They spent the night in the back of their one remaining truck, huddled together in a heap with every scrap of cloth they had. Nadia slept in stretches of five or ten minutes, awakened every now and then by Fatima stirring beside her, or Ruslan groaning, or basically any noise, real or imagined. More often than not, it was only a car passing down the road some distance away, paying no notice to them at all. Nadia still checked, every time.

Shortly after sunrise, Nadia lifted her head at the sound of yet another noise, and rubbed the fog off one window pane to see Fatima puffing and splashing the icy cold waters of the Sea of Azov over her arms and face. It seemed too mild for attempted suicide, yet too extreme for a coffee substitute—especially once she took off her shoes and dipped her feet in as well. Then she put her shoes back on and minced out to stand in the empty field behind their car, turning so the rising sun was to her left. When she lifted her hands to her head, Nadia understood, and flopped back down to try to sleep.

It didn’t work; she was too awake, it was too cold, Ruslan was snoring right in her ear, everything stank, and she had to pee. After maybe one minute staring at the car’s roof, she got up and joined her sister. By then Fatima was kneeling in the grass, and Nadia simply stood there to keep her company in silence. It would be good for her to pray too, but in her own way—facing east, to the rising sun and the world to come. Fatima finished before she did, and likewise kept the morning’s peace, still facing the other way.

Once Nadia lowered her hands, Fatima reached out to hold the right one in her left, and Nadia gripped back. The sun was halfway over the horizon now, and the wind off the sea was bitter cold, but the morning was lovely, and it wouldn’t come again. She was pretty sure it was Sunday. Church bells would be ringing in a couple of hours.

Fatima spoke first. “Rus isn’t waking up, is he?”

“Not yet.” Fatima hand clenched for a second, then relaxed. “It’s only been a day.”

“But he’s not getting any better.”

“… no.”

“Shit.” Fatima let go, and turned back to look at the water crashing on the beach. It was the most secluded spot they could find on short notice. “What are we going to do?”

“It hasn’t gone all bad,” Nadia said. “We made it out alive. We beat the emissor. And if Ruslan isn’t getting any better, he isn’t getting any worse either.”

“Any worse that we can see,” Fatima corrected. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on in his brain, do you? And he groans when you move him. He could have internal bleeding somewhere, and we’d never know.”

“No. But … we are alive. And we dealt Yefimov and his masters a heavy, heavy blow. We should count our blessings.”

“We’re only alive because your idiot brother happened to find a random girl, who happened to be important, and he happened to get a crazy-ass idea that happened, this one time, to be the one and only right move. If we hadn’t had her that son of a bitch would have fragged all five of us before we even knew he was there. And we don’t have the girl anymore.”

“There’s no way we could have kept hidden with her trying to escape at every stop, or trying to get people’s attention. Anyway, there wasn’t space in the truck.”

“I know, girl. That’s not the point. The point is, we got lucky once. We can’t count on that happening again. Maybe we used it up, all we’re gonna get.”

“Do you believe in luck? Just luck?”

“Figure of speech. I believe that if you keep rolling a die, you might get a six twice in a row, but you’ll definitely roll a one eventually. The will of Allah is a whole other thing from that.”

“But we aren’t dice. This isn’t a game. And I’m not afraid. Not that afraid,” she amended, when Fatima’s jaw dropped. “God sees everything, you know that. He knows what will happen before it does. Is it that strange to think that … that even the kidnapping worked out in the end, because He can account for Yuri’s madness? Even bad choices can have good effects.”

“We don’t need to be worrying about that right now—”

“If not now, when?”

Fatima plowed on through. “We need food, shelter, and a doctor for Rus. All things we’re not getting while you talk theology on this cold-ass beach.”

“Fatima, please. This is important. We’ve accomplished so much! Even now they might be talking about withdrawing from Fatih. Do you really think this is all just a set of dumb accidents? Don’t you see a purpose at work, behind everything that has happened?”

“Honestly? No. No, I don’t. Not the way you mean it, anyway. You’re just trying to fit everything into your nice story where everything we do turns out all right, so you feel better about how screwed we are. Whatever. You can believe whatever you want, but I’m going to stick to the things I know for sure, and what I know is that Ruslan’s in shit shape and we ain’t got half a plan to fix him.”

