Page 129 of White Wolf

Philippe lifted his bearded chin. “I–”

“You’re asking Sasha to do something important, and from what I hear, dangerous. He needs his pack here, and we’re staying.”

Ivan’s snort said,deal with it.

Philippe held his gaze a long moment, then gave a sharp nod and glanced away. “Very well. Dr. Ingraham?”

“Oh.” The doctor wilted. “I had hoped that I might watch.”

“You may. But please ask your staff to wait outside, and to be prepared, as we discussed.”

“Of course.” The doctor hustled his team out with murmured apologies.

When the door closed, it sounded like the shutting of a tomb.

Dr. Ingraham came back to the table. “Everything’s ready,” he said, quiet and deferential.

Nikita hated him.

“Sasha?” Philippe asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” He folded up the paper and shoved it into his pants pocket. Exhaled shakily, glanced up and met Nikita’s eyes, offered a shaky smile.

“You’re fine, puppy,” Ivan said, and Sasha’s smile got a little wider.

“Thank you, everyone.”

“Be quick about it,” Feliks said. “I’m hungry.”

Sasha chuckled, and Nikita could have hugged his boys for doing that.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Katya said.

Sasha nodded, and grew serious. It was time.

Monsieur Philippe stepped forward and produced a small, sharp knife from his sleeve, and began to cut away the linen shroud that bound Rasputin. Slow, sure movements. Softsnickof the knife. Faint rip of the rotted linen. He moved around the body, cutting a clean line down to the feet and back up the other side. Then slowly peeled the shroud away, revealing the infamousstaretsat last.

Katya made a small, shocked sound, but it was otherwise silent.

Nikita held his breath.

Rasputin lay with his hands folded on his breast, eyes closed, mouth set in a pained snarl. Unmoving. His face, under his thick, coarse beard, was sunken, cheeks hollow and gray, the blue tracks of veins visible in his temples and eyelids. The gunshot wound had been cleaned of blood, but was a pink and pulpy, ugly mess on his forehead. He breathed shallowly, impossible to detect, unless you looked close.

It was him. It could be no one else.

Everyone exhaled at once.

Kolya, always so quiet, said, “My God.”

“You didn’t believe?” Philippe sounded amused.

No one answered him, because of course they believed, it had just seemed so ludicrous, though.

The mage fussed around the body a moment, sweeping back stray hairs, ensuring the linen shroud was folded at his waist, preserving some sense of modesty. Finally, he stepped back, hands folded together, clearly ecstatic. “We’re ready.”

Nikita’s skin felt too tight. His stomach clenched and he swallowed hard, tasting bile. Should he pray? He didn’t think anything holy could get to them in this room. God probably wasn’t listening.

“Sasha,” Philippe said, “proceed.”

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