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On our way from the graveyard, none of my new acquaintances utter a word. I look out the car window, watching as the empty moonlit streets of the city pass by.

The city of St. Daktalion. A daydream and a nightmare, a place that doesn't welcome you in and then doesn't let you out.

The old story goes it was built on the bones of four vedmaks, or mages, who used blood magic and bound demons to serve them. For centuries, people lived in terror; kings and queens from all over the world came here to find a way to beat their final hour.

To die but stay alive.

Then over one night, the vedmaks disappeared, and nobody remembered their faces, none could tell if they really ever existed. Life carried on, and all left of magic was mist in the forests surrounding the city.

Another story states that there were no mages, but one ugly witch, a vedma, who could turn into a beautiful nymph, steal people's talents and trade them to the others--that was why the city saw so many artists, rich and fortunate people throughout its history. Sophisticated and regal, its every building is a masterpiece carved of white stones, every street a perfect line, every park, every church, every bridge over the sapphire blue river of Nótt...a dream.

And finally, there's the third version.

Mages existed alongside a witch, who was beautiful. But she only became a witch after stealing the heart of one of the mages. (I never knew if this was a figure of speech). And before that, she was just a girl, so smart and sweet that one of the mages fell in love with her and got stripped of his magic for his affection by higher, darker powers. But instead, two lovers were gifted with a child.

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Seven years ago

"Vedmaks must be immortal, right?" Bogdan would ask, squinting at the hot summer wind tousling his chestnut hair. "Does it mean their child is, too?"

It was always windy in the hospital yard, an old bowing oak and a rusty wrought-iron fence couldn't stop nature. And somehow stories always gave a bad windy day a good meaning. A purpose. A promise.

That day I sat on a bench, Bogdan in his wheelchair next to me. His grandmother was a nurse, and he spent most of his time in the hospital's halls and the yard, reading, talking to me when I came, or watching school kids play football across the street.

"I don't know." I shrugged. I never had the courage to ask him about the wheelchair. "But I'm pretty sure it means their child has magic, too." I wish I did.

All kids in our little town of Blakfait loved the stories about the city. I had never been there, even though the road took three hours at most, but I saw rare guests from St. Daktalion, visiting their relatives, their expensive cars driving our streets. Evidently, the city folks didn't like those visits: they glanced around with disdain and left almost as soon as arrived.

Back to the mystery.

"Two bruises, huh?" Bogdan asked when I said nothing else, stealing glances at my face. He had a tiny freckle under his left eye, which looked like a tear if you blinked without staring. Because of that freckle, his expression always seemed sympathetic, even when he scowled.

I bit my lip, reluctant to answer. The bruises weren't my today's trophy. "Mmh." I looked down at my hand. The battered knuckles were though. "You haven't seen the others."

It all started in a fire. But it never ended in flames.

Save for me and my sister, our mom's cousin was all the family we had. When her cousin died in a car crash, Mom was devastated. Then she grew sad. Restless. Anxious. One night I woke up to her screams, our house on fire. She dragged me and my sister outside in the middle of the winter night as flames ate our kitchen wall.

I wasn't scared of fire then. I was eight, I was merely fascinated by the silver-blue tips of each fire lick, by the ease it took to dissolve a wooden window frame into cinder and smoke.

Nothing was seriously damaged apart from a wall and a window that night, no one was hurt, and it never happened again. But I never forgot. Nor did Tatya, my sister. Nor did the town.

When a neighbor asked, Mom said she'd seen blood on the kitchen counter--her cousin's blood--and she couldn't have cleaned it off, so she had had to burn it. Later, when she realized no one would believe her, she denied everything, and not once spoke of it again.

But there was something. Something that had changed about her after that night. She would stare at empty space for a little too long or say things that didn't make sense, just a few words that could, seemingly, be a thought aloud or a sudden memory.

But nothing mattered. People never forget your flaws. Kids at my school never forgot mine.

If your mom's crazy, then you're too!

Do you want to set our school on fire yet? No? Why?

Ahh, maybe she's not crazy, but a vedma? Come on, Yaroslava, show us your magic! Laughers transformed into jokes, jokes became cruel, and cruel jokes were followed by fights.

