Along the pathway of blood lay Smolensk. Many great armies had broken themselves upon the city's walls. And now, Nadezhda Ivanovna Vorobyovskaya was breaking herself to rebuild them.

It had been nearly twelve years since the Great Patriotic War had come to its conclusion. She had only been a girl of ten, her aunt Aleksandra her only guardian, when the Nazis came through the city in 1941. At first, Tetya Aleshka had been overjoyed to see the NKVD men, who had come one night to take her sister and brother-in-law into exile, bundling their way out of Smolensk in their black cars, taking their malice with them. But the malice with which the Nazis had razed the countryside --their SS units far less subtle in their methods, although far more specific in who they targeted-- had gained them no allies in the city. However, between one occupation and another, the battle for the city devastated all but a tiny corner of its area. It had seen them thrown out of their home on the outskirts of town, where Aleksandra had a job working in one of the city's factories. Nadya had learned much from Tetya Aleshka in the period which followed, when they had joined the burgeoning partisan movement and taken to the hills and woods around Smolensk, fighting for the day of its liberation.

Nadya's first lessons had been in terror: how to use one's innocent appearance to advantage, how to shoot, how to fight, how to kill. The girl's strength had been considerable-- one night, an SS raid on their partisan hut had seen Nadya take her first life. She had been given the soldier's rank insignia by Vasily, one of the male partisans. Like so many, he died in the fighting-- as did Tetya Aleshka, who was cut down by a Nazi sniper while she had been sharpshooting an infantry column from the woods. Nadya came out of the war a girl of fourteen-- angry, aggressive, loyal to nothing but herself and her memories, with more knowledge of death than life. She made her daily work for the Union and beloved comrade Stalin by working in the same munitions factory that had employed her Tetya Aleshka. She was responsible for fitting and calibrating sights on sniper rifles. Few of those who had come to work in the factories had known what they wanted to do from the moment they walked in the door. For Nadya, it was second nature.

She heard someone calling for her, down the line. "Nadya! Hey, Nadya!"

She recognized the voice-- firm, deep. "Pavel-- what are you doing? Back at your post-- there is work to be done!"

"But what about my five-year plans?" His face was honest, pensive, attractive. Bright blue eyes sparkled in a heavy-set face smeared with grime and dust, his black hair a close-cut communist length, his outfit the same as hers, a drab grey work outfit. "For us, I mean."

"There is no 'us'. You're a capitalist dreamer."

"Come. You will be my wife. And we will be happy."

"I'm fine on my own. Always have been. Besides, why would you want to marry the daughter of a kulak, anyway?"

"You know my beliefs."

"You should not so readily share them with the first pretty face to cross your path. She could be with the NKVD."

"Or she could be the woman of my dreams. But I am fortunate, Nadya. That place is already taken."

"Don't tell me." She looked down the scope, polished its lenses again. "By me."

"I do not speak to you what you already know so well."

"Nonsense. You speak nonsense. What you should truly love is your work!"

"Cleaning rifle barrels all day gives me much time to think. Do you not want me to share my five-year plan with you?"

"It'll be a short plan if you are accused of being a wrecker."

"And who will accuse me?"

Nadya handed a completed scope to Pavel. "Here. Take a look around you. You cannot see them. But they see you. They always see you. And one day, they will come for you-- and when they do, I will be powerless to stop them."

"You will accompany me to the Workers' Ball, yes?"

"I have other arrangements for that evening."

Pavel's shoulders drooped and his brow furrowed. "Who-- Mikhail?"

"No. Svetlana and I are going together."

Now Pavel's brow raised-- at least, one side of it. "Oh, I see."

"Pig! Nothing of that sort! We are going together with a group of her friends from the State University."

"Oh, I understand. Well. Perhaps you will leave a place in your entertainment for me."

"Perhaps you should leave a place in your day for something other than me."

"Perhaps," Pavel said quietly. "Perhaps." Then he skulked off, back to his place in the line.

The shift ended, and Nadezhda caught up with Svetlana in the workers' accommodations. "He is such a fool!" Svetlana said, after Nadya repeated all that had happened.

"I know! Does he seriously think I have any interest in him? He is too much in love with who he thinks I am-- he does not know anything!"

The girl in the bunk above, named Ekaterina, spoke up. "I think you underestimate him. Maybe he does truly love you."

"She speaks the same nonsense! Is everyone going to insist that I take a man into my bed?"

"No one said anything about your bed."

"That is all of which they speak. I am not some simple peasant girl that he can twist into his mould!"

"No, not you-- revolutionary comrade!" Svetlana sat up with a bold gesture, hand clenched. "The modern Soviet woman, Nadezhda Vorobyovskaya!"

"Oh, shut up, Lana."

"Friend of the proletariat! Scourge of the enemy! Defender of the people!"

"I will throw this book."

"Calm yourself-- you are so literal!"

Nadya relaxed, and shrugged. "I suppose I'm just... not interested. You study the history of our struggle and the revolution at the State University-- do they not tell you anything there by which you can amuse yourself?"

"No-- it's all about how great Stalin is. Stalin brought about the revolution-- with Lenin's help! Stalin's bold Five-Year Plans revolutionized the Soviet Union and paved the way for our glorious future! Stalin won the Great Patriotic War all by himself! Never mind however many millions there are of us dead out in the fields --including four of my brothers! No, it was all Stalin! Stalin! Stalin!"

Someone hushed Svetlana from down the rows of bunks. Svetlana's face turned sour in its general direction. Ekaterina whispered, "Oksana!" They were all fearful of Oksana since she was believed to have informed on one of their comrades, Tania, who had disappeared in the night several months ago. Everyone suspected Oksana because Oksana had been seen about the factory offices --by Ekaterina, who worked as a clerical typist-- two days before Tania's disappearance. Given that Oksana was a trigger moulding specialist, she had no business in the factory's office.

"We should get to sleep anyway," Nadya said, with a quick look towards Svetlana.

There was a sound of boots from down the corridor. All of them rolled quickly to flatten out in their beds, to at least look to be asleep. Two men in trench coats appeared at Nadya's bedside. "Nadezhda Ivanovna Vorobyovskaya?"

"Yes, comrade. And you are?"

"You will come with us." The man's tone was flat, his back arched slightly. The other man was standing straight up. Both of them were nothing but shadows to Nadya. But she knew better than to disobey.

"May I dress, comrade?"

"Nyet. You will come with us." Repetition. Nadya felt the impulse to scream, and suppressed it.

Painfully --for she was not rested at all, and the constant effort of standing and straining at her machine-- Nadya got out of bed, and walked towards the exit of the worker's accommodations, flanked on both sides by one of the men.

The car which they were in pulled up to a cemetary. Nadezhda swallowed hard. She had heard stories of things that had happened. She privately feared that her parents were somewhere in a place like this, instead of off someplace in Siberia. At least she had seen Tetya Aleshka die in front of her. A strange comfort for a girl to have, she considered. But this was no time for consideration.

As she walked up the hill, after one man, closely followed by the other, she felt a mixture of regret and uncertainty. A number of desires raced through her mind, none of them particularly appealing. Dropping to her knees in prayer made it easier to shoot her in the back of the head. Screaming just ensured she was already dead. Fighting back might give her a few days' life, but she had no wish to return to a life in the woods and hills of White Russia. Still, it was a life, and a distinct possibility. She just needed the right moment.

There was a lot of marble and stone that she could see glittering in the moonlight-- a very expensive cemetary, rebuilt or perhaps newly laid with Smolensk's dead after the Great Patriotic War. While such adornments had little place in Soviet society --the mass grave was more in keeping with the revolution-- they were present here, along with a growing sense of foreboding in Nadya's heart. She had never been afraid of the dark--- in fact, for many years, darkness and shadow had been her Tetya's closest allies, and she had come to know them well. But there was something about THIS dark which unnerved her.

There was another man standing next to a grave on the edge of a copse just beyond, which was strangely right in the midst of the cemetary's boundaries. "Privet, comrade Nadezhda."

"Privet, comrade." His face was intangible in the darkness, and she squinted to get a glimpse of the man who had greeted her. "Do I know you?"

"Yes-- and no. My name is Lavrenti Vadimivich Levanevsky. I am an officer of the KGB." The KGB had supplanted the NKVD. While the name had changed, and the tactics improved, the purpose remained the same. "Leave us," he said, and the two men to her left made their way back towards the car.

"What do you want of me?"

"I have watched you with interest for some time."

"Have you. And how would I know you?"

"Would you care for a cigarette?"

"If you have watched me so closely, you would know I do not smoke, comrade."

"Indeed." This word was muffled, and she could see a white, slender shape about his mouth. Another shuffle, and a lighter's flick was discernible. Then the flame made the man visible.

