The Soul Stealer

“How is it,” Annja said, “that a globe-trotting guy like you doesn’t seem to like vegetables that much?”

“I like vegetables fine,” Bob said. “Just not cooked ones.”

“You must be putting your therapist’s kids through school,” Annja said. She dug back into her dish and washed down the spoonfuls with more thick coffee.

Gregor tore through his plate and leaned back. “This place is still run by the same woman who ran it when I was with the military. We came through here on exercise and she served my entire platoon. Her food, it is still as good as it ever was.”

“She remembers you?” Annja asked.

Gregor nodded. “Yes.”

The old woman returned and rested a hand on Gregor’s shoulder. She spoke, her Russian thick around the false teeth she wore. Gregor smiled and seemed to almost blush. Annja smiled at the thought of such a big, tough guy blushing.

“What is she saying?” Annja asked.

Bob was smiling, too. “She says he is like her son. That when he came through many years ago, he helped her rescue her kitten from the roof when it got stuck. She says a man like Gregor is tough and gentle at the same time.”

Gregor said something else to the old woman, who kissed him on the forehead and then gathered up the dishes.

“What did you say to her?” Annja asked.

“I told her that if this ever reached my friends, they would never let me live it down. I would be embarrassed.”

“You’re a big softie after all,” Annja said.

Gregor shrugged. “Only when I have to be.”

The old woman returned and this time served them a dark tea and plates of what looked like fruit slices.

“Kissel,” Gregor said. “It is stewed fruit.”

Annja popped a slice into her mouth and chewed, relishing the sweetness of the apricot slice she’d eaten. The tea reminded her of a dark black leaf tea she’d had once in China. “This was some lunch,” she said.

Gregor smiled. “She loves to cook.”

“But back to Khosadam,” Annja said. “They really are taking this seriously, huh?”

“Yes,” Bob said. He looked at Gregor. “What do they think will happen next?”

“They are concerned that she will hunt.”

“But we didn’t pass any cemeteries around here on the way in,” Annja said. “Doesn’t that kind of rule out the whole supernatural angle?”

“Just because you did not see the cemetery does not mean there is not one,” Gregor said. “The last time I was here, the villagers buried their dead behind the church.”

Annja nodded. “Down at the end of the street. Father Jakob, you mentioned.”

“Yes. He is Eastern Orthodox.”

“You think he’s still here?”

Gregor spoke to the old woman, who had come out with the bill. She handed it immediately to Bob, who started fumbling around with his wallet.

When Gregor had finished speaking, the old woman nodded. Gregor looked back at Annja.

“She says he is still here and that he will be here until the wind sweeps his dust away.”

“Colorful,” Annja said, laughing.

Bob fished out a wad of money and handed it to the old woman. She grabbed the bundle of cash and leafed through it. Her eyes softened and she kissed Bob on the forehead before trundling off.

Annja shook her head. “Looks like you won her over.”

“Money is the greatest facilitator of all,” Bob said. “A little extra green makes everyone all lovey-dovey.”

“I guess we should go and see Father Jakob,” Annja said. “Maybe he’ll be able to shed a little light on this whole situation.”

Walking out of the café, Annja felt a funny sensation and turned back to see the old woman peering through the torn lace curtain framing the windows. Gregor didn’t look back but steered Annja away.

“As I said, they are distrustful of strangers. Give them time and they will warm up to you.”

“This business of the Khosadam has them spooked,” Bob said. “Everyone is suspect.”

Annja nodded. “Quite a place we’ve come to, Bob.”

“It’s about to get even weirder if that sky carries through on the promise of a blizzard,” he said.

Annja looked up, and the thick, bloated clouds seemed as if they might fall out of the sky. “How long?”

“Soon,” Bob said. “Another hour perhaps.”

Annja looked at Gregor. “Is there a place we can stay here in town?”

Gregor pointed at a decrepit building that towered over the other buildings. “Yakutsk hotel. The only place in town.”

It looked quite run-down, but any place would serve as long as it kept them warm and safe from the blizzard outside. Annja turned to Gregor again. “Has anyone in town died recently?”

“No.”

“So, if no one has died lately, how is this Khosadam supposed to eat?”

Gregor frowned. “That is what has the villagers scared the most. It is said that when Khosadam cannot find a fresh grave, she will hunt the living.”

“She’ll kill?” Annja asked in disbelief.

“Yes. And when she kills, she will then wait for the dead person’s soul to lift from the body.”

“And then she eats it?”