Ice Angels

Posted by Extranjero on June 22, 2004 at 12:42:23:

ICE ANGELS
by
Extranjero

Somebody was knocking on a buried coffin lid. The sound made Tanya wriggle in her sleep. The countryside was full of graves, and now the earth was bringing back its dead. The hammering got louder and she squirmed away - then woke up with a start. Her mind refocused muzzily. The noise was someone banging at the door.

Tanya sat up breathlessly, her blonde hair in her eyes. The room was tinged with bluish predawn light. No fire in the grate, of course. The cold air nipped her breasts. She muffled them in mink and cleared her throat.

“What is it?”

The door was opened cautiously and Vasily looked in, his pale face like a phantom’s in the gloom. He had his rifle in one hand, a belt of cartridges over his shoulder. He eyed her naked shoulders, then looked right into her face. “Get ready, girl. I heard the train. They’re coming!”

Tanya’s heart jumped up against her ribs. She nodded dumbly. He shut the door again and left her sitting in the bleak, enormous bedroom. The bed was piled high with furs, enough to keep her naked body warm. But a snowy dawn was seeping in, and chilly draughts crept round the room like rats.

She hesitated like a child, then threw the covers back. Her firm breasts swelled and tightened in the cold. Shivering, she clambered from the unfamiliar bed, her gilded hair cascading down her back. She pulled her fur-lined boots on first, then shrugged into the Countess’s mink coat. It reached down to her ankles and she wrapped it round herself. There wasn’t time to think of skirt or stockings. Her holster was still hanging from the bedpost. As she disentangled it, the pile of furs began to stir behind her.

Elena came up blinking, as short-sighted as a mole. She felt the kiss of frost and caught her breath. Like Tanya she’d slept naked, but a muffler was still knotted round her throat. She wore a pair of gloves as well, insisting that they kept her warm in bed. This despite that fact that she had snuggled up with Tanya, as cosy as a cat beneath the furs.

“Jesus, that was one too many vodkas …” she said faintly. Tanya gave a tight-lipped smile and slung the holster strap over her shoulder. Elena was groping for her steel-rimmed spectacles. Once she put those on she’d be a schoolmistress again, despite her shapely body and large breasts. She drew her fair hair back and peered at Tanya, her big blue eyes now focused and perturbed. “Oh God,” she breathed. “She’s coming, isn’t she?”

Tanya nodded once. “They’re on their way.”

Elena got up hurriedly and draped the Count’s long cloak around her shoulders. The red silk lining matched her gloves and scarf. Tanya’s thin smile sparked again. “We’ll make a Red Guard of you yet, my girl!” Elena simpered nervously and looked round for her gun. It was lying by the washbowl in the corner, an American revolver with a tsarist double eagle on the grips. She picked the Smith & Wesson up and weighed it in her hand, her earnest face a picture of unease. Tanya kissed her on the cheek and went into the draughty corridor.

The house was as imposing as a palace, with evidence of wealth on every side. But the finery was frozen in a pitiless blue light, and snow had flurried in through broken windows. Pigeons roosted, whirring, in the dimness overhead, their droppings spattered on the furniture. Tanya strode through spacious rooms, the heavy holster bumping at her ribs. It made her feel more confident, but apprehension fluttered in her chest. Here she was, a farmer’s daughter, not yet twenty-three, who’d helped to turn the country upside down. But she was still her mother’s girl, with her wide green eyes and pretty, dimpled smile. She wished the war was over like she wished that it was spring. The frosty morning chill could promise neither.

Vasily had gone ahead and knocked on all the doors. Saskia appeared out of the room where she’d been sleeping, her peasant comeliness enhanced by someone’s camisole and French-style knickers. Her blonde hair was a tangled thatch, her brown eyes serious.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” she murmured. Tanya saw her nipples stiffen through the silk. “Or maybe it’s just her that I can feel ...”

“They don’t call her the Ice Angel for nothing,” Tanya said. She went on down the passageway towards the master bedroom. Nikola was standing guard, an army greatcoat over her chemise. Between the thigh-length garment and her boots, her legs were bare. A Mosin 1891 was cradled in her arms.

“I’d better talk to them,” said Tanya grimly. The tall girl nodded, biting at her lip. She looked like an aristo herself, with her fine cheekbones and tumbling dark hair. Her pale skin had grown paler, but her eyes were still a vivid sapphire blue.

