Since We Are Apart

Chapter 8. The Dark Passenger

Vladimir headed toward me. He moved from his place, but the shadow did not follow him. What the hell? This wasn’t just a play of light. On the wall appeared a full silhouette, human-sized, but its head looked like a wolf’s because of the elongated pointed ears—triangles. Besides the stranger’s shape, no details could be made out: wherever my gaze landed, the surface seemed to ripple and move. But I didn’t give up. Sliding my eyes down to his arm, I could see only one thing: a neon snake coiled around the forearm in two loops. The cold reptile’s head silently stared at me, and my stomach clenched so fiercely it felt as if her kin were swarming inside. I felt dizzy. Nausea rose to my throat, and the spasm inside was so strong I wanted to pull my legs up, which I did. Vladimir immediately reacted to the movement and was at the head of the bed with the syringe ready.

“I don’t feel well,” I said, feeling sweat break out on my forehead.

“It will get easier soon, just hang on a bit,” Vladimir said, bringing the syringe closer to my arm—and the creature spoke again.

“Don’t let him inject that crap.”

“Wait,” I managed with difficulty to push myself away from the doctor. “What are you giving me?”

“A sedative, as usual,” he moved closer. Diana and I exchanged looks.

My friend tiptoed to the table, picked up the ampoule, and began turning it in her hands. Diana looked puzzled, which made me even more uneasy.

“Dad, why does the liquid in the vial look like vampire poison?”

Vladimir didn’t answer. He sharply grabbed my forearm, holding it still. The doctor’s fingers squeezed the skin so painfully that I gasped.

“Why don’t you explain anything?”

“Because I see I don’t have time for that.”

“Dad!”

Diana stepped forward, but before she could do anything, the door suddenly flew off its hinges. In one swift motion, someone reached Vladimir and grabbed him around the torso. The attacker moved so fast I couldn’t see his face. Only the edge of a black leather jacket flashed before my eyes before its owner fell with Smirnov to the floor.

Diana recoiled against the wall, almost blending with a motionless dark figure that, like a silent observer, watched everything intently, as if the decisions made now were stakes for what was to come.

“What are you doing to my daughter?” Kosta’s voice thundered through the room.

“Mister Black, where’s all this distrust from? Have I ever done anything to harm you or your family? I thought we had a pact.”

I wanted to get up and help my father. To get away from this deceptively friendly house. But as soon as I moved, my head spun.

This was something new. Just now, nothing like it had happened. A buzzing filled my ears, and in the distance I heard the familiar white noise again. A heaviness settled over my eyes, but I held on as best I could, trying to understand why such a change. My gaze fell on the raised arm with Smirnov’s syringe sticking out. He hadn’t finished injecting, but judging by my reaction, some of it had entered my bloodstream. My fingers grew heavy as lead, but I managed to grab the syringe and pull it out. I did it too sharply, and blood immediately splattered on my skin.

“Dad,” Diana called. “Dad!”

But the men kept arguing, one louder than the other.

“Something’s happening, Dad!” Diana covered her face with her hands, partially shielding it. My friend shrank as if about to cry.

The dark entity’s eyes glowed amber.

“It has begun,” the shadow’s lips curled into a snarl, revealing a row of pearly white teeth.

“Who are you?” I barely moved my lips, hoping that if the stranger was watching, he would be listening.

“I am Darkness. That is how you called me.”

“What is happening to her?” my father’s voice echoed.

My eyes tried to close despite my efforts to hold them open. A chill ran through my body. It became so cold that I began to tremble.

“Do something, Vladimir!” my father shouted. His voice was drowned out by the siren of a monitor nearby.

“No,” my throat dried up, but I felt, no, I knew I needed to ask. “What is your real name?”

The dark companion’s eyes flared brighter, and the snake hissed, ready to strike. The reptile aimed at the stranger.

“If I answer, there will be no turning back.”

“Is she dying?”

“Diana, bring Maxim!”

“And yet…” I whispered, and the stranger answered before my eyelids finally shut, and a monotonous beep sounded from the heart monitor.

“Kaandor.”

