first. It would be the end of the world either way.

    ¡°They never presented a target like us until yesterday,¡± Nadia told her. ¡°And it could have been someone in the Imam¡¯s organization who just disagreed with using us¡ª¡°

    ¡°So they fucked the Imam, and all their brother believers, to sell us out? And then got that city burned down attacking Yuri, instead of just shooting him in the back of the head, like we should have done months ago? That makes no goddamn sense.¡±

    ¡°So what does, huh?¡± Yuri straightened up from his slouch against the sign. ¡°You think I wanted to kill you¡ªyou, Rus, and my sister¡ªand then I set the whole place on fire, stranding myself in the Muslim ass-end of Russia?¡±

    ¡°Why not? You¡¯ve done dumber,¡± Fatima said. ¡°But no. Simpler explanation. You didn¡¯t screw us¡ªat least, you weren¡¯t the one who started this shit. I got my sights on the no-good goldbricking gunrunner skank who¡¯s been free-riding on your dick for the last month and a half. So where is she? I wanna waste her ass and get on with my life.¡±

    Nadia held up a hand. ¡°Fatima, that doesn¡¯t work either. Do you think she sweet-talked him into betraying our alliance and destroying the whole village? Do you really believe even Yuri would go that far?¡±

    ¡°No. You know what I think happened? I think he¡¯s telling part of the truth. I bet you anything somebody caught the puta passing one last message, telling them we were coming. Of course they turned on them, after that!¡±

    Nadia looked back over her shoulder to check her brother¡¯s reaction. Too late. He¡¯d already had time to fix his face in the same sneer as before. ¡°Yuri, how did it really happen? Did they accuse Maria of anything?¡±

    ¡°Are you siding with them now? You want to get married tomorrow and wear a tent like a big girl?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hearing a denial,¡± Fatima said.

    ¡°Fine, I deny it! Eat me.¡±

    Hopeless. ¡°Then how did it start?¡± she pressed him ¡°Who did they go after first?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t fuckin¡¯ know! They pulled guns on us! I wasn¡¯t keeping a binder with notes and shit!¡± Again, she noticed a tiny flicker of hesitation before he answered. For a proudly unrepentant sinner, Yuri wasn¡¯t much of a liar. He was still hiding something. Had Fatima noticed? And would it matter, if she had?

    ¡°Yuri, you¡¯re not thinking. Our only hope of making this work out is¡ª¡°

    ¡°What¡¯s to work? The bitch is already pointing a shotgun at my ass, you think we¡¯re going to be best pals now? Are you high?¡±

    For just one second, Nadia¡¯s wall held; it was a strange feeling, one she would later compare to trying to hold up a sheet of paper to stop a gush of water. She had time to sense that something was wrong, to feel all her frustrated anger give way to something different. For a long time after, she would wonder if it might have held better against a different valence. Mister Higgins and ¨¦zarine just didn¡¯t disagree that much. When he came calling, his story made too much sense, and his power came trickling past her defenses, and she thought of the principal in his office, and the policemen in the shop. She couldn¡¯t say whether she experienced the actual keystone, or if the memories came up on suggestion by the feelings. Or if there was a real difference between the two.

    There was a heavy thump, off to one side. Nadia looked over, and saw the flabby shape of Mister Higgins standing guard in front of the car, surrounded by a floating halo of fresh-disturbed soot. Behind her, Yuri started screaming, pitching a deafening fit. He tried to step past her to challenge Fatima head-on; without even thinking, she shoved him back.

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    Fresh screams, from the other direction. Maria was storming their way from whatever ruin she¡¯d been hiding in, a fist raised in the air, spitting a torrent of poisonous Arabic. Nadia didn¡¯t understand a word of it, but knew what the girl meant, and agreed: she was done with all this nonsense, and Fatima was going to hear about it.

    Fatima¡¯s answer was short, and abrupt, and very, very loud. Nadia recoiled, clapping her hands over her ears too late. She saw Maria fall down, but some absurd part of her brain made her turn to Fatima for confirmation, hoping by some pathetically slim and miraculous chance to find her sister equally bemused. Fatima was a step back from where she¡¯d been before, the smoking barrel of the shotgun raised to heaven as she tugged the slide down to rack a new round.

    Before she could think to protest¡ªbefore her ears could stop ringing so she could hear her own words when she did¡ªNadia was grabbed by the shoulder and hurled, spinning, into the sooty black dust. She felt more than heard the quick, angry struggle of scuffling feet, and a cloud of ash washed over her as she looked up. The stuff got in her eyes, in her mouth, and even in that desperate moment she thought that there were probably dead men in it, and gagged. Something hit her head, hard; she put up a feeble arm to shield it, got hit again. She scrabbled away on all fours, trying to get clear while she coughed and spat.

    Then the gun went off again, and something hot and wet spattered across the whole lower half of her body.

    Nadia froze in place, her vision still half-blurred with filth. She felt the anger and contempt bleed out of her, and knew that Mister Higgins was gone. She was only a girl, a very small girl in that moment, sprawled in the dirt with her hands rubbing at her eyes, afraid to take her hands away and see what she had to live with.

    She waited until she had cried out the last speck of dust, and her ears could hear perfectly well again, before she opened her eyes. Fatima sat on the ground not ten feet away, the shotgun cradled in her lap, staring at the still shape of Yuri stretched out in front of her. The ground, like Nadia¡¯s clothing, was coated in an absolutely incredible amount of dark red blood. She already knew there was no point in looking closer, but did anyway: yes, there was a very large hole in the center of her brother¡¯s chest. His eyes were open, and perfectly blank. Whatever he¡¯d been feeling or thinking in his last moments, it was gone now, and for good.

    And looking down at his vacant face, she felt ¡­ relief. Simple, quiet relief, as if a heavy load she had been bearing for ages, for so long she forgot it was even there, had slipped off her back to crash and break on the ground, and she was left standing taller, feeling light and unnaturally free. No shock, no horror, no weeping denials or hysterics. Nothing seemly or proper. Only relief.

    Then came weariness, and uncertainty. She had crossed a bridge, and found herself free, and now she didn¡¯t know where she was, or what she ought to do. The world had too many possibilities, and she had too many choices, now that Yuri was not in it any longer. The size of the new frontier made her simply dizzy. And then, as she thought that¡ªthat she was free¡ªonly then did shame catch up, the slinking feeling that she ought to cry, that she should love her brother, that her dry eyes were a betrayal of him, and their parents, and everything they had been through.

    No. She didn¡¯t owe him anything, and the suggestion that she did, even coming from her own heart, filled her with a cold and sick resentment. She would not drag herself back to that place, to be the longsuffering dutiful sister. He had no right to take her back, that beautiful, charming, elegant boy lying in the dirt with his last self-serving lies on his lips and the ashes of his last victims in his pretty blond hair. All the weight of all the dead of forsaken Guryev could not drag her back there. She refused. He had no right, no claim.

    It was hard not to laugh, or maybe to shudder, at the creature she had been. A whimpering little thing choking on her own empty pieties, too caught up in playing a role, in being who she thought she ought to be, to wonder who she was. And now that that awful moment was here¡ªand she felt as though she had come to herself all of a sudden, and seen she was making love to the rotting carcass of a dead dog¡ªshe looked at herself and saw nothing at all.

    Here she was, four years later, with nothing to show for it. Sitting in the remains of a different place consumed by Shum-Shum, a place she had no reason to be, a place she probably couldn¡¯t find on a map. Her only remaining company, in the whole wide world, was her brother¡¯s killer, and a boy even more brainless and destructive than he had been. And even they were more than her. They still had power. This was what all her choices had come down to.

    ¡°Nadia?¡±

    She blinked, and looked up at Fatima¡¯s face. She realized she¡¯d been laughing, and rocking in place in the dirt. She¡¯d stopped laughing now, but she thought the sound had been a little too shrill, and she couldn¡¯t recall what, if anything, was funny.

    ¡°Hey. Nadia. You with me?¡±

    She nodded. She thought maybe she¡¯d been crying, too, and she wasn¡¯t sure what that was about either. The thought of talking didn¡¯t hold much appeal.

    ¡°Listen. Rus is right there. We can make this right¡ª¡°

    Nadia¡¯s laughter cut off the rest. It was okay. She didn¡¯t want to hear any more. She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled off to nowhere in particular while the last sane bit of her adopted family trailed after her, burping up endless reassurance. How very Fatima: there was a fix, there was an answer, there was a patch they could slap on top of the scar and keep on bumbling until they bumbled into another disaster. Fatima¡¯s got your back, homegirl!

    ¡°We¡¯re not bringing him back,¡± Nadia found herself saying.

    ¡°Nadia, babe you¡¯re not thinking straight. You think you don¡¯t have ¨¦zarine anymore, right? Well, what if he doesn¡¯t have Shum-Shum anymore?¡±

    ¡°Oh, did you do us a favor with your shotgun?¡± Nadia turned around to look her in the eye. She wasn¡¯t carrying the gun anymore. ¡°And what if he does have Shum-Shum? Will we bring back Maria too, and pretend all this never happened?¡± She swept an arm around at the town. What had its name been, anyway? Not Gamsutl¡¯, that was up on the mountain; what was this? It felt like she ought to at least remember the name of the place the little jackass had decided to burn off the map, for reasons they would probably never know now. ¡°Do we get a do-over? Mistakes were made, we walk it back, and we go on with our lives?¡±

    ¡°Rus brought you back, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have.¡±

    ¡°He can save Yuri too, I know it.¡±

    ¡°No, he can¡¯t. My brother is dead¡ª¡°

    ¡°He can fix that!¡±

    ¡°¡ªand he died a long time ago! I was just too stupid to see it. I don¡¯t care if you can patch up a bloody hole in his chest. You still can¡¯t roll back four years, and drag the real boy out of time, from before he made himself a monster. Whatever you bring back, if you bring it back, it will not be Yuri anymore, and I don¡¯t want it. He wouldn¡¯t thank you anyway, for bringing him back both broken and useless.¡±

    ¡°Nadia, babe¡ª¡°

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I even want you anymore. Nothing good has come of any of this. We¡¯re not even people, Fatima. Some rocks fell down at the top of a mountain before we were born, and they knocked off other rocks, which knocked off other rocks ¡­ and here we are, one tiny piece of a tumbling disaster, with nothing to do but watch and see how long until we hit the bottom of the hill, if it even has a bottom at all. I am done with it.¡±

    For once, Fatima had nothing clever to say. No pat explanations, no blithe certainties. It was wonderful to see her look so utterly helpless; maybe she wasn¡¯t alone after all. It felt so good that she was content to stand there for a while¡ªit wasn¡¯t as if she had any better place to go¡ªwatching and waiting with cruel joy for Fatima to find her next quip so she could pass her worthless time slapping it down.

    Instead Fatima looked down at her feet for a moment. Then she shrugged, and grabbed her sister in a tight hug. Nadia thought she heard the embarrassing word ¡°sorry,¡± mumbled directly into her ear. There was more with it, but that was the only word she caught. It was the only one that mattered anyway. It was so blatantly, pathetically, ludicrously inadequate, under the circumstances, that she wanted to laugh ¡­ but somehow, she found herself weeping instead.

 CI. Authority (Yefimov)

    The Geyenna facility was not so labeled on any map; it made contact with the public¡¯s awareness only as a place where an unpaved trail terminated in a locked gate within a tall fence topped with razor wire. It lacked so much as a warning sign, but was sufficiently forbidding that the rare local who took the incorrect exit from the road out of Petrovskoye could be trusted to turn his vehicle about and leave without prompting or supervision.

    In the highly unlikely event that such a person elected to break through the barrier, he would find a substantial tract of entirely undeveloped land, in a mixture of open fields and forest, with a small tin-roofed shack in the very middle, adjoining a pond. That lone building was left unlocked, and containing nothing of any significant value; it was merely shelter from the weather, the one variable its master could not control. Igor did not even trouble to keep the facility provisioned, electing instead to have his inferiors bring him whatever supplies he happened to need at any given moment.

    Geyenna¡¯s sole and entire purpose was to be isolated; the high fence encompassed a circular space five kilometers in diameter, so that he and Pugachev might do as they pleased at any given moment, without troubling about the effects of the halo on any bystanders or infrastructure. Sergei knew it only by reputation, having never, in all his long service, been required to visit it before. He had been reluctant even to send prisoners to such a place, and did so only under orders, for the good of the state.

    Now it pleased the state to issue another order, and Sergei was called to bring young Marko into the devil¡¯s private retreat. Sergei greeted the news with appropriate stoicism; Marko was, as ever, less sanguine.

    ¡°Why is this necessary?¡± he inquired of Sergei. ¡°Why should we have to visit the foul place in person? Surely he can come out to meet us.¡±

    ¡°A justification was not given,¡± Sergei told him. ¡°And it would be unwise to complain too loudly, given the vagaries of your recent conduct. You were issued no order to retreat from Petrovskoye, in the face of the enemy.¡±

    ¡°To hell with your orders! You retreated too.¡±

    ¡°I was commanding officer on the scene, entitled to make such decisions. You were not.¡±

    ¡°Ah, so I am at fault for making the same choice you did, and for the same reason, only sooner. And you are blameless for not listening to me, and getting more civilians killed in a pointless conflict, because of your position.¡±

    ¡°There is no profit in this conversation,¡± said Sergei. ¡°If you wish to provoke the suspicions of the Knyazya, that is your affair, but you are uncharitable to implicate me by association. They have summoned us to Geyenna. I strongly suggest you obey. That is all.¡±

    It was said that Igor used Geyenna more frequently for his own amusement than for the interrogation of prisoners¡ªnot that the two were in any sense exclusive. He could retreat into the fantasy of his choice at will, and remain there for as long as he pleased; this had given rise to any number of lurid rumors, which doubtless pleased their subject greatly, though Sergei did not credit half of them. He suspected that a certain measure of envy lay at the root of Marko¡¯s discontent, mixed with an entirely proper revulsion for Igor¡¯s personality and the deplorable uses to which he put his considerable abilities.

    Marko¡¯s unease was multiplied by the absence of any attendant or greeter at the gate, but Sergei knew this was merely Igor¡¯s carelessness and lack of manners. The locks were already broken, so he surmised that another visitor had been similarly inconvenienced before them, and resorted to the same expedient he would have employed himself.

    Either Igor had prepared for their visit, or he happened to be idle or away; they saw nothing more fantastic than a dirt road through pine forest until they reached the heart of Geyenna, and it became apparent that their host had been much occupied with business of late. Aside from the infamous hovel, the area beside the pond was crowded with trailers, portable lavatories, and other temporary structures. ¡°How many did he catch?¡± Marko wondered.

    ¡°Some dozens, I should say.¡± A few of Igor¡¯s employees wandered about between the buildings, dressed in disposable white painter¡¯s coveralls. One was helping¡ªor nearly carrying, her should say¡ªa limp man in street clothes back into one of the trailers. There was only one other person in sight: an elderly man with short and bristly hair, dressed in an embroidered waistcoat and shirtsleeves, leaning against the side of a car with tinted windows. He stood up as Sergei and Marko got out of their own vehicle, and Sergei saw he was hunchbacked.

    He waved at them enthusiastically. ¡°Sergei, my boy! It has been too long!¡± He wore dark glasses, and it had been some time since their last meeting, so Sergei did not immediately recognize him as Semyon Ilyin. The moment he did, he stopped and gave him the deep bow appropriate between a student and his master. Ilyin engulfed him in an embrace as soon as he straightened again, and Sergei endeavored not to show too much discomfort at the unaccustomed familiarity.

    ¡°And who might this gentleman be?¡± asked Marko.

    ¡°This is the akusher Ilyin,¡± Sergei informed him. ¡°It is to him we owe all of my victories. Snowdrop was one of his final creations.¡±

    ¡°And my best,¡± Ilyin beamed. ¡°I have followed your career with some pride. And¡ª¡° he looked at the small village of trailers, ¡°those of others, with less pride but the same interest.¡± He turned to Marko and confessed, ¡°Igor, too, was a student of mine. One of my first. This is an unpleasant day for me. But wait a minute, both of you. It is not yet time to see him.¡± He shuffled back to his car and rapped softly on the rear window with his knuckles, then stepped timidly back to make way as another man emerged.

    He was a man of substantial size, in both height and girth, dressed in a black three-piece suit. His head was entirely covered by a brightly patterned silk hood, with tinted lenses fitted in the eye-slits. Sergei at once suspected, on seeing him, that the gravity of their situation had increased substantially; when the man extended his right hand palm down, that suspicion was confirmed.

    Sergei did not allow the hand to linger, but pressed his lips to the perfectly round and smooth stone on the ring on the third finger, next to a wedding band. He had never seen such a jewel before, but heard them described often enough: two golden eagle heads met to embrace whorled blue-green stone between their beaks. He stepped back gravely, allowing Marko to pay his own respects. Hand and ring disappeared behind the man¡¯s back the moment they were finished, and being mindful of protocol they returned their attention at once to Ilyin. One did not gawk at a Knyaz as though he were a carnival attraction. All the same, Sergei thought on the pattern of the man¡¯s mask. It was chiefly gold, with some black and red¡ªKist, perhaps? It was no matter; he would not be so impertinent as to raise his hand against any emissor of the Knyazya, whatever power he brought to bear.

    ¡°Our master will be taking a personal interest in this case from this point forward,¡± Ilyin informed them. ¡°Because of the ¡­ new variables in play, you understand. You retain their full confidence.¡±

    This Sergei was inclined to doubt, but was not fool enough to say so. ¡°Have you heard the most recent intelligence? At least two of the Marshall children have been sighted, in Astrakhan.¡±

    Ilyin pursed his lips. ¡°Indeed. ¡®At least two.¡¯ The boy Ruslan is difficult to mistake, and the girl Fatima was well described. And the third¡ªa tall, fair, slender girl?¡±

    ¡°As to that, I am uncertain. I can attest with the utmost confidence that Nadezhda Voronina was deceased, and her death certified by a licensed physician, before I was compelled to retreat without her body to avoid further civilian casualties.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ilyin, but nothing more, his face worried.

    ¡°I was informed, by both our intelligence and by Ruslan himself, that Kizil Khan cannot revive the truly departed¡ªif they have been deceased for more than a few minutes, or sustained critical damage to the brain. Both were incontestably true in this case.¡±

    ¡°So much I can believe,¡± Ilyin agreed. ¡°But it seems clear that we are no longer dealing with Kizil Khan. The rules have changed.¡±

    ¡°Even Melkhisedek or Metakken cannot go so far beyond the limits of modern medicine,¡± Sergei protested, but cut himself short at once when the Knyaz snapped his fingers and pointed at the shed. ¡°Very well, Your Imperial Highness.¡±

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    All the officious workmen in painter¡¯s suits had disappeared once they got out of their cars, though Sergei did not doubt that they watched their minute procession eagerly through the blinds of the trailer windows. The shed was, as rumor proclaimed, unlocked. Inside were three people: a tall blond man and a small dark-haired woman unconscious upon the rude wooden floor, and an older man in soiled clothes sprawled in a well-padded armchair. The portable electric lamp dangling from the ceiling illuminated the scene but little.

    Igor, vile creature that he was, did not rise to greet them, even after the Knyaz appeared behind them. He peered at them through the uncombed curtain of his grey locks, favoring them with his infamous smile. Though his face was badly lined and worn with age and dissipation, it remained highly expressive, and Sergei recognized his current grimace. Marko had likened it, on one memorable occasion, to the sort of bowel movement a man might pass after consuming an entire pint of used cooking oil at one sitting: the lips were stretched wide like a toad¡¯s, slightly parted, and tipped up only slightly at the corners, conveying an impression of mingled ill-health, insincerity, and imbecility.

    He rose only to kiss the customary ring, with a motion like a hen pecking at a grain of rice. It would be difficult to judge whether the lips or the hand were more quickly withdrawn. Igor turned his repulsive visage to Ilyin, without removing his attention entirely from the Knyaz. ¡°Teacher!¡± he declared. ¡°Do you know, they have been working me like a dog at this place.¡± His hands clasped one another at the height of his heart, and he stooped in (Sergei was sure) conscious imitation of his akusher. ¡°And I am not the only one worn out,¡± he added, tilting his head to the captives on the floor. ¡°But you have read my reports. I have worked miracles, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°You are an oprichnik,¡± Sergei reminded him. ¡°Miracles are your appointed task.¡± The Knyaz had shed his gold ring into his pocket, whence he extracted a pair of generously padded leather gloves.

    ¡°Even so,¡± Igor replied. ¡°It has only been, what, four days? And an entire criminal conspiracy to debrief.¡± One eye was on the big man in the corner, putting on his gloves in a manner that suggested a long and regular custom of the process. Igor¡¯s tone was light, and his expression as ever ironic, as if he meant to suggest that there was something faintly comical about the proceedings. But he licked his lips. No, there was very little to smile at. The expression, too, was only habit.

    ¡°We are not here to criticize your interrogation methods, Igor.¡± Ilyin told him sadly. ¡°Our objection is more fundamental than that.¡± Igor was not a large man. The Knyaz was, with a build and bearing that suggested military experience. When the first blow, to the jaw, sent Igor reeling back into his armchair, the Knyaz hoisted him easily back up with one hand and flung him against the wall, where he set to work with methodical brutality upon the rib cage and stomach.

    Ilyin closed his eyes behind his glasses as he continued over the noise of the drubbing, ¡°Sunday¡¯s catastrophe was due in large part to your fecklessness, Igor. Maybe you could not help that the children chose to come into your territory. But once they arrived, they found an intact and sizable resistance movement, which you had allowed to exist for some years unmolested. This is not acceptable.

    ¡°You will protest, I am sure, that it was your intent to provoke the renegades into hasty action out on the plain, where they could be more easily destroyed.¡± Igor was by this point curled on the floor, struggling to shield his head and body from repeated kicks by a pair of glossy black dress shoes. He seemed in a poor condition to protest anything. ¡°So you have maintained. But what is that, but a proclamation of your own idleness? And you have seen the terrible results.¡±

    Igor was weeping now, and the Knyaz retreated several paces to survey his work. Ilyin¡¯s eyes remained shut. ¡°You have provided valuable service to Holy Rus¡¯, Igor Semyonovich, and it is the will of the Knyazya that you continue to do so. You provided similar service to the Soviets, and were totally indifferent to the change of regimes. You are, I know, only what I have helped to make you, and so I bear some of the blame, for which God forgive me. But your arrogance and indolence, your cynical contempt for the highest concerns of state security and the welfare of the people¡ªthese cannot be condoned, and will not be tolerated.¡±

    Now Ilyin opened his eyes, but turned away from his battered pupil to look at Marko as he concluded his speech. ¡°You imagine yourself indispensable, or even unassailable. You have just seen that you are not. As oprichnik you are granted great latitude, and a life of privilege, but only so you may better serve the state. We will not accept divided or halfhearted loyalties.¡± Marko looked down at the humiliated torturer, bleeding on the floor, and almost imperceptibly nodded.

    The Knyaz had been putting his gloves away, and examined his attire for blemishes. Finding a damp spot on his silken hood, he wiped it on his jacket sleeve, then pointed first at Sergei, then at the prostrate Igor, then at the door. Sergei hastened to retrieve his colleague and help him out of the wretched building. The man and woman remained on the floor, not having moved once the entire time. ¡°Those would be Trifon Linsky, alias Ramzan Magomed al-Murid, and Therese Bechard. Are they still alive?¡±

    ¡°Alive, yes,¡± Igor muttered. ¡°But good for nothing now. I have had to work too quickly, with no gentleness. And this is the thanks I get.¡±

    Sergei doubted whether Igor knew what gentleness was, but there seemed to be no profit in attempting a reform of his character at so late a date. ¡°Have you learned anything more of them, since your last report?¡±

    ¡°A moment, I beg you,¡± he groaned.

    The Knyaz directed them back to their cars, where Sergei and Marko deposited Igor across the back seat of their own conveyance. When he was settled, he declared, ¡°I have extracted all I can from them, and I am confident I have the names of every important man in the Imam¡¯s organization.¡±

    ¡°And the Bechard woman¡¯s?¡± said Marko.

    Igor somehow contrived to smile, though not the vile grimace with which he had greeted them. ¡°Oh, I had forgotten that. She has no organization. Hell of a thing.¡±

    ¡°Igor, explain yourself,¡± Ilyin commanded.

    ¡°They¡¯re not actually under Western control,¡± Igor said, his eyes closed, plainly enjoying himself in spite of his considerable injuries. ¡°It took me a long time to learn that, and longer to confirm it. I felt sure she was holding something back. I had to get five men, make them all look like her dead husband, and¡ª¡°

    The Knyaz struck the roof of the car with his fist. Igor flinched.

    ¡°I am confident that she has not spoken with anyone in NATO since at least the time of Tatiana Goncharova¡¯s death. And she was confident that they hadn¡¯t been working with anyone before that, either. Not since they left Turkey, at least. All this wasn¡¯t anybody¡¯s operation, not even hers. She was barely a chaperon, more like a servant, and struggled to hold the group together at all most of the time. The little bastards were just bumbling around, doing whatever they wanted. It seems to have been a pathetic business.¡±

    Ilyin looked to the Knyaz, who nodded back and motioned for him to continue. ¡°Igor, did any of the Imam¡¯s men know of the whereabouts of Yuri Voronin, or the girl Maria?¡±

    ¡°No. I could interview them further, but everyone who was on that mountain seems to have burned alive, and we found no traces of either in the area. If he lives, he has gone silent.¡±

    Again Ilyin looked to the Knyaz, who shook his head and tapped at his handsome gold watch. Ilyin sighed. ¡°I think we are finished here, Igor. As are you. We will take you home to rest, and continue governing this oblast once you feel fit. If I were you, I would pay more attention this time.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Igor muttered back. The beating had only marginally improved his attitude, and Sergei did not doubt that he would shortly return to his customary impertinence once they moved on with the Knyaz.

    The Knyaz, however, did not appear disposed to move on as yet. Sergei, his budding snowdrop flower safely ensconced in his mind¡¯s eye, watched the man straighten up and survey the improvised settlement. It was unclear how many men Igor had brought to work or be interrogated here, but Sergei imagined it was at least fifty, and more probably twice that number. Most, if not all, would know a great deal about a shape-shifting familiar who alternated forms and valences. The rest would be privy to other secrets of varying degrees of sensitivity. There would not be sufficient time to winnow so vast a heap. Such were the burdens of state service.

    Marko came and stood at Sergei¡¯s shoulder to watch a Knyaz at work for the first time. It was in truth a brief display, for they had a great deal of lost time to make up. Kist the Golden sprang out of the pond like a deer, landing lightly atop the shed and spattering its roof with water. Even as he landed, the ghostly forms of three-stone megalithic ¡°arches¡± were coming into being in a circle around the doomed settlement, delineating the space of his sovereignty. It would not be long.

    Kist was often described as resembling a centaur, which Sergei supposed was superficially true. But his form was more graceful and proportionate than the cumbersome chimera of classical myth, the two arms as long as the four legs, and all of his golden body was coated alike in plates and scutes of gold, and silver, and bronze. The sinuous curve of his body, from the high-crested helmet to the barbed whipping tailtip, suggested a serpent far more than a horse or a man to Sergei¡¯s eyes. Yet there was something of the mantis in it, as well, and all in a style like an ancient Scythian grave ornament. The eyes of Kist were like enormous rubies, and his hands grasped a round shield and a long lance tipped at either end.

    A curvetting leap brought him to the top lintel stone of the nearest arch. The lance swung down in command, and at once every trailer, toilet, and shed was crushed to the ground under a gravity abruptly multiplied. The lance swung up again, and the wreckage, together with much of the grass and topsoil, was thrown into the air and compressed to a single infinitesimal spot above where the shack had once stood. Then Kist reared into the air on his hind legs and tail, and vanished with his circle of stones, and all that was left was a patch of bare and ravaged earth.

 CII. Loose Ends (Fatima)

    As it turned out, even in Russia, there just weren¡¯t that many people looking to buy automatic weapons off a thirteen-year-old girl.

    Fatima should have known better. She did know better; it was just that Dagestan had spoiled her. She¡¯d been hoping for a little of that same fedayeen energy to spill over into Astrakhan next door ¡­ but nope. Not a prayer. They were all posers. Didn¡¯t none of these lazy bitches grow up field-stripping AKs. They were even worse than those punk Turks.

    The three of them got into the big city after two days on the road, fighting through the usual refugee traffic with a trunkload of scorched but usable salvaged supplies. That included some cash, but not much, since rubles were made of flammable paper. So most of their money had black marks on it and smelled bad. They weren¡¯t alone there, but that was a problem too: they weren¡¯t alone. Tons of desperate people flooding into town at the same time, driving up prices and eating up the same supplies.

    So they needed more cash. That meant selling something, and the only thing they had worth selling was a bunch of guns in okay condition, picked by Nadia in a quick Mister Higgins run through the mountaintop. Guns, but no ammo¡ªalmost all of that got cooked off. Thank God they¡¯d kept everything unloaded. Anyway, they now had eight valuable weapons of different sizes ¡­ and no way to move them.

    Nadia tried. Fatima had to give her that. She was the only one of them who spoke Russian, and even though she was in a seriously fucked-up place, she got her head together enough to take their two pistols into a pawn shop and ask for a price. But then she came back out, less than a minute later, still carrying both guns.

    ¡°He told me to leave before he called the police,¡± she said, in the same creepy monotone she said everything in these days.

    ¡°Shit. Were you at least ¡­ acting normal? Did you try that?¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°I mean, did you smile, or make eye contact, or did you just mumble at the counter like a druggie?¡±

    Nadia threw the guns onto the floorboard and exclaimed to the car¡¯s roof: ¡°Oh, if only we had somebody with us who knew how to sell firearms!¡±

    ¡°No need to be a bitch about it,¡± Fatima grumbled, but only for her own ears.

    The next few pawn shops weren¡¯t any better. They tried switching it up so she brought in rifles or smgs or just one pistol¡ªno difference. Then they went to some small markets, chatted up newspaper stands for leads, and even had Fatima spend about twenty minutes memorizing a little speech in Russian, in case it was just that lily-white Nadia looked too much like a setup. Nope. They told Fatima to get the hell out too.

    After six hours¡¯ work, and no results, Fatima was starting to get seriously worried. They were running out of food, even the stale bread that smelled like death, and Rus wasn¡¯t really up to eating that kind of food yet. They¡¯d used the last IV bag yesterday morning. He was looking a lot skinnier these days, and he didn¡¯t complain, but he got tired easy.

    Well, it was better than right after the bridge, when they thought Rus was going to die. That was something. Not much, though.

    The last of their cash got them fast food for dinner, and Fatima forgot her worries while she reminded Rus how to suck up soda with a straw. He seemed to like it, and it at least had calories. Soda was cheap, if they could just get more money from somewhere. They could keep sleeping in the car, since it wasn¡¯t so miserably cold anymore at the tail end of March, and they were armed.

    Which left just one other problem. ¡°Nadia, eat. You can¡¯t save the soup till morning.¡±

    Nadia shrugged. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°And nothing! I¡¯m not risking my ass, and wasting all our money, hauling you all the way back to Kazakhstan, if you¡¯re just going to starve halfway there.¡± She almost shouted it. They were in the car, and safe. For the moment.

    ¡°It takes weeks to starve. I¡¯m still drinking. I¡¯m just not hungry.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re going to get back home, throw a big ol¡¯ pity party for yourself, then starve. What do you even want to go back there for?¡±

    ¡°Because I have nowhere else to go.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got the whole world.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve made enemies of all of them. But I don¡¯t want to see any of it.¡±

    ¡°Hell. Honey, I get that you¡¯re not happy with me, but you can¡¯t¡ª¡°

    ¡°It¡¯s not about you, Fatima. It never was.¡±

    ¡°Look, you fuckin¡¯ told me not to bring him back! I offered.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s not about that, either. I¡¯m not mourning my brother. I told you, he died a long time ago.¡±

    ¡°Not mourning? Bullshit. You¡¯re sure mourning for something.¡±

    ¡°Myself. I¡¯m mourning myself.¡±

    How pompous was this child going to get? ¡°What does that even mean? You¡¯re weirded out because you died¡ªis that it?¡±

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    Nadia rolled her eyes. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Why? You think I¡¯m stupid?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re Fatima. And I am Nadia. But I don¡¯t want to be Nadia anymore. That¡¯s the problem.¡±

    Fatima shoved down the last of her mushroom-potato crepe thing. ¡°Well, you¡¯re right. I don¡¯t understand. Congratulations, sis.¡±

    Nadia put her soup in Fatima¡¯s lap. ¡°Here. I know you don¡¯t like borscht, but I¡¯m just not going to finish it.¡± Then she reclined her seat¡ªRuslan was in the middle, so they could both do it without squishing him too bad¡ªand closed her eyes.

    The street around them was all lit up; they were right in the heart of Astrakhan city, and it was just early evening. Laughing people crossed the street right in front of them, on their way to a movie theater. But they wouldn¡¯t sleep that well anywhere, there was nowhere better to go, and they did have to save gas. So Fatima shut her mouth, tilted her own seat back, and tried to get some rest. God only knew what they were going to do in the morning.

    She dropped off sooner than expected, and woke up groggy at¡ªshe checked her phone¡ªhalf past three in the morning. The street was still bright, but a lot less busy. It was raining, but not that hard. More than drizzling, enough that nobody else was out on the streets. Nobody had tried to break into the car, but nobody had bothered to look in on them, either, in all that time. Why would they? Ruslan¡¯s wheelchair was hidden in the back. They were just three random kids in a car, two of them girls, all too young to look like trouble, in the middle of a refugee crisis. Anybody who stopped to check on them might feel like he maybe had to do something to help, and there were too damn many people needing help these days.

    Ay?e. That was her name. The little Turk brat, the soldier¡¯s kid from Tatvan. The one who got Sergeant Stiff¡¯s familiar, and caused them all that trouble back on the island. Ay?e had a way of popping back up in Fatima¡¯s memory at the weirdest times, like now, and for whatever reason Fatima had a hard time forgetting her again when she remembered. What had happened to that kid, anyway? And where was she now? They hadn¡¯t had any more problems with her, so Fatima assumed she was still back in Turkey, trying to figure out how to live now that her dad was dead and she¡¯d helped kill like five hundred prisoners as part of somebody¡¯s fucked-up psy-ops mind game. Where the hell did a kid even go, from a place like that?