Tanya pushed the doors open and walked into the room. The women sitting on the floor looked round in sudden fright. There were four of them: the Countess, her two daughters and a maid. All of them had been stripped nude to keep them from escaping, with just some furs and blankets to protect them from the cold.

The Countess rose up on her knees, a fur clasped to her chest. Naked though she was, she moved with dignity and grace. She might have been twice Tanya’s age but still looked beautiful, with her lustrous dark hair and sharp sloe eyes. Her voice was crisp and even like the snow around the house.

“I’ll ask you once again. Where is my husband?”

“He’s gone for trial,” said Tanya, “charged with crimes against the workers.”

One of the daughters sobbed at that. Her sibling cuddled her. Both girls had inherited their mother’s dark-eyed beauty, as well as the firm curves of her physique. Tearful Olav was eighteen, Sofia a year older. Zara, their blonde maid, was eighteen too.

“The dogs will have their day, you mean.” The Countess curled her lip. “And what of us? Shall we be martyred next?”

“You’re being kept here for your own protection,” Tanya said. “I’ve fought the Whites for seven months. My quarrel’s not with you. But the Workers’ Council wants to see you punished. They’ve sent someone to take you back for trial.”

The other woman stiffened, but she clung to her composure. “I’m sure that you’ve already reached a verdict.”

“Yes we have,” said Tanya. “We’re not going to give you up.”

Now the Countess looked perplexed, her dark eyes narrowing. Tanya smiled with bitter satisfaction. The other girls were staring up, not sure how to react. Zara’s glum face lit with wary hope.

Tanya looked away. “There’s been enough blood spilled,” she said. “It’s time we started looking to the future.”

“So,” the Countess murmured. “And you think your Workers’ Council will accept that?”

Tanya glanced at her and shrugged. “I don’t believe so, Countess … so I guess the bloodshed isn’t finished yet.”

She briefly caught Sofia’s eye. The nineteen-year-old beauty didn’t blink. Tanya turned and went out of the room. The doors banged shut.

The house was all astir by now. The men had gathered in the gloomy hall. Nikola touched Tanya’s arm and went downstairs to join them. Tanya felt a surge of pride: there’d always be a woman in the vanguard. The other members of her squad were waiting in the passage. Saskia wore a gentleman’s frock coat over her undies, and balanced her Mosin rifle on one shoulder. Layla had emerged as well, still wearing one of Miss Sofia’s nightgowns. The garment was cream silk, and bulged with Layla’s ample bosom. She was a sultry Slavic girl, with long dark hair and lively almond eyes. She’d put a fur-trimmed coat on but was hunched against the cold. One of the Count’s fine sporting guns was braced against her hip.

Elena shifted nervously. “How many will there be?”

“Enough,” said Tanya, unslinging her holster. She turned her gaze to Saskia and Layla. “You two guard the bedroom and the staircase. Me and Elena will keep watch from the windows at the front. Good luck, girls …” Her voice tailed off. The four of them embraced. Bare breasts nuzzled breasts cocooned in silk.

They moved apart reluctantly, and Tanya headed back towards her bedroom. She unbuttoned the holster flap and pulled the pistol out: a heavy Luger with an eight-inch barrel. Elena scurried after her, the Smith & Wesson ready in her hand. A rosy glow was seeping round the heavy velvet drapes. Tanya pulled them open and looked out across the snowy countryside.

The fields were bluish, tinged with pink. The whole world seemed asleep. Still gazing through the frosty pane, she turned the wood-backed holster in her hands. It latched onto the gun butt and became a shoulder stock. As she fastened it in place, Elena gave a gasp. A crowd of creeping shadows had appeared over the rise. Mounted men on both sides of a stately horse-drawn sleigh.

Tanya peered down into the courtyard. The cobblestones were cloaked in snow, the fountain frozen over. Vasily and several other men had stepped outside. They had their rifles with them, but took care to hold the weapons casually.

The sleigh approached along the road, its horses kicking up a spume of snow. The silence raised the hairs on Tanya’s neck. There were maybe twenty riders, scarfed and faceless. The growing light behind them made a ghostly fog out of their horses’ breath.

Tanya plugged a snail magazine into the Luger. The metal drum held twenty rounds, with twelve more in the feedway. She glanced at Elena, licked her lips and toggled the first shell into the chamber.

The sleigh came through the open gates and glided to a halt. The horsemen reined in watchfully around it. The men in the courtyard stood their ground, and the two groups faced each other for a minute. Tanya looked for Nikola and saw her by the fountain, her rifle loosely held across her thighs. As she raised her eyes again, a black-clad figure stepped down from the sleigh.