His name flooded through me with a wild surge of energy that gave me strength, but only for a moment. The saving relief lasted just an instant, giving a tiny respite before I plunged back into another wave of pain. The stirring inside no longer felt like a nervous spasm, no. I jumped from the many small jolts in my stomach, as if something alive was inside, desperately trying to break free.

“Asya?” my father looked at me in horror. “Asya, where does it hurt? Where?”

I gasped for air, unable to say a word. My fingers slid to my clothes and tugged at the edge, trying to open my jacket, but my hands wouldn’t obey.

Vladimir reacted faster than Kosta. With a sharp motion, the doctor pulled up the fabric, exposing my stomach, and then I saw what I feared. Something really was inside me. One after another, lumps of skin rose and fell in waves. For a moment I thought I was done for: Smirnov would eagerly grab a scalpel and cut me from throat to groin, enjoying the chance to pull out and study what throbbed inside me. Another mysterious creature, kindly delivered into his hands.

I imagined him apologizing to Kosta, saying he couldn’t save me during surgery, and now it was too late, condolences. My father would grieve with Maria, blaming each other in turn, while the doctor with ease hid the fresh subject deep in some basement, like he once did with Galina. And the suffering wouldn’t end as long as there was a knowledge-hungry vampire who wouldn’t hesitate to use another’s life as a bargaining chip for the illusory good of the masses.

To my horror, Vladimir really reached for the scalpel, but before he could do anything, Maxim and Diana appeared behind him. My friend was instantly on the other side of the hospital bed and firmly squeezed my hands.

“I’m here, I’m right here. Everything will be okay,” her voice trembled because Diana didn’t believe her own words; horror was clear on her face as she looked at the creature writhing under my skin. But Di kept repeating the words like a mantra, as if trying to calm not only me but also to give herself hope.

“Max, hurry!” the doctor commanded. “Konstantin, hold her down on this side! Your daughter doesn’t like me much.”

Without protest, my father bent over my body and pressed his broad palms on my shoulders, pinning me to the hospital bed. Max stood at my feet and slowly unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, then rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, freeing his forearms. He raised his half-bent arms before him, palms turned upward to the ceiling, and began chanting line after line in a language unknown to me. The longer Maxim spoke, the more his eyes rolled back, and his voice grew louder.

“Veerna atlaan, Sgihirat sham mimoe. Duhat las viori, Pierni nen limoi.”

The light in the room flickered, and out of nowhere a wind arose. It blew Maxim’s wavy hair in all directions, sometimes tangling before his eyes, but Smirnov seemed oblivious to everything as the strange chant continued. And how the hell was this supposed to help me? The earlier thoughts of Vladimir’s scalpel seemed, in that moment, almost hopeful: I was ready to beg the doctor to intervene and pull this damn thing out of me that now fought to escape with renewed vigor.

But my hopes were dashed: Vladimir took a seat near the dark entity, away from the action, watching not so much me as Maxim expectantly.

My stomach began to swell even higher, inflating like a balloon. I felt my skin stretch. A strange pinkish mist slid across the surface. I didn’t know if I was really seeing it or if the pain clouded my mind. Doubts about the reality of what was happening vanished when the veil grew denser and clearer. Like feathery clouds, it covered the skin’s smoothness in a shroud.

“Turvidu aelume shatu, niviria kiilmaa,” Max swayed in time with his song, gradually bringing his palms together, and from the side it looked as if it required effort. He seemed to be compressing the air around him into an invisible sphere, shrinking its boundaries smaller and smaller. His fingers tensed. Maxim did this confidently and without hesitation, as if he practiced it every day or every other day. I shifted my gaze from Maxim to my stomach and back until I noticed my belly gradually shrinking, as if responding to the singing.

“Stuurna bilak taa! Brivida sakir bata!” Maxim lifted his head and shouted the last lines. The room filled with a pale cold light, as if the moon itself had crept inside. Max straightened his arms and raised them above his head, reaching even higher, and I was amazed that with his height he didn’t touch the ceiling—strange thoughts passed through my mind before I realized my body no longer trembled, and inside I no longer felt the foreign presence. The pink mist, like a living creature, stretched toward Maxim’s palms, gradually fitting into the illusory sphere between his fingers. When the last part of the mist was inside, Smirnov swung and with a roar hurled the sphere to the floor at his feet.