    She thought about it until her eyes got heavy again, and she wasn¡¯t any closer to an answer. So she turned over in her seat¡ªthere really wasn¡¯t any comfortable way to lie down in a cold car that you¡¯d spent the last three days in¡ªand was about to fall back asleep when she realized that Nadia was talking. Was talking, and had been talking for a while, only Fatima hadn¡¯t realized. It was like music played in the background at a restaurant, that you heard but didn¡¯t notice until one word in the chorus made you pay attention.

    Mind you, it wasn¡¯t all that clear, right away, that Nadia was specifically talking to her. She might not have been talking to anybody at all; she was on her back with her arms behind her head, eyes closed, and at first Fatima thought she was mumbling in her sleep, it was so slow and quiet. Only it was too organized for that.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that I had a lot to lose. We were never rich. My father was an accountant, I forget for what kind of company, but it¡¯s gone now. We lived in a little apartment, and the neighbors were friends with me but I was just such a brat. I really was. You can¡¯t imagine how much they spoiled me, because I was the younger child, and the girl, and I didn¡¯t even know I was spoiled. The whole world was about me, as far as I knew.

    ¡°And then when the city died, I knew, all of a sudden, what I was, and I remembered how I used to cry and whine and make all this trouble over everything, and ¡­ and just the memory of it, it disgusted me, now that I knew what real troubles were. Now that I was a monster¡¯s child, and it was too late to go back and say I was sorry, or to thank all those people who put up with me for so long.

    ¡°So I tried to do better. I didn¡¯t have anyone to tell me what to do; my priest was dead, and my teachers, and the nice neighbors, and my parents were gone, and Yuri was starting to turn sick even before Titus really got a hold of him and did his best to make him into the Antichrist. There was nothing for me to do but try to be better, to be better than I was, to be better than them, to be good so there was something in my life that wasn¡¯t disgusting, anything I didn¡¯t have to be ashamed of.

    ¡°You know who I was. You know what I did. You¡¯ve complained, enough times, about my conscience, and what an awful nuisance it could be. I was doing my best. Sometimes even I knew I was ridiculous, I think, even if I wouldn¡¯t admit it, to cling to this tiny little bit of principle or that even when ¡­ you know. Straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel.¡±

    She stopped talking for a while after that, but it didn¡¯t sound like she had gone back to sleep. She was breathing too fast. ¡°I hear you,¡± Fatima said, in case that was all she was waiting for.

    And apparently it was. ¡°When I killed Titus ¡­ I won¡¯t be ashamed of that. But I used to be, just a little. Because he was my father, or said he was. Isn¡¯t that ridiculous? How just the word ¡®father¡¯ can carry more weight than the real thing? That should have been a warning for me, that I was only ever pretending. I had to be a good girl, and good girls listen to their fathers. They don¡¯t hit and hurt! But I think maybe I was only playing.

    ¡°¨¦zarine was poison, too. Pure poison. Now that she¡¯s gone¡ªand I really think she is¡ªI can say that, and not feel like a hypocrite, because she isn¡¯t me anymore. I always knew she would ruin me, even early on, before I would admit it. Claude was a sick, sick man to make her, and wherever he is, I hope he¡¯s happier now. If he¡¯s anywhere at all. I don¡¯t know what I think about that, either, and even that hardly matters now, with all the other things I have to worry about.

    ¡°But she did make me strong. No, not strong, maybe. But valuable. She made me too important to throw away, and she pointed me in new directions, where I could take her anger and her power and break what needed to be broken, then blame her when the damage was done. I guess that¡¯s why we believe in demons, so we can hate the things we do without hating ourselves. And ¨¦zarine was a powerful demon.

    ¡°Of course I couldn¡¯t keep that up forever. I couldn¡¯t make myself that stupid. I nearly died when I knew what I was, when I knew that the good little girl I¡¯d been building up for four years had turned into a murderer in the space of two months. You know that. But I listened when other people tried to help me, the same way they always tried in Guryev, to shepherd the little brat through her tantrums. I didn¡¯t deserve it, but all of you saved me.

    ¡°When Yuri died ¡­ I still don¡¯t miss him, you know. Not more than I missed him when he was still there, if he was even there at all. Maybe he was just Shum-Shum in a Yuri suit, by the end. I was glad to see him go, and I won¡¯t be ashamed of that either. If Titus was bad, he was worse. Unless Titus was worse, for making him. It doesn¡¯t make a difference, when they¡¯re both gone.

    ¡°But that took the wool away from my eyes again, don¡¯t you see? I promised him, Metakken¡¯s master, that I would stop Yuri, and I did. Shum-Shum won¡¯t ever play his awful music again, unless these foul things can be adopted a second time. I can¡¯t help that, if they can. Either way, I stopped Yuri, but I wasn¡¯t thinking about any promise when I did it. I was only relieved to see him gone. And that brought it all crashing down, in a moment.¡±

    Another long pause. ¡°Well, you weren¡¯t wrong,¡± Fatima ventured.

    ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t. And I can think of reasons why I shouldn¡¯t have done it anyway¡ªRuslan might have gone mad from the pain of bringing him back, and let out the black thing again, and killed us all. I was probably right not to risk it, not that I was thinking of it back then.

    ¡°But isn¡¯t it funny? All that time I wasted, all that work I did, struggling to be a good girl, and making apologies for my brother, and trying to use my pet demon for only good causes. But all I really needed to do was let you at him with a shotgun. You saved at least ten thousand innocent lives in a mad accident, after murdering a girl you were jealous of, all on ¡­ a half-baked suspicion, really. Your bad intentions did more than my good ones ever did, because they removed Yuri from the world.

    ¡°It should be funny, but I can¡¯t laugh. Because after all my efforts, I am certain that, if anybody bothers to remember me at all when I am gone, they will say of me that the best thing I ever did was to leave my only brother to die.¡±

 CII. Memory Eternal (Nadia)

    ¡°Okay, we¡¯re here. Finally. A week on the road, two looted ATMs, one more stolen car, about twenty different scares and close calls, six or seven missed meals, and at this point I think you¡¯ve pretty much used up all the guilt points I owe you for wasting a little turd who happened to be have some of your DNA, when you wouldn¡¯t even let me try to bring him back. You ain¡¯t even given me a clear reason why you wanna be here. But we¡¯re here. All three of us. Together. So ¡­ what now?¡±

    Nadia looked out of the window at a little clump of distant buildings on the horizon. ¡°This isn¡¯t Guryev.¡±

    ¡°The hell you say! We asked every¡ª¡°

    ¡°They renamed it,¡± Nadia clarified, pointing at a sign that said §¡§ä§í§â§Ñ§å, Atyrau. ¡°Even the name is different now. They aren¡¯t calling it Guryev anymore.¡±

    ¡°Okay. And that means what to me?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, please. We just got here. Give me a moment.¡± She¡¯d been eight years old when Guryev burned. Old enough to have memories of the place, long enough ago that she couldn¡¯t put them in order. Even if they¡¯d rebuilt the city into an exact replica of the one Shum-Shum burnt, she wouldn¡¯t know her way around. But of course they hadn¡¯t. This was just another Kazakh city. The men who paid to repair it¡ªand she didn¡¯t see a bit of wreckage, everything was sparkling new¡ªweren¡¯t concerned with orphans¡¯ nostalgia. They wanted to recover the oil fields, and the harbor on the Caspian Sea.

    It wasn¡¯t a very large city yet, more of a good-sized town; most of the old residents had died, and the survivors, she felt sure, had nothing left to keep them here. Nadia had nothing left anywhere else, either, and so came here anyway. ¡°Drive us through town, please. I want to see more.¡±

    ¡°Morbid tourism,¡± Fatima griped, but put the car back into gear.

    Why did it trouble her so much, that this was a different place than she remembered? It wasn¡¯t part of her life anymore. This was only the point where her life had started to go wrong. It made sense¡ªsort of¡ªto retrace her steps, and find a new path from that old branch. She thought maybe that was why they were here. But it wasn¡¯t the same place. There were no roots left to tap into.

    Certainly she would never find any graves marked ¡°Mikhail Voronin¡± or ¡°Aleksandra Voronina.¡± The best she could hope for would be some kind of monument¡ªif the Knyazya even permitted such a thing. Officially, Guryev had been destroyed after an uprising. It might have been judged better not to mention the matter at all.

    Did any of the people here know the truth? She didn¡¯t know if any of the people they drove past on the street had lived here before, or known anyone who had. Maybe the authorities had bussed in all new people to run the new oil wells and refineries, and told them what it pleased. Those people would know better than to ask the wrong kinds of question. Even if they passed on the truth in secret¡ªif they cared enough to repeat a story that didn¡¯t touch on their lives¡ªthe official version would become the real truth in time, and any story about a rogue American emissor and an unwisely unleashed primeval would be dismissed as a bizarre rumor, unsupported by any evidence¡ª

    ¡°Wait! Stop.¡± They jerked to a halt, and Nadia pointed down the road. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Fatima squinted. ¡°Looks like a church. Big one.¡±

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s a church. But ¡­ I recognize it! Go there.¡±

    Fatima shrugged and complied. ¡°So, they rebuilt the old church?¡±

    ¡°Perfectly. This is exactly how I remembered it.¡± She remembered it as a big building, and it was. Pink brick walls traced with white trim, and a blue-and-green roof topped with seven brilliant gold onion domes. Really it wasn¡¯t a very pretty building; the nineteenth-century style was fussy and overdone, to Nadia¡¯s eye. It reminded her of a gigantic gingerbread house with all the gumdrops picked off and eaten. But then, it always had, even when she was a child. And somebody had seen fit to make an exact replica.

    A sign by the door said it was the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Mother of God, and listed service times. A little plaque, a discreet distance away, told the world that the cathedral had been very badly damaged in a fire in 2008, and rebuilt through the generous contributions of such-and-such individuals, supplemented by state funds. They didn¡¯t say what caused the fire, though.

    ¡°Wait here, would you?¡± To her surprise, the front door was open, and she heard singing inside. But it was Saturday. Was it normal to have services on Saturdays in Lent? She honestly couldn¡¯t remember. It sounded right, though.

    The inside was not so perfect a replica as the outside, she thought. She remembered very well the long hours she spent standing during services, looking at the dozens or hundreds of icons covering the walls. Many of them had been old, and not easily replaced. They hadn¡¯t gone to the bother of hand-painting exact copies, only put in other icons, some of them plainly new. The massive four-tiered ikonostas screen in front of the altar was pretty close, though, and the equally overdone chandelier was at least very close to the one she¡¯d been scared to walk under as a little girl, for fear of having it fall on her head and crush her.

    It was late in the morning, and she recognized the tail end of a liturgy in progress. There were thirty or forty people standing on the polished floor; not many compared to what the building could hold, but then it was a Saturday. The priest came out of the altar area, and she squinted, but of course it wasn¡¯t Father Fyodor. He was dead. This priest was a younger man, forty at most, with a red-brown beard.

    They sang ¡°Blessed be the Name of the Lord,¡± and she caught herself singing along¡ªof course they hadn¡¯t changed the tune. She couldn¡¯t say she was feeling particularly blessed or thankful at the moment, but she kept singing anyway, in case it would make her feel better. It didn¡¯t.

    Then the priest moved over to a little table in front of the ikonostas, and began to sing the panikhida for the dead. Here, too, she sang along from the very back of the church, taking the parts of choir and priest alike because she sang softly and nobody would notice and it pleased her to be improper in this petty and meaningless way. She thought of the last time she¡¯d sung this prayer, in the ruins of Sumela, when she¡¯d thought she was singing it for Fatima. Ironically, Fatima was alive and whole now, when almost everyone else had died. Nadia barely felt alive herself. Maybe it was better to be Fatima, and survive everything unmoved.

    When the priest got to the part where he named the individuals to be commemorated, instead of listing one or two people he got out a sheaf of papers and started reading a whole list of names off, very quickly. When he got to the end of one sheet he moved on to the next. More than a minute passed, and Nadia realized he was naming the departed for the whole church. She was sure to add, in her head, the names of Mikhail, Aleksandra, and Father Fyodor, her neighbor Ms. Belyaeva, the man at the grocery bakery whose name escaped her, and everyone else she was sure would be left out. God remembered, assuming He was there. Last of all she remembered Yuri. It felt obscene, but he needed mercy if anyone did, and if this was the last place her life had been right, it was also the last place where Yuri could be called a victim.

    The service ended. The faithful streamed out of the church to eat the boiled wheat in remembrance of their dead. Nadia stayed behind, hidden in a corner, and nobody seemed to notice her. Everyone had their own problems. The altar boys took off their robes and left, and the deacon too, while the priest stayed behind to consume the last of the Eucharist. He did not notice Nadia until he took off his own deep-purple vestments and stepped out from behind the altar in a plain black cassock. Only then did Nadia come forward, walking much more quickly than she meant to with her fists clenched at her sides.

    ¡°What can I do for you, child?¡± the priest asked her.

    Child. Just ¡®child.¡¯ ¡°What is your name, Father?¡±

    ¡°My name is Arseny. Is everything all right?¡± He at least looked sincere.

    How would she even answer that? ¡°I have some questions for you, Father Arseny. How do you think this town was destroyed, four and a half years ago?¡±

    At once his face hardened. ¡°You should know that is not the kind of thing one talks about casually, young woman.¡±

    ¡°Well, what was it? Was it an uprising? A revolt? An insurrection?¡± He flinched, but nodded. ¡°You know that¡¯s a lie, don¡¯t you? There was no revolt. The Knyazya only want you to believe that, when they did it themselves.¡± His expression changed again. ¡°No, I¡¯m not crazy, Father. It¡¯s the truth. I was there, and I saw it myself!¡±

    The priest looked towards the door, then back at her. ¡°And why are you telling me this now?¡±

    ¡°Because you left a lot of names off your list.¡±

    ¡°This is a Saturday of Souls. All the dead are remembered today, whether we name them or not. God remembers.¡±

    ¡°Remembers, and does nothing.¡±

    ¡°Nothing visible,¡± he corrected her. ¡°Is that what troubles you? What is your name, child?¡±

    ¡°Nadezhda Aleksandra Mikhailovna Voronina,¡± she told him, hoping to provoke a reaction of shock and fear. Evidently this priest was not very political, though, or else news traveled slowly in Kazakhstan these days, because his face didn¡¯t change at all. So she went on, ¡°I was here when this city burnt down, all those years ago.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°But you are alive now,¡± he pointed out.

    ¡°That is debatable, Father, and in ways you don¡¯t even know.¡± Again he glanced to the door. She got the impression he wasn¡¯t afraid¡ªhe really did think she was just an angry child¡ªonly he had things to do, and he didn¡¯t understand this conversation. She was making a mess of it. She hadn¡¯t meant to say any of this nonsense. ¡°I don¡¯t want to take too much of your time, Father. Just tell me this: what happens to the dead, when they sin because of a familiar?¡±

    ¡°We are not told. There were no familiars when the Bible was written, or when the Councils were held. But the Fathers agree that the will of man is weak, and he is forever confounded by the lies of the demons. We cannot always perfectly control the things we do, or the choices we make. But there is a space, a little space of freedom which Satan cannot take away, however small, and the choices we make inside that space¡ªthose are what we are judged by, I think. How we used what freedom we had. What is the matter?¡±

    She¡¯d suddenly thought of Mila. She forced her face straight again. ¡°What if the familiar is their own?¡±

    At once Father Arseny¡¯s face became more guarded again. ¡°It is not for us to judge the officers of the state,¡± he said, as if he were reciting a slogan.

    ¡°The person I am thinking of was never an officer of any state. He was a child, barely older than me, and a mass murderer. Now he is dead. Will you tell me where he went?¡±

    ¡°I would never presume to say that of anyone. That is God¡¯s choice, and none of mine.¡± That line came out easy too, but then he hesitated. ¡°Who are you thinking of, Nadezhda Mikhailovna?¡±

    ¡°My brother Yuri,¡± she said. Now, at last, his face got a little more concerned. ¡°We were the children¡ªthe slaves¡ªof Titus Marshall, whom I killed. Then we were the tools of the Russian state, and then the American, and then I suppose the French, and along the way we killed one oprichnik and tried to kill two more, when we were not destroying the railway in the Crimea or killing random innocents who happened to get in our way. But none of that has anything to do with you.¡±

    His face had gone perfectly white over the course of her speech, and at the end he sat down, rather hard, on the little dais of the soleya before the ikonostas, where he had just stood to offer up prayers for the dead. He looked at her and said nothing at all.

    ¡°Before all that happened, my brother Yuri and I lived in this city as private citizens of the Soviet, then the Russian, state. He was a good, cheerful, outgoing boy, and took very good care of me when Father worked and Mother was busy. Then, one day, an American scoundrel came into town with three children he had been exploiting¡ªthree children armed with emissors. And a Russian agent with a primeval came after him, to kill him or drive him from Russian land, they didn¡¯t care which. None of that has anything to do with you either, or with me, but between them all they burnt Guryev to the ground, and this church is the only trace of it left, and it¡¯s a fake. Are you listening to me, Father? Do you understand all this?¡±

    Father Arseny nodded.

    ¡°It was only chance, or the will of God, that let us survive. My father was at work, and we were home with my mother when Shum-Shum attacked our neighborhood. We were all clapping and giggling together¡ªbecause that is what Shum-Shum does¡ªand didn¡¯t stop laughing when my mother choked on the smoke and fell down unconscious. It was only chance, or the will of God, that Shum-Shum stopped just then, and we were sane again. Yuri was as frightened as I was, but he was older, and he couldn¡¯t wake our mother up again. So he took me by the hand, and got me out of the apartment to safety before it could collapse. I think we survived because we were small, and most of the smoke rose over our heads.

    ¡°He got us down to the ground, and then because he didn¡¯t know where else to go he took me to our school, but it was burning too, and then to this church, but I saw it fall down with my own eyes as we were running to take shelter. We kept looking for places where we would be safe, but there weren¡¯t any. We got to a park, and even the trees were on fire, but it was the best we could find, and we couldn¡¯t go any farther. We were both exhausted.

    ¡°Once we were done running, there was nothing else to do but cry. I¡¯m absolutely certain that Yuri wanted to cry as much as I did. He was only a year and a half older than me. Still, he was the elder, and Father had taught him right, what a man ought to do, and his sister was scared. So this hapless, lost, and frightened orphan child, what did he do? He stood up in the middle of a burning city, with everyone he knew dead, and he started singing songs, because he thought it would cheer her up. Stupid songs, the kind that appeal to babies or very small children. He couldn¡¯t think of anything else to do!

    ¡°He didn¡¯t even know what Shum-Shum was. Our parents had tried to shelter us from all this. Certainly he didn¡¯t know that familiars could adopt new hosts, provided they were young¡ªall that was a state secret back then, before we came along. And of course neither of us could have known that Shum-Shum¡¯s master had finally gotten his crazy self killed earlier in the day. All he was trying to do was cheer up his sister; he had no idea what was going on.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t matter that it wasn¡¯t working; I wasn¡¯t even paying attention to him, just sitting in the dirt and sobbing hysterically. I didn¡¯t notice when the monster came and found us. It was just another orphan looking for comfort and shelter by then. And Yuri ¡­ Yuri was acting like a kindred spirit. So Shum-Shum moved in.

    ¡°I noticed when that happened, because Yuri suddenly started laughing a lot harder. He laughed so hard he fell down, and nearly fell on me. I remember I screamed at him, but he didn¡¯t pay attention because he was shaking on the ground, like he was having a seizure or something. So I hit him, a bunch of times. I might have saved our lives without knowing it, by hurting him so much he couldn¡¯t accidentally call Shum-Shum back out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he understood what had happened, but he knew something had happened, and it scared him. So he got me running again, because he didn¡¯t feel safe. We went more than a day before we got to eat again, lapping dirty water out of puddles, and I whined at Yuri the whole time. At some point he figured out that he could call Shum-Shum; he did it in the middle of the night by accident, when he had a weird dream. Then he used him on purpose, a time or two, to drive away some scary men. Those men might have been innocent, I don¡¯t know. We were both terrified.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t know that the American had survived, and that he would be looking for someone like us. He took a couple of days to find us, but he controlled this part of Kazakhstan by then so he could take his time. By the time he cornered us, we were in no condition to refuse his offer of food and shelter and a place in his ¡®family.¡¯ And then it was all downhill; we were as good as slaves, and in a matter of months Yuri turned into a selfish murdering pervert.

    ¡°Where was our little bit of freedom in any of that? As far as I can tell, it was all a trap, from start to finish. We happened to be in the way, and the only way it could have gone different is if we¡¯d done something slightly wrong and been killed instead. At best, we might have been picked up by the government, the same government that let Shum-Shum loose on the city in the first place.

    ¡°So let me ask you again: how does your God judge Yuri Mikhailovich Voronin? Is He judging the demon he became, or the good and scared boy who invited in the demon without even meaning to? Does God simply wind back time, and take away four years of wasted life, and make him forget who he was and what he did? I can¡¯t think of any other way the boy I knew could stand to have been the boy who burnt a hundred cities just the same as his own. But that awful boy was real, no less real than the sweet golden child of Guryev. I remember him better, certainly. He buried half of the memories I had of the good Yuri, and poisoned the rest.

    ¡°How does even God dare to judge that boy? Well? How does He do it? I want you to answer me. I¡¯m not leaving until you do.¡±

    Father Arseny swallowed, and licked his lips, and looked at the door more than once.

    ¡°Come on. I¡¯m not going to hurt you. But you are a priest of God. If you can¡¯t answer this question, who can? Speak up.¡±

    ¡°These are deep questions,¡± he said, ¡°and deeper than I am used to answering. You ask them suddenly. But if I must answer, I will say that we have very little insight into the mind of the living God. He does not explain Himself to anyone. But the epistle tells us it is the will of God that all should be saved, and come to the knowledge of the truth. I never met your brother. I will pray to God for both of you, and trust that He is merciful. There is nothing more I can do.¡±

    ¡°That isn¡¯t very much.¡±

    ¡°I know it. I don¡¯t know why any part of your story happened, Nadezhda Mikhailovna. But I don¡¯t know why things happen in my life, either. We are all in the hands of God. We can have faith, or not.¡±

    ¡°Why should I have faith, when it has led me so far?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know you. I can¡¯t say whether you have kept faith or not. But at the very least, you are alive. The path of repentance is open to you.¡±

    ¡°Repentance for what? All of this was a trap, I tell you. We were caught up in a disaster someone else made, and made new troubles for others, and it¡¯s all part of a stupid and cruel story God is telling for His own amusement, if He is even there. Can you show me any different?¡±

    ¡°If that is what you want to believe, I cannot stop you. If it makes you happy to believe that, I am sure you will. But I don¡¯t think it does.¡±

    ¡°What does that matter, if it¡¯s the truth? I think we¡¯re done here, Father Arseny. Thank you for your time, and have a blessed Fast.¡±

    She got halfway to the door before he understood what she was doing. Then he got up to follow her, bleating excuses and offers of help. She turned around and motioned for him to stay, and at once he gave it up, recoiling from the gesture like he¡¯d been scalded. Timid little mouse of a man. She¡¯d given God a chance to answer her out of the whirlwind; Father Arseny might have been a good priest, very good at spooning out platitudes for his flock, but he made a sad substitute for a talking storm.

    She found Fatima in the parking lot, leaning through the open door of the car do to help Ruslan do his leg stretches in the back seat. ¡°There we go! Just two more, okay? You¡¯re doing great, keep at it. That¡¯s right! I gotta tell you, I¡¯m just so proud of you right now. We done here, Nadia?¡±

    ¡°I think so. Sorry for keeping you so long.¡±

    ¡°You better be. Made us late for all the other important shit we got to do, you know?¡±

    ¡°What else do we¡ª¡°

    ¡°It was a joke. Damn, child.¡± She stretched and rubbed her lower back. ¡°Oof. This is still your show. Where to?¡±

    Nadia got into the passenger seat. ¡°I really don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°You okay?¡± She grunted the words out as she helped Ruslan back into position and buckled him in.

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Fatima took the driver¡¯s seat again. ¡°You want to go get lunch? We¡¯ve still got plenty of cash from the second ATM.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡± Fatima could take them all the way back to Afghanistan now, for all she cared. She¡¯d been threatening to for the last thirty-six hours.

    ¡°¡­ you want to talk about it?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She stared at the catch of the glove compartment, framed between her raised knees as she slumped in the seat.

    ¡°Hey, there¡¯s some dude poking his head out of the church. Red beard, black robe. Looking this way. He going to be a problem?¡±

    Nadia didn¡¯t even turn to look. ¡°Ignore him. He¡¯s nobody.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± The key turned in the ignition, and the motor roared to life.

 CIV. Breaking News (Keisha)

    Her phone lit up on the nightstand at two in the morning, and her eyes cracked open just before it started ringing. For a long moment she let it ring while she glared at it, willing it to fall off the edge on its own and break. When that didn¡¯t work, she turned over and covered her ear with her pillow. It was a test; if this was an actually important call, they wouldn¡¯t settle for leaving a message.

    Sixteen rings, a pause, and it started ringing again. Yes, it was important. She reached out for it, and nearly knocked it on the floor. ¡°Graham. What?¡± The voice on the other end was crisp and urgent. After a few seconds¡¯ listen, she agreed: this was worth waking up for.

    An hour later, she and Dr. Gus were huddled together at the table in the kitchenette. She was fortified with bracing news and a double espresso; he had refused anything stronger than mineral water, and wasn¡¯t quite as awake. ¡°Please, slow down, and bear in mind that modern communications technology is not my strength,¡± he said. ¡°Again: who has sent what to whom, and how?¡±

    ¡°The ¡®what¡¯ part is the easiest to answer. A couple of hundred different files¡ªa mix of scanned physical documents, word processor files, and images, mixed in with some other stuff. All in Russian. They think it¡¯s legit. You could fake all this, technically, but it all seems consistent, and there just aren¡¯t that many people who even know about all this, let alone having the motivation to make up such a big heap of lies about it.¡±

    She laid her phone on the table to show him the big hook: Yuri Voronin-Marshall, his skin pale green and beginning to puff up beneath a layer of grey dirt, a very large wound in the center of his chest. ¡°Like that. Timestamp on the image is last Wednesday, in Russian, and consistent with known Russian equipment. If they faked this with computers or something, they did a really good job, and I couldn¡¯t tell you why.¡±

    Dr. Gus looked briefly at the image before remarking, ¡°Thankfully, it will be some time before breakfast. Where was this picture taken?¡±

    ¡°Supposedly, the hills of Dagestan. Southwest Russia. He¡¯d been buried in a hurry, in some kind of ¡­ mountain village? I don¡¯t know. They¡¯re still translating this stuff. Had to dig up relevant experts with the right clearance, I guess. And I haven¡¯t even read all of what they have translated.¡±

    ¡°And we were given this windfall by ¡­¡±

    ¡°The address belongs to an old Czech expat who runs a produce stand in Leeds, England. He was pretty shocked when they knocked on his door. No political involvement, or any kind of connections to Moscow; he doesn¡¯t speak a word of Russian. Oh, and his e-mail was hijacked by scammers weeks ago.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry, but I don¡¯t follow you.¡°

    ¡°Somebody went to the trouble of buying access to a random person¡¯s stolen e-mail so they could send this. Why? Probably because Russian authorities are known to monitor free throwaway address sites in case they get used for something like this, and just thinking about a VPN gets you in big, big trouble. No, don¡¯t ask what a VPN is. The point is, this is probably the best way our new friend¡ªwhoever he is¡ªcould think of to send this stuff without getting noticed right away. He¡¯ll probably still get caught from leaks on our end. This is too hot. But assuming it¡¯s legit, somebody extremely well-placed just leaked like the Titanic.¡±

    ¡°And what did this person say for himself?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. The body of the message was blank. It was titled ¡®for Keisha Graham,¡¯ and had an enormous compressed attachment¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter what that is, either, but this was like somebody putting an envelope on your doorstep, knocking, and running away. But my name threw up a bunch of red flags. Kinda pissed some people off, too, since he just sent it to the Numenate¡¯s PR bullshit address, so about ten people saw it who shouldn¡¯t have. Apparently this guy knew who I was, and knew I was connected to the Marshalls, but didn¡¯t have any better way to reach me.¡±

    Dr. Gus looked back down at the picture on her phone. ¡°This is Yuri, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡± She¡¯d promised to put him in the ground, the last time they met. Evidently somebody had beaten her to the punch. ¡°Contact shotgun blast. The place he was in had been torched. Consistent with a Shum-Shum attack. A few miles away, they found a teenage girl, unburied, and shot at fairly close but more reasonable range.¡± She flicked through for the picture. The body had been gnawed by animals already, but the hair wasn¡¯t Nadia¡¯s or Fatima¡¯s. It might have been the girl who¡¯d been with Yuri in Homs, but she¡¯d only seen her briefly. ¡°Shotgun here too.¡±

    ¡°I see. And what do the files say? The ones which have been translated, at least?¡±

    ¡°A lot. They say a lot. It looks like our friends have been accomplishing way more than we have.¡± The phone dinged. ¡°And they keep translating more, or connecting a new piece to an old one. They only got this stuff today, or yesterday, or whatever it was ten hours ago in D.C. You sure you don¡¯t want coffee? This isn¡¯t the kind of intel you sleep on and get back to in the morning.¡±

    ¡°I will survive, thank you. But I may wish to take breakfast early after all.¡±

    The sunrise from the balcony was gorgeous; time had been kind to Verona. It was possible to look at the golden light reflecting off the rows of red roofs, and the trees, and the river, and convince yourself that you¡¯d gone back in time to the Renaissance. There was even an old Roman theater, still in good shape. It was nice to sit back with a real cappucino and biscotti, and watch the city wake up while they tried to make sense of everything.

    ¡°I have never before heard of even the theoretical possibility of a familiar changing forms,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°Let alone so drastically as we see reported here. I left a number of books at home, which I would like to consult before saying anything definitive. But with a young host, and an adopted familiar, in the wake of brain trauma ¡­ perhaps.¡±

    ¡°And that whole Kuban thing was just Ruslan waking up? Assuming we believe this.¡±

    ¡°If you recall, Captain Park described the Kuban phenomenon as ¡®more violent¡¯ than a halo, but similar in structure. If it were really the output of a damaged frontal lobe attempting to reform itself while simultaneously conjuring an emissant, I could believe that much. But I do not think that is the entire answer. Could you ask your translators to prioritize any more works by Russian theoreticians they come across in the general heap? I would be immensely interested in their insights.¡±

    ¡°On it.¡± She got busy texting. ¡°Something strike you as fishy about this, Doc?¡±

    ¡°That depends what you mean by ¡®fishy.¡¯ I am intrigued by the apparent end product, or perhaps products. I have never heard of a dual-phase familiar, with two distinct valences. For a metastable equilibrium to emerge, with one collapsing into the other, and back ¡­ it is a strikingly elegant outcome for an apparently chaotic process. There is some crucial element to this story, which we are missing.¡±

    ¡°But the ¡­ Blackbird, or whatever they¡¯re calling it. They think it¡¯s a primeval?¡±

    ¡°It is akin to a primeval, yes. I could readily believe that such a thing could emerge from a subnarrative process within a damaged mind. If Kizil Khan had simply become the Blackbird, that would be one thing. But the golden woman, this Saray? She is if anything stronger than her predecessor, and her form is not only human but idealized, the opposite of a primeval. Essentially he has divorced the malevolent and benign aspects of his familiar into two separate beings, and in the process confined the chthonic aspects of his character into one of the two. This is ¡­ astonishingly neat work, for the damaged brain of an adolescent boy.¡±

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Doc, I¡¯m going to be honest with you: I still don¡¯t know what the hell ¡®chthonic¡¯ means.¡± She nearly choked on the word.

    ¡°Consider it a kind of ¡®VPN.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Ha. Ha. Anyway! Is any of this going to be immediately useful to us?¡±

    ¡°Immediately useful to us in Verona, where we are confronted with an entirely different intractable problem? No. But this has disturbing implications for the future.¡±

    ¡°Such as?¡±

    ¡°The protocols to produce an emissant are notoriously unreliable. Even successes frequently produce entities with disturbing valences or obnoxious limitations¡ªand few have valences more disturbing, or limitations more obnoxious, than those of Kizil Khan. But we did not believe it possible to change a formed emissant. We now have evidence that we were wrong; they can be not only changed but dramatically improved, at least in some respects.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but only if you first kill the emissor, then get a kid to adopt it, then almost kill the kid.¡±

    ¡°Up till now, to my knowledge, we have done little or no formal research on adopted emissants and the children who control them. Titus Marshall was the first to violate that taboo at scale, and the major powers are only lately catching up. I don¡¯t believe the particular path Ruslan followed is necessarily the only way it could be done.¡±

    ¡°In which case ¡­ ugh. The next big thing in paraphysical research is going to be messing up even more kids, on purpose? Just to keep up in the arms race?¡±

    ¡°That is a possibility, yes.¡±

    ¡°And they already have at least two kids with familiars. Maybe three. Kostroma¡¯s reappeared in Fatih, and they probably still have a handle on the kid who stole Pangu.¡±

    ¡°The third being?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to bring it up, but ¡­ Tantrum Song¡¯s been active in Syria lately. Nobody knows who¡¯s controlling him, though.¡±

    ¡°I see. I suppose that was inevitable. But all three of those are too valuable to risk damaging. I think it more likely they would seek to improve their old Soviet primevals. Distasteful as that thought may be.¡±

    ¡°Oh god, don¡¯t even tell me that.¡± Her phone dinged again, for at least the hundredth time in five hours. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s a roger on the translation priorities. But¡ª¡° It dinged again, while her eyes were still on the screen. ¡°Great. She¡¯s in Geneva now.¡±

    ¡°¡¯She¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Yunks. Clairvoyant confirmed, less than an hour ago. We¡¯re in the wrong damn country, Doc. Again.¡±

    Dr. Gus shrugged. ¡°It is not as if we were accomplishing very much by our presence. I believe I have contributed what I can at this point, as a theoretician.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s not enough. Obviously. This is, what, her sixth country now?¡±

    ¡°If one includes brief excursions to the Low Countries, I believe it is eight. Germany, France, Spain, Luxembourg, Belgium, Portugal, Italy, and now Switzerland. But her zone of influence is now, for practical purposes, all of Western Europe.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Doc had done incredible work over the past couple of weeks; they had pretty solid theories now on how Yunks moved, how she attacked, how she sustained herself, how she put herself together, when she made a halo and when she didn¡¯t. What they didn¡¯t have was a good plan of attack. There was just no credible way to pin the bitch down so you could kill her. Knowing what she was didn¡¯t make it any easier to resist when she dropped by to chew on your soul.