Fatima could be so stubborn sometimes. But this, too, might be something that needed to happen. “We can start by finding food,” she said.

“We’re pretty much broke.”

“So find a charity. A soup kitchen, or a food bank. People usually don’t want to let children starve.”

“… it’s a start. I guess.”

Yuri and Maria were already awake, and in the truck’s front seats; Ruslan was still lying in the blanket-wad across the lowered backseat they’d been using for a bed. He, and all the blankets, smelled like urine, and maybe something worse. Nadia could smell the same stench on herself, and her hair was a horrid, snarled mess. Yuri, Maria, and Fatima looked terrible too. They would have little trouble passing for beggars.

Fatima bent over to put a hand on Ruslan’s forehead; he mumbled but didn’t wake. “He’s cold,” she said. “What the hell happened to him, anyway? He’s not bleeding anymore.”

“Everything’s cold,” Yuri said from the passenger seat. “Like me. I’m cold. Can we fix that?”

“The wounds were just little shards,” Nadia said, pulling up the blankets to look him over. “Not very deep. Maybe he hit his head when the truck fell apart?”

“Of course he hit his head. But why’s he doing this?” Fatima prodded his stomach, very lightly, and he groaned, then coughed and gagged. They both drew back, but he’d thrown up several times, and there was nothing left to come up. He’d already stained the upholstery with bloody vomit. “Shit. This looks bad.”

“Food first,” Nadia said. “We can ask about clinics while we eat.” It sounded selfish, but food was the problem they might know how to solve. They had no money to pay for treatment and any doctor they saw would ask questions they didn’t know how to answer.

They had a quarter-tank of gas, and not quite enough money to fill it again. Maria drove slowly into the nearest town, where they parked behind a tiny thrift store that didn’t open on Sundays. They were all wretchedly hungry—it had been more than eighteen hours since their last meal—but Fatima stayed behind to keep an eye on Ruslan, since she didn’t speak Russian. Yuri consented to stay as well, after a good deal of browbeating; they needed somebody who could make excuses for any nosy authorities who dropped by, and he seemed marginally less likely to make trouble if stayed put.

That left Nadia and Maria to scout the small, rural town. If the prospects for charity weren’t very good, it was at least not the kind of place where they would have to worry about a heavy police presence. Hardly any of the roads were more than two lanes, and some weren’t even paved; businesses were few and far between, mostly corner cafes and newspaper stands, all closed. Their one phone had apparently run out its prepaid plan sometime in the last two days, so they couldn’t even search the internet for clues. There was nothing for it but to walk.

Nadia peeked at Maria through the tangled mess of her hair, remembering how fine and polished she had looked when they first met, in designer clothes, sunglasses, and a leather jacket. Now she stank like a beggar and her shirt was speckled with dried blood. Nadia hated to think how vile she must look herself, if her brother’s pampered concubine was so bedraggled.

Stolen novel; please report.

They trudged in silence for several minutes before they came across a well-dressed lady walking her dog. She gave them a doubtful look, and tried to pass them on the other side of the street, but Maria flagged her down and asked her if she could spare any money or food. The lady wrinkled her nose as the wind shifted to blow her way, but told them a church down the street kept bags of food to give away to the poor. They went to the church, and found it closed; the first morning service wouldn’t even start for another hour and a half.

“Why are we doing this?” Maria complained as they moved on. “You have Ézarine. You could get us all the food we wanted for free.”

“They will have clairvoyants on alert,” Nadia reminded her. “The first familiar to go up will bring the oprichnik down on our heads.” And I am not a thief.

“Did you see how that woman looked at us? We do not belong here. It’s only a matter of time before they call the police on us, and we will have no explanation of who we are or what we are doing.”

She had a point, one Nadia refused to address. Instead they kept walking, searching in vain for a place with open doors or people with open hearts. Nobody they met was any more receptive than the lady with the dog, and Nadia belatedly remembered, after so long in the Muslim world, how dead the average Russian town was on a Sunday morning. The people who weren’t getting ready for church now would be hung over and sleeping in. But she didn’t want to return to the truck and tell the others that they had accomplished nothing. The next little town was unlikely to be any better, and a big city like Krasnodar would be swarming with government agents if it wasn’t locked down entirely.