“That’s her?” Elena whispered. Tanya nodded sombrely.

The young woman was small, five-two. Her mounted escort dwarfed her. And yet she had such presence that the morning held its breath. She wore a sable-trimmed black coat, nipped in at the waist and swelling tightly round her breasts. A black muffler was round her neck and black gloves on her hands. Her dark fur hat and short dark hair offset a striking face, with chiselled cheekbones, pouting lips and bottomless brown eyes.

“Rebekah Sergeyevna … we are honoured,” Tanya breathed.

The girl they called the Ice Angel surveyed the waiting soldiers. Her riders sat and brooded at her back. Elena leaned forward, pressed her nose against the glass. “I’ve heard so many tales,” she said, more awed than apprehensive. “They say she was a Lady who gave up her wealth to stand beside the workers.”

Maybe that was true, but Tanya guessed the girl was still a haughty bitch. She could picture her arriving on the train from Petrograd, not deigning to descend until the steps were swept of snow. That coat was worth more roubles than a worker ever earned. The farm girl in her bridled at the thought.

“Comrades!” said Rebekah, in a voice that rang like crystal through the cold. “I’m here to fetch the whores who fucked our country. The White Armies are far away … so why have you got rifles in your hands?”

“We took a vote,” said Vasily. “We want no part in terror or revenge. These women should be put to work, as cooks or seamstresses. We’ll build a just society that way!”

“The Council wants them put on trial,” Rebekah answered calmly. “The workers have spoken. Who speaks against the workers?”

Tanya’s eyes were drawn towards a movement in the sleigh. The driver had climbed into the back, and was crouching down beside another man. Something metal glinted as a rug was pulled aside. She felt a sudden tingle of alarm.

“We’re soldiers,” Vasily called back. “We have a voice as well!”

Rebekah simply raised her hand and brought it sweeping down. A flicker of flame came from the sleigh and filled the yard with noise. It sounded like a dozen blacksmiths hammering at once. A squall of bullets hit the house, exploding into bricks and smashing windows. Two men went down straight away, like unstrung marionettes. The rest brought up their rifles desperately. One or two got off a shot. A rider was kicked backwards off his horse. Then the machine gun tracked across, and no-one could find shelter from the storm.

The weapon was a Maxim, spewing nine bullets a second. They kicked up clouds of powdered snow and tinged it with an aerosol of blood. Soldiers jerked and shuddered as they worked their rifle bolts, collapsing in a spray of crimson slush. Bullets glanced off cobbles and chipped fragments from the fountain. Nikola began to wail, still trying to get Rebekah in her sights. Then the storm blew through her and she juddered frantically. The bullets whacked into her breasts, which jiggled with the shockwave of each hit. Blood spilled out through her chemise and splashed the wall behind her. She dropped her rifle, clawing at herself in agony. The storm passed on, consuming other lives; it left her writhing. Her pretty face contorted as she twisted round and pitched into the snow.

Tanya pistol-whipped the glass and fired down at the sleigh. The heavy Luger bucked against her hand. The Maxim kept on firing, blasting Vasily apart, but then the gunner slumped as he was hit. The horsemen had their rifles out and were adding to the barrage. A couple spotted Tanya’s fire and switched their aim to her.

She and Elena ducked away as bullets smashed through the remaining glass. The yard was strewn with corpses and Rebekah’s men were rushing for the doors. “Come on,” panted Tanya, “we’ll be fucked if they get further than the hall!” Elena followed, pale with shock, a tear spilling forlornly down her cheek.

The last man had been shot down in the hallway. Rebekah’s Red Guards crashed into the house. Fierce men in furs and greatcoats, draped with bandoliers. Layla’s stomach knotted as she saw them surge towards her. She was halfway down the staircase: there was nowhere to retreat. She triggered her shotgun from the hip, then fired the second barrel from her shoulder. The blasts of buckshot riddled the front rank with bloody holes. Biting on her panic, Layla threw the gun aside and dragged a Nagant pistol from her coat. Saskia came down behind her, burning through her rifle’s five-round clip. Bodies flailed beneath the impacts, tumbling to the carpet. Ornaments exploded and the wallpaper was patterned with bright red. Layla started backing up the stairs, her pistol blazing. Her nipples stood out clearly through the fine silk of her gown.

