There was something that belonged to her nearby. It called out to Natasha. She wasn't in the laboratory anymore. Instead, she found herself standing in a corridor, not quite sure how she had gotten there. The corridor stretched away ahead of her. She could hear the distant sounds of fighting but ignored them as her enemies destroyed each other

Natasha's body ached. It felt as though she had survived a direct lightning strike, but that didn't matter—not when she had her power back. It coursed through her veins, a raging torrent of magic suffusing her, eager to leap to her command. Why had she been so desperate to cling to pathetic dregs of istota? It was like she had been hoarding drops of water in a cup, and now a whole river was open to her.

Part of that river was dammed away from her. Things stolen by enemies. They were still hers, part of her, her birthright. She would take them all back, one at a time.

The first of those stolen treasures lay somewhere within these walls.

Natasha glided through the corridors. Fortunately for everyone else, they remained empty. She could feel the treasure calling to her. One glance inside most of the rooms was enough to confirm they weren't what she was looking for. She found a stair leading down and took it to a lower level. She was closer now. The treasure called out to her.

These were the old cells, very deep under the castle. Tiny, dank stone boxes where prisoners could be kept for a short amount of time before their sentencing or left to languish until their deaths. The door at the end of the corridor had been made into a safe door. A heavy slab of metal sat flush against the stone with an elaborate mechanism keeping it locked.

Natasha didn't bother with the lock. She stretched out one hand as she strode forward and spoke a word that rasped in her throat. Red lightning arced from her fingers and smashed the stone lintels around the door. It still stood for a moment before toppling to the ground with an earth-shattering crash. Natasha didn't even break stride as she stepped up onto the door, across it, and down into the strongroom beyond.

Clear shelves lined the walls, full of Frankenstein's stolen treasures. Chests on the floor contained still more. She didn't have to search. The treasure was calling to her. She opened a wooden box on the third shelf up and reached in. Natasha removed the smooth wooden ladle. It fit her hand perfectly as though she had used it a thousand times before. As she touched it and reclaimed her power, something else came with it—a memory. Herself whispering to herself.

"A pinch of henbane, yes. Now stir in the powdered silver. Sprinkle with mother's milk and a drop of virgin blood. Yes, there we are. And here, my lady, the filter you desire. Only remember my price."

The memory was gone as quickly as it had come, but it didn't bother Natasha. The ladle and another piece of herself settled in.

She turned, and as she did, a polished silver shield leaned against the wall by the door caught her eye. She could see herself reflected in it. Natasha considered her visage with curiosity. Why did it feel strange? Her grayed hair frizzled out from her lined face. Her nose was bent and hooked, but why should that seem odd? It was her nose. Natasha smiled in greeting at the crone, and the crone smiled back, a yellowing gap-toothed smile that promised oh, so much.

Their treasure reclaimed, it was time to leave this place. Woe betide any who stood between her and freedom.

Natasha strode from the dungeon, seeking the easiest path out. She climbed two flights of steps and then cut through a silent library where two golems and four Russians lay in pools of blood, weapons scattered all around. She took it in dispassionately. Frankenstein had gotten what was coming to him. His army destroyed, his fortress coming apart around his ears. If her mother's pawn did not destroy him, Natasha would handle it sooner or later. The Russians were no longer either ally or enemy. They merely were. Natasha would not go out of her way to seek out and destroy anyone except Frankenstein. She even hoped that her daughter and her daughter's friends would get away. She would not be coming to their aid.

Natasha left the library and headed for the main ballroom. She hesitated. There were six or seven men ahead of her. They hadn't caught sight of her yet. She listened to their conversation.

One voice was as familiar as her own venom had been. "Mikhail. Do not hesitate," it was saying. "Go for the kill."

"But sir, she's one of ours."

"Orders from the general," Colonel Nikolaj of the hunter commandos snapped. "Besides, Major Popova has never been on anyone's side except her own."

So, Natasha thought with a smile, they were hoping to kill her. She strode forward, and the men whirled on her. Two of them, were ordinary Russian soldiers, aiming their rifles. Nikolaj wore a wraith cape. He must have taken of the other Wraith troopers.

As she approached, he raised the hood over his face, presumably to disappear. Clouds of smoke swirled around him, but she could easily see him through it. She considered him quizzically.

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"Do you think that hides you from me, Nikolaj?" she asked.

He hissed as he stealthily sidestepped, still thinking his wraith cloak offered some protection from her gaze. "Natasha, what has happened to you? Did Frankenstein—"

"Frankenstein has done nothing to me, though he wishes he might." She glanced upward as she felt the castle shake. She frowned. What was the foolish man trying now? Oh, that was truly rich. More of her stolen technology being put to work. So now Frankenstein thought he too deserved a moving hut. Perhaps she would not wait for the Golem to finish him. She returned her attention to these annoying distractions and raised her hands.

"I am going through this corridor," she said. "You may leave if you wish to turn and flee. I will not pursue you."

"Shoot her!" Nikolaj urged, and the foolish enlisted men raised their rifles.

