Chapter 15
So apparently, evil magical monsters didn’t give a shit about God’s holy temple.
The pernicae squeezed itself through the hole it smashed, uncaring of the remaining shards tearing at it. In that moment, I realized the beast didn’t make any noise. No grunting of effort, no shrieks of hunting excitement or even of pain. The only thing it emitted? Glaring intent.
Despite its lack of vocals, the ruckus of its entry drew attention and a man in a frock—the black priestly, not frilly pink kind—rushed into the nave, only to stop abruptly in shock. No surprise, he did the sign of the cross. To even lesser surprise, it didn’t do diddly squat.
To my amusement, the priest grabbed hold of the big gold cross on the altar and held it in front of him as he advanced, chanting. I admired the balls on him, even as I yelled at his dumb brave butt. “Run away! It’s not here to hurt you.”
The priest’s gaze slewed my way and I waggled my fingers. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to draw the monster here.”
I couldn’t tell if he understood English, but at least common sense kicked in and he ran, kicking the skirts of his gown as he headed away from the pernicae.
Good. I’d hate to add accidentally getting a priest killed to my long list of sins if I ever did meet God—which might be soon if I didn’t get my shit together.
“What should I do?” I asked Cedric as the pernicae, who’d hit the floor, began shoving at the pews, trying to get at me.
“Not die.”
“Ha. Ha. How am I supposed to stay alive? I don’t have a gun to shoot it,” I remarked as I clambered over a pew to stall for time.
“You might not have a weapon, but you do have magic,” Cedric reluctantly reminded as he casually leapt and kept pace with my huffing attempt to delay the inevitable.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to use it.”
“Don’t see as we have a choice.” Cedric quickly hopped to the next pew over just as the one he’d been perched on got knocked over.
“How do I focus the magic so I only take out the pernicae and nothing else?”
“Very carefully.”
I could have growled at his less-than-helpful responses.
It occurred to me Cedric likely didn’t have a clue either.
This magic I’d been given didn’t come with a rule book.
However, I’d played with it enough by now to know it worked by more or less wishing.
A wish that needed to be explicitly constrained.
“You should probably do something,” Cedric warned as the pernicae advanced.
Ordering the monster to stop moving would provide a temporary reprieve I could hopefully use to kickstart my brain.
My hand flashed forward. “I command thee to cease your approach and stand still.” I pushed the image of what I wanted, the pernicae frozen in place. It halted abruptly, and I exhaled loudly. It worked, but now what?
How did one kill something that didn’t live? I doubted it had a heart I could stop. If I exploded its body, would it die permanently or still come back? What if instead of trying to murder it, I rendered it harmless?
“You’re just a sweet and cuddly teddy bear,” I declared, imagining it with fur and a pudgy, furry belly.
Bad idea. The pernicae suddenly turned shaggy, and thicker, like a bear—with great big teeth—and it still had wings.
“Good job creating a new nightmare creature,” Cedric muttered.
I needed something more delicate. “You are as gentle as a butterfly.” I know, I can’t believe I said it either, given my recent experience, and yet the colorful bugs with their flapping wings popped into my head.
Whomp.
There was no actual noise, more like shock as the pernicae suddenly turned into a massive bug of nightmare suddenly no longer frozen in place. It flapped its wings and hovered in the air before swooping toward me.
“What are you doing?” Cedric yelled.
“Trying to make it into something harmless,” I hollered back, flattening myself as the monster butterfly swooped.
“It’s not working.”
“I’m aware,” I grumbled. There had to be a way to make the pernicae harmless where I was concerned.
Hold on a second. What if…
My hand flashed out, because, apparently, I had a flair for the dramatic. “Change of target. It’s not me you want but your creator.” I focused on that command, pushing it at the monster.
The giant bug hovered in the air, its massive colorful wings—blood red and orange—flapping slowly. Its antennas—with the barbed ends—stopped waving. Its head shook as if in a silent internal battle.
I gritted my teeth and huffed again. “You will hunt your creator. Grigori Rasputin, AKA Duke Valefor. The asshole who created you and set you on this task.” I pictured the man as I pushed the command, shoving it at the monster until it uttered a keening sound, a shrill piercing noise that resulted in it suddenly exploding into—a lot of fucking butterflies.
I’d never seen anything more beautiful, though, than that flock, outlined in a golden light, suddenly rising in the air and heading for the broken window, streaming out of the church, away from me.
“It worked!” I squealed.
“You should have probably destroyed it,” Cedric noted, rather than congratulating me on my epic victory.
“I didn’t know how. By the looks of it, it’s not after me anymore.”
“For now. There’s a good chance this Valefor fellow will be able to redirect the pernicae.”
“Then I’ll deal with it when and if that happens.” Hopefully by then I’d have a better idea on how to handle it.
Cedric hopped to the floor and threaded the wreckage in the nave. “We should get going before the cops get here.”
Guess this would be kind of hard to explain. Sure, the priest had seen the monster. However, I’d already been in enough trouble today.
A distant wail of a siren had me quickly following out the front door.
We exited the church and walked a few blocks before flagging a taxi.
We arrived at the train station to find it busy despite the evening hour.
Thankfully the ticket booth operator understood some English, and I soon had the first leg of my trip booked.
The departure was within the hour, leaving me a little time to grab some things from the onsite, overpriced mart.
A large satchel to smuggle Cedric onto the train, a croissant, a coffee, some chocolate.
