‘I look impressive all right,’ said Pavel, glancing sideways at me suspiciously. ‘Only my scales are too colourful, like a painted Khokhloma toy, it’s hard to disguise myself.’
I managed to keep a straight face.
‘Never mind, I think that’s interesting. When people have to be frightened, especially little children, colourful scales are just the thing.’
‘That’s the kind of work I usually do,’ Pavel admitted.
A sharp jolt cut short our conversation as the plane touched down on the runway. The passengers burst into applause, somewhat prematurely. I gazed avidly out of the window for a few seconds, looking at the greenery, the airport terminal, a plane taxiing to take off.
I simply couldn’t believe it.
I’d escaped from stuffy, oppressive Moscow, I had the holiday I’d been waiting for for so long … and my special rights … and when I got back – Zabulon would be waiting for me again …
Pavel saw me as far as the trolleybus stop. It’s the most amusing trolleybus route I know, all the way from one town to another, from Simferopol to Yalta. But strangely enough, it’s actually a convenient way to travel.
Everything here was different, quite different. It seemed hot – but it wasn’t the asphalt-and-concrete city heat of Moscow. And even though the sea was a long way away, I could sense it. And the luxuriant greenery, and the whole atmosphere of a huge resort at the height of the season.
It felt good … it really did feel good. I just wanted to get a shower as soon as possible, get a good night’s sleep, tidy myself up.
‘You’re not going to Yalta, are you?’ Pavel asked.
‘Not exactly to Yalta,’ I said. I looked gloomily at the long queue. Even the children were all keyed up, ready to grab a seat in the trolleybus. I had no things with me at all – just my handbag and the sports bag over my shoulder, and I could have stood quite easily – but only if I managed to get on the trolleybus without a ticket.
And I didn’t feel like standing.
If it came down to it, I had a thick wad of cash for my travel allowance, holiday allowance and medical allowance – Zabulon had managed to get me almost two thousand dollars. That was certainly plenty for two weeks. Especially in Ukraine.
‘All right, Pavlusha,’ I said and kissed him on the cheek. The shape-shifter blushed. ‘I’ll get there, no need to see me off.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘I was instructed to give you every possible help.’
Oh, my little protector … A herbivorous lizard, a cow with scales …
‘I’m sure. You need to get some rest too.’
‘I’m going bicycling with friends,’ he informed me for some reason. ‘They’re really nice guys, Ukrainian werewolves and even a young magician. Maybe we could call in to see you?’
‘I’d like that.’
The shape-shifter walked back towards the airport, clearly intending to board another flight. And I set off along the thin line of taxis and private cars offering lifts. It was already getting dark, and there were only a few left.
‘Where to, lovely lady?’ a fat man with a moustache called. He was standing beside his little Zhiguli and smoking. I shook my head – I’d never travelled between towns in a Zhiguli … I ignored the Volga as well, and the tiny Oka too – goodness only knew what that driver was hoping for.
But that brand new Nissan Patrol would suit me very well.
I leaned in over the wound-down window. There were two dark-haired young guys sitting in the car. The one in the driving seat was smoking and the other was drinking beer from a bottle.
‘Are you guys free?’
Two pairs of eyes stared at me, summing me up. I didn’t look too creditworthy – that was necessary for my cover.
‘Maybe,’ the driver said. ‘If we can agree a price.’
‘We can,’ I said. ‘To the “Artek” camp. Fifty.’
‘Are you a young pioneer?’ the driver laughed. ‘For fifty we’ll give you a ride round town.’
The witty type. He was so young he shouldn’t have been able to remember what a ‘young pioneer’ was. And he was excessively ambitious … fifty roubles – that was almost ten dollars.
‘You didn’t ask the most important thing,’ I said. ‘Fifty what?’
‘Well, fifty what?’ the driver’s friend repeated obligingly.
‘Bucks.’
The young guys’ expressions immediately changed.
‘Fifty bucks, we go fast, without any other passengers and we don’t turn the music up loud,’ I added. ‘Deal?’
‘Yes,’ the driver decided. He began looking around. ‘What about your things?’
‘I’ve got them all here.’ I got into the back seat and dropped my bag down beside me. ‘Let’s go.’
My tone of voice seemed to have had the right effect. A minute later we were already swinging out onto the road. I relaxed and leaned back a bit more comfortably. This was it. Holiday. I needed to rest … eat peaches … gather my strength.
And afterwards Moscow and Zabulon would be waiting for me …
Just at that moment my mobile rang in my bag. I got it out without opening my eyes and took the call.
‘Alisa. How was the flight?’
I felt a warm glow in my chest. One surprise after another! Even during our best times Zabulon hadn’t felt the need to take any interest in such petty details. Or was this just because I was unwell and feeling down?
‘It was excellent, thanks. They said there were problems with the weather, but—’
‘I know about that. The guys in the Simferopol Day Watch gave us a hand with the weather. That’s not what I meant, Alisa. Are you in a car now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your forecast for this trip is bad.’
I pricked up my ears.
‘The road?’
‘No. Apparently your driver.’
In front of me the young guys’ cropped heads were like blank stone. I looked at them for a second, furious at my helplessness. I couldn’t even feel their emotions, let alone read their thoughts.
‘I’ll handle it.’
‘Have you let your escort go?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll handle it.’
‘Are you sure, Alisa?’ There was genuine concern in Zabulon’s voice. And that had the same effect on me as dope on an athlete.
‘Of course. Try looking further ahead in the forecast!’
Zabulon was silent for a moment. Then he said:
‘Yes, it straightens out … But keep in touch. I’ll come if it’s necessary.’
‘If they do anything to me, just skin them alive, sweetheart,’ I said.
‘I’ll do more than that, I’ll make them eat their own skins,’ Zabulon agreed. It was no empty threat, of course, but a real promise. ‘Well, have a good holiday, darling.’
I switched off the mobile and slipped into a doze. The Nissan drove on smoothly and we were soon out on the main road. The young guys occasionally lit a cigarette and I could smell tobacco – fortunately not the worst kind. Then the sound of the engine became more laboured – we were climbing the mountain pass. I opened my eyes and glanced through the open window at the starry sky. How big the stars were in the Crimea. How close.
Then I fell asleep for real. I even began dreaming – a sweet, languorous dream, I was swimming in the sea at night and there was someone beside me, and sometimes in the darkness I could almost make out the lines of his face, and I could feel the gentle touch of his hands …
When I realised that the touch was real, I instantly woke up and opened my eyes.
The engine was silent and the car was parked a little distance off the highway. I think it was on an emergency side road for poor souls whose brakes have failed.