One of the Guards rolled into view, his own revolver pumping. The Nagant ’95 held seven rounds: he fired them all. The third hit Layla’s stomach and the fifth and sixth blew holes in her right breast. She jerked spasmodically, her mouth agape with utter shock. Her plump breast bounced like a blancmange, blood soaking through the silk. She made a helpless mewling sound, then choked as the last bullet pierced her heart. It burst out through her back, and Saskia felt warm droplets fleck her camisole. She squealed in horror, slumping to the stairs as Layla dropped. She hauled the rifle’s bolt back and an empty cartridge floated from the breech. As it rose into the air, Rebekah’s Guards came round the corner firing. Their bullets stitched and ripped the doomed girl’s camisole and coat. She bucked against the stairs as slugs went chewing through her body, her teeth clenched in a rictus of despair. Blood squirted from her midriff and sprayed hotly from her breasts. The impacts kicked her over and she slithered down to nuzzle Layla’s corpse. Her woeful eyes watched blankly as their boots came pounding past her. Her blood pooled on the stair below and spilled onto the next.

The men had almost reached the top when Tanya started firing. She jammed the Luger’s stock against her hip and pumped the trigger. The leading Guards convulsed and crumpled backwards, encumbering their comrades further down. Tanya’s fury rose like vomit, bursting in a shrill scream from her mouth. Her long fur coat hung open to reveal her nudity, and they took that gorgeous vision to their graves. One man clutched his riddled chest, still gawking at her breasts. Another slumped while staring at her muff. And now Elena joined the fray, her schoolmarmy timidity forgotten. Leaned across the banisters, exposing her own tits, she fired her big revolver with both hands. The Guards went stumbling back beneath the onslaught. Anyone who paused to aim was blasted off his feet. Tanya raised the Luger to her shoulder, raking them: each trigger-pull a payback for the dead girls on the stairs. Amid the spurt and slop of blood, she glimpsed a figure with a stick grenade. She blazed at him ferociously and saw his body sag. The activated stick-bomb hit the carpet as he fell. A sharp explosion filled the hall with smoke.

Tanya forced her finger to stop squeezing. She gestured to Elena as the smoke churned up the stairs. “Come on,” she hissed, “let’s get the women out.” But Elena waved her pistol. “Christ, I’ve got no bullets left!” She darted back towards Sofia’s bedroom, where she’d left her cartridge belt along with her clothes. Tanya hesitated, then rushed on to the Countess’s room. Panicked birds were flapping in the gloomy passageway, like unquiet spirits trapped between the walls. Dodging them, she burst into the bedroom. The Countess and her daughters looked as pale as porcelain.

“Get up, quick,” she gasped. “We have to run!”

“Run where?” the Countess asked her, very calmly. “They’ve turned on you now, haven’t they? You poor girl. I do know how you feel.”

Tanya gazed at her, nonplussed. The woman sounded truly sympathetic. She felt her own breasts heaving as she stood there on the threshold. Despite the cold, she realised she was sweating in the mink. The daughters and their maid were watching, huddled by the bed. But then Sofia rose and came towards her. “Thank you,” she said meekly, and kissed Tanya on the mouth.

For just a moment Tanya closed her eyes, despite herself. Ever since they’d met, there’d been some kind of breathless chemistry between them. Words unspoken, glances veiled, desires buried deep. Now it felt as if the girl was kissing life goodbye. Her tongue poked into Tanya’s mouth and left a hard round object, like a sweet. Tanya drew back, frowning, and Sofia turned away, her face serene.

“You’d better leave,” the Countess said. “Unless you wish to join us.”

Even as Tanya stared at her, one hand against her lips, Rebekah’s men were creeping up the stairs.

The vanguard had fixed bayonets, prepared to fight the traitors room to room. They picked their way between the bodies, climbing through a haze of acrid smoke. Their comrades had revolvers drawn and stick grenades to hand. The Ice Angel was at their backs, a Mauser automatic in her grip.

Tanya closed the bedroom door as if it were the entrance to a tomb. A spatter of wingbeats made her jump; she turned and glimpsed a movement in the gloom. Firing twice, she bolted in the opposite direction. A staircase climbed the angle of the wall and she hared up it. With any luck they’d follow her and overlook the Countess and her girls …

Elena heard the shooting as she fumbled with her pistol. She stiffened in the chilly room, eyes huge behind her glasses. Beyond the door, the house seemed full of movement. The sense of isolation turned her belly cold with dread. Biting her lip, she unlatched the revolver. The frame swung forward on its hinge, ejecting the spent shells. The heavy cloak encumbered her; she shrugged it off and felt her nipples stinging. Naked but for scarf and gloves, she thumbed fresh rounds into the cylinder.