Still, there seemed to be little point in looking any more. Her legs were weak and wobbly. She got them “downtown,” such as it was—a strip two blocks wide, where townhouses replaced normal homes, and the roads had four lanes—and sat down on a park bench. Perhaps she would find a church, and stand in the back during services, and see if they would give her something to eat after. That wouldn’t get them any closer to care for Ruslan, or to finding a safe place to sleep, or a bath, but it would be something … wouldn’t it?

Maria sat down beside her. “I don’t think I remember the way back to the truck. Do you?”

Nadia put her dizzy head in her hands. “No.”

Maria sighed. “You have known your brother longer than I have. You tell me how long he will wait, hungry and idle, in one place.”

Not long. And then all this tiptoeing would be for nothing. “What do you want me to do? Rob a restaurant?”

“I want you to do something, anything! Do you want to starve? Or let your adopted brother die?”

“Please don’t pretend you care about him,” Nadia replied, more weary than angry.

“I don’t. I care about staying alive, so I was trying to talk to the part of you that isn’t crazy. I am tired of this sneaking nonsense, and your prissy posturing. I have helped you for two weeks now. I got you out of Syria alive, and kept your mad brother from making trouble for you. I offered you a chance at a comfortable life, far from your enemies, where I and my family would help you. You turned me down, but I stayed with you, to give you a chance. Now we are in the back end of the Black Sea, hundreds of miles from any of my contacts, stinking of piss and vomit, and afraid for our lives, and I am done with it. You made this mess, you and your stupid crusade. Get us out of it, or I walk.”

“You walk?”

“Yes. I walk. There are people here who would pay me very well for news about you. That is my best plan for providing myself with what I need to live. I don’t want to, but I will if you make me. Give me a better way, or I walk.”

Nadia swallowed, leaned back against the bench, and tried to think. Her first reaction was to tell Maria they would be glad to be rid of her, but that obviously wouldn’t do. She couldn’t threaten to hurt her, either; Maria had to know Nadia didn’t have it in her to kill someone who wasn’t an immediate threat, and anyway that would mean using Ézarine.

She could threaten to tell the others what she’d said, but if she was threatening to leave already, why should she care? Anyway, she couldn’t be sure that Yuri wouldn’t take his woman’s side. Even Fatima would only stick with Nadia because Maria was on the other side. She might be thinking of using Mister Higgins right this moment, as they sat on this bench and bickered.

There was, possibly, some other, better option on the table, and she just wasn’t seeing it because she was tired and weak and short on sleep. God, is there another way? I have tried to do right. Please, just show me. But no inspiration came.

“I didn’t make you come along, you know.” She said it slowly, to buy time. “None of us did. We didn’t promise you anything.”

“I didn’t ask you to. And I didn’t promise you anything, either. But I did help you, your whole family, and I am promising you now that if you do not start acting like a professional I will give you reason to regret it.”

“A professional? Is that what you call it?”

“I mean someone who takes their survival seriously. Use whatever word you want, just do it. Now.”

“Right.” She pushed herself to her feet, almost angry enough to call Ézarine already. She didn’t know what this girl was playing at; if they lived to get back to Fatima she would kill the foul schemer for sure. But that was if Nadia told her about this. Would she? She honestly didn’t know, at the moment. “Shall we rob a Russian place, or would you prefer to steal foreign food?”

“Stop being childish, we aren’t breaking into a restaurant.” Maria stood up and crossed her arms. “We passed a drugstore a few minutes ago, and it wasn’t open. Take me there.”

“A drugstore? What for? We need food!”

“Most of them sell a little packaged food—cookies and chips, soda. More importantly, they carry soap, and all kinds of drugs. Narcotics open more doors than plain money. Which we could also get, from the safe.”

“And you expect me to go along with that? No. I am not a gangster.”

“No, you are a fool. And if you will not do what you need to to take care of yourself, then I am done with you. Goodbye.”

Maria got all of three steps before the keystone sequence started. Ézarine appeared in front of her before she could take another step, and punched her hard in the stomach. She doubled over, and fell to the ground crying. Nadia waited for three heartbeats to see if she got back up; when she didn’t, Ézarine hauled her to her feet, dropped her back on the bench, and disappeared.

