Chapter II: Yegor
12 Hours Earlier
The doorbell rang incessantly. On the fifteenth floor of a Soviet-era prefabricated building whose balcony was once the only good thing about it, Yegor reluctantly got up from bed. He looked at the time and scowled. Had they no respect for people's sleep? Groping for the lamp he switched it on and found his house slippers before sidling out. His modest studio was furnished simply, but the bulk of the rooms were occupied by stacks of books, the majority of which were dogeared and falling out of their bindings. Not to say that Yegor didn't enjoy television, piles of DVDs sat on the floor below his wall-mounted flat screen TV, he abhorred video games. But ultimately he felt that aside from the news and hockey and soccer games, the remote was a crack pipe. Then again humanity deserved whatever a taste of their own medicine for being so stupid. A few sheets of paper wafted down from the towers of books surrounding his PC on the desk he shuffled past and he checked the peephole for the identity of his interloper.
On the opposite side stood Semyon and Katya. Yegor softly snorted and opened the door.
"Can I help you?" His voice was rough from sleep and his shocking blue eyes drowsy and squinting in the yellow lamplight.
Semyon thrust a folded document in his face. "We have a warrant for the arrest of Roman, one of your wolves."
"Tell Gesser his entrapment games are hilarious," Yegor was shutting the door when Katya's voice halted him.
"If it was entrapment, why would we have gone through the tedium of procedure and notified you first?" It was her dead casualness that stopped Yegor and the sneaking suspicion that she was telling the truth.
"You'd better log on," Semyon said.
"Wait there, please." Wide awake and jogging towards his desk, Yegor booted up his PC and connected immediately. He hit up the Yahoo! Russian site and checked the local news, and sure enough the report of a gruesome double homicide suspected to be a wild dog attack was posted. Yegor lowered himself gently to his leather swivel seat tapping his fingers to his lips. Semyon set the warrant atop a stack of books.
"You'd better notify Zavulon if you want to rectify this situation." Yegor said nothing in return and watched as the two Night Watch operatives leave his apartment. Katya smirked, thankful that Bear chose to keep the engine running downstairs. After all, Yegor was a man now and wearing a black tank top over thin pajama trousers. He filled out nicely from weight training. From under golden-brown lashes, Yegor glared at Katya who flirtatiously wiggled her fingers at him before closing the door. It wasn't that he didn't think her attractive, or he was too preoccupied for women, when it came down to it a Night Watch was a Night Watch. Reaching for his cell on the glass-topped desk, Yegor pulled up the phonebook and speedialed Fedya's number.
"You up?" Yegor asked.
'I just heard,' Fedya said. There was movement of bed sheets and the clatter of beer bottles in the background.
"Get Kostya and find Roman before the Nochnoi Dozor does."
'Where should we put him?' Yegor was shuffling papers and books around searching his desk.
"Kostya will know where, right now I have to-" Yegor's shocking blue eyes brightened spotting his find under a folded edition of the Pravda. "Get to my father." Yegor opened the black box and nestled in the velvet lining was a tapered platinum ring with a stunning red crystal in the setting. Sliding it on his left ring finger he there was a sense of accomplishment he felt each time he put the ring on since he first found the crystal 12 years ago.
Anya was giving good chase, but a good defenseman doesn't pass directly to the striker since the opposing team's forward was coming up on him to deflect and steal the ball. Yegor passed the ball to Klara, his team's forward, picking up the slack going full-steam, who tapped it to Vadim the striker coming up on the box setting up for the blast, when- oh shit- he shot too high and all they could do was watch as it sailed over the crossbar.
"Where'd the ball go?"
"Those trees back there!"
"I'll get it," Yegor volunteered, and he dashed into the thicket. Crashing through the underbrush he spotted the soccer ball, unfortunately his foot got caught on an exposed root and fell through the shrubs into a hidden ravine. He rolled into the shallow gully, rocks and debris spraying in every direction, dirt smudged his face and got in his eyes despite the fact he had his body tucked around the ball, his head tucked down low enough for his chin to touch his chest.
Yegor lay there like a dead rabbit in a meadow for an undetermined period of time gathering his bearings. He blinked and was rising up on his elbows slowly hoping he didn't break anything, when he saw the twinkle in the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but unmistakably the color was red and there was little sunlight left. The red winked once more, beckoning Yegor and he unsteadily got to his feet like a newborn colt and stumbled to a rock pile where the glimmer was shining through. In a stone that he was barely able to curl his fingers over he saw a red crystal peeking through the cracks. It looked as though his fall managed to chip off some of the rock it formed from.
