V for Vengeance by cjsplace

V is for Vengeance ~ 7 [PG]

Unable to return to sleep, I decided to review Tara's tapes. The cold cement felt welcoming against my feet. It grounded me in reality as I padded barefoot down the hallway toward the Control Room. The Underground had taken covert operations to heart, hiding the room inside a cleaning closet. I stepped inside the small nondescript room stuffed from floor to ceiling with toilet paper and every imaginable disinfectant. The door clicked shut behind me, leaving me in the pitch, black darkness.

Keeping my voice to an even tone, I clearly stated, "Command Alpha Venture Omega One Slaughter."

Strip lights running along the baseboards blinked on to provide minimal light. I moved toward them, stopping when my feet brushed against the wall where the lights didn't meet. The lights coalesced from the floor to race up the wall to outline an entrance. They started glowing brighter, illuminating outward until they bridged across the gap separating them from their partner.

A lighted entrance flashed brightly followed by a computerized voice, "Facial, retinal and voice recognition acknowledged. Passcode verification authenticated. Welcome, Anne."

The lights blinked again as a door slid open, allowing me entrance to the carefully guarded Control Room. It was a sterile room with monitors, recording equipment and filing cabinets lining the walls. Several chairs sat scattered about the room as if the former inhabitants had left abruptly.

I went straight to the recording equipment, snagging a chair along the way. The equipment activated the instant the cell doors opened. I pulled up the chair and settled in to watch how Tara had spent her time adjusting. The first two hours held no surprises. She toggled between a blubbering lump on the floor to screaming for help at the door. I quickly grew tired of the tedium and started to hit the lovely fast-forward button once more when the little witch surprised me.

She sat down in the lotus position and slowed her breathing until it returned to its normal pace. She fell into a meditative state, which she held for roughly an hour. I have to say she had the still as a statue down pact. She had my curiosity peaked. I wanted to see what she planned to do next before I set any plans in motion.

Tara slowly went about learning the boundaries of her new surroundings. She counted off the paces from cot to door, touched the walls, and even tasted them, which was a new one on me. I watched as she returned to her place at the room's center, unsure what the timid witch planned to do next. She certainly had my attention. Her arms suddenly sprang from her sides as she spun around, placing weight on her right foot to complete the spin. I could almost smell her magic's scent fill the air, the combination of fresh apples and cinnamon, uniquely capturing Tara's essence.

Pale blue sparks tumbled from her fingertips. They swirled around her to tunnel outward into a whirlwind of shimmering lights. It transformed Tara from the timid, beaten puppy to an Earth nymph coming into her power. Her eyes flew open to stare in shock at what her unconscious thoughts had conjured.

Freezing the video, I sat back to study her face. She had enough knowledge and power to protect herself. Why did she have to force the issue, always waiting until the last possible moment? It seemed as if she needed the situation to reach some critical level before she gave herself permission to use tools readily available to her. I had to wonder how much came from upbringing and how much from Tara's sense of self-worth. Though, the two had the same end effect, they came from different places. Yes, harsh outer influences had an adverse affect on the inner psyche, which each person reacted differently - fear, self-loathing, anger, violence, and a myriad of other emotions. Each person had to decide whether their situation would define them or whether they would fight beyond the bonds holding them down to the freedom just beyond their immediate reach.

It would have been so easy for me to give in to Maggie's torture. My body handled the physical torture. It healed from the experiments, which ended in my deaths and resuscitations. Slayers endured pain on a nightly basis. It wasn't a new concept to me. Sure, what Maggie did was more intense, but even that became routine. She tortured me with a much crueler weapon, and didn't even know it. The stupid bitch had what she needed to break me, used it regularly and never knew. If she had, I wouldn't have escaped, became Anne, and my beautiful vengeance wouldn't have bloomed into life. When my body quieted into final blackness after each horrendous experiment, I begged. I begged not to wake, finally to find the peace denied me. It took everything I had to keep the words from spilling past my lips.