A pop sounded, and immediately the wind in the room calmed, and the light became warm and muted again. Max was breathing heavily and continuously looking at the spot where he had aimed the orb. I listened to the sensations in my body and didn’t notice anything alarming. It seemed I felt fine, except for one small "but": the world seemed to have slowed down.

Sounds and smells had faded away. Even Max’s face, on which I could see every feature in the tiniest detail, looked as if through a smoothing filter in an app where classmates loved to take selfies. I turned to my father and realized he looked just as blurry. But I could no longer ponder the nature of the phenomenon: on the faces of everyone in the room was a frozen expression of bewilderment. Everyone was looking at Max’s feet and dared not say a word. In waiting, both my father and Doctor Smirnov stared at the same spot. I noticed how, almost preemptively, Kostya spread his arms wider and stepped closer, preparing to shield me and protect me from danger. Kostya’s reaction was both comforting and chilling to the tips of my fingers.

From my place, I couldn’t see what the pinkish mist had turned into, but it was important for me to know what creature had been hiding inside me all this time. It seemed that if I saw what the others were looking at, I would understand what was happening better. I lifted myself slightly, but my father remained frozen in place, blocking me from rising from the bed and stepping closer to the source of everyone’s attention.

It was important for me to find out what the creature looked like, whether Kostya wanted it or not. He couldn’t always decide what was best for me. Neither for my sake nor for anyone else’s. Not again. I would not allow myself to be locked away behind seven locks again, waiting for a better situation when all the dangers, in my father’s opinion, had passed.

“Dad, what is it?” I asked calmly, trying to gently approach the topic, since I already knew it was pointless to openly confront my father when he had already made up his mind.

“I’m not quite sure,” my father said slowly, glancing toward Vladimir, seeking his support. But the doctor only continued to look intently downward.

Suddenly he got busy and headed to the cabinet. Objects clattered and rattled as Vladimir searched inside.

“It seems the curse is still stirring,” Max croaked, pulling Diana close and then with visible relief gently pressing his lips to the top of his beloved’s head.

“Perhaps it will fit in this one,” Vladimir said, pulling out a tall glass vessel with a lid and handing it to my father. “Konstantin, could you help? The guys have had enough shocks for today. Better if we pack the curse up before it bites anyone.”

Kostya moved reluctantly, understanding that as soon as he left me, I wouldn’t miss a chance to see what the mist had turned into. My father looked at me warily, as if I were a wild beast who could pull a stunt at any moment. What nonsense!

“Dad,” I wanted my voice to sound calm but immediately caught notes of irritation I could do nothing about, “I’m going to find out what’s there anyway. It came out of my body, and you don’t have the right to decide what I do with that knowledge: accept it or reject it. Don’t undo everything we’ve achieved in our relationship because of another worry about my life.”

“It’ll be better for you…” Kostya began in the expert tone I hated to the core of my soul.

“It won’t. Period. You have no right to decide for me.”

“How do you mean no right? You’re not even eighteen yet. When you’re an adult, do whatever you want. Even get a tattoo on your forehead. But for now—I’m your father! Who else will be responsible for you if not me?”

“No one. Neither you nor Mom. Neither Doctor Smirnov nor anyone else standing behind this situation.”

Kostya clenched his jaw, then his fists. His face gradually flushed pink. He was angry, but I didn’t care. I tried to talk to him nicely, but if Kostya, after a long lull, decided again he had the right to limit my freedom, better this way than becoming a prisoner of four walls when we get back to the apartment.

“Konstantin?” noticing my father’s reaction, Doctor Smirnov tensed. “I would be extremely grateful if you wouldn’t speak that way under my roof.”

“You think after all these years I’ll explode from a couple of gentle words from my teenage daughter? Don’t count on it. There will be no show.”

I put my feet down from the bed and again listened to my sensations before standing up. There was no dizziness or stomach pain, and I sighed in relief.