    Which was why they¡¯d had to take the train to get here; nobody was even willing to risk flying an airplane anymore. And anyway, there just weren¡¯t that many people looking to travel inside the EU. Its whole economy had just about collapsed, with an epidemic of suicides, violent crime completely out of control, and a mass exodus from the continent by anyone who could get a ticket. Everyone else was staying home with their doors locked. All the major cities of France, Germany, and Spain were under martial law.

    ¡°Have we received any further word on the Colonel?¡± Dr. Gus asked, when she didn¡¯t say any more.

    ¡°Still out of it. MRI¡¯s weird but his brain still works, sort of. They¡¯re calling in more neurologists to consult. Basically the same as yesterday.¡±

    Fresh updates kept trickling in, with maddening slowness. They had a lot of files to dig through, and not many fluent Russian-speakers with the clearance to read it. Keisha kept herself from going crazy by reading dumb novels in between pings, and taking little naps in her chair on the balcony when that didn¡¯t work. It was at least satisfying to read about all the trouble they¡¯d been giving Ivan on their own.

    Around ten Doc suggested getting train tickets to Geneva, but without any enthusiasm. By the time they got there she¡¯d be in Austria or somewhere. They¡¯d done the math; if she hopped hosts the way they thought she did, she could get very, very far in one day. Massive floodlights along every major road seemed to slow her down, by forcing her to take shorter hops or detours, but they couldn¡¯t do that everywhere. Not enough lights in the world, and the lights caused accidents.

    Anyway, she wasn¡¯t picky about where she killed; they¡¯d pinned her in Valladolid for a full twenty-six hours, and all that got them was eighteen thousand dead in the city before rioters trashed the lights. They were pretty sure she could have slipped out past them at any time¡ªshe was just proving a point. Keisha thought she might have caught a glimpse of Yunks there once, and that was about all she¡¯d accomplished over the whole chase, with three other emissors to help her.

    Herding her was like ¡­ trying to catch a balloon in a windy field by slapping it into a net with a long pole. She just bounced off your halo and went somewhere else. What were they supposed to do, evacuate Europe? It was only a matter of time until she hitched a ride with evacuees and made her way to the US.

    A ping woke Keisha up from her umpteenth inadequate nap around noon. She read it, and bit her hand to stifle her sobs. Dr. Gus woke up anyway, and pulled the phone out of her hands when she refused to show him. He skimmed for a second, shook his head, and set it down. He hadn¡¯t known Nadia as well or as long as she had. Which wasn¡¯t even that long. They¡¯d been expecting news like this for a while, if they were even lucky enough to get told about it.

    But damn it, the child had deserved better than that. Keisha couldn¡¯t help wondering what would have happened if she¡¯d kept her mouth shut on the day they ¡°met,¡± and let her bug fly out the window without saying a word. Maybe the girl would be gone by now anyway, with the way ¡®Papa¡¯ had been using her. She¡¯d never know.

    Once her face was dry, she retreated to her bedroom to sleep for real, and silenced the phone. To hell with the rules. Yunks might be a thousand miles away, and if Nadia was dead, and Ruslan permanently impaired, what were all those files good for? Nothing, to her. Fatima wouldn¡¯t survive long on her own. Probably some strategist in a think tank would be thrilled to find out the next juicy tidbit. Maybe they¡¯d caught Ruslan too, and stuck him full of electrodes. Who cared?

    She didn¡¯t sleep long enough; she¡¯d been keeping a weird schedule, the past couple of weeks, and the caffeine was messing with her. It was around four thirty when she picked up the phone again, and found she¡¯d missed sixteen more updates. Joy. She flicked through it, did a double-take, and went to knock on Doc¡¯s door.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Doc, I am not even going to pretend to know what¡¯s going on, but ¡­ now they¡¯re saying she might be alive. Saray doesn¡¯t follow Kizil Khan¡¯s old rules, or they made a mistake, or something.¡±

    The door cracked open. ¡°Really. She ¡­ I do not wish to go into the details, for obvious reasons, but it should not have been possible, to bring her back to life under those circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Fatima and Ruslan have a third person with them, matching Nadia¡¯s description. Maybe Yefimov lied, for some reason? Or there was or is some kind of body double. I don¡¯t know. They seem pretty serious.¡±

    He pulled the door open and stepped out in his nightgown, rubbing his eyes. His white hair was a wild, fuzzy halo around the bare crown of his head. ¡°The fog of war is a damnable nuisance. Where are they, whoever and however many they are?¡±

    ¡°Astrakhan, as of, uh, Wednesday. A couple of plausible sightings then, anyway. That was four days ago, and she could be anywhere now. But Astrakhan is on the northwest edge of the Caspian, right up against the Kazakh border. They suspect Nadia¡¯s headed back home. Assuming it¡¯s her.¡±

    ¡°Who are ¡®they¡¯ who so suspect? Our analysts, or theirs?¡±

    ¡°Both, it looks like.¡±

    ¡°In short, they are isolated, more highly desirable to the enemy than ever, and traveling on a predictable trajectory?¡±

    She sighed, and slumped down into a chair with her face on the table. ¡°Yeah.¡± If you put it that way, it hardly mattered if Nadia was still alive or not. The best part of the news, if you could even call it good, was that they wanted Ruslan at least alive at all costs now, and Nadia too if she was actually somehow alive. Whee.

    Doc shut his door and came out to sit beside her. ¡°It seems to me that the surviving Marshalls are of immensely high value to them¡ªbut still higher value to us.¡±

    ¡°Of course. They don¡¯t give a damn if these kids die.¡±

    ¡°Not that we know of. But I was not speaking of their emotional value. However many of the Marshalls are left, they are essentially the world¡¯s leading expert on our current nemesis. They spent years in her shadow, and knew her master better than anyone alive.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t thought of that myself. But right now, they¡¯re ¡­ wait.¡± She pulled up the map. Her geography was trash when it came to that part of the world. ¡°Y¡¯know, we¡¯ve got a pretty solid presence in Iran these days, last I checked. Lots of oil, lots of gas, lots of Muslims who don¡¯t want to be Chechnya.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± He cracked a weary smile. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°And we both know we¡¯re not accomplishing a damn thing here. And the very last thing Art Dawes said to me is that he doesn¡¯t believe in solving one problem at a time.¡± She pulled up General Green on her contacts. ¡°So let¡¯s see if he¡¯ll let me volunteer for something absolutely insane.¡±

 CV. Charity (Nadia)

    Shevchenko was on the northeast corner of the Caspian Sea, nine hundred kilometers from the rebuilt Atyrau. It was on the way to Uzbekistan, which was on the way to Afghanistan, where Fatima insisted they could take up her father¡¯s mantle and rebuild his little kingdom, safe from Russian or American bullying. After dragging them all the way to Guryev, Nadia didn¡¯t feel like she had any right to refuse, even if she couldn¡¯t see herself living that way.

    But nine hundred kilometers was a long, long way, and by the time they got to Shevchenko Fatima was tired enough of life on the road to agree to a little break. They found a cheap motel, the kind that marketed itself to migrant workers, and paid the man at the front desk a little extra to not make a fuss over three unaccompanied minors in the same room. That would get them at least one night in actual beds, and a shower with tepid water.

    They closed the blinds, and they counted up their money¡ªa modest heap of rubles and Kazakh Tenge. Not enough to carry them all the way to Lashkargah, and they didn¡¯t want to draw attention by breaking open another ATM. It wasn¡¯t clear to Nadia why Yefimov had left them alone since his setback at Dagestan, but she didn¡¯t believe he¡¯d given up, and Shevchenko was well within his reach.

    They knew how to take care of themselves, even without familiars. Knowing how to earn money was another matter; in the end, they realized they only had one real marketable skill to sell. Even then, Fatima took a lot of convincing¡ªshe didn¡¯t want to risk any of their meager funds. But she couldn¡¯t come up with a better plan.

    So it was that Fatima dropped her sister off outside the city¡¯s oil refinery¡ªit seemed every city around the Caspian had to have one¡ªthe next morning. It had to be Nadia alone; the other two were too memorable, and didn¡¯t speak the language. She set up their new propane stove, pulled the bags of ingredients out of the cooler, and started up a pot of makarony po-flotski, navy noodles. It was a quick and easy recipe, but filling, and before long she spotted men peeking out of windows.

    A company security man came by, of course, but Nadia had budgeted for his modest bribe, and he refused it anyway. Maybe she looked particularly pathetic, or winsome; he walked away shaking his head and smiling. The army of mostly single men working the refinery were very interested in a hot meal; when Fatima swung by to pick her up, the pot was empty, and they¡¯d earned back more than double what they spent on the pot and the stove.

    ¡°Hell of a hustle,¡± Fatima said, back at the motel. ¡°Why weren¡¯t there like five food trucks doing the same thing?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s illegal,¡± Nadia told her.

    ¡°Illegal? To sell lunch? What the hell is wrong with this country?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not exactly illegal, but you¡¯re supposed to get permits, and certificates, and every new business needs to bribe five different officials. It¡¯s not worth it for little things like this. Only kids like us get involved in this kind of business.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re exempt from permits?¡±

    Nadia rolled her eyes. ¡°Fatima, this country is still basically communist. The Knyazya only knocked off the people at the top, put in a few military bases, and demanded tribute. The same awful bureaucrats are running things below. It¡¯s a Kazakh tradition to have a children¡¯s welfare ministry with less than a hundred employees for the whole country, and almost no budget. What budget they get, goes to the horse races.¡±

    ¡°¡­ and that has what to do with selling noodles?¡±

    ¡°If they¡¯d called the police on me, the police wouldn¡¯t have come, because there would literally be nowhere to put me. It would be an enormous headache for them. So everyone ignores it when children do it. When I was growing up, the streets were swarming with shoe-shine boys and little girls knocking on doors for laundry. Didn¡¯t you see them in Guryev?¡±

    ¡°I guess I wasn¡¯t really looking. Handy for us, though.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a sick kind of charity. You see this?¡± She held up a thousand-Tenge bill. ¡°I probably didn¡¯t give change for this. A lot of them refused it. Teenagers in our position who aren¡¯t wanted terrorists live miserable and dangerous lives. A lot of these street children aren¡¯t really orphans¡ªtheir parents set them up and pocket their earnings at the end of the day, a day they usually spend drunk. Sometimes they wind up as orphans for real, when those parents get arrested.¡±

    Fatima hoisted Ruslan to his feet to march him around the room. He could walk pretty well by himself now, but liked to do the exercises together. ¡°So they felt sorry for you. Great. Extra cash for you, and they get in their good deed for the day. Win-win, babe.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a ¡®good deed.¡¯ They¡¯re only bribing their own consciences. They looked at me, and said, ¡®that girl is going to be turning tricks in a few years, or on drugs, or both.¡¯ I could see it in their eyes. The right thing to do would have been to intervene, to get me off the streets. All of those men had money to spare. But it would have been a lot of bother. So they generously gave me a tip, so that they could feel like they were doing something. How noble.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a damn good thing, isn¡¯t it? We don¡¯t want them asking those questions, because you¡¯re not actually a street beggar. You¡¯re a wanted criminal, fool, and we could use the cash.¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course¡ª¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s eating you about all this? Sounds like this country¡¯s been shitty to kids for a looooong time. Is it just bothering you now because it¡¯s up-close and personal, or is there something else going on here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I suppose it¡¯s a lot of things,¡± she said as she stuffed the money away in their bag. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to put it in words.¡±

    ¡°So think it over. I¡¯m listening. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got anywhere to go.¡± As if to emphasize the point, she eased Ruslan down into a chair, kissing his cheek to thank him for his exertions.

    Nadia lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, marshaling her thoughts. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to keep selling food like this, you know. Not for long. If it were that simple, there would be four orphans already selling lunch there, like you said, and their owners would have tried to chase us away for intruding on their turf. If we go again tomorrow to cook another meal, we might get more business, and the maybe the day after that as well. But eventually I¡¯d be seen as a nuisance, and chased away by security.¡±

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Fatima set to work on Ruslan¡¯s arms now, stretching them out. ¡°Even if all you did was sell food?¡±

    ¡°Yes. First because everyone knows kids like me are trouble, and second because all those bills were bribes, and it¡¯s rude to take a bribe and not go away. No nice, upstanding, productive citizen wants to think about how sick his society is every day on his lunch break. Visiting once, I was a novelty. As a regular feature, I¡¯d be a burden. They¡¯d worry about the precedent, about me attracting other, less-well-behaved kids who would steal or fight or vandalize, or sell drugs on the side.¡±

    ¡°Okay. That¡¯s fair enough.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough, that when they see a sign that their country is heartless to children, their first instinct is to chase it away somewhere else?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re an oil company. That doesn¡¯t have a damn thing to do with them.¡±

    ¡°And the people who it does have to do with are irresponsible and corrupt, and nobody cares, so the problem never gets fixed. I hate that. I really do.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t blame you there, either. But you do know that¡¯s why I want to go back to Lashkargah, right? Afghanistan¡¯s different, but it¡¯s got its own fucked-up shit going on, and without Russians or Americans trying to run the place or get in our way, we really could make a difference.¡±

    ¡°I can accept that you want to take up your father¡¯s legacy. I have no idea what I would do there, or anywhere else, except be a burden. I can¡¯t help anyone, anywhere.¡±

    Fatima let Ruslan¡¯s arms drop, and stood up. ¡°You know, you¡¯ve been my sister for four years now. You had that nasty whore in your brain for less than six months, and I never liked her in the first place. I¡¯ll be glad to have you around, even if you¡¯re just plain Nadia. That ain¡¯t going to change.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. But ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°But?¡±

    Nadia bit her lip. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I believe in God anymore. But I still want Him to be there. I know you think I was a crazy person sometimes, and very tiresome¡ªand maybe I was. But it was important to me, and it still is, to at least try to make the world better. But I can¡¯t do that anymore, not in any significant way, and it bothers me, it really does. If there is no God, then all things are permitted, and Yefimov wins. I don¡¯t want to run away from him. I don¡¯t want to give up the fight. He doesn¡¯t deserve victory.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s any comfort, I¡¯m pretty sure Yefimov¡¯s first in line to go to Hell, Nadia.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that. I care about the Hell he is making right here on Earth!¡±

    Fatima came over and sat down next to her. ¡°I don¡¯t like running away from the son of a bitch either. But if it means I can go home again, and get shit done for real, I¡¯d rather do that than sit around flailing my arms until the Knyazya squish me like a bug.¡±

    ¡°I know. That makes sense. I¡¯m sure there are people in Afghanistan who could use our help. All the same ¡­ I can¡¯t help the way I feel, Fatima.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Fatima sat there awkwardly for several seconds, then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. It was just the weather. There were only ten channels, and she cycled through awful soap operas until she got the state-run news network. ¡°Might as well get some intel, right?¡±

    Having grown up in this country, Nadia was already sure there would be no useful information, but it gave her something to pay attention to besides her own thoughts. She shuffled back on the bed so that she was sitting up against a pillow, and watched the anchors parrot the day¡¯s announcements.

    ¡°Anything good?¡± Fatima asked. She knew five languages already, but she only had a couple of words of Kazakh and wouldn¡¯t get a chance to learn more.

    ¡°Parliament is getting together in a special session to rubber-stamp some more presidential decrees. And ¡­ that looks like some ethnic festival, maybe?¡± She saw two men wrestling in bright outfits. ¡°They do a lot of that, to celebrate heritage. This country is mostly empty land for sheep to graze. News is sparse.¡±

    ¡°But they have a twenty-four-hour news channel?¡±

    ¡°Yes. In the old days, they did a lot of human-interest stories on the president¡¯s family. Propaganda nonsense.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± They watched in silence as it segued to a trade agreement with Kyrgyzstan, then a schoolboy who had won a prize for a poem about patriotism. ¡°Okay, you¡¯re right, this country sucks ass.¡±

    ¡°No, the government is terrible. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? What did Kazakhstan ever give the world?¡±

    ¡°Apples. Delicious apples. What did we get from Afghanistan, besides dust?¡±

    ¡°Girl, do not get me started on ¡­ what? What¡¯s going on now?¡± The image on the TV had changed; now they were showing an office building on fire, smoke pouring out of its windows.

    ¡°The caption says ¡®Atyrau.¡¯ Hush a moment.¡± She listened closely to the anchors. ¡°This happened two days ago, it says. While we were still on the road.¡±

    ¡°Right after we left, huh? And who did it?¡± As if it heard her question, the image shifted to a still picture, a colored-pencil depiction of an elderly, dark-skinned woman with pure white eyes, naked except for a cloth wrapped around her bony body. ¡°Oh, you have got to be shitting me. What¡¯s she doing there?¡±

    ¡°Shh!¡± It was an artist¡¯s sketch, they said, based on several eyewitnesses¡¯ accounts. The local oprichnik had intervened promptly each time she attacked, limiting the damage, and they were confident that she would be captured, killed, or driven away in short order. The president had ordered the mobilization of two thousand soldiers to restore order, and gave a speech this morning condemning American hypocrisy and imperialism. Nadia tuned out most of it; she was already standing up, and starting to shake. ¡°Pack up. We¡¯re leaving. Now.¡± Her voice shook too, a little.

    ¡°What, to go back? That¡¯s six hundred miles!¡±

    ¡°Yes. I know. I don¡¯t like it either. But we have to go.¡±

    Fatima groaned. ¡°Just hold up. We need to discuss this. By the time we get there, she could be¡ª¡°

    ¡°By the time we get there, they could order their oprichnik to abandon all restraint, and Guryev will be leveled to the ground for the second time in five years. That is not acceptable. Move!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you try to rush me! I¡¯m the driver, and the one who can actually fight when we get there, so sit your ass back down on that bed so we can talk this over. The timing can¡¯t be a coincidence. There was nothing in that city worth risking an emissor over, so this must be about us. If you ask me, homegirl¡¯s either trying to lure you back, or distracting them so we can get away. Either way, we don¡¯t need to go back there.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we do!¡±

    ¡°Really. Why?¡±

    ¡°Fatima. Suppose you heard that Pugachev had moved to Lashkargah ahead of us, and was openly mocking your father¡¯s memory, and teaching the people there to despise Islam, like he did in Dagestan. You would want to go back and stop him, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not even the same¡ª¡°

    ¡°And if I said, ¡®wait, we don¡¯t know what Pugachev wants,¡¯ would that convince you at all? No. All I would be doing was wasting your time and mine. Some things are sacred, Fatima, even now. Keisha should know better. She said she loved me, that she wanted the best for me. Now she is deliberately trampling on my the grave of my childhood. I am going back there to make her explain herself, if I have to walk the whole way alone. Do you understand me?¡±

    Fatima studied her face for a moment, then shook her head. ¡°Shit. I guess we can talk it over in the car. For the record though, I still think it¡¯s a stupid move.¡±

 CVI. Matador (Keisha)

    Keisha would never forget the trip across the Caspian¡ªforty hours in a shipping container, with a cot, a bucket, and a battery-powered lamp for company. Nothing to do the whole time but sleep and worry. Even after it made port, there was a long wait, as she waited for them to unload her container, then move it again to a more sheltered part of the harbor. All according to plan. There were whole departments full of guys who cooked up these schemes, and kept them ready on the off chance somebody might need to sneak into Kazakhstan in a hurry.

    The crane dropped her off, and three knocks on the door told her it was unlocked, and safe to come out. The plan said to give the knocker sixty seconds to get away before she came out. In practice, it took her five minutes to work up the nerve. She had to be the only black woman in five hundred miles. She had on coveralls and a hard hat, but she¡¯d hardly have been less conspicuous if she were naked. Everyone who saw her would notice her, and remember.

    But there was no hope for it. In another half-hour the knocker would come back, and strip the container, and destroy all the evidence. She couldn¡¯t stay. So she left. Quick strides were the key; she¡¯d memorized the layout of the port on her way over, and she¡¯d stand out less if she looked busy.

    Her contact was a guy named Marat, a short, stocky man who worked as a contractor for the city. She found him repairing the side door of a warehouse, and introduced herself with the name on her Malian passport: ¡°Madina Fomba.¡± She didn¡¯t know whose idea it was to make her from Mali, or why. They could have made her from Mars; the story wouldn¡¯t hold up under any scrutiny. She had both of her pipes in her bag, and that was a death sentence right there.

    Officially, Marat was supposed to pose as her new husband, except mail-order brides weren¡¯t traditionally a thing in Kazakhstan. This was one of those parts of Asia where, if you couldn¡¯t persuade a woman to have you, you kidnapped a local girl and called it marriage after you¡¯d slept with her, because her family wouldn¡¯t take her back. But she couldn¡¯t use that story, so a green-card romance it was.

    Her ¡°husband¡± greeted her in Russian, his eyes darting around the harbor. She answered him in the same language, poorly, and with her very obvious Georgia drawl. He actually winced at the words coming out of her mouth, and she shut up in a hurry. They didn¡¯t talk again until they were in his dusty white pickup.

    Even then, Marat wasn¡¯t the talkative type. He said that work was drying up now that reconstruction was done, and that he was ready to move to America and start a new business, and that was all he felt like telling her. His English was about as good as her Russian. When she asked, he said he was a trained clairvoyant, too. But she didn¡¯t like the way he said it. She suspected he hadn¡¯t used his talents in years.

    There were men like him everywhere, quietly drawing down stipends from the State Department in case they might be useful someday. She¡¯d had to work with a Marat or two, over the course of her career. They were never much help in a pinch. They¡¯d been gambling that the bill would never come due to turn their lives upside-down, and always resented that it had.

    He drove her to his apartment first, to drop off her luggage and get her first shower in almost three days. When she came out, dressed like a Kazakh woman (complete with a scarf, to hide her hair), he gave her a look she didn¡¯t care for, and mentioned that he didn¡¯t have a girlfriend at the moment. She didn¡¯t reply. He added that his bed was very large and comfortable. She rolled her eyes, and loaded her pockets with kitties. When he added that he had never been with an African woman before, she held up her pipe, and told him she could use it to make a magic bug that would crawl up his urethra, then explode. She used gestures to be sure he understood her. He did.

    He put up his hands when she proposed getting to work right away, and tried to make excuses: she¡¯d just got here, he could get her a proper meal, state security would be less vigilant tomorrow. Keisha stood up, and got very close to him, so that he flinched and took a step back. She was a little taller than him, and maybe ten pounds lighter. She looked down into his eyes, and told him they¡¯d be going now. Sullenly, he agreed.

    They parked a block away from the larger of Atyrau¡¯s two police stations, and Keisha got out the map so he could plot for her. He broke into a sweat at the sight of it. She asked him if he could do this, or if she needed to just kick him to the curb and handle it on her own. He snapped that he could handle whatever she could, and maybe more.

    She bit back a sigh as she got out her piccolo. Yeah, she¡¯d met men like Marat before. Some of them in the Corps. Nadia, you¡¯d better be grateful for all this ¡­

    She took out the cars first; every car in the lot, marked or unmarked, got a hole drilled clean through its starter. Then came the phones, and the internet, and the power, all with one burrowing drone. By the time the lights died, the cops were starting to freak out.

    That was as far as she got before Zenith interrupted, which was fine¡ªshe hadn¡¯t expected to get even that far. She got maybe a second¡¯s warning of Marat fumbling at the map, and then the halo hit. That second was still enough for her to brace herself, and jump aboard the keystone sequence with Adesina.

    Zenith was a legend in the Numenate¡ªif a joke could be a legend. Nobody knew why the commiest of the commies had decided to stick around and work for the administration that murdered his heroes. Blackmail, maybe? Whatever it was, he¡¯d been around long enough to make even his keystone famous: the men getting up before dawn to build a literal bridge was just pure Red kitsch, with the ringing hammers and everything. It could have come straight from an old propaganda reel. It was a kind of gag you could bring out for a cheap laugh over the lunch table. Rocketman, the emissor so unimaginative his keystone echoed the party line.

    The actual experience, of course, was different. It was impossible for her to see those groaning, weary men, aching everywhere but determined to do their part, without thinking of Papa, kissing her goodbye ten different times before vanishing to a place he couldn¡¯t tell her. When he died, falling into the river this time, it only made the story more poignant. The bridge went up in the end, and the workers paused to honor the fallen warrior, and all was well. The workers went home with smiles on their faces, knowing they would be back at another job tomorrow, to make a better future.

    The vision passed, and she was back in a truck, watching Zenith rise into the sky on giant plumes of flame and smoke. The familiar himself was just a tiny speck of silver at the top. Adesina was ready for him, standing on the roof of the station. His flight curved in the air, tipping over with deceptive deliberation to intercept the threat. The old woman¡¯s eyes lit up, and the silver speck shone twice as bright from the heat of her glance on his beautiful skin. In the street two blocks away, Keisha and Marat waited for the impact as calmly as they would wait for a bus.

    She didn¡¯t see the actual approach; once he tipped over, he was moving too fast to track. There was a flash like lightning, pure white fire, and the whole street and everything on it shook from the force and the noise of his passage. Windows shattered, and the truck¡¯s suspension grumbled below them. When Keisha¡¯s vision cleared, she saw ten or twenty rooflines burning, just from the flames of his exhaust.

    Zenith himself was a quarter-mile off, hovering in the air on the jets of fire from his feet, assessing the damage. Looking for Adesina too, maybe, but in vain. He¡¯d been flying blind, straight into the sun, and there was no limit to how fast her Grandmama could move, provided nobody could see her. She was already behind him now, as it happened, perched on a telephone pole like an old crow. Through her eyes Keisha saw her enemy, a gaudy idol of retro-futurist perfection with smooth, sparkling skin and bulbous spheres at every joint. There was a line of rivets, like the front of a button-up shirt, straight down the middle of his back.

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    He had his hands on his hips as he floated, superhero-style. The confident champion, buoyed up by the collective strength of the common man. She felt the same way¡ªbut she was right. Adesina¡¯s eyes flashed, and Zenith was a second, silver sun, incandescent with her power. And then a falling star, landing with a crash.

    By the time he rose back up¡ªincinerating a couple of houses in the process¡ªshe was ready for him in a different spot, atop a water tower. He accelerated just slowly enough for her to catch a glimpse of his handsome, square-jawed face before she burned it off with the rest of him. And he fell with an earthshaking thump. Again.

    She¡¯d prepared for this. Zenith was incredibly fast, and nothing could survive a direct hit from that charge, but his acceleration was trash and he couldn¡¯t maneuver. To say nothing of the collateral damage ¡­ Adesina was quick and efficient. She struck him down as fast as she could, from a different angle every time. When he gave up flying to run through the streets, she was ready in a dark alley to strike him down along the way. He tried to fake her out, doubling back, and she moved ahead of him, and hit him twice as hard.

    When he finally gave up, a good chunk of the city was on fire, and whole blocks were in ruins. Marat shook off the dropped valence more slowly than she did, and stared in horror at the black smoke rising from the sky. Without Adesina¡¯s eyes, he hadn¡¯t seen a bit of what happened, only felt and heard the terrible noise. She didn¡¯t try to stop him from getting out to look around. She wanted the time to think this over, alone.

    This was just what she was afraid would happen. A trap she could have handled, if it was a trap for her. She knew from the ¡°Leeds bonanza¡± files that they had at least three emissors more competent than Zenith on this case, one of them a Knyaz. There was no reason to let her run amok like this, unless they¡¯d decided on the spot that giving her free rein was the best way to lure in the Marshalls. As soon as the kids showed up, she was sure Snowdrop and company would come out in force. But she didn¡¯t see a better option.

    It suddenly came to her that Marat had been gone for a long time; she opened his door, peered out into the street both directions, and saw nothing. Just what she needed ¡­ she whipped up a quick ¡°skeeter,¡± and sent it out hunting. Skeeters were fast, and her dear hubby wasn¡¯t built for running. It found him inside a minute, and tagged him right on the back of the neck. He was still lying down in the street, grunting in pain, when she caught up with him in person. She hoisted him to his feet; he could barely stand even with help.

    ¡°Where were you going?¡± she asked. No answer. Probably the muscle spasms wouldn¡¯t let him. ¡°That was something special I got you with,¡± she whispered in his ear. ¡°The immediate symptoms will fade soon, but you have about ¡­ eighteen hours until it comes back worse, and another six after that until it kills you. I can tag you with another drone to neutralize the poison for twelve hours at a time, as many times as I want. It takes a VRIL to make that special, temporary antidote.¡±

    She manhandled him into his truck¡¯s passenger seat. ¡°I can¡¯t cure you completely until we get back to friendly territory. If I get killed here, you will die less than a day later, painfully. So you want to take very good care of me. Understand?¡± He didn¡¯t. She¡¯d have to repeat it to him slower, when she got the time. The important thing was that she¡¯d worked out a good story to keep him in line. She couldn¡¯t spend all her time keeping an eye on him.

    His apartment had survived, but the one across the street was in bad shape, and the roads were clogged with people trying to either rescue survivors or pack up their stuff and skip town. She felt bad about doing this to these people, and a little worse because she couldn¡¯t help feeling relieved that nobody had a glance to spare for the two of them with so much going on. They parked two streets over, and snuck into the building by a side door.

    It took time to tell him the whole ¡°poison¡± story, but he looked like he bought it. At least, she didn¡¯t think he was a good enough actor to break into a cold sweat on command. When she told him to lie down in his walk-in closet, he obeyed meekly, and didn¡¯t complain when she dragged a table in front of the door.

    As soon as he was secured, she got to work with her big ¡°Benny¡± pipe. It was a cloudy night, so a single whisperwing would last her two hours. She sent the little drone into everything that looked like it might be a hotel, checking every individual room. When those were done, she moved on to little houses, on the off-chance the kids had rented a room. No luck. She hoped Zenith hadn¡¯t killed the kids by accident that afternoon. More likely they just weren¡¯t in the city anymore; she couldn¡¯t picture Nadia hanging back while all that was going on.

    She was too tired to keep going after the first ¡®wing ran out of juice. She sent a message requesting more help before turning in for the night. There was no hope of getting a second emissor, and they wouldn¡¯t have any more local assets in this backwater. She asked for a Kazakh or Russian interpreter, or a more trustworthy clairvoyant, or a couple more VRIL pipers¡ªanything. Out of pure desperation, she said a quick prayer too, though it felt awkward and hypocritical.

    There was a reply from Tyler Green in the morning, telling her there were no new revelations from the Leeds files, and asking her to keep them updated. Nothing about reinforcements. Well, God could still answer the prayer ¡­

    Art Dawes had agreed to this too damn quickly. The whole thing was a hail mary, now that they¡¯d run out of options and hope, and he didn¡¯t feel like risking more than he had to on it. Probably the White House already had people putting together a slick package with her life story to feed network news when she got killed here. Her death wouldn¡¯t solve anything, but it would play in Peoria, and help to bury Belvedere. Maybe that was all Mr. President was hoping to get out of this.

    Marat came out of his closet on all fours, like a dog, when she pulled the chair out of the way. Her right-hand man, for lack of literally anyone else for the job. She didn¡¯t let herself feel sorry for him, but she did ¡°delay the poison¡± with a simple nipper drone, the kind she used for trifling distractions, instead of something more painful.

    His first task of the day was to translate the morning news, where¡ªagain, as expected¡ªshe found them blaming her for all the damage. And they had a point; she¡¯d started the fight. She wouldn¡¯t be doing that again, unless they forced her hand. Instead, since they¡¯d kindly shown her they would be treating her with kid gloves, she got to work with her pipes again. Ivan might have all kinds of tricks she didn¡¯t, but they didn¡¯t have VRIL. She could scour the whole city.

    A timid hand tapped her shoulder. Keisha turned and saw Marat, bowing with his hands clasped in front of his belly. She wasn¡¯t sure she liked this over-the-top (or maybe under-the-bottom) humility better than his stupid machismo. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What do I do?¡±

    ¡°Do you know how to milch?¡±

    His shoulders slumped. Apparently that last word was familiar. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then get¡ªno, wait, I don¡¯t have an empty kitty. Just hold tight for now.¡±

    ¡°Do nothing?¡±

    ¡°Sure. But stay close. And cancel any work you have. Say you¡¯re sick, whatever.¡± She looked out at the city. There would be fresh work for repairmen for the foreseeable future. ¡°Today, we watch and wait. But I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll let me tease their espers with this stuff forever. If I don¡¯t see the kids today, we go on the attack again tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Attack?¡± he echoed with a grimace.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. We could be up against four emissors here. I don¡¯t like those odds. So rest up. Tomorrow, we take down Zenith.¡±

 CVII. Wrath and Glory (Nadia)

    ¡°It might not even be¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°They could fake¡ª¡°

    ¡°No VRILs.¡±

    ¡°They could still¡ª¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    Nine hundred kilometers translated to a nearly twelve-hour drive at normal speeds. On their way down to Shevchenko, they¡¯d taken it slowly, with plenty of breaks, which meant a day and a half on the road. Fatima went at least thirty over the speed limit on their way back, cutting the time to barely over eight hours. Nobody pulled them over; it was the dead of night, and most of the scant traffic was going the other direction. They got coffee at every gas stop.

    Eight hours was still plenty of time for Fatima to try, and fail, many times, to talk Nadia out of it. They ran through every possible argument in sequence, so that by the end she could tell which one she was breaking out within five words, and their bickering degenerated into bizarre exchanges of half-sentences, only alluding to things they had said too many times already. Twice she forced Fatima to pull over so she could actually walk, in the cold and the dark; both times Fatima trailed her at a crawl, waiting for her to give in, and picked her back up within a minute when she didn¡¯t look back. The third time Fatima turned around to drive them back, and refused to slow down to let her out, so she opened her door at highway speed and threatened to jump out.

    That led to ten straight minutes of screaming and mutual accusations of selfishness, followed by half an hour of cold silence. But they were headed back towards Atyrau, so Nadia didn¡¯t care. Ruslan slept through the whole thing in the back, no matter how loud they got or where they were going. Nadia almost envied him.

    Their trip ended in the cold hours before sunrise on Sunday, the seventh of April. Nadia remembered afterwards the moment she looked at her watch, and it told her it was 7:09 in the morning. She knew she¡¯d fallen asleep at some point in the past couple of hours, in spite of her resolve to stay up and keep Fatima from dawdling or turning them around again. She had no memory of sleeping or waking up, but too much time was unaccounted for, and the sky was too light.