Nadya was shocked to see, in formal dress, a man who she had not seen since the end of the war. "Vasily!"

"Yes. That is what they used to call me. I was appointed by the NKVD's Main Directorate for State Security's Commissariat for Revolution by Paranormal Agitation."

"Paranormal agitation-- what is that supposed to mean?"

"The history of the movement is hard to explain, exactly, but suffice to say that we believe you are a gifted fighter, a true heroine of the Soviet Union, and we require your services."

"I won't inform on anyone-- you can get Oksana or someone else to do that."

"You misunderstand me. By the paranormal, we speak of the undead-- vampyric activity, zombification, ghosts and spectres, this sort of thing."

"Nonsense-- utter nonsense! What of the revolution, the triumph of science and progress---"

"Nadezhda, one thing you must learn is that the things of which we speak, and the things which we do, in the name of the revolution are not always one and the same. Comrade Stalin once said that 'a sincere diplomat is like dry water', and I believe him. You know the principle of diversion in combat-- and as we progress to global revolution in our time, Comrade Khrushchev requires the services of all, dead or alive, to maintain the spirit of the great triumph of the proletariat."

Nadya smiled. "You don't believe a word you just said, do you?"

"No. But it sounded good."

"So, I don't understand. Why can't you just get ghosts and vampires to inform for you, then?"

"That is not why I asked you here. My orders are to find the one who the banned texts of the Church speaks of, the Slayer."

"You have read of banned texts? And yet you work for the KGB."

"Your doctrinal thinking is rudimentary. This is why you must leave the thinking to me." Lavrenti stepped forward. "No, I am to be your Watcher. I am to instruct and guide you as you assist us in the glorious path of revolution. No nation in history has ever been able to extend their power beyond death. Until now." He produced a dossier, which he handled in the darkness. Nadya was able to see as he placed it upon the flat marble of a tombstone, and perused its contents while holding the lighter in the other hand. There were photographs of individuals in various necrotic states. Some were laying flat. Others were walking about. In one photo, a conscript appeared to have one chewing on its neck. "We have long known of the existence of widespread vampyrism, zombie activity, and other paranormal acts in the Soviet Union. It is, of course, counter-revolutionary for one to be undead."

"Of course." Nadya shook her head slightly, not sure if she should take this comment seriously.

"This is why we have long sought the next Slayer."

"The next Slayer?"

"Yes. The last Slayer was Anastasia, daughter of Tsar Nicholas the Second and his German whore."

"You mean the Tsarina."

"It matters not-- it is her fault that her family was killed. But when the Petrograd Soviet assumed command of the secret police, they found that the Okhrana had left behind a rather complete library of Orthodox writings on the subject of the paranormal. Comrade Lenin and Trotsky --that accursed enemy's name-- dismissed its writings as counter-revolutionary religiosity. They were sealed away and left to rot, until 1932."

"What happened then?" Nadya asked.

"Comrade Stalin's wife, Nadezhda Alliluyeva, killed herself around the anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. Comrade Stalin was driven mad with grief and he sought a way to transcend the grave. He had taken courses at a seminary, in his youth. It was there that he first found his ways into the black arts-- he knew much but he needed to know more. This was why he purged the churches, the priests, the faithful, with such single-minded ferocity. He wanted the knowledge consolidated unto himself."

"You're saying that Comrade Stalin came to power through the work of some sort of evil demon?"

"Yes. And no." Lavrenti was momentarily exasperated. "It's not like he was willing to share a full knowledge of what he did and how it was or was not an act of black magic. But Comrade Stalin demanded complete control. Fortunate indeed that he attained it."

"Wait. The Great Patriotic War. Did he use these forces then?"

"Of course. Hitler never found the Aryan connections he was counting upon-- powerful Sumerian and Mesopotamian magics he sought to unleash, but Comrade Stalin's abilities far transcended anything he could perform."

"But now Comrade Stalin is dead."

"Yes. For now. There is a cabal of those who have survived Comrade Khrushchev's best attempts to once again suppress the magics and demons unleashed by the NKVD and Comrade Stalin's policies during the hard times of the Great Patriotic War. They seek to resurrect Comrade Stalin and bring him back to power from beyond the dead. Now that he has crossed into the demon realm, Stalin's soul would return to his body more powerful than before, with access to three full Soviet libraries of black spells, with untold legions of dark forces at his command."

"And you want me to stop it."

"You are the Slayer. You are the only one with the power to do so."
"Wait a second. This is all some sort of trap, isn't it? You want me to denounce communism and admit to being a wrecker or something? Because I still believe in the revolution. I saw a lot of people die for this country, and I'm not about to buy into what you're saying just because you knew me back when I was still hanging off my Tetya's bandolier."

"I know. I don't expect you to understand right away. But you have to believe me. You have a power that I would seek to train you to use in the coming fight. These forces must be stopped. This is your part in defending the revolution."

"Right, because the vampires and zombies are counter-revolutionary wreckers."

"Of course they are. And there's several of them coming towards you."

"What?" Nadya turned and saw three dimly lit figures in the distance, lurching towards her position.

"I couldn't just give you the information and expect you to co-operate. Besides, I need to test your abilities before I can train you. You don't think I had you driven out to the middle of this haunted cemetary in the dead of night for the ambience, I hope."

"But--- what am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, that reminds me. Use this." He reached into his jacket again, this time the left side pocket, and produced a small, finely polished and sharply pointed stick of wood. "It's a stake. I think it self-explanatory, really. If you survive, I'll be at the car and we can talk some more." He tossed her the stake, and made his way down towards the car.

Nadya had thought herself panicked before. Now she was positively certain: she had to fight.

Ten minutes later, Nadezhda walked over to the car, the stake red in her hand. "Why did they turn to dust like that?"

Lavrenti smiled. "Get in."

"No, really. It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to. Get in the car, comrade."

"Is it the stake-- maybe if I stab you---"

"Grab her. I haven't got all night."

"Hold it right there. I don't think you understand."

"I think I do," Lavrenti replied. He pulled what appeared to be a gun. It was then that Nadezhda noticed that the other two men had produced machine guns. "But do you?"

Nadya held her ground. "Explain it to me."

"You are a servant of the Soviet Union. As such, you will follow your orders, do as you are instructed, and nothing more."

"I don't think so. We need to negotiate this deal."

"Are you thinking you can stop bullets? We will kill you if we cannot control you."

"I don't intend to be controlled. I intend to save the revolution."

"The revolution does not matter. Only the mission does. And your mission requires us to maintain and monitor your presence."

"Fine. Can't I write you a letter from the front instead?"

"We can't take that sort of risk."

"Risk? Who are you to lecture at me about risk? This one always stayed behind to guard a line of retreat or keep an eye out for an ambush-- you were always so content to let Tetya go on ahead."

"My mission was you. And you were just a little girl."

"Oh, and what-- she wasn't part of the mission? You just let her die. Where was your all-seeing responsibility then?"

"There was nothing I could do. There were sharpshooters everywhere. We should never have gone out after them in broad daylight."

Nadya shivered, remembering the morning her Tetya had been felled by a sniper's bullet. She had been the only casualty, her body left to fester where it lay, as the mission had been called off and the partisan band had retreated into the woods. It had taken all Nadya's strength, that morning, to keep herself from screaming in rage. She had channelled that rage-- or, at least, she had felt that she had drawn strength from it. Now, she was being told, it was just some sort of cursed birthright nonsense.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"You killed your first vampires at the age of eleven. I told you they had been SS officers-- but do you remember me removing their bodies?"

"No. I fell asleep. At least, I think I fell asleep."

"They turned to dust. Just like those ones you just staked."

"That was when you knew?"

"Yes-- and when you knew." Lavrenti pointed his pistol downwards. "I was fortunate that you were with me then. And now, I need you to help me again."

"You mean that you need me to follow your orders, do your bidding."

"Partly. But as you said-- it's for the greater good, the progress of the glorious revolution."

"I'm not going to do what you tell me."

"I realize that. But you are going to have to trust me. I know it will not be easy. But you did, once."

Nadya nodded. "I certainly want to again. But you will have to earn it once more. I'm not sure how much of any of this I can trust."

"Get in. I'll explain as much as I can, on the way back to the factory."

Nadezhda tried to be quiet as she slipped back into the workers' accommodations. Svetlana rolled over. "Where were you?"

"It's a long story. I'll explain in the morning."

"You're an informer?"

"Of course not! It's not that simple."

"What did you tell them?"

"It's more of what they told me. Please. We will talk at breakfast. I have much to tell you."

