Since We Are Apart

Chapter 3.1 Returning Home

“So, a blonde. Here’s what I’m getting at,” Father put down the food container and reached into the bag for a napkin. “Then, with Galina, Vladimir called me and asked me to come. As it later turned out, for advice. Not that we were friends, but we had a certain respect for each other. And besides, at that time I was the only one who could handle all the paperwork. When I arrived, the doctor had already turned Galina — mindlessly, instinctively. We talked openly and honestly. Vladimir was ready to take Nikita in, but the Smirnov family was already too much in the public eye, and if a baby appeared out of nowhere… it was too risky. Besides, no one could be sure who the child’s father was. In the vampire world, that’s a very important detail.”

“All because of the thirst?”

“Exactly that, damn it. If Nik’s father had been firstborn or at least pure-blood, things could have turned out differently. But then no one could know for sure if he’d become a weak-blooded madman or the opposite. A simple blood test wouldn’t help here. And the child was already here — right here. Alive, rosy-cheeked. Vladimir and I talked for a long time that day, and probably the decisive factor was the unknown. There were already seven vampires in the Smirnov house, meaning seven lives that would be at risk if the new member’s thirst got the better of him. So they decided it was better to give the child to those who lived fairly secluded but knew about Ksertone affairs.”

“And you chose the Karimovs?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve never met them. Neither father nor mother.”

“Well, you’ll be lucky. They’re good people. Not flashy, but good. They live on private land and run a store.”

“Yes, I know. I was there,” a fragment from a carefree past flashed before my eyes — where Nik and I crouched by a spice stand trying to find something without curry. The memory caused almost physical pain, knotting tightly around my wounded heart. I shook my head, pushing away the unwelcome illusion. Kostya looked at me worriedly.

“Something hurts?”

“No.” I thought — only my heart, but said aloud, “Everything’s fine.”

Father looked at me uncertainly. Seeing no other signs, Kostya wiped the sauce from his face with a napkin and continued.

“You see, I used to be good friends with Nik’s adoptive father. We went fishing, studied at the institute together. Lots of good times, but also…” Kostya grimaced, implying there were bad things in their relationship. “You probably don’t know, but Nikolai is one of us. Figuratively speaking, of course. He can’t turn, like many others. He ages quite normally and lives like everyone else. Roughly speaking, he’s a man from a werewolf family, whom we call the ‘knowing.’ Not everyone inherits the spirit and its traits. Each clan’s curse works differently.”

I listened carefully. I don’t know which news surprised me more.

“So, being a werewolf is not a gift?”

Kostya nodded ambiguously, weighing pros and cons, and smirked with annoyance.

“More like a curse. Although your grandma and grandpa wouldn’t agree with me. She thought our situation was full of mission.”

“But not you?”

“But not me,” Father gestured to the sushi pack, then to me. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”

I obediently reached for a small tuna roll wrapped in nori. I dipped the edge in soy sauce and put it in my mouth.

“You see, both we and vampires are creations made by witches during their so-called civil war. Clan against clan, daughter against mother. One spell would have a counter-spell from the neighbor, and the longer the conflict lasted, the more pointless the war became. No descendants remained who remembered how it all started. I still don’t know what caused the fuss, but I’ll tell you a scary story your grandmother loved to tell me before bed. Near the end of the fifth year, when all means were already exhausted and the witch settlements destroyed, the High Pelagia stood amid the ashes over the lifeless body of the eldest daughter of Vasilisa, took out an enemy-enchanted dagger, and let her own blood flow, calling on forbidden beginnings of magic. Darkness answered her call like an old friend.

An unknown force breathed life into Pelagia’s daughter’s cold body, but only for a moment. Before her eyes, the young witch writhed in agony. A painful wheeze escaped the girl’s chest, and her face changed before their eyes. Familiar features sharpened, and wounds began to close one by one.

The High Priestess fell to her knees, unable to believe her eyes. Gently, she drew her own child to her chest, disbelieving her luck: no one had ever succeeded in returning a spirit that had crossed to the other side back into a body. But Pelagia did. Tears rolled down the High Priestess’s cheeks in large drops. She greedily inhaled the scent of her daughter’s hair, holding her tighter and rocking her soothingly as if lulling a child. Only, the longer Pelagia held her child, the faster her own strength faded. In a storm of inner feelings, the High Priestess didn’t notice when the daughter latched onto her collarbone and greedily drew blood from her mother.