Natasha sighed. She had gotten such a terrible reputation over the years for getting her own people killed, and it wasn't entirely fair. Her forces had been sent into impossible situations again and again, against overwhelming odds in obsolete machines. It was no wonder the girls died by the score. Only Natasha's own innate power had gotten her through those abilities. But when she came back again and again, missing her entire command, she got a bit of a reputation.

"Really," she told the soldiers as she felt their fingers squeezing down on the triggers. "You wish to play such games with the Red Widow?

Very well."

Natasha waved a hand. Both soldiers stiffened and their rifles wavered.

“Sir!” One of them called, his voice filled with panic. “Where did she go?” The man spun, swinging his rifle around toward the others.

“You idiot! She is right in front of you!”

The second soldier turned as well. “Where are we? Where…. What are those?!”

Rifles roared, deafening in the cement corridor. A moment later both ordinary soldiers toppled over.

Nikolaj swore. From the swirling black cloud of his cloak, a white spike emerged. The weapon, which she knew to be bone and poison, gleamed in the dim light.

Natasha considered dodging out of the way. Her combat training insisted that was the right move. But she was more than that training now, and she knew all about these troopers' cloaks. They depended on a power they did not understand, which was always a mistake. Turning its wearer insubstantial was only one of the capabilities of the garment. There were many others.

Natasha's hand flicked out, and her powers, new to her and ancient to the world, flowed out. The Nikolaj swirling veil was instantly a heavy leather cloak. The sudden weight of it, while not heavy, threw off the man’s lunge and he stumbled. Natasha leaned slightly to dodge the faltering thrust, and reached out a lazy hand to swipe across the man's face. Then she took another unhurried step to the side.

The man jerked as if struck by burning coals. He looked around wildly. "What? What? Where did she go? Where am I? Mikhail, what did she do?" Mikhail and the third trooper both looked at him in surprise.

"Sir, she's still right there," The third man said as he stepped forward, pointing at Natasha.

Nikolaj still looked wildly about. "Where are you?" he yelled. "I can barely hear you!" He shouted as if the voices he could hear sounded faint, as if at a great distance.

Natasha fixed her gaze on Mikhail, her one-time ally. "Leave and live. These two have already made their choice."

Mikhail opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I can’t… We have orders." His tone was somewhere between pleading and apologetic.

She nodded. "I know." They had orders to kill her. She had seen it in the General's eyes back in Romania when he heard she had lost her bond to her mech. Now she was just a loose end, and General Morozov hated loose ends. They no doubt had orders to kill any of the Polish troops they found as well. The rest of his Wraith forces were probably scouring the fortress for them even now.

"We have orders," Mikhail repeated. He took a step back and withdrew a package from the depth of his cloaks. It was a bundle of cloth that fell away to reveal a slim automatic handgun. It had a strange barrel that was abnormally large and made it look like a heavy cylinder had been attached to the front of the weapon.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Something new?"

Mikhail licked his lips nervously. The gun wasn’t quite pointed in her direction yet, as if he was hesitant to threaten her. “Some innovation the General acquired,” Mikhail said with a sideways head motion that was probably a shrug, though the rest of his body was concealed by swirling smoke. “It’s supposed to make it quieter.”

Mikhail’s gun wavered and then, with a final certainty, swung to point at Natasha. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” He raised the weapon a little higher and then fired.

Just as he did, the ensorcelled Wraith Trooper lunged forward into his line of fire. The weapon's report was a loud cough. The trooper stumbled but didn't fall.

"What? What was that?" he asked. He looked around wildly. There was a clink of metal as a smushed bullet fell to the floor, having been stopped by the brown cloak the trooper wore.

"Never use a weapon you don't understand," Natasha chided.

Mikhail stared wildly at his gun. "But it's just supposed to make it quieter."

She shook her head. He had been a useful underling, but he really was desperately unimaginative.

“Not the gun. The cloaks.” She reached out towards the trooper who had been shot. “This one was from my personal stock.”

Her hand came nowhere near him, but her power flowed into the garment a second time. The cloak which had turned into leather now swirled back into a cloud of black smoke which wrapped itself completely around the man. Then it tightened.

The man screamed but was quickly cut off into a strangled gurgle. The cloak contracted in on itself and then lifted up into the air. His leather shoes could be seen below the swirling cloud, kicking at nothing.

She lifted a hand towards the second trooper. "This one is just a cheap imitation."

"Stop her!" The man yelled and made a desperate lunge towards Natasha. Before he could reach her, his cloak burst into flames. This man's scream did not cut off but went on and on as the flames burned. There was no heat in them that Natasha could feel, and the fire did not spread. The flames themselves were an eerie yellow without the orange tongues that one would expect. No smoke came from the fire, and no heat, but the man still burned. His agonized scream wavered and fell as his body was consumed. The cloak itself burned away completely, and when it was gone, it left behind a charred husk that crumpled to the ground.

Mikhail was on his knees. His pistol on the floor in front of him. He was struggling out of his cloak and holding it up with trembling hands. "Please!" he said. "Please!"

Natasha smiled and stepped forward to take back her possessions. As she did so, she felt something moving towards them, something old and dangerous.