That morning came without Nadezhda having slept at all. Desperate for rest, she hesitated a moment before rising at the crack of the rifle. It was the second such shot fired-- the first, five minutes earlier, was to alert the workers. A third would follow, but she did not intend to remain in bed that long.

She rolled over and Svetlana was sitting at her bedside. "Please tell me you're not working for them."

"No, I swear it on Tetya's grave."

"Thank God. I mean-- thank... who are we supposed to thank?"

"Thank you for not hiding."

"Nadya, you're the only friend I have in this place. I trust no one, except you. I don't know why I do, I just believe in you."

"Thank you. Come. We should wash."

"Yes." They stripped out of their nightclothes and took one of the towels resting on the shelf at the end of the row. Svetlana made her way across one row, and Nadezhda went down another. The showers were divided into concrete rows, seventeen in all. It was a fairly common practice, since the shower was the only place they could talk without fear of being overheard. The trick was to find a way into the tight stall together. Nadya placed her towel on the rack and stepped into the shower, and turned it on. Moments later, the curtain on the other side opened, revealing a naked Svetlana. "Tell me."

Nadya whispered, hurriedly, all that had transpired the night before. If they took too long in the shower, the commissar would become suspicious. Svetlana offered a few whispered words of disbelief and shock, but let Nadya tell all that she could. Finally, when Nadya completed her tale, Svetlana looked her square in the eye, and asked, "what can I do to help?"

"I have to get to Moscow, somehow. I would have you come with me. We can try to sneak out tonight."

"Yes, but how will we get out of Smolensk without passports?"

"I know how to make my way through the forests. Remember, I grew up there."

"I remember. You told me of it." Svetlana paused a moment. "I will be more harm to you than good."

"Nonsense. I need someone with me. By myself I would be a lone target, and I could use the company. What of your studies at the State University?"

"I think they've taught me all I could seek to know. Besides, I want to be a part of this. It sounds so exciting!"

"By the end of it, I think you'll speak of it otherwise."

"So be it-- I know we can do this. Just tell me what is to be done."

There was a sound of boots from outside, rapidly approaching. Nadya looked at Svetlana, who quickly braced her up against the shower wall, and kissed her. Nadya squirmed, the sudden impression of Svetlana's wet form against her body unexpected. The shower was opened with a rapid swing of a truncheon, and the commissar, an aged woman well over fifty, looked inside, her eyes wide. "Again! You girls have to learn to keep your bodies to yourself! I ought to have the two of you shot for this nonsense!"

Svetlana feigned shock. Nadya's shock was far less artificial. "Oh! Oh, get out! Leave us be!"

"I shall beat both your skins for touching each other like this! Get out!"

Svetlana and Nadezhda made a hasty retreat, Svetlana reaching back to grab Nadya's towel. Nadya made her way out, taking Svetlana's towel and wrapping it about herself. She blushed a fierce red, almost dark enough to match her auburn hair. They returned to their bunks and dressed quickly.

Nadya was incensed. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"It was the only explanation. We must hurry to our stations. I will speak with you again during the designated break time."

"Yes. And tonight--"

"Leave tonight to me." Svetlana's look was deadly serious. "I have an idea."

The work day did not pass quickly enough. One rifle scope after another passed through Nadezhda's hands, and she found herself thinking in circles. At one point she convinced herself that Svetlana was, in fact, the KGB agent, and that Vasily --what had been his real name? Lavrenti-- was a wrecker. But the dust, the monsters she had slain... they were all too real. And still in the pocket of her work clothes she carried the stake she had been given. It was all too real. And none of it seemed to make any sense.

Pavel made his daily showing, but today his mood was uncertain, almost hesitant. He was not his usual jovial, possessive self. He spoke little, prompting Nadya to a question.

"Are you not feeling well, Pavitchka? Usually by now you have tried to touch me at least twice."

"I have talked to Lana. She tells me what you are doing this night."

"She lies. What did she tell you-- that an angel of the Lord was coming to avenge us all?"

"Something as dangerous. She told me you were something of a sort. But no angel."

"Well, you like the dangerous types, do you not?"

"This is no joking matter. I come to you in seriousness, to assist you, and you scoff at me?"

Nadya froze. "What help can you offer me?"

"I am on patrol this night." The male workers were on a rotating schedule-- of the twelve of them, they each took turns patrolling, two a night.

"So if we escape while you patrol, then you will be held responsible."

"Yes. And they will shoot me for that. If you leave the factory grounds, you must try to do so by the north gate."

"The north gate! But---"

Pavel hushed Nadya. "They will hear!"

"Yes-- but the north gate is on the far side of the facility from our rooms!"

"That is why you must leave through the day."

"Leave by day-- are you mad?"

"There is a shipment leaving by rail this afternoon. It is heading to Riga-- and from there to where, I know not, but it is not for us to know. All that matters is that the train is leaving the factory grounds in three hours, and we must be upon it."

Nadya swung her weight onto her left leg, jutting her hip out in a defiant gesture. "We, you say?"

"I will come with you. There will be many dangers. You will need a protector."

"You just don't get it, do you? I can protect myself. I don't want your help, or your affection, or anything."

"You would rather see me die? I will inform the Womens' Commissar!"

Twice in one day that Nadya would merit her attention. That might merit a shooting-- an unacceptable risk. "All right. You can come as far as the outskirts of Moscow."

"Moscow? You'll never get into Moscow without escort or papers."

"So get us papers. If you're coming, the official paperwork sorts of things will be your job. As part of our security detail, of course."

Pavel made a wounded noise, then added, "of course."

"See what you can do. What time does the train leave?"

"Fourteen-forty-five. We must be upon it."

"But how will we get aboard?"

"Meet me at the back entrance to the rail warehouse at fourteen-thirty."

"And what about Lana?"

"This is her plan, remember?"

Fourteen-fifteen. Nadezhda watched the clock slowly roll around and around. The commissar stood right above her now, on the catwalk. Nadya considered herself fortunate that the uniform of a work-detail commissar included pants regardless of gender, that she might not get a full look more of the old woman than she intended. She had engaged in enough of such activity this day to last her for quite some time. She shuddered at the memory and turned her attention to another scope, then another. The clock still only read fourteen-twenty-two. And the woman had not moved.

Nadya had done the calculations. She needed at least six minutes to slip out and get to the rail warehouse. If she was spotted along the way, it would mean trouble. She had to look calm. Pavel and Svetlana would be coming from different buildings of the factory-- each worked in separate areas, with separate specialties.

The clock read fourteen-twenty-three. A sharp clang came from down the line. Marina Suvorova, one of the scope fitters, had dropped a rifle and drawn the scorn of the commissar. Nadezhda thought briefly on this-- Marina was a perfect worker, twice awarded the factory's Worker Medal for efficiency and service. It was rumoured that she had some dark secret but Nadya was too far into her own necessities to give much thought to Marina's character and problems. She slipped away from her position and out into the dusty factory yard. She slipped along the shadow of a building, behind a snowbank made vestigial by spring's slow procession into the region, and into the darkness cast by yet another building-- this one the rail warehouse. She found Svetlana wearing a drab skirt and blouse, and Pavel in the same sort of work outfit that Nadya wore herself. "Come on," Pavel whispered. They stepped through the rear entrance and followed him up a ladder onto a catwalk. He moved along effortlessly, but Svetlana's pace slowed to a crawl.

"Come on!" Nadya beckoned.

"Sorry," Svetlana conceded, "scared of heights."

"Don't look down. Take my hand." Nadya reached back and held Svetlana's hand, tugging her along to where Pavel stood.

"Here comes the train. We need to wait for the exact moment when the railcar is coupled to the end of the line."

"And then what?"

"We drop."

Nadya blinked. "Drop?"

"Yes, drop. Onto the roof of the railcar. Then we lay flat and hope." Pavel stepped out onto the outer edge of the catwalk, then lowered himself until he was hanging just by his hands first onto the guard rail, then onto the platform of the catwalk itself. "Come on!" he insisted.

Nadya stepped over, as did Svetlana. There was a slight ripping noise as her skirt caught on the guardrail. None of the workers below seemed to notice. Nadya felt herself stop breathing.

The locomotive was some hundreds of metres distant but the end of the train was close at hand, the last car in the line inching closer and closer to the waiting rifle-laden railcar. Finally there was a great metallic clash heard down the line, and the three of them let go, falling onto the roof of the car. Lana and Nadya went flat along one side, the latter catching the former as she almost fell from the roof. Pavel ducked down on the far side. Moments later, the train was on its way. Lana reached out and took Nadya's hand again. Nadya found it somewhat reassuring to hold her friend's hand. She hoped, however, that it would be the last time she would have to do so for some time.

