Page 7 of One For my Enemy

“Firstround?” Sasha echoed, groaning, and Nirav chuckled, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, we’ve got to practice this sort of thing if we’re ever going to be successful in business school,” he said. “I’m told networking is a skill worth developing.”

“This isn’t networking. It’s just a group project.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also Thursday night,” John informed her, “and it’s been a long week already.” He leaned back in the booth, rubbing his eyes and adding, “Anyway, drinking is definitely a skill.”

“Not one we need for entrepreneurial finance,” Sasha grumbled under her breath, but she could see she was well past defeated once Eric arrived, beers in hand.

“You two can Venmo me,” he said to John and Nirav. “Not you,” he told Sasha with a wink, handing her a frothy, golden-colored beverage. “I’m a gentleman.”

“I can pay for my own drinks, thanks,” Sasha replied drily, accepting the glass. “How much was it?”

“Not telling,” Eric said, holding his glass up for a toast. “Cheers, team. To the best group project Professor Steinert’s ever seen,” he added, and Sasha grudgingly raised her glass in the air, certain it was going to be a long, unpleasant evening.

I. 5

(Shadow Creatures.)

More often than not, the man called Koschei was, unlike the death belonging to the Slavic character whose name he bore, relatively easy to find, though not particularly easy to speak with. That depended more on the mood of whoever was guarding the door, or upon who it was that was doing the seeking.

Koschei wore a number of occupational hats, most notoriously the one belonging to the procurer of rare and sometimes dangerous magical objects, but also those of landlord, lender, smuggler, and tight-fisted consoler of the unfortunate. If you were a witch in need of someone to appease a powerful enemy on your behalf, you came to Koschei. If you were in debt to a dangerous bully, you came to Koschei. If you needed something illegal, immoral, or even simply impolite, you would know to come to Koschei, and you could rest assured you need not answer any questions. It would cost you, of course, but regardless of cost, you would almost certainly come to Koschei, and you would typically find him underground, sitting in his usual chair amid the other creatures belonging to the Deathless.

For most, a visit to Koschei’s underground was a rarefied privilege. For the Fedorov sons, it was merely one privilege among many.

“Papa,” Roman said, taking the seat on Koschei’s right as Lev stood silently behind them, waiting. “We need to talk about Yaga.”

Koschei, a hardened man in his seventies who had long since ceased being called Lazar Fedorov, lifted his hand silently, calling for pause. He looked out over the boxing ring, narrowing his eyes.

“You see this?” he asked his second son in his quiet voice, gesturing to what looked, in Lev’s opinion, like a blurred motion of shadows in the ring. Light was shining dimly from one of the slim upper windows, and a ray of moonlight, obscured by something no more substantial than a storm cloud, formed the silhouette of a man every time it slipped into the right light.

“Shadow creatures,” Koschei explained. “The Inuit call them Taqriaqsuit. Shadow people, who live in a world parallel to ours. They say when you hear footsteps and there are none to be found, it’s one of these creatures.” He didn’t turn towards his sons, nor look away from the ring. “It’s very interesting, isn’t it?”

Lev didn’t ask who had purchased them, or how Koschei had found them, or whether they, like the other creatures Koschei had uncovered, now wished to fight for his amusement. As Lev had understood from boyhood, some things were simply better not to know.

“Anyway, you were saying, Romik,” Koschei beckoned, and Roman nodded, turning back to face their father.

“Retribution,” Roman said simply, and Koschei nodded; Lev had always thought his father spoke a language only the elder two sons understood, and vice versa. As far as Lev could tell, Koschei required no further explanation, but Roman went on, “I’ve heard that Yaga is looking to expand her drugs beyond witches. If I were to guess, she’d choose the next obvious group of non-magical consumers.”

Koschei arched a brow, expectant. “For her hallucinogens, you mean?”

Roman nodded. “College students,” he explained, and Koschei nodded, curling his lips to form the shape of recognition. “I have a source who tells me she has a considerable deal on the table. If we can intercede with the sale, perhaps even expose her to the Witches’ Boroughs, then…”

He trailed off pointedly, waving a hand towards some presumed path of inevitable destruction.

“Your source?” Koschei asked.

“One of her dealers.”

Lev blinked, surprised, but Koschei nodded. “A witch?”

“Of course,” Roman said, and Lev frowned. It felt like a lie, though he couldn’t be sure.

“Good,” Koschei said, drawing a hand thoughtfully to his clean-shaven mouth. “No mistakes, Roma. You’ll send Lev?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“What?” Lev cut in, alarmed. “Send me to what?”

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