Since We Are Apart

Chapter 9. Everyone Have a Secret

A heavy silence fell. Father slowly ran his hand over the back of his head—he looked puzzled, while in the depths of Vladimir’s eyes already danced the eager sparks of someone anticipating a new curious circumstance on the horizon.

"Why is it," I pointed again at Kaandor, "that it’s laughing, and you’re all looking at me so strangely?"

"Haven’t you figured it out yet?"

"Figured out what?" I threw up my hands, anger rising at the fact that I still didn’t understand anything.

"They can’t see me," and Kaandor shook again. The bastard!

"Couldn’t you have said that earlier?!" I snapped, and Dr. Smirnov loudly cleared his throat, as if to draw attention to himself.

"I think," Vladimir began, "we should start the explanations right now."

Stanislav returned from classes with his brothers and sisters just as Dr. Smirnov suggested everyone take a short break and meet in the dining room in half an hour, where Vladimir swore he would explain in more detail everything concerning my condition. Kostya didn’t like the idea of staying here until the evening, but I managed to persuade my father to be patient a little longer. I wouldn’t call convincing him a pleasant activity, but I had to give him credit: considering our last clash, he at least listened to my arguments and didn’t once utter the sacred "I’m your father, and I know better." I wondered how many more clashes awaited us ahead, since even after the lesson Kostya should have learned in the fall, he only pretended to understand something. Or maybe I was being too harsh, expecting changes immediately, as if at the snap of a finger? Who could tell.

Father surprised me even more when he didn’t protest at Diana’s suggestion to go to her room and change clothes. My friend was ready to lend me a couple of outfits, explaining that it would hurt her to see guests at the dinner table in wet and crumpled clothes. I thought Kostya wouldn’t leave me unsupervised until he heard the elder Smirnov’s explanation and decided for himself whether to trust the doctor or not. But here too my father surprised me: he replied vaguely that we’d meet at the appointed time at the table, and that was that.

As soon as everyone began dispersing around the huge house, I hurried after Diana, following her almost step for step, afraid of getting lost. Who knew what secrets this house held and how many of them were meant for outsiders’ eyes? I had a vague suspicion that someone who could so easily keep a woman in a state hospital for years and remain unpunished couldn’t possibly own a simple, even if historically valuable, house without secret doors and other devilry.

I walked behind Diana, watching her hair sway with each step. It had grown a couple of centimeters in the past month, yet still looked elegant.

Diana half-turned and stretched her lips into a smile, as if apologizing for winding through the corridors. She was deliberately polite and always kind to me, and for a moment I caught myself on the unpleasant thought that Di was copying my father’s manner, pretending to be good and nice. The suspicion was unpleasant, and I tried to push it away. The very idea that Diana might have known about Dr. Smirnov’s experiments on Nick’s mother left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I clung to the saving detail that at least Diana had realized what the doctor was injecting into my blood under the guise of medicine. She had been genuinely surprised and puzzled, which meant she at least didn’t approve of her father’s actions, and that gave me hope. I didn’t want to lose a friend I had only just found.

"We’re almost there," Di encouraged me, as if noticing the pensive look on my face. I must have been frowning and biting my lip again.

"Tell me, is your father always so strict with you?"

Her smile faded the moment I asked.

"That’s not what you want to know," Kaandor’s voice sounded in my head. Startled, I turned, but couldn’t find the dark creature with my eyes. How strange. Where had he disappeared to this time?

"Vladimir isn’t strict. More like… he just doesn’t always wake up on the right side of the bed. Dad’s a good man. You’ll see once you get to know him better."

"For you, maybe, he’s good. You know, I still can’t get over what Vladimir did to Galina. It just seems wrong somehow."

"Do you know the saying: ‘Hell is full of good intentions, and heaven is full of good deeds’?"

"Is that like ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’?"

"Yeah, probably. Sounds like a simplified version of the same thing. Anyway, that phrase perfectly describes my father. He wants what’s best, and at the same time does evil that he somehow justifies with his decisions. Imagined benefits erase the harm. At least, that’s how Dad explained it to me and Stas after Halloween night."

"And you…" I stopped, realizing it wasn’t right to ask Diana about her opinion and Stas’s at the same time, as they might differ. "Did you know that he experiments on people?"

"Oh God, no. Of course not!"