Nadya kept her head down for some minutes as the train accelerated out onto the main lines. She looked up to see the fence of the factory perimeter far behind them. Pavel was halfway over the spine of the railcar now, saying somethiing she could not hear. "What?" she asked.

"I said, now we have to climb down onto the ladder. Follow me." He inched his way along towards the end of the train, and Nadya followed. "We have to make sure we jump clear--- if we fall, we could fall under the wheels!"

Svetlana's facial expression said things that Nadya would not have been able to hear. Pavel was down the side and off before Nadya could ask another question. "I'll go first," she told Svetlana, who nodded. She slinked past Svetlana, careful to stay low, and looked over the side. There was a ladder down the side of the railcar, and she swung her legs around, then lowered herself onto it. She counted to three and pushed off, hard. She landed on her back in a ditch where yellow grass grew tall in the black earth. She squeezed her toes and fingers, and felt no pain. She saw Svetlana clinging to the side of the train, skirt and blonde hair flapping in the wind like mad. Then the girl let go --just let go without pushing off. Nadya heard a cry but stayed low. She looked across the track after a moment and saw Pavel making his way up from the thicket on the other side. She raced to his side. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied. "Where is Svetlana?"

"Up over there." Nadya raced over to find Svetlana laying in a heap of dirt, arms and legs in every direction. "Lana!"

"I'm okay. I think." She straightened up, her skirt torn halfway off. "I could use some clothes."

"Here," Pavel said, and lowered the pack on his shoulder. "I brought you a pair-- just like you asked."

"Thank you," she replied, taking them from him. "If you'll excuse me." She swished off into the tall grass.

"What do we do now?"

"I gave away my last pack of smokes for this." He produced a compass. "Moscow is northeast."

"We can follow the rail lines at night."

"I thought of that-- they'll expect that. There will be patrols."

"Yes. The Nazis used to patrol, too. It's the safest way, doesn't matter. We never know what we could stumble across cutting through the darkness. At least trains and patrols announce their presence."

"I like that."

"My Tetya --she knew much of how to fight and how to win."

"She was a brave soul-- a true hero of the Soviet Union."

Nadya let these words sit in her ears a moment. "Yes," was all she said.

Svetlana came bounding back towards them. "Do we have to bring it with us?"

"No. Just bundle it and toss it aside. Even if they try to follow our trail, it won't matter any. We won't be leaving one. They'll expect that we followed the track. We should follow the compass east for a few hours, then move northward to find the main line between Smolensk and Moscow. Then we'll follow that until morning."

"When do we sleep and eat?"

"Whenever we can. In shifts, too-- not all at once."

"And do we have designated break periods?"

"Lana, this isn't the factory. If you want to go back, just follow the track the other way."

"No-- I can't. They'll shoot me."

"They'll shoot all of us if we don't move," Pavel noted.

"Good point. What's the time?"

Pavel checked his watch. "Fourteen fifty."

"I have fourteen-forty nine," Svetlana added.

"Two hours east, two hours north. Let's go."

Night was falling slowly across the road they had found running north-south. They were making their way as quickly as possible. Nadya was in the lead, Svetlana walking just beside her. Pavel was moving a little more slowly, checking every few hundred metres in the southern direction.

"You ever think about death, Nadya?" Svetlana asked.

"What do you mean?"

"About what it's like to die. I think we all lost someone in the Patriotic War. I think about death a lot."

"I don't," Nadya replied. "I think about life. I've seen so many people die already. I'm not much interested in death."

"It doesn't interest you at all?"

"No. Death is my enemy."

"How can you fight it, though?"

"I breathe."

"But that's so simple."

"Of course it is. What did you expect me to think?"

"I don't know. You don't ever have questions about life and what you're doing?"

"Not really. I just do what I think is right."

"Yeah, but don't you ever ask yourself how you know what's right?"

Nadya looked back at her for a moment. "Then it's not right, is it?"

"That's what I mean-- that's just what I mean! If you don't know it's right, is it right?"

"No."

Svetlana made an exasperated noise. "How can you be so forthright about this?"

"Forthright? I like the sound of that."

Pavel chuckled.

"And what are you chuckling at?"

"You sound absurd," Pavel replied. "Going on and on about what's right and what's wrong."

"Then explain it to me. What's right?"

"It's not something that can be explained. Things just feel right and wrong. And until you know they feel right, you don't act on them."

"Why not? I don't understand what you mean."

"There are things we do," Nadya said in reply, "for ourselves or for the revolution or for the sake of doing them. Whatever it is, we do them. We just kind of do. Unless we're sure, we don't do them."

"I'm never sure of anything," Svetlana conceded.

"Then you're lost," Pavel replied.

"Do we have anything to eat?"

"You're sure you're hungry, I take it."

"I just wanted to know, that's all."

"She's got a point, Pavel," Nadya said. "We can't get to Moscow on empty stomachs."

"I could."

"Oh, you lie," Svetlana replied. "You talk and you mean nothing!"

Pavel chuckled, again.

"We should find a place to spend the night," Nadya said aloud. "We keep moving until we find something. A barn or something. But we keep moving."

They came across an abandoned farm late that evening. The hay was still in the barn, though the bales had broken. Great stacks lay about, and it was towards these that Pavel gravitated. "Come on," he said, "let's get some rest."

"Be careful," Svetlana implored, "don't land on a pitchfork or anything."

"Oh, please. Like I wouldn't check first."

"Knowing you, you'd jump from the loft."

"Okay-- that's enough," Nadezhda declared. "I'll take first shift-- you two get some rest. Pavel, I'll wake you in... four hours."

"Why me?"

"Because I wouldn't want anyone who wasn't sure of what they were doing to be watching over me as I sleep."

Pavel smirked. Svetlana rolled her eyes and patted down the hay.

The darkness fell and quickly became impenetrable to Nadya's eyes. She looked around and saw nothing. At least it was reassuring in terms of keeping watch--- nothing could see her, and she could see nothing. It wasn't that hard to keep looking. She just saw more and more of the same black ink swirling before her eyes.

She had co-ordinated a walking path around the edge of the barn in the fading light. As long as nothing came across it while she walked, she was fine. Sure, one of those zombies could have her off her feet and up against the wooden barn door before she knew it was approaching. But it was something she had to accept. Stake in hand, she kept time-- each walk around the barn took about a minute. Two hundred and forty trips around, and she would wake Pavel. If she could find him.

She hadn't bothered to tell either of them that Svetlana had made a rather good point earlier. She did not understand the power she just knew herself to wield. Nothing was quite as certain as she'd pretended earlier. She was scared-- she knew Svetlana was scared-- she took a guess and figured that Pavel wasn't as unafraid as he pretended. They were all terrified. None of them had any idea what they were doing out here, in a barn someplace along the way between Smolensk and Moscow. None of them had asked any questions. It was still better than a night in the factory. At least out here, the only thing anyone could overhear was the sound of the wind against the barn.

Nadya looked off in the distance, where she thought she had heard a mechanical noise. She saw a light form-- then double itself. A vehicle was approaching down the road, quickly. She walked away from her patrol zone and towards the road, then thought better of it and hid in the tall grass. The car pulled up to the barn, and a man stepped out. She recognized the silhouette as that of one of Lavrenti's men. He moved around to the back door on the passenger side, and opened the door. Lavrenti got out and opened the trunk. The man took out several crates, and what appeared to be clothing.

"Vasily?" she called out.

Lavrenti turned. "Nadezhda? Where are you?"

She stood up. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to bring you supplies. Food, clothes, blankets, packs."

"How did you know to find us?"

"It wasn't hard." He indicated the inside of the car. "We have ways of locating you. Are you familiar with witchcraft at all?"

"No," Nadya admitted.

"Then this may come as something of a surprise to you." He leaned into the car and extended a hand. A woman's hand appeared, accepting his help. She stepped out. Nadezhda recognized her immediately.

"Ekaterina? I know her. She was in the bunk above me in the factory."

"Yes. She's one of our agents. She was protecting you, in fact. She's a witch. You've been kept safe all these years through a combination of her and my pulling of certain strings. She protected you in the present sense. I protected you in the political sense. It was what we had to do. You were too important not to protect."

"And yet not important enough to simply ease out of the factory without anyone noticing."

"It was hard enough to get just this one out of her job. All four of you? No. I needed you to escape. Besides, consider it part of your test."

"Test and test-- everything must test me! Why not just help? Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

"It would be counter-revolutionary."

"Counter-revolutionary!" Nadezhda snorted. "How?"

"You have a unique power. Ekaterina is one of several witches, but she knows to use her power only for good. We wanted you to learn first the meaning of sacrifice and the revolution's paramount importance. Then we wanted you to learn of your power."