"Hey! Yegor! You okay!"
"Yeah!" He called back. "I found the ball!" He dropped it into his deep jacket pocket and climbed out of the ravine. It was late and the game broke up, ending in no score. It didn't affect Yegor in the least, since he couldn't wait to show Nadezhda if all worked out.
He laid down old newspapers and magazines so he could avoid doing damage to his mother's kitchen table. She kept the hammer under the sink with the cleaning supplies, but in truth Yegor wasn't completely sure as to what he was doing. He placed the rock in the center of the table and lifted the hammer. Yegor only had one shot and if he was off a fraction of a centimeter he could shatter the stone and crystal completely. Yegor closed his eyes and brought down the hammer… he didn't hear the crash and when he opened his eyes the black and gray bits of rock left a dark halo from the impact around the red rock crystal.
"Cool," Yegor held it before the lamplight rotating it in his hand, the hazy light penetrated through the coarse facets. He never did show Nadezhda as he did with everything else since she didn't meet him at his swim team practice which was strange to say the least. But after that night, nothing was normal ever again. Only later on did Zavulon inform him about the importance of his discovery and yes, it was fate for him to find the red crystal. Zavulon had his crafts-mages fashion a ring for him that would adapt to the changes of Yegor's body as he grew. Red crystals were commonly used by Dark Others to either camouflage themselves from the Light Others' satellites or use in conjunction with their abilities.
Yegor was dressed and out the door in record time and on his way to discuss a course of action with his father, which was a feat in itself.
Sirens blared and lights flashed so brightly it caused the pianist to stop. Women crowded around the windows to catch a glimpse of the action from the dance studio. Sadly, the squad cars, ambulance and fie truck all vanished into the thinning late night traffic. The thoroughly pissed dance instructor clapped her hands to get her students' attention.
"Girls! Girls!" Rozaliya Kulikova in her heyday was a prima donna on the Bolshoi circuit, today she has lived up to her nickname as 'Iron Lady' as the principal instructor of her dance school that catered to the market of children to adults. The 5'2" woman with steel gray eyes and silver bun took control of the room once more drilling the women on the primary positions. "Do not forget where you are!"
The pianist began at the top and the 12 women at the barre winding around the mirrored room kicked, tapped their toes and bounced to the twinkling melody. Nadezhda was hardly Vaganova School material, but it was something she enjoyed since childhood and it gave her something to do three nights a week. She switched her body to autopilot and Nadezhda focused on the mirror, not on her expression but what was around her neck. After she came home one afternoon earlier in the month one of her neighbors informed her about her grandmother's accident on the stairs which led to the hip fracture. The elevator had been out of service again and the old woman decided to go grocery shopping regardless of it. Her neighbor's son found the shopping cart on the steps above the landing where she fell. Nadezhda was prompted to put on the green crystal that drunken monk gave her when they first visited him. She missed meeting Yegor at the swimming pool, she had no idea she would never see him again after that. But truthfully she didn't give Yegor a second thought for a full week; she had no idea that the odd blackout and the violent storm that night would have far more dangerous repercussions. Yet somehow, Nadezhda knew that Yegor's disappearance was connected to those events.
"Baba Dunya? What are you doing here?" The elderly woman stood in one of her black floral print summer dresses waiting for her granddaughter outside of her school. Nadezhda was acclimated to taking the Metro on her own. Both of her parents worked for Moscow's leading energy company and often traveled. They left for Canada the previous week missing her birthday, but Nadezhda's mother moved her party up a week earlier. Yegor gave her a pair of earrings, gold butterfly studs. Nadezhda made sure to inform him of her recent ear piercings since he was unsure as to what to give her, his mother Irina was much better at that sort of thing.
"We are going to the market, little one." Yevdokiya said strapping her leather handbag over her elbow.
"You know Papa doesn't like it when you walk around on hot days." Nadezhda reminded her as they linked hands.
"Then this is our secret."
"You know Mama doesn't like secrets," the girl sang.
"She will forgive us… she will." Nadezhda dutifully followed her grandmother down into the Metro. Nadezhda shrugged, reasoning that she made perfect sense. Babushkas really did know everything.
