Free Love Is for Tomorrow by Michael Karner, Isaac Newton Acquah

hero had to go after Koschei’s soul, but his soul was hidden, separate from his body,” Kovac said.
    Antoine got past Schwarzenbergplatz. A huge fountain sprayed up into the city’s night air, guarded by the half-ring monument of pillars and the statue of a Soviet occupation soldier looming over the place.
    “It is said that Koschei held it hidden inside a needle. This was then inside an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a hare, which was in an iron chest, buried under an oak tree, on the island of Buyan in the ocean.”
    “I don’t know why he swallowed a fly. Perhaps he’ll die,” Antoine said.
    “What?”
    “Never mind. So, how do you find it? ” Antoine asked.
    He raced past the Opera house. Its halls were now silent but the majestic veneer still illuminated the dark of night. He sped towards the Hofburg Palace.
    “As long as his soul was safe, Koschei the Deathless could not die.”
    Antoine banked hard right and barely made the curve. His wheels squealed and black smoke rose from burnt rubber on the tram rails. Then they shot past the museums’ quarter, leaving the historic part of town behind in the blink of an eye.
    Antoine looked at Kovac, seeing the parallel in it.
    “Even though it’s now in the hands of others, if we don’t find and defuse the bomb, the world is in danger.”
    Antoine pulled left, drifting from the oncoming lane to the outmost right. He rushed past the Parliament, then pulled the handbrake full stop, propelling him in a one hundred eighty degree turn on the opposite lane. Antoine felt his tires spinning and looking for grip on the tram rails. They stuck to the road and brought them forward. Antoine headed into the driveway of the Parliament’s arrival. He left it again through the exit, a curved ramp downwards that spat them back onto the ring.
    He decelerated the car and punched the remote control of his garage panel.
    “I think you got it now,” Kovac said.
    Antoine turned into his driveway, hiding the black car in his garage. A platform rose, its surface covered with gravel like a Japanese zen garden. The platform lifted higher than the car. Underneath, a door opened slowly. Antoine rolled in and killed the lights. The door closed and the garage sank, lowering the car below ground.
    The house was new architecture, built in the last two years. The design was a cube artistically placed on another cube with a big window into the back garden. It was a new home for a new beginning to leave things behind. It was no coincidence that it reminded him of a bunker.
    Antoine deactivated the alarm and unlocked the door. He slipped out of his shoes, leaning his back against the closing door. He let the keys fall onto a small table. It was just the same as when he left; modern, classy, but spartan and tidy with nothing beyond what was necessary. It was just another means to withdraw. You couldn’t plan for years with a dangerous life like this.
    “And what do you know about the tattoo’s origin?” Antoine said.
    Antoine let himself fall onto the couch. He turned on both music and tv, not intending to concentrate on either. His head sagged back.
    “You don’t let everyone in here, do you,” Kovac murmured, looking at the pictures, then turning away.
    It hadn’t always been like this. On the walls, bins and shelves held the remnants of another life. Pictures like portals to the past or another place, his son’s being the most painful.
    Antoine went to the bar. He took out a whiskey glass and a bottle of bourbon. He returned to the couch, putting the glass on the table and poured himself a drink. Instead of sitting, he paced slowly around the living room.  
    “The Koschei tattoo is used by Russian Special Forces,” Kovac said. “Khabib being Chechen narrows it down to one. I had to deal with those guys, but I wish I hadn’t. So you know how you say I have been shaped by the war? Well, that just lasted two years. Imagine one that lasted four hundred years. Then I would be