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"Nilam, remind me why I've spent the last two hours filling up my trunk with graveyard soil." I consider a big circle of dirt and candles arranged on the floor before me.

The garage Nilam used to keep his car in is spacious, but the ceiling is barely high enough to stand straight, and now it smells of dust, and soil, and despair.

Writing runes across the floor with a piece of chalk, Nilam shrugs. "Since we modified our plan from capture to capture-and-obliterate, we need something to obliterate the serial killer's soul with, right? There's only one thing that can accomplish that."

Accomplish that. Once this night is over, we'll need just a day to finish the preparations and set a trap for the demon. Just a day, and then Yaroslava's job is done. Surreptitiously, I steal a glance at Fire Girl. Leaning against the wall, Yara watches Laverna who clearly struggles in her stiletto heels as she kneels to light the candles with a long match in her hands.

The deal was to let Yaroslava walk away freely once it's all over. She won't have an obligation to stay afterward, she won't have a reason. She'll leave, and I won't see her ever again.

"A soulwrecker," Nilam goes on, rolling a tiny glass ball Laverna has bought at the occult boutique between his fingers. "Immortal Fire caught in here."

"Immortal Fire? That's your plan?" My throat goes dry. This is even worse than I thought. "Nilam, that fire only exists in the Immortal Realm, in the realm of the dead. Do you want one of us to die and fetch a spark for you?"

"I'm technically dead," Yara says behind my back. "As long as I walk the earth in Polina's body and my bones aren't destroyed, the world of the dead is waiting for me, Mir. I just need to call upon it."

"That's what the decorations are for." Nilam nods at the runes. "We recreate the ritual we used to resurrect Yara, only this time we'll open just a small crack between the world. That's why we're doing it here, not in the graveyard, and that's what the candles are for. Once Yara steps into the circle, the runes will react to her presence and open up a rift, and the candle flames will turn immortal."

Anger spikes in my chest. "And if Yara's not fast enough to collect a spark into your ball and step out of the circle? That rift will suck her spirit in."

"I have this." She pulls a pendant from under her t-shirt, a small white crescent. "It's made of Tyilin wood. As long as I'm wearing it, I'm protected from all different kinds of sorcery that aren't in my body."

"You're entrusting your life to a piece of supernatural wood? Wonderful!"

"I can do this, Mir."

Yet her voice sounds unconvincing. I give Nilam a look, but he dismisses me with a wave of his hand. "She says she can do it. Trust us. I'll stay here with Yara, to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Then I'll stay, too."

"If Mir stays," Lav interjects. "I want to be here as well."

Both Nilam and I glare at her in unison. "No."

Nilam sighs. "We can't all stay," he says, his expression clouding over, making him look enigmatic in the candlelight. "The ritual won't work with so many people around, and--"

Crossing my arms over my chest, I drop on a rusty metal bench in the corner. "I'm the one with a sigil scar, and all magic is channeled from the world of the dead, right? It practically makes me Death's courtier. What's a better way to protect Yara from death than Death itself?"

"What is a sigil scar?" Lav interrupts us again.

Everyone ignores her.

Some emotion flashes in Nilam's pupils as he stares at me from under his brows. An emotion I've never seen there before. He's annoyed, but it's not that sort of annoyance as when I drink the last beer from the fridge or show up later than we've agreed to meet. It's deeper, rather morose and...somewhat intimate. He wanted to be beside Yara, without me.

"You don't know how Immortal Fire behaves, Mir," he says after a long, ill-tempered pause. "How are you going to help Yaroslava if something goes awry? Will you wrap your body around hers?"

I know he won't like my answer. But I'm only doing it to protect everyone, including him. "If I have to, I will."

✧ ✧ ✧

After another round of arguing and grumbling, Nilam and Laverna finally leave. "We'll be outside," Nilam mutters. "Scream louder if something goes wrong." Then the door clicks shut behind them, and Yara and I are alone with the candles casting their dancing shadows across the concrete garage walls.

Still seated on the bench, I watch Yaroslava stop at the very edge of the circle of soil. I watch her take a deep breath, then another. One more. She's closed her eyes, and her eyelashes tremble with her every intake of air.