“I’m not hoping. You know, restoring a mansion is expensive but doable. Artworks—some things can’t be recreated from ashes like a phoenix, and I cherish my collection.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

My father demonstratively relaxed, showing everyone how well he controlled himself. Kostya proudly straightened his shoulders and walked around the bed. When my father approached Vladimir, the doctor handed him the container and asked him to hold it with both hands. I finally got up from the bed and moved far enough away to see what the mist had turned into, but not risk too much.

A white snake with violet eyes and no pupils lay on the dark parquet. Its body rose and fell as if lungs were inflating inside—which I knew snakes didn’t do. Carefully, I began to squat to look at the snake closer, but Kostya grabbed my forearm.

“What are you doing?” he asked sternly. I tried to pull my arm back, but my father’s fingers held tight.

“I want to see it closer.”

“We and Vladimir will lock the curse in the vessel now. Look as much as you want then.”

I didn’t argue. The suggestion sounded reasonable, although I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to stand my ground here too, to start visibly defending my boundaries again, showing Kostya the line that Dad must not cross if he wants to keep our relationship.

I didn’t like how easily he dismissed my freedom, hiding behind his personal ideas of my well-being and safety. I wondered what influenced Kostya more, work or upbringing? Probably both left an equal mark on his fate, because not everyone would enjoy serving in the police. I knew little about Dad’s job, beyond the basics, and never thought there was much truth in TV series. Werewolves movies definitely had none. But piecing together scattered bits of knowledge and impressions, it seemed I wouldn’t be able to work in the police like Dad.

“Why do you even call the snake a curse?”

“Because it is a curse,” Max spoke up. “Some witch cursed you.”

“Cursed? Me? I don’t even know a single one...”

Great, witches exist too. Just perfect.

I wondered what a witch might even look like and tried running through people I knew to find someone I could point at and say, “Yep, definitely a witch!” — but no one came to mind. Except maybe Denis’s mother, who was an herbalist, though I barely remembered her. In my childhood memories, Uncle Dima was always a bright spot, and lately, I started recalling little things like playing chess during quiet time with Denis.

“If it was pulled out of me, does that mean it’s all over? The spell is lifted?”

Max shook his head.

“I only managed to pull it out of you and bind it to the material world. Someone did a good job. I don’t think even the three of us — me, Viola, and Artur — could dispel it, but we should try later, after I catch my breath. Definitely not today. The witch who cast it was too strong.”

Max wobbled, but Diana caught him just in time. She looked at Max with concern, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen them together. It was surprising how well they fit despite being so different: tiny, delicate Diana with aristocratic features, and a blonde two heads taller, with a mischievous smile creeping at the corners of his lips, partly hidden by wavy strands falling to his chin. Compared to Diana, Max looked pale and sickly, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Darling, won’t you help? I have no strength left.”

Diana smiled softly and rolled up her narrow sleeve, then kindly offered her hand, almost reaching Max’s face. His long fingers gently wrapped around her wrist. Sharp fangs peeked out from his open mouth. With great care, Max bit Diana’s skin, and she didn’t make a sound. She looked at him with understanding and special tenderness — no fear. For them, it was ordinary, while I watched this scene entranced and felt uncomfortable, as if I were an intruder in this room. The one spying on someone else’s ritual, but even having this thought, I couldn’t look away.

Diana handed Max her hand with such casual ease that for a moment I imagined doing the same for Nick and shuddered. Could I ever accept the part of his essence that burdened his life? Even understanding that Karimov hadn’t chosen the fate of a vampire for himself, it was hard to feel compassion for him after everything that happened. At least mentally, I kept trying to convince myself that all the warm and bright feelings I had for Nick were just echoes of a hallucination. They refused to dissolve into oblivion and, like parasites, clung to the remaining memories, unwilling to leave my mind. But even though those echoes still had power over me, I noticed their choking grip weakening.

The more new memories formed, along with reasons to reflect, the less space was left in my thoughts for Karimov. And that was good.

Though honestly, I didn’t like the price of freedom of thought all that much. I would gladly have given up the news of the curse, the strange visions with the dark silhouette, and the second round of conflict with Dad at a moment when I thought Kostya and I had finally found some common ground.