The same dilemma faced me with Tara. She had faced physical and mental tortures. Torture would undoubtedly break her down. It wouldn't take much to have her blubbering and doing whatever I asked of her. She would do what I asked, when I asked, but that's not what I needed or wanted. Don't blow this out of proportion, or give it some altruistic meaning. A good general knows soldiers who believe in what they're fighting for fight harder, longer, to their dying breath, and I'm a good general when forced to play with others.

Slow, steady movements and soft words had kept many wild, untamed animals from startling away from the unfamiliar. Tara's mannerism reminded me of a high-strung mare, waiting for the right hand to tame her. I wasn't sure I had enough time to break her to the bit. It would depend on how well she took to her lessons. I planned to try something rather unusual to escalate this arrangement. I was going to tell the truth, well at least the part about why I needed her help. The only problem was she would need reassurance I wasn't lying before we could continue with the training.

I frowned as I watched the film flicker by showing the same stills repeatedly. Tara slept with her back turned to the door, with her magic protecting her. One thing few people knew about me was how much I hated to ask anyone for help. Sure, I used Emma's friends' resources and planned to use Tara's magic; this was an actual favor type help. I meant to ask someone for help who could turn me down and I wouldn't do anything about it. Yes, even I had my boundaries and this was one of them. There weren't many so take notes.

Shooting my chair across the room, I checked the monitors to see how my lovely captive was doing. She slept peacefully; whether from her magic-induced protection or exhaustion, I had no idea. Tara was about to start down a new chapter in her life. How she chose to use what she learned could determine whether she became her own person or just another pawn. It was going to be interesting to see which path she chose to walk. Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.

The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. My footsteps created no sound as I crept across the small cell. It was time to see just how effective Tara's magic was. I stopped when I felt the protective circle pulse. Magic had its own feel, smell, even color, if you had heightened senses trained to detect them. Lucky for me, I'd taken the time to do just that. Like I said before, I didn't much care for using magic, and only would as a last resort. It didn't mean I didn't respect it or those who had the talent to use it properly. Sadly, few these days took the time to learn how to properly wield the craft and fell into the black arts like Willow, becoming addicted to the power, which only led to needing more power. It was an endless cycle down the road to madness.

"Tara," I called out to her in a heavy whisper.

She turned over, slowly coming awake, before remembering where she was and what had happened to put her there.

"Anne," she said softly, pulling up into a sitting position.

Her eyes went to the door then back to me to ensure we were alone. Those pale, fragile hands swept out into graceful arcs allowing me through her protective circle. Neat, that was one hurdle jumped. I plopped down on the bed beside her. My feet just barely reached the edge where I casually swung them in little circles. Anyone looking at us would probably think Tara the bigger threat since her larger build practically hid mine should anyone come through the door. She took my hand in hers, which surprised her as much as it did me.

"I w-was so scared last night. Someone just came from the dark and put me here. I had no idea where you were and I was so scared. I'm not b-brave like you."

She blushed prettily as she looked toward the door again like she expected an SS platoon to come barreling through any moment.

"You're braver than you think, Tara. How else do you think you were able to pull off playing my mother for the past few years, not to mention hiding your magic? It took courage to do that, don't think it didn't." I patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry about what happened last night. The ones who took you won't do it again, I promise."

She gave me a relieved smile. "What happens, now? I m-mean." She swallowed down her nervousness as she worked to control her stutter. "What do you plan to do here, and how can I help?"

Tara had already forgotten the fear she felt toward me just before the lights went out. I wondered if I was ever that innocent. Before it all, before Maggie, Sunnydale, the divorce, Merrick, I lived an average teenager's life. I thought about dating, staying popular, wearing the latest fashions and knew nothing bad could ever happen to me. My rose-colored glasses not only made everything look pretty; they were Dior. I may have been naive to the dangers around me, the things that went bump in the night, but it didn't come close to Tara's innocence.