A weight fell from my chest and tumbled into a bottomless void. I wanted to believe her. How could I not, seeing the sincerity on Diana’s face, hearing the genuine notes of outrage? The inner paranoiac, always waiting for the chance to overtake my calm, rational side, was already rubbing its hands with a sweet smile, anticipating how my trust would end. I wasn’t ready to give in, to become a shadow-lurking creature always expecting betrayal, so I swore to myself that even if I was wrong in trusting— I was ready to pay the price. Later, in the future. Closing yourself off meant never truly knowing or growing close to anyone. All that was left was to open your arms and wait to see whether a sharp knife would stab you in the back, or whether you’d be rewarded for the risk with something pure and real—something that would warm you on the coldest day and split grief in half.

"Even Mom, it turns out, didn’t know. You probably don’t realize it, but during the school disco, Stas was the first to smell blood. We didn’t even have time to react before he bolted. You should have seen Tatiana’s face," Diana chuckled. "Viola and Arthur gloated for ages. Imagine, Rostova had just put her hands on Stas’s shoulders during a slow dance, and whoosh—no partner! I wonder which embarrassed her more: the fact it happened in front of the whole school, or that she genuinely cares about Stas?"

I stayed silent, not understanding why Diana was telling me this, but a curious realization was already knocking on the door. Not that it was pleasant. Tatiana might not have been a close friend until recently, but our relationship had changed a lot over the past month. She often visited me in the hospital with Dasha and Stas, and though I wasn’t entirely sure her caring gesture wasn’t just a cover for wanting to spend more time with her beloved away from her parents, I liked to think there was at least a spark of genuine concern for me. We were very different, but I had never wished Tanya harm—nor anyone else, for that matter. And yet from Diana’s story, I felt… glee?

"And why does everyone dislike Tanya so much?" I muttered under my breath, but vampire hearing inevitably caught the phrase. Diana shook her head, as if weighing her feelings.

"Too loud, too flighty, and on top of that, mercenary. Stas brought her home recently and took her to the hall to look at paintings, and Rostova started asking about their price. I was right there and saw that she didn’t even look at the canvases before chirping, ‘Oh, which one’s the most expensive?’"

Going over my conversations with Tatiana in my head, I couldn’t recall a single instance of her being a gold-digger, and so I was surprised, not remembering any time Rostova had talked about money. In the cafeteria, there had been passing mentions of her father’s wealth and the spa center that still wasn’t finished, but nothing boasting.

"Maybe she just sees art as a potential asset? Her father used to be an oilman and is now a businessman. Tanya’s never really talked to me about money, and she’s never flaunted trendy purchases either. I’m sure her clothes are more expensive than most of ours, yet not a word. I doubt someone truly obsessed with money would miss the chance to show off their wealth to people who could never afford it."

"Oh, Asya," Diana looked at me like I was a naïve fool. "Someone obsessed with money will do everything to increase their assets and will never go around broadcasting that their sweater costs two hundred thousand rubles. That, you see, would be unsafe at the very least."

"HOW MUCH?" I couldn’t believe my ears. "Tell me you’re joking."

"Not at all. One quick glance is all I need to spot a tasteless rag with a skull from the latest collection of a famous designer. You wouldn’t believe how many garish, bizarre things top brands release just to turn their owner into a parrot passersby can’t help but stare at, nearly breaking their necks. It looks bright and ambiguous, but only a select few will realize it’s insanely expensive—not like with fake handbags from fashion houses, where the logo is so huge you can’t unsee it."

After another turn, Diana stopped in front of a double door and knocked.

"Come in," came Violetta’s voice, and Diana swung the doors open.

We found ourselves in a bright, spacious room with ornate plaster molding along the ceiling’s perimeter that, at a glance, reminded me of grapevines. Almost the entire wall opposite the entrance was taken up by a huge window, in front of which stood two neat vanity tables with mirrors. Viola was sitting at one of them. With a thick brush, my classmate lightly touched up her face, refreshing her makeup. Our eyes met in the mirror, and Violetta studied me with a slight squint. Apparently, that wasn’t enough for her—she set down the powder case and brush, turned to face me, and gave me a skeptical once-over from head to toe.

"You don’t look so great," Viola remarked, and I stepped up to the free mirror to finally assess the damage.

In my opinion, it wasn’t that bad. My unruly waves had fluffed up a bit, as if after sleep, and there were unfamiliar dark circles under my eyes. I seemed paler than usual, though perhaps it was only because the bright pre-sunset rays were falling directly on my face. My clothes looked slightly crumpled and careless, but who hasn’t had that happen?