The market was alive with the throngs of midday shoppers, but Yevdokiya Lazarova was not in the least concerned with the pedestrian traffic in the wide aisles. She respectfully nodded a greeting to the butcher, who returned it, and Nadezhda felt an odd compulsion to do so as well and the man in the bandanna acknowledged it before tending to approaching patrons.
Yevdokiya approached the stall directly across from the butcher, the produce man who piled vegetables and fruits glossy with the recent spraying from a hose. He wore a black cap jauntily pulled to the side and a damp apron over his dark brown corduroys and short-sleeved white dress shirt. What mesmerized Nadezhda was the cat's eye stone thick gold pinky ring he wore, the thing winked at her, she knew it did!
"Ahhh, my esteemed neighbor Olegovna," the produce man said piling lemons and oranges in pyramids. "I feel I must have a turn of fortune coming now that I've seen your face."
"Still in business Maksimovich?" Yevdokiya tutted, though outwardly pleased by the flattery. "It's an accomplishment for you." The man let loose and rough, rich laugh at her barb.
"One day at a time." Nadezhda flinched at the whole exchange. To refer to someone by their middle name in Russia suggested a degree of intimacy. Just how well did Baba Dunya know this guy? "It seems our little Nadya is slightly confused." And he knew her as well? Nadezhda looked to her grandmother but held her tongue. "In our village little one," Maksimovich clarified, "everyone is referred to by their middle name. That's how well we take care of each other."
"That's why she's here to learn." Nadezhda got her first look at Maksimovich's eyes as he shared a meaningful look with her grandmother. There was an electrical current snapping behind those mismatched eyes, his right the darkest blue and his left a green-gray.
He glanced at the butcher who was busy with oxtails. "Then let's not dawdle." Nadezhda looked back at the butcher and wondered what their connection was because it seemed that they had none.
She learned Maksimovich's full name on the drive to their unsaid destination, Svyatoslav Maksimovich Varley, and that he drove a Zhiguli. It was a Georgian vehicle that saw its time in the former Soviet Union; however this mattered little to Varley. The once pristine white exterior dulled to a bleak gray from weathering and was peppered with bright ochre rust marks, oxidized through-and-through. Nadezhda fell asleep during that particularly long drive, but was jostled awake from the instability of the car's parking procedures. Her grandmother and Varley got out of the car and Nadezhda hesitated as she took in her surroundings, for all she knew she could have been in Alma-Ata. They were far outside of the city, she could make out the tops of apartment blocks, and there was a cemetery not far from where the Zhiguli pulled up on the highway. Russian cemeteries tended to stretch out and blend into the forests, paying homage to their ancient pagan Slavic-Nord heritage. In a field adjacent of the graveyard was a church surrounded by a sunken-in wrought iron gate. The building looked to be slated for demolition from the first revolution. The tri-onion domed structure was compromised and stood obliquely in the overgrown grass and dirt. The doors and front windows were boarded up, but her grandmother pulled her in the direction of the rectory at the rear of the church.
The yard was strewn with illegally dumped garbage, litter that flew in from the highway and even rusted car parts. The only entrance that was not boarded up was a narrow dome-shaped doorway that had narrow double doors, an eight-pointed Orthodox cross nailed on each. Varley gestured to Yevdokiya that he would enter first for safety precautions and she allowed it, Nadezhda charily watched as the man easily opened one of the doors and walked in. A few minutes went by and Nadezhda heard the scraping of chair legs, the crash of something metal and then silence. Varley stuck his head out just then.
"You can come in now."
From a yellow ceiling lamp with a halo of moths floating around it, Nadezhda and her grandmother stepped into the building. The air was stale and musty, the only other light besides the lamp were fat and skinny beeswax candles traditionally used for worship. There was no incense burning, and this was the first time Nadezhda visited a church. Her parents were not religious, but her grandmother kept an icon and a little shrine with her grandfather's photo she prayed before. Vodka and beer bottles were scattered around and the only furnishings were a table, three chairs and a cot against the far wall behind them. The sheets were in a disarray and unwashed. The elephant stomping of boots on moldy wood accompanied by hacking coughs pierced the hazy silence. A door opened to what was from the front of the church and a rotund man garbed in dusty black priests robes shuffled in. His balding head and beard were light brown streaked with white; his face was bloated and red from years of alcohol abuse. The holy man had a poor gait as he swayed from side to side; he collapsed into one of the chairs and hefted a small brown chest onto his lap.