I also made a quick trip to the washroom, using the sink to clean myself up a bit.
I didn’t have a change of clothes, something I’d have to take care of at the next stop.
Then, before disaster could strike again, I boarded, ensconcing myself in the private cabin.
Overkill for a two-hour trip, but I wanted, make that needed privacy, as did Cedric.
The fabric-covered benches facing each other had a table that could be lowered from the wall between them.
I deposited my coffee and food but didn’t immediately touch them, needing a moment to apparently breathe.
My tension didn’t ease until the train began chugging. Safe. For now.
Once I ate, fatigue hit me hard. The overwhelming kind that saps all your strength and hits your brain, too, allowing doubt to seep in.
What was I doing? Heading to Russa, into the unknown, to find some hidden elves, by myself. It seemed so impossible. Hard. Scary.
Lonely…
“Don’t you dare start crying,” Cedric warned.
“I’m not c-c-crying,” I hiccupped as my throat tightened.
“Then do something about those tears.”
What tears? Oh, the fat hot and salty ones rolling down my cheeks.
“It’s just…just…I don’t think I can do this. I’m not some super sorceress or some savvy traveler.”
“Funny how that didn’t stop you when those demons came to town and you insisted on being Charlie’s sidekick.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because I was supporting my bestie. I had to pretend to be brave and strong for her.”
“And why can’t you do the same for yourself?”
I blinked wet lashes. “Because it’s not the same.”
“How about if I said suck it up, buttercup?”
“You’re really not good at offering emotional support,” I huffed.
“I’m a dryad, not a shrink. Think of it as tough love. You don’t have a choice, Florence. The spirit in you has to be returned to the elves, or having had a taste of power, have you decided you’d rather keep it?”
“What? No, of course not.” While there was a thrill in wielding magic, the ease with which I could fuck shit up worried.
“Is this because you don’t have a man to hold your hand? I thought you were a strong independent woman.”
“I am.”
“Then stop the woe-is-me pity party and yank up your panties, Beavertail.”
I glared. “Don’t you dare start using that awful nickname.”
“I won’t use it so long as you stop your whining. You’ll feel better after you eat.”
“I did eat,” I reminded, pointing to the crumbs.
“Bah. I’ve seen your usual portion size. That was merely a snack. Go get some real food in your belly.”
Good advice as it turned out. The dining car had a limited menu, but I enjoyed every bite of it. A full tummy, along with the motion and noise of the train, lulled me to sleep for the remaining hour of the trip, and I woke feeling ready to conquer the world.
We chugged into a Paris station, which, yes, for those familiar with geography, meant we’d gone away from Russia instead of toward. I chose Paris because they had a train that went direct to Moscow. It would take almost forty hours, but I wouldn’t have to hop on and off in strange cities.
Since the Moscow train I bought a ticket for didn’t leave until the morning, and Paris wasn’t a city that slept, I did some shopping.
Within an hour, I’d purchased several changes of clothes while Cedric put his furry paws to use stealing us more cash.
He gathered enough for us to rent a hotel room for the night, plus enough left over I could eat while we travelled.
My previous nap on the train didn’t keep me from falling asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. The magic I’d used earlier in the church had sapped me more than I realized. But in good news, no sign of the pernicae—or butterflies.
We boarded the train the next morning, and unlike the previous day, I greeted this next part of our journey with excitement.
“Do you think I could do a little sightseeing in Moscow?” I asked Cedric.
“Only if you’re not in a rush to dump the spirit.”
“It’s been gone for decades. An extra day or two won’t hurt.”
“Just keep in mind Valefor is still looking for you.”
A reminder this wasn’t a touristy vacation.
“I know. But chances are I’ll never be able to afford a trip overseas again.
” As the train began to move, I watched the platform outside, wondering if this would be like a movie and I’d see Misha running and leaping to board.
Fanciful thinking. I mean, what were the chances he’d gotten bailed, knew to follow me to Paris, and would be on this train?
Despite it being farfetched I couldn’t help but feel disappointed as the station left my sight.
I also bit my lip over the guilt suddenly filling me.
Maybe I should have stuck around Rotterdam and tried to get Misha released?
He’d told me to keep going. Doubtful I could have helped. Still…I should have probably done more.
Knock. Knock.
My heart stopped.
“It’s likely the person who checks tickets,” Cedric whispered.
Oh, right. I stood and slid open the door to see a mustached man in a blue suit standing there.
“Votre billet et passeport, s'il vous pla?t.”
I didn’t understand French, but Cedric did and hissed, “He wants your ticket and passport.”
The former I had, but the latter still posed an issue. I plastered my brightest smile. “Hi, here’s my ticket.” I held it out and pushed a thought at the man with the pencil-thin mustache. The passport was good.
The man in uniform handed back my ticket and then held out his hand. “Votre passeport?”
Hunh. My first attempt hadn’t worked. You’ve seen my passport. All is good. Move on to the next cabin.
“Madame, vous devez me montrer votre passeport.”
I only understood the last word. Passport, which was when I suddenly realized something. Magic didn’t translate. My commands in English weren’t being understood by the French man.
Oh shit.
I might have panicked, only a deep accented voice said something I didn’t understand, which had the ticket collector turning and then murmuring, “Merci, Monsieur.”
Who was he thanking?
My jaw dropped when the ticket collector moved down the hall and I saw, “Misha!”