Babayaga

on. “A man can stab or choke you to death, but if you are one of us, if you have our blood, your ghost will remain, still capable of a curse and a haunting, still able to track, still able to whisper and curse, until your will is done or the earth finally burns and vanishes. It takes more than one hand to kill a woman of our spirit, you need another with powers to help. Two sisters must act together, one blow for the body, one blow for the soul. So remember, you need a second sister to kill with you or you will never be safe, the witches’ spirits will follow you, they will haunt you, and they will kill you.” Elga did not like the look in Oba’s eye as she said these things.
    Before she was allowed to leave, Oba made Elga promise to lure Temra back before the sun rose, but instead, the moment she was out of the tent, Elga ran stumbling, panicked, out through the camp, barely able to breathe, trying to find her friend to give warning. When she got to their pallet, Temra was gone and no one had seen her. Elga wandered the campsite, searching in the dim glow of the vigil fires for her friend. Temra was innocent, she knew that as clearly as she knew where to find her hands. Oba had descended into a madness, time had chewed through the spells and was now tearing apart the old woman’s reason the way a swarm of locusts went at fields of summer grain. Perhaps she was talking to Temra at that very moment, convincing her that Elga was the traitor. It might be worse, she realized, thinking it through; perhaps Temra had been the second sister who had helped Oba bring the cramps and the fever to all their fallen sisters. Perhaps Oba was now only covering her tracks. Elga stopped searching for her friend. It was not safe. She grabbed her few belongings and made her way to the edge of the camp, where she hid. Hours later, she took a horse and rode it out bareback, driving hard for four days, up creeks and off trails to confuse any pursuers, until the stallion became delirious and unsteady, almost crushing her as it collapsed from exhaustion. Elga made camp, built a fire, and smoked the horsemeat. She shaved the edges of the ribs against flat rocks until they were sharp as warrior knives and tucked the new weapons into the leather belt of her skirt. Then she continued on through the wilderness, moving steadily north and west, beneath the bleak and pallid skies.
    III

    “Smoke?” the bald man asked, holding out a silver cigarette case.
    “No,” Will said tersely.
    Smart move, thought Vidot, don’t take anything from this man. He reeks of toxins. Of all the hosts he had ridden, Will was the first Vidot felt a certain kinship with, perhaps because he sensed the two of them were equally perplexed by all that was unfolding about them. After so many hours on this scalp, Vidot was beginning to feel like Will’s affectionate sidekick, a loyal gundog, or a Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote. He would have enjoyed the camaraderie more if the chiming of his own internal clock had not been growing so increasingly loud. Vidot was feeling painfully certain that every block they drove down was leading him further away from a solution to his metamorphosis. Fleeing the old witch had most probably been an error of judgment, but he had gotten the sense that staying close to Will and Zoya might lead to a possible solution. After all, she seemed to have powers too. But now she was gone and he was in yet another stranger’s car speeding across the bumpy streets of the city. He had the feeling that it might be a long time before any potential answers appeared, while at the same time he was fairly certain that he did not have the luxury to wait.
    The car slowed and turned into a narrow alley behind what Vidot recognized to be the pharmacy. Once they stopped, Bendix pushed Will out of the car, keeping his gun pressed up into Will’s neck as he unlocked the building’s door. He gestured for Will to step forward into the darkened room. “Go ahead, I will get the light, it’s—” Bendix did not finish the sentence; instead he jumped up and slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Will’s skull. Sitting high atop Will’s scalp, Vidot was safe from the gun’s blow, but not from the aftermath as he found himself reeling down as though he were atop a great falling tree as Will tumbled over, landing hard on his side.
    Will lay moaning on the floor while the little man turned on the light, and whistled loudly. There was the noise of rumbling