"So what did you sacrifice? My parents? Tetya? How much of my life so far has been for the revolution?"

"That's the point," Lavrenti replied. "You'll never know."

"What do you mean I'll never know? I'm asking you to tell me."

"This is a terrible place for you to encamp, you know. See those woods over there? They're planted in that erratic square pattern that indicates that they were hastily laid over a mass shooting."

"What's that supposed to mean to me?"

"Trouble. You know, the dusty kind."

Nadya looked nonplussed. "Great. She sticking around?"

Ekaterina smiled at Nadya. "Do you really want me to?"

"It could get dangerous. But it's really your decision."

"Oh, you think I can?"

"If you want."

Ekaterina looked back at Lavrenti, whose look conveyed no hint one way or another. "Okay. I'll stay. It'll be fun, right?"

"One condition."

"What?"

Nadya straightened up and stretched. "You take watch and let me lay down for a while-- at least until anything spooky that's going to happen, has happened.

Lavrenti made a clipped command to his associates, and they returned to the car. "Be careful. I won't see you again for some time." He climbed into the car and, as the door closed, the vehicle was spun around and underway.

"So," Ekaterina said after a moment, "how've you been?"

It took a few minutes for Ekaterina to understand where they were going, how they had arrived there, and what came next. "And I suppose," she said after a moment, "that we are simply going to walk into Moscow and say hello to comrade Stalin's dead body."

"Not in the slightest. Pavel has arranged papers. He has very good blat."

"Blat?" Ekaterina asked.

"You've never heard of blat?"

"I've never had to."

"Ah," Nadya replied, realizing that the young witch had connections in the KGB to protect her. "Pavel has two friends who had brothers that were friends of his brother. One's brother was to have married his sister. It is all very complicated but now these three friends are together as brothers. And it is through their connections that Pavel has good blat."

"Blat is a sort of friendship then?"

"Friendship means nothing in this country unless it helps you get around the state. So we make our way and Pavel will keep us from being rootless cosmopolitans once we reach Moscow."

"And so we are here tramping about the hundred and first kilometre because we need to stop the hero of the Great Patriotic War from returning from death."

"I'm afraid so. Pavel even has propiska for the three of us-- with internal passports we can get around easily. I don't know how you will, though."

"I have my own ways. It's strange, you know. Mother used to tell me many years ago when comrade Stalin died, she could never believe a man so evil would ever die."

"He's dead-- for now. But it doesn't matter how evil he is. He's still just a man."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm the slayer. And all the petty-bourgeois zombies in the world still bleed red."

The night had passed quickly and Nadezhda found herself appreciative of Ekaterina's company. The young witch had needed no sleep, and they had learned much about each other. Kat's knowledge of the slayer history and powers, along with her knowledge of the stories behind their other two travelling companions --neither of whom moved at all during the night-- made her a welcome distraction from listening for the mumbles and groans of the undead.

"Pavel's had an easy life, by comparison. Sure, his brother died, but he still has a sister and a mother who live in Smolensk. They work at another factory-- they are good people, true believers in the revolution. And Lana? Her father is an apparatchik-- she can do whatever she pleases in her life. She wastes her time at the State University staring at the boys and making faces." Kat gave a few examples.

Nadya giggled a moment, then asked, "and me?"

"You are harder to read because you are the slayer. But from you, all I feel is pain, suffering, angst, hardship. Yours has been a difficult path. It will only be more of the same."

"That's why Vasily decided you should come along with us."

"No. That was my choice. I didn't expect you to want me to join. I never thought you liked me, you know, in the factory before."

"I didn't know you. I never had a chance to know you until tonight. It's not really the same thing." Nadya shrugged. "I only got to know Pavel because he had his misplaced little desires for me."

"He loves you," Kat replied, "and he wants to provide for you. He sees you the same way he sees all women in his life-- in need of protection and love. And he genuinely cares about you."

"I don't want him to. If he cares so much about me, he should leave me alone. It's safer for both of us that way."

"He doesn't believe in safety. Neither do you."

"Never have. Safety out here is being alone. Other people only draw attention."

Kat sighed. "You have to learn to take people as both strength and weakness. They're supporting you and they want you to succeed. You need to stop this in order to save us all. Men like Pavel will be locked into fighting a war that can't be won. Who knows what'll happen to the rest of us-- the Americans can use weapons against us so powerful, whole cities will simply stop existing in a moment. And those who die-- theirs is the worst fate of all. They will be bound to the will of the eternal comrade Stalin. Everywhere, women and men alike, children even, will become slaves to a power that few understand and only one can stop."

"I have to do this alone, then."

"In the end, the actual saving of the world is for you and you alone. But for now, you must accept our help. Pavel has blat, I have my power, and Lana..." Kat paused a moment. "Lana tries. She wants the adventure. Would you want her to be left aside?"

"I don't want any harm to come to them."

"That was their choice to make, not yours. One thing you must accept: in being the slayer, you are alone in your duty but you are never alone in the support you receive. You are still our comrade. And we will be with you to whatever end."

Nadya took in a deep breath, and exhaled. "Hopefully the good Stalin-stays-dead one."

"We can only hope." Ekaterina smiled, visibly through the darkness. "Hope is powerful."

"We're not. You can... you know, foresee the outcomes."

"I can. But I'm not the kind to tell."

"Why?"

"Every outcome changes. Some more often than others. The only certainty we have---"

"Is uncertainty, I know."

Kat's nose wrinkled. "Actually, what I was going to say, but thanks for taking over-- what I was going to say was that the only certainty we have is hope and desire. What we want and hope to have happen, often is. We simply have to have the strength to hope, and the courage equal to desire."

Nadya heard a stirring and turned around, stake in hand. Pavel had straightened up, and was stretching. "Wasn't I supposed to be on watch?"

They had made it to the rail line that afternoon, having to find away across a rather deep ravine. Now they sat next to a rail bridge over yet another ravine, waiting.

"That was quite a detour," Ekaterina noted.

"For a mad dog, seven miles is not a detour," Pavel quipped.

"Quiet," Nadezhda said, "all of you."

Svetlana was unwilling to oblige. "Are we just going to wait here for a train?"

"Yes," Nadya replied. "We wait."

"It could be hours."

"It could be minutes, Pavel. Now be quiet."

"I hear something," Ekaterina said.

"You do?" Nadya asked.

"Yes. Maybe it's nothing."

"There is-- there isn't."

"Pavel, that's enough. What did you hear, Kat?"

"It... oh. Look." She pointed in the opposite direction. A train was fast approaching, headed towards, not away from, Smolensk.

"Suppose we could climb aboard and you could slay the engineer," Pavel suggested.

"I don't think so." Nadya thought for a moment. "But maybe... Pavel, you have our propiska?"

"Yes, in my pack. Along with all the food I could carry."

"Good. Come on. We're taking the train."

"Back to Smolensk?" Svetlana protested. "I walked all that way for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," Nadya replied. "It'll save us a lot of walking." She ran off towards the passing train, as did Kat. Svetlana followed.

"It's true what they say," Pavel yelled as they ran. "Poverty makes you crafty!"

The train ride into Smolensk --rooftop, of course-- had not taken long. Ekaterina and Svetlana had separated from Nadezhda and Pavel, to avoid suspicion.

"So let me see if I understand this," Nadya began. "You arranged us passage as brother and sister?"

"Husband and wife," Pavel corrected. "That reminds me. Here." He produced a wedding ring. "It may be a little tight. It was the best we could do on short notice."

Nadya slid the ring onto her finger. "It looks too bourgeois. We'll be detected for sure."

"Don't be foolish. As long as we look the part together--"

"Brother and sister," she replied, handing the ring back.

Pavel sighed. "All right, all right." He hesitated a moment. "If you insist."

"Oh, I do."

"You know you just said--"

"Do you want to know where this ring will end up if you finish that sentence?"

"I do."

Nadya glared.

"Sorry."

"Is this our train?"

"It would be if we have tickets."

"What are you waiting for? Go."

Pavel left and Nadya stood on the platform. She made her way along a safe distance, looking around, giving herself the appearance of roaming. Svetlana and Ekaterina appeared, one of them giving her a sideways glance, stepping onto the train. A number of soldiers followed them in a bunch, and a peasant family made its way aboard. Nadya stood, impatiently waiting for Pavel's return. This would make the first time in the years she'd known him that she was actually looking forward to his appearance. He finally turned up after several minutes, making his way quickly through another group of peasant families. With his height, he towered over them. He handed her a ticket, and they made their way aboard.

The coach was crowded, the uncomfortable seats facing inwards in pairs. Svetlana was sitting across from Ekaterina, and Pavel made his way over to them.

"Excuse me, comrade. Is this seat taken?"