"We need to talk about that. You said you wanted to help, but you have to mean it, more than you've meant anything else in your life."

I turned around to sit cross-legged on the bed to watch her face as she absorbed my words. Her lips folded inward under her teeth as she gnawed on them nervously. She cocked her head to the side, sending honey-dark blonde hair across her face. Her pale blue eyes bore into mine. I'm not sure if she was trying to convey something to me or find something in mine. Whatever the case, she found what she was looking for. Her shoulders went back as she straightened up as her body and mind came to the same decision.

"Yes," her voice was steady, sounding sure and confident in her decision.

"Fine. I'm going to need your magic to stop something the Powers are doing." I felt her body tense beside me. My hand went out to gently rub her leg, calming her as I talked. "This isn't just about me and my thirst for vengeance against them. It will weaken them. I won't lie to you about that, but this is about more than me this time."

I spun around on the bed, pushing off from the edge onto my feet in one continuous move. Grabbing Tara's hand, I pulled her up beside me.

"We need to take a small side trip. Are you up to it?" She nodded hesitantly, no doubt remembering the last two trips. "Don't worry, I promise this time there's no bombs, dead bodies or spooky hotels."

Her shoulders shifted visibly, releasing the strain from them. I circled her slowly. My finger tapped against my temple as I contemplated her appearance. Each round I completed caused her back to stiffen, until I feared it might break. I had to work hard to keep from laughing.

"We'll need to change your looks for where we're going. With your strong glamor abilities, capturing the image I describe shouldn't be a problem for you."

She closed her eyes, concentrating on sculpting her face and body from my words. I created the attitude and history as I went. She listened to each word, adding and peeling away layers as the caterpillar metamorphosed into the butterfly. It was easy to take her assets and exploit them. Her body stretched to reach six feet while her lower body and torso slimmed out to create legs that seemed to go on forever while her lush breasts remained untouched. The dark, honey blonde hair darkened to deep, dark ebony. It hung vertically from her nape to her charmingly cleft chin. The cut was dramatic and few women could have carried it off, but with cheekbones, accenting large slanted, whisky colored eyes this woman definitely could. Those eyes flew open when I clapped in appreciation.

"Come along, Stasha, those clothes simply won't do."

She looked down at her 'Madam Regent' outfit and let out a deep, sultry laugh.

"You're right, dahling, these rags are horrible. What would people think if they saw me like this?" she asked in a smoky, contralto laced Russian accent.

I bowed, waving toward the cell door. "After you, dear cousin; we must prepare to meet our public."

She regally nodded her head, sweeping her hands out erasing the last remnants of the protection circle. Long legs ate up the cement as she sauntered across the room with gently swaying hips. The girl had talent. I followed her into the hall where she waited for me to lead the way. We walked back to my room, stopping to raid the wardrobe room. The Underground kept clothes ready for every occasion in various shapes and sizes. They liked to have the means to clothe families on the run or disguise operatives for any occasion.

We were like kids in a candy store, grabbing the most eye-catching colors and everything in our sizes. Stumbling back to my room laden with clothes, we dropped them on the bed. I left her there, shuffling through them, trying to decide what to wear. I had my own changing to do before this party could officially get started.

Glamor was my one 'magical' strong suit. I had spent endless hours honing this skill, knowing my survival depended on it, as would my vengeful mission's outcome. Tara's magical abilities allowed her to slip into her glamor more easily than me. She didn't realize how powerful she was to hide her magical signature from others. Dedicated magic users who had honed their skills through years of study and could see through magic based glamors instantly. Yet, Tara had fooled Giles and his prize student, Willow, for years. She had even fooled the Council by hiding her other magical abilities.

