Into the Flame Read online

  ‘‘Yes. You’re right. The old rules don’t count anymore. The whole world is changing. The time is approaching when we fight the devil’s own. And we need to plan our attack.’’

  ‘‘We don’t know when or where the battle will take place.’’

  ‘‘We don’t wait for them to make that decision.’’ Konstantine sounded stronger than he had for months. ‘‘We decide where—’’

  ‘‘Here?’’

  ‘‘Definitely here. And when. We must plan our strategy, and the first thing we have to do . . . is talk to our known enemies.’’

  ‘‘Enemies,’’ Aleksandr said cheerfully.

  ‘‘Yes, my boy.’’ Again Konstantine caressed Aleksandr’s head. ‘‘We have enemies.’’

  Zorana didn’t even have to think. ‘‘I know exactly who to start with.’’

  Chapter Eight

  Zorana watched as her sons, the Wilder demons, walked toward the van, their arms swinging confidently, their grins flashing. At the last second, they all made a dash toward the driver’s seat. Adrik won by the simple strategy of slamming open the back door and leaping over the seats.

  Stupid kids. They hadn’t changed a bit.

  As Jasha and Rurik stood outside and stared in disgust, Adrik said, ‘‘Just like old times.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, you’re the same pain in the ass you always were,’’ Jasha said.

  ‘‘Shotgun,’’ Rurik called.

  Zorana walked up behind them. ‘‘I’ll ride shotgun.’’ Taking advantage of their horror, she hopped into the front beside Adrik. ‘‘You boys get in the back.’’ When none of them moved, she mocked, ‘‘You didn’t think I would let you go by yourselves, did you?’’

  Jasha, always her responsible son, said, ‘‘Mama, I don’t know if this is a good idea. This probably won’t be pretty.’’

  ‘‘I don’t care about pretty. I want to know.’’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rurik nod.

  ‘‘It’s your right, Mama.’’ Adrik turned the key. ‘‘You guys getting in, or are you going to chase us all the way to Miss Joyce’s?’’

  As the two climbed in, Adrik asked, ‘‘Has anybody ever suspected Miss Joyce before?’’

  ‘‘Not one bit,’’ Jasha answered. ‘‘But we should have. She’s always been around, watching us, poking her nose into our business.’’

  ‘‘In all fairness, she pokes her nose into everyone’s business.’’ Rurik tapped his mother’s shoulder. ‘‘Better buckle yourself in, Mama. Adrik drives like a maniac.’’

  Zorana buckled her seat belt. ‘‘What’s new? You all always did that.’’

  ‘‘Adrik’s practiced,’’ Rurik said.

  Miss Joyce lived in a little house built in the twenties, suitable for a schoolteacher with no family: one bedroom, one bath, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and a minuscule lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. The place was not far from the edge of town, yet isolated by a stretch of meadow, and the people of the town respected Miss Joyce’s privacy.

  Zorana pulled open the screen door and knocked. Privacy. Yes. Miss Joyce would want privacy to hide the truth about herself from her students, her neighbors . . . from the rest of humanity. For she was a monster. A monster.

  The silence was profound. The winter sun shone in the bright blue sky, casting sharp shadows but shedding no warmth.

  Zorana waited for an uncomfortably long time, then glanced back at her sons, lined up against the van parked on the side of the road.

  Jasha looked solid and businesslike, and nothing about his appearance hinted at the passionate soul Ann had fought for and captured.

  Rurik retained the dash of an Air Force pilot and the pragmatism of one of the world’s leading archeologists.

  Adrik . . . Adrik still nursed a bone shattered in the fight that had almost taken his Karen’s life. He had plunged into the depths of evil and barely escaped. He was harder than the other two, broken and rebuilt into a different man, and Zorana had not been there for any of his trials.

  ‘‘For all that she has done, I will make her sorry,’’ Zorana vowed quietly.

  She raised her hand to knock again. Then she heard it: the shuffle of feet across wood floors. The curtain at the front tweaked aside enough for one eye to peer out of the dusty glass.

  Slowly, the locks unlatched, the door creaked open a few inches, and Miss Joyce examined her.

  Miss Joyce looked surprisingly short. Almost . . . shrunken.

  ‘‘Zorana, how nice to see you. I wish you’d called . . . I’m in the middle of something right now. . . .’’ She waved a vague hand into the house.