    She stared around for several seconds, trying to take in where they were, but everything was dark, flat, and empty. After a moment she caught a glimpse of a road sign, and concluded, after putting way too much thought into it, that they were going the right way.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said softly, and laid a hand on her sister¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Fatima mumbled back. Her hands were clenched on the wheel in front of her, her eyelids drooping. ¡°Might want to pull over soon.¡±

    ¡°Atyrau can¡¯t be far now, can it?¡± Fatima didn¡¯t answer. The car wobbled, very slightly, on the road. ¡°Give it a few more minutes. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s safe to just pull over and sleep here.¡± She was just lucid enough to realize they would certainly attract some attention if they tried to sleep on the side of a major highway close to a city. She just had to keep Fatima awake. ¡°It looks like Ruslan is waking up,¡± she said, just to say something.

    ¡°Good. Let him drive.¡±

    The road kept going on, with nothing interesting out the window, just more flat bare ground. She was just thinking about what they were going to do, and wondering if they could both stay awake long enough, when they saw the military vehicles blocking the way. Two trucks, one personnel carrier, and a pair of soldiers holding up their hands for them to stop.

    Nadia took a moment to register what that meant, and to come up with a response. Obviously she would have to do the talking. She cleared her throat to say as much, and in the exact same moment Fatima growled something profane under her breath, and slammed her fist on the dashboard. Mister Higgins popped into place beside the car, and pictures of an argument at a mechanic¡¯s shop streaked through her head. By the time they were done, so was the obstruction, without so much as a scrap of a uniform left behind. The familiar disappeared last of all, before Nadia got a chance to process it, and Fatima gunned the engine to race down the freshly cleared road while her sister shook her head clear.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even start with me,¡± Fatima snapped, before Nadia said anything. ¡°This is what you wanted. It¡¯s just what you¡¯ve been asking for, the whole damn night. Now you got it. Deal.¡±

    ¡°I did not!¡± How many men had she just killed?

    ¡°Oh yeah? What did you think was going to happen? Two thousand men, they told us the news. Did you think they¡¯d just let us move in and poke around, as long as we didn¡¯t touch anything?¡±

    But now she had something new to worry about. ¡°Fatima, please. You¡¯re going way too fast. Slow down!¡± They were in the suburbs now, with house after house rushing by, and the road wasn¡¯t so straight.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m going fast. You know why? Because we just made a halo. We need to get the hell away from the scene, right now. Didn¡¯t think of that either, did you?¡±

    ¡°We made a halo? You made a halo! Because you¡¯re not thinking straight. Stop. Just stop. We need to pull over, and hide the car, and¡ª¡°

    ¡°Whose fault is it that I¡¯m not thinking straight, huh? Who said we had to haul ass all the way back here, now now now, and not wait till morning?¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to be so hateful, why did you even agree to this?¡±

    ¡°So now you¡¯re acting like I had a choice?¡±

    Vanya Morozov danced against the grey sky, shaking with the impacts. Two steps back on crooked legs, knees still bent to spring out of the trench. Nadia heard the shots just as he fell over, and landed tumbling in the wet muck. All the other boys were headed up and over already, and the guns were cracking, and Nadia was over too, but not conscious of deciding to do it. The order has been given. They will charge. The mud squished under her feet, and the rain came down, and muzzle flashes lit up like fireflies flirting in the distant woods.

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    Karpov was the next to fall, with a noise like a pig¡¯s squeal, but they were already moving too fast to stop and look. In the corner of her eye he fell, and became a blur in the mud. How far to the woods? How many men were waiting there? No idea. They were still running. Behind them, the artillery opened up, too late, and too few. Ahead, trees fell, and the earth erupted in clouds where the shells hit. The air in her lungs was cold, and she was conscious of every breath.

    Another man fell, and another, but still she ran. There was a sense not of decrease but of concentration, as if every one of them who died fed his strength back into the whole. The momentum of the charge was preserved. She was young, and her legs were strong, and she was very much alive. If a bullet found her, that would change, but it had not found her yet. The flashes were brighter now, and all the rest of the world was a blur.

    She tripped, or perhaps decided to dive at just that moment, prompted by the special angel appointed to watch over lunatics. The dive became a roll, and she rolled back up to her knees, and her gun swung up and opened fire into those dark woods, bang-bang-bang. All around her, the others followed suit. The light was blinding, and the noise struck her deaf, and she knew that whatever happened she had joined the ranks of the immortals, because she had joined the charge, because she was in that trench on that day, at that hour.

    She blinked, and the car was finally stopped. All around them, titanic pillars of weathered stone reared up against the sky, dwarfing the drab little houses of Atyrau and cloaking them in shadow. Men and women hurried out of their doors to see, and fell on their knees in awe. Nadia wanted to join them, but couldn¡¯t. All of a sudden, her body was strangely heavy. Even lifting her arm to reach the door handle took intense effort, and she soon gave up. Incredible things were happening. She didn¡¯t want to miss them.

    Fatima was less impressed, and whacked the dashboard with a burst of angry Pashto. ¡°Come on, move, dammit!¡± She stomped on the accelerator as she said it, and the engine bellowed in response, but the car remained where it was. ¡°Shit!¡± She turned to look at Nadia, who would have liked to carve her sister¡¯s face into marble at that moment, and named it ¡®courage.¡¯ ¡°Any ideas?¡± she said.

    ¡°This is marvelous, isn¡¯t it?¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°That¡¯s a no, then,¡± Fatima muttered, and kicked her door open with a grunt, and got out. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go. Can¡¯t stay here.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t go,¡± Nadia told her.

    ¡°The hell you can¡¯t!¡± She reached in and grabbed Nadia¡¯s arm, and found she couldn¡¯t lift it either. ¡°Of all the¡ª¡° She turned to the back, where Nadia assumed she was trying the same thing with Ruslan, only she couldn¡¯t turn her head to see. Even breathing was kind of hard now. ¡°Oh, fuck this!¡±

    ¡°How are you moving?¡± Nadia wondered, and got no answer. ¡°Oh, what¡¯s that?¡± It was a shame she couldn¡¯t lift her arm to point. A great golden creature, something a little bit like an armored mantis with a spear, was prancing down the street in their direction.

    Fatima turned to look¡ªwhacking her head on the car¡¯s roof in the process¡ªand let out a scream of rage. Nadia couldn¡¯t quite see what she did after that, but it involved a lot of spluttery noises coming out of her mouth. At last Nadia heard a serious of very loud noises, and without turning to look she could see in her mind her sister standing her ground, legs planted far apart, and opening fire against impossible odds. It was enough to make her weep, and she did. But she blinked the tears away, so as not to miss what would happen next.

    The golden beast wasn¡¯t hurt by her shots; it wasn¡¯t even clear whether any of them hit him. He looked right at them with his shining red eyes, and broke into a full gallop. Fatima said something in Spanish, and Nadia could hear her footsteps break into a run on the pavement. Probably to go get reinforcements, for a triumphant return. But the great beast was faster, and shot past their car in seconds. More curses, another gunshot, then a shout, and the golden figure came trotting back, with Fatima dangling upside-down from his left hand by her ankle. It was magnificent how she kept fighting, even if she accomplished nothing by swatting at the air like that.

    The giant gestured with his other hand¡ªthe one holding a spear¡ªand the car went back into motion, first rising up off the ground with a jerk, then sliding forward as smoothly as a skater crossing fresh ice. Inside it, Nadia felt her weight decrease, and she sat up in her seat to get a better view. She felt that she ought to be doing something, but couldn¡¯t think what. She turned to look at Ruslan, who caught her eye and smiled. He looked confident. She knew how he felt. This was their day of battle.

    They were moving very quickly now, shooting down the street with terrific acceleration. The golden god had to gallop again to keep pace beside them, Fatima tucked under one arm, pounding at his back ineffectually with her fists. Every hit made a loud clang, which the giant didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    She was just starting to wonder where he was taking them when the car slid to a halt. Nadia looked around, but they were in the middle of an intersection, with burned-out buildings at all four corners. Nothing there. Their captor took a few steps forward, hefting his spear. It was hard to read such a strange body¡¯s posture, but he looked tense. In the distance, something rumbled, a noise like a growling bear.

    Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, and Fatima fell. In the same instant the car came crashing down, and something in its undercarriage crunched with the impact. Nadia barely threw out her arms in time to keep her head from slamming into the dash. For several seconds she lay there, breathing hard and shaking off the last traces of the valence. She had come very close to disaster, and escaped by luck; she felt herself panting with sudden fear. And yet she was tired as well, very tired. It was tempting to close her eyes, and simply fall asleep where she was.

    ¡°Hey! A little help, here?¡± Nadia sighed, and clambered over to look out the driver¡¯s side window. Fatima was sitting on the asphalt, one arm clutched closed to her chest, the other reaching down to grasp her ankle. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing? Help me up.¡±

    Coming off a valence was much worse when you were tired; it took a couple of tries to work the door handle, and then she almost smacked Fatima in the head opening it. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? I fell like eight feet, is what¡¯s wrong. Onto hard-ass pavement. What do you think happened?¡±

    ¡°Oh, god. Did you break something?¡± She leaned over to help her up, and got her hands slapped away.

    ¡°Ouch! Not there, dammit! I broke a bunch of somethings. Something in this arm, a couple somethings in my leg, damn near something in my hip. I¡¯m lucky there¡¯s something left of my head. And whose fault is all that?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, do you have to? Just show me where it¡¯s safe to grab you, and we¡¯ll get you out of here.¡± Assuming the car still worked, which it probably didn¡¯t. One problem at a time.

    The car creaked ominously as she hoisted her sister back into the driver¡¯s seat¡ªa process that involved a lot of hissing and groaning. Only when they were finished did she realize that Fatima had hurt her right leg. Which meant it was up to Nadia to get her out, secure her in the passenger¡¯s seat, then try to teach herself to drive out of there (on the off-chance the car still worked), all before the gold monster or something worse came back to finish them off. The temptation to simply give up and cry was almost overwhelming.

    ¡°Hey. Incoming.¡±

    She looked up. A white pickup truck was headed their way, the same direction that the gold thing had come from. Moving fast, too. And here she was, standing in plain view outside the driver¡¯s door like a fool. ¡°Fatima, get Mister Higgins.¡±

    Too late. A fresh valence came pouring over them like a flood, bringing with it a soothing picture of a tree in flower, and a tidy little house, and an old lady, dark-skinned and white-haired, reading in a chair. The truck screeched to a halt beside them just as it finished; Nadia saw a hunchbacked figure standing in the bed looking back, wrapped in a brilliant white cloth.

    Then the truck¡¯s door opened, and she found herself swept up, a little too tightly, into the arms of a woman in Kazakh dress. It should have alarmed her, but it didn¡¯t feel that way. It was just what she needed now, a pair of arms to hold her, and a voice to murmur in her ear what she already knew, that everything was going to be okay. It took her a moment to realize that the murmured words were English, and with a strange accent at that. Then she reflected that the cheek beside hers was awfully dark, for a Kazakh¡¯s, and the hair under her scarf too coarse, and that the figure in the back of the truck was familiar.

    But Fatima put it all together first. ¡°About damn time you showed up. What¡¯s the plan, Ballsy Bob?¡±

    The hunchback in the truck bed cringed, and Keisha with her, as a black dragon rose into the morning sky over the center of the city.

 CVIII. Confrontation (Keisha)

    Marat couldn¡¯t stay in trance around the clock, and Keisha didn¡¯t trust him that much anyway. There was no way she could get more clairvoyants; the brass just weren¡¯t going to cough up reinforcements until she delivered some solid results (and by then they wouldn¡¯t be able to move in help fast enough¡ªbut that was brass for you).

    The next best thing was a dowser, and those weren¡¯t hard to get, if you didn¡¯t mind paying through the nose. Money was no problem¡ªGeneral Green was good for the odd wire transfer¡ªand three thousand bucks got her four junky models. Atyrau, like a lot of places, had a small cottage industry of reverse-engineered knockoffs of old Soviet gear. Technically illegal for civilians, but lots of ordinary people got them for peace of mind.

    Keisha rigged all four up to the apartment¡¯s current with Marat¡¯s help, and spread them out to cover the compass points. She tested them with her pipe, and they passed; she now had a really crappy paraphysical activity detector she could leave on and forget.

    And forget it she did, until a little before eight Sunday morning, when one of them went into red alert. Only a brief signal, enough to get them both out of bed and dressed in a hurry. It saved their lives. Keisha called for Adesina just as the men were running down the hall outside, and burned the lead man¡¯s head off before he could breach the door. The idiot had already pulled the pin on his grenade, as it happened, so that did for the rest.

    She hustled Marat out the door before anyone else could show up. Adesina scouted the stairs down, and took down the reserve squad for them. They got all the way to the parking lot before the first rocket hit Marat¡¯s bedroom window. Adesina did for the launcher before they could send a second.

    ¡°They knew we were here?¡± he said, when they got a moment to catch their breath. He took it pretty well. Thank God for her halo.

    ¡°Of course. Be stupid not to, wouldn¡¯t they?¡± Adesina limped over to his truck, leaned painfully under, and lit it up enough to rule out suspicious lumps. Good. Keisha didn¡¯t have time to crawl under there snipping wires. ¡°But this is mostly to slow us down. If they really needed us dead, they¡¯d send a familiar.¡± Probably they were keeping the real muscle in reserve, to cover every approach to the city. Either way, if they were springing the trap now, it meant the wait was over. They¡¯d spotted Marshalls, and Keisha was no longer necessary.

    She got them out of the neighborhood before she let Adesina go, and let Marat have ten seconds to get himself together. Even that was pushing it; with the halo down, he got anxious fast, and she dropped their map into his lap and told him to make himself useful before he could get worked up into a panic. Sure enough, he found an active halo, southeast end of the city. Not too far, thankfully. She turned at the next light, and got moving.

    Marat led her to a big, fancy house on the edge of town, with a tall fence and lots of trees in the yard. That was some good luck; she didn¡¯t feel like breaking into an apartment building, and if the trees gave the occupant privacy, they also gave her cover. For what that was worth. They parked as far away as they could while still having the house in sight.

    ¡°What¡¯s the valence?¡± she asked him, as she looked the place over. Marat answered with a few Russian words she didn¡¯t know. Whatever. He wasn¡¯t looking agitated, so that ruled out all the kids¡¯ emissants, and she doubted they¡¯d be in a house like that anyway. It would have been nice to know who she was up against, but not essential. ¡°Where¡¯s the emissor?¡± His hand pointed to a window on the upper floor. ¡°Moving?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Fine. Just hang on.¡±

    There was no chance of sneaking in, not with a Knyaz involved personally. They would have all angles covered, including from the neighboring houses. She put the truck into gear and set off down the street at the fastest speed she¡¯d go if she were only passing through. No doubt they¡¯d have snipers tracking her all the way, but she¡¯d made sure to pack kitties with pop-lids for this trip. She fished one out of her pocket, and cracked it with one hand as she passed the target. As soon as it was open, she shifted gears and stomped on the gas.

    She only had seconds to work with. Adesina shuffled into the room right under the emissor (ignoring the three armed men inside it) and burned out the ceiling. She left the room before it could collapse on her head, and got to work wrecking the house at random; Keisha didn¡¯t have the attention to spare on anything more targeted. As predicted, every window in sight was lit up with muzzle flashes. A few shots thunked into the truck before she got out of range, but nothing on the cab or the engine. The disorientation of a new halo had bought her that much. With any luck, whoever she just dropped would break a leg at minimum. Nothing else she could do without getting shot full of holes.

    She let Adesina go once they were two blocks away. At least half the house had fallen in by then¡ªnot bad for rushed work. ¡°Where was the familiar?¡± Marat slapped at a spot on the map after a few seconds¡¯ thought. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Keisha didn¡¯t have a firm plan in mind, beyond seeing what the emissant (whatever it was) had been up to before she took it down. She was only assuming that it had something to do with the Marshalls. Once again, though, they got lucky. She recognized the girl leaning on the busted car before she got anywhere near it. That gangly frame, the wary way she cocked her head¡ªthey weren¡¯t proof, but they sang out to her.

    Five seconds. Five seconds for that first, heavenly embrace, to sweep the child up into her arms and tell her the things she¡¯d wanted to tell her for the past month and more. Things she wouldn¡¯t have minded being told herself. She couldn¡¯t recall after what exact words she used. Blame the lack of coffee. The girl should have waited for a more reasonable hour to do this.

    Then Fatima interrupted in her usual snotty way, and the ugly twinge of impingement brought her back down to earth with a hard bump. Ardent rose into the sky, a black dragon looking for a white knight to kill.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t so bad,¡± she said, thinking out loud. ¡°They want you alive, so he can¡¯t throw rocks as long as we stick close. If you just¡ª¡° She looked back at their truck, with its two seats. ¡°Okay, we¡¯re riding with you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think this car will run anymore,¡± Nadia said. ¡°It landed very hard when the gold thing died.¡± Not that Keisha stepped back to take a look at her, she looked like hell. Dark circles around her eyes.

    ¡°All right, that¡¯s more of a problem.¡± Ardent was gliding their way, not too quickly. Probably just a recon run. She thought fast. ¡°No usable vehicle. Fatima, can Mister Higgins move a vehicle you¡¯re in?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Done it plenty of times.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Marat! In here!¡± She jabbed a hand at the rear seat, next to Ruslan. Her Kazakh ally dutifully abandoned his truck in the middle of the street. ¡°We¡¯re going to need some firepower, so if you can pull out ¨¦zarine at the same time¡ª¡°

    Again Nadia interrupted. ¡°I don¡¯t have ¨¦zarine anymore.¡±

    ¡°Say what?¡±

    ¡°I was dead, for a little bit. She left. I don¡¯t know if anyone else got her.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t do much research, did you, Bob?¡± Fatima smirked up at her. Adesina¡¯s halo reassured her that things would work out; apparently she felt like that gave her more liberty to snipe.

    ¡°Whatever.¡± She got in on Ruslan¡¯s other side, behind the passenger seat. Eyeballing it, Ardent was too far for his halo to actually reach them right away. ¡°Here goes.¡± She pulled Adesina back to SP level, and Fatima immediately lurched forward, clutching at her right arm with her left and groaning. ¡°Oh lord, what¡¯s wrong now?¡±

    ¡°Half my damn bones are broken, is what¡¯s wrong!¡± Fatima snapped back.

    ¡°Then why are you in the¡ªno, never mind that.¡± Ardent was still headed their way. ¡°Is there anything else catastrophically wrong I need to know about right now?¡± She looked at Ruslan, whose expression was somewhere between concerned and confused. Mostly confused. ¡°Besides him. I know about him.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Haven¡¯t slept in about ¡­ twenty-four hours,¡± Fatima growled through her teeth. ¡°Shit. Why am I putting up with this? Rus! Fix me up!¡±

    Nadia screamed an objection; Keisha didn¡¯t bother. As Ruslan shut his eyes and took a deep breath, she snaked one arm around his neck and grabbed the back of his head with the other. She squeezed for about eight seconds before he went limp, ignoring two sets of deafening screams.

    ¡°The fuck did you just do?¡± Fatima raged as she let him go.

    ¡°I prevented mass murder,¡± Keisha told her. ¡°We can¡¯t risk him flipping over into the Blackbird. Anyway, I feel a pulse. He¡¯ll be fine.¡± He groaned, and cracked one eye open. ¡°See?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where the hell you get off¡ª¡° Keisha shoved one of her three remaining kitties in Fatima¡¯s face, nearly smashing her in the teeth. ¡°Hey! What¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Ardent is coming!¡±

    ¡°My damn arm¡¯s broke, fool!¡±

    The black monster was a lot closer now; if he weren¡¯t held back by his master¡¯s limited speed, they¡¯d be inside his halo already. She put a hand on the lid. ¡°Mister Higgins. Can you call him?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± The word was nearly a scream.

    ¡°Then do it, now!¡± She tore the cap free. Everyone in the car but her shuddered as the keystone popped out, and Ardent bounced back like he¡¯d been flicked by a giant finger. The ugly, blobbish form of Mister Higgins popped into place on the roof of Marat¡¯s truck, caving it in. The Kazakh howled, and swung a fist at Fatima¡¯s wounded arm; Keisha lunged across Ruslan to swat it away. ¡°No time for that. Get us in the air, fast.¡±

    Fatima sneered, but apparently the petty vengeance against the pickup had been enough to satisfy her anger for the moment. Mister Higgins opened his mouth, and an iridescent flood gushed out to lift their car up into the air. It wasn¡¯t an especially gentle lift, and everyone braced themselves and complained, but inside a minute they were over the rooftops. ¡°What next, Your Bobness? Any other orders? You want fries with this shit?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re safe for now,¡± Keisha announced. ¡°They can¡¯t reach us here, or attack Mister Higgins without risking a drop. Get us out of the city.¡±

    ¡°And then? You got a plan?¡±

    ¡°I had several. I could get us out by land, sea, or air¡ªbut not with oprichniki on the loose. We¡¯ll have to improvise.¡±

    Nadia had been slumped over in her seat, looking passed out or close to it. Now she lifted her head to turn around and fix Keisha with a death glare. ¡°Who says we want to improvise anything with you?¡±

    ¡°If I can get you to America, you¡¯ll be safe.¡±

    ¡°We were safe, Keisha. We were a thousand kilometers away from here when we heard you were here, desecrating the place that matters more to me than anywhere else in the world. You got us into danger in the first place¡ªagain. Just like when I first met you. Why should we trust you to get us out of it?¡±

    The girl was obviously exhausted, and under the influence. The words still hurt. ¡°They were never going to let you go, Nadia. They would have hunted you down to Antarctica if they had to, now that they¡¯ve seen what Ruslan can do. Your brother might be the key to the next generation of paraphysical research. They will never, ever stop hunting you.¡±

    ¡°But America can protect us, right?¡± Fatima put in. ¡°Bull. Shit. Don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t want us for the exact same reason.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t, actually. Yunks is terrorizing Europe. We need your help with that.¡±

    ¡°Yunks?¡± Nadia wailed the word. Ruslan cringed into his seat. ¡°Keisha, what on earth are you talking about? She disappeared the night Titus died¡ªthe same night I beat her, with just ¨¦zarine. But now a government needs our ¡­ what? Just, what? You¡¯re not making any sense!¡±

    Keisha glanced at Ardent, who was holding position in the air some distance away. They were retreating at a fairly unimpressive speed, Mister Higgins hopping and crashing down the street to keep pace. ¡°A lot has happened. I can fill you in later. For now, we need to focus on getting clear, so I can contact Washington for reinforcements.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Fatima waved her good arm at the horizon. ¡°You just said they¡¯ll never stop chasing, dumbass. You want me to just bubble him away so he¡¯ll leave us alone? How many of these fuckers are we even up against?¡±

    Keisha didn¡¯t even know the answer to that question; there was no guarantee the emissor she dropped at the house was dead. They might still have four to worry about. But their only hope for survival now lay with a badly injured, sleep-deprived, foul-tempered teenager who hated her guts. And she was the only one in the car who could sustain anything like hope at present. ¡°Focus on moving us away from the center of the city, for now.¡±

    ¡°Like that isn¡¯t obvious?¡±

    She let about ten seconds pass before she spoke again. ¡°I knew I would probably get into a situation like this when I volunteered for this mission. You might not trust me, but I hope you don¡¯t think I¡¯m completely stupid. I came here, knowing the risks, because I felt sure it would be worth it. I¡¯m not leaving you again. If I have to die here trying to save you, I will do it, with no regrets.  Please believe me when I say that.¡±

    Nadia gave her one miserable look, shook her head, and turned back around to stare at Ardent, easily keeping pace with them. Fatima didn¡¯t even think her little speech was worth that much of a reply, and only rubbed her arm some more.

    They were about two hundred feet up now, with a fine view of the area. The Caspian Sea sparkled in the morning sun. Keisha was admiring its shine, and trying and failing to think of a brilliant plan for escape, when a big patch of it flashed into a cloud of steam, and a little silver dot streaked into the sky, trailing fire.

    Fatima flapped an arm at it. ¡°Oh, balls. Who¡¯s that supposed to be?¡±

    Keisha swallowed. ¡°Zenith. The oprichnik for Atyrau.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have killed his ass, while you were stirring up all this shit? What are you even good for?¡±

    ¡°I tried to kill him yesterday. Marat and I lured him out to challenge us, then tracked him down while he was distracted with the fight.¡± It struck her that she¡¯d never introduced her ally. Now seemed an awkward time.

    ¡°And he survived because ¡­ ?¡±

    ¡°Because, when I found him, I found a frightened boy about your age. Maybe even younger. I smashed the door down, got a bead on him, and hesitated just long enough that I nearly got myself killed. Had to run for it while his bodyguards shot at me.¡±

    That got Nadia¡¯s attention. ¡°They have a child for an oprichnik? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because Zenith would have been very, very loyal to the Soviet Union. I imagine they couldn¡¯t convert him to the cause when they took over, so they killed him and replaced him with someone more flexible. They might have got the idea from your Titus Marshall.¡± Nadia grimaced; Fatima shook her head. ¡°Everybody used to laugh at Zenith. We assumed he was being blackmailed, or maybe that he¡¯d gone senile and didn¡¯t even know he was fighting for the wrong government.¡±

    She knew what was happening, and what would happen next. Just as she finished speaking, Fatima cringed in her seat, and a massive stone pillar sprouted from the arid land to their right. A brilliant figure like a centaur stood on top of it, brandishing a spear. ¡°Was he a child, too?¡± Nadia said wearily.

    Keisha didn¡¯t bother to answer, only turned around to look behind them. The car shuddered to a sudden halt as a fourth familiar appeared, blocking off their last avenue of retreat. A creature like a giant white flower in the shape of a lady, or the other way around. Gracefully she waved her arms, and a thick wall of glass appeared across the highway, to make the point clear.

    ¡°I said no regrets, and I meant it, and I mean it now,¡± she said. Marat cursed under his breath, and struck at his door over and over again, making a repetitive thump. In the front seat, the children slumped down, exhausted. Mister Higgins said to throw up your hands and walk away, but there was nowhere left to go. ¡°But this doesn¡¯t have to be the end. We need to be ready to act as soon as the opportunity presents itself¡ª¡°

    ¡°Keisha, will you please shut up?¡± The request came out slightly muffled; Nadia¡¯s face was buried in her crossed arms, up on the dash.

    All four familiars advanced in unison, at the same steady pace. Fatima groaned; valence pressure from all directions would be a right bitch. Keisha tried to think of how she could have done this better, given how the day started, and drew a blank. She¡¯d done her best, made the correct decision at every turn, and still come up short. The deck was stacked, the game was rigged. It happened sometimes. She leaned forward to put her hand on Nadia¡¯s shoulder, and gently squeeze. The girl didn¡¯t react.

    The car was starting to sink again, as Fatima gave up the fight. Bubbles popped, one by one, under their car. There were only four people to keep their own halo going, and the external pressure would be immense. Keisha was thankful the child was at least rational enough to let them down slowly, after all she¡¯d been through. Soon enough the last bubble popped, and they thunked to the ground again on a stretch of highway running through the middle of nowhere.

    ¡°What¡¯s next, Bobbity Bob?¡±

    Keisha didn¡¯t reply, because the truth was most likely that the four familiars would keep closing in until Fatima blacked out, and then the combined halos would wreck the rest of them with ambivalence. It wouldn¡¯t do any good to tell them that. The alternatives? Not great. She had two kitties left, but they wouldn¡¯t push back against that kind of power for long, and neither Mister Higgins nor Adesina could hurt outside her own halo. Which left ¡­

    She glanced at Ruslan. What the hell.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure, children, and I¡¯m sorry to have to do this.¡± Nadia muttered some thing that might have been an objection or a question, but Keisha tuned her out. ¡°Fatima, this is our last chance, okay? I don¡¯t know what happens after this. But I¡¯m going to pop this kitty here, to buy us a few seconds. Then I¡¯m going to do something stupid. When I tell you to, let Mister Higgins go. Can you do that?¡± The only answer she got was a grunt. She had no choice but to take that as a yes.

    She popped the kitty, and Fatima lifted her head, ever so slightly. Keisha took the empty canister and slammed it into Ruslan¡¯s chest, as hard as she could in the limited space. He grunted under the impact. ¡°Ruslan!¡± she screamed in his ear. ¡°You are letting us down! Your sisters are going to die, because all you can do is sit there and do nothing. What is wrong with you? Why are you so useless?¡±

    His lip quivered as he turned to face her. Shitty thing to do, but the Russians wouldn¡¯t even be this kind. She dropped the empty kitty, and slapped him in the face. ¡°Don¡¯t you give me that stupid look. Are you a man, or what?¡± Another slap. ¡°Come on, don¡¯t just sit there. Fight. Do you even know how to fight?¡± She slapped him again, and too slow he raised a hand to block it, then to swing back. She struck it easily aside. ¡°Pathetic. Can you fight, Ruslan? Get up and fight!¡±

    Again he swung; again she blocked it. ¡°Let me hear you scream, Ruslan. SCREAM!¡± She demonstrated, right in his face. He shoved her away, hard, and bellowed back. ¡°About time! Fatima, drop it!¡±

    The halo collapsed, and Mister Higgins disappeared. Keisha took out her last kitty, and drove it into the boy¡¯s stomach like brass knuckles. He screamed in outrage, and she popped the top, and a twisted snarl of pure black anger tore through the roof of the car to defile the blue spring sky.

 CIX. Fortuity (Yefimov)

    From the moment he encountered the Knyaz at Geyenna, Sergei knew that the scale, scope, and resources of their project had increased dramatically. The masters of Russia did not engage in military operations; Sergei could not recall hearing of their becoming directly involved in any campaign. Even in the recapture of Constantinople, upon which they had come to stake the reputation of the Russian Empire, they had not deigned to intervene. It therefore followed first that the capture of the Marshalls was a matter of prodigious import, and second that Sergei and Marko would from that point onward be relegated to a secondary and subservient role.

    Sergei was of course perfectly content to no longer bear the full burden of responsibility. Marko¡¯s reaction was as ever more emotive and less rational. But this no longer troubled Sergei; even Marko would not be so intemperate as to voice discontent in the presence, or even the vague proximity, of a Knyaz. In the event that he did, the master himself would witness firsthand Sergei¡¯s own loyalty. All that remained to concern him was that Marko¡¯s temper, being thus forcibly constrained at length, might erupt into the dangerous and irrevocable folly of rebellion. Against that danger they were shielded by Marko¡¯s sure knowledge that any misbehavior on his part would be swiftly revisited upon his wife and friends, some three thousand kilometers away.

    So much for internal considerations. Externally, the situation was favorable, even extremely so; the abrupt arrival of the Graham woman had certain implications concerning their internal security, but none too troubling. A certain amount of leak was inevitable, and the Marshalls¡¯ impetuous campaign could scarcely be concealed. However she had discovered their current location, her appearance here was highly likely to facilitate the children¡¯s capture.

    As for the damage inflicted upon the city in the process, Atyrau was a minor port of no significance, in an underpopulated region. It had already been reconstructed once. If a second renewal proved impractical, all its functions could be absorbed by its neighbors without undue trouble.

    When the trap was sprung on the morning of the Seventh, they were prepared. The four of them were positioned equidistant around the city¡¯s perimeter; by fortuity the Knyaz happened to be closest to the point where the children elected, against all reason, to reveal themselves. His first command was to attack the Graham woman, his second for Ardent, Snowdrop, and Zenith to assist him in flanking and containing the children. All possible logistical necessities had been arranged some time in advance, and Sergei (as the most trustworthy of the three servants) was able to obstruct the road out of the city within fifteen minutes of their first appearance.

    The radio silence imposed by emissants necessarily impaired communications and operational awareness from that point onward. Sergei was not surprised, nor displeased, to find that the Graham woman had not been killed; they had intended only to delay and confuse her. Given her obvious and exploitable attachment to the children, it would be the height of strategic myopia to needlessly risk her destruction. Sergei was not convinced that she could be compelled to assail Western targets for Nadezhda¡¯s sake¡ªin the full knowledge that she would be discrediting familiars in American eyes in the process¡ªbut the possibility was promising. Failing that, she could be used to render the Marshalls more compliant.

    Soon enough all targets were united in a single trap. This was Sergei¡¯s first attempt at an ambivalent enclosure maneuver¡ªa tactic commonly described in training, but seldom carried out in practice for want of suitable manpower and circumstances. No ordinary emissant could hope to escape this manner of cordon, even with a substantial ectoplasmic reserve; it was in theory the task of the encircling emissors to wait out their prey¡¯s struggles until exhaustion set in, then tighten the circle until ambivalence simply crushed their will to continue. Theory, however, had not accounted for Ruslan, whose paired and metastable valences could simply perpetuate each other through cycles of collapse and resurgence for as long as emissor and substrate remained alive and conscious. His exact response to this scenario would be a matter of some interest in itself.

    They were brought to bay at a desolate point, where the highway out of Atyrau passed through a great deal of the empty and infertile grassland in which Kazakhstan specialized. The Blackbird had nothing to draw upon save Ruslan¡¯s own companions in the ruined car, and perchance the odd traveler at a refueling station. In targets, too, it was lacking; it struck at the road itself, vaporizing large patches of asphalt in its fury, and downed several power lines, before tearing sizable trenches into the arid steppe, then converting a negligible portion of the Caspian into steam.

    When it was exhausted, and found it could not escape the trap with its own resources, it gave in, and Saray emerged, forcing back their barricade with renewed energy. Sergei saw no reason to confront her, and held his position, noting with some pleasure that they would likely recover all of the Marshalls and their companions, Ruslan excepted, in a state of perfect health.

    The conclusion was foregone, the eventual destination assured; the actual process of achieving it was immensely tedious. Yefimov observed the entire process through a pair of binoculars, with Snowdrop blockading a low point in the road before him, and his faithful Amelin and Lyudmila to witness. The former was plainly bored, in spite of the vitalizing aspects of the halo¡ªone hand followed whichever familiar was currently out in lethargic circles on their map, the other held position on the immobile Ruslan, perhaps marking a slight shift in the epicenter of the Tetzloff field with a desultory tap from time to time.

    Saray soon had no wounds to heal, no fresh pains to absorb. It was curious to see her waver, with no justification for the victimhood she clung to, but after a moment¡¯s hesitation and looking about she resumed her weeping all the same. The sight was mildly ridiculous, but to be expected; a familiar would not abandon its narrative valence simply because it ceased to make sense.