The wheels must be spinning in your head, wondering how I, a purported non-magic user, performed glamors without detection. I can't help but smile as I write this. It made sense if you think about it. Although, I used the same magical properties to enact the glamor, the Slayer reacted differently. It understood using camouflage to track and destroy an enemy. The glamor ritual simply provided the means to access this dormant ability within the Slayer psyche. There's no magical signature because I'm not using 'true' magic to enforce the glamor; it's inherent.

I slipped into the bathroom to think about how I needed to look. My appearance had to mix perfectly with Stasha's, complimenting the statuesque Russian beauty while still leaving room for Vinka to shine. My lips curled up into a predatory smile as I stared into the mirror. The picture in my mind unfolded before my eyes. My dark hair lengthened until it reached the small of my back. Its color bleached out, turning from rich chestnut to Nordic blonde. The turned up nose elongated into the slim, rounded point every movie star craved. It perfectly offset razor sharp cheekbones sitting next to the largest ice-blue eyes imaginable. A full mouth with one dimple peaking out rounded out the picture of cool, Icelandic beauty.

I stepped back to admire the body that went with the face. Boobs, I had boobs. What can I say? I'm still female. My body was lush without looking overdone with healthy tanned skin. I stood nowhere near Stasha's six foot, but at an admirable 5'9'', no one would call me tiny.

Time to get the worse part over with before packing, I pulled my phone out and dialed the number from memory.

"It's me...I know, long time no hear...Need a favor...No, hell hasn't froze over...Very funny...I need to bring someone to see you ...Yes, I know, but trust me to cover any loose ends...Okay, I'll see you later tonight...I'll forward you the details...Can you handle it on your end?... Thanks, you too."

We looked fabulous. Dressed to the nines didn't cover how good we looked, more like the elevens, maybe even twelves. We landed at our destination, with our travel bags along for the ride., which the resident witch had conveniently done a Harry Potter on, shrinking them to fit in our pockets.

No matter how bad the world got, how desperate the circumstances, one thing remained ever constant; others would profit. There was only one place to go to find the movers and shakers - Vegas. I know you're probably wondering why I'm here when my target's in LA, well I had to see a man about dog. The one I needed the favor from lived here and refused to live anywhere else, much to my disgust.

We stepped from our hiding place to enter the waiting limousine, which my friend had arranged. It drove us down the bright Vegas strip, pulling up before the largest casino imaginable. Let the drama begin. The driver opened the door as flashbulbs went off in our faces.

"Vinka, over here...Stasha, how do you like America?...Is it true you're here about movie deals?"

Shouts came from every direction, followed by clicking cameras. Casino security held back the gathering crowd and escorted us inside where, our personal casino host, James, waited to greet us. He rushed forward to take our hands, bending over them with practiced ease.

"Ladies, it's an honor for the Bellesario to have you as its guest. Our President of Operations extends the warmest welcome and asks you to join a small, private dinner party this evening," he said smoothly, while motioning for the bellhop to gather our bags and follow him.

"We'd love to, dahling. Stasha wants to gamble away some money first," I said with a throaty laugh.

"Ooh, yes, I want to play the one where the little ball races around the wheel, ratatouie" she replied, batting her eyes innocently at the already smitten host.

"Roulette, it's called roulette," he offered helpfully. "Let me show you to your villa and get you settled."

James offered us each an arm, which we took, giving him sultry smiles. People stopped to watch as we walked through the lobby. Two international models visiting Vegas on their trip to LA to discuss possible acting debuts in American movies had created quite a stir. We were the newest animal at the zoo, everyone wanted to stop and stare. The information highway between the powers was desert dry. They wanted to keep their citizens dumb and scared. If you had access, it wasn't hard to put out whatever you wanted to the media and have them run with it. How do you think Maggie and the Council were able to power their way through so easily? Once you had the public believing whatever hype you fed them, you could walk down the street nude and sell it as the latest Paris fashion and Walla, streets full of naked people. My friend had an in with Vegas' paparazzi, so instant celebrity for Vinka and Stasha. We looked the part and planned to play it to the hilt.