  ‘‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’’ Zorana placed the flat of her hand on the door to keep it open. ‘‘News about one of your students. You always love to hear news about your students.’’

  ‘‘So, tell me,’’ Miss Joyce said querulously.

  ‘‘Let me show you.’’

  ‘‘That’s nice, dear.’’ Her voice quavered like an old woman’s. Which she was, but always before she’d shown few signs of age. ‘‘But I haven’t been feeling well. . . .’’

  ‘‘I won’t take no for an answer.’’ Zorana smiled, but she was implacable.

  Miss Joyce looked from side to side, seeking an escape.

  Did she realize that the time of reckoning had arrived? ‘‘Let me get my coat and hat.’’

  ‘‘I’ll wait inside.’’ Zorana pushed the door open.

  The stench struck her like a blow.

  Miss Joyce, who had always kept an impeccable house, now lived in filth, with newspapers piled on the floor, dust on all the surfaces, and . . . somewhere, something was rotting in here.

  ‘‘Pardon the mess. I haven’t had a chance to straighten up.’’ Miss Joyce struggled into her coat, pulled on her gloves, and grabbed her large straw hat off the rack by the door. Shoving Zorana outside, she followed her out. Carefully she locked the door— no one locked their doors in Blythe—then turned and smiled with false brightness.

  Zorana was shocked. The sunlight showed the changes the winter had wrought on the schoolteacher.

  Always before she’d been proud of the way she shed the years. She’d been tall, erect, with a full head of wavy gray hair and strong features. Now everything was withered: Her prominent nose was a blob, her stubborn chin had receded, her bones had bent and curved—she was now no more than Zorana’s height. And she smelled. Smelled like her house.

  What was rotting in there was her.

  ‘‘You aren’t well,’’ Zorana said softly.

  Miss Joyce stopped smiling, tucked her shriveled lips over her twisted teeth, and mumbled, ‘‘It’s been a long winter.’’ She donned her hat and looked around. ‘‘Now, what about a student?’’

  Zorana gestured her toward the yard.

  Miss Joyce clung to the rail and took each step on shaking legs.

  Zorana didn’t touch her. Didn’t help her. A deep-seated revulsion kept her back. When Miss Joyce had reached the walk and Zorana knew she could not easily regain the house, she called, ‘‘Boys!’’

  Jasha, Rurik, and Adrik straightened up from the van and strode toward them.

  Miss Joyce adjusted her glasses on her nose and stared at them. ‘‘Yes, yes, it’s your three boys. I can see that. The family resemblance—’’ She stopped, gasped. ‘‘The Wilder demons. All three of you.’’

  Adrik stopped before her. ‘‘Yes. It’s true, Miss Joyce. I’m alive.’’

  ‘‘That’s good.’’ Miss Joyce took a step back. ‘‘Nice.’’

  ‘‘Nice?’’ With the speed of a hawk, Rurik moved behind her and cut off any escape. ‘‘Is that all you can say about Adrik’s return from the dead?’’

  Jasha moved to the other side. ‘‘You’re the one who brought us the news that he’d been killed. Remember? You came to our door with an envelope and told us the post office had delivered it to you by mistake.’’

  ‘‘How convenient that it was delivered to you, of all people,’’ Z
orana said.

  ‘‘You knew us.’’ Rurik silently glided between Miss Joyce and her house. ‘‘You knew just where to deliver the news.’’

  ‘‘Lucky,’’ Miss Joyce croaked.

  ‘‘And the envelope was open.’’ Jasha joined Rurik, pacing with the stealth of a wolf.

  ‘‘Did you laugh when you read the news?’’ Zorana asked.

  ‘‘No. No! How awful! No, of course not. I wouldn’t laugh about the death of one of my favorite . . . um, one of my students.’’ Miss Joyce looked around at the circle of unfriendly eyes. ‘‘I need to sit down.’’

  ‘‘Of course. How rude of us not to consider your sickness.’’ Jasha leaped up on her porch, grabbed the wooden chair, and brought it back, placing it behind her. ‘‘Sit.’’

  ‘‘I’d rather sit inside. Or on the porch.’’ Miss Joyce glanced uneasily at the bright blue sky. ‘‘I have a skin condition.’’

  Zorana didn’t believe that for a minute. ‘‘Is that why we’ve never seen you expose yourself to the sun?’’