    Saray to Blackbird, Blackbird to Saray, back and forth. Even Lyudmila, who was ever-conscious of appearances, shifted restlessly beside him. Yet their orders were firm: they would not close the circle to force ambivalence unless and until the Knyaz signaled a change in policy by moving himself. Direct antagonism might prompt fresh defiance from the Blackbird, or endanger the integrity of the cordon. Within their limits, Ruslan could do nothing but exhaust himself and his friends with continuous changes of valence. It was hoped that this would render them more pliant upon capture.

    By Sergei¡¯s watch, forty-two minutes passed between the Blackbird¡¯s first defiant emergence and the final collapse, when Saray sank convulsively to the ground and disappeared, and no new challenger appeared. He could feel the change, as the irritating zone of impingement finally collapsed, to be replaced by a milder and more distant sense of annoyance where all four halos met in the space around the car. Through the binoculars, he saw the car¡¯s occupants contort in fresh discomfort. Frankly, Sergei was amazed they retained consciousness.

    That soon changed; in another minute and twenty-six seconds, the last motion in the car ceased. A full minute was allowed for any last mustering of resistance. Then Kist the Golden, as planned, stepped forward to take the four of them into custody. Obediently Sergei withdrew Snowdrop, that Kist¡¯s halo might assert mastery. A black speck on the horizon vanished as Ardent followed suit, and Zenith likewise abandoned his meandering patrol of the skies above the Caspian. Kist advanced gracefully with lance extended and the car sank down, very slightly. A Knyaz took few chances.

    ¡°This is an incredible day,¡± Mila remarked at his shoulder. She had her own binoculars, and watched with tremulous anticipation.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Sergei replied. She might feel differently were she not within the outermost limits of Kist¡¯s halo, but her statement was true nonetheless. Under the golden god¡¯s protection a black car advanced on the beleaguered wreck, flanked by a pair of military trucks. The car stopped at a prudent distance, while the two trucks continued, circumventing fresh rifts in the land where necessary, and took up position, one on either side of the car. Eight soldiers emerged, covering the Marshalls¡¯ vehicle from every angle. Kist lifted his lance by a fraction, to allow them to approach without crawling.

    One of them lifted his hand, signaling that all occupants were unconscious, and at last the door of the black car opened. Out stepped the Knyaz in his patterned hood, the majesty of his triumph only slightly lessened by a pronounced limp, and his left arm clutched to his side in a peculiar fashion. Evidently the Graham woman had done him significant injury en passant. Mila and Amelin sighed in unison, stirred by the sight of a wounded hero.

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    The Knyaz approached within five meters of the car before issuing fresh orders, accentuated by gestures from Kist. One man opened each of the four doors, extracting an occupant while covered by his fellow. Through the binoculars Sergei saw Nadezha emerge first, then Fatima, and Ruslan, and a corpulent man he assumed to be a collaborator.

    He did not see them remove the Graham woman.

    Some confusion ensued at this point, half of the men depositing their captives on the ground while the remainder answered sudden and very peremptory questions from the Knyaz. Sergei felt that he could infer the details, and did not trouble himself over them. He could have no effect upon the situation at the present distance, with a halo preventing communications. ¡°Lyudmila.¡±

    ¡°Sir.¡±

    ¡°I now perceive a certain limitation within our defined operational responsbilities. It is perhaps understandable, but a weakness nonetheless. I feel I should mention this to you now, for further consideration when time allows.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°For the past forty-five minutes, our attention has been wholly occupied by the paraphysical activity surrounding the vehicle. No one person was assigned, as they should have been, to visually monitor the vehicle itself.¡±

    The Knyaz, in his wrath, moved to the precisely wrong place to berate a soldier, and Sergei heard the long-expected report of a firearm, followed by a piercing scream as the imposing figure in the patterned hood fell over onto his injured arm. Several more shots followed in rapid succession. The soldiers, after the fashion of all military men everywhere when a very senior officer is abruptly and violently incapacitated, did nothing helpful, but stared uselessly at the car¡ªspecifically its undercarriage, he supposed, though this detail was difficult to discern from a distance.

    ¡°We would further have done well to specify to our subordinates the precise number and description of persons we expected to see within said conveyance, security considerations notwithstanding.¡± He had not noticed when Kist disappeared; he could not help noticing when the crone Adesina appeared on the hood of the Knyaz¡¯s car, and began striking down their men with brilliant emanations of white light. Their morale bore this well under the halo, but they were not given sufficient time to think of turning their weapons on the space under the vehicle.

    Lyudmila, burdened by the confusion inherent to shifts of valence, no longer appeared to be listening. This was somewhat bothersome, and he was further frustrated with himself for failing to harmonize with Adesina as she appeared¡ªthough the distance between them could well have made this problematic. ¡°Amelin. I shall require your services.¡± The clairvoyant assented with a bow of his head, though clearly worse for the experience himself. It was said that his kind felt individual valences less than typical humans, due to the innate passivity inculcated by their training. He might well require that resilience today.

    ¡°The situation is entirely amenable to reparation,¡± he continued, surveying the scene with binoculars. ¡°Further assistance from His Imperial Majesty seems improbable at this juncture; however, this scenario is at worst merely infortuitous from a strategic perspective.¡± And a personal one, though he did not care to remark as much aloud; securing the family following this failure would likely earn him considerable goodwill from the administration, and there was now, it seemed, one less Knyaz. He was not so vulgar as to seek rank for its own sake, but there was much room for improvement in Holy Rus¡¯.

    Yet such was not his present concern. The Graham woman remained under the car until all opposition was routed, and all three vehicles inspected by her emissant for malingerers (the car¡¯s driver quit the field with abrupt but dignified haste, and was not pursued). In the process, the halo shrank considerably for lack of substrate. Only when the field was clear did the American re-emerge, and begin shaking the slumbering figures on the grass while Adesina kept watch. She met with no notable success, and after some consideration lifted Nadezhda to convey her to the Knyaz¡¯s car.

    ¡°What can I do to help, sir?¡± asked Lyudmila, rubbing at her forehead. The repeated changes in valence had plainly imposed some strain on her.

    ¡°For now, we shall remain in place,¡± he told her. ¡°The three Marshalls are now incapacitated, and her emissant has no utility for transport or defense. The loss of our leadership notwithstanding, a skilled player of chess might regard this as an advantageous trade. She may now elect to return to the city and face Marko, or escape it, and encounter us. Progress in either direction will be slow, thanks to the late antics of the Blackbird.¡±

    Before she could choose either way, Ardent reappeared above Atyrau. Marko had doubtless seen the Knyaz¡¯s fall, and Sergei did not trust his colleague to hold his ground, but the Graham woman had no cause to know as much. Accordingly she turned the car in something near Sergei¡¯s direction. It was difficult to judge her course as she maneuvered around the ravaged portions of the ground, but most likely she had elected to rejoin the road at some point after Snowdrop¡¯s barrier. Thus, he supposed, forcing him to deploy his emissant to obstruct her passage anew. A meager plan, but likely the best she could contrive under the circumstances.

    Ardent did not move from the city, and to Sergei¡¯s relief Zenith did not reappear in the skies. The boy would be most useful marooned on a ship at some distance, blockading the port and otherwise staying out of the way. Sergei was confident in his ability to manage the Graham woman alone, burdened as she was with three near-comatose children, and one of them incapable of walking.

    All the same, he had no intention of starting a direct confrontation with her. Should she escape them now, reacquisition could prove highly problematic as both a tactical and a political matter. Long before she drew close, Sergei, Amelin, and Lyudmila were ensconced in their prepared rallying point, a small concealed crevasse within sight of the highway, slightly less than a kilometer away. Sergei had long since mastered the art of rapid construction with glass, and an artfully textured ramp would allow them to rejoin the road on a few seconds¡¯ notice.

    Lyudmila sat in readiness behind the wheel. Amelin charted the enemy¡¯s approach on the map. They were still some distance out when he blinked, and lifted his hands; she had relinquished her familiar for the sake of stealth. Again, a reasonable response, and perhaps the best available, but not adequate. It was, however, vexatious, as Sergei had entertained a mild hope of bringing the conflict to a quicker and more elegant end.

    As Snowdrop germinated once more from the ground over their heads, Sergei felt the familiar sensation of harmonic synchrony; evidently the Graham woman had elected against a crude duel of ectoplasmic reserves. This was wise, as he suspected she no longer had any. And yet there was something peculiar in the familiar sensation¡ªa feeling of unaccustomed vigor, an acceleration, and then a wrenching, as though the second party to the partnership had quite simply wrested control of the entire process away from Sergei. The comforting ritual of his keystone sequence faltered into a dark silence. Without meaning it¡ªfrom pure and reflexive alarm¡ªhe released Snowdrop, but the halo did not collapse.

    At the same moment, Amelin arched his back, and clapped both hands to the side of his head, and shouted. Lyudmila put out a hand to steady him, only to let go as he began to convulse with great violence. He threw himself back in the seat, all four limbs dancing to the mad commands of an insensible puppeteer, tearing his precious map in half. Lyudmila screamed, and withdrew her hands. Sergei himself felt as though he could scarcely move. From the blue skies above he heard the sound of countless voices, singing a single note.

 CX. Recapitulation (Nadia)

    In the back of the car, Nadia dreamed without sleeping, her exhausted mind too persistently troubled to rest, too dull to understand. One idea after another ran rioting through her head uninvited, leaving behind only muddled memories of images she couldn¡¯t be troubled to understand.

    For most of an hour she had been pulled between raw hateful anger and a yearning to destroy herself for the good of others, until she was wrung completely dry, and still they pulled her through the motions of pretending to feel. Then came the long, terrible scream, when it felt like everyone was shouting inside her head at once and she was sure it would be torn apart. When it was done, she fell into unconscious apathy.

    Into that final exhaustion a fresh story intruded, a story about the glories of battle. Her conscious mind was too far spent to feel it, but the images ran through her mind uncontested and barely noted; she saw them as a fish might see a stone skipping across its pond. An irrelevance. When they were replaced, abruptly, with the tired story about the tree and the old lady, she only shifted in place, as though she were lying with a stone in the small of her back. She didn¡¯t wake up, or struggle when she was picked up and carried.

    All the same, she was newly aware of a rough place in the center of her mind, a place where somebody had lived, once, and wasn¡¯t there anymore. For a little while it had lain vacant and fallow, undisturbed, and the wound left by her leaving had healed over almost completely. But there was still a scab, a little rough spot, and the flesh beneath remembered, well enough to be angry when provoked. The teasing and the tugging¡ªthe feel of a thorn flitting over smooth fabric, daring to go lower until it caught at a thread, hooked, and tore. The scab broke off, and woke the raw wound beneath. Nadia did not have the power to put it in better words. But she felt it.

    Under the wound was nothing but habit, and an empty shape or form where something used to be. A depression in an old mattress where a body once lay, and had shaped the whole mattress to it. The emptiness felt about inside her, unrecognized but unhappy, until it found something, the last remains of what it had lost: the sneering face of a disdainful woman in a cafe. She dreamed, and the dream disturbed her, though she could not have said why.

    It was at that exact moment of useless recognition that one more outrage came to visit, a new story to live by and suffer through. She did not want it, and would have rejected it if she¡¯d had the strength, but she did not, and at a fatal moment the idea of resurrection came along and caught at her old wound. The wound tore raggedly open, and the universe with it, and time stopped, or else by some sudden and inexplicable burst of courtesy released her.

    The sneering woman disappeared, and the cafe as well.  Nadia stood in her old church, facing a man in a black cassock with a red beard. What do you want from me? she asked him, but got answers neither of them could believe in. He was nothing more than a great parrot in man¡¯s shape.

    So she turned and walked away, like her sister wanted¡ªbut turned back at a sharp word, and saw that the man had grown older, with a grey beard and a big nose. What was he doing in a church? She asked him the same question, and got a prompt answer: obedience. Nothing more, nothing less. Only submission would save her.

    But she could not live that way, she explained. It would kill her. What do you want from me? The man answered in the form of a blond woman with glasses, and explained that she was free to die in this way or that, or the other way if she liked, and that she ought to consider herself fortunate, being gifted so many different ways to die when the ordinary common girl was trapped in only one single mode of suffering.

    That is no answer at all. What do you really want from me? Too late; the woman was black now, and had a different and kinder smile. All she wanted was for Nadia to sit there, and let her handle everything. She was just a child, after all, and not responsible for what happened.

    But I am not a child anymore, Nadia told her. I can¡¯t go back to that. So, what do you want from me?

    All too conveniently, the woman was gone, and a much younger girl answered for her: no point in messing with all that. It¡¯s all bullshit anyway. Walk away, sister, and leave it all behind.

    There is nowhere else to go. The world is on fire. What do you really want from me?

    A boy, stout and timid: make yourself small, like a bug or a mouse. Hide, and shrink, and be nothing, and you can go anywhere and nobody will notice. Then you can go anywhere you want.

    And how did that work for you? I think death would be better. No more joking. What do you want from me?

    Another boy, young, blond and beautiful with a mouth full of dirty words: you¡¯re right. Being a human is too hard. It¡¯s much more fun, when the monsters rule the world, to simply live like a beast, until you are a beast, and can¡¯t remember how to change back.

    That did not even deserve a considered answer, and Nadia knew he would not last to argue, so she only answered No. Time was pressing on her now, held back for too long. She did not have forever to talk like this. Nobody got that. She needed to find an answer, a real one. What do you want from me?

    Another old man, with a tan face and a tidy beard. War, he told her. She was called to war, and war was asked of her, and she could give no less. That was the truth of service. Anything less was cowardice.

    I have been at war for so long already, and made everything worse. How much longer? What do you want from me?

    Repentance, said a young man with glasses and long sideburns. If she suffered, it was to prove her repentance sincere. That the Law led her through fire and anguish did not excuse her from obedience to it. It was written, written and complete.

    But I don¡¯t think I believe in the Law anymore. So what do you want from me?

    A third old man, with a grey mustache and a somber look. He had an answer, but it was full of tiresomely long words, and most of them were lies. She hated him on sight, and refused to listen, until at the end of his obnoxious tale he spoke a single word: resurrection.

    She did not believe in resurrection anymore. She had hoped too long for something to come along and save her from the misery of her life. Hoping hurt. But if this man was going to come and bother her with it now, when she was tired past tired and sick in her heart, then she would give it to him, stronger and faster than he had ever expected.

    In the castle tower they stood, surrounded by old books, and Caesar loomed over her in his gaudy clothes, a demon at his back. And he said to her: Is it true, child, that you do not serve my gods, or worship the golden image that I have set up? Now, if you are ready, when you hear the sound of my music, to fall down and worship the image that I have made, well and good. But if you do not worship, you shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace. And who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?

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    But Nadia answered back: Caesar, I have no reason to answer you in this matter. My God is able to rescue me. But if He will not

    if He will not

    if He will not

    if He will not

    if He will not

    Caesar answered her back, but she could not hear him over the music, and did not care to listen. The music came from the walls and the floor and shook the dust from the books he could not be troubled, in his vanity, to take down and read. He did not listen to the song, but she did, and she heard its words: for we have not obeyed Your commandments, which You have decreed that it might go well with us. So all that You have brought upon us, and all that You have done to us, You have done in true judgment. You have given us into the hands of an unjust king, the most wicked in all the world. Now we cannot open our mouths; shame and disgrace have fallen on us. For Your name¡¯s sake do not give us up forever, and do not break Your covenant, for we have become lower than any nation.

    The song was very loud now, though Caesar did not notice, even though she was singing it herself, as loud as she could, to drown him out. Still he brayed on, like an old jackass, and Nadia thought to herself, without ceasing her song: It is time for the Lord to act. The law has been broken.

    The room shook with the song, and all the books fell off the shelves, and trembled where they lay. From the corner of her eye Nadia saw the image of a woman with long hair, for just an instant, but she was gone even as Nadia turned to look, and Nadia could not see her more closely or tell what she looked like. Then she was on the other side of the room¡ªand gone. Faster and faster she moved, here and there, until she was not really moving but only shifting or shaking. Vibrating, maybe, to the music, like a bell. And it was her song.

    The music rose to a crescendo, unbearably loud, and shifted in pitch abruptly, so that Nadia could hear at the same time every part of the chorus, the sopranos impossibly high and the basses unfathomably low and every part between clear and distinct. And Chansonne appeared, firm and true, behind the back of Caesar. Her hand was held high above him, ready to strike, but he did not see or heed her until the song reached its very greatest pitch, and fell silent. At that at last silence Caesar started to turn, too late, and the hand fell. At the first touch he was broken into pieces and unmade, and the whole world, strained to its limit by the power of her song, broke apart with him.

    And Nadia woke.

    Chansonne sang in the sky above her. It was wordless now, but Nadia understood every bit of it. She had sung a bit of it before, and written it down in a letter not so long ago. Who are these people, who eat my people as a man eats bread? Do they not fear God? They shall know such fear as has never been. If He will not ¡­ then the task falls to me.

    Chansonne¡¯s hair was long and bright, twisting in thick sinuous tendrils in the air, and shone with shifting colors, brown, red, and yellow. The flesh beneath was translucent, but rosy, and full of vigor; the space around her seemed to glow, the air traced with a nearly invisible circular frame of rotating floral shapes in lines of subtle gold. She sang with arms outstretched, unconscious of her nudity¡ªthough her hair managed to cover her, more often than not.

    Two foes rose to challenge her: a black dragon with many heads, and a silver knight riding a jet of fire. Even through her weariness, Nadia could remember very well what the dragon would do; the silver man was a mystery. But the dragon¡ªhe had attacked them twice already. If he expected mercy from her, he was mistaken.

    The dragon convulsed, and a streak of red fire came shrieking through the air to strike Chansonne. He did not know who he was dealing with; he would learn better soon. The lady raised her voice, and the rock flew through empty space as she multiplied herself about the heavens as she had in the dream, resonating among the clouds. Just as the rock was beginning to droop down towards the earth, the song stopped, and Chansonne appeared atop of it to strike with immeasurable force.

    Chansonne¡¯s touch went beyond ordinary brute impact; the movement of her hand was enough to trouble the very sky. Her corona flared, its delicate floral shapes momentarily brighter than the sun, and a perfect sphere of violently expanding air broke the meteor into dust with a sound like the end of the world. The praise of God is in her mouth, and a two-edged sword in her hand. To execute the judgment written against them; this is the honor for all His faithful.

    The dragon threw another stone. This time, Chansonne did not wait to let it pass her, but sang herself into place at the edge of her halo to meet it with a sharp and piercing rebuke. The detonation threw the dust of his failure back at him at twice its former speed, and the dragon went tumbling backwards in shame. Let those who hate Him flee from before His face.

    The silver man held his place, only observing. Either he could not hurt her outside his own place, or he did not dare to try. Three high notes trembled in the air, swiftly followed by three rolls of thunder. The metal man was too far away to take damage; the potency of Chansonne¡¯s wrath was reduced to mere turbulence by the time it reached him. Still, he dipped in the air, struggling to keep his balance¡ª

    ¡°Nadia.¡± A hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

    She opened her eyes, and realized they had been closed as she did. It took an effort to open them. The world below was dim and grey, and she was tired; she wanted to go back up to the clouds. But Keisha was there, looking concerned. ¡°There¡± being ¡­ a car with leather seats. She didn¡¯t recognize it. There were other people in it too, but she didn¡¯t feel like taking the time to look at them. Her eyes weren¡¯t focusing very well for some reason. ¡°What? What do you want?¡± What do you want from me?

    ¡°Nadia, you¡¯ve been screaming this whole time. I don¡¯t know what the hell is going on here, but are you okay? Is all this hurting you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Stop distracting me. Oh, what now?¡± A fresh nuisance had come along to trouble her. A third enemy¡ªshe could feel him digging into her halo. No, not him. Her. The flower lady, with the glass, sprouting up half a kilometer down the road. Fine. If they wanted to play three-on-one, she would break them all.

 CXI. Titanomachy (Keisha)

    Marat was down. Down for the count and then some. Hopefully he wasn¡¯t the only one. Whatever had just happened¡ªmaybe it was like what went down in Kuban when Saray was born, but she couldn¡¯t count on that¡ªit might have taken out the Russians¡¯ eyes too. They were probably all blind together. That was some consolation. It wasn¡¯t much.

    As for the rest of them, Fatima and Ruslan were still out cold. Nadia was awake, screaming Biblical gibberish like a street-corner lunatic and might pass out at any moment. Now they were surrounded on three sides; Keisha could see where this was going. First things first, get out of the trap. The Knyaz¡¯s car was a clunking armor-plated monster, and couldn¡¯t accelerate worth a damn, but she got it moving back for the open plains.

    There was a whole string of suburbs along the Ural River, north of the city. Full of harmless Kazakh people living quiet lives in the middle of nowhere. Right now, with no kitties and no time, she saw them as a big tank of gasoline sitting untended. She turned the behemoth away from the sun and a touch right. In less than a minute she hit another road headed north, and literally stomped on the accelerator, forcing the pedal down to the floor. The engine bellowed, and they surged forward.

    Meanwhile, Nadia kept on yelling her war cries, and ¨¦zarine Two threw her concert with airburst bombs or whatever they were on percussion. Hell of a thing to be using near a city. Not like they had much choice. A glance in the rear-view¡ªcouldn¡¯t see if Yefimov was following or not, since his familiar didn¡¯t fly. Ardent either kept his distance, or Nadia¡¯s new friend forced him back. One of those two. Keisha was already driving, holding on to her magnolia, and trying to figure out what she was doing. Keeping track of what on earth was going on would be one thing too many.

    Turnoff after turnoff streaked by the windows, old untended roads of cracked asphalt leading to nowhere. Here and there she saw smudged remnants of brick wall, or a few rusted girders standing up like signposts. All this had been Guryev, six years back. The new city was still only half the size, and what wasn¡¯t useful for scrap and wasn¡¯t in the way had been left standing.

    In another minute they hit the first pristine spot that hadn¡¯t had to be rebuilt from the ashes. Time to ease off the gas. All around them, the tiny town surged into action under Nadia¡¯s valence. Doors flew open and men and women of every age and condition came out, looking pissed. More than half of them were holding knives, two-by-fours, chairs, or whatever else had been at hand. A couple of men met each other as she passed, exchanged insults, and started a fistfight right on the shoulder of the highway.

    ¡°Nadia? If we get out of this car, are these people going to try and kill us?¡± The girl didn¡¯t answer; her shouting had petered off at some point, and she was reduced to panting and punching the seat in front of her. Not long now. But Keisha needed to know. ¡°Nadia! Hey! HEY!¡± She looked up, bleary-eyed. ¡°What do you want right now?¡±

    ¡°Justice,¡± she snapped, and went back to punching the seat.

    ¡°Fine.¡± She pulled off the highway to a side street, then into some random person¡¯s driveway. They had a garage, and a neat little fence enclosing a backyard; she veered off the drive and sent the car crashing through the fence. She put it in park next to the back door, then got to work hauling her unconscious passengers out onto the grass. Nadia got out to gawk¡ªso much the better¡ªand to scream objections Keisha couldn¡¯t be bothered to listen to.

    She had Marat and Fatima dumped in no time, but Ruslan had got himself wedged, and she was still struggling with him when a man in pajamas came out the back door of the house, hefting a meat cleaver. A gorgeous stained-glass Art Nouveau nude intercepted him, and backhanded the taste out of his mouth before he could even say anything. The knife went flying, and he fell down. The familiar grabbed him and disappeared.

    ¡°Thank you, Nadia.¡± Ruslan flopped onto the grass next to his sister. ¡°Where did you send that guy?¡±

    ¡°Some other house.¡±

    ¡°Is he alive?¡±

    ¡°Probably. Are we going to make a stand here?¡±

    ¡°You are.¡± She got back in the car and buckled up, briefly wondering if this clunker had airbags. Nothing had happened when they hit the fence, but it was a crappy fence. The car might not have noticed. ¡°Stay here. Defend your family. Stay conscious as long as you can. I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    ¡°What? You¡¯re leaving us?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She hesitated, trying to think of words. ¡°I promised I wouldn¡¯t, and I won¡¯t. I mean, I am, but I¡¯m going to ¡­ hell. Nadia, there¡¯s only one road here, and they¡¯re going to come after you. I am dead certain of that. They¡¯ll be expecting me to stay with you, no matter what. And that¡¯s why I¡¯m not going to.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°You want justice. So do I. Do you trust me to deliver it for you?¡±

    Nadia stared down at her, biting her lip, for a long moment. Keisha looked her right in those ice-blue eyes¡ªtrying not to linger on the dark circles around them¡ªuntil they blinked, and she nodded.

    ¡°Good. I love you. Stay here.¡± The car door slammed shut, and she reversed out of the yard, leaving a bit of her heart behind her.

    Nadia¡¯s heavenly choir started its millionth verse as she headed back the way she came. The little town was a mess of brawls now, as its citizens sought out whatever they thought was justice, the quickest way they could get it. She didn¡¯t want to think how they would live with each other once this was over. The best thing she could do for them was to end this quickly.

    She didn¡¯t know what kind of traffic this road would get on a normal Sunday morning, but there was none now. She strained her eyes staring at the horizon. Keisha had been reacting all morning; now she would have the initiative. Only for a second, but that might be all she needed.

    There. The sparkle of sunlight on metal and glass. Just a speck. She kept on going at normal highway speeds for just a moment longer before stomping on the gas again. Nadia¡¯s song was still plenty loud, and Keisha trusted the familiar would still be up in the sky drawing attention. A beautiful distraction, and it might even drown out the sudden noise of this monster¡¯s engine. The other car was a drab brown sedan, half the size of hers, some crummy Eastern Bloc model she couldn¡¯t even recognize. It wobbled on the road slightly as she approached; apparently she¡¯d caught the driver¡¯s attention.

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    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move near the ground¡ªsomething bright white. She¡¯d expected it, and kept her eyes on the ugly little car when it swerved aside, thoughtfully presenting her with a broader target. The last thing she saw before impact was the face of a pretty blonde lady with big round-framed glasses, her mouth wide open. Like Nadia¡¯s, her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue.

    She hit them slantwise on the engine compartment, just shy of the driver¡¯s side door. The airbag went off in a cloud of white dust, and the sound of destruction drowned out Nadia¡¯s music and everything else as her face hit it, setting off a cascade of pains she¡¯d be feeling for days. She kicked the door open¡ªit took some serious kicking¡ªand rolled out. It wasn¡¯t much of a roll, under the circumstances, and didn¡¯t take her far. She looked up from the grass, and saw what was left of the ugly brown car about thirty feet away, at the end of a long trail of shed parts. It was right-side up now, but judging by the roof it, like Keisha, had been doing some rolling that didn¡¯t turn out well. No sign of Snowdrop yet.

    Keisha ran at a crouch to take cover behind her own wreck; Adesina limped out from behind the back of the brown car as if she¡¯d been there the whole time, and peered in through the broken window. The driver was slumped over the wheel. Younger man in the passenger seat looked dead. Back seat had an old man in a ruined suit, his forehead covered in bright red blood. As Adesina focused her eyes on him, he turned to look at her, and one hand went to the inside of his suit jacket¡ª

    For a familiar, it was like standing right next to a grenade. Adesina flew into fragments, and it was all Keisha could do to hold on to her magnolia. Snowdrop sprouted up on the far side of the road, arms spread wide. She was fifteen feet tall on top of that long green stalk, with plenty of visibility.

    They were back among the grass-covered bones of Guryev. Keisha ran for the closest thing that wasn¡¯t her car¡ªa fireplace and its chimney¡ªignoring various jabs of pain. Yefimov would be hurting worse. On the other hand, he didn¡¯t have to move ¡­ she threw herself into the pitiful shelter of the fireplace, nearly crushing a bird¡¯s nest full of eggs. She popped out the pistol¡¯s magazine, and peeked through the window in the side. Eight rounds, plus one in the chamber.

    She slapped it back in, and hightailed it for a melted bus stop, running through a shimmering space in the air before it could harden into glass. The bus stop was just a sagging metal frame, poor cover, but there was nothing better she could get to quickly at her limping run. She hopped her way for it, expecting every second for a million glass shards to drive into her back.

    Nadia¡¯s song was still going. It rose to a crescendo now, full of rumbling bass¡ªthen abruptly stopped. Keisha threw herself flat just before the blast went off, and a hurricane-force wind swept over her. She looked up and behind her, and saw nothing but leaves and old litter drifting back down to the ground. No glass. Disrupted too early? She¡¯d take it. The chorus started up again, and she pushed herself to her knees with a fresh set of bruises. There were bits of brick buried in the weeds, and her ribs had found every one.

    Snowdrop sprouted up beside the bus stop before she could even get started that way again, waving her arms the second they were clear of the ground. Shit. She jinked to her right, towards the car. Yefimov was old, and hurt. If she could just get to him¡ª

    Keisha didn¡¯t actually feel the hit. One moment she was moving. The next, she was on her side on the pavement, crying through gritted teeth, feeling like she¡¯d been speared through the heart. Just breathing was agony. She put her hand to the left side of her chest; it came away bloody. Very bloody. She suddenly remembered she¡¯d been holding a gun in that hand. God knew where it went.

    Something green burst out of the ground five feet away; she tried to sit up and failed before a gigantic hand took by the waist to lift her up, kicking at the air until the pain from the exertion forced her to stop. Snowdrop¡¯s grip was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as she raised Keisha up to her face, considering her from under her hood. Keisha couldn¡¯t see any eyes, just a shadow above a perfect nose and lips.

    Then the music stopped, and Snowdrop let go just before the blast threw Keisha into her. Through her, almost. It was like getting slammed into a giant marshmallow¡ªshe was all air and fluff, no bones at all. It still hurt like hell, and Keisha still screamed when they hit the ground together. Snowdrop¡¯s deflated corpse was starting to turn brown as Keisha levered herself back off it. A new Snowdrop was rising up next to the ruined chimney, which was missing its top half now. Was that what had hit her?

    Another blast. Keisha landed on her right side with a fresh curse, smacking her head in the process. Somehow, she pushed herself up, and saw rapidly-browning pieces of Snowdrop scattered across the asphalt. A fresh stalk rose across the highway. The music stopped, and Keisha braced herself against the bus stop. Bang. The stalk bent and broke.

    Keisha¡¯s whole left side was hot and damp now, her Kazakh dress soaked down past the hip. Not much time left. The brown car was still twenty feet away at least, with no cover to speak of. Nothing to grab hold of. But nowhere else to go. She took a tottering step, then another. Where the hell was her gun? What was she even going to do when she got there?

    Another blast threw her on her face. She didn¡¯t quite black out. Couldn¡¯t complain. Snowdrop would kill her even faster without it. She looked up, spotted the car. Got up on hands and knees to crawl, as fast as she could bear. She had a knife in her dress somewhere, maybe. That would do for him.

    Another blast. Another fall. Another rise. The car was closer. Her chest hurt a little more. Couldn¡¯t black out yet. Just a little bit farther now. Just remember that it was all going to work out.

    Then her foot snagged on something¡ªor maybe nothing¡ªand found she was on her face, and couldn¡¯t quite figure out how to get up again. She was feeling dizzy all of a sudden. And the music had stopped. She braced herself. No blast. But the music didn¡¯t start up again. Well. Damn.

    She held on to consciousness with bulldog¡¯s teeth. Raised her head. The brown car was right there. Just a couple of steps. Where was Snowdrop? Hell if she knew. But there was the car¡¯s door. Just had to ease herself up¡ªno, not that way¡ªwell! It was a bit of a struggle, wasn¡¯t it? She thought of her magnolia, took a couple of deep breaths. Reached down a hand to push on the spot where it hurt. Hard to stop bleeding while you were running for your life. Didn¡¯t seem fair.

    Now she was on her knees. Couldn¡¯t remember how she did it, but she was. Her hand was on the handle. She tugged it open, dragged herself in. The backseat was empty. Nothing there but a bloody mess.

    Well. Damn.

    The seat was comfortable, though. She had half a mind to stop and rest a bit. Not for long, just a moment. Then she would find ¡­ whoever it was. The man. Him. She set herself down against the bloody back seat, trying not to put weight on her left side. It was awkward, and her left hand dangled down. It brushed against something, down there on the floorboard. Cold metal. She smiled, and felt it all over, until she found the lid. It had a pop-top too. Sensible.

    It was a bit harder than usual to call Grandmama out. She wouldn¡¯t have come at all, without the kitty. But she came in the end, and Keisha could see through her eyes better than with her own. Most of what she saw was a terrible mess of car parts. But there, on the road, a few feet down the way. There he was, in a bloody tattered suit, propping himself up on his arms and breathing hard. He looked like she felt. Poor old man.

    Adesina moved in a little closer, in her usual unhurried way. The old man looked up at her, dripping more blood from the cut in his head. His mouth was open, and he looked confused. His mustache and beard were soaked; he was breathing fast and shallow. Might be bleeding somewhere inside, as well. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t live very long anyway, even without her help.

    But there was no sense taking chances.

    Keisha could see the light from inside the car. A flash like lightning from heaven. When it was done, a charred corpse lay on the asphalt, little flakes of ash blowing off it in the morning breeze.

    The last thing Adesina saw, before Keisha let the darkness take her, was another car coming down the road.

 CXII. Mercy (Marko)

    The operation was running long, and Marko Hushchyn knew he was not the only one growing tired of it. Ardent the hero hung in the air above the city, ready to defend it if he must, knowing he was unlikely to be asked to do so. He had done nothing for more than an hour now, because there was nothing to be done; his emissant¡¯s abilities were inappropriate for a less-than-lethal assignment. Now the Knyaz was dead, and apparently Sergei as well. The actually useful half of their task force was dead, and Marko was still helpless.

    Not literally helpless. Outright killing the children was still possible. It would be easy, even. The new emissant¡ªit would be a very pleasant change to fight someone who did not pull an entirely new weapon out of their ass at the last moment, but this evidently was not meant to be¡ªdefended herself quite well, but he was confident in Ardent¡¯s ability to overwhelm that defense. The girl was tired, recovering from prolonged ambivalent shock, and (he assumed) even more irrational than usual.

    From his vantage at the edge of Atyrau, as close to the action as his halo permitted, Ardent saw her emerge from the car, a tiny blonde stick-figure. She¡¯d already dropped her new friend, leaving herself wide open. One rock would blot her out of existence; she would never even see it coming. She¡¯d come out of the passenger seat, so somebody else was driving. Fatima, maybe. Two hits would eliminate two enemies of the Russian state. A fitting end to the story. But what then?

