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liftoff. I sidestepped and struck. By the time she landed, I’d cut her twice. She fell in a crumpled heap.
    I flicked the blood off my saber and headed for Saiman.
    “You’re Voron’s kid,” one of the men said. “We have no problem with you. Pavel’s entitled. His son just threw himself off the roof.”
    Ten to a million the son’s name was Grigorii.
    I kept coming. The two men ripped at each other, grappling and snarling like two wild animals. I was five feet away when Pavel head-butted Saiman, jerking his right arm free. A knife flashed; I lunged and saw Pavel slice across Saiman’s distended gut. A bloody clump fell, and I caught it with my left hand purely on instinct.
    Magic punched my arm. Pale glow erupted from my fist.
    Saiman twisted and stabbed something at Pavel’s right eye. The volkhv stumbled back, a bloody pencil protruding from his eye socket. For a long moment he stood, huge mouth gaping, and then he toppled like a log. Saiman spun about. The muscles of his stomach collapsed, folding, knitting together, turning into a flat washboard wall.
    The whole thing took less than three seconds.
    I opened my fist. A small gold acorn lay on my palm.
    The golden shell cracked. A sliver of green thrust its way up. The acorn rolled off my hand. The green shoot thickened, twisted, surging higher and higher. The air roared like a tornado. Saiman howled, a sound of pure rage. I grabbed him and dragged him with me to the stairs. On the other side, volkhvi ran for the edge of the roof.
    The shoot grew, turning dark, sprouting branches, leaves, and bark. Magic roiled.
    “It was supposed to be mine,” Saiman snarled. “Mine!”
    Light flashed. The roaring ceased.
    A colossal oak stood in the middle of the roof, as tall as the building itself, its roots spilling on both sides of the high-rise. Tiny lights fluttered between its branches, each wavy leaf as big as my head. Birds sang in the foliage. A huge metal chain bound the enormous trunk, its links so thick, I could’ve lain down on it. A feeling of complete peace came over me. All my troubles melted into the distance. My pain dissolved. The air tasted sweet, and I drank it in.
    At the other side of the roof, the volkhvi knelt.
    Metal clinked. A black creature came walking down the bottom loop. As big as a horse, its fur long and black, it walked softly, gripping the links with razor-sharp claws. Its head was that of a lynx. Tall tufts of black fur decorated its ears, and a long black beard stretched from its chin. Its eyes glowed, lit from within.
    The cat paused and looked at me. The big maw opened, showing me a forest of white teeth, long and sharp like knives.
    “Ask.”
    I blinked.
    “You were the last to hold the acorn,” Saiman whispered. “You must ask the question or it will kill all of us.”
    The cat showed me its teeth again.
    For anything I asked, there would be a price.
    “Ask,” the cat said, its voice laced with an unearthly snarl.
    “Ask, Kate,” Saiman prompted.
    “Ask!” one of the volkhvi called out.
    I took a deep breath.
    The cat leaned forward in anticipation.
    “Would you like some milk?”
    The cat smiled wider. “Yes.”
    Saiman groaned.
    “I’ll be right back.”
    I dashed down the stairs. Three minutes later, the cat lapped milk from Saiman’s crystal punch bowl.
    “You could’ve asked anything,” the creature said between laps.
    “But you would’ve taken everything,” I told it. “This way all it cost me is a little bit of milk.”
    * * *
    In the morning Peters came to relieve me. Not that he had a particularly difficult job. After the oak disappeared, the volkhvi decided that since both Pavel and Grigorii were dead, all accounts were settled and it was time to call it quits. As soon as we returned to the apartment, Saiman locked himself in the bedroom and refused to come out. The loss of the acorn hit him pretty hard. Just as well. I handed my fussy client off to Peters, retrieved Peggy, and headed back to the