Thus, according to legend, the first vampire was created. A perfect weapon with physical strength and speed beyond witches’ control. Sneaking at night, Pelagia’s descendant killed one hostile clan after another, turning some into creatures like herself — vampires.

The army of Vasilisa grew. Not even ten days passed before the opposing side was defeated. Only the followers of Pelagia remained alive. A fragile peace was restored, and the war ended. It seemed like a time for idle calm and rebuilding what was destroyed. But no one thought about the price of the new neighbor’s existence.

With the war disappeared the source to quench their thirst. Vampires replenished all they needed in battle, taking the lives of their enemies, but where were they to find blood in times of peace? The witches believed they could control the thirst of their sisters. They planned to cast a new spell and forget the problem like a terrible nightmare, destroying unnecessary weapons.

But if only magic worked so simply. Only a witch whose destiny was greater than the others could possess the gift of creation, first mastering the four elemental forces and making a pact with the spirit world. With the death of the High Pelagia, the coven lost the ability to create, and the heir, preparing to one day sit on the bone throne, lost her connection with the spirits upon becoming a vampire. Nature was offended by the interference in the established order and chose to give the witches a lesson instead of help, remaining aloof.

Unable to create a new miracle of equal power, the coven waited until the next high priestess would be born... They did not yet know how long the new species was destined to exist and watched silently, secretly hoping everything would resolve itself and time would take its toll.

But it never happened. The delay came at a high price in other lives. The number of humans in the settlement was barely enough to safely satisfy the thirst of a third of the vampires. The longer the fanged ones lived in the coven, the stronger the call of blood became. Possessing a fairly human conscience and morality, the creatures of the night tried to stick to their chosen path. But not everyone’s will was as strong as their leader Vasilisa’s.

People began to disappear from the villages near the coven. Usually, these were peasant children left unattended during the planting season. The disappearance of one person in a modest settlement was already considered alarming, and when three vanished, rumors spread — an evil and powerful spirit had settled in the forest.

The village elder came to the witches in despair, bringing a reward with him. He begged them to drive the evil plague away from the settlement, no longer hoping to return the missing. The money came at a perfect time for the witches. Much had to be restored, rebuilt anew. The women of the coven responded easily to the plea, assuming that it must be a rogue forest spirit or some other creature demanding special respect from the settlers for its territory.

As soon as the witches began investigating, the bloodless bodies found deep in the thicket revealed the source of the evil: one of the vampires had gone against the will of the firstborn Vasilisa and started visiting the nearby village.

However, tracking the traitor within the clan was not easy. Vampires went hunting and returned, sometimes surviving on animal blood, but who broke the ban remained a mystery, even when the bloodsuckers were split into small groups before sorties and secretly watched by witches. Very soon, the surveillance became obvious: vampire skills grew stronger day by day, and detecting the scent of incense, which enveloped the witches’ clothes like a thick veil, became an easy task for them, not to mention their still not very quiet footsteps. The noose around the bloodsuckers’ necks slowly tightened. They felt it and were not thrilled, gradually doubting the need to continue life as one clan with the sorceresses. The seed of discord was sown and rapidly sprouted.

Time passed, and the number of victims only grew. The witches increasingly had to create an appearance of activity, spreading rumors in the village about a mysterious powerful spirit that was not so much beyond the witches’ power — that would have brought trouble on themselves — but rather was skilled at hiding, countering calls and spells. The elder reluctantly believed the tales and began to watch the witches more carefully, suspecting that they themselves were stealing villagers. Gathering volunteers, the villagers started monitoring not only every step of the visiting witches but also the clan. The simple, uneducated people brought news home, interpreting events differently. Some exaggerated horrors to emphasize their own fearlessness, others saw evil intent and the devil’s hand in everything — even how the witches warmed water for washing.

And while such news only amazed listeners and the gossip served merely to entertain the locals, the almost intimate description of a pale-skinned woman tearing the skin on a witch’s body with a pointed fingernail and then drinking blood from the wound with pleasure, her cheeks flushing with life, truly alarmed the villagers. The elder, hearing of this, did not rush to act — the neighbor seemed too dangerous to feud with — so he first went to see it all with his own eyes to make sure it was true.

Unfortunately for the witches, the elder sneaked through the forest thicket and settled in the bushes at the wrong time and place. He witnessed a great feeding of vampires by junior acolytes, who secretly decided to save the villagers by offering the vampires blood ahead of schedule.