"I’ll find something from my things for Asya to wear. We won’t bother you, will we?"

"No, you won’t," Violetta rose from the table and headed toward the wardrobe on her side of the room, pulling on the handles. "You can even look through mine. Black is closer in build to me than to you."

Diana rolled her eyes and deliberately walked past Violetta’s wardrobe without even glancing inside.

"I know your style—nothing but high-neck turtlenecks and tight T-shirts made of thin fabric. Not a single elegant piece in a whole wardrobe!"

"Those T-shirts dry quickly."

"And wool fabrics also stay fresh longer, neutralizing odors," I backed Viola up, and Diana tilted her head to the ceiling in exasperation, as if wondering what she’d done to deserve such fashion-clueless friends.

"Why me?" she asked the air, starting to sort through hangers.

"You say I don’t have anything elegant, but what about this blouse?" Violetta pulled out a luxurious white shirt with long sleeves and ruffles at the wrists.

Diana eyed the hanger doubtfully and stepped closer. With reluctant caution, she reached for the fabric, but the moment her fingers touched it, she nodded in approval.

"Actually, not bad," she said, glancing from the blouse to me several times, as if trying to imagine how it would fit. "But definitely not with those jeans. What’s your height?"

I’m not sure how long the two sisters kept torturing me with outfit changes, but when my legs grew tired and I sank onto the pouf by the vanity, the carpet in the center of the room was already littered with a heap of jeans, trousers, and skirts in every possible shade. Outfits that pleased Violetta didn’t meet Diana’s approval, and vice versa. In the end, I just sat there, obediently waiting for them to decide between themselves what I should wear—because honestly, I had bigger problems. For example, I saw Kaandor’s dark figure again. As before, he stood off to the side, watching, only this time he seemed hardly interested in the scene unfolding. At least, that’s what I thought, because the uninvited guest didn’t say a word, and I just stared at the two amber points I took for his eyes, pondering his nature.

What if Kaandor was my spirit-shifter? Thinking back to Denis’s story about his own experience, I saw no similarities. After all, I could see Kaandor with my own eyes and barely felt him as an ally inside me. With Denis and his she-wolf, it was completely different, which only made me more uneasy. Besides, Father hadn’t reacted with much enthusiasm when I said I saw another creature in the room. If it were possible to see your spirit, Kostya would have immediately understood the situation instead of looking at me in puzzlement. The only logical explanation I could find for the appearance of my dark companion was that he was part of the curse.

As if I didn’t already have enough with vampires and werewolves—now my life’s party had gatecrashed witches’ curses and some strange black creature only I could see.

There was a knock at the door, but even with my sharp vampire hearing that could catch the quietest words, it seemed to me that Violetta and Diana were still arguing about the tulip skirt. When the knock came again, I went to the door myself, realizing my friends were far more concerned with deciding on my future outfit.

Leaning against the wall outside the doors stood Stas. Finding me in the doorway instead of one of his sisters, he looked oddly flustered.

"Hi," he said quietly and froze. How unlike him. Where was the guy who had spoken to me so arrogantly the last time I was in his father’s house, the one who casually handed out orders to others at school?

"We’ve already met."

"Oh, right. Of course. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Very. I want to go home, to my own bed—but I have a feeling that particular happiness isn’t going to fall into my lap anytime soon."

Stas gave me a puzzled look.

"Why’s that?"

"Because Dad and I are having dinner with you tonight."

"Don’t worry, it’ll be an hour, maybe an hour and a half at most. Vladimir doesn’t throw old-fashioned dinner parties with multiple courses and all those unnecessary refinements. Polished luxury isn’t his thing."

I smirked.

"Stas, do you really believe that? Look around. Everything here, and the very fact that your family lives in a house that’s basically a museum, screams the opposite."

"That’s different. You don’t understand."

"Then try explaining."

I was developing a quick allergy to Stas’s mood swings. Sometimes Smirnov struck me as arrogant and indifferent, while at other times he behaved like a caring friend. One moment he would easily talk to me about art and visit me in the hospital day after day, bringing classmates along. Then came the days when Stas could ignore my existence entirely, turning cold and guarded, as if I were some pushy beggar trying to quietly lift his wallet. And since Stas had recently shown the paintings to Tanya as well, the thought crept in—and instantly disgusted me—that when you take a girl to show her something meaningful, it can be a sign of sincerity, of wanting to know her better. But when you repeat the same attraction again and again, the gesture starts to feel like a well-rehearsed routine meant to impress.

