"Asya, run!" she shouted, raising her hands and aiming at Vladimir. She let out a furious howl as a shimmering blue sphere of energy appeared between her palms. The moment the light flared, Violetta's body arched, and with all her strength she hurled the energy at her father. The sight was so terrifying that I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, expecting to hear the doctor's scream—but nothing of the sort happened. There was a thud. Then another. And another. Everything flickered before my eyes, and I couldn't understand what the hell was going on. When I opened them again, I froze in shock at what I saw.
Moving as if in fast-forward, my mother was intercepting sphere after sphere that Viola, in her rage, kept releasing, and tossing them aside to shield Vladimir, who, like a coward, tried to follow right behind her, using her as a living shield. But the doctor wasn't holding my mother by force. She was protecting the elder Smirnov of her own free will, shielding him, while his children stood staring at their sister in confusion, not understanding a thing.
"Maksim, don't just stand there like a post! Attack her, attack!" Vladimir barked, but Max only kept blinking, following each projectile with his eyes.
"Viola," Max asked quietly with trembling lips, "what are you doing?"
Stas carefully moved along the edge of the room, as if sensing the worst, and came to stand beside me. His fingers brushed softly against my palm, and in the next moment my hand was in his. There was so much warmth in that gesture, so much support—something I desperately needed in the midst of the chaos—that I didn't want to resist. It seemed he had finally heard and understood what I had said earlier, and instead of stepping in to solve everything for me, he now stood beside me, offering support at the very moment when the ground was threatening to slip from under my feet.
"He killed her! Killed her!"
Only thanks to the flashes of light from the spheres Viola kept launching could I make out her face. It was even paler than usual. A scatter of pinkish spots dotted her cheeks, the way they did on mine after crying. Beneath her eyes were the remains of smeared mascara, dissolving in a stream of bitter tears.
"He killed Mom!"
Stas's hand in mine twitched, and I immediately turned to him, catching an expression of complete incomprehension on his face. His world was crumbling right now, and he, like a mute spectator, was watching the destruction of Pompeii from a bird's-eye view, powerless to change anything. His eyes darted around, looking for any point to latch onto—anything to keep from breaking down like his sister right here and now.
The mask had fallen, revealing the real Stas. The cold calm and composure dissolved the moment that short but devastating phrase echoed through the room. However I felt about him, whatever disagreements we'd had, seeing his weakness made me want more than anything to help him: the taste of my own loss still lingered bitterly on my tongue, reminding me of the pain.
I couldn't believe what I'd heard any more than Stanislav could—because if I did, it would mean my subconscious, which clearly painted Dr. Smirnov as a monster, had been losing to brutal reality in a lopsided score. The truth had struck us all in our weakest places and kept striking, dragging everyone present into the halls of hell, where a fitting cauldron had been lovingly prepared for each to endure their suffering alone.
No, it simply couldn't be true. I hadn't heard much about the Smirnov couple, but it was nearly impossible to picture as evil a pair who had, with a firm yet loving hand, united five immortals within the walls of an old manor. Yes, there were dark impulses I could easily—and even gladly—attribute to Vladimir, but the desire to harm the children wasn't among them.
The way the doctor treated them—how coldly he lectured them, trying to discipline them just to protect them from mistakes—whether I liked to admit it or not, it made me respect him. And would a man whose heart was cold as ice really leave an empty seat at the table for the wife he had killed, as if secretly hoping to see Olga again today? I sensed something was off, but Viola's reaction drowned out the quiet voice of doubt: the pain on my friend's face was too vivid, the mark of a terrible loss too clear. What if she really had found Olga's body in the house? It was best to prepare for the worst.
Wanting to pull Stas out of the whirlpool of emotions consuming him, I squeezed his hand tighter, but his cold fingers simply loosened in response. Unstoppable, he lunged forward with such speed that he caught Maria off guard. While still deflecting the spells that Violetta kept sending at the doctor one after another, my mother had completely forgotten about her own safety. Stas noticed this and, like a predator spotting weak prey in the crowd, sharply changed direction, aiming not at Vladimir but at Maria. I noticed the change too late to react, and when Stas swung his tense hand—fingers pressed tightly together like a blade—straight toward Maria's throat, a desperate cry tore from my lips. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Event after event unfolded before my eyes like in a terrible dream.
Time seemed to slow, and a familiar chill ran over my skin.
"Oh yes," Kaandor purred sweetly.
At the last moment, Maria deflected the blow, and the fight turned into hand-to-hand combat between her and Stas. Consumed by rage, Stas launched one attack after another, and Mom, focused and tense as a drawn string, skillfully parried each strike before it could come crashing down on her. The sight could have been mesmerizing in its beauty and perfect precision: their movements were flawlessly calculated, and each opponent seemed to anticipate the other's moves on an instinctive level. Maria predicted Stas's actions as if eavesdropping on the vampire's thoughts, using it to her advantage, but there was something strange in this mad dance. Soon I realized what it was—Mom wasn't striking Stas back.
Before long, Arthur joined the frenzied dance, trying to get to Vladimir. Together with his brother, he attacked in turns, aiming to exhaust their opponent, who barely managed to dodge not only them but also the glowing spheres Violet continued to hurl. Unlike the brothers, Viola was moving slower and slower. She was already breathing heavily, her forehead glistening with sweat. It was clear how much effort each new attack cost her, yet she tried not to fall behind the brothers.
