Nikolai’s brain was spinning in circles. His enemy sat on the floor of the bathroom next to a pool of his own blood—an offering to the mara for the life he’d taken. Then suddenly, Lisko was choking, coughing, turning red, then purple.
The ghost was attacking him.
No matter how much Nik hated the man, the sight of his discolored face was no comfort. Chert. He didn’t want this. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he hated Lisko anymore. Though he also wasn’t sure he could forgive the son of a bitch, much less work for him.
“Katya, stop. There’s news. Breathe, resist her.”
A gasp filled the room—Lisko managing to get a lungful of air for himself.
The little ghost was so strong, and a pang of pride plucked at his heart.
The woman, Sonya, nodded vehemently. “Good! Katya, keep breathing. It will help your human nature prevail.” Her words were composed, but her voice was shrill.
“Why’s she a ghost?” Nikolai demanded. “Your blood is right there—didn’t it work?”
Lisko tried to speak, but the mara still had hold of him. He seemed able to suck down only the occasional rasping breath.
“She materialized.” Sonya’s halting speech revealed she was suppressing sobs. “We talked for a while. I think Katya was considering living again.”
Nikolai’s heart throbbed in a confused rhythm of hope and panic. Could she really? She’d already felt some compassion for the man after getting inside his dreams. If she knew what was in the folder Nik held, she probably wouldn’t hesitate to pardon him, if a second chance at life was on the table.
“But then—it seemed like the mara dragged her back in the spirit world.”
Dmitri gurgled, his heels kicking against the tile floor.
“Oh, please, Katya, stop it!” Sonya pleaded, her hands flapping helplessly, with nowhere to go, nothing to do.
“Give her more blood.” At some point, Anya had entered the tiny bathroom. She stood at the medicine cabinet, holding up one of Dariya’s orange bottles. “I have an idea. Get her back into her body.”
But the thrashing Dmitri was in no condition to give more blood. If they tried to cut him, they’d likely sever an artery.
Nik shoved Anya aside and dug out his razor blade from under the sink, then he fell to his knees next to his enemy and sliced across the middle of his inner forearm. His blood poured out instantly, mixing with Lisko’s.
“Oh!” Sonya said.
Nik glanced at Dmitri, only to see Katya flicker.
“Fight the mara!” Anya shouted.
“I’m trying,” Katya said, her voice coming from somewhere far away.
Nik’s blood flowed, a thick rivulet. As much as she needed to cling to this world. He grew lightheaded, woozy.
“Fight for yourself,” Sonya cried. “For the chance to live.”
“Katya,” Anya said. “Just get back in your skin, and we’ll take it from there.”
Nik half expected her to tack on, Who you gonna call? Ghost Helpers!
Slowly, Katya seemed to win out over the ghost. Her body became more and more solid as she regained her hold. Lisko sucked in breath after breath. The man was going to have a mean bruise if he survived this battle with a mara.
“That’s good enough. Quick, Katya, take these!” Anya shoved pills into her mouth. Nikolai couldn’t see how many, but he knew what they were—the tranquilizers.
The pregnant woman—and wind nymph, apparently—held a cup from the vanity to Anya’s mouth. “Now sleep.”
Yuchenko inched into the crowded bathroom sideways. “Let me try.” He knelt at Katya’s side and began to whisper in her ear—because he was a nightmare demon, or a ghost whisperer, or something. Nikolai still wasn’t sure he ever should have trusted the cop, but under his efforts, Katya’s stiff body sagged against Lisko.
Yuchenko took hold of her shoulder to turn her onto her back. She’d gone completely limp as he scooped her up like a groom carrying a bride.
A stab of jealousy pained Nikolai to see another man hold her like that, a man women looked at like he was made of chocolate. A man who knew how to help her, when Nik had proven useless in the end.
“Bedroom?” Yuchenko asked.
The jealousy sliced through Nikolai, exposing to himself his well of unacknowledged grief. He gulped down the swelling tide of emotions to speak. “Just across the hall.”
Yuchenko carried her out and, after a glimpse at Lisko to ensure the guy was breathing and that his wife had things under control, Nik followed. Yuchenko was closing the door, like he wanted some privacy with the drugged and unconscious Katya.
Nik put his foot in the door. “I’m coming in.”
“Suit yourself.” Yuchenko showed his palms. “Just keep quiet. I’ve never done this before.”
“What?”
“Gone into a dream to negotiate with a mara.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I’ve gone into Anya’s dream, but I’m usually just trying to get her to wake up with…ideas.” A faint blush painted the cop’s cheeks.
“No ideas for Katya.”
“Whoa.” He held up his palms. “Of course not. I’m a married man. But if this mara is anything like”—he thumbed his chest—“me, I think there is only one way through this.”
“What’s that?”
“Katya is going to have to welcome her, embrace her as part of herself.”
Nikolai glanced at Katya’s face, waxy and pale. “She’s not going to like that.”
“Neither did I in the beginning.” He gestured at the bed. “I need to get close enough to whisper to her.”
Nik didn’t want him on the bed, and Yuchenko probably knew it.
“I’ll bring you a chair,” he growled, already heading for the door.
He returned with the chair and found Yuchenko kneeling at the bedside, stroking one of the purple streaks in Katya’s hair. Surprisingly, the action didn’t inflame Nik’s jealousy—it was clearly nurture without any heat. He leaned against the wall to watch and wait.