"Starets," Varley began, "this is-"
"Nadezhda Rodionovna Lazarova." Nadezhda seemed to be the only one surprised by his statement. She made a face as she watched the priest continue to dig through the box. What kind of 'starets' was he? Only the wisest of men can be such powerful mystics in the church, at least that was what the old biddies her grandmother hung out with said. This guy was a fall down drunk, only contented to sift through a box of junk whilst hung over, she could imagine what he was getting in exchange for this impromptu gathering. Curiosity getting the best of her, Nadezhda wandered about the rectory, she was careful to tread for rats and insects scurrying about in the dark borders where the light could not reach.
"I take it she has been baptized?" The Starets asked.
"Yes," her grandmother confirmed. Whatever was spoken afterward it went over Nadezhda's head, it sounded muffled even as though her ears were filled with water. On a stumpy cabinet stood a coffer with a lid that rose up and joined in a triangular shape. On the point was a gold Orthodox cross. She squinted in the darkness the coffer was white and gilt at the edges, she could see icon scenes depicted all round. Nadezhda recognized the largest of them at the front of the box, St. George on his white steed brandishing his spear and sun shield triumphant over the dragon. It niggled her that perhaps it wasn't true at all. Her small hands lifted the lid and set it to the side, reaching into the coffer she felt arches of cold metal, trailing her fingers upwards she discovered the knots and twists of what felt like leaves spanning the top where the arches met. Nadezhda poked around and her fingertips connected with stiff velvet. She screwed her fingers around something spherical and atop that was something broad shaped like a cross. Clasping her hands firmly about its round base, Nadezhda picked the object up and was most startled to discover that it was a crown. Peering back inside the coffer she saw its twin resting there.
Fashioned from gold and encrusted with rock crystals, there was a little oval icon of the Blessed Virgin on the front surrounded by white crystals. A flawless clear crystal shaped the cross at the top. Nadezhda had no idea what it was used for, but she liked the way the fat green crystals sparkled as she brought the crown closer to her face. A flutter at the pit of her stomach told her it was indeed special. The gold crown was heavy and looked big for her head; she put it down and went for the other one. At first look it was identical to its mate; upon closer inspection it bore the icon of Christ. It also appeared to be shaped for a man's head, the gold band wider and the arches forged prominently upward instead of outward. Nadezhda delicately replaced it in the coffer and took up the woman's crown once more. She quickly glanced at the trio now bowed over the rickety table bickering over something with their backs to her, inattentive as to what she was doing. Nadezhda was uncertain as to what she was doing was sinful, but something urged her on. Lifting the crown high she was slowly about to rest it on her head when she heard the faint chanting of a chorus.
The voices grew louder; she could smell the incense wafting from a censor and candles glared from burning everywhere. There was no musical accompaniment, only the voices of the chorale that sang joyful hymns of this auspicious occasion. Nadezhda felt the taut, heavy gold of the crown fit perfectly around her head since she was not as she was. The Starets was dressed in gold robes and wore a black miter, a long jeweled cross swung from his neck. His face was flushed a healthy pink and his eyes clear as he chanted blessings. Looking all around her the church was beautiful, sun burst through the stained glass windows twirling rays of rainbows against the icons. Nadezhda felt the heat of a candle close to her face and was startled to find that she held one in her hands. Her hair was pulled back in a bun with white roses and sprigs of baby's breath, the veil fell down her back. The simple off-white spaghetti strapped gown swayed around her lithe frame from the breeze floating from the open doors. The Starets took up the rings and it wasn't until she saw him grasp the plain gold man's band in his blunt fingers did Nadezhda turn to look at her intended.
Who was he? He stood tall and proud in his tuxedo wearing a crown on his head holding a candle. She smiled and try as she might she couldn't see his face save for his indistinct profile. With the Starets' back turned Nadezhda reached out to her groom, but just as she touched his hand the whole room began to rumble and shake with an earthquake's force. The front and rear ends of the church collapsed with the charge of chain mail-wearing armies clashed chaotically around them. Heads rolled, limbs flew, and blood flowed like rivers, Nadezhda was amazed how she and her fiancée were unaffected by this mayhem.
When she at last opened her eyes, the world was still. She got to her feet and saw that she no longer was in the church, but outdoors and on a bridge of all places. Her lover had his back to her with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets still wearing his crown. Oddly enough she still had hers on. Bodies lay scattered like rose petals everywhere; she stepped over them mindful of the blood in the dirt. Nadezhda had the strangest notion that the battle was not over.