The flickering lights spill over her umber hair, caress the curves of her body, and bathe the tension her arms are pressed at her sides with. I know she's dead, but I've never seen anyone more alive. Anyone with such a desire to live.

The only thing that is still hers is the eyes. Polina's irises were green, and when Yaroslava opened her eyes in the graveyard, she startled me with that brown gaze of hers. Brown as spring woods, encrusted with speckles of sunlight. Even Death couldn't take those away, her eyes and her stubborn luminous spirit that makes you feel seen every time she looks at you.

"Stop it," she says, still hesitating before the circle. "You're distracting me."

The rusty bench creaks beneath me as I shift, suddenly uneasy. "I'm literally doing nothing."

"You're staring."

Yes, I am.

As I don't reply, Yaroslava opens her eyes and looks at the glass ball Nilam's put in the center of the circle, her expression troubled. Fire reflects in her pupils as she stands motionless for a long moment, as though hypnotized.

It was the fire that killed her. Is she still scared of it? Worry swells up in my stomach as I see her stalling. She only needs to take another small step, cross the circle for the ritual to work, for her presence to call upon whatever Death of the rotten world seeks in ours.

She is scared.

Licking her lips, she glances sidelong at me. "Mir, can I ask you something?"

If you're sure you want my answer. "Okay."

"Before you started to suppress your powers, have you ever lost control over them?" The swiftness her words roll off her tongue with suggests that's not what she wanted to ask though.

"Maybe once, I'm not sure. Why?"

"And you've never felt like...it's too much? Like you can snap and destroy everything in your vicinity?" A timid smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth, something different from fear at last. "You have a horrible temper, you know?"

I can't help but smile, too. "Why, thank you."

"No, I mean-- Your powers react to your emotions, right? And when there are too many emotions, when your temper flares, don't you feel like you're about to break?"

"Ignore your emotions, then."

"Can one even learn to do that?"

I've been learning it my whole life.

"The last time I experienced an emotion strong enough to provoke Death, people died," she says, the tension around her arms growing. She's still rooted to her spot. "How did you manage to wield such power without ever losing control? Knowing that one wrong thought could cause harm to someone around you?"

Her question leaves me speechless for a second. I want to jump to my feet and walk over to peer into her eyes, to convince myself I misinterpret her fear. After everything she's been through, how can she still be scared of magic? "Isn't it obvious?" I will myself to stay seated. "You put your powers to use."

"You played with people's emotions?"

"No, I played with my own. When you feel overwhelmed, inspired, you need to act, or it will drive you mad. Write a poem, Yara, draw a picture, scream at the top of your lungs. Hit someone--" I hesitate. "Make love to someone."

Dismay alters her delicate features. Has she never thought of it? But if she's never learned to control her magic, it means...My heart sinks. Little liar, Fire Girl, are you not a liar? It means she told the truth when she said she didn't mean to kill anyone that night three and a half years ago, it was an accident.

She's not a murderess.

Oh, Fire Girl. You make everything complicated.

The shadows on her face deepen as she stares at the flames again. In this dimness, she looks otherworldly enchanting. You're a witch after all. Because why else do I find myself bewitched? My instant wish is to take a picture, so I can behold this moment forever. But I don't have my camera with me, and why would I need a forever with her?

Drawing another lungful of air, she nods to herself and finally enters the circle. I see how she holds her breath then, bracing herself for whatever comes next. My muscles tense up as I, too, expect a cold breeze to rush around the garage or a chill to slither down my spine, indicating that the border between the dead and the living has cracked.

Nothing happens.

"Do you sense anything?" Yara's brows arch, confused.

My eyes sweeping over the walls, I shake my head. "No."

"Me neither. I'm a beacon for Death, am I not? Where's the immortal fire that's supposed to hunt me?"

"Perhaps Death's busy?" I try to joke, but Yara only frowns. "Or you don't look that dead after all. Think of something, summon a strong emotion that can indicate your presence, flip the balance." I push myself off the bench and approach her, quietly stepping over a candle. "Let it out." My voice over her ear catches her off-guard, but she doesn't show it, save for a small gasp. "There must be an emotion inside you strong enough to make Death jealous."

She doesn't answer, her eyes squeezed shut again.

