Then, just as quickly, the shock in his eyes flared into rage. Baring his teeth at me, he lunged forward. “You bitch!”

Stanislav swept the bayonet at me in rapid, aggressive stabs and slashes. The bayonet had three times the range of my simple hunting knife, and unlike the knife, it parried my blows with ease. Each impact resounded through my arm until my fingers numbed.

I stumbled back, dancing away from the sweeping edge of the bayonet. Its tip tore through my frock, drawing a seething trail from my shoulder to my collarbone. The pain was harsh enough to tear a gasp from my lips. Just a flesh wound, I prayed.

I ducked as Stanislav drove the bayonet forward. We were nearly to the brink now. Against my back, I felt the breeze enter through the open door.

The bayonet skittered across the wall and snapped free of its holder, landing at our feet. I made to kick it away, and as I did so, Stanislav switched the rifle to a two-handed grip. He drove the heavy wooden stock against my chest, slamming the air from my lungs and casting me backward into thin air. For a moment I was airborne, the world reduced to a blur of fog and greenery, and then I landed hard and tumbled across gravel.

Slowly, I came to a rolling halt. A filmy grayness spread its petals across the edges of my vision as I struggled to rise to my feet. The harsh taste of blood filled my mouth, and more of the same trickled down my cheek in a hot ripple. My body felt loosely strung, like a marionette jointed by barbed wire.

“Koldunia or not, this time you will stay dead,” Stanislav snarled, jumping down from the train car. As he aimed the rifle at my head, a searing bolt of light shimmered off the barrel and his entire being dissolved into a bluish glow. The stench struck me moments later—burnt hair, burnt skin. He collapsed to the earth in a charred pile, fingers of lightning crackling off his body and receding into the earth.

I blinked slowly, one eye gummed shut with blood. Could I have done this?

The source revealed itself moments later, emerging from the trees to my right. A young man dressed in white, with the indigo sash and epaulets of the bogatyri adorning his uniform jacket. Veins of electricity skittered up his cheeks, framing his golden hair and refined features in a saint’s glowing nimbus. He gazed down at me, his brow furled in puzzlement, and I realized then that he hadn’t been trying to save me—he had intended to execute us both indiscriminately.

“What are you?” Lightning crackled up his arms, smoldering at his fingertips.

“W-wait, I’m on your side.”

“I doubt that.” As the bogatyr raised his hand, there was a sound like the snap of a frozen branch. He stumbled against the tree behind him, a crimson circle of blood blooming across his uniform jacket as he sank to the ground.