    A Knyaz and an oprichnik were dead, dead at the hands of children and a single American. That would be difficult to hide from ¡­ various interested parties. And there were many interested parties. Many people watching, from every angle, looking to make their move. Even before today¡¯s disaster, the brats had killed one oprichnik, and nearly killed another¡ªthe one currently sitting in a cushioned desk chair in an office in downtown Atyrau, staring at the ceiling and pondering his options¡ªand disabled or killed several dozen clairvoyants, plus sundry military personnel and civilians stretching across the southwest of the country, et cetera. They were a massive embarrassment, and a liability.

    The logical thing to do would be to barrage the car and a quarter-kilometer of road around it to be sure, and put them all down like mad dogs, children or not. But this was Holy Rus¡¯. Logic and the public weal had little bearing on decision-making at the upper echelons. At least, by those who wished to remain in the upper echelons, and not buried in an unmarked hole.

    Nadia made her dazed way around the site, wasted a few seconds gawking over the charred corpse of Sergei Yefimov, and found her incapacitated mentor inside what was left of the late oprichnik¡¯s car. Incapacitated, or dead? Somewhere in between, Marko suspected. He was tempted to destroy the car before Ruslan could become involved¡ªher survival was optional, from the Kremlin¡¯s perspective¡ªbut decided against it. First because it might enrage the children into renewing the fight, and second because a revived Keisha Graham would be their best chance at getting the hell out of Russian territory, to go be somebody else¡¯s problem.

    The child scampered back to her own vehicle, and held a protracted conversation with those inside. Ruslan would be very tired after the morning¡¯s exertions. It spoke for the resilience of youth that any of them were mobile at all. Could the boy¡ªah, yes, he could. The lovely Saray appeared, yet again. Not as bright and fresh as she had been this morning, but then none of them were. She lingered for just a few seconds, crying over the carnage, and for a brief second Marko wondered if the boy were addled enough to accidentally revive Sergei while he was at it. No, as it turned out. The black woman emerged from the rear of the car, weeping like her savior, while the burnt corpse remained burnt. Very good.

    Then the beautiful princess disappeared, and in his office some kilometers away Marko let out his breath. No blackbird. The child had better self-control now, maybe, or else he had passed out from the strain. Marko didn¡¯t care which.

    The rest was irrelevant, and only his interest in drama kept him at his voyeur¡¯s window. The woman became visibly angry with the child, gesturing back at the middling town they had just left, then at Ardent. Well, if she was worried about him, he would gladly abandon the stage. They could leave the country through this city, for all he cared, so long as they didn¡¯t level it in the process¡ªbut no. Something else was happening. Another person was coming out of the car, a man, from the passenger seat. Sergei¡¯s clairvoyant. What was his name? He was all better now, unlike Marko¡¯s Leonova, who was en route to the nearest hospital, waiting for the halo to drop so she could be properly treated with modern computerized equipment.

    Marko saw no reason to deny her longer. He waited only to watch Keisha Graham drag a trembling Lyudmila out of the driver¡¯s seat, then let Ardent go with a laugh. He¡¯d never liked Lyudmila, and she didn¡¯t know anything too critical. She knew Marko¡¯s identity, of course, and that was a nuisance, but he suspected the Americans would need to know his identity before too long anyway. He wished dear Lyudmila the very happiest rest of her life in an undocumented facility. Sergei¡¯s clairvoyant¡ªAmelin, that was his name¡ªprobably hadn¡¯t done anything to deserve that, but he¡¯d likely have died without medical aid.

    Slowly Marko rose from his chair, and stretched out the kinks. His fiftieth birthday was nearer than he cared to think about. An unknown future awaited him. He would probably not be going back to his theater in Simferopol, after all this. He had accepted that. At the moment, he had no greater ambition than to survive, and make his way back to his home and his beloved Zoya. That was enough for him, to see her again. But if it just so happened that the best way out was up and through ¡­

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    Killing the children now would, he was nearly certain, saddle him with the blame for this whole fiasco. It would be proof that he had never wanted the operation to succeed, or evidence that he was a paid saboteur, or some damned thing like that. Capturing them was not a practical or credible option, if it ever had been. Merely retreating from the field would earn him only accusations of incompetence from the surviving Knyazya, most of whom had been away from active duty long enough to lose all sympathy for real warriors. He had to retreat¡ªbut not empty-handed. Not without an accomplishment to point to.

    Marko could think of one possibility only, and the timeframe for achieving it was limited. He poked his head out the door and shouted for Valentina Zhuk, who arrived inside of a minute.

    ¡°Take me to the nearest elementary school,¡± he told her, cutting off her request for orders. ¡°Now.¡±

    ¡°You realize it¡¯s Sunday, sir?¡± She did not ask for an explanation. Likely she was clever enough to come to the same conclusion he had, and saw this as her own way out as well. At least they¡¯d found him a competent assistant.

    ¡°Shit. Fine. Nearest church, then. Not mosque, church. Oh, and get Vasily to stand down, if you can. He¡¯s not doing any more good out there.¡± If he ever had. ¡°On second thought, see if you can get someone to call him in, and meet us outside the church. Without Zenith!¡±

    Valentina led him to her car without question or comment, making calls to the appropriate people along the way. God bless her. Marko felt the tension melt out of his shoulders as they moved. The worst was over. Probably.

    Really, this was all his fault, for sending that damned e-mail. He wasn¡¯t sure if he regretted it or not. He had no clue what kind of ¡°research¡± they had in mind for these children, but they had caused nothing but misery from the moment they crossed the border. Atyrau had gotten off lightly¡ªand most of the damage it had sustained had been inflicted by young Vasily, before Nadia and Fatima came back to the town. If a little treason was all it took to discourage the Knyazya from replacing trained adults with teenagers, then Marko could live with that. Especially if he prevented them from putting a bullet in his own skull so they could ¡®improve¡¯ Ardent a few years down the road.

    This was of course a deeply ironic way of solving that problem, but he would get his bullet even sooner if he did anything else.

    The nearest church was actually a cathedral, an ugly one with pink sides and a multicolored roof. The service had been somewhat delayed by several hours of paraphysical warfare, but it would take more than that to keep Russian believers out of church in the middle of Lent. It was probably better this way; this would filter out all the less devout. Devout children would be more obedient. The last thing he needed would be to pick up a little hooligan by mistake.

    He sent Valentina in with orders to requisition at least a half-dozen likely minors for the service of the state. For five, ten, fifteen minutes he waited in the car, studying his cross. The wolf¡¯s head at the center, for loyalty and ferocity, and the four brooms for arms, emblems of Ivan IV. He was called to sweep Russia¡¯s enemies out of the country. In a roundabout way, he was doing just that; if Keisha Graham had to be the one doing the sweeping, well, the important thing was that they were gone.

    Valentina came out with two boys and a girl, and an apologetic look on her face. Marko¡¯s car was much the same as the Knyaz¡¯s, and offered plenty of room and comfort for all three to join him in the back. Judging by their faces, they didn¡¯t appreciate the honor. Probably they thought he was some kind of pervert. ¡°Not much to choose from, I take it,¡± he called to the front. Valentina shook her head. ¡°Where is Vasily?¡±

    ¡°He was already off the boat when they called. Boris and Misha were planning to take the fight to the Marshalls on land¡ª¡°

    ¡°God damn it!¡±

    ¡°But we told them that was not acceptable, and to stand down, because you were formally assuming command.¡±

    ¡°Did they argue?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m told they were relieved.¡±

    ¡°Good. Where are they now?¡±

    ¡°On their way.¡±

    ¡°Have them meet us at the hotel.¡± This did not reassure the children, and he smiled at them, holding out his open hands. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said. ¡°You will not be harmed.¡± All three stared back at him, eyes wide with terror. This, unfortunately, was a normal and sane reaction to an unplanned meeting with an officer of the state. He looked them over. All three were somewhere between eight and twelve, ethnically Slavic ¡­ about all he needed. Valentina had done well.

    He did his best to calm them down on the way to the hotel, and learned that their names were Roman, Anatoly, and Elizaveta. Roman and Anatoly were fraternal twins, and had been taken from altar service, and Father Arseny was not happy about that. Elizaveta enjoyed running, was fond of animals, and wanted to work in the zoo when she grew up.

    They relaxed somewhat more when they got to the hotel¡ªthe city¡¯s finest¡ªand met Vasily, who looked thoroughly harmless. They did not believe him when he said he was an oprichnik, but pretended to, because they had been brought up well. They would do. Once they were secure in Marko¡¯s room, he told them that by the end of the day one of them would be an oprichnik him- or herself, and another would effectively have joined the Knyazya. At this, they looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

    Men arrived with dowsers as he briefed them on the necessary techniques for adopting a familiar. It wasn¡¯t an especially sunny day for April, but earlier would be better. He wound up hurrying them out the door before they had had time to adjust. But then, if he¡¯d given them that, they would have stayed in that room for a week. It was a cruel thing he did to them, much crueler than they could ever guess, but however long they lived, neither they nor their families would ever want for anything again. And it was the only way forward.

    They soon found the remains of both emissants; Kist was drifting towards Atyrau, while Snowdrop preferred the shelter of the little villages to the north. It wasn¡¯t noon yet, and they would have places to shelter from the sun. They would have a fair chance of recovering both, and the Russian state would not only recover two valuable tools, but save themselves the humiliation of admitting someone had killed a Knyaz. Would that be enough to save Marko¡¯s head? He thought it would. And if he happened to make friends with one or more of these little darlings along the way, he would have a sympathetic, naive, and likely talkative resource inside the Kremlin. Something could be made of that.

    Yes, he probably was going a little mad. Certainly he felt manic. Was that any wonder, under the circumstances? This was a mad country, run by madmen, and he¡¯d given years of his life in their service. The Soviets had been bad. The Whites were worse. The madness was catching. They all had it now.

    How did you fix a mad country? It was a difficult business, reforming lunatic men. A whole nation would be harder. The best way to go about it, he thought, would be to make a clean start. Decapitate the old leadership, throw out the old trash, and start fresh. But you would need a really fresh start, to bring in someone totally new, uncontaminated by the old poisons and prejudices.

    Really, you had to start with a child.

 CXIII. Intermission (Nadia)

    Nadia slept for most of the next day and a half. She didn¡¯t know or care how Keisha got them out of the country; she nodded off as the fat man Marat was forcing Mila into handcuffs, and wound up snoring with her head on the horrible woman¡¯s shoulder for most of the drive out of Kazakhstan. At some point in the ride, several strange men appeared to take Mila (and Yefimov¡¯s other assistant) into custody. Nadia woke up long enough to watch her disappear, unresisting, into another car, and reflect that she would probably never see her again. Then she fell back asleep.

    There was a plane ride, or several plane rides. They passed through a couple of airports where nobody asked her any questions or expected any identification. Nadia woke up long enough to sleepwalk to wherever they expected her to wait next, then drowsed in the first available seat.

    Eventually, the whole process ended with her opening her eyes and seeing late-afternoon sun shining through a window onto a dresser cluttered with tacky knickknacks. She sat up, looked around, and saw that she was in a twin bed in a small room. The wallpaper had an ugly striped pattern, while her bedsheets were covered in faded prints of big-eyed kittens. Nadia herself was still in the same clothes she¡¯d put on ¡­ Saturday? Had it been Saturday morning? What day was it now?

    Suddenly she realized she had to use the bathroom, very urgently. The room¡¯s door was unlocked, and the door right across the hall was the one she was looking for. Once that was done, it came to her that she was also quite hungry and thirsty. The kitchen, it turned out, was down the hall. Fatima and Ruslan were in a couch in the adjacent den, watching television with the volume turned down low. Fatima looked up and waved as she came in; her other arm was around Ruslan¡¯s shoulder.

    Nadia started to ask where they were, but got distracted. ¡°What on earth are you watching?¡±

    ¡°International competitive herding. It¡¯s a close contest so far. We¡¯re rooting for the Irish guy, since he¡¯s got the best accent.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She paused for a moment, watching a man in a sweater point and whistle to order a dog around a field full of sheep. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s sixteen-thirty on a Monday. It¡¯s this, soap operas, or kiddy cartoons. We decided on this.¡±

    ¡°Dogs,¡± Ruslan added, winning a smile and a shoulder squeeze from Fatima.

    ¡°Right.¡± Nadia collected her thoughts, looked around, and spotted a bowl of mixed fruit on the kitchen counter. That would do. She picked out an apple and a banana, and went rummaging through the fridge once those were gone. There wasn¡¯t much in there, but she did have enough to put together a sandwich and a glass of milk.

    ¡°There¡¯s bags of chips in the cupboard next to the stove,¡± Fatima called out.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± It took her a couple of tries to find the exact cupboard she meant, and the bags said they contained ¡®crisps.¡¯ ¡°Cheese and onion?¡±

    Fatima did half a shrug with her free hand. ¡°Bob told them to take us somewhere civilized. This was the best they could do. At least nobody¡¯s shooting at us.¡±

    Nadia tried a chip. It could have been worse. ¡°And where is this?¡± She looked out the window at rolling green fields under a forested hill. She could see one other house in the distance, tucked up against the hill, but it had to be at least half a kilometer away. ¡°England?¡±

    ¡°I think technically it¡¯s Wales. Somebody¡¯s rental cottage. Does it matter?¡±

    ¡°I suppose not.¡± She made herself another sandwich, and joined them on the couch, unsure of what was happening but content to let it continue. It didn¡¯t look like anyone was going to shoot at her or try to kidnap her in the immediate future.

    The trials ended an hour later with victory for a dog from New Zealand, to Fatima¡¯s disgust. Nadia lost interest within ten minutes, and spent most of the time perusing the house¡¯s dusty selection of video cassettes. She was on the point of suggesting a twenty-year-old romantic comedy when the front door opened, and Keisha and Dr. Gus came in with two big bags full of takeout food.

    A minor controversy followed, as Keisha broke out a heap of traditional British pub favorites and Fatima shot down one after another for containing pork, or potentially being fried in lard. Keisha sarcastically offered to call the pub to ask if they, the one restaurant in ten miles, happened to be halal. That got Fatima complaining about the food in general being too heavy and greasy. In the end, Keisha shut her up with a bowl of shepherd¡¯s pie, which Fatima declared adequate but still not very good. Nadia wasn¡¯t sure whether she agreed or not, but she was still hungry enough not to complain. Hers was ¡®bubble and squeak,¡¯ which seemed to contain fewer animal products than the rest of it. It was still Lent, and she wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to observe that or not.

    Once they were eating quietly, Dr. Gus filled them in on what had been happening in Europe. It was a hard story to believe, and when he finished by asking if they had anything to contribute, Nadia was at a loss.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even understand how this could have happened,¡± she told him. ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to be the expert on familiars? How is Yunks surviving without a master?¡±

    ¡°I believe she is forming a series of temporary hosts¡ªor victims¡ªto sustain herself,¡± he said. ¡°As for how she made the transformation, I suspect Mr. Marshall was in a sense her first such victim.¡±

    Fatima raised an eyebrow. ¡°You mean somebody else made her, and she latched on to him?¡±

    ¡°No. It seems likely that she was conceived from his mind. But she was very unusual; she had no true valence, and no halo. Now she can make a kind of halo, in that she can feed off multiple victims at once. But she has never had a narrative valence. Most emissants have a story they wish to tell; Yunks has a deed she wishes to do, or a relationship she wishes to establish. Namely, domination and torment. I believe that is the key here.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t totally understand this myself,¡± Keisha put in, ¡°and I¡¯ve heard this explanation a bunch of times. But the short version seems to be¡ªcorrect me if I¡¯m wrong here, Doc¡ªthat your adopted father¡¯s emissant might have eaten his personality from the inside out, over the course of years.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have happened to a nicer person,¡± Fatima quipped.

    Nadia took a moment to think it over before replying. ¡°Eaten his personality, you say. What would that mean?¡±

    ¡°It is normal for an emissant¡¯s valence to influence the emissor¡¯s own behavior, over time,¡± Dr. Gus said. ¡°But the valence itself is nothing more than a narrative framework to be imposed on the subject¡¯s understanding of the world. It does influence behavior due to its emotional content, but does not dictate a particular course of action for the person under its influence; at every moment, you have a number of possible responses to whatever situation you find yourself in. The valence only nudges you to choose one over the rest.¡±

    ¡°And Yunks is different because ¡­ she wants to do a particular thing? But don¡¯t all of them?¡±

    ¡°The difference is somewhat subtle. If I am correct, Titus Marshall and his victim of the moment were the only substrate for a very limited kind of halo. This halo would be informed by a particular self-justifying outlook, of course, but that paradigm would be incidental. Mostly, Yunks was a mere compulsion, and I believe your adopted father was influenced by that compulsion, as all emissors are influenced by their emissants, or as a drug addict is influenced by the pleasurable feeling of his habit.

    ¡°Over many years, the compulsion became an overriding factor in his personality, and¡ªgoing by interviews with his subordinates¡ªit essentially hollowed him out, until he became the pathetic caricature of a person I briefly knew. Yunks, his own offspring, gestated inside his brain, consuming more and more resources. In the end, you cracked the shell of her egg, and she was free to grow beyond her old constraints. This is the result. I do not know what would have happened if Marshall had lived.¡±

    Nadia thought it over. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I have no idea what to do about this. It sounds like the Yunks I knew was a totally different creature from this ¡­ nightmare.¡±

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    Keisha looked like she¡¯d already come to the same conclusion, and wasn¡¯t happy about it. Dr. Gus was less sure. ¡°All the same,¡± he said, ¡°I would like to speak with both of you, who knew her during her ¡®childhood.¡¯ There may be some clue we have overlooked.¡±

    She was finally, as far as she could tell, safe. She had a full stomach, was well-rested, and the request was reasonable enough¡ªit wasn¡¯t as if he were asking her to use Chansonne. All the same, the thought of going over her experiences with the demon was not at all appealing. ¡°Can it wait till morning?¡±

    ¡°It has waited some time already. More people die every moment Yunks lives.¡±

    She looked at Fatima, who spared her a small nod, then went back to shuffling through the bags for an appetizing desert. ¡°All right, then.¡±

    They were up till after midnight, going over virtually every memory she had of her time with Titus Marshall. Along the way they wound up giving a complete account of everything that had happened since they parted in Syria. Dr. Gus had questions about all of it, sometimes very strange questions. She had no way of answering many of them; there was a lot she had forgotten, and anyway she couldn¡¯t see the significance of the vile man¡¯s exact expression or tone of voice when he said a particular thing. Most of the time, she couldn¡¯t even remember the exact words. And, as the Doctor himself admitted at last, it wasn¡¯t as if the memories she did have were likely to be especially accurate. The human brain just didn¡¯t work that way.

    ¡°Well, at least we got them out,¡± Keisha said at the end, when even Nadia was beginning to feel tired again after her marathon sleep. ¡°Moscow can¡¯t use them. Dawes can¡¯t complain about that.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d better not,¡± Fatima retorted. ¡°Not if he doesn¡¯t want my foot up his¡ª¡°

    ¡°What about Colonel Hampton?¡± Nadia interrupted. ¡°We could ask him. Yunks went after him personally, right? He might know something.¡±

    ¡°Colonel Hampton is in a coma,¡± Keisha said. ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you that?¡±

    ¡°Yes. But we can fix comas. We can fix death!¡± She pointed to Ruslan, who was slumped over on the kitchen counter beside Fatima, snoring into his folded arms. ¡°Couldn¡¯t he bring him back?¡± Keisha shot a worried glance at Dr. Gus, whose face fell into an expression of forced neutrality. ¡°What? He could. I know it¡¯s dangerous, but if we brought the Colonel out into a remote area, so the Blackbird couldn¡¯t hurt anything important, wouldn¡¯t that be worth it?¡±

    ¡°We have considered it,¡± said Dr. Gus in a quiet voice.

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°It was decided not to, for technical reasons.¡±

    ¡°Decided by who? And what reasons?¡±

    Keisha sighed. ¡°Just tell her, Doc.¡±

    ¡°I do not think this is a good time, so soon after¡ª¡°

    ¡°Tell me what?¡±

    ¡°Just. Tell. Her,¡± Keisha repeated. ¡°Rip off the damn band-aid already.¡±

    Dr. Gus frowned. ¡°If you insist. But I think it is a mistake.¡± He turned to look Nadia directly in the eye. ¡°Your new emissant. Her name is ¡®Chansonne,¡¯ you say. Do you know what that means?¡±

    Nadia thought it over. ¡°Does it mean anything? I don¡¯t think ¡®¨¦zarine¡¯ meant anything. I asked Therese once, and she said it wasn¡¯t even a real French name.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Chansonne¡¯ is not a real French name either. But it is not entirely meaningless. The word ¡®chanson,¡¯ without the feminized ending, refers to a genre of medieval French songs, most famously the chansons de geste, tales of deeds. Songs of great warriors, like Roland. Did you know that?¡±

    ¡°No. What does this have to do with Colonel Hampton?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t speak more than a handful of words in French. Yet your half-unconscious and badly stressed brain apparently invented this new name, based on a moderately obscure subject you were not familiar with. Even your pronunciation is, as far as I can tell, flawless. Where did it come from?¡±

    ¡°I guess I might have heard it somewhere and forgotten it? Does this matter? Wait. Claude was French. Maybe I inherited a bit of that with ¨¦zarine, without even knowing it?¡± It didn¡¯t sound very plausible.

    ¡°That is one possibility. Another is that chansons de geste were known to your brother.¡± And he too pointed to the oblivious Ruslan. ¡°I understand he was very well-read.¡±

    Fatima had turned her attention to her empty soda can¡ªwhich was labeled IRN-BRU¡ªas soon as the conversation turned to old French words. Now she perked up her ears again. ¡°Hold up. What¡¯s he got to do with all this?¡±

    Dr. Gus bit his lip. ¡°There is no delicate way to say this. Nadezhda, if the story you tell us is accurate, you were dead for a period of several hours. That is more than enough time for your brain to sustain catastrophic damage for lack of oxygen. Paraphysical theory has not advanced far enough yet to say how it was that Ruslan revived you. But it seems likely that, once he did, you were literally not the same person you were before. Your brother did not have access to all your memories. Some part of you is essentially Ruslan¡¯s invention.¡±

    ¡°What? That¡¯s ridiculous. Fatima, am I a different person than I was?¡±

    ¡°Not that I can tell.¡±

    ¡°The broad outlines of your personality would be preserved, of course,¡± Dr. Gus said impatiently. ¡°But small details might have changed, editorial inventions unconsciously inserted to fill in gaps, particularly given your brother¡¯s own dubious mental state at the time. The crux of the matter is that we cannot revive Colonel Hampton to consult him regarding Yunks because it is possible some of his memories will be inadvertently distorted in the process. Were he allowed to revive on his own, we might have better odds of success.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to leave your friend in a coma over that?¡±

    ¡°Such are the stakes of this contest. Yes. The situation is desperate, and difficult choices must be made.¡±

    Nadia racked her brain for memories that might be Ruslan¡¯s, and came up blank. ¡°This is all too ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Fatima chimed in. ¡°But before this goes any farther, I think we¡¯ve been patient enough. We¡¯ve answered all your questions. You¡¯re the expert here, Doc. What in the hell is going on with all these new familiars? Where did Saray, and the Blackbird, and ¡­ that French word. Where did they come from?¡±

    ¡°Nowhere predicted by any extant paraphysical theory,¡± said Dr. Gus. ¡°Clearly it is key that you are both adolescents, your brains in a more plastic state. Beyond that ¡­ two factors seem relevant, and common to both events. One, you both sustained severe cerebral trauma. And two, prior to that trauma, you were both under considerable psychic distress. You, Nadia, because of the death of your brother. With Ruslan, it is more difficult to say for certain, but he was highly agitated before the incident at the bridge, yes?¡±

    ¡°He was always ¡®highly agitated,¡¯¡± Fatima told him with a roll of her eyes. ¡°Didn¡¯t know how to be anything else.¡±

    ¡°The relationship of a child to an adopted familiar is by nature unstable and superficial; the emissant¡¯s valence is foreign to your experience, and shallowly rooted. But the deep structural priming on which the emissant depends is more durable. I believe that your brains, under a burden of heavy emotional distress, simply rebuilt your emissants in their own image, using that bedrock as a foundation. If I am correct¡ªand do note that I am not speaking in any very great confidence here¡ªyour relationships to your new familiars will be far deeper.¡±

    ¡°What difference does that make?¡± Fatima challenged him. Nadia wondered if she was offended by the suggestion that she didn¡¯t have a deep relationship with her father¡¯s familiar.

    ¡°If you will pardon me for using a painful example, neither Shum-Shum nor Rhadamanthus have been seen since the deaths of their respective masters. They are gone from the world forever. But I believe that, were Nadia to die again, Chansonne would survive her, potentially to be adopted once more.¡±

    They all let that hang in the air for a moment. ¡°So ¡­ Chansonne is mine forever? She won¡¯t go away?¡±

    ¡°I lack the confidence to answer that question definitively. It is possible that, as you are still a minor, she could change again, with or without another major shock or trauma. But possibly not. I have no reason to believe she will simply evaporate.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She didn¡¯t know how to feel about that. Or about anything else she¡¯d just heard. She wasn¡¯t sure she believed any of it, or thought any of it mattered. But what did matter? ¡°So. Yunks.¡±

    ¡°Yunks,¡± Keisha agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re going to do.¡±

    Nadia thought it over. ¡°I think ¡­ ¡° Three heads turned to look at her. Nadia looked into Fatima¡¯s eyes, wondering if her sister were thinking the same thing. Probably not. ¡°I think maybe I do.¡±

 CXIV. Groaning (Multiple)

    Simple. She said it was simple, and it was. Yunks remembers what she used to be. She picked poor Colonel Hampton out of that whole city to torment in person, just because she had met him before. How far would she go to get to me, who stood up to her, and broke her out of her shell?

    It was a good question, Keisha had to admit. And its answer was probably ¡°to the ends of the earth.¡± Considered tactically, it was their obvious next move, and the best chance they were going to get to save all of Europe. And the possibility hadn¡¯t even occurred to Keisha, for obvious reasons. No. Absolutely not.

    But why? Her face and voice had both been so calm, when she asked. So very mature. This is what you got me out for, right? That¡¯s what you told your president, to justify the risk. Just on the chance that I might know a way to end all this. Well, I do! So let me do it.

    I didn¡¯t snatch you out of the jaws of death just to throw you back in, she¡¯d snapped back.

    It¡¯s not ¡®the jaws of death.¡¯ It¡¯s just Yunks. I have faced her down before.

    Keisha couldn¡¯t remember what she¡¯d said to that. Nothing that made much of an impression. Nadia had kept calm the whole time, and Keisha hadn¡¯t, and Dr. Gus had intervened in time to keep it from escalating to shouting. It is very late, he¡¯d said. We would do better to sleep on this decision; it will take time to arrange transport across the continent under these circumstances in any case.

    Don¡¯t you dare try to ¡®arrange transport,¡¯ she¡¯d told him.

    Why should I have to? I imagine her idea has already occurred to plenty of others. Likely President Dawes had it in mind when he approved your mission.

    That had her up till close to dawn, long after the three children traipsed off to bed. Even after Dr. Gus got too tired to keep arguing with her, she¡¯d argued with herself, lying awake in bed composing newer and better lines she should have used. And when she got up at noon, feeling terrible, there were new orders on her phone, telling her to look into the feasibility of Nadia¡¯s idea.

    I did not tell them.

    Yes, Doc. I know.

    I am ready. They are ready. People are suffering. What are we waiting for?

    Shut up, child, and eat your lunch.

    What are you gonna do, Bob? You going to kidnap all three of us and take us somewhere else, just so we can¡¯t try to follow your orders? Weird way to keep us safe, making us all fugitives. Ain¡¯t even anywhere to run to.

    They aren¡¯t orders, she¡¯d protested. Not explicitly. They only said to look into the feasibility, and the orders weren¡¯t feasible, because the United States had already said it wasn¡¯t in the business of employing children as weapons of war. Let alone using them as bait for man-eating monsters.

    She¡¯d kicked and screamed and dragged her feet every step of the way, and somehow, it all wound up happening anyway. State department officials showed up before nightfall, bearing the latest facts and figures on the disintegration of western civilization: insurrections in five countries, several attempted coups, unprecedented levels of violent crime, mass suicide, shortages of everything, widespread hunger.

    Nadia paid close attention, asked intelligent questions, made thoughtful comments¡ªa long way from the terrified child she¡¯d found in the castle. Keisha was equal parts proud and despondent.

    The worst had come at the end, when it was clear that it would happen without her, and the only way out would be to declare a one-woman war against the world. That was when Nadia switched from reasonable argument to just flat-out condescension. I know it¡¯s hard for you to let this happen, but this is how it has to be.

    Keisha¡¯s reply had been full of words she didn¡¯t want to remember leaving her mouth. Forceful enough to make the child step back, worried and hurt. But not for long. Nadia was stronger than that.

    Keisha, I¡¯m going to do this, and you can¡¯t stop me. It¡¯s the only way. I can do it without you, but it won¡¯t work as well. They all say so, and I believe them. It might work without you. It will work with you.

    Sure, that¡¯s what they say. Once again, they¡¯re putting a child in harm¡¯s way, because they¡ª

    Because they literally can¡¯t do it themselves. This isn¡¯t cowardice. I know there are many people, maybe thousands, maybe millions, who would gladly do this in my place. But Yunks doesn¡¯t care about them.

    Neither do I, Keisha almost said, but stopped herself. She didn¡¯t deny that the situation was desperate. But ¡­

    But what?

    Keisha remembered her mother¡¯s bedroom door, closed and locked, and the words she heard through it with her ear to the door: You can do what you want, child. You¡¯ve obviously decided you¡¯re going to anyway, and I can¡¯t stop you. But you do it without me. The Corps already took my husband from me; if it¡¯s going to take my child too, I can¡¯t stop it, but it can¡¯t make me come watch and cheer.

    Mama had been true to her word. There was an empty seat at Keisha¡¯s graduation. And Keisha hadn¡¯t spoken a word to her mother in five years.

    She couldn¡¯t bring herself to accept it with words, but she stopped arguing, and she didn¡¯t turn away, and Nadia understood.

    ¡°Poland, huh? She¡¯s really scraping the bottom of the barrel now.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t much of a quip, and Fatima had said something like it twice before. Nadia confined her response this time to a tight nod. She was nervous too. But she had no right to complain of mere nerves, after what she¡¯d seen in the city. Warsaw was an open grave, the dead lying in the streets. That was the latest game, they said: anyone who tried to move or bury the fallen would become the next target. Otherwise, they were free to go about their business, stepping around and over the remains of their neighbors, waiting for her to get bored. She couldn¡¯t possibly enforce that across the whole city, of course; the whole point was to show that they didn¡¯t dare take the chance of her being nearby.

    Leaving town would be the smart move¡ªif it wasn¡¯t for her gangs watching the major roads out. She picked the members at random, told them they had been chosen to enforce her will. Not many refused, given the consequences. Attacking the gangs, obviously, brought swift retaliation, but nobody wanted to enter the city when they wouldn¡¯t be able to leave. Including truck drivers. It had only been three days, but grocery shelves were bare from thieves and hoarders. Humanitarian drops from airplanes had been allowed, then discontinued when the first two turned into murderous brawls.

    Nadia¡¯s job was relatively easy. She didn¡¯t have to wait in dying Warsaw. Her place was in Kampinos forest, a sprawling sanctuary of over two hundred square kilometers left to the wild. The city and its neighbors had grown up around it, enclosing it entirely. A few roads led through it; a tight-lipped and angry Keisha had driven them down one in person this morning, dropping them off in the middle of nowhere without a word. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

    After another long moment, Fatima spoke again, because she couldn¡¯t bear silence. ¡°You think she got the message?¡±

    ¡°She must have.¡± Fatima had asked that before, too. Nadia tried to be patient with her; nobody had forced her to come along. Only loyalty kept her here, loyalty and concern for her sister.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°But with the whole population¡ª¡°

    ¡°They put it on television. Word will spread.¡± Nothing more than a rumor and a challenge, that the children of Titus Marshall had come to Kampinos forest, and were waiting to speak with their father¡¯s pet.

    ¡°Kind of an obvious trap, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why she isn¡¯t here yet. She will be.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re irresistible, huh?¡± Fatima kicked at the brown pine needles underfoot; they were soggy with spring rains. ¡°Well, she¡¯s taking her time. Shoulda brought a damn folding chair or something. Shit.¡±

    For an answer, Nadia spread her plastic poncho on the ground, and sat on it. She had a sweatshirt on underneath, but it was still a bit chilly, and an icy drip from the trees overhead landed in her hair the moment she sat down. The challenge would be to stay vigilant. Her new picture was a sword and a trumpet, crossed like a coat of arms. She¡¯d picked it herself. She could still see it fine, and they had tested it to prove that it worked. But her mind wanted to wander.

    Fatima looked down at her, shook her head, and leaned against a tree while she lit up another cigarette. Nadia wrinkled her nose, and turned her face away. Nerves. Just nerves.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m the same person I was, Fatima?¡±

    ¡°What, are you worried about that? Hell, he didn¡¯t know what he was talking about. Don¡¯t anybody really know how any of this stuff works.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡°

    ¡°Yes. Yes, you¡¯re still the same Nadia. This whole plan is classic Nadia. Rus sure as hell wouldn¡¯t suggest it, or agree to it if someone else did.¡±

    ¡°No. He wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°How do you stand this, Doc? You¡¯re not even protected.¡±

    Dr. Gus looked up from the map, and blinked. ¡°I assume you would not simply sit there and allow me to be devoured before your eyes. Surely I have that much of a claim on your affection, even if you are not very happy with me at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Mm-hmm.¡± She crossed to the window, and looked out. She wasn¡¯t sure why; it wasn¡¯t as if Yunks would come walking down the street. Dr. Gus would be her eyes and ears for this operation. Being so dependent didn¡¯t make the wait any easier to bear.

    ¡°Clairvoyant training encourages a certain passivity of outlook¡ªa willingness to hold still, and experience, and accept all outcomes. The reverse of what you received. At times, it is useful. That being said ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Shut up and let me trance, Keisha. Good advice. Hard to follow. He stretched out his hand, and she held her breath¡ªbut the hand came to rest on the east of Warsaw, nowhere near the forest.

    What was the bitch waiting for? It was almost eleven.