"No, but please, do not squeeze me in against the window. I am... how you say... claustrophobic."

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Nadya said quickly. "He's incapable of compassion."

There was a voice from behind Pavel. "Would you rather sit next to me, comrade?" an older woman asked him. "I like squeezing..."

Pavel turned, his face white, and sat next to Ekaterina. Nadya sat next to Svetlana. "So. You are local, yes?"

"No," Lana replied, "I am from Moscow. And you?"

"We are also from Moscow. We live at 1630 Rubelovna Prospekt."

"I have a flat two blocks from there!" Lana's feigned thrill was perfect.

"Look at us! Like two drops of water!" Nadya looked up at Pavel. "Three, I suppose, eh, brother?"

"Yes," Pavel replied. "Drops of water." His face still bore the mark of the shudder he had felt at garnering the affections of the woman behind them. The train shuddered to life, and was soon underway for Moscow.

"And you?" Nadya posed to Ekaterina.

Kat looked up. "You are speaking to me?"

"Yes."

"I am sorry. I was just thinking of my poor, late husband." She twisted a magnificent gold ring on her left hand, and wiped a tear with the same hand. Nadya's look of shock was genuine, mostly because she could not remember seeing a ring on Kat's finger, but also because she couldn't tell if Kat was jesting or serious. "Oh, he was so dear to me! I am leaving this city to live with my brother and his family. How sad I am, but I have none to support me here. And how I miss him!"

"Oh," Nadya replied, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"It is appreciated. He only died last month-- the cholera, you see."

"Oh, how sad."

"I am rather glad to see the three of you, all so young and so happy. I feel old beyond my years-- I am only twenty-nine, you see, but I have been married twelve years. At least, I was."

"I have never married," Svetlana confided. "It makes me very sad."

Nadya looked over Pavel's shoulder. If there was anyone in the car listening in on their conversation, they sounded like a group of perfect strangers. "I see you two have never met."

"No, never before," Lana replied. "How wonderful for us all to be together in this fine transport, on our way to Moscow!" She waited a moment, then added, "together!"

Nadya smiled, as did Ekaterina. "I am just happy to have company," Kat said. "Anything to distract me from what I have lost is most welcome."

"We will help you," Pavel said in response, "when you get to Moscow, to find your brother's family."

"Oh, that is so sweet of you! I am most blessed to be in such company. There are still people in this country who know the proper way to treat a widow! I am glad to have found you all." Kat dabbed at her eyes with a large handkerchief.

"Think nothing of it," Nadya said. "You know the saying-- give away a thousand rubles, but keep one friend."

"If I had a thousand rubles to give-- oh, if I had but one! But what little I get is already so little." She looked down at her purse, imploringly, then back up again with a grin. "Peace is a great treasure. And I am glad to find it even here."

"I have always found trains very peaceful," Pavel said. "It's the motion."

"Yes, they move with such constant force-- on towards Moscow," Svetlana replied. "Where we all belong."

Nadya sighed, then felt herself nodding off to sleep. She followed the impulse, and her head rolled onto Lana's shoulder, where it rested.

"Whoa."

It was all that could be said. For three of the four of them, it was the first time they'd seen Red Square. "It's so big!" Svetlana declared.

"Shh!" Ekaterina muttered. "We're out after curfew! Remember!"

"Let's get this done," Nadezhda said after a moment looking around. She wasn't all that impressed. She was too busy looking for guards. As it was, the searchlights were on. She stepped out of the shadow of the GUM department store and crossed towards Lenin's Tomb. Pavel hurried to her side, with Svetlana and Ekaterina tailing behind them. Nadya had her stake out.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Pavel asked.

"Now isn't the time to ask that."

"When is?" Svetlana added.

Nadya ignored her remark and kept moving. The square was empty, still a little wet from an evening rain shower. They ascended the stairs rapidly. At the top of the stairs were a pair of sentries, neither of whom were looking. Both stood at attention. Nadya stopped and looked back to Ekaterina, who mumbled a few words and raised both her hands towards the sentries. The one on the left seemed to be tilting, then the one on the right fell face forward into the catafalque. The left-hand sentry toppled into a heap moments later.

They stepped up, Nadya and Kat first, followed by Svetlana. Pavel kept a lookout, depriving one of the unconscious sentries of his rifle. He checked it and handed it to Nadya. She slung its leather strap over her right shoulder --just like Tetya had shown her-- as Pavel took to policing the other sentry's rifle. They stood between Lenin and Stalin.

"He's so gross!" Lana offered, pointing to Lenin's embalmed corpse.

"Someday when they revive him, I'm sure he'll welcome your opinion," Pavel noted drily.

"I always thought he'd be taller," Kat noted. "And less pimply."

"Those are smallpox scars," Pavel replied. "He wasn't as pretty as Trotsky, my father used to say."

"Quiet. All of you." Nadya turned to Kat, who was standing on the far side of Stalin's body. "What do I do?"

"I don't know, I've never been a witness to a comrade's death before." Kat paused a moment, and added, "You know, final death. He's already dead."

"Suppose I just stake him and get it over with?"

"That sounds like an idea." Kat stood back, as did Lana.

"Here goes," Nadya replied, and thrust the stake deeply into Stalin's chest.

Nothing happened.

"What?" Pavel said, looking inwards. "What did he do?"

"He--" Svetlana started to explain, but then paused a moment, before adding, "is that a feather?"

Nadya looked closer. She stripped Stalin's collar, revealing a plastic mask attached to what appeared to be a down-filled pillow.

"Why is comrade Stalin bleeding feathers?" Svetlana inquired.

Nadya and Kat both glared at her, and she turned away.

"They've moved his body," Nadya reasoned.

"Either that, or comrade Stalin is really a giant chicken."

"Lana!" Nadya barked sharply. "Go keep watch. Do something useful. Just do not speak."

"Fine," Svetlana replied, walking away.

"What do we do now?"

"Well, I don't know. I could do a locator spell. I'm not sure if it'd work on the dead."

"How do locator spells work?"

"It's complicated, but I think I can find him. I just need some sort of... sense of his presence, you know?"

"We may have company," Pavel noted. "There's a group of men heading this way."

"Walking straight or sideways?" Nadya demanded.

"Just a moment-- Lana!" Pavel pointed to the side of the entrance to the tomb, and Svetlana meekly moved out of the light. "Sideways, I think."

"They're not really moving, I think they're arguing," Svetlana pointed out. "No, wait. Now one's on the ground, and the other---"

There was a gunshot, followed by a gruesome laugh.

"Only one left," Pavel commented. "He's running away."

"Straight, not sideways," Svetlana added.

"Wait a second," Ekaterina exclaimed. "Lift its... head."

Nadya shoved the dummy forward.

"Oh, that's good," Kat went on, "I can definitely feel something. Give me a minute."

Nadya stepped away, towards Pavel. "How are we getting back to the flat?"

"Same way we got here. Maybe we could stop and ask our bleeding comrade for directions this time, yes?"

Nadya was not amused. "It's not my fault we got lost. One prospekt bleeds into another after a while." She blinked, realizing her turn of phrase. "I mean, they all look the same in the dark."

"Lenin..." Ekaterina mumbled.

"He's over there," Svetlana offered, with a point.

"Lenin..." Kat said again.

"I don't think he's getting up. Nadya, you should stake him again."

"Lana, what did I tell you?"

"Well, that's useful!" Svetlana protested.

"Leningrad," Kat declared after a moment. "He's being taken to Leningrad."

"Why?"

"It's a locator spell, not an expositor spell."

Nadya looked at Kat with a mixture of frustration and expectation.

"There's no such thing," Kat added, "I made that up."

"We need to get to Leningrad, then?" Pavel inquired.

"Yes. And we need to get there as soon as possible."

"I have a plan," Pavel said after a moment. "Svetlana, now's your chance to make yourself useful."

Two soldiers made their way onto the three-fifty-eight night train to Leningrad that evening, each with a girl on his arm. To all appearances, the lonely train ride in the middle of the night would be a romantic liaison for these two couples. An elderly couple, the woman scornful but the man appreciative of the situation, made their way through the doors into the next car. The seats were once again of the sort by which two faced one way, and two the other. This car, however, was otherwise now completely vacant.

"We're all clear," Pavel said at last.

"Good," Svetlana replied, unbuttoning the uniform's greatcoat. "It was hot in there-- and did you need to lean on me so much?"

"I was tired, okay?" Nadezhda retorted.

Ekaterina yawned. "You and me both."

"I owe you watch duty," Pavel noted. "Once the train starts moving, the two of you lay down and rest-- I will keep watch."

"What about me?" Svetlana protested.

"You will relieve me. Once the train reaches... what is the halfway point?"

