✧ ✧ ✧

Despair blurring my vision, I start walking. I don't know where, just away from Mir Praejis, away from my past. It really is a game for him, isn't it? He wants to see me break.

Just like when Mir invited me to the roof at Nilam's club, when he tricked me into drinking that nasty pomegranate juice and then bound my hands with bracelets--he brought me here tonight so I could see his name written in front of my very eyes. To remind me whose fault this all is.

You're a liar, Fire Girl.

Of course, he despises me.

A witch.

A murderess.

Unworthy of redemption.

"Yara?"

What's the point of even trying to explain if nobody has ever believed my words? Skirting the makeshift bar, I duck behind the columns, into the side aisle of the basilica, and throw the door in the corner open. The restroom looks too pompous for a church, but artful enough for a gallery, with the lights multiplying by huge mirrors on the walls and black glossy tiles underfoot.

Silence settles around me as the door behind me closes.

You're a liar, Fire Girl. And I've been wondering why he calls me a liar.

Turning the water on, I push my hands into the sink and then splash my face. It doesn't calm me. All this time, I've been convincing myself I could change something, be someone else. In reality, nobody expected me to be someone else. Why did Mir bring me back from the dead? He would have found Vlad sooner or later without me--Vlad would have found him.

No, he brought me back because he needed someone to blame. You cannot blame a demon who has no feelings, no motive but boredom. And you most certainly cannot blame yourself because then you have to admit you made mistakes, too. You were wrong, flawed.

"Yara?" The door swings open and shut again, and Mir appears in the reflection behind my back. Mirrors are covert windows to the world of the dead, they say. But the life they show isn't less deceitful. Mir looks confused, his brows drawing together. "What happened?"

A choked laugh clogs my throat. What happened? And then it dawns on me. Perhaps he hasn't realized I saw his name and put the pieces together? He didn't even want me to know what he's been blaming me for.

But then he's no better than Vlad, playing God with everyone around him.

"How lonely you must feel inside if you keep trying to break me, huh?" The question falls from my lips before I think of the meaning behind it.

Mir stiffens. His expression goes numb, depriving him of all emotions but shock. The shock that he's skillful to muster into cold anger.

The fabric of my dress is too soft, and the straps holding its bodice keep sliding down my shoulders, threatening to bare my chest as I lean into the sink. I fix it once, then twice, and then again I tug the plunging neckline back in place, well aware of Mir's eyes still trained on me through the mirror. He doesn't think I'm doing it on purpose, to provoke him, does he?

"I'm not lonely," he says, his voice brusque. "You know nothing about me."

Because you don't tell me shit about yourself.

Shaking the water off my hands, I spin to face him. "I know something. I know that by blaming me, you won't fill the hole in your heart. I know that deep down, you know it, too. Deep down, I think, you seek just the opposite--my approval."

In two wide strides, he crosses the room between us. Temper flares in Mir's eyes as he stops inches away from me. "Wrong, Fire Girl."

I do not back away. I don't know what got into me, maybe I'm simply sick of playing by everyone's rules but mine. "You seek my approval," the words roll off my tongue like venom, "because you and I aren't that different, Mir Praejis. Why is it that when it comes to Vlad, it's always you who brings that up? Why are you the one to accuse him of my murder if I'm the one dead here? Are you jealous of him?"

He says nothing, he doesn't even blink when his eyes flick down when I straighten my damn dress once again. His gaze travels to the curve of my neck, to my collarbone, to my bodice revealing too much of my skin. He looks away quickly, almost ashamed of succumbing to this impulse to look. Annoyance and hurt battle across his face.

"You should be jealous, Praejis. Demons might fake their feelings, but unlike you, they know how to do it. And you are predictable." I take a step toward him, my dress brushing against his white shirt. I wanted this step to be threatening, but I'm afraid it's not. "Do you want to know how I predict you? You have more masks than real feelings. Honestly, right now I'm not even sure...Do you have any real feelings?"

The air in the restroom is thick, laced with alcohol and soap, but Mir smells of none. He smells of mint. Of storm. "You forget one thing," he says, gazing into my face. Hurt has won in his eyes. "Why should I believe your feelings are real?"

"You shouldn't. But you want to, because if I'm saying the truth, it means I confide in you, Mir. It means you're worthy of being confided in."

Something new shifts in his pupils at my last words. It's not anger, not storm, not hurt. I hesitate to name it because what I'm thinking can't be it. He closes his eyes and loosens a protracted breath, the hot air from his lungs teasing my chin.

His face is bloodless from recent temper, but his lips are red and too close to mine to ignore. The lights and shadows falling over us make him look sad. Why? Why doesn't he scoff? Why doesn't he scowl? I clench my purse to stop my hands from the urge to knot into Mir's shirt, from shoving him away or pulling him closer--anything but this uncertainly.

