Page 62 of One For my Enemy

LEV:where and when?

III. 13

(The Deal, Done.)

When Yaga told her the identity of their mortal dealer, Sasha supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Your face healed up nicely,” she remarked, sidling up to Eric Taylor where he stood at the back of the concert. It was some sort of underground hip-hop duo; enough to draw a sizable crowd, but not enough for rowdy spectators. A wise choice, and therefore likely Marya’s choice. “Can’t say I’m pleased, but I guess it was bound to happen.”

Eric’s gaze slid to hers. “You missed class today,” he commented.

“I did,” Sasha confirmed. “Had a few other things to take care of. You’re a drug dealer,” she said without much room for pause; a statement, not a question. He glanced at her, disinterested.

“NYU’s expensive,” he replied simply. “X-rays notwithstanding.”

“Ah,” Sasha said. “I just assumed daddy’s firm covered the medical bills.”

He grimaced. “I’m busy,” he said. “If you want to finally stop playing hard to get and fuck, Sasha, all you have to do is say—”

“I presume you have the money?”

He blinked.

“You?” seemed to be all he could conjure, balking as he pieced together the significance of her presence with her purpose at his side.

“Me,” she confirmed. “I take it you dealt with my sister before?”

“I—” He stopped, staring vacantly at her. “But you—you’re—”

“Doesn’t matter which sister you deal with,” she informed him. “We’re all the same. We’re all Baba Yaga’s daughters—and if you fear one of us,” she warned, leaning in to speak in his ear, “you fear us all.”

He stiffened. “I’m hardly afraid of you, Sasha.”

“Your loss,” Sasha informed him briskly, “seeing as you have no idea who or what I am. If I were you, I wouldn’t underestimate me.” She glanced up, expectant. “Do you have the money or not?”

“I have it.” He seemed to be buying time, trying to control the pace of the encounter and, by extension, her. “Naturally, my purchasing the product is contingent on its quality. And on whatever else you’re able to offer me,” he said, letting it hang in the air between them.

Men, honestly. Lucky they were so very predictable.

“Naturally,” Sasha demurred, and reached into the pocket of her coat.

It was armor borrowed from her sister Marya, a favorite garment of hers, and Sasha discreetly removed a tablet from the pocket in the lining. “Well,” she said, stepping close to Eric until she could feel the way his breath halted with interest, “if you’d like to sample the product—”

Eric shifted his stance with a mirror of her motions, matching his hips to hers and settling his hands with a laughable eagerness on her waist. “All you have to do,” Sasha murmured, drawing up on her toes and gently coaxing his lips towards her, “is—”

“Fuck,”Eric spat at once, choking on the tablet she’d practically forced down his throat. “Jesus, Sasha, what are you—”

“Enjoy it,” she said, passing a hand over his forehead; he calmed instantly, the dilation of his pupils serving to indicate the potion had already begun its effects. Soon, she knew, he would be well in the midst of hallucinogens designed specifically for him, which were probably disgusting. She hated him—hated the deal itself—but this was only the surface of her anger.

Soon, the Fedorov son who killed her sister would be waiting for her; waiting, like a sitting duck, at her convenience. She stifled the need to punch Eric once more for irony and watched him fall into a trance instead, sliding her hand into his jacket pocket and deftly pulling out the envelope inside.

“One more thing,” she said, as she pressed the small case full of tablets against Eric’s chest, shoving him back with a groan. “Baba Yaga sends her love.”

Then she turned over her shoulder and walked away, the envelope with his payment tucked into the pocket of her sister Marya’s favorite coat.

III. 14

(What Divides Us.)

---