We entered private elevators accessible only to select guest staying in the casino villas, mostly high rollers, celebrities, possibly an incognito Regent official or high-ranking military officers looking for some fun. Everybody knew what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. I think it was law - truly. The elevators stopped near the top floor where we got off to walk across an enclosed bridge to the separate tower housing the villas. They weren't real villas. Land came at a premium and casinos couldn't afford the secluded, luxurious accommodations where the elite once came for pampering and privacy.

Elite guests rated the upper five floors with villas that encompassed the entire floor. Villas grew smaller on the way down, splitting into six modest luxury suites when they reached the lower levels. I didn't feel slighted when the casino host ended our journey on the seventh floor. When James stopped at room 703, Stasha and I exchanged smiles.

Everyone acknowledged seven as lucky, numerology took it even further. Seven translated into thought or consciousness, zero was absoluteness, three equated to interaction and ten, the combination of our room number was rebirth. As omens went, this one seemed of the good to us. I had never put much faith in things like luck or fate, but given where we were, I wasn't going to spit in its face. James threw the doors wide to expose our villa's lavish interior. It had marble floors and crystal chandeliers done in cool ocean colors.

"There are two private elevators, one accessible to the garage and the other for the butler service. You'll need to choose security pin codes to activate them, and your security managers to monitor your rooms according to wishes. The codes allow you control over the security system, cameras and who's allowed access to your villa. The Bellesario highly regards its guests' privacy."

"Thank you, James, you've been most helpful. We'd like to freshen up before gambling away our money," I said, patting his arm as I walked him to the door without him even realizing it. "Perhaps, you'll meet us downstairs in an hour, and you'll send someone to unpack for us, yes?"

He stood in the hallway with his mouth gaping open slightly as Stasha and I pressed our bodies against him as we kissed his cheeks. We stepped back quickly, closing the door before we burst out laughing. I gained control first and took a few minutes to watch Stasha as the laughter colored her cheeks and added an extra sparkle to her eyes. Her carefree air wrapped in confidence was alluring. She caught me staring at her and stopped laughing. The sparkle in her eyes went from a glimmer to a smoldering fire. The air seemed to freeze around us before it whooshed back in with a rush.

Unfortunately, we didn't know who was watching. I held her heated gaze for several endless moments before shifting to take in the surroundings with one long glance. My eyes returned to hers to see if she caught the hint. She nodded as she pushed away from the door to close the short distance between us, pressing her lush breast against my arm as she hooked our arms together.

"Dahling, let's see what goodies they left us while we check out the sit of the ground."

"Lay of the land, Stasha. It's lay of the land. Didn't you read the English slang book I gave you?"

I arched my eyebrow to show my exasperation while I tried to keep from laughing at the merry sparkle in the amber eyes looking down at me.

"Books, pah, who has time to read? My assistant reads to me while I'm getting my hair and makeup done between shots, but it's too much to remember. Why can't the Americans just say what they mean, like the Russians? We do not have all these sayings. If we are going to kill you, we just say so, not how do they say here. Oh, yes, I will take you out. Take you out, what does that mean; take you out where, outside, out to dinner? It makes no sense."

I laughed at the confused expression on her face. I'm sure the security team listening echoed either my humor or her confusion. Playtime was over. It was time to get to work. Pulling her along, we ventured into our temporary accommodations.

Our villa had two master suites on opposite ends, with two guests' bedrooms set off from each suite's respective left, hidden from sight by hallways that wrapped back into the huge space. We shared an entire floor with one other villa, providing enough room to encompass anything our hearts' could desire, which included private whirlpools in the master suites along with private sauna and masseuse rooms, three fully stocked bars, the kitchen held everything from caviar to ice cream along with its own superb wine cellar, a private office with the latest technological wonders, and goody bags Oscar nominees would die for. They had wrapped it in designer elegance, keeping it from appearing too gauche. This was Sin City and here was the perfect place to start sinning.

