No Surrender, No Retreat by L. J. Labarthe

Author:L. J. Labarthe [Labarthe, L. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

9

THEY emerged in a narrow side street in the city of Yerevan, capital of Armenia. Gabriel sent his cloak back to the house on the island he and Michael shared, and wrinkled his nose. “What a fascinating smell.”

Raziel was also wrinkling his nose. “Garbage is disgusting. And there’s so much of it.”

“So where does Lyudmila live?” Gabriel moved toward the entrance of the side street hastily, wanting to put the smell of rotting food and garbage behind him.

“She’s got a flat in an old Soviet apartment block.” Raziel was moving just as quickly. Because their senses were heightened due to what they were, the garbage smell seemed to be worse than anything Gabriel could remember.

“It’s a bit odd for a queen to live somewhere like that, ain’t it?”

Raziel laughed as they emerged onto the main street. “Lyudmila isn’t what you’d imagine a queen to be in any sense. She was abandoned by her mother when she first shifted—she hadn’t learned how to separate her two animals, so she first morphed into a weird hybrid mink wolf. Her mother freaked out and left her in the forest, and the old King of the Eastern Weres found her and raised her as his own daughter and his heir. He had no kids, and Lyudmila having two animal shapes is pretty prestigious in shifter society. So when he died, she took the rulership and moved from an old Soviet apartment block in Moscow to an old Soviet apartment block in Armenia.”

“Those old Soviet apartment blocks are all exactly alike, so it’d be a familiar sort of den for her and a new seat of power for the shifters she governs.” Gabriel nodded as he lit a cigarette. “Makes sense.”

“Yes.” Raziel lit a cigarette as well. “Though don’t expect any glamor, Gabe. Her place really is the personification of old Soviet living. It’s two rooms, with a communal bathroom and kitchen that everyone who lives on that floor shares. It’s thirty stories high, and the elevators don’t always work. Neither does the electricity or the water. It’s poor and it’s dilapidated.”

Gabriel sighed. “La plus ça change, as the French say.”

“Quite. The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Raziel turned a corner. “Her block is over there.” He pointed at a tall, blocky, and unlovely building on the other side of the street.

“You said she’s got a consort, Piotr.”

“Yes. He’s Russian, right down to his toenails.” Raziel grinned. “He probably won’t speak any other language than Russian to us, though he knows English, Armenian, and French.”

“Good thing my Russian’s up to speed, then.” Gabriel grinned back. “Is he surly?”

“Oh, very. He also has an eerie physical resemblance to Lenin. The politician, not the musician.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, okay. I’ll try not to stare, then.”

“Good plan.” Raziel waited for a clear spot in the traffic and then jogged across the road with Gabriel at his side.

They entered the building through a door that hung lopsided from one hinge. The lobby was dank, and there was the faint smell of stale water.

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