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."