I might have started the first fight, I might have punched the boy who'd been the first to call me a freak. And it had been a mistake. Now a bunch of driven teenagers who'd chosen their enemy believed they had a right to throw stones at me without warning. I wished I had magic, I wished I were a witch, but magic was a mere fairytale then.

Bogdan still waited for me to speak.

"I think I broke the girl's nose." I let out a ragged laugh, wincing as I felt the bruise along my jawline.

"And where was your sister?"

"I can't walk everywhere with Tatya."

"Even if it saves you from the bruises?"

"I don't want to--" be her burden. Mom tried to argue with teachers and other parents at the beginning, but it only resulted in more fights of mine. In more bruises. So I started hiding from Mom, and besides, I didn't want to make her sadder because of my misfortunes, couldn't make her blame herself.

And the truth was, I was scared. Because there was no way to stop it. No safety. Fright covered me like a sea tide, burying its salty claws into my limbs, forcing me to choke on my tears until my lungs prickled, until it led to fury led to misery.

Bogdan didn't know that, only my sister did. She was barely a year older than me, but what wonders one year could accomplish in school. Nobody in my class would touch her, and she would come over and say something like, Yes, we are crazy. And one night we'll sneak to your houses and burn them all to the ground, with you inside. Tonight maybe?

And nobody would touch me. For a week or two after her bloodcurdling promises. Tatya had never done anything, but somehow her confident voice was enough. That was her magic.

Bogdan's lips trembled as if to speak, but he said nothing. I liked it about him--he never wasted time saying he was sorry or teaching me what to do and who to be. He simply listened. Accepted our world for what it was--magicless.

"And how's your day?" I feigned nonchalance, trying and failing to brush the green stains off my jacket. No, nobody beat me today--I fell on the stones hidden in the grass myself, they merely pushed me to meet my destiny.

"Same." Bogdan looked at the open book on his lap as if surprised it was still there, then his eyes flicked to the football field. "Always the same."

Ask him. Ask him about the wheelchair.

"Stupid game," I said.

"Indeed. They don't play, not really." He leveled his finger at one of the boys. "See that one in the blue shirt? The goalkeeper? He's constantly fidgeting on the right side, forgetting about his left. And then"--his finger sliced the air--"the ginger hair? She doesn't use the chance. It makes their game pointless, it's like everyone's playing on their own."

"It's just this game, it's full of distractions once you're on the field, everything sweeps around you."

Bogdan chuckled. "Maybe if I were there, I wouldn't see the obvious, too. But I see it now, and I don't need to be a vedmak to know it looks stupid."

I smiled. Sometimes I wondered what the mage and the witch's child would be like? A boy or a girl? Did magical creatures need gender at all? Or they could be a boy and a girl and a dragon scared of no one, not even of demons and gods, whenever they wanted? Could do whatever they wanted?

My anger never truly left me after I spent hours crying, it fed on every minute of my shame and frustration.

My smile faded into a grimace as Tatya walked onto the field. She waved her hand, tossing her long coppery hair over her shoulder, catching the attention of one of the boys. Leaving the ball flying past him, the guy grinned and hurried toward her. He wrapped his arms around her, and slammed his mouth against hers, kissing her. The whole game froze for a second, everyone gaping at them.

Scared of no one...One more reason why my sister was the opposite of being laughed at. Her boyfriend wasn't exactly repulsive, but no one would have called his crooked teeth handsome. Not the brightest mind, but one of the strongest, and willing to do anything--even thrash his own friends if those tried to thrash me--for Tatya. She once told me she didn't love him, but she loved the way he made her feel all-powerful.

"Stupid game," I grumbled.

Noticing my bitterness, Bogdan frowned. Then he turned his wheelchair around to face the hospital, its three-story building colorless against the sky. "Did you see a city boy today?"

I did. I'd peeked into the hospital hall as I'd walked past the front doors. The boy's brand new outfit reeked of money and made him look out of place in our town of worn-out houses and broken roads, even though he'd ruined his hoodie and the left leg of his jeans was ripped up. And when he saw me, he glared as if wanted to destroy the whole world with that glare. "Who's he?"

"No idea. But he arrived in a taxi and literally fell out of the car. The male nurses had to carry him inside."