Before Maria could get her breath back, Nadia grabbed her by her knotted hair, and hauled her head up so she could snarl in her face: “There. You forced my hand, and got nothing you wanted. Now there will be maniacs with guns after us. I hope you’re happy. We are going back to the others, together, where I will tell them what you did, and they will decide what we are going to do with you. I don’t know what that is, but if you give me any more trouble or try to threaten me I will bring Ézarine right back and make her break all your fingers. Don’t think I don’t mean it. Now, move.”

To her surprise, the girl complied without comment. Maybe she was used to being threatened with violence, growing up in such a horrible family, but Nadia couldn’t spare any pity for her. She was too busy making sure the girl didn’t make any noises, or try to signal anyone for help. She hadn’t heard any car crashes, and didn’t see anyone peeking out their windows. Most likely they would be phoning the authorities; there was no way people here didn’t recognize a halo, and they would be on alert already. She had to get as much distance as possible between her and the place where Ézarine came out, even if it wouldn’t make any difference. It was hard to believe now that the day had begun so peacefully.

Unfortunately, she’d been telling the truth; she didn’t remember where they’d left the truck at all. Not even the basic direction. She felt stupid, but she didn’t. So she dragged her brother’s limping, whimpering girlfriend down the street in the direction that looked most familiar, hoping something would jog her memory before Maria recovered enough to do something stupid.

Two minutes later, Maria was done sniffling, but hissed softly with every step, occasionally biting out something nasty in Arabic under her breath. Her muscles were tense against Nadia’s arm, which worried her; it made her wonder if she was planning something. “I can make her hit you in the same spot twice,” she whispered in her ear. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t try it.” Dear God, help me now or give me a fast and painless death, and forgive me for whatever I did to earn it. Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy…

A white car pulled up alongside them, and the driver rolled down his window to stick his head out. “Are the two of you all right?” he asked. “Your friend looks hurt.”

Nadia looked the man over. About fifty, she thought, and thin, with glasses and a beard. Dressed all in black, except for a bit of white around the collar. “I think something is wrong with her stomach. Are you a priest?”

The man smiled, faintly. “After a fashion. But a girl who moves like that shouldn’t be walking. Will you come with me? My home is not far, and we can have her lie down, get her some ginger tea.”

“Ginger tea,” she repeated, without meaning to.

“Yes. It is good for the stomach. I have food, as well. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” she admitted. The timing of this was ridiculously convenient—but then, she had asked for help right away, hadn’t she? And she didn’t think a state agent would have stopped to dress up as a priest before coming to grab her. “Weren’t you headed to your church?”

“My denomination doesn’t have its own church yet, so we meet at my home. I was just out to pick up some food for after the service.” He pointed to a couple of plastic bags in his passenger seat. So not all the stores were closed.

“You don’t have a church yet?”

“We’re a small group, and still growing.” He fished up a silver chain from under his shirt; instead of a cross it bore an ornament like a sun, with many pointed arrows for rays. It meant nothing to her. “But we really don’t need to talk in the street like this. It’s chilly, and your friend looks like she’s about to fall over.”

As if on cue, Maria groaned, and nodded, holding her stomach. Nadia managed not to roll her eyes. It seemed ridiculous, that a state agent would not just dress up as a priest, but as a heretical priest of some bizarre splinter sect. And wasn’t she just scolding Fatima, for believing in simple luck? Maybe the priest was here to test her faith. Or maybe he was just a random pervert who liked little girls. Anyway, unless he was an emissor, Ézarine could take him down as easily as he had Maria—or Titus. And she had no obvious better options. That decided her. “All right. Hold on, Maria. This man will help make you better.”

Maria obediently staggered into the back seat, and let Nadia get in beside her without remark. Apparently she would go along with anything that might get food in her stomach. The priest, as it turned out, was telling the truth; less than two minutes later, after a very sedate drive, they pulled up to a tidy little brick house. He welcomed them in, belatedly introducing himself as “Anatarkhont Pavel,” and helped Nadia wrestle an increasingly limp Maria up his front steps.

Just before she stepped inside, she noticed a little brass plaque beside the door. It was easy enough to overlook, and hadn’t been polished in ages, but she could still make out the words: отпрыски последнего дня. Otpryski Poslednego Dnya. “Offspring of the Last Day”? No, that sounded stupid. Possibly “heirs” or “scions” was more what they were going for. Well, they could be as strange as they liked. They weren’t asking her to join, after all.