"Do you remember the painting in the hall with three men at the sawmill? You looked at it for quite a while."

It wasn’t hard to remember the day I first found myself in the Smirnovs’ house, even though Arthur had done everything possible to erase my memories. I still don’t understand why the spell didn’t affect me at first, and only later took hold for a short while—long enough for me to calm down and easily believe the idea of a prank on the new student. Maybe things would have been easier for everyone if I had remembered neither the k********g nor the vampire battle I had witnessed.

I tried to strain my memory and recall the painting, but in vain: only fragments of Stas’s explanations drifted through my mind. It hadn’t been that long, yet I could only vaguely recall the poses of the characters. What I remembered best was how Stanislav had pointed out a totem hidden among the thick spruce thickets. I guess memory always clings more tightly to the details that first escaped notice.

"In broad strokes, but not in detail. I remember we studied and discussed it for a long time. I remember the man on the stump who seemed more aloof than the others. Oh, and the totem!"

"Details aren’t so important, though I’m glad you remembered the totem," Stas’s faint smile told me he had relaxed a little. "This painting is in the house for a reason. It was one of the first painted in Xerton when the town was more of a modest village sheltering scattered wanderers. All the men in the painting were among the first settlers, and the totem was erected in honor of your kind, for protecting them from dark forces."

Stas was distracted when a crash sounded behind my back.

"You’ll probably start fighting over which jeans to wear to dinner," Smirnov remarked sarcastically to his sisters.

"We’re not doing it for ourselves, we’re doing it for Asya," Diana began in a lecturing tone. "And she’s not even looking?"

I noted to myself that the friends had moved on from skirts to jeans in their argument, and that made me feel a little relieved. In jeans I would feel much more used to and comfortable, but I knew it would be easier to just agree to whatever Diana and Violetta picked so things would finally quiet down. I didn’t have the strength to deal even with simple matters, and there were still more than enough reasons to think about more complex and important questions.

"I don’t care, honestly. I’ll wear whatever you say—it’s only for an hour anyway."

"Only for an hour? Who told you that nonsense?"

"Him," I pointed at Stas, and the guy immediately looked at me reproachfully.

"It’s not nice to lie to guests, brother," Violetta remarked, kneeling down and starting to rummage through the clothes in the middle of the room again.

"Just pick something already and let’s go. I’m standing in the doorway because I’m waiting for you! Father’s already calling everyone to the table."

"Of course. As if you couldn’t find the way without us," the sisters exchanged glances and laughed brightly. The war between the oddly elegant flared trousers and the fashionably ripped-at-the-knees jeans was buried in the name of uniting against a common enemy—their older brother.

Stas remained unperturbed and, as if nothing had happened, turned his gaze back to me and continued:

"This mansion, like the painting, is no ordinary thing, but a reminder for our parents of a past, different life—one closely entwined with the hidden side of Xerton. The man on the stump was my mother’s father. Not my biological mother, of course, but the one who raised me, so I respect my parents’ decision to settle here again. Olga was born and raised here before she met Vladimir. Leaving her family and choosing a different path for my father’s sake wasn’t easy for her. Returning to Xerton is one of the few things we can do out of gratitude to our mother."

"But you could have settled in any other house, leaving the local landmark to tourists and townsfolk."

"Not every house bears Olga’s father’s handiwork. The mansion is one of the few buildings in Xerton that have survived since my mother was a child. Regional budgets don’t exactly shine when it comes to programs for protecting historically important buildings, so it’s our top priority to preserve what’s valuable to the family."

"You have surprisingly strong family ties despite not being related by blood. Except for Max and Viola, as far as I understand."

Stanislav nodded.

"It’s all about respect, Asya. What does it matter whose blood you share? Closeness is, first and foremost, a choice between two people."

"And we’ve all chosen each other!" Diana hugged me from behind so suddenly that I flinched. "Hurry up and put on these pants so we can go."

Di all but shoved a pair of soft dark gray pants into my hands.

"Looks like someone loves the dark academia style."

"And we don’t hide it," the sisters replied in unison. "Come on, Asya, hurry!"