“In here,” Rebekah snapped and kicked the door in. The candles wavered in the sudden draught. The Countess and her daughters flinched, but kept their dark eyes fixed on the intruder. The girls clung to their mother like a pair of anxious fawns, and she herself looked regal as a queen. The furs they clutched around themselves could barely hide their curves. Zara had backed off into the corner, pressing a stole against herself as if that could deflect what had to come. Rebekah smiled as smugly as a cat and crossed the threshold. Her gun was steady in her velvet glove.

“The sentence of the people’s court will be delivered now.” Two men joined her as she spoke, their own revolvers aimed. Zara mewled, still clutching the fox fur against her cleavage. The Countess curled her painted lip with perfect elegance.

“Of course you joined the workers,” she said dryly. “No gentleman would fuck a tramp like you.”

The smirk fell off Rebekah’s face. Her eyes flared like dark suns. She squeezed the Mauser’s trigger and a bullet struck the Countess in the brow. Her head smacked back against the wall and blood splashed out around it, an unclean halo soaking through the gilded wallpaper. She stared in startled disbelief. The dark pit in her forehead turned bright red. Then she made a croaking sound and started to collapse. Rebekah fired again and kept on firing.

The other men joined in, grim-faced, their muzzle flashes lighting up the room. The daughters clutched each other but could not withstand the avalanche of lead. Squealing, they were wrenched apart and bounced against the wall. Sofia stretched her arms out in reflexive supplication, grimacing as the bullets chewed her breasts. Her dark head flopped, then flipped back as Rebekah riddled her. Olav clasped her belly with a wail of agony, then jiggled as her tits were punctured too. Zara writhed and tried to clutch at half a dozen wounds, her face a mask of pain as she slid downward. The gunfire kept them twitching till the last round had been fired, and then they slithered drooping to the floor.

Rebekah took a fresh clip from her pocket and thumbed it down into the open breech. Her pale young face was tinged with pink, her dark eyes glittering. She took a breath of smoky air and strode out of the room. The two men followed dutifully, reloading as they came. One of them glanced back towards the tangle of nude bodies, then licked his lips and closed the door behind him.

Men were clumping round the house, on this floor and above her. Startled birds went fluttering ahead through empty rooms. Rebekah heard the crunch of kicked-in doors; the creak of floorboards. “I want those traitors found,” she said. “I want them executed on the spot.”

Even as she spoke, a Guard went barging through Sofia’s bedroom door. A naked girl was waiting with a big revolver levelled in both hands. Before he could react, Elena shot him in the chest. His blood splashed on the men who pressed behind him.

Elena’s breasts were shivering with cold as much as fear. She took a step back, hauling on the double-action trigger. The icy light was turning gold but couldn’t warm her body. Her modest country schoolroom seemed a thousand miles away.

The Smith & Wesson barked again, and sprayed the next man’s brains against the doorpost. Elena’s stomach heaved and plunged, and all the time her gun was riding upward. As she fought it down again, a third man blundered through. She glimpsed his levelled bayonet and whimpered in alarm. The first Guard was collapsing, and the second’s blood still trickled down the wall. The third man seemed to wade through glue. She had all day to aim. But then he sprang to meet her and his bayonet sank deep into her belly.

Elena wailed in disbelief and watched the slender spike impaling her. Her cleavage framed it perfectly. She felt a griping ache. Hunching up, she dropped her gun and grasped the rifle barrel with both hands. It slithered through her woollen gloves; she whimpered frantically. Then the point burst something in her stomach, and a sudden flood of acid made her scream. The soldier drove her backwards till she thumped against the wall, one slender thigh drawn up reflexively. The bayonet was lodged inside her, grating on a rib. Elena squirmed in agony, her soft breasts quivering. The man put his strength behind the thrust and forced her body upward. She howled as she was hoisted up the wall.

Tanya’s fine hairs prickled as she heard the dying shriek. She was waiting on the top floor, pistol braced. This must have been the playroom when the girls were growing up. Battered soft toys lolled on chairs; a rocking horse stood poised beneath the skylight. Listening to the creak of boots, she rolled Sofia’s gift around her mouth. It slipped into her fingers and she felt her eyes grow wide. The object was a diamond, the size of a hazelnut. She had no time to guess what it was worth. Popping it back into her mouth, she backed off from the doorway. The door was booted open and the fight began again.