    Fatima¡¯s cigarette was cold ash in her fingers. She held off on lighting another; she had no idea how long they¡¯d be waiting. And they hadn¡¯t brought any food, either, or water. Dumb-ass way to run an operation. She wanted to ask Nadia how much longer they were going to sit around, but the child was pissy enough already.

    ¡°¡¯All creation groans, like a woman giving birth, even up to today,¡¯¡± Nadia said, spread out on her raincoat like it was picnic blanket and staring up at the treetops.

    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re doing a lot more than groaning right now. What was that? Bible?¡±

    ¡°I think so. I probably got it wrong.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d you get it from?¡±

    ¡°Father Fyodor said it, and it stuck in my memory. I paid attention to his sermons, even if I was a bit of a brat.¡±

    ¡°Huh. So, you back to being ordinary kufr now?¡±

    ¡°Fatima. Must you be so flippant about the whole thing?¡±

    ¡°Probably not. Force of habit. Too late to quit now, same as the cigarettes. What do you believe, sister?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I believe, or even what I want to believe. But my emissant does, for some reason. Sort of.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s another thing nobody understands. Add it to the list.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± She slapped her spread arms against the jacket on the ground. ¡°Why don¡¯t we understand anything? Why do we have to stumble around in the dark like this?¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re kids, and didn¡¯t nobody teach us a damn thing. We did pretty well, for all that.¡±

    ¡°The adults aren¡¯t any better!¡±

    Fatima shrugged. ¡°So it¡¯s fair. Even playing field.¡±

    ¡°All those people out there, dying in the city, were they expecting the grown-ups to save them? The grown-ups, the government, God. Everyone is letting them down.¡±

    ¡°Whoa. Hold up. You think because He¡¯s not doing everything they want, when they want it, He¡¯s to blame? Maybe they need to accept that He¡¯s in charge, and get working on accepting His will. Ever think of that?¡±

    ¡°Such a hypocrite. You¡¯ve never meekly accepted anything, in all the years I¡¯ve known you.¡±

    ¡°Well, no. Not from people. I¡¯m not gonna take their shit. Allah is different.¡±

    Nadia closed her eyes. ¡°Why am I even talking to you?¡±

    ¡°Nobody else here. Just us and God. You could try talking to Him.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I will. He can¡¯t be as annoying as you.¡±

    ¡°Allah is sovereign, and can be whatever He¡ª¡°

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    The girls¡¯ location was marked on the map with a big red X. They had clear instructions not to leave it, and no reason to stray. Keisha stared at the X, wishing she could be sure they were still there. But even Dr. Gus couldn¡¯t see without a halo. It was all blind faith.

    ¡°They are hardly helpless,¡± her mentor mumbled out of his trance. His eyes were still closed. She turned to look at him, and he added, ¡°Your agitation is troubling the waters. Settle yourself.¡±

    ¡°What if there are men in those woods? Outlaws, or cultists, or lunatics. You know what things are like, these days.¡°

    ¡°Mister Higgins can easily handle any number of men. Chansonne likewise. You know that. You are only looking for reasons to justify your own fear. And ¡­ ahhh. Now it is moot.¡± His eyes cracked open, and he reached out to rest his hand on the map, at the edge of Kampinos forest. ¡°Contact.¡±

 CXV. The Song of Deeds (Multiple)

    They heard her coming long before they saw her, because she didn¡¯t come alone. Nadia hadn¡¯t expected her to. They¡¯d been warned. But the warnings did not prepare her.

    There was a long, slow, shambling line of them, in both sexes, of every age and condition. The first was a toddler, barely old enough to walk. The lady behind him was old and hunchbacked. The third was a plump housewife just going grey, the fourth a teenage boy, the fifth a young man in a suit. The only things they had in common were agony and fear. Every single person in the line¡ªand Nadia, craning her neck, couldn¡¯t see the end to it¡ªlooked to be in such misery that they didn¡¯t even know where they were. They clutched their heads, and cried; some tore at their faces with their nails, or halted a moment to simply bend over and shudder, as if they were about to vomit into the underbrush.

    None of them looked like they saw or knew where they were going. They tripped on weeds, ran into low branches and even whole trees, either from blindness or because Yunks thought it was funny. When they fell, they got up on their own, at their own pace, and nobody else in the line seemed to notice. Every one of them was coated in dirt, fallen leaves and little cuts and bruises. The tiny boy in the lead had an open cut on his forehead, bleeding down into his right eye; at regular intervals, like clockwork, he would raise a grubby fist to wipe ineffectually at it, howling the whole time. The noise grated at her ears, and part of her was shamefully glad when the poor thing fell over and muffled his cries in the mud. Another part of her wanted to run, pick him up and cuddle him¡ªbut he was beyond that kind of comfort, and she couldn¡¯t help him yet.

    Nadia had jumped to her feet at the first distant cry. Fatima, who was leaning against a tree, only took the ghastly parade as a sign that she could light another of her dwindling store of cigarettes. ¡°So,¡± she said, over the noise, ¡°this is how she wants to play it?¡±

    ¡°We knew she would.¡± But there was knowing, and knowing. Every scream dredged up old memories¡ªnights in Syria or Greece, lying awake listening to the poorly-muffled noises from Papa Titus¡¯s room. She checked her phone, and saw a screen of garish rainbow static. If Yunks had a halo, they were in it, and cut off. But where was the demon herself?

    ¡°Taking her time,¡± Fatima said, echoing the thought. The little boy had come to a halt a few meters away. Now he was squatting in the forest litter, his screams broken only by the occasional splutter as he spat his own blood out of his mouth. The rest of the line looked to be falling in beside him, forming a very untidy row.

    ¡°She¡¯s trying to break us,¡± Nadia guessed. Each of them had a kitty in her pocket, and could put an end to the horror whenever she wanted, saving all these people. But that would spoil the whole plan, and Yunks would only move on to hurt someone else. Possibly Yunks was testing them with all this. Possibly she didn¡¯t have any other way to sustain herself.

    Either way, Nadia could only watch, and suffer watching them, storing up wrath inside herself. The trumpet and sword were shining in her mind¡¯s eye. If she ever let them disappear, she would be as helpless as these wretched Poles. If Fatima failed as well, the operation would fail with them, and very likely the both of them would die in torment. And humanity was unlikely to get a second chance at the same trap. Everything depended on Nadia staying angry.

    ¡°How long do we give them?¡±

    Dr. Gus considered, sketching the shifting perimeter against the forest. ¡°It is difficult to say where exactly Yunks herself is, in the absence of an emissor. If we move too early, we risk allowing her to escape.¡±

    ¡°But too late¡ª¡°

    ¡°I will be able to tell if she is displaced by a proper halo. Instantly.¡±

    ¡°But not if she gives in, and the whole thing is a failure.¡±

    ¡°No. Until one girl or the other calls her emissant, she is invisible to me, either way.¡±

    Keisha bit her lip. The halo, if you could call it that, was a hazy oval more than a mile long, only starting to condense around the red X in the center of the forest. They couldn¡¯t risk moving until it was damn near a perfect circle. And the girls would have to judge for themselves when the time was right, with a halo up. Really, they¡¯d have to guess. ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    The minutes stretched on, and the parade of victims continued. The first few dozen had lined up to form a ring around them, so that they would see suffering whichever way they turned. There was nothing Nadia or Fatima could do to stop it, and they didn¡¯t try. The point was to keep Yunks here, and she couldn¡¯t move from her prey. Nadia clenched her teeth, and thought of Yunks¡¯s painful death, and got through it¡ªat first.

    Then she noticed, as a second ring of puppets started to form around the first, that things were changing up a little. Every time a child, or a teenager, appeared in the line, they would take the place of an adult in the first row. By the time a third row appeared, the front was mostly children their own age, or younger, and Nadia saw that she was starting to switch out even teenagers for children under ten. All crying, or moaning, or hitting themselves. The bloody-faced toddler was still right there, front and center.

    ¡°This has gone on too long,¡± she muttered to Fatima, then raised her voice. ¡°All right, Yunks. I know you¡¯re here. I killed you once¡ªI¡¯m sorry you didn¡¯t stay that way. But if you¡¯re here now, show yourself!¡±

    She didn¡¯t expect the creature to simply obey, and she didn¡¯t. Nadia counted the seconds silently, and got up to forty-seven before a sudden thump on the ground behind her made her jump. Fatima gave a little shriek too, which annoyed her; it made them look weak. Why hadn¡¯t they stood back-to-back, anyway? They should have seen the trick coming.

    Slowly, slowly, she turned around, to show Yunks she wasn¡¯t impressed. And she wasn¡¯t, really; she was the same ugly thing she¡¯d always been, a perverted pagan idol from a sick man¡¯s imagination. A naked woman with bear¡¯s paws, a snake¡¯s neck, and a bird¡¯s head. She had enough ugly memories of the shape that her heart beat a little faster, but her sword and trumpet were still clear, and really, she was nicer to look at than the children.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse than you,¡± she declared. The monster reached out with one of her great bear-paws, claws extended, toward Nadia¡¯s face. ¡°Do you remember what happened to you, the last time you tried that? I have a new familiar now, and she can beat you as bloody as the old one.¡± She couldn¡¯t, of course, without wrecking the plan, but Yunks didn¡¯t know that.

    And it worked; at least, Yunks gave a little shrug (had she done human gestures before?), and let the paw drop back to her side. ¡°Better,¡± Nadia told her. Dr. Gus said she was growing, changing. ¡°Will you ever be more than this? More than just a stupid torturer? Could you become something like a human again, if we gave you the time?¡± Yunks cocked her head, and examined Nadia with one bright eye. Like she was considering the question. ¡°Well? What do you have to say for yourself?¡±

    To her surprise, she got an answer¡ªfrom behind her, of course. ¡°They all died, you know.¡± It was a very young voice, with a strong foreign accent.

    Nadia looked up at Yunks, and decided against turning around. It was probably the bloody-faced boy again, and she didn¡¯t need to see him. Whoever¡¯s voice she was using, it was Yunks anyway. ¡°Who died?¡±

    ¡°The Metics,¡± said a different person, a girl of five or six, off to Nadia¡¯s right. ¡°All of them. You left them for Yunks to eat, and she did. She gnawed on them until there was nothing left, and the Russians put them out of misery. With a missile.¡±

    ¡°It was missiles before, wasn¡¯t it?¡± said another girl, to her left. ¡°After you killed her father. They threw missiles at the castle. So you told them you could keep them safe. A lucky few escaped. They might be alive now. All the ones you saved, died after torture. Gulya, too. Why did you even try to help them?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen,¡± Fatima said. ¡°You know it¡¯s lies anyway.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s lies,¡± said a voice behind Yunks. ¡°But why lie? You don¡¯t think the Metics survived, do you? That was all they wanted them for. That was all they wanted you for, as an incubator for Yunks. Everything you have done since was just an afterthought. Them using you, like a tool.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re boring me,¡± she told Yunks. ¡°And the gimmick with the switched voices is stupid. Just pick one, if you can¡¯t talk for yourself.¡±

    Of course she didn¡¯t obey. Another child spoke up, behind her: ¡°Bored? Why are you bored? Do we bore you? Have you seen so many people die that you don¡¯t care anymore?¡±

    ¡°Seriously,¡± Fatima told her. ¡°Stop listening to this shit. Cover your ears.¡±

    ¡°Do you even remember the Metics?¡± a boy taunted. ¡°You never bothered to go back and save them. You used to be one yourself. You could have died with them, if you hadn¡¯t gotten lucky. But you didn¡¯t care enough¡ª¡°

    Nadia clapped her hands over her ears.

    Dr. Gus moved his hands in a shape that was nearly a circle. ¡°I think it is time. It could be neater still, but the last of it is at least a kilometer from the city. She will be inside.¡±

    She was starting to call Adesina even before he finished the second sentence.

    The forest was more than ten miles long from east to west, and at least five the other way. To actually surround it with a solid perimeter of halos, and trap Yunks inside, would normally require the combined efforts of ten emissors. And they had ten ready, just in case¡ªbut they hoped to do it with one.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    It was a tricky business, trying to figure out how far a given halo would expand. There were a lot of variables: the density of the human substrate, their age and level of consciousness, how recently they¡¯d been exposed to another valence, the presence of nearby halos. You could get a decent feel for it with experience. Nothing precise, just enough to work with.

    But then there were the wildcards nobody expected, like the Holcombe Effect. That one didn¡¯t kick in often. You needed a population that actually wanted to believe what it was being told, and would adopt your valence with enthusiasm. Human minds being all different, Holcombe was usually just a couple of odd bumps here and there, and it averaged out to nothing but a minor bonus you could safely ignore.

    Right now, Warsaw and the surrounding area was one big mass of people who were absolutely desperate to hear that everything was going to turn out all right. They had more emissors, they had kitties, they had everything all ready, just in case. But they didn¡¯t need any of it. Dr. Gus¡¯s hands spread in a smooth, steady arc north and south of the woods, until they enclosed it in a single massive loop. The only gap was the forest itself, a small empty space surrounding Yunks¡¯s freshly embattled kingdom.

    Now it was all up to the girls.

    The kick came from behind, a wicked snap at her left ankle. She fell into a heap of moldy wet leaves, and she threw out her hands to catch herself. She looked up, and the next kick hit her right in the forehead. It didn¡¯t hurt much¡ªthe kicker was about five¡ªbut she reeled away from it, and got a few thumps in her ribs for her pains.

    ¡°Selfish, stupid, cowardly¡ª¡°

    ¡°Cares about nobody but herself¡ª¡°

    They were still cursing as they hit her. She stood up, flinched in time for a kick at her bottom to hit the top of her thigh instead. Without thinking she twisted around to backhand her attacker, and hit a little boy right across the face.

    ¡°Beating up on children! Scandalous.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not even him doing¡ª¡°

    ¡°SHUT UP!¡± she screamed, and looked for Fatima. Her sister had her back to a tree, and was swinging her arms to keep a little army of preschoolers at bay. Gently, so as not to hurt them much if she connected.

    Somebody else kicked the same ankle while Nadia was distracted, and she hopped away, cursing in Russian. It still wasn¡¯t very painful; that wasn¡¯t the point. Just another game. How much longer did they have to stall her? Was she all together now?

    ¡°Where¡¯s your brother, Nadia?¡±

    ¡°What happened to Gulya?¡±

    ¡°That Turkish man, what was his name? Do you even remember?¡±

    ¡°You make me sick.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t block her ears and dodge at the same time. ¡°It won¡¯t work, Yunks!¡± she shouted over the noise. ¡°I know it¡¯s all you!¡±

    The Ghost of Leipzig had her paws on her hips. She craned her head around on its long neck to examine Nadia again, posing like one of Yuri¡¯s old pinup girls. Contemptuously she flicked one paw in their direction: carry on, children.

    Someone tackled her, knocking her over and tumbling with her across the sodden litter. Nadia flung the weight off, and a little girl flew into a tree, cracking her skull audibly against its trunk. She landed on all fours, sobbing and rubbing the back of her head.

    ¡°See what you did?¡±

    ¡°Shame on you.¡±

    They had Fatima down on the ground now, pummeling her back with their little fists while they jeered. Nadia made to help her, staggered back when somebody ran headfirst into her stomach. The impact nearly made her retch. She pushed the child away, not as gently as she wanted, and two more children grabbed her by either hand, yanking her down to the forest floor. As soon as she landed two more threw themselves on her feet, pinning her down spreadeagle.

    The bloody-faced toddler loomed over her. ¡°Your parents are dead,¡± he said in his lisping baby voice. ¡°Your home is dead. You¡¯ve killed to save yourself, you¡¯ve killed because you were angry, you¡¯ve killed because it was fun. All that death. You¡¯ve made orphans, you¡¯ve left parents to bury their children.¡± A blotch of something wet splattered into her eye, and she writhed at the sting. The child had spat in her face.

    There was an analog clock on the wall, with a second hand. Keisha made it three minutes and thirty seconds since Adesina came out. Dr. Gus¡¯s hands showed the halo continuing to trickle in around the red X, settling into a proper circle. Under Grandmama¡¯s soothing spell, Keisha couldn¡¯t do anything you could really call worrying. She only noted that it had been a long time. She glanced at Doc, who shook his head. It was still Yunks in charge. Until her halo broke, they couldn¡¯t touch her.

    Nadia was blind in one eye now, and couldn¡¯t clear it. She couldn¡¯t get up, or even pull back her hands and feet; they were stretched all the way out and pinned down by about twenty kilograms each. She could barely make out individual words in the flood of abuse pouring down on her, or feel the individual blows against her ribs. Nothing for it but to remember her trumpet, her trumpet and her sword. And pray that Fatima would help soon¡ªthe kitty in her hoodie might as well be in Vladivostok.

    All of a sudden, the cudgeling stopped. The little army of waifs stepped back. Nadia breathed deep, as well as her bruised chest would allow. ¡°Yunks, if you don¡¯t let me go right this minute, I will¡ª¡°

    The bloody toddler held something small and shiny up to the light. She recognized it as a needle just as he bent over and drove it expertly into a space between two of her ribs. The sword and the trumpet vanished from her mind in a scream of pain.

    Six minutes since emergence. Keisha felt sure it would all work out, but she couldn¡¯t come up with a convincing reason why. ¡°Doc?¡±

    ¡°No change.¡±

    They¡¯d had enough time. Outside, Adesina appeared next to one of the emissors on standby, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed. He threw a salute, hopped on his motorbike, and took off on the road into the forest. He was posted as close to the children as they dared risk; any closer and he might have scared Yunks off. Keisha assumed¡ªbecause she had no other way to think¡ªthat he could still get to them before they lost their minds completely.

    Worthless. She was worthless. Everything she had ever done had just made things worse. She thought she¡¯d escaped, thought she¡¯d made it better, but it was all a lie, making it easier for herself at the world¡¯s expense. She owed the world a debt she couldn¡¯t ever repay, and if she tried, it would only make things worse.

    From far away, she could hear Fatima screaming. Why had she dragged her sister into this? Always, always she was trying to stick her nose into problems that had nothing to do with her, to feel better about the trouble she had already caused. Now she had condemned her own family with her stupidity. Just one more sin to bear.

    Sin and damnation. Was this hell? If it was, she deserved it. Poor, stupid girl, she¡¯d always wanted to punish the wicked, when the worst culprit was right in her own shoes. Or was that why she did it? To turn her own judgment on others? Well, she could fix that now.

    The weight came off her arms and legs. She sat up, avoiding the eyes of the children she¡¯d made to suffer. Someone handed her a bloody needle, and she cried at the sight of it. A blessing. A means of expiation. She felt a hot pain in her side from every time she breathed. How many times did she breathe every minute? If she stuck herself again, and again and again, would redemption multiply? Could she begin to pay back her debt to the world? It was her only hope.

    With trembling hands she jabbed at her stomach, through her hoodie. The needle hit something hard, and bounced off. She couldn¡¯t even punish herself correctly. She fished in the sweatshirt¡¯s pocket, and drew out a thing like a metal drinking cup. The sight of it thrilled her. This was divine wrath; she recognized it. Far faster than any needle. She let the wretched little sliver drop in the soggy ground, forgotten, and raised her blessing up to the sky like a Eucharistic chalice.

    Yunks swung her head around on her snake¡¯s neck, alarmed. Well, what about her? Who cared what she thought? She was only a lowly demon, suffered to live so she could punish the world. Nadia held in her hands a bottomless cup of condemnation, direct from Heaven. Recklessly she tore off its lid, swatting away the clumsy hands of children as they tried to stop her. She was determined to drink it down until she burst.

    At eight minutes and fifty-two seconds, Dr. Gus¡¯s hand slapped down onto the red X. ¡°Contact. Nadezhda.¡± His other hand skimmed over the map, coming to rest on a spot in the northeast of the forest, some distance away. ¡°Yunks will be here.¡±

    Finally. ¡°Alone?¡±

    ¡°She might be feeding off squirrels, or deer. They will not save her.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± Without a halo to feed her, Yunks was only a disgusting wad of loose ectoplasm. And what destroyed ectoplasm? Light.

    Chansonne gave her a beautiful view of the end. She only wished it could have lasted longer, or that she might have struck the last blow herself. Really, though, all that mattered was that the deed was done. She saw a massive, ugly shape, blundering through the dead trees, and a tiny old lady, dressed in blinding white, staring in disgust from the roof of a house. Then there came a flare of pure white light, painfully bright, so bright that Nadia could see it with her own eyes, kilometers away in the middle of the wood where the gathered host of Yunks¡¯s former victims screamed for her destruction.

    For the better part of a minute the light shone, a second sun on the edge of Kampinos forest, and Nadia knew there was no hiding from it. It was bright enough to destroy ectoplasm even in reflection off the dull bark of trees. Muddy puddles shone like precious stones; drips of water were falling stars. Fed by a hundred thousand hopes, it burned, and it burned, and Chansonne herself, though well-supported, flinched from the force of it in her perch in the sky.

    Then it was done. Nadia straightened up and opened her eyes, blinking away purple shadows on her vision. All around her, exhausted men, women, and children sank to the forest floor, too tired even to cry. Nadia dropped her empty cup to the ground, and flopped back to rest.

    She was just drifting off to sleep in the mud when Fatima spoke up. ¡°Is she gone?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    And they slept in peace.

 CXVI. For Gods to Grieve (Nadia)

    Colonel Hampton woke up the day after Yunks died. Keisha took a flight across the Atlantic to see him at some place called ¡°Walter Reed,¡± leaving the three of them in the care of Dr. Gus back in the dowdy Welsh cottage. It was a rainy sort of day there¡ªNadia understood Wales had a lot of those¡ªso they had nothing to do but wait indoors, snacking and making fun of period dramas on the television. Nadia had no complaints.

    Fatima, of course, did. ¡°Why¡¯d she leave us here, anyway? We owe the old man, just a little.¡±

    ¡°It was her belief, and I agree, that the Colonel would have preferred to recover on his own, without paraphysical help,¡± Dr. Gus told her from the kitchen counter.

    ¡°He¡¯s as bad as you,¡± Fatima said to Nadia. ¡°Okay, maybe not as bad¡ªhe isn¡¯t gonna die, is he?¡±

    ¡°Not in the immediate future,¡± the Doctor said, and pointedly went back to his book. Fatima stuck out her tongue at him, then returned to snarking about Queen Anne¡¯s wardrobe. Nadia sat beside her, nodding along, until they ran out of cheese and onion ¡®crisps,¡¯ whose flavor had grown on her. Then she got up to go sit next to Dr. Gus.

    He seemed intent on his reading, so she sat quietly, watching the rain run down the windows. She would have gotten a book to read herself, only everything in the house was dull. Whoever owned this place was a big fan of trashy romance novels and the kind of silly bloated thrillers that got sold at airport newsstands.

    In two minutes he reached the end of a chapter, and folded up a napkin to use as a bookmark. ¡°What can I do for you, Miss Nadezhda?¡±

    She hesitated, unsure of where to begin. Eventually she settled on, ¡°Chansonne. I created her, didn¡¯t I? Or at least, my subconscious mind did. Out of what was left of ¨¦zarine. That¡¯s how it worked, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I would say your unconscious mind, but yes, that is essentially correct.¡±

    ¡°And she¡¯s supposed to be what I want to think about the world, isn¡¯t she?¡±

    The Doctor looked pained. ¡°That is ¡­ correct, so far as it goes, but simplistic and misleading.¡± He drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. ¡°Give me a moment to think, please, how best to explain this.¡±

    She smiled agreement, and returned her gaze to the window. The rain wasn¡¯t going anywhere, and neither was she.

    ¡°I like to use Shakespeare for examples,¡± he said at last. ¡°Because most people have encountered him already, if only from school. But I am accustomed to dealing with Americans. Are you familiar with Macbeth?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Titus made sure we all read it. A kids¡¯ version, anyway, not in the fancy old English. I think he liked that the man who betrays his king dies horribly. He thought it would be a good lesson for us.¡±

    ¡°Truly, the Bard of Avalon had universal appeal,¡± Dr. Gus muttered. ¡°Very well. You know how it begins: Macbeth is told he will be king. He reacts, almost immediately, by planning an assassination. Why is this?¡±

    ¡°I guess because it was the easiest way he could think of to make it come true?¡±

    ¡°But why does he need to make it come true? It is a prophecy. He does not know whether it is true prophecy, but if it is, the thing is predestined, unavoidable. Our Thane should not need to take such a mad risk. If it is a false prophecy, likewise, his wisest course is to do nothing. The man himself admits that ¡®chance may crown him.¡¯¡±

    ¡°You know, I never thought about it that much. Maybe he was just looking, deep down inside, for an excuse to take power, and it didn¡¯t matter whether it was true or not.¡±

    ¡°I think that was part of it, but not all. I believe it is that the idea of prophecy itself put him in an intolerable psychological dilemma. On the one hand, predestination would be greatly comforting; it promises absolute certainty, with none of the strain and fear for the future most of us must suffer. On the other, it denies us freedom, and says that our fate is not in our own hands. Macbeth¡¯s choice¡ªto believe, or not¡ªis therefore to either trust to a life ruled by chance and uncertainty, or suffer the loss of his own agency, his own freedom. Both are unattractive.

    ¡°So he splits the difference, and takes the prophecy as a personal license for megalomania, acting to fulfill or thwart the witches¡¯ predictions as it suits him, and ignoring that this makes no sense. When all is done, and he knows he has lost, he despises his life as ¡®sound and fury, signifying nothing.¡¯ Sour grapes. Because it is the only way he can accept what has happened, to deny both his own power and the power of fate.¡±

    Nadia thought it over. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you might have lost me. What does all that have to do with familiars, anyway? Are you saying that I made Chansonne because I was too scared to believe something?¡±

    ¡°Yes, and no. I am saying that the dark corner of Macbeth¡¯s mind which led him on his murderous rampage is much the same as that part of you which made your Chansonne, and though we must use it, it can never be trusted. It does not care in the slightest about truth or morality as such; it barely knows what either term means, and sees both as tools to exploit, or knobs to adjust. It wants your mental construct of the world to be tolerable and comfortable for you, and if it must throw whole countries into the sea to do it, it will not flinch.¡±

    She thought of dead Yuri in the ashes. ¡°I think I know what you mean. A little. So ¡­ Chansonne really isn¡¯t any better than ¨¦zarine, is she? Only she is my hunger, my weakness, instead of Claude¡¯s.¡± And Chansonne wanted God to punish, and set things right. Not because it was really true or because Nadia expected it to happen. Just because it was what she wanted to believe.

    ¡°That in itself means a great deal. You cannot know how it disgusts me, after my long career, to see this crude stapling of dead men¡¯s desires to half-formed souls. Such terms as ¡®necromancy¡¯ do not begin to cover the outrage of it. You have had far too many fingers pressed into you, poor lump of clay that you are. It is time you shaped yourself.¡±

    ¡°Even if Chansonne is just as dangerous as ¨¦zarine?¡±

    ¡°Oh, they are all dangerous, and they are all, one way or another, lies. They cannot help it, and it is no good worrying about that sort of thing. But there is a definite virtue in their being your lies. As long as you do not mistake them for the actual truth.¡±

    Nadia gave the rain on the window another long look while she mulled it over. No good. It still didn¡¯t make any sense. ¡°Is that what you do, then? Help people come up with dangerous lies?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps ¡®lies¡¯ is too far. They are models of the world. Some are more accurate than others. You might say ¡®stories.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Stories. Is that all?¡±

    ¡°You need not dismiss the idea. Everything is a story. Human consciousness is only a story telling itself. Through the miracle of language, our stories become entangled, and we participate in one another¡¯s lives. Like a thousand hair-thin strands braided into an unbreakable cable, the end result is surprisingly powerful. It can reshape the universe.¡±

    Nadia glanced over at the couch, where Fatima had switched to haranguing Ruslan about the TV, for lack of anyone else to talk to. Ruslan smiled and guffawed along, but not in a sucking-up way like he might have done once. He actually thought it was amusing. She hoped it wasn¡¯t too cruel to think that almost getting killed was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

    On a whim, she got up and fetched a styrofoam cup of curry-flavored instant noodles, and started the kettle on the stove. It would be a little more like a real meal than the ¡®crisps.¡¯ ¡°So, if they¡¯re so powerful, why didn¡¯t you get a familiar yourself?¡±

    ¡°By the time emissants came along, I was rather past the age of military service. Even if I had not been, I do not think I would have given up my powers as a clairvoyant. I am more comfortable observing and learning about the world, trying to understand, than trying to change it. Call it long habit, or an old man¡¯s laziness.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± She got down a mug and a teabag to set next to the noodle cup and the kettle. Rainy days were good for tea. ¡°You don¡¯t want to change the world?¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°The world is too complicated to change. Just understanding it is work enough. Fixing it without understanding it first would be folly.¡±

    ¡°But what if you never understand it? Does it stay unchanged forever, and problems never get solved?¡±

    He smiled, and nodded approvingly. ¡°Yes. That is the problem, isn¡¯t it? That is where courage comes in, and good judgment. Action is best left to the young. Arthritis notwithstanding, young people do not know how little they know. It gives them the courage to act, when action is necessary, not appreciating their peril.¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± Nadia told him, ¡°that sounds like a very convenient way to say that you, an old man, should come up with the ideas, and young people should just do what you understand to be right.¡±

    ¡°God forbid, Miss Nadezhda. I am very nearly retired. That level of responsibility would kill me.¡±

    The kettle started whistling. She got up to pour it. ¡°I feel like you aren¡¯t taking me very seriously.¡±

    ¡°Maybe so. But you are taking yourself very seriously indeed. I can understand why, given the way your life has gone. But now, when you are out of danger, might be a good time to reflect, and consciously change your habits.¡±

    ¡°See, everyone says thing like that. Like I can just snap my fingers and go back to being an ordinary, normal child, after everything that has happened.¡±

    ¡°Perfectly normal? No. But the resilience of young minds is remarkable; your reborn familiar is proof of that. I still cannot rule out the possibility that she will change again.¡±

    ¡°To a different silly story.¡± She hunted for a fork, found¡ªof all things¡ªactual chopsticks sitting in the drawer next to them. They looked reusable, polished and glossy black and gold, not bamboo takeout disposables. Why not? She felt like trying something new.

    ¡°Some stories are closer to truth than others. A learned theologian has said that true faith is a continuous dialogue with doubt, because our every image of God is an idol in need of smashing. In that respect, the quest for God and the quest for truth itself are much akin. You have found one model to be in error, and discarded it. Nothing more.¡±

    ¡°And that tells me what? That I will go back to faith in the end?¡±

    ¡°I have learned better than to predict the answer to that sort of question even for my usual inquirers, and they are older and more settled in life than you. You may find God at the end of your road. Or you may find something else entirely. I am trying to tell you that the journey will be messy and difficult, but all the more important for it. You have been given the chance to tell your own story. That does not prevent you from making that story a bundle of self-serving nonsense if you like, but it is nonetheless precious.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± The noodles would have to sit for a few minutes. It was startling to think that cheap instant noodles were all she was waiting for. They had nothing planned yet for tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. Nothing was threatening them, nothing needed fixing. It wasn¡¯t that she missed danger, but to really have nothing at all on the horizon made her slightly dizzy. She wasn¡¯t used to it.

    Three minutes passed, and she tore off the lid. The noodles were just as not-quite-cooked as she remembered, but the spice was fiery. Just as well that she could barely get one noodle up at a time with the chopsticks; it gave her mouth time to cool off. Dr. Gus watched her struggle for a while, then leaned across the counter and adjusted her grip for her. It helped, a little.

    ¡°You know, it¡¯s funny,¡± she said, halfway through the cup. ¡°Chansonne saved me, in the end. I don¡¯t think ¨¦zarine would have come out to drive Yunks away. She was only angry at other people. Chansonne let me want to punish myself.¡± She could look back on it calmly now, because she¡¯d seen Yunks die. Maybe the Doctor was right about resilience. The sore spot in her ribs hurt more than the memories. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely sure I¡¯ll never be rid of her?¡±

    ¡°As much as I am ¡®absolutely sure¡¯ of anything. Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then, is she going to change me the same way ¨¦zarine did? Am I going to want to bring down thunderbolts from Heaven on anyone who crosses me?¡±

    ¡°From what you have said, that is not exactly what Chansonne wants.¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose not.¡± Empty cup in the trash, chopsticks in the sink. ¡°But, still ¡­ am I supposed to simply accept that my emissant is going to change my mind for me, because that¡¯s what she thinks will keep me quiet?¡°

    ¡°Your familiar will wield some influence over your thoughts. You have the right and the ability to push back. In time, you could make her change. Unlike an adult emissor.¡±

    ¡°Fine. I can accept that.¡± Her tea had been steeping too long; she pulled the bag out in a hurry, singeing her fingers a bit. ¡°I just don¡¯t know where to even start. Do you believe in God, Doctor?¡±

    ¡°I absolutely refuse to answer that question. I tell you, you have been squeezed and poked far too many times already. Find your own answers.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± She considered going back to the TV, and decided against it. She¡¯d had enough time in front of the screen for one day. There was a nice, squishy armchair by the window, with a table beside it for her mug. She settled in there instead, and let her eyes rove aimlessly over the bookshelves on a pleasantly vain quest for anything worth reading. The act was almost hypnotic, skimming over the same shelves and titles over and over again. When she got to her third complete scan, she looked up, and saw Dr. Gus sitting on the windowsill, his book in his lap.

    ¡°When I was a boy, perhaps Ruslan¡¯s age, or a bit older,¡± he said, very quietly, ¡°my mother was in the habit of feeding the stray cats around our house. As usually happens, we attracted quite a number of them, and before long several of them had kittens. One morning, I woke to the sound of mewing, and saw one of the cats in our driveway, crying over one of her dead children. My father had not looked behind him backing out, and run the poor creature over.¡±

    He paused, looking somberly down at her over his glasses. ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°I got my mother, who came hurrying out. The mother cat refused to move from the body, and tried to drive her away with hissing threats, though she could do nothing for it. She only moved back, reluctantly, when my mother started weeping. She still did not understand, but she could recognize human grief, and that was enough to win her trust.

    ¡°There was a field near our house, where wildflowers grew. Mother sent me to dig a hole, while she wrapped the kitten in a blanket. There was no ceremony, no words to say. Just a burial. Still, the absurdity of it struck me, as I shoveled the soil back over the corpse. It was a kitten, one of ten thousand who are born and die every day around the globe. Even by my day, in my country, they were often drowned, to prevent a nuisance.