  Adrik leaned in and snatched her wide-brimmed hat away.

  Miss Joyce covered her eyes, staggered backward, and, when the chair struck the backs of her legs, she collapsed onto it. Gradually, she took her shaking hands away.

  The sunlight revealed what the hat’s shadows had concealed. Her skin was covered with a tracery of pale scars that instantly reddened in the sun.

  ‘‘So the rumors are true,’’ Zorana said. ‘‘You were attacked by your students.’’

  ‘‘The little bastards—they cut me with their knives. Broke my bones with a tire iron. Laughed . . .’’ Miss Joyce glared at Zorana’s sons. ‘‘They got away with it, too. They were tried as juveniles, given the minimum sentence because of their deprived backgrounds. I hate . . . I hate . . .’’

  ‘‘It wasn’t my boys who hurt you,’’ Zorana pointed out.

  ‘‘They’re all the same. Men . . . vermin . . .’’ Miss Joyce caught herself. She shrank into herself and mewled, ‘‘I mean, I know, but the sunlight hurts my skin and I can’t see very well.’’

  A patch of her hair fell out, revealing a shiny pink scalp.

  ‘‘Is that why you made a deal with him?’’ Adrik asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know who you mean, dear.’’ Miss Joyce’s voice got a little higher, a little thinner.

  ‘‘With the devil. Is that why you made a deal with him?’’ Adrik’s green-and-gold eyes rested on Miss Joyce without sympathy. ‘‘For revenge?’’

  ‘‘No!’’ Miss Joyce jerked as if surprised by her own admission.

  ‘‘Then why?’’ Rurik asked.

  She looked around at the trap they had set for her. Looked around and saw their implacability, and she wailed like a child. ‘‘Because of the pain. You don’t know what it’s like to have all your joints broken, to be burned and cut. I was a good-looking woman, strong and dedicated. I turned them in because their gang was evil, pure evil, stealing, raping, killing, and what did I get as a reward? I was almost killed. Mutilated. The doctors told me I would never walk again. Told me I’d be on medication for the rest of my life. And when I wanted to die, they told me no, I would live a long life. Would you want that? Would you?’’

  ‘‘So when the devil came to you, you agreed to his deal. He would take the pain away, and you would move here and do his bidding.’’ Adrik seemed to understand all too well how the devil worked.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Miss Joyce hissed. She was visibly shriveling.

  ‘‘Why didn’t the devil destroy us himself?’’ Jasha asked.

  Miss Joyce wrung her hands over and over, and each time she did, the bones inside the gloves seemed to warp a little more. ‘‘It doesn’t work that way. He can’t interfere directly. He can only give a little push and prod and hire people to work for him. He’s not in charge, you know. Please. Rurik. You’ve said very little. Obviously you don’t approve of persecuting your favorite old schoolteacher. Give me my hat.’’

  ‘‘You misunderstand, Miss Joyce,’’ Rurik said smoothly. ‘‘We’re not persecuting you. We’re asking for the truth. Is that too much to expect?’’

  All three boys circled her now, while Zorana stood still in front of her, arms crossed.

  ‘‘Zorana . . .’’ Miss Joyce faltered. ‘‘I’ve always been your friend. . . .’’

  ‘‘You delivered my baby.’’

  ‘‘Yes. When that stupid doctor passed out and couldn’t do it.’’ But Miss Joyce couldn’t look Zorana in the eyes.

  ‘‘I think back and I remember—he was drunk when he got there. He gave me drugs I didn’t want. And after he fell over, I heard a thump. Did you knock him out?’’

  ‘‘Why would I do that?’’

  ‘‘So you could trade my son for a girl.’’

  Miss Joyce’s ample, sagging bosom heaved up and down, up and down. ‘‘Why would you think such a thing?’’

  ‘‘We don’t think. We know.’’ Zorana stepped forward, through the circle her sons had formed, and knelt before Miss Joyce. She stared into her eyes. ‘‘Can you imagine what I felt when I realized my son had been stolen from me? No, of course you can’t. You never think of someone else. You think only of yourself.’’

