Chapter Two
Vasili Zima breathed in the cold Moscow air. People hurried by him, bundled up against the wind. He loved the cold. When the winds turned icy and the snow fell, it always meant there were fewer people around to bother him. And that was important. He hated being bothered.
But there were times he had to travel, and this was one of them. He collected religious icons, mystical treatises, and books from all cultures and time periods in human history. His goal was twofold—knowledge and power. Most people would assume it was money that was most important, but it was knowledge. The money and power always followed the knowledge. Always.
And there were secrets to be learned if one knew where to look.
If he had to travel for business, then Moscow in late March was not a bad place to be. He hadn’t been here much these past few years. His trips had been quick in-and-out visits with no time to walk the streets or enjoy the sights.
He was a big man, and many found him intimidating. He didn’t think about it much, but it did make life easier. People stepped out of his way as he strode toward his destination. It was a church. The neo-Gothic structure was beautiful but not quite as showy as St. Basil’s, the iconic domed cathedral most people pictured when they thought of Russia. In this church, he’d find the priest who’d contacted him.
He ducked around the side to a smaller entrance instead of going through the front. Pausing for a moment, he glanced around and made sure no one was following him. The streets were sparsely populated, but there were always people lurking in the shadows—government officials, the politsiya or street police, members of the Russian mafia, and those whose name he would not speak.
He knew the heavy wooden door would be unlocked, so he pushed it open, ducked his head, and entered the church. As always, the serenity of the place surrounded him. One of the things he loved most about any holy building was the silence. Unless there was a service going on, the large space was always hushed.
The pungent scent of incense wafted on the air along with the much fainter scent of smoke from the candles. There was also a faint tinge of beeswax, whether from the candles or some polish used on the woodwork, he wasn’t sure.
“My son,” the elderly priest came forward from the shadows, greeting him in Russian. Vasili had known he was there but had waited for him to speak. He’d found over the years that was always the best approach.
“Father.” He dipped his head in greeting and waited.
The elderly priest with his shock of thick white hair and equally thick white beard knew Vasili wasn’t one for idle chitchat. The holy man turned and headed toward the back of the building where a gate protected a set of three stone stairs.
Vasili ducked even lower and followed the priest down the well-worn stairs to a private room. The priest motioned to a stone tablet sitting on the table. Vasili felt the pulse of power from across the room. This was indeed an object of power. Whether it would be of any use to him remained to be seen.
Not sure the small chair would hold his substantial weight and size, he didn’t sit at the table. He studied the object before he touched it. He hadn’t survived this long by being a fool.
“You can read it?” the priest asked.
The markings on the tablet weren’t Latin or from any of the Slavic languages. It was much older. “Yes, I can read it.” While it was powerful and important, it had nothing he needed. But it would be of interest to many collectors.
“How much?”
The priest named a sum that wasn’t cheap but wasn’t unreasonable, either. Vasili did some quick math and realized he could make a tidy amount on this bargain.
He lowered the pack he’d worn on his back onto the table and unzipped it. He always paid in cash. The church never wanted to leave a paper trail. Officials and governments were greedy, always looking for ways to line their own pockets.
He counted out the money and then tucked the tablet into the almost empty bag. “If you discover anything else of interest—” Vasili left his request hanging.
“I will contact you.” He hesitated and shook his head.
“What is it?” Vasili’s shoulders tensed, and a knot grew in his stomach, but he kept his voice even and low.
The elderly priest shook his head again. “There is another man asking about artifacts.” He waved his hand. “Not a scholar like you, a powerful businessman.”
Vasili almost laughed aloud at being called a scholar, although he supposed it wasn’t far off the mark. He read and spoke many languages, not because he was particularly interested in them, but because they allowed him to get the knowledge he wanted.
He slung the bag over his shoulder. “What businessman?” It could be nothing more than a friendly competitor, but his gut was telling him otherwise. Plus, the priest was nervous. This was a man who’d survived many harsh years of communist rule in his country. It took a lot to scare him.