Tanya beat the first man to the trigger. She riddled him, the Luger’s stock pressed tight against her ribs. The bullets thudded into him like drill-bits chewing wood, erupting to cut down the men behind. More Guards rushed the door, revolvers blazing. Soft toys twitched convulsively and china dolls exploded. The horse reared up as bullets splintered through it. Tanya fired as fast as she could work the Luger’s trigger, oblivious to the shots fired in return. Rebekah’s men dropped, writhing, as blood spurted through their coats. In moments they were scattered at her feet.

Silence flooded through the room, but echoes filled her ears. The horse was creaking slowly on its rockers, back and forth. Tanya raised her gun to check the winding lever underneath the drum. It had worked its way around, so there were less than twelve shots left. The house was hushed, alive with expectation. She darted for the doorway on the far side of the room.

The corridor beyond was bare and dingy. The maidservants would sleep up here; there had to be a staircase to the kitchens. As she hurried down the passage, something rustled in the gloom. A pigeon – or a grimy dove – came clattering towards her. Tanya ducked, and glimpsed the figure lurking in her path. The Ice Angel had found the staircase first.

The two girls fired, their muzzle flashes merging. Something plucked at Tanya’s coat and fanned Rebekah’s cheek. Tanya lunged against the nearest door and stumbled through, while Rebekah dived into the next room down. Their guns began to blaze again, the bullets punching through the wall between them. The curtains were drawn in Tanya’s room, engulfing it in shadow, and dusty sunlight speared through every hole. She bobbed and weaved amidst the beams, still blasting the partition, her mind’s eye focused on the black-clad bitch. A mirror smashed behind her and the washbowl was upended. Between them they’d put nearly twenty holes into the wall. Tanya forced herself to pause, and found Rebekah’s gun had fallen silent. So had the Ice Angel been hit, or was it just a bluff?

Tanya glanced towards the door, then moved up to the window. She pulled the drapes apart, and felt the golden winter sunshine bathe her breasts. There was nowhere she could go from here. The courtyard was a very long way down. As she drew back from the glass, a floorboard creaked behind her and she froze.

She knew before she turned that she was in Rebekah’s sights. A queasy sort of calm came over her. Slowly she looked round, the Luger dangling from her hand. Sunlight streamed around her, made a nimbus of her hair. The Ice Angel was standing on the threshold, her automatic levelled in both gloves.

“Drop the gun, and get down on your knees,” Rebekah sneered.

Tanya stared at her, then dropped down sharply. Sunlight blazed into the room and hit the other woman in the face. Rebekah squinted, flinching back, and Tanya fired snap-shot. A wound bloomed like a poppy in the breast of the black coat. Rebekah gave a sob of pain and fired; the shot went wide. Tanya pulled the trigger on the last round in her gun. It blew a round hole in Rebekah’s forehead.

The girl had been grimacing; now her pale face went blank. A crimson streamer hit the wall behind her. She teetered with her eyes closed, like a child kissed goodnight - as if the shot had blown her sins away. Blood streamed down beside her nose to stain her sable collar. She dropped her gun and crumpled to the floor.

Tanya straightened up too fast, and sagged against the window. Her breasts heaved with reaction and relief. The sun felt cold against her neck. She gripped her empty gun.

Oh Jesus, is it over now? she thought.

Down below, a Mosin rifle cracked as if in answer. The bullet smashed the window pane and pierced the mink coat in a puff of smoke. Tanya jerked with shock as it seared through her, erupting from the centre of her chest. Blood came spurting after it to splash across her breasts. Open-mouthed, she arched her spine and slumped against the window. It felt as if the numbing blow had turned her inside out.

The splintered window frame gave way and tipped her body out into the dawn. As she plummeted through space, she tasted Miss Sofia in her mouth. Pain was glowing in her chest, a spark about to catch - but then she struck the fountain in the courtyard. The sheet of ice exploded, spraying murky water high into the air. Tanya’s mind went out like a snuffed candle. She sprawled there with her breasts awash, legs dangling from the bowl, like a fallen angel hurled from Paradise.

The ice had burst into a thousand diamonds. They sparkled all around her in the snow. So no-one saw the jewel in the dead girl’s open mouth, as Sofia’s kiss grew cold on Tanya’s tongue.