ARTHUR AND LANCE WERE SURROUNDED BY WOLVES. A Bogatyr charged Baba Yaga, his rifle blazing. The bullets merely sparked against her skin. With one hand she snapped her fingers around his neck and popped his head off. The body stumbled another two steps, then slumped, its neck pumping scarlet into the dirty snow. Vasilisa screamed as Baba Yaga dragged her away from the collapsed building.
The Bogatyrs were retreating. Men and wolves lay dead, some killed fleeing, others locked in their death fury. But the wolves were slowly gaining the upper hand. Billi watched as two werewolves broke through a gap and launched themselves at her father. His sword took one in the gullet, but the second knocked him down. Lance’s swords stabbed into the wolf’s side, and the monster was tossed away.
Gwaine, Mordred, and Gareth came charging down the street. Their arrows all spent, they launched into the melee, Gwaine swinging his ax in great skull-smashing arcs as they fought their way to the Templar Master.
Billi tried to heave herself up, but every muscle felt shredded. She managed to slide a beam far enough to crawl out of the rubble. Her armor was in tatters, and blood dripped from a cut on her forehead. The taste of it stung her lips.
Baba Yaga took her prisoner away from the ruined building as Vasilisa screamed and struggled in the old crone’s grip.
Red leaped across the broken rubble. She sniffed the ground and her emerald eyes rose to meet Billi’s.
Rage filled Billi’s heart. Her head swam with fury.
“Get out of my way,” Billi snarled.
Red stalked closer. Then the broken concrete between them parted, and Ivan reached out, revolver in his hand. He fired at Red, point-blank and straight into her belly. She stumbled back as he put two rounds into her.
But she did not fall.
Ivan rose to his feet, both hands on the gun, as she sprang. He pushed the revolver barrel against Red’s stomach, and two muffled explosions went off in rapid succession. Red rammed her claws into his chest as she roared with savage hatred. Ivan tilted backward, firing again and catching the werewolf in the chest.
Red spasmed, and bright blood spilled from her abdomen as her body changed. The hair began to sink away into her pale flesh, and the limbs twisted under the pulsing skin. Ivan lay on his back, fingers still locked around the gun, his chest torn and bleeding heavily. Billi stepped toward him and touched his face. His eyes closed and he sighed.
Then nothing.
“Ivan?” She put her fingers to his still lips. “Ivan!”
No no no. Not again. Billi pressed her fists against her head, though she wanted to scream.
“Billi!”
Vasilisa raised her head. She stared at Billi, eyes gigantic with terror. Baba Yaga lifted the girl and licked her great iron fangs. Her jaw ground like steel plates as she opened her mouth wider and wider, almost bending her head back like a mantrap.
Billi looked once at Ivan, then searched the dusty ruins frantically. She got on to her hands and knees and looked among the broken slabs and bricks for her weapon. Then she saw it, wedged under a fallen cupboard.
Somehow the bow had survived. A long crack ran down the wood, but the string was still wire-taut.
The arrow lay beneath two slabs a yard away. Billi spotted it through a narrow gap that had been left as the wall and roof collided. Vasilisa screamed and Billi glanced back. The little girl was trying to fight, but couldn’t resist the strength of the ancient crone. Vasilisa kicked furiously as she was lowered headfirst into the old monster’s maw.
The moon was full, and with one snap of her jaws, Baba Yaga would consume all of Vasilisa, her flesh, blood, and her powers.
Billi wanted to run and tear at the witch, but she fought the mindless urge. She screamed in anger and frustration as she reached through the gap, her fingers outstretched, vainly reaching for the arrow. A tremor ran across the ground, and the slabs slid closer together and pinched Billi’s arm. If they moved much more, it would be severed.
Billi watched the two avatars. One ancient, decrepit, wise, and evil; the other a frail child. She pushed her shoulder into the hole and stretched her fingers as far as she could. Dust fell over her as she wormed deeper into the rubble. The slabs slid another inch closer together.
She touched smooth wood and jerked her hand out as the two huge chunks of concrete slammed together.
Billi raised her bow and notched the arrow.
Thumb ring hooks around the string, and she pulls with the right as she pushes with the left. Her arms and shoulders shake under the strain. Baba Yaga is twenty yards away, holding the small girl above her, and her teeth begin to close around the girl’s head.
Vasilisa screams.
Billi shoots.