'Please,' she begged her fiancée, 'what happened just now?' Before she could blink he lashed out and backhanded her, knocking the crown from her head. He reached up and dropped his crown to the ground. Nadezhda was too overwhelmed and distracted when she felt his next and final strike, in his right hand he expertly spun a sword and plunged it through her stomach. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, Nadezhda reclined her head back and saw her beloved's face. He smiled rather brightly and sincerely which made it all the more sadistic, blood spurted copiously from her mortal wound dyeing her white gown red mixing with the tears. As she fell to earth, he lovingly wound an arm round her back as he pushed the blade in deeper guiding her down in his arms.
'Aren't you afraid?' He asked her. Nadezhda's mouth panted roughly as she tried to form a response, but her oxygen was getting cut off and her vision darkened. He smothered her mouth with his kiss so deep the spirit cry she let loose was loud enough to reverberate around the world.
Back in her 12-year-old self, Nadezhda found herself short of breath and chest heaving, reeling from her first vision. Yevdokiya removed the crown from her granddaughter's hands and looked to the Starets who shook his head. The old woman looked relieved and stepped backward to where Varley stood watching intently.
"You are a very good girl, Nadya." The Starets clasped something around her neck. "A very good girl…" The lengthy oblong green crystal was flanked by little round silver baubles hanging from a black leather thong. The Starets told her the silver was warding charms and the green crystal was necessary for her to employ her abilities. Varley handed the priest a bottle of vodka and the three left. Nadezhda fell asleep in the backseat this time from utter exhaustion and Varley piggybacked her up to the apartment. Her grandmother tucked her into bed and opened the window to her tiny bedroom. Nadezhda heard the caws and shrieks of crows just outside as they circled the building. It was the last thing she saw before the blackout.
When the power came back, Nadezhda was concerned about getting the picture back on the TV and her grandmother fussed about what was left un-puréed in the blender. Then the phone rang.
"Hello?" Yevdokiya whipped the cordless off the charger and after a moment or so took the conversation into her bedroom. The remote useless in her small hands, Nadezhda sat at the end of the maroon leather sofa and waited silently. It wasn't until she heard the thud did Nadezhda run to her grandmother.
"Baba Dunya?" The girl approached her cautiously; the old woman not even acknowledging her granddaughter as she sat slumped on her knees before the shrine holding something to her breast. The phone was on its side on the carpet droning the dial tone. Nadezhda could see her grandmother's jaws working silently as she muttered prayers and what she embraced was her parents' wedding photo. Something was very wrong. The static on the TV cleared up and a news report was in progress, Nadezhda ran back into the living room.
This just in, we have confirmed reports of a Moscow bound Aeroflot flight 116 from Ottawa has crashed 70 miles off the coast of Prince Edward Island. All 175 passengers including the flight crew have been killed. Flight 116 left Ottawa International given the all clear for weather conditions when a storm over the Pacific literally whipped up out of the blue hurling the plane off course tearing it to pieces. It is the same storm believed to have swept through Moscow traveling a great speed in a matter of hours.
Nadezhda's mother, Nina Timofeyevna Domninova an engineer had been decapitated. Her father, Rodion Yevgeneyevich Lazarov an architect was sliced in half. It would be more than a week before the remnants of the fuselage and tail would wash up on the beach with a dozen or so bodies that included Nadezhda's parents. Due to the extensive decomposition, animals eating at the carcasses and water saturation the Canadian officials had no choice but to cremate any remains that were found. While the Orthodox Church doesn't sanction cremation their priest, Father Bogdan, presided over the funeral. The single black marble urn containing Nadezhda's parents' ashes were committed to the earth.
Yegor had been missing for two weeks then, Irina had never been the same after that night. A month went by and there was no word from or about Yegor, his mother was slowly turning into a ghost only leaving her apartment to go to work, until one day she too died. Nadezhda was sixteen when she and her grandmother attended the funeral. No cause could directly warrant her expiration, but Nadezhda knew it was from a broken heart. It was around then Nadezhda began searching through her parents' closet, her father's books in particular. She wasn't sure why, but it was an instinct she had that perhaps one of his books could explain her vision and the crystal that crazed monk gave her. Nadezhda never did it in front of her grandmother on account of her sensitivity, so she waited until she left for church or visiting one of her friends. Nadezhda ransacked the closet until she literally stumbled upon a cardboard box, yellowed and flaking from its shoddy quality and the ravages of time.