Soon, the boy appeared on the steps. He didn't look fuming anymore, just exhausted. And now he had his left leg in a cast.

His eyes roved over the yard but found nobody waiting for him. He took his phone out to call, but then changed his mind, and put it away. He glanced around again, and saw us.

We stared at each other for a long discomforting moment. His dark eyes contradicted his blond hair glinting like red gold under the sun. He was about my and Bogdan's age, maybe even younger. Thirteen maybe? But the spirit of arrogance radiating from him suggested he felt much older. He grabbed his crutches, and awkwardly started toward us.

"By chance," he began, "do you smoke pipes?"

Pipes? I wasn't even sure I'd ever seen one anywhere but in an old movie.

Bogdan's expression clouded over. "We don't smoke."

The boy didn't leave though. "Yeah, me neither." He set his crutches aside and dropped on the bench, craning his neck to look past me, at Bogdan's book. "What are you reading?"

"The Poems of the Light."

"Oh. Is it that book, like an alternative history of the world, but with magic? I hate it."

I saw Bogdan's features darkening further. "Why?" The only thing he hated more than strangers was when those strangers argued with him. Spending days in four walls, he wasn't a sociable person, and apparently didn't want to be.

"It's unrealistic," the boy said. "For one, there's a legend there, about a prince who's going to be killed in the end, everyone knows it and nobody tries to stop the assassin. How's that real?"

"Maybe everyone's afraid of being killed too," I said.

"Those characters sparkle and bleed with magical talents, their pockets are stuffed with mighty artifacts, and they're scared? Pah!" He held out his hand and smiled. "I'm Vlad, by the way."

"Bogdan." With that, he looked away, back to observing the game, his way of saying that he wasn't interested in this conversation.

But Vlad's hand wasn't meant for him, it was for me.

And I still didn't shake it, didn't offer my name. I wished I could cover my bruises, it made me feel exposed, plain like a book thrice read, like a branded animal, but Vlad's dark eyes were already fixed on my face. So I could do nothing but meet his eyes with unwavering resolve.

"Yaroslava," I said, and accepted his handshake. Sitting practically shoulder to shoulder, I saw freckles sprinkling the bridge of his nose and a few deep scratches on his chin. "What happened to you?" I asked him before he asked me.

"Slippery roofs," he said without hesitation. "Don't know about mountains, but today I learned that climbing up the roofs is my thing. Climbing off though...isn't." He waited for a heartbeat. "And what happened to you, Yaroslava?"

"Bumpy roads."

Before letting go of my fingers, his eyes lingered on my knuckles. Some thought glazed his pupils for a fraction of a second--he knew I was lying, but he didn't confront me.

The three of us sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind ruffle the oak leaves, and watching the football game where my sister was still cradled in the arms of her boyfriend. It seemed to amuse Vlad, his lips curling in a sneer. It was a harmless sneer, but I found myself embarrassed of Tatya. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been embarrassed of her, and it vexed me. Vlad vexed me. And I sensed Bogdan's unease still--yet none of us asked him to leave.

"About the stories though," Vlad went on, pushing me to one side so he could stretch his plastered leg on the bench. I scowled. He smiled again. "If all those were true, if you had magic, who do you think you would be? Heroes or villains?"

"Villains are nothing but pain in the ass," Bogdan said, annoyed. "And they always lose."

Vlad looked at him, puzzled. "Do they? The prince wasn't saved in your book, but he was kind of a hero. I mean villains always lose in tales, but we're talking about our world, Dan." His eyes shot to the bruise under my jaw. "Only with magic. Do you think villains lose here?"

"I agree, heroes are better." I crossed my arms over my chest, teaming up with Dan. Dan? No one called him that. "Their magic is the strongest, they're loved, and they have many friends and followers."

"Exactly." Bogdan nodded. "Nobody would choose to be a bad guy."

"I would," Vlad said. Too quickly, too softly, and his smile stayed intact.

I stared at him.

Dan stared at him. "Why?"