Kostya and Vladimir carefully placed the curse into the glass container and let me take a closer look at the creature. It really did resemble a snake in shape but there was something abnormal, almost unnatural about its appearance. Maybe it just seemed so because I wasn’t particularly interested in reptiles in real life. Maybe I’d seen some beautiful colorful creatures with matte scales online a few times, but this creature in the jar didn’t look like any of them — its eyes and velvety pattern set it apart. The snake didn’t resist or writhe. Coiled in several loops, it rose above them like on cushions and, frozen, looked at me expectantly.

Vladimir covered the container with a tight glass lid with a rubber seal.

“Wait, but what about air? It won’t be able to breathe!” I protested, but Vladimir gestured to calm down.

“It’s a curse, Asya. It’s not a living being.”

I hesitated and looked again into the pale violet eyes, feeling that what I saw before me was a trick. An illusion.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I wanted to touch the cool glass to see how the snake would react, but it didn’t move. Seeing what I was doing, Kostya hurried to stand next to me and watched anxiously, but said nothing.

“So it’s harmless now?”

“Not quite,” Max ran his thumb from one corner of his lips to the other, carefully wiping away the last drops of blood, and I shuddered. “The curse is very much active and will gladly reunite with its host at the first chance. But while it’s materialized, it won’t have power over you. We’ll find out who cast it, and then something might become clear.”

“Oh yes, you will find out.”

Kaandor’s mockery made me pay attention to him again. By the way, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was he or she, or whether gender even mattered for the creature. Because of the name spoken, the mystical “Darkness” didn’t come to mind anymore, but the association with a man stuck firmly, though I really had no reason to think so. Oh, these gender expectations. I glanced once more at the dark being and realized something had changed — maybe in its pose or shape. The obvious differences were hard to notice, but I felt some tiny detail was slipping away from my attention, as if deliberately hiding.

How could I forget Kaandor at all? Strangely, thoughts about the dark observer only came when he tossed out new remarks, drawing attention to himself. Kaandor met my gaze and swaggered across the room, approaching the vessel.

“Such a little pest, but how many problems it caused,” Kaandor snapped his fingers on the glass surface.

“Do you know what it is?” I asked aloud, unsure how else to communicate with this dark substance, though Max directed the question to himself.

“I told you — a curse. What’s unclear about that?”

“Max, I wasn’t asking you, I was asking him,” I pointed to where the dark silhouette stood. Everyone behaved as if Kaandor’s presence was taken for granted, forgetting that the mysterious world of mythical creatures had only recently opened its doors to me and no one was in a hurry to explain anything.

Maxim and Diana’s faces changed. They looked at me and Kaandor with puzzled eyes, but their gaze slipped over the space as if they had nothing to hold onto.

“Asya, who were you asking?” Dr. Smirnov’s hand touched my shoulder, but Dad immediately brushed it away.

“Don’t you dare touch her again.”

“Kostya,” Vladimir said in an overly official tone, “if I’m not going to treat your daughter, then who?”

“Any other doctor who won’t inject her with vampire venom.”

“I’ll explain everything soon. Without concealment or detours. I can only assure you now that my intentions were never to harm Asya. I did everything only for her good.”

The last phrase grated on my ears, and I involuntarily took a deep breath and let out the air with a hiss. Oh, these fathers obsessed with doing whatever they want to others, “for their good.” No wonder the ancient vampire managed to gain the support of the Khertonian werewolf cop.

“I’ll decide that myself.”

“Of course, Kostya. Of course.”

“The Earth is calling concerned fathers!” I called out to Vladimir and Dad. “Start the explanations with who Kaandor is. He himself isn’t very talkative and didn’t bother to answer the last question.”

The dark silhouette shook as if laughing, though it didn’t make a sound. It bent over, hugging itself by the waist with long arms, and continued to chuckle.

Only then did I notice Kaandor’s forearm, and if there was a light bulb in my head that blinked every time an important observation appeared, it would now be shining brighter than any flame.

“The snake! It was on his arm!”