Throwing apart the flaps, she hit paydirt and saw the double stack of antiquated hardcovers. Hastily arranging the closet the way it originally was, Nadezhda locked herself in her room. Sitting on the floor leaning against the foot of her bed, a soft lavender duvet spread across the twin bed, her dolls and toys lined against the wall on the floor and on her bookshelves. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze, her window opened half way. The only book of interest was an old tome that spanned over her entire lap, Legend Bizantii- Legends of Byzantium. It stated that her green crystal would be able to revert certain shapeshifters back into human form, reverse lunacy in werewolves and can detect natural articles in the environment for magical purposes.
Magical purposes? Lunacy? Yes it was loony, and before she was remanded to the state Nadezhda decided she learned enough. Feeling hungry and no longer lazy to cook dinner she was shuffling her way to the kitchen when the candles in her grandmother's shrine flared up as she passed her room. They did that sometimes, depending on her mood, she waved her hand in a slashing motion across the air and the flames whipped out. Once the TV burst into flames when she got angry. Her grandmother put out the fire with the little extinguisher that her father purchased since she was paranoid that the PC would explode. They never spoke of the incident again but it continued to worsen and eventually Nadezhda was forced to train herself to control the 'outbursts.'
Medusa was a club on the Arbat, and one of Zavulon's business ventures aside from managing Alyssa's singing group and running her record label. It didn't open before 8 p.m. and only catered to the over 18 crowd so Yegor had little trouble gaining access to it 24 hours a day. But since this was daylight hours, he just strolled in through the front doors. The dance floor was being waxed and buffed, and their usual band's stage was deserted save for their instruments. Gold tinted mirrors lined the walls and there were gaudy chandeliers refracting prisms of rainbow if the light should strike the fine lead crystal baubles, then shatter like mist in a summer shower. Kostya ran out onto the second floor landing behind the white balustrade.
"Yegor! Up here!" Kostya called to him. The carpeting was a deep plum shade that rolled over the stairs Yegor jogged up.
"You're late," Alyssa announced. Yegor passed through the plum velvet curtains hanging over the archway to the manager's office where Polina sat behind the ebony metal desk clicking furiously at her PC.
"Polya, you said you had something?"
"Give it a sec." The 19-year-old Dark Other master cracker who liked to dress up in school girl uniforms, thigh-high fishnets and Converse high tops accessed a minute window and typed in a password that unlocked a window to what was the index of Zavulon's paw prints on the web. "You bring your book right?" Yegor laid his copy of Legends of Byzantium beside the keyboard. "Good," she spun the black flatscreen monitor in Yegor's direction for his analysis. "All I could trace was this."
"It's a messageboard." Alyssa said. Her legs were slung over a chair's armrest and she was applying a fresh coat of blood-red polish to her nails. Her brunette bob was slicked back with glitter and she was dressed in her streetwalker's best: leather pants, white boat-neck top, white stiletto heels and a lace choker.
"Very astute," Fedya commented text messaging his current flavor of the week. The messageboard was entitled, Countdown to Judgment.
"I checked the i.p. address to the poster called 'El Jefe' and confirmed it was from Zavulon's PC. Mostly he was playing mind games, trying to pick up girls-" Polina remembered Alyssa's presence, "sorry." The idol shrugged re-dipping the brush into the bottle. "But here's something he wrote a few days ago that struck a chord," Kostya, Fedya and Alyssa gathered around the screen with Yegor. "'The circle of light will herald the Darkness' ultimate nemesis.'" There was silence in the room and Yegor fingered through his mental rolodex. He took up the book and flipped through the gilt 700-odd pages locating the passage referring to 'the circle of light.'
"Found it."
"What does it say?" Kostya asked.
"'And the 40 Days to Judgment will begin with fire, blood and resurrection. On the ninth day, the circle of light will herald the Darkness' ultimate nemesis then on the fortieth day Darkness and Light shall clash.'" Yegor slowly lowered himself onto the white leather sofa and crossed he legs. Forty days, what was so significant about that? Moses' 40 days and nights on Mount Sinai? "Something interesting is going to happen that Father isn't letting us in on. Let's keep an eye out."
Liliya buzzed Nadezhda's apartment and awaited her friend until she emerged with her overnight bag. "Ready?"
Nadezhda shrugged. "As I'll ever be."
TBC