"Tver," Ekaterina noted.

"I don't understand why Leningrad," Nadya inquired aloud.

"It's June," Kat replied. "The white nights will have people out in full effect."

"Are they on horseback?" Svetlana asked.

"Not those kinds of nights. The twilight is permanent during these months, because of the city's high latitude."

"Permanent twilight," Nadya pondered. "But they're raising the dead. Why would they do that on a white night?"

"Maybe they don't know what they're doing," Pavel said.

"No, no," Kat replied. "They know something we don't. Or something we're not getting. What do we know about Leningrad?"

"Lots of people died there in the war," Svetlana said. "And in the Revolution. And in the Civil War. And since then. Lots of people died there."

"It was founded by Peter the Great," Pavel continued. "My brother was named for him-- as was the city for a while. Petrograd, the window to the west."

"Peter the Great is buried in one of the cathedrals," Ekaterina recalled. "The Peter and Paul Fortress. Maybe they're going to reincarnate him."

"No, that's not their style," Svetlana noted. "Everything Stalin does is to surpass Peter the Great."

"Surpass..." Nadya thought a moment. "Surpass, you say. So if he comes back to life there..."

"I think it goes deeper than that," Kat realized.

"What do you mean?"

"I think they may be turning unending light to unending darkness." Kat looked at Svetlana. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but they turned one of the public squares in Leningrad into a mass grave after the war, did they not?"

"Yes, the Field of Mars. It's got an eternal flame and everything."

"Suppose --just suppose for a moment-- that you're going through with this. You're going to need three things. One is unspeakable power."

"Clearly they have that, Ekaterina," Pavel replied, "or they wouldn't be making the attempt."

"Let's not presume that for just a moment. The other two things you're going to need: a sort of gateway between death and life."

"The white nights," Nadya reckoned.

"Indeed. There are many dead there. If one doesn't know what one is doing when one is dealing in the passings of souls, one can't go wrong with a twilight-lit mass grave."

"But why this one?"

"The symbolism speaks for itself. Stalin will live again. In doing so, he'll conquer death in a way Peter never could."

"He'll be like an evil Christ," Svetlana stated.

Kat continued. "And either he'll have an easy time finding his way back with all those unrested souls thrashing about, or he'll find ready servants for his undead armies."

"Or both," Nadya added.

"Or both," Kat confirmed.

Pavel looked from Kat to Nadya. "What do we do then?"

"Pray," Svetlana replied.

"You may have a point there," Nadezhda confirmed as the train shuddered into motion. "I need to think a couple hours, but I may nod off. Wake me when we reach Tver and I'll explain as much as I can."

The train ride brought them to Leningrad just after seven o'clock the next evening. The sun had risen high in the Arctic sky. Pavel was the first one out. "Who would have known that a train ride could take so long?"

"I don't understand," Svetlana said, "how could they burst a boiler valve in the middle of summer?"

"Let's go," Nadezhda ordered, "we don't have long until midnight."

"We have five hours!" Svetlana protested.

"And we're only in Krasnoye Selo. It'll be a long walk to the Neva. Plus, we need to stop for food at some point."

"I could use a washroom," Ekaterina added.

Pavel motioned forward, and Kat and Nadya took him and Svetlana --now back in her soldier's uniform-- arm in arm.

The time quickly became nine o'clock. The sky above them was a dark blue, not yet a full night's blackness. They had walked, stopped for a meal, and continued walking. Now they stood across one of the hundreds of bridges in Leningrad, this one the Second Sadovy Bridge, on Nevsky Prospekt, looking down into the Neva.

"You're sure it's going to be tonight?" Nadezhda asked Ekaterina

"I have a feeling," Kat replied. "Call it a hunch."

Three cars passed quickly. Pavel and Svetlana hunched over.

"What about Vasily?" Nadya asked Kat.

"Lavrenti? That piece of scum is good for nothing. He's as committed to the revolution as I am committed to that dead husband I made up on the train. But he will be here soon."

"He will?"

"Yes. He is, after all, your watcher. He has resources at his command that I can't begin to explain to you. I was, for a very long time, happy to be one of them."

"That is something I've been meaning to ask you about."

"It was easier to work with them than to be liquidated. After all, my beliefs and practices are either harnessed for the revolution, or run counter to them. Like so many things in this country, you're either with the Soviet way or in the Soviet way."

Nadya smiled. "I suppose I'm just worried because I don't really know how we got that far."

"If it helps, think of it as magic and the revolution working together. The trains still run on time."

"Well, mostly."

"Hey, Nadya?" Svetlana asked.

"What?"

"When you're out there, slaying comrade Stalin... what should we do?"

"I haven't planned that far ahead. But I don't know what you can do." She turned to Ekaterina. "Can you protect them?"

"If you fail, no one can protect any of us. If you succeed, the darkness we'll be exposed to should be just a little less than I can handle."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"We all believe in you, Nadezhda. We wouldn't have come this far if we hadn't."

"Besides," Pavel noted, "it's not like a slayer gets to save the world every year or something."

Nadya snickered. "We'd better hope not."

"Nadya," Svetlana said, pointing, "there's a car."

Nadya turned. On the far side of the bridge, opposite the direction from which they had approached, Lavrenti and his silent duo of gunmen were exiting their vehicle. "This won't take long."

"Ask them if they know the way to wherever we're going," Pavel replied.

"Hey!" Ekaterina protested. "I know the way. I think."

Nadya made her way across the bridge, quickly, to where Lavrenti stood in a shadow. "What do you want?"

"The Field of Mars. You're going to be there before midnight, yes?"

"Of course. But why here? I don't understand-- there's more mass graves now than there were cathedrals in the time before-- why this one?"

Lavrenti looked down, brushed the pleats on his greatcoat, and looked Nadya in the eye. "Poor child. You think you understand so much. If only you knew." He stopped a moment, shaking his head. Nadya felt rage boil inside her. Lavrenti continued. "Peter the Great built this city on slave labour and hatred for a foreign power. The tsars suppressed revolt and insurrection from here, with blood and with bullets. And the work of the revolution was started here-- then it had to be relocated to Moscow. This was the hub upon which the might of Holy Russia turned, snapping the back of the worker and the peasant. This is where the hammer blow of communism felt first and hardest. And then Stalin hid himself in the Kremlin to continue our work."

Nadya waited a moment for him to continue. "And what is all that supposed to mean?"

"It means that here, his dark associates will bring to pass the final culmination of the revolution. On the Field of Mars --the red god of war, if we had gods-- Stalin will come again from beyond death and life. And hell will follow with him."

She looked at one of the gunners, who stood a distance of at least a few metres away. "And you think that your little speech is supposed to make me feel better about all this?"

"Again--" Lavrenti began, but Nadya cut him off.

"No-- no, you will not treat me like a child. Nothing you've told me is anything I haven't already put together myself-- otherwise I wouldn't be here. You're one step behind me, comrade. The one hiding himself in the Kremlin here is you. I'll be the one out there making the sacrifices to save the world. This is my idea of socialism in one country. And you'll have nothing to do with it."

"You have no idea, do you?" Lavrenti asserted loudly, then let her twist a moment before he continued. "You think your faith in the socialist ideal is going to save you? Do you know what that socialist ideal did to your parents?"

"They were taken away to internal exile."

"Yes. So your Tetya told you."

"She taught me everything I needed to know."

Lavrenti laughed. "Do you think so?"

"Everything she didn't teach, she showed me how to find for myself."

"Of course she did. She was a schoolteacher before she joined the NKVD."

"What?" Nadya's face went white.

"Your parents were both members of families, it's true. But neither had a sister named Aleksandra. She was one of us."

"Liar!"

Lavrenti went on. "After it was confirmed that you were, in fact, the slayer, you were entrusted to her custody and your entire family was taken away --extended family, all relations-- not as enemies of the people but as scientific curiosities. I've read the reports of how they studied your parents, their brothers and sisters, your brothers and sisters."

"I--- I never had---"

"You never knew. You were never told. It would have been counter-revolutionary to tell you anything about yourself. It was all part of the continuation of the revolution. We needed to protect ourselves. And if we could mass-breed an entire army of slayer-soldiers, like yourself... but the texts indicated that while there are many potentials, there is only one slayer. They were then liquidated."

"My family?" Nadya blinked back tears. "All of them?"

"It would not be the first line wiped out on a commissar's order. In this case, the order came from comrade Stalin directly. His interests in the black arts was unparalleled-- do you think the millions who died by famine, sword and fire in this country were killed just because he was paranoid? He has been planning this day ever since his wife killed herself. And those he has entrusted to bring it back will not be stopped by anyone but you."

Nadya was dumbstruck.

