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 kidnapping 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!"