“Anton Bruno.”
Vasili clenched his jaw hard so he didn’t growl. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the priest. Father Petrov had proven to be a very resourceful man, scouring churches around the world for artifacts that would help bring money in to those in need. Smaller, poorer congregations often contacted him, hoping he’d broker a deal for them.
“You do not want to do business with the likes of him, Father.” He recognized the name, even if he didn’t know much about the man.
The priest nodded. “I thought as much, but I fear he will not take no for an answer.”
The priest had good instincts, which had probably allowed him to survive the sometimes brutal-communist regime in his country. He’d been around through the worst of the years, but Vasili wasn’t sure that modern times were much better.
“Offer him things of little value that will make him believe you are doing as he asked.” The last thing Vasili wanted was for the priest to get hurt, and not just because he was such a good contact. He’d come to respect the man over the years.
Vasili hesitated and then swore under his breath as he unzipped his pack once again. The tablet was of no use to him, other than to make money, and he already had more than he could ever spend.
He thrust the tablet toward the priest. “Offer him this.”
The elderly priest held up his hand. “You have paid for it, my son.”
It amused Vasili the priest always called him that when he wasn’t Catholic. In fact, he didn’t follow any religion. “And you will keep the money.” He pushed the stone artifact into the priest’s hands. “It will keep Anton off your back for a while. But make no mistake, he is dangerous.”
Father Petrov nodded. “I believe you. I also believe he will not pay for what he wants.” He curled his lip. “I know his kind.”
“He also won’t hesitate to kill you and sack your church if he thinks you’re holding out on him.” Vasili wanted to impress upon the old man just how dangerous Anton Bruno was. And the group he worked with was just as bad.
The Knights of the Dragon were a pain in his ass and had been for years.
“Was Bruno looking for anything specific?”
The priest nodded his head. “Anything on dragons.” He set the tablet back on the table alongside the money and held up his hands. “Why would he make such a request?”
“Never question him, Father.” Bruno was the type to stoop to torture if he thought the old man was asking too many questions.
He nodded sagely. “Understood.” He glanced around to make sure they were still alone. Vasili could have assured him they were, but he kept silent. “Come with me, my son.” He left the room and headed down a corridor to what seemed to be a dead end. He pressed several of the bricks, and another wall opened up.
Anticipation made Vasili’s heart speed up and the back of his neck tingle.
Father Petrov plucked a candle from a sconce on the wall. “Follow me.” Without waiting to see if Vasili followed, the priest headed down another corridor and through another iron gate. The underground room was surprisingly warm considering there was no heat and it was March in Moscow. The walls were lined with shelves and closed cupboards.
Vasili zeroed in on the cabinet in the corner and walked toward it. The priest hurried ahead of him and opened the door.
“This is the only dragon artifact I know of. I didn’t think it had much value. It is a small thing. I would have shown it to you before if I’d thought it might be of interest, but it is not a book, and so there is no information to glean from it.”
Vasili never specifically asked after dragon artifacts, just myths in general, so as not to raise suspicion.
“Why would you show me this now?” Suspicion reared its ugly head, even though he read nothing but sincerity from the priest.
“You know why.” The old man plucked the small gold statue off the shelf with his free hand and held it out. “Should it be destroyed?” The candlelight flickered around them, bouncing off the walls and making the gold shine.
That the priest would ask him such a thing made him look more closely at the man. Was he working for the Knights of the Dragon?
As if understanding Vasili’s hesitation, the priest shook his head. “I do not want this in the wrong hands if it is dangerous. I fear Anton Bruno might corrupt one of the younger priests into giving him information.”
“How much?” Vasili asked. He needed this small statue. He had no idea exactly what it was, but he could feel the pressure it was exerting on him. It needed to be destroyed.
“For you, it is free. Can you take it, or do you want me to get rid of it?”