  Miss Joyce laughed, long and loud, and before their eyes, she discarded her pretense of caring and kindness. ‘‘Poor Zorana! Poor little immigrant with her handsome husband and her strong sons and her special gifts, always surrounded by love and support. I’m supposed to feel sorry because I took one of your kids? So what? I left you one in its place. And you were so proud of her. Acted like she was the second coming, when all she was was one of the abandoned ones. He found her and brought her to me and told me what to do. Maybe I wasn’t happy about doing it, but he reminded me what I owed him. You didn’t lose anything by what I did.’’ She smirked, transfixed by her own confession. ‘‘Except you can never break the pact, because you don’t have four sons.’’

  ‘‘You know about the pact? He knows about the prophecy?’’

  ‘‘He knows everything. He watches everything.’’

  Adrik snorted derisively. ‘‘Is that what he told you?’’

  ‘‘He’s the devil. He wouldn’t—’’

  ‘‘Lie to you?’’ Zorana finished softly.

  Miss Joyce realized how stupid she sounded. How stupid she’d been. At once her shoulders slumped with an audible crack. She flinched, caught her breath, and struggled to speak. ‘‘You’re right. He did lie to me. He told me he would take my pain away and let me live as long as I did his bidding. But when your children were grown and you spouted your damned prophecy, he didn’t need me anymore.’’ She gave a sudden wail. ‘‘I’m in pain. All the time in pain, and no matter what I do, he won’t come back to me. I sacrifice to him, but my body’s rotting. Rotting while I live.’’

  ‘‘It looks as if the sun is accelerating the process.’’ Rurik watched as the scar on her cheek opened to the bone.

  Miss Joyce cast him a glance of such venom, he stepped back.

  ‘‘What did you do with my baby?’’ Zorana stood up over her. ‘‘What did you do with my son?’’

  Miss Joyce turned coy. ‘‘What will you do for me if I tell you?’’

  ‘‘How desperate are you to stay alive?’’ Zorana asked softly.

  Miss Joyce lifted her misshapen hand to shade her eyes, and stared at Zorana. ‘‘You’d have your sons kill me?’’

  ‘‘I’d kill you myself.’’

  Miss Joyce stared into Zorana’s eyes and saw the truth. Zorana not only could kill her—she would.

  ‘‘I put it in the car and drove it to Nevada. It screamed the whole last eight hours.’’ In a tone of pride, she said, ‘‘I put it out in the night, in the desert, and drove away. But I didn’t murder it. That would have made me like the boys who attacked me.’’ Spittle foamed at the corners of her mouth. The old woman had succumbed to madness.

  Zorana slowly backed away from her. ‘‘My baby wasn’t an it. He
was a boy.’’

  ‘‘All the better reason to kill it before it could grow up like them.’’ Miss Joyce waved her deformed hand at Zorana’s sons.

  Zorana clenched her fists and took a step forward.

  Miss Joyce cowered, her arms above her head.

  Rurik caught Zorana’s arm. ‘‘No, Mama,’’ he whispered.

  ‘‘I’m a pathetic old woman who has been abandoned by her master and left to die in anguish,’’ Miss Joyce whispered hoarsely. ‘‘Surely that’s punishment enough.’’

  The boys glanced at one another, revulsion writ plain on their faces.

  Rurik handed Miss Joyce her hat.

  As she put it on her head, Zorana caught the glint of triumph sparkling in her eyes.

  Snatching the hat away, Zorana glared at her sons. ‘‘No. No, no, no!’’

  ‘‘Mama, are you sure?’’ Adrik put his arm around her. ‘‘Don’t do something you’ll later regret.’’

  ‘‘She took the job of a schoolteacher, a protector and teacher of young children, and taught us to trust her while she did everything in her power to destroy us. Adrik, she told us you were dead. Firebird ran away because of this woman’s treachery.’’ Taking a sobbing breath, Zorana whispered, ‘‘Most of all, she tore my son from my arms. She deprived you of your brother. Because of her, we can never break the pact, and your father will burn in hell for all eternity. She left my baby to die of starvation and dehydration, or freeze to death under the indifferent stars, or be eaten alive by animals.’’ She crushed the straw brim between her fists. ‘‘She can’t stand the sun because she made a deal with the devil. If she can make it back to the house, she’ll live.’’

  ‘‘That’s not fair!’’ Miss Joyce said.

  Zorana glanced one last time at the evil, leprous hulk that was Miss Joyce. ‘‘It will be as God wills. That’s a better chance than you gave my baby.’’