We ventured down to the lobby, turning heads along the way. We were striking with our opposite, yet complimentary coloring. I think Stasha's outfit played a small part too. One poor waiter actually ran into the wall, spilling his tray filled with drinks. Some fashion designer had decided the small triangular shaped material wrapped around her chest passed for a shirt. I wasn't complaining and neither was anyone else with a pulse that saw her in the geometrical, gravity defying fashion she wore in the general direction of her chest. It started mere millimeters above her nipples slashing across her chest in dark maroon against her pale skin, then barely cupped around the lush mounds, which fit her broad shoulder frame perfectly. Narrow ribbons magically wrapped the corners together around her back, crisscrossing to create a magic web and repeating the inverse pattern against the sexiest four-pack this side of Siberia. The tiny wisp ended in a downward peak a hair's breathe above her belly button. It had admirers and adversaries wondering how she kept it in place. Each hoping for the slightest slip in those slender strings.

I felt overdressed in my sparkling silver shear shirt and pewter grey leather lace up pants. No matter, the matching boots provided me with places for my ever presents knives. Ah, our little host waited for us beside the roulette table. His pale face showed his worries about the other guests causing problems with our flamboyance. Oh, well, it was his problem to worry with and part of his job as casino host. We wanted to see and be seen. It ensured no one would ever think to link Vinka and Stasha with the wanted fugitives Tara McClay and the notorious V, aka Buffy Summers.

We caught each other's eye and shared subtle nods. Our bodies moved in harmony as we sashayed toward James, loudly expressing our happiness at seeing him. After many loud kisses and warm hugs, read shoving our breasts against the poor man until he looked ready to faint, he led us to the roulette tables set aside for villa guests. We sat beside two well-known actors known for their wild ways and an older gentleman who muffled his name, although anyone with half an IQ point knew it was the TV evangelist with the largest congregation in the LA Region, perhaps the entire continent.

They stood as we took our seats. The actors introduced themselves, waiting for us to drool over their names, while Mr. Mumbles tried to melt into the table felt when Stasha announced she recognized him.

"I'm sure I've never met you, miss," he replied, motioning for the dealer to cash out his chips. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to see if anyone had overheard the conversation.

"No, no, Vinka, tell him I never forget a face. I know I've seen his face. Wait, it's on the end of my teeth," she said, tapping her long manicured nail against her front teeth for emphasis.

I shrugged my shoulders "It's true Stasha never forgets a face. She can remember everyone she went to school with from preschool through college. I'm not sure how she does it. I'm horrible with names, but great with numbers."

I shared a wink with actor number one on my left. They were practically interchangeable. The story was they grew up together and decided to give acting a go while they continued working on their screenplay. They each got parts separately and did well, earning enough to fund the screenplay, which ended up netting them Oscars for their roles and their writing. It was the ultimate Cinderella story. They remained close, some said too close, leaking rumors they were more than friends, but given the looks they were sending our way, I kinda doubted it, unless they swung both ways.

"Ooh, you are the answer man. Send you the money and you will answer prayers by talking to God personally, yes." Stasha gave him the largest smile I had ever seen. It was blinding. Only if you looked closely could you see the hard glint hidden deep in her eyes. I knew where and how to look because I hid my own. "I have always wondered why God needed money to answer prayers. Could you answer this for me, please? He is God, yes. Why should he need money? Money is nothing to him. Anything he wants is his, yes. So, why should God want our money? Please, to help me understand."

Four expectant faces turned to stare at the man with the answers. Sweat started at his hairline and quickly dripped down to his eyebrow. He grabbed his cocktail napkin to wipe his brow.

"I don't think this is the time or the place, young lady. I'm here on vacation, trying to be an ordinary tourist," he postured.