Vasili had been surprised very few times in his life, and not for many, many years, but the old man was doing it now. “You know what I am.” It wasn’t a question.
A slight smile played at the man’s lips. “I, too, am well read, my son.”
Everything became so much clearer. The priest had brought him many manuscripts and tablets, all ancient, some of which had helped him greatly. Now he knew why.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
The priest shrugged. “Why would I? You need to protect your identity.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Plus, you are a steady buyer for artifacts. You pay and ask no questions. Many owe their good fortune to that.”
Vasili laughed, unable to stop himself. “So because I’m a good paying customer.” Greed he could understand.
The priest shook his head. “You are also one of God’s children. You are a good man, Vasili Zima, for all that you are more than a man. You do not deserve the fate I think men like Bruno wish for you.”
It had been centuries since anyone had known that he was a drakon, the son of a human woman and a pure-blooded dragon. Dragons had only been in this world for a short time thousands of years ago, but they’d stayed long enough to mate and leave half-breed children before returning to their own dimension.
The priest held up the artifact again. The light was low, but Vasili didn’t need it to be able to see every detail. “Do I destroy it, or do you take it?”
“I’ll destroy it.” He held out his hand, and the priest passed over the statue without hesitation. Pain radiated down his arm and up to his shoulder, but Vasili ignored it.
“My son, you do not look well.” He glanced down at the small statue. “It has that much power?”
Vasili hesitated, not willing to admit such a weakness. The priest snatched the statue back, moving so quickly Vasili couldn’t stop him. He half expected the priest to begin chanting some kind of binding spell. Instead, he hurled the small gold dragon at the wall with all his might.
The dragon statue slammed into the wall, the head and tail cracking off. Immediately, the pressure crushing Vasili receded.
The priest wasn’t looking at the priceless artifact he’d destroyed—and Vasili knew damn well Bruno would have paid any amount to own it—he was watching Vasili. “Are you all right? Is it better now?”
Vasili was speechless and could only nod.
“Good.” The older man hurried over, picked up the pieces, and brought them back. “Best to destroy it. It wouldn’t be good to have it put back together again.”
He had to agree. Even broken, the artifact had power. Not nearly as much, but some.
“Thank you,” he said when he finally found his voice. Vasili tucked the pieces into his bag and followed the priest with a newfound respect. He’d always liked the man, but now he’d gained a whole new admiration for him.
There was still no one around, which bothered Vasili. Where were the younger priests? “Father, where are the others?”
“Out ministering to the poor. I decided they all spend too much time with books and prayer and needed some hands-on experience doing the Lord’s work.” His eyes twinkled as he glanced over his shoulder. “They are at the soup kitchens and orphanages around the city.”
“You are a devious man, Father. I rather like that about you.”
The priest laughed and shut the final door behind them before leading Vasili back to the original entrance to the church. “I will contact you if I find anything else of interest, especially now I have a better idea of what you’re looking for.”
Vasili shook his head. “Don’t ask about any dragon artifacts, not specifically. Keep your inquiries vague enough that no one knows what you’re searching for, but specific enough to get anything on mythical creatures.”
“In other words, keep doing what I’ve been doing all these years.”
“Yes.” Vasili hesitated, not sure what else to say. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the remainder of the money. “Here, take this.”
The priest shook his head. “Not this time. I will not take money for that statue. It needed to be destroyed.”
Vasili put the money back into the bag, knowing he’d be making a large, anonymous donation to the church soon. No, that might alert Bruno. He could be monitoring the church for just such a thing. A series of smaller donations, then. But he would pay the priest for what he’d done.
“Take care, Father.”
“Go with God, and be careful. If this Anton Bruno is looking for one of your kind, you must be cautious.”
“I will,” he promised. He opened the door a crack and peered out. He expanded his senses to scan the area. When he knew he wasn’t being watched, he slipped outside, bent his head against the cold, and started the trek back to his hotel.