"Being admired by everyone is easy." Vlad lifted his shoulder in a shrug. Was it? "But sometimes I wonder... if I liked being hated." Here, his flawless smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

"Still." Bogdan shook his head. "I don't want to be admired or hated, I don't want to save anyone or destroy, I want--" His glance slipped to the field. "I want to be a gray cardinal. Every story has one, you know? Who watches from the shadows, sees everything, knows everyone's secrets. Who actually rules the game."

"Manipulates," I corrected.

"Helps."

"Helps those who they want to help."

"Those who deserve their help, Yara."

"Then what stops them from helping a villain?"

Dan pressed his lips tightly together before answering. "Honor."

I snorted. "Okay, if you put it that way. But actually, heroes and villains aren't that different."

Bogdan's face hardened. "How so?" Amazing, but that was the first time Dan and I had a quarrel, and all because of a boy who we'd never met before. Who now listened to us, peering over my shoulder, like an attentive student.

"Well, they both fight for something," I started, ticking off on my fingers, "something they both call the greater good, Dan. They both believe in something, both are feared by some and praised by others. The only difference is... I don't know really, the perspective? We always follow the hero's story, their thoughts, their actions."

"And if you heard a story from the villain's words then what?" Bogdan narrowed his eyes at me, his irritation obvious. "You'll like them? Despite all the innocent murders and ruined kingdoms?"

"Heroes are terrible, too," Vlad finally interjected. "A hero would never save you if they had to choose between you and kingdoms. The greater good, right?"

"A villain for one is the hero for another." I nodded. I saw Vlad cast me a sideways look. A strange one. As though my last words bothered him and inspired him at the same time. I wondered what his city friends usually said. Did I just make fun of myself? Or did he share my thoughts? Did I impress him then?

Everything about Vlad was too complicated that day. Even now, sitting at the back of the car lurched at the red lonely circle of a traffic light in the middle of a deserted prospekt, I feel the memories overpowering me like a shock wave. That day Vlad made me dig up emotions I'd never known, ask myself questions I'd never looked the answers for, hope for things I'd never thought existed. A boy who I'd never met before. A stranger.

Bogdan shut his book, pointedly loud. He thought I chose him over a stranger, I betrayed our friendship. "Your sister," he grumbled, refusing to meet my eyes.

"What?" I looked up to see Tatya striding across the street, leaving the game and her boyfriend behind when she saw me at last. Her movements were sharp and poised, but her expression was concerned. I stuffed my hands in my pockets quickly.

"Hey." Tatya stopped in front of us, blocking the sun. "Everything's fine?" she asked lightly, only her eyes sparked with worry as she looked at me.

I said nothing.

Vlad's gaze ran up and down Tatya's dress, her bare shoulders and legs. But he wasn't admiring her, I realized, but appraising. Then he glanced at me again. We didn't look like sisters to him. My hair was of the same coppery red but pulled back in a ponytail, and I wore an old pair of pants and a jacket, not a dress. And I really didn't feel anything close to Tatya's pride, especially with another bruise under my eye.

Finally, Vlad compared the hair color, and awareness washed over his face. "Right," he mouthed.

Tatya beamed at him when she caught him staring. A cast or not, he still looked like a citizen, and my sister loved making allies. "Bogdan." She nodded without turning away from Vlad. "And...?"--waited, expecting to hear a name.

Vlad, though, didn't say a word, just returned her a wide smile of his own. His eyes stayed cold. I should have been offended by such neglect, but instead, my mind dimmed with yet another new emotion. Dark joy. Vlad wasn't deceived by my sister's act of smiles and dresses. I was in charge of the situation today.

Refusing to give up, Tatya tried again. "What happened to your leg?" she asked, making a coquettish gesture of straightening her skirt.

"Was running too fast," Vlad lied, his fake grin perfect. It looked like they were daring one another who was a better charmer. I exchanged glances with Bogdan, he appeared apathetic, but his fingers skimmed the edges of the golden cross hanging around his neck. The motion of concern.

And again it tingled inside me, dark and stormy. I could say anything, and Vlad would believe me. That must be what power feels like, I thought. And I might like it.

"Tatya, this is Vlad," I began, swallowing my sudden excitement. "Vlad, this is my sister Ta--"

"If you were to choose, Tatya"--Vlad cut me off--"A hero or a villain?"

She thought for a moment. "Can I save the hero?"