Chapter Text
By the crimson light of the full moon, some six shadowy figures rode dark horses away from Moscow, never again turning back. Although there was no risk of turning into a pillar of salt, the ride ahead required focus. They rode through the air, and then as if through a curtain. All their enchantments fell away, revealing their real shapes. One of them, who had formerly been a cat, noticed something was off.
“One, two, three, four,” Behemoth counted under his breath, “five… No, that's not right. Oh, and me. That's six. Six? That still can't be right.”
“One–the queen, two–her consort, three and four–Azazello and messire, five and six– me and Koroviev…” Behemoth paused for a second.
“Oh, Hella,” he realized.
She wasn't with them.
“She's going to be so angry,” he thought to himself. He had better tell Woland.
“Messire,” he whispered, trying to catch his master’s attention. “Messire!”
Woland only glared back at him, as if bidding him to be silent, or to wait.
Soon enough, the party stopped on a hill, and Behemoth waited for his chance to bring it up, while Woland spoke to the soon-to-be-happy couple.
As soon as the attention of Margarita and the master was occupied somewhere else, Woland turned back to Behemoth.
“Now,” Woland said curtly, “what is it that you were pestering me for?”
“I have reason to believe there has been a mistake.”
“Do you? Well, it would have been unprofessional to bring it up in front of,”–here he gestured silently with his head at the couple,–“them, you know.”
“Certainly, messire,” squeaked Behemoth, “and I certainly apologize, which, by the way, is what we're going to have to do to Hella.”
Woland’s eyes widened in comprehension. He muttered something forceful and rude under his breath, which culminated in:
“useless cat!”
–A remark that stung Behemoth, since he was no longer in cat form, and he believed that he had been doing what was asked of him quite well, thank you very much.–
But now was not the time for talking back, so he simply asked,
“Me, sir?”
“She was supposed to be with you and Koroviev.”
“But messire,” Behemoth protested, “I was under the impression that she had gone with you and Azazello!”
Woland gave a weary sigh.
“Azazello,” he called softly, “come here for a second.”
The red-headed demon assassin obeyed at once.
“Is something the matter?” Azazello asked.
“Is something the matter? Yes,” answered Woland, putting his face in his palm, “do a head count.”
He complied.
“Lovebird one, lovebird two,” he counted, “yourself, myself, checkers, fluffy,–”
–at which Behemoth indignantly muttered “excuse you!”–
“–and..”
Then it clicked.
“Ginger,” Azazello concluded. “We forgot her.”
“Or at least Koroviev and Behemoth did,” he added, swiftly shifting the blame. Not that it would do any good at this point.
“She's going to kill us.”
“Kill us? Of course not. The very idea! She'll be irritated, yes, but not deranged,” Behemoth interjected.
“I wasn't speaking literally,” Azazello snapped. He turned back to Woland. “What are we going to do?”
“I'm thinking, I'm thinking,” Woland said, stalling.
Azazello cursed under his breath.
“Oh, what if she was arrested?” he asked worriedly.
“My dear fellow,” said Woland with mild surprise, “we all know our Hella is capable enough of getting herself un-arrested in a blink.”
“Yes, of course,” said Azazello, “and she would make quite a mess of whoever tried to arrest her– our permit for mayhem expires at dusk, and I don't want to get fined by upstairs. They're always so finicky.”
“True.”
“Is anything the matter?” asked Koroviev, striding to join them. The violet plume in his helmet bobbed in the wind.
“Not that I'd like to discuss in front of our guests,” said Woland in warning tones.
“Margarita and the writer have already gone down the road to their new house,” said Koroviev, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb.
“By the way,” he added, “where's Hella? She got out of the fire alright, but I thought she went with you two afterwards.”
Woland grimaced.
“Oh dear,” Koroviev said simply.
He felt a bit guilty– he and Behemoth had been dining out and stealing mandarin oranges while their friend had been left behind! Also, she was going to be so angry.
Even though they'd saved her a mandarin.