For a brief moment, as if losing concentration—or perhaps realizing the impossibility of deflecting all the force aimed at her at once—Maria made a mistake, and another energy sphere, instead of vanishing like the others when the witch redirected it away from herself, flew toward Diana and struck her straight in the stomach. The blow was so strong that the fragile girl lifted off the floor and her body hurtled into the nearest wall. The impact was powerful enough to make the furniture shake and to knock one of the paintings from its mount.
Max rushed to his beloved, but he had no time to act. Diana's head hit the wall with a loud thud before she fell to the floor; Maxim carefully lifted her and laid her across his knees. His long fingers gently supported Diana's head as he examined her.
Di had lost consciousness. God, how strong must that hit have been if she—a vampire—was knocked out? What the hell were they all doing here?!
Max's lips curved into a contemptuous smile. He gently laid Diana on the carpet by the wall, then stood up and squared his shoulders. Maxim tensed his arms and spread them wide, just as he had done in Dr. Smirnov's makeshift home infirmary. His thumb moved in sequence from index finger to pinky as if counting them, and he whispered something almost inaudibly. There was no doubt: Max was reciting a new spell, watching the battle and preparing to join it. Remembering the power Max possessed, I felt something break inside me with the realization—nothing good awaited us ahead. Driven by that thought, I began searching for my father with my eyes, seeking support. I hoped to convince him to step in and stop this chaos, and then I saw Kostya take Maria's side. They covered each other's backs and together pushed the others away from Dr. Smirnov, who was cowering in the corner.
Viola had spent all her energy. Unable to cast another spell, she grabbed a knife from the table and tried to find the right moment to wound one of my parents. I had already noticed a thin red line on Maria's cheek and shuddered.
A fire of anger and indignation at the injustice flared within me. Instead of first figuring out what was going on, everyone had rushed to throw punches. And the first line of defense to overcome in order to get to Vladimir was Maria and Kostya.
Why did my family have to be on the front line of this battle? Even though I sympathized with the others, knowing in my head that Viola must have had evidence of what her father had done, my sympathy didn't dispel the veil of fear weighing on me like a heavy shroud, paralyzing me.
My legs grew heavy, as if filled with lead, forcing me to stand even more firmly on the ground. Fear seeped inside me, whispering in a mocking tone that if I wished, I would have the power to protect my loved ones. My imagination painted a terrifying picture in which I once again stood within the gray walls of the farewell hall—only this time, on the platform were not my grandmother's coffin, but two others: one for my mother, and one for my father.
At that moment, my gaze met Kostya's, and he spoke to me so quietly that I understood only by reading his lips:
"Run."
Viola seized the moment of distraction and, with a wide swing, lunged at my father. With a wild roar, she drove the knife under Kostya's collarbone, burying the blade to the hilt with ease. Blood splattered in all directions, spattering my face. The salty, metallic scent hit my nose. I felt my teeth clatter together as if in a surge of rage, my body unable to decide whether to scream in horror or leap into the fight. With contempt, I watched Vladimir step back toward the window, weighing his chances and clearly realizing the defense wouldn't last long. I felt a surge of hatred for this man—not so much for what he had done to his own family, but for the threat the doctor had brought upon mine—and more than anything, I wanted to… no, I wouldn't dare.
"Just admit you really want to."
"No," I protested. "I'm not a monster like him."
Suddenly, Kaandor's elongated muzzle appeared over my shoulder, and I felt his warm breath on my skin. Almost searing, like the heat of summer, it carried with it the pleasant scent of thyme and rosemary.
"I'm not asking you to become like this bloodsucker. Tell me, has this vampire brought anything into the world except pain? Look"—long fingers gripped my chin, preventing me from turning away—"look at how the ones you love and long to protect are tearing each other apart. You've been given the power to stop this with one precise move. All that's left is to admit you want it more than anything in the world."
My gaze slid from the unfolding battle to the culprit of this grim spectacle, and his attempt to open the window and escape only rekindled the fire within me.
But what could I do? I was a pathetic human, just a girl caught up in a whirlpool of events I could barely explain.
Kaandor laughed theatrically, as if he had heard the course of my thoughts, and, like an old friend, ruffled the hair at the back of my head.
"Just a pitiful human? When will you understand that the human part of you is just as dead as the souls of these vampires?"
Kaandor appeared before me, and our eyes met. The warmth of amber drew me in like a flame draws a moth, and before I could even think, I stepped forward, toward my dark companion, who had already spread his arms and waited with interest, unsure whether I would dare or not.
"I will give you a power you never even dared to dream of."
More than anything, I wanted to plunge into those arms completely. To escape from the gaping hell into a parallel reality where there was no death, no struggle, no pain. Where my parents lived together, and the Smirnovs and the Chyornys were close friends. A world where Diana, Viola, and I held pajama parties, while the boys tried to convince us to sneak out into the forest in the middle of the night, build a campfire, and scare each other until morning with stories about mythical creatures that simply didn't exist. Everything could have been different if we had been ordinary people. Happier.
I had no strength to watch everything I loved disappear in an instant. A crunch sounded, as if someone had stepped on a cookie, but I kept my gaze desperately fixed on Kaandor, afraid to look at the source of the sound and realize whose body had just been broken like a fragile matchstick. I rushed into the embrace of darkness and, to my surprise, didn't touch anything at all. It felt as though I had passed straight through Kaandor's body and ended up once again in a familiar place. A place without light.
"Wake up, wolf. Wake up and take what you want to take."