With good intentions, the young witches and sorcerers paved their own road to hell. The feeding turned into a real riot. The vampires began killing their former sisters and brothers, drowning the ground in blood and revealing their true nature. Seeing this disgraceful scene, the elder was horrified and went to gather all the men in the village.

Vasilisa fought on the side of the witch sisters but was unable to cope with the offspring of her own blood. She had not fed for a long time and was the only vampire on the witches’ side. The confrontation turned into a m******e, leaving the witches no chance. Whenever they gained a little ground, the regeneration of the fed vampires immediately deprived them of their advantage.

Only a little over ten of them remained when the village men arrived with pitchforks. Hissing, the vampires trapped the surviving sorceresses in a tight circle, reveling in the thrill of the hunt. They seemed to have left the best and strongest witches in the hierarchy for dessert and were about to scoop the sweetest treat.

Brave but foolish, the men rushed into the fray, shouting without distinguishing friend from foe. They grappled with the vampires, who laughed loudly, playing with them, not hurrying to finish off the villagers without enjoying the moment fully. The mad bloodsuckers believed in their own superiority and did not notice how, taking advantage of the moment, all the witches joined hands, and Vasilisa began loudly chanting a curse. Deprived of her witchcraft abilities, the firstborn allowed foreign power to flow through her like a conduit. The sorceresses echoed Vasilisa’s song, and a pale blue glow slowly enveloped the group. It seemed to emanate right from beneath their skin, growing brighter with every word spoken. In a moment, all the women raised their heads to the sky and screamed. The earth trembled beneath their feet, and a chorus of male voices joined the harmonious symphony of pain. The full moon emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the insane scene, coldly watching from the celestial dome. As soon as its silvery light touched the village men, their bodies began to change shape, losing all humanity. Long fur burst from beneath their skin, and their legs and arms thinned visibly, forcing the men onto all fours. Enormous fangs appeared in their open mouths. Their jaws thrust forward and elongated like a wolf’s.

When the transformation was over, the witches unclasped their hands, and their weakened bodies crumbled into shimmering silver dust and disappeared with a rising gust of wind from nowhere.

Thus, according to the legend passed down orally in our family, the first vampires and werewolves appeared.

“You mean witches really exist too?” I stopped chewing long ago, fascinated by Kostya’s story.

“If there were no witches, there would be no us. Or vampires either. Although, it’s precisely because of vampires that witches are still very few. There are barely three living in Xerton now. Sorceresses try to stay away from the mistakes of the bloodline. The coven that gave birth to the magic of transformation and thus broke nature’s balance is gone. No one knows the exact wording of the spell that was cast, so no one can undo it, as far as I understand. When you were born, Maria and I looked for someone who could save you from my fate. But what’s done can’t be undone…”

Saying this, my father slumped. The mark of guilt froze on his face.

Time and again, I returned to that conversation with my father in the hospital during those last days, wondering how many firstborns still lived, hiding among people like members of my family. How many led double lives, pretending to be ordinary mortals, blending into the world as entrepreneurs, lawyers, or anything else. How do you recognize a mythical creature on meeting, and is there any point when you yourself are one of them?

“Still counting the flaws on the ceiling?” my father’s voice came from the kitchen, and I realized it was time to leave the room.

Walking into the living room, I sank onto the couch opposite the turned-off TV. Kostya kept bustling in the kitchen, making himself sandwiches. Judging by the aroma, with salami, mozzarella, and a mix of Provencal herbs.

“Want me to make you a couple?”

“No, thanks. The salami smells different than I remember. Too strong and with a bit of a stink.”

“Yeah, your friendship with meat will end soon. It’s all going to smell like slightly spoiled carrion, especially smoked.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Kostya came over and sat beside me. The plate with three sandwiches was right under my nose. Inhaling again, I caught the acrid smell of meat and involuntarily grimaced. I quickly pulled the sleeve of my sweater over my hand, as far as it would go, and tried to cover both nostrils and mouth to somehow mask the aroma of Kostya’s dinner.

Dad, as if nothing had happened, reached for the remote and turned on the TV. I looked reproachfully at Kostya, but he didn’t even turn around; on the contrary, he grabbed the nearest sandwich and took a big bite with pleasure.

“Dad,” I began, wincing from the unpleasant sensations. “Move over. And take the sandwiches with you.”