No, I don't want to pull him closer, I don't want to touch him, I don't want to know if my hand fits against his jawline. It's just an instinct, an impulse to do what Polina has probably done many times before.

Wait. Polina has never done that before.

I struggle to catch his gaze, to figure out who he sees then, when looks at me. But he refuses to look up, his gaze glued to my mouth, his lashes casting long shadows across his cheeks. Impossible to fathom what he's thinking.

I don't move. I wait, and watch, and want. Agonizingly slow, Mir leans forward but then hesitates, his mouth a hair's breadth from mine. Without a second thought, my lips part.

He still doesn't touch me. He doesn't hold me, doesn't pull me into his arms. And his lips hardly reach mine, pressing lighter than a feather. Promising, not giving.

Our breaths blend, and the warmth of his tight body stalling against mine is frustrating. Time stops when the tip of his tongue darts out, only to sweep over my lower lip. Swift, he retreats before I can react. A split second, and we're apart again.

Sorrow shines in Mir's eyes when they finally meet mine.

"You are a witch after all," he says, a hint of regret in his tone. Then he turns around and leaves.

I stare after him, bewildered. The door closes behind Mir's back, and I'm alone in the silence once again. Only my heart's hammering in my chest. Racing, setting my blood on fire. I lick my lip and taste the ghost of his kiss. A faint flavor of minty cocktail and mulling spices.

And something I'd call despair, lingering on my tongue for a moment. Or maybe the despair is mine, not his. Because now I want more than a year.

More than just a taste of mint.

✧ ✧ ✧

It changes nothing.

It's nothing. Mir still despises me, and I don't need him.

I will myself to return to the gallery, but with every step, I feel less and less steady. Who cares about the art or photos or other people's opinions? Who cares when you are alone...Forever.

Every move takes a leaden effort to make. I know something's off the moment I walk out of the restroom and the sounds of the party hit my ears, static and low, like resonance underwater. Like I am underwater, cut from the world.

The scent of magic fills my nostrils, but it's no storm and freedom my mind used to describe it with, it's acid cold. Earthy. Deadly. Did I drink too much?

I feel sick.

As I wade through the crowd, my eyes drift from side to side, but I can't find a single familiar face, only the colors too muted, the voices too small, the air too thick.

Another art installation, a human-size crucifix with iron vines, is staged by the far end of the nave, pale blue lights leaving doubling shadows on the wall behind it. This is it, too many shadows. I haven't noticed there were so many shadows before. They're moving like dancers caught in rhythm, while I am not.

I am not dead yet.

Then why do I see the dead?

My knees wobble as I watch black shadows peel from the walls and hover over the people around me. Where the black slides across a person, I glimpse their skin thinning like smoke, revealing their skulls and ribs and hearts pumping the blood through their veins.

The basilica is the same, yet it is not, too. Its walls are a replica of what I saw earlier, a layer behind a layer. Dark and rotten and merged in the whispering abyss I'd do anything to stay away from.

The demons are here.

They say the world of the dead exists along with the world of the living, side by side, breath to breath, and we're walking in both. How do I know when I cross the threshold then?

Bile rises up my throat. Is the magic keeping me in this body wearing off?

Am I going back to the abyss?

Am I dying?

Dread twists my stomach. People around me are chatting and laughing as though nothing's happening. You will all die once, too! I want to scream. Why are you smiling? They're corpses walking, who don't know they're dead.

Haunted shadows keep moving, the darkness descends from above, veiling everything. Closing around me. If I run, it will catch me, if I stay, it will find me.

I will die.

Cold sweat slithers down my back.

What is this place? Where's my family? Where's the warmth of the living sun?

Frantic, I look around and finally notice Mir talking to some guests. His expression is polite, but his gaze alert, watching me. He must know what's wrong.

I start toward Mir, but my lungs tighten when another shadow emerges from behind the crucifix. It flows and billows, then takes the shape of a man. But there's no living person for it to cling to, it is not a shadow of one's soul. It is free. And I swear it sees me. Looks right at me.

"Vlad?"

The shadow cocks its head as though listening. A heartbeat, and it glides toward me, its steps inhumanly smooth.

If I run it will find me, if I stay it will catch me, if I scream--

I scream.

My piercing cry bounces off the ceiling, causing everyone in the basilica to stop and stare. It's ringing silence all of a sudden, with me in the center of it. Corpses and darkness, and my scream. And he keeps approaching.

My purse falling from my hands, I set off running. Panic swells up inside me. Wherever I go, I know it won't be far enough. I can't hide, I'm doomed.

Someone flashes to my side, Kadri's voice tries to soothe me, but I stumble away from her, shuddering when her hand lands on my shoulder. I can't look at her, I can't bear to witness the murk at her back, the phalanges under the skin of her fingers. She does not understand. They all do not understand.

I am going to die.