"Silly Stasha," I exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention. Squeezing my hand into my skintight pants, I drew out fifty dollars and placed on the table. "You must pay to get answer, yes. Please to give my dear cousin her answer, preacher man."

My eyelashes fluttered in such innocence it was a wonder the money didn't fly off the table. Mr. Mumbles, otherwise known as the right honorable Pastor Harold Lee Wrightson, I kid you not, turned the most interesting purple color, actually it was more chartreuse. He shot up from the table and practically ran for the elevators. I looked at Stasha and we turned to look at our newest friends, the diligent duo.

"Do you think it was something I said," I asked, playing my part to the hilt, allowing my dimple to peak out in a naughty smile.

After winning several thousand dollars, the dashing duos' villa and private numbers, we stepped into the private elevator few select guests knew existed. Even among the high rollers and celebutants, invitations to dine with the Casino President were highly sought after and only awarded to those with that special something. No one knew how the selection system worked. Some lucky hick who won the million-dollar jackpot got an invitation, while the latest Hollywood hopeful felt the chill from the proverbial cold shoulder.

Music chimed when the doors opened onto the most lavish penthouse I'd ever seen. Italy must not have any marble left. Rich, chocolate brown interlaced with cream swept out before us for what seemed like miles. The cream reached up from the smooth surface to fold into pale ash furniture beautifully tailored in the finest silks.

Stiletto heels blasted across the smooth surface, leaving gunshot echoes in their wake. Perched atop the five-inch wonders was Anyanka Jenkins, the youngest Casino President in Vegas' colorful history. She had placed the Bellesario at the top, beating out every other casino no matter how new or what incentives they offered. No one knew how she did it, but Anya knew how turn a profit and keep the customers coming back for more.

Looking at her pretty face, petite figure and youthful appearance, no one would guess she was an ex-vengeance demon turned human with over a thousand years of knowledge - human and demon related. Anya quickly learned how important money was after she lost her powers. She heard the easiest place to earn money quickly was Vegas. Sunnydale was no place for an ex-vengeance demon, especially with the Slayer in residence. Anya was unsure which side of the human scale the Slayer would put her and decided not to hang around and find out. She was happy with her decision when she heard about Angelus' appearance, remembering a little incident when Darla wished for his hair to fall out for cheating on her. He wasn't a happy vampire about that one. It took the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter to grow it back, and seeing as it occurred during their London year, those were hard to find. Not many knew for almost six months, the Scourge of Europe wore a wig to hide his baldhead.

Anya held out her hands to us and smiled brightly. "Come in girls. I'm so glad you could come to dinner. The men will be happy to have your large breasts to stare at and you can tell me about the latest fashion from Europe."

I knew about Anya's tactless way of speaking and thought for her this was rather tame. It was fun watching Stasha's face turn bright red. We followed Anya back into the large living area where several other people stood talking.

"Everyone, this is Stasha and Vinka," she said, dropping our hands only to lift hers in elegant sweeps that encompassed our bodies from head to toe.

The instant her hands returned to her side waiters appeared carrying drinks. We lifted them off, taking sips then smiled at our hostess. She had served our favorite drinks - Shustoff pomegranate martinis. We acknowledged our hostess with silent toasts. After exchanging small talk with the other guests, we wandered toward the soft piano music. Anya stopped us as we started to ascend to the upper level.

"Ah, you've found my secret weapon. I'm not sure anyone would come to these little parties if it weren't for him. Don't try to steal him away from me. I'd hate to have to scratch out your eyes," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

I got her warning loud and clear. Don't mess with him and she won't mess with us. Guess it was a good thing she didn't know who I am; just who I needed to see and that he had agreed.

"I've never stolen from another," I assured her. "Perhaps borrowed a few times, but always returned in good working order." My smile didn't reach my eyes, which I knew had grown hard as my Icelandic home. I looped my arm through Stasha's. "Come, cousin; let's go see who is playing so beautifully."

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V is for Vengeance ~ 7 [PG]