    ¡°I felt sorry for it¡ªbut the gap between us was prodigious, impossible to cross. We could share grief, but even the stained blanket we wrapped it in was the product of thousands of years of history, of men learning to work the soil, grow and breed crops for textiles, then develop newer and better looms and dyes. The cat knew none of this, and as for a burial, what could that mean to her? Her child was dead, and we took it away, and it vanished. But that too was heir to traditions stretching back millennia; long before civilization, we buried our dead with flowers, in caves. I had read about it. From weeping Neanderthals to a cat in a flowering field.¡±

    He was still looking at her intently. ¡°So what? What are you trying to say?¡±

    ¡°It came to me, in that moment, that I would not know what it looked like, for a god to grieve. I could not even say for certain that I would recognize it if I saw it. And neither would you, maybe. The world is a dark place, full of ghastly accidents. There are forces and powers at work in it that would break you as easily and as carelessly as my father¡¯s car running over the kitten. I don¡¯t need to tell you that, do I? No. In that, you are fortunate. You will not know for certain what the story means before it ends, and perhaps not even then. It is a pitiful thing, to be only human. But more pitiful still, to be only a cat.¡±

 CXVII. Ultimatum (Nadia)

    Keisha didn¡¯t want to go. She put it off as long as she could, and nobody pushed the issue while Europe was still in tatters and the Russia situation was still fluid. That earned her two weeks¡¯ paid vacation, more or less, with no duty more dire or distressing than keeping tabs on three teenagers in the boondocks of the UK. She had a couple of nice long walks and talks with Nadia, saw a few decent movies and a lot of bad ones. After a week, the girls got bored, and started trying to teach her to sew for some reason. Ruslan progressed to simple sentences, and stopped needing the wheelchair at all. Life was pleasant, pointless, and good.

    Eventually, though, somebody at the Numenate noticed and/or cared that she hadn¡¯t been doing a blessed thing, and called her and her three children-of-mass-destruction back to DC. Once the decision was made, she could only put it off for a day or two, while they arranged cover stories and false identities. Then it was back to the White House for a very awkward debriefing.

    They came in to John Birch International on a chartered jet. It landed at 1742 local time¡ªclose to midnight back in Britain, where their internal clocks had adjusted. The kids took it better than she did; she¡¯d forgotten how late she¡¯d liked to stay up in her teenage years. They weren¡¯t all that impressed with their (potential) new home, and she hurried to remind them, between yawns, that D.C. wasn¡¯t the whole country, and that there were millions of square miles out there that weren¡¯t all looming skyscrapers and black asphalt.

    Arthur Dawes received them in the Oval Office, where they found him leaning against one corner of the Resolute desk instead of sitting behind it, his hands in his pockets. He managed to make it look natural, nothing like the calculated pose it must have been; the man was barely fifty, and famously energetic. His first words when they came in were, ¡°Good, you¡¯re here. I just want a quick talk, then you can all get to bed. How was the flight?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± Fatima answered before Keisha could. Her eyes roved over the room in a way that managed to suggest she was casing the joint. ¡°Once you¡¯ve been on one flight, they¡¯re all the same. Nice place, by the way.¡±

    Dawes gave her half a smile. ¡°It¡¯s a rental. You¡¯d be Fatima, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Fatima, Nadezhda, and Ruslan,¡± Keisha hurried to answer, pointing to each in turn.

    ¡°And you, of course, are Keisha Graham. Outstanding work, getting these three out.¡±

    ¡°And all by herself,¡± Nadia noted. ¡°Unless you count that awful fat man.¡±

    ¡°Nah, she had other help,¡± Fatima corrected her. ¡°From the Russians. Sons of bitches just let us go, at the end. Never did find out why. Any ideas, Mr. President?¡±

    Dawes kept smiling, but he gave Keisha an incredulous look. ¡°You rehearse all this?¡±

    ¡°No, sir. Children, please stop sassing my boss, the leader of the free world.¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s fine. I get worse from Congress, and they use more words. At least these three don¡¯t waste my time.¡± He stood up and clapped his hands. ¡°Might as well return the favor. Unfortunately, the exact reasons why Ardent¡¯s emissor allowed you to go free must remain classified, but I hear you¡¯re clever kids, so you might as well speculate. The answer you come up with probably won¡¯t be too far from the truth. And if it isn¡¯t, good news¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter. I have no intention of sending any of you back into Russian territory again. Ever. Not with them wanting you so bad.¡±

    ¡°Gee, thanks,¡± said Fatima.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. But I didn¡¯t bring you here to tell you that. Ms. Graham, with your help, killed two Russian emissors. Their emissants have since been reclaimed.¡±

    ¡°They gave Snowdrop and ¡­ ¡°

    ¡°Kist,¡± The President supplied.

    ¡°They gave Snowdrop and Kist to children, too?¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°Sure. First because they¡¯re valuable, second because they needed to save face. They can¡¯t just admit that a Knyaz and an oprichnik got wasted by foreigners, can they? No way. Anybody says that, they can pop out the familiars to prove ¡®em wrong. In fact, both have already been used, very conspicuously, since you left Kazakhstan.¡±

    ¡°And you are telling us this why?¡± Nadia demanded. ¡°To try and make us hate Russia more, or take your side?¡±

    ¡°Well, no, I figured you¡¯d take my side because I¡¯m the reason you¡¯re not strapped to a lab table pumped full of drugs right now. But if that¡¯s not enough, they had to find substitutes on short notice. So they recruited local. The new masters of Snowdrop and Kist are Russian, Orthodox, Kazakh-national children, a little younger than Nadia there. A girl and a boy. And, as it happens, we have a way to get in contact with these children. Indirectly.¡±

    ¡°And get them out?¡± Nadia said.

    Art Dawes shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s practical. Their families are being held hostage. No, they¡¯ll be staying there, and playing their part. But we¡¯re in contact with their new handler, who is ¡­ sympathetic to our goals, here in the US.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you manage that?¡± said Fatima.

    ¡°Classified,¡± Dawes replied at once. ¡°And you don¡¯t need to know. All I¡¯m going to tell you is that I¡¯m quite confident in this man¡¯s loyalty. We can¡¯t actually tell these kids their buddy is ours; too dangerous for him. But we will be getting regular, detailed reports on them, and how they¡¯re coping with their new situation. We have two of those reports already. Got a whole team of analysts going over them. But I¡¯d like to add two or three more to the team.¡±

    Fatima smirked. ¡°You mean us?¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°You know anybody else who¡¯s got your level of experience with their situation? Yes, you. It¡¯s very important to me, and to America, that those two children don¡¯t do anything crazy.¡±

    ¡°Why, though?¡± Nadia said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t America benefit if Russia went through the chaos and humiliation of a Knyaz going rogue?¡±

    Dawes grimaced. ¡°Please. I ran on healthcare reform. I never wanted this war. It burns money, it gets American citizens killed, and we have yet to get one damn thing useful out of it. And it started with a humiliated Russia taking a bite out of Turkey. Countries are like little kids that way; you humiliate them, they lash out, do stupid shit they regret later.

    ¡°If we play our cards right in the Kremlin, we could get a face-saving withdrawal from Istanbul by the end of the year, and a new focus on internal economic development. That¡¯s going to be hard enough to manage from my end; the particular bit of stupid shit your fellow-countrymen pulled in Texas has plenty of my voters still howling for blood. If one of those kids does the same thing to the other Knyazya that you did to your Papa Titus¡ªhell, I don¡¯t even want to think about it.¡± He shook his head. ¡°What a fuckin¡¯ mess.¡±

    The girls looked at each other. Nadia spoke up first. ¡°And you don¡¯t want to deploy us?¡±

    ¡°Jesus! You out of your mind? Why the hell would I do that?¡± He started ticking off reasons on his fingers. ¡°First, I can¡¯t have you captured, like I said. Second, everybody and their brother knows your names and faces now. We¡¯ll have a hell of a time even keeping you concealed here in the States. Third, everybody and their brother knows your emissants belong to kids, so I¡¯ll look like a goddamn kiddy-pimp every time you show up in the news. Fourth¡ªand please don¡¯t take this personally¡ªyou don¡¯t really have the kind of cool, detached judgment we expect from our agents in the field. I mean, I understand Romeo there keeps losing his shit and killing the people he just healed. What am I supposed to do with that?¡±

    ¡°If you really want our cooperation,¡± Nadia told him, ¡°you could be nicer about it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m being nice. I¡¯m just not trying to be your daddy, or your friend. Why should I? I just met you. I¡¯m doing you the courtesy of treating you the same way I treat everybody else I deal with. As a matter of simple respect.¡±

    ¡°I can live with that,¡± said Fatima. ¡°So: no deployments, just a ¡®consulting¡¯ gig. Sounds okay so far. What about research?¡±

    ¡°What about it? I¡¯m going to have Dr. Gus, or any of his colleagues, keep talking to you. That¡¯s it. I don¡¯t want you even pulling your emissants out¡ªever¡ªinside my borders. Might make exceptions later, with your permission and cooperation, for research purposes. Under very controlled circumstances, in the middle of nowhere where nobody will notice. As far as the public¡¯s concerned, you need to just quietly disappear, so they can forget you were ever a thing that happened.¡±

    ¡°How are we supposed to trust you, when you say things like that?¡± said Nadia.

    ¡°The same way you trust anybody else. It takes time. I¡¯m not asking for an answer tonight. But we are right in the middle of Stillwater coverage here, you know. I could have a couple of guys come in and chloroform you and you couldn¡¯t do a damn thing to stop me. If it comes to that, I could have had all of you quietly killed before you even set foot in this country. But I didn¡¯t. Because I want your input on the rugrats-in-the-Kremlin situation.¡±

    ¡°And if you didn¡¯t need us for that?¡± Nadia prompted him.

    ¡°If I decided you were a threat to my country, then sure, I might have had all of you killed. I still might decide that, at any time, if you give me a reason to think it¡¯s a good idea, or that it needs to be done. But you haven¡¯t yet, and I don¡¯t think you will. Just keep living, like everybody else. Dot your i¡¯s, cross your t¡¯s, pay your taxes, and you won¡¯t get in trouble. You don¡¯t get privileges for being an emissor.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± said Nadia. ¡°But that runs both ways. If you give me any reason to think you¡¯ll be endangering or exploiting children, I will find a way to make you regret it, Stillwater or not.¡±

    Dawes laughed. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be living here, you should probably know you just committed a felony.¡±

    Nadia rolled her eyes. ¡°Felonies are nothing; you can add it to my list. I¡¯m serious. You have your responsibilities. I have mine.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and I appreciate that. Nothing special there either. Every one of us has a responsibility to do what he or she can to maintain a just society. I don¡¯t intend to ever give you any reason to pull Chansonne out again. Not until you¡¯re an adult, and I¡¯ll be done with this damn job by then. So it shouldn¡¯t be an issue.¡±

    ¡°See that it doesn¡¯t, Mister President,¡± Nadia said. Fatima, her arms crossed, nodded her endorsement. ¡°Is there anything else you needed to talk with us about?¡±

    Dawes shook his head. He wasn¡¯t quite managing to hold back a smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t really need to say all this tonight. I just had the time free, and felt like getting it out of the way. I, or my representatives, will be in touch with you by and by. Welcome to the United States. Miss Perkins!¡± The door cracked open behind them, and a lady in a grey wool suit popped her head in. ¡°Give these three young people an abbreviated tour of the place, would you? I¡¯ve got to have a little private talk with their adult friend. Thank you.¡±

    He went back to sit behind the desk as they filed out, and pulled a bottle of bourbon and two glasses out from one of the drawers. ¡°Drink, Ms. Graham?¡±

    ¡°Not right now, thanks. Please don¡¯t mind the children, sir; they¡¯re like that with everybody.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it! It was cute. Made my day.¡± He poured himself a shot. ¡°Go ahead and sit down, drink or not. Looking up gives me a crick in my neck. Thank you. So, how much have you told them about, ah, the circumstances surrounding their recovery?¡±

    ¡°Nothing significant, sir. Not enough for them to guess about Ardent¡¯s emissor.¡±

    Dawes paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. ¡°What about him?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s the contact, isn¡¯t he? The contact, and the new handler for the children in the Kremlin.¡±

    ¡°And you say that because?¡±

    ¡°The ¡®Bonanza¡¯ files disclosed Yefimov¡¯s identity, but not his. He didn¡¯t attack the children, and was on hand to recover the two emissants. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to figure out, sir.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Yeah, and that¡¯s what worries me. I think we¡¯ve got all the cracks sealed, but we¡¯ve thought that before. Too many people know about this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be more concerned about his loyalty. Sir.¡±

    ¡°Nah. If he pisses us off, we forward the e-mail to the Kremlin, and they¡¯ll be giving Ardent to one of their kids like a party favor. He¡¯ll behave, because he has to. Anyway, the two people you brought in gave us a pretty good idea who we¡¯re dealing with. I think he¡¯ll behave.¡± He tossed back the bourbon, and poured another glass. ¡°Anyway. That¡¯s my problem. The kids are yours, for the time being.¡±

    ¡°All three?¡±

    ¡°For the time being,¡± he repeated. ¡°Legally, you¡¯ll be their foster parent, unless and until we can come up with something better. Kids need stability and regularity, all that shit. Even if I have to take a scarce emissor off frontline duty to keep an eye on them. You¡¯ll be staying in the States for at least the next four, five years.¡±

    ¡°Looking forward to it, sir.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re crazy. Three teenagers who can blow up the city if they lose their tempers? Wouldn¡¯t anybody else take that job. Hell, even my job¡¯s better than that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been deployed enough, Mister President. It¡¯s about time I put down some roots.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to arrange some deep cover for security,¡± he warned her. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to cut ties.¡±

    ¡°I hardly have any to cut.¡±

    ¡°I guess it¡¯s a match made in heaven, then.¡± He studied the glass and the bottle for a moment, then looked up. ¡°Go on now, get out of here. See if you can catch up with the tour. Then go get some sleep. You¡¯re going to need it.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir. Good night, Mr. President.¡±

 CXVIII. Ghost Country (Nadia) (FINAL CHAPTER)

    ¡°Well, this is ¡­ familiar,¡± Fatima said, looking out of the plane¡¯s cabin at the endless dry plains in every direction. Nadia knew what she meant. It really did look a lot like Turkey. ¡°Where is this?¡±

    ¡°The state¡¯s name is Wyoming,¡± Keisha told them. ¡°The Federal government owns more than half the land here. A lot of it in the form of national parks, but this chunk is all Numenate. They call it ¡®Ghost Country.¡¯¡±

    ¡°That sounds ominous,¡± Nadia said.

    ¡°Try to be optimistic about this,¡± Keisha said, shooing them and their luggage toward a car parked a few hundred feet from the airstrip. ¡°You just got here.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, and there¡¯s nobody here to meet us,¡± Fatima griped. ¡°This is some horror-movie shit.¡± But she got into the car with the rest of them.

    The car was unlocked and empty, its keys sitting on the dash in plain sight. Once they were settled in and Keisha had found her way with the GPS, Nadia asked the obvious question. ¡°Do we want to know why it¡¯s called ¡®Ghost Country¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be scary. Everybody in the service knows about it; way back when, the Feds needed a place where the general public wouldn¡¯t get bothered by a halo going off, or see experimental VRIL forms flapping around blowing up. So they bought huge chunks of the two least densely populated states for general paraphysical use. They still use it some for experiments, but mostly this is where the weirdos live, so they don¡¯t bother anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Weirdos,¡± Fatima echoed. ¡°Like us.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Keisha said. ¡°A lot of attempts to make familiars don¡¯t work out. You wind up with people who can¡¯t really call up a useful emissant, but they can call up something¡ªjust this weak, half-formed, useless ghost that doesn¡¯t make a halo and can¡¯t do anything. They can¡¯t always control when it comes out, or manage what happens when it does. Others can¡¯t even do that, but wind up broken psychologically. Some of them can¡¯t control what they say, and most of them know classified secrets.¡±

    ¡°And all those people live out here?¡± Nadia said. She didn¡¯t know that she wanted to have that kind of neighbor.

    ¡°There are a lot of little communities. We spend a fair amount of money on support services, trying to help these people, and give them something like a normal life. I could have wound up as one of them myself. Just luck that I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s why we¡¯re here,¡± concluded Fatima. ¡°We¡¯re another embarrassing secret for Uncle Sam.¡±

    ¡°The whole problem is that you¡¯re not a secret,¡± Keisha corrected her. ¡°This is a place where you don¡¯t have to go to any special effort to hide. There won¡¯t be many other kids here, and a lot of the neighbors will be disabled or eccentric. You might wake up on odd nights when a giant glowing amoeba floats through the front yard. Or through the house. But you can keep your real names, and tell most of your stories.¡±

    ¡°While living in a giant open-air nuthouse, you mean.¡±

    ¡°Just give it a chance,¡± Keisha chided. ¡°You haven¡¯t even seen the house.¡±

    They saw the house five minutes later, after two turns onto unmarked dirt roads. It was a good-sized log cabin, two stories tall with two chimneys and a covered porch wrapping around three sides. There were six other houses like it, all in a circle around a fenced area full of¡ª

    ¡°Horses?¡± Fatima blurted. ¡°We own fuckin¡¯ horses now?¡±

    ¡°I think they¡¯re attached to the community,¡± Keisha said. Nadia could hear the smile in her voice. ¡°They use them for therapy. But you¡¯ll be able to ride them too, after some training.¡±

    ¡°Who needs training, fool? We had horses in Lashkargah.¡±

    ¡°That was half a decade ago,¡± Nadia reminded her. ¡°Your legs wouldn¡¯t have fit around a horse. You must have ridden a pony, if that.¡±

    ¡°Still more than you ever rode.¡±

    ¡°Horses,¡± Ruslan agreed happily.

    ¡°You were too little to ride too,¡± Fatima told him. ¡°Maybe you had a donkey.¡±

    ¡°A donkey? Fatima, is this supposed to be a competition? Are the rest of us not allowed to have had childhoods as nice as yours?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not even in question here. I was damn near a princess. You had some crappy apartment and he cooked rice in a tent.¡±

    ¡°The therapists here will also be able to help Ruslan with his recovery,¡± Keisha noted, cutting short the argument.

    ¡°Well, they¡¯re good for something, then,¡± Fatima declared as she kicked her door open. ¡°C¡¯mon, Rus, let¡¯s ¡­ who¡¯s that?¡± There was an old man in a wheelchair on the porch, half-hidden in the shadows. Easy to overlook until he started waving, like he was doing now. ¡°Hot damn, it¡¯s the Hamster! What¡¯s up, homes?¡±

    Ruslan obediently followed as Fatima ran up the steps and gave the Colonel a delighted hug. Nadia remained behind. ¡°Did you know he¡¯d be here, Keisha?¡±

    ¡°Not sitting on the actual porch, no. But yes, I knew Colonel Hampton was doing his rehab here.¡±

    ¡°Oh. So, is he ¡­ like you said before? Like the others here?¡±

    Keisha shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s not totally broken. They say he should recover most of his function with time. He¡¯s here because we¡¯re not totally sure he has full impulse control yet, and this is where all the cleared therapists live.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, it¡¯s a nice surprise.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± Keisha said. There was an awkward pause. ¡°The other bit of ¡®Ghost Country¡¯ is in Alaska. Gorgeous, but cold, and they were worried that the weird day-night cycle would screw up your emotions. So we decided on here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be fine,¡± Nadia said diplomatically. ¡°I hope we can find other children our age, though.¡±

    ¡°We can probably get you out to 4-H meetings or something. I think they have those here.¡±

    Nadia had no idea what a 4-H was, but didn¡¯t ask. ¡°Church?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. There are plenty of chaplains, and a chapel anyone can use, but the nearest actual church communities are something like a hundred miles away. Do you want to go to church again?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m really not sure.¡± She studied the porch, where Fatima appeared to be telling the Colonel a long story, illustrated with vigorous hand motions. Ruslan had come up behind her and slung an arm around her shoulder, unnoticed. Old habits. ¡°You know, I¡¯m glad those two are friends now. Real friends. Not like before. She seems to actually like him.¡±

    ¡°Ruslan is recovering quickly. They might wind up as more than friends, in the end.¡±

    ¡°They might,¡± she agreed. ¡°We will see. As to church ¡­ what day is it?¡±

    ¡°Monday, the sixth of May.¡±

    ¡°Oh. We missed Easter.¡±

    Keisha blinked. ¡°That was more than a month ago.¡±

    ¡°I mean Pascha! Orthodox Easter. It was yesterday.¡± She sighed. ¡°I wanted to go, and I didn¡¯t, you know? Chansonne makes it twice as difficult, because I¡¯m never sure what I want isn¡¯t really what she wants, and I don¡¯t want to be her slave any more than ¨¦zarine¡¯s. And she would want me to go to church. But then I think, is it really good sense to not want it just because she does want it? Kind of childish, isn¡¯t it? Trying to spite someone who isn¡¯t even a person. If I just do the opposite, I¡¯m still letting her control me, only in a backwards way.¡±

    ¡°Every emissor has to live with that kind of problem. It¡¯s not childish at all. I still struggle with it myself.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re not at all like Adesina. Most of the time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve hardly used her, till recently. But every one of us has a different relationship to her emissant. A lot of us, when it finally comes out, after all that training, we¡¯re surprised to see what we got. I was a little embarrassed when I met Adesina. I felt childish too, to know, and have other people know, that what I really wanted was just somebody telling me it was all going to work out.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what everybody wants.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not all everybody wants. Some people¡¯s emissants have grand beliefs and ideological projects, and mine gives you a big hug and a warm blanket, tells you not to worry about all that. It felt pretty stupid, at the time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather deal with your grandmother than Chansonne. People like her probably do more good in the world than people with ¡®grand ideological projects.¡¯¡±

    Keisha laughed. ¡°Why, thank you so much. You do know I¡¯m supposed to be the one cheering you up, right?¡±

    ¡°We can cheer each other up.¡± She looked out of the window at the clear blue sky. ¡°But we can get out of this car first.¡±

    Colonel Hampton was still tied up with Fatima and Ruslan, so she went over to look at the horses. There were six inside the big enclosure, and all six came trotting her way as soon as she got to the fence. They sniffed her over, and nuzzled at her hands. ¡°What? What do you want?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know horses,¡± Keisha said from behind her, ¡°but if they¡¯re anything like dogs or cats, I¡¯d guess they¡¯re hoping you have food.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t,¡± Nadia told them, holding up her empty hands. ¡°See? But since you¡¯re here ¡­ ¡° She reached up and scratched one of them on the white stripe down his face. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a handsome fellow?¡±

    ¡°Lady,¡± Keisha corrected, with a glance at the horse¡¯s back end.

    ¡°Pretty lady. My apologies. Not that you understand me in the first place.¡± She gave them a few more scratches, but when she didn¡¯t produce any food the whole crew got bored and wandered back to the center of the paddock. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fatima drag Ruslan inside the house. She would follow them shortly, and say hello to Colonel Hampton. But not yet. She¡¯d spent too much time indoors lately, or on city streets. If she too was here to be healed, the healing could start now, with the wind in her hair.

    Keisha leaned against the fence next to her, watching the horses search their dusty enclosure for a single live blade of grass. They didn¡¯t look underfed to Nadia, but she didn¡¯t know horses either. Maybe they were just bored. Keisha cleared her throat. ¡°You know, they don¡¯t tell you, when you sign up to get a familiar, how embarrassing the whole thing can be, if it even works. To have everything you want most out there in the open where people can see it, and know who you are.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s really all that you are, though. At least, Dr. Gus didn¡¯t make it sound that way.¡±

    ¡°No, not all. Still. You¡¯re vulnerable, that way. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s different for you, since you adopted yours.¡±

    Nadia shook her head. ¡°Not that different. There was a lot of ¨¦zarine in me even before I had ¨¦zarine, and Chansonne is even closer. Even if Claude¡¯s story wasn¡¯t mine at first, I made it mine anyway.¡±

    ¡°I was, oh, maybe thirty when Adesina was born.¡± Keisha put an arm around her and drew her closer. Nadia didn¡¯t resist. ¡°I¡¯m sure every thirty-year-old is different too, but I had this feeling, after years in the Corps, that I¡¯d reached the end of my twenties, and I¡¯d racked up all this experience in all these places, and I definitely wasn¡¯t a kid anymore.¡±

    ¡°Of course not! You¡¯re an adult at eighteen. At least, that¡¯s how it was in Kazakhstan. Is it different in America?¡± She hated to think of being babied at twenty-six.

    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s eighteen here too. But I had this expectation¡ªand it¡¯s a very common expectation¡ªthat turning eighteen by itself would make me smart and capable, just like all the grown-ups seemed to be. I should have known better.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you should.¡±

    ¡°In my defense, the adults in my life were usually more reliable than yours. Some of them, anyway. Not so much my mother, but she was a crazy person. I haven¡¯t talked to her in years.¡±

    ¡°But your grandmother wasn¡¯t crazy?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. Grandmama was very sane, and very strong. The strongest woman I ever knew. She was my father¡¯s mother, not my mother¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Ah. So it¡¯s your father¡¯s fault, for not choosing a better wife.¡±

    Keisha spluttered, and the arm flew off her shoulder. ¡°God damn but you are blunt, child!¡±

    ¡°Are you just learning this? I am Russian. We are supposed to be direct. And picking a wife is serious business. Or a husband. I know I will think it over very carefully.¡± She frowned. ¡°If I ever get to marry. How does a woman tell her husband that she is an emissor?¡±

    ¡°Some of them don¡¯t, is what I hear. They just know their wives, or husbands, are in the Numenate, and sometimes have to be deployed in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°Oh! What a horrible way to live! Will you tell your husband, when you find him?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re assuming I want one.¡±

    ¡°Of course you want one. You are ¡­ you know? Biologically?¡± She didn¡¯t want to be rude. ¡°I mean, you do like men, right?¡±

    Keisha turned around and started walking away. ¡°Oh no. Nuh-uh. No no no, we are not and I mean not talking about that.¡±

    Nadia hurried after her. ¡°Keisha, it¡¯s okay. I mean, I know you don¡¯t like me that way, and whatever kind of person you like, I¡¯m sure it isn¡¯t good to be alone all the time. There are¡ªI think there are ¡®dating apps¡¯ and things like that¡ª¡± But Keisha was picking up her pace, nearly running on her longer legs, and Nadia decided to give up the chase.

    She turned, and saw Colonel Hampton watching her intently from the porch. ¡°Never you mind,¡± she told him, feeling her face turn hot.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t say anything,¡± he replied. ¡°Good to see you made it through all this.¡±

    ¡°Likewise. I¡¯m sorry that it was so hard on you.¡±

    ¡°Not as sorry as I am. You going to just stand there, have a shouted conversation in the cold?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that cold,¡± she told him, but clambered up the steps anyway. His face was more worn than she remembered, his hair a bit whiter. ¡°Are you like Ruslan? Will you walk again?¡±

    ¡°Right to the point, huh?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. They don¡¯t know yet, but we¡¯ve got hope. I can wiggle ¡®em,¡± he added, bobbing his feet against their rests. ¡°Either way, I¡¯m out of the game, after this. Colonel David Hampton, U.S. Numenate, retired. I stayed in too long.¡±

    ¡°Oh. You¡¯re doing better than I expected, talking like this.¡±

    ¡°It was like this the first time too. Okay, not quite as bad, but my brain was just fine, after a bit. They don¡¯t know why she hit my, my peripheral system harder, and I guess we¡¯ll never know now. Thanks for that, by the by.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Keisha did most of the real work. I was just the bait.¡±

    The Colonel raised a trembling hand. ¡°Same story here. That¡¯s how I know you had the harder job. Take some pride.¡±

    ¡°Pride is a sin,¡± she informed him. ¡°And I don¡¯t need it.¡±

    ¡°Pssht. You¡¯ve got plenty of pride. Just in the wrong things.¡±

    Nadia put her hands on her hips. ¡°Is this how you will spend your retirement? Sitting on the front porch, giving the young people unwanted advice on how to live their lives?¡±

    He clapped a hand to his chest, and laughed. ¡°Ouch! Take it easy, I¡¯m injured.¡±

    ¡°So was I. I got over it. You can too.¡±

    ¡°I know. Everybody here¡¯s injured. They were injured before they even got here. Injured, sick, or broken. Healthy, sane people don¡¯t get into this business, they stay happy and ignorant as, as dentists and insurance salesmen. I¡¯ve always said so¡ªnever appreciated that it applied to me too. I know I¡¯m better now, because I¡¯m finally sure I really want out.¡±

    ¡°While I am just getting in.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a teenager, you¡¯re not supposed to have any sense.¡± He smiled, but it was weak. ¡°I don¡¯t mean that. You should be proud of yourself. I shouldn¡¯t. I picked a hell of a job to end my career on.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t, though. Somebody else did. You were¡ª¡°

    ¡°Just following orders, yeah. Look up the Nuremberg trials sometime, would you?¡± His eyes were wet now; he waved awkwardly at the door behind him. ¡°Just go in, your family¡¯s waiting for you.¡±

    ¡°But you¡ª¡°

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine!¡± he snapped, and she hurried in before he could give himself a heart attack.

    She found Fatima inside, rummaging through the fridge on her eternal quest for food she didn¡¯t despise. Ruslan sat in an extremely cushy chair by the fireplace, just watching her. Yes, he was definitely recovering. But that was Fatima¡¯s problem, and his. They could work it out for themselves. Nadia shouldered her sister aside, found a spiral-cut ham and some mustard, and got to work.

    Halfway through lunch, she got up, and peeked out the screen door. Keisha stood over the Colonel, one hand on his shoulder, talking to him quietly. Good. She snuck back to the table, and pretended she hadn¡¯t seen anything. An hour later, the two of them came in with the news that Iskander Abdullah Erbal had been born on the first of May, in a Kurdish prison. Mother, father and baby had been released on the fourth, on humanitarian grounds, and were doing well.

    ¡°We could get them here, easy.¡± the Colonel said. ¡°Them and their grandpa. He¡¯s earned it.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®we,¡¯ Hamster? Thought you were retired.¡± The old man just smiled.

    ¡°Kemal wouldn¡¯t leave Turkey anyway,¡± Nadia said. ¡°He might let his family go, but I haven¡¯t met them. I don¡¯t know what they¡¯d want. Could we arrange to talk with him, sometime? I¡¯d like to ¡­ I have things to say. I¡¯m not sure what.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we can work something out,¡± Keisha told her. ¡°In the meantime, did you forget you left all your luggage in the car? Get it in, we have work to do.¡±

    Ruslan didn¡¯t need to be asked twice; he loved using his muscles, after so long in chairs and beds. Fatima bounded after him. Nadia stayed where she was. ¡°Work, already?¡± Keisha held up a familiar-looking manila envelope, fat with paper. ¡°Another report? How¡¯d they redirect it here so fast?¡±

    ¡°Not all of this country¡¯s government is lazy and incompetent,¡± Keisha told her.

    ¡°Only about eighty percent,¡± added the Colonel.

    ¡°You¡¯re retired now,¡± Nadia snapped at him. ¡°Get out of here while we work.¡±

    ¡°Emeritus,¡± he said, whatever that meant, and stayed in place.

    Nothing very new had happened with Roman and Elizaveta, at least not that their anonymous handler had noticed. The actual papers occupied hardly any of the envelope. Most of its bulk took the form of a leather-bound book, which Keisha handed to Nadia.

    ¡°What is this?¡±

    ¡°The handler wants you to have it,¡± Keisha said, looking at the cover-sheet. ¡°Doesn¡¯t say why, he just does.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Complete Works of Anna Akhmatova,¡¯¡± she translated from the cover, then opened it up. ¡°Poems? Why is this strange man sending me poems? It¡¯s creepy.¡±

    ¡°Creepier than us reading reports about his kids¡¯ needing braces and shit?¡± asked Fatima.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s worse. But poems are still bad.¡± She set the book aside. ¡°Let¡¯s just get started.¡± If she could keep these children from having a body count as high as hers¡ªlet alone Yuri¡¯s¡ªthen maybe it would be worth it. Maybe. Anyway, she didn¡¯t want to simply do nothing. That was a choice, too, and she would be responsible either way. Thank you, Mila.

    Eventually, Nadia was sure, they would get around to spending some part of their day on age-appropriate education. But they spent most of that first afternoon going over every inane detail of the children¡¯s day, learning what they had said and done, and trying to recommend ways to keep them happy and their families safe. It still wasn¡¯t much to go on, and Nadia wasn¡¯t sure they would ever really know either child. Not from dry facts and paper anecdotes.

    When they all agreed to be done for the day, Fatima took Ruslan out to learn how to ride a horse. Nadia elected to stay behind, and pore over her new book before dinner. She was startled to find that she actually rather liked most of the poems. Did that mean the handler knew her? Why did he get to know about her, but not the other way around? And why did he send the book? She wondered if he was trying to tell her his identity, without anyone knowing.

    Night fell, and found her in her new bed after dinner, rereading ¡°Requiem¡± for the fourth or fifth time. It got better with every reading. She was annoyed when a knock came at her door, and let Keisha in only reluctantly. When she did, the hardened Numenate veteran hung back in the doorway for a long moment, holding a thick book in her hand, looking almost shy. ¡°Yes? What is it?¡±

    ¡°I was thinking ¡­ maybe I could read to you.¡± She held up the book; it was a Bible.

    For what, a bedtime story? What was this about? Keisha¡¯s face was anxious, but gave no other clues. One way to find out. She¡¯d read Akhmatova plenty, and the book would be there in the morning. ¡°If you like,¡± Nadia told her, and shifted over in bed to give Keisha room to sit down.

    Keisha obliged, and swallowed hard, and started to read the story of Ruth in a husky voice. It was nothing new to Nadia, but she listened anyway, because it was obviously important to her new ¡­ what? Her new mother? Foster-mother? To Keisha. Just Keisha. She listened as Ruth and her mother-in-law were widowed, and Ruth made the decision to travel to a strange land for a new life. If this was supposed to be some sort of lesson¡ªif Keisha was Naomi, and Nadia was Ruth¡ªit was awfully heavy-handed. But something about Keisha¡¯s attitude, as she read, suggested she was embarrassed by the whole thing, as if somebody else were making her do it.

    Around the time they got to the meeting with Boaz, Nadia gave up trying to understand it, and simply listened. Whatever the deeper meaning was, she didn¡¯t care; the story was still good.