"And I will always be one step behind you," Lavrenti added, "not in pursuit but support."

Nadya turned, looking back towards her friends, then out, down the Neva. "Tell me what I have to do," she said finally.

The clock was striking eleven-thirty when they reached the Monument to the Victims of the Revolution, at the centre of the Field of Mars. There were men within the monument, bags of sand in hand, moving in a pattern.

"They're setting up a pentacle," Ekaterina said.

"Oh, that can't be good," Pavel noted.

"There isn't much time," Nadezhda stated. "Let's go."

"Look!" Svetlana pointed. "It's Stalin!"

The monument to the fallen revolutionaries of 1917 rose from the centre of the Field, four ravelin-like embankments forming its perimeter. From the adjoining points of these four sections of pink marble rose a flagpole, a crimson flag of revolution flying proudly overhead. The brave words of memorial, written so long ago by Anatoly Lunacharsky, first People's Commissar for Education, were silhouetted along the ends of the four walls. In its centre, a small fiery square within a larger block of red stone, the eternal flame, lit only this past year, burned brightly. And perched over the eternal flame, barely visible among the works of the monument, was a scaffold upon which lay an embalmed body.

"All right," Nadya said to Ekaterina. "Just like Vasily said."

"Be careful," Kat replied.

"You'll take care of these two?"

Kat nodded. "I'll keep them safe. You're sure they can handle this?"

"They're just sharpshooting. I know Pavel's done this all before."

"Hey!" Svetlana protested. "I'm not bad with a rifle." She adjusted the gun in her arms to a more comfortable position.

"Remember," Pavel joked, "the hollow end points away from you."

"Do you want it to point at you?" Svetlana retorted.

Nadya took three steps towards the monument, then turned back. Pavel and Svetlana moved out of the monument, up onto its ramparts, to sniping positions. Ekaterina remained right behind her. "What?" she asked.

Nadya looked over Kat's shoulder, where Lavrenti stood against one of the ends, leaning against the Lunacharsky inscription. He nodded to Nadya, who returned the gesture. Then she stepped away from Ekaterina, a wordless look of anxiety between them. The sudden chill in the air sent a chill up her spine.

The men in the pentacle had joined their pagan sands together, and now threw aside their bags, and stepped together into a circle within the pentacle's heart, around the scaffold. They began to chant in unison. Nadezhda increased her pace, stepping inside the perimeter of the mark just as it burst into a cordon of flame. She drew her stake and heard the report of gunshots from the distance. One-- then another-- a third-- finally all the men succumbed to the sharpshooting from behind her. Yet it was too late. Whatever dark spell they had set in motion no longer could be undone. Nadya heard the grumble of the dead awakening, and saw the eternal flame take on a ruddy crimson hue, consuming the scaffold. Between the red flames, Nadya could clearly make out the form of Stalin. She thought she could see it rolling about. And she broke into a full run.

She saw the bodies of the fallen cult members begin to rise. One clutched at her ankle as she raced by. She raised her arms, stake in her right hand, and kept moving. Lavrenti had been clear-- the moment the spell was completed, the only way to silence the undead would be to slay their master. She broke into her best run, the gunshots' echo breaking upon her ears yet again. Now a different noise-- that of machine-guns. Either her friends were being slaughtered or Lavrenti's guards were taking a hand. She tried not to think on it as she leapt onto the scaffold, through the flames. She felt herself collide with a body, and both she and the risen Stalin tumbled off the scaffold. She bounced to her feet, and looked over to see the undead comrade struggling to stand. She rolled over, straddling Stalin's embalmed chest, and held down his head with her left hand.

His eyes opened, pure blackness. "Nadezhda?" he asked aloud.

"Not exactly," she replied, and with a loud cry, drove the stake into his chest. His arms rose and flailed about, but instantly he began to disintegrate. The eyes remained, however. And the voiceless expression of sheer anguish, as his skin and tissues flaked away, leaving just a skeletal structure --and then, even that in turn became ash. Nadezhda's knees were now resting on the ground, and she got up. All about her, a rising dust cloud indicated that the dead had once more returned to peace.

Nadezhda ran back over to where her friends had been standing. In the blinding glare of the fiery wall that had separated them, she had lost sight of where they were. She heard someone calling her name.

"Nadya!" It was Ekaterina.

She stepped across the smoking line and nodded. "Privet, comrade."

Kat nodded in reply, smiled, and raced over to embrace her. In the Russian style, they kissed three times, on opposing cheeks.

Lavrenti appeared at her right. "It would appear you are everything we imagined, comrade Nadezhda Ivanovna. I am very proud."

"As am I," Nadya said, pausing for a moment, then adding, "comrade Lavrenti Vadimivich."

"Did he say anything?"

Nadya turned, still half-embracing Kat. "He knew my name-- or so I thought. But I realized he thought I was his wife, Nadezhda. After all, she was the reason he did all this. And he must have expected that they would have resurrected her first."

"Indeed, that was his wish. However, she was far too damaged to resurrect."

"You mean that there are dead bodies that cannot be re-animated?"

"No," Lavrenti replied. "I mean that she shot herself in the head. Dead or not, one still needs brains."

Svetlana's scream off in the distance made Kat let go, and they all turned as one. Nadya took a step forward, and was promptly tackled to the ground by a flying embrace from Svetlana. "You did it! I saw the whole thing through my rifle scope! You were amazing! I can't believe you're alive!"

Nadya felt a tear fall upon her cheek, and realized it was not her own. "Are you okay, comrade Svetlana?"

"She's fine," another voice said, and Nadya recognized Pavel. "She didn't fire a single round, but at least she tried."

"I did so fire a single round! You unloaded my rifle's magazine!"

"Is this true, comrade?" Lavrenti asked, sternly.

"I... well, commissar, would you trust her with a rifle?"

Lavrenti's face broadened into a smile. "No. No, I do not think so."

Kat helped Nadya and Lana to their feet, and Nadya suddenly fell to one knee. "Oh," she said, "I'm so tired all of a sudden."

"Is something wrong?" Both Kat and Lana knelt down, searching Nadya's face for the source of her distress.

"I think I twisted my ankle back there and I'm only just noticing it now."

Lavrenti bent down and looked at Nadya's feet. "Actually, there is a cut, about ten centimetres long. Your sock is red."

"Yes," Pavel added quickly, "and so is the square!"

The ride from Leningrad was far less painful than the trip to the city had been. A car had taken them to the station, from where they had proceeded south, on the line to Kiev, or possibly Vilnius-- Nadya could not remember. Ekaterina and Svetlana had piled into one chair, with Pavel sitting across from them. All were asleep. Across the aisle, Lavrenti and Nadezhda faced each other. Next to each of them were Lavrenti's two associates.

"I think that's the first he's slept since we left Smolensk," Nadya said while looking at Pavel.

"You know he loves you," Lavrenti said. "He pointed his rifle at me and said if I ever hurted you, I'd... how did he put it? I'd be doing a lot of hurting."

"No, no," the gunman to his left interrupted. "He said, 'If you ever hurt comrade Nadezhda, I will give you what we gave the Tsar.' Like the Tsar. You know, the Tsar?" He indicated his gun with one hand.

"Oh, fine."

"I didn't know you spoke," Nadya replied.

The gunman shrugged.

"My point," Lavrenti continued. "He's rather fond of you. They all are."

"I should hope so," Nadya responded, "because I'm fond of them. I wouldn't have been able to do it without them."

"So you won't object to the relocation, then."

Nadya blinked. "Relocation?"

"We're moving you all to Rostov. You'll work as servants to the Supreme Soviet, when they're on vacation."

"I'm going to work as a waitress?"

"No, no, not you. Them." Lavrenti paused a moment. "Well, maybe not Pavel. We'll put him in the kitchen or guard duty. But your office will be there."

"I get an office?"

"Yes. It'll be just down the hall from mine, as part of the Supreme Soviet of Watchers. We have a few other potential slayers we've been monitoring, and more importantly, you'll want to have free access to our selection of books and scrolls."

"I want Ekaterina to be appointed my secretary."

"Very well-- you may find her services helpful."

"And I'll need an executive chairman." Nadya thought a moment. "And a commissar."

"For what purpose?"

"You can't give me an office and not expect me to appoint a few apparatchiks of my own, comrade."

Lavrenti shook his head. "All right, we'll give you a bigger office."

"And a dacha, on the Black Sea coast?"

"Who do you think you are, Lenin?"

"No, but I can stake him, too, just in case." Nadya grinned.

"All right, all right. I'll arrange everything. This is very counter-revolutionary, you know."

"Nonsense," Nadya replied, as the train sped off into the rising dawn. "Lavrenti, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful revolution."