Again.

Only when I scurry back into the mirrored restroom, I allow myself to pause for a breath. Doors don't stop the dead, walls don't stop the dead. What do I do then to outrun the inevitable? Maybe if put my pendant back on, its power will help me stay in Polina's body. But where is my pendant? I've lost my purse.

My mind dazed, I can't see or think clearly as I turn from side to side, like a mouse in a cage with a snake. My frightened reflection follows me in every mirror. Something clanks outside, and I flinch. Something stomps by the door, and I squeeze my eyes shut, cringing into the wall.

Please, don't hurt me, burying my face in my hands, I sag to the glossy floor. I have nowhere to run. Please, please, please--

"Why would I hurt you?" Kadri asks, crouching beside me. "What's wrong, Yara?"

I don't know, I think I'm back to the abyss. But now I see more than just darkness.

"Is she high?" Laverna's voice prompts from above.

"Did you give her something?"

"Me? No. Nilam maybe--"

Someone cuts her off with a snarl of cursing, and drops to their knees in front of me. I press my palms tighter to my face when a sturdy hand tries to pull my head up and make me look at them. "Yaroslava?"

Please, please, please...I know it's stupid. If I don't look, the nightmare won't go away. But I can't bring myself to look, I'd better die blind.

"...People will think she's crazy."

"Is she sick?.."

Their voices mingle in my head until all I hear is incomprehensible buzzing and my own pulse thrashing in my temples. Is Vlad here to kill me? Why hasn't he done it sooner then? And I still don't know why he killed me that last night. Because he discovered I was weak and didn't deserve my powers? It's so cold out here...I've never thought of dying as coldness, it was fire back then.

"Yaroslava, breathe."

I realize I've been holding my breath. The living don't do that. I follow the instruction, I take a small sip of air, but it's so icy cold, it stings my lungs.

The same tenacious hand shakes me, ripping me out of the haze of my thoughts. "If you don't breathe, you die, Yara. Breathe."

"Vlad?"

"No, it's Mir. Praejis, remember?"

No, I don't remember. I'm dead. I died, I burned in a house, and I was stuck in eternal darkness murmuring my name over and over, waiting for me to go mad...Perhaps this is it. I'm finally mad.

"I give up," I whisper, tears seeping from beneath my closed eyelids. "Please, I'm dead. Let me rest."

"You're not dead, Fire Girl. Look at me, I'm alive."

"I can't look. Demons will look back at me."

"Okay, don't look then. Just give me your hand. Hold me," his fingers wrap around my wrist, gently pulling my hand away from my face, drawing my palm forward and resting it against the side of his neck. I don't open my eyes. I wince, expecting my hand to sink under his skin, under the smoke I saw, and find a solid bone.

But it's only skin, soft and warm with heartbeat.

"Breathe, Yara."

Jarred noise rattles from behind the door and under the ceiling, and the voices around me start arguing all over again.

"Something blocks the magic keeping her alive."

"No shit, Ady. How do we fix it?"

"I don't know, let her sleep it off. Nilam always says magic's like a hangover."

"She can't sleep! If she falls asleep, she dies. Polina's back."

But sleep sounds nice. I sense it, the dizziness, the embrace of tender oblivion. I can let it take over me, then I won't see the bones, will I? My head grows heavy, and I slump to one side, mumbling words I don't hear myself, struggling to tell them I'm fine. I can sleep.

My hand falls from his neck, but he catches it, waking me and dragging me onto my feet. I don't know why I follow him, maybe because he's warmer than the floor.

"Help me get her to a taxi, we're leaving."

"I can drive."

"No, Gyoku."

"Mir, I can--"

"I said no! Nobody's coming with us, Laverna. If she loses it, whatever wickedness is after her you all will see too. Are you sure you're ready for this? Go back to the party, and make sure everyone thinks Polina simply had too much to drink. Kadri, move."

So many names, so many words...Do they have to mean something? Do they have to be important? I really just want to sleep now. Wait, I remember another name.

I risk and lift my eyelids, just a little, to peek at the people around me. To see if the dead are gone. But everything swims in my vision now, like the waters of a river at night. I inhale, but then stop midbreath when the figure beside me props me, winding a supportive arm around my waist.

"Breathe," he says. "It's safe, you are safe. Demons can't touch you if you're alive."

I remember another name. A demon's name.

"Why did you leave me there, Vlad?" My voice is barely audible as we walk, I'm not sure he hears it. "Alone under the snow. Please, don't leave me."

"I won't leave you. Promise."

"Thank you."

"But you have to promise me something too, okay?" He guides me through the darkness and the voices and the cold. A car door clicks, and he helps me inside. "Don't fall asleep, Fire Girl. Don't give in, keep breathing. Can you do it for me? If you don't breathe, I can't stay with you."

"Breathe for you?"

"Breathe for me."

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