Standing behind her back, I lean over another ear of hers. "Are you angry? Are you sad?" Her hair smells of restaurant spices, coconut shampoo, and promises given at midnight. "Perhaps it's rapture that persuades you to start a new day? Or longing?"

"Mir, what are you doing?"

I wish I knew. I don't feel anything, not for her. Not now, not here. Every time I let my feelings prevail over logic, I get hurt. But maybe just a little bit, tonight? I'm not doing it for myself, I'm not letting my walls down, no. It's logically right, we need the ritual to work, and for that, I need Yara to focus. If not on hatred, then...It's not my heart, it's my mind. I'm doing it on purpose--because it serves the purpose.

My finger traces down her shoulder, over her elbow, toward her hand. Her skin is soft and warm. "I'm looking for a strong emotion."

Her chin jerks to one side, as if following my voice and my touch, but she still refrains from looking at me.

It doesn't work though, no breeze, no chill. The candlelight doesn't falter, she doesn't falter. I'm simply making fool of myself.

"Is your heart beating faster?" With the last attempt, I allow my hands to rest on her shoulders, to clasp them slightly as though in the beginning of a hug. Don't let me do it, I chant in my head. Shout at me, shove me away. Say you don't trust me. Say I don't deserve it.

She doesn't.

"Isn't your heart beating faster?" she parries instead. The flames flicker, at last, burning a fraction brighter. There's no wind yet, but the air grows fresher, like when a storm comes to cloak the sun.

"Good, Fire Girl. Hold on to that emotion of yours."

The air is fresh, yes, but the space seems to be tightening; something unreachable, intangible fills up the gaps between very molecules. Something you can never see, but you know it is there. Magic. The flames around us grow taller, flicker faster, plunging the room into twiddling shadows.

Death always comes uninvited, but tonight it awaits Yara's order. If she gets scared and the fire dies out, the ritual won't work. And there aren't many things fear can't conquer.

My hands slide down, past her arms, and land on her waist. She stiffens, surprised, but her breath stays measured and calm. Don't let me do it. Shout at me, shove--

She whips around, and before I can stop her, her face is a handspan from mine. Our eyes lock, her determination against my confusion. Please, don't. But there's only one thing stronger than fear, and I've just suggested it myself.

The heat of Yaroslava's breath brushes against my mouth, her hands cupping my face. She begins slowly, trailing her fingers over my jaw, testing the ground, exploring the boundaries, maybe expecting me to rebuke or retreat, and when I do none of that, she moves closer.

I can't think of what's logical anymore. The flames burn hotter, let alone everything inside me. My hands holding her waist harder, I can't tear my gaze from her eyes as they settle on my lips. She stops for a beat then, contemplative.

"What are you doing?" I ask, unsure I want the answer.

"Magic," she says simply. "You?"

I can't think, I don't want to, all I want is to fold myself into her. And she doesn't stop me. Our mouths join, and my back hits the concrete wall as our linked bodies almost topple over, forgetful of our surroundings. With an inaudible moan, her lips part, and the tip of her tongue reaches out for mine.

Maybe this is still just an emotion, maybe it is madness. And it is definitely a kiss.

For a moment, I remember what my previous wish to kiss her did to her, but then I also remember of the pendant around her neck. That little thing won't let the elixir subduing my powers harm her now. Why does this little thing make it all so easy! She presses against my chest, her arms thrown around my neck, as I pull her closer to me. Why does nobody stop me?..

A flash on the periphery of my eye, and suddenly we're in sheer darkness. The candles still burn, but unnaturally low, no light shed further than the ignited licks on the wax. Through the chaos of my feelings as Yara's tongue keeps teasing mine, one thought fights its way to the surface of my mind. We've stepped out of the ring of the graveyard soil, the magic won't work from here.

Wrapping my arms around her, I lift Yara up into the air and take a step forward, carrying her back into the center. I'm about to put her back down, but instead of releasing me, she grasps the lapel of my jacket and drags me down with her. Losing balance, we both tumble to the floor, arms and legs laced together, the flames whispering around us once again.

She kisses me, deeply, demanding. And I kiss her back, obeying her demand. I want nothing but to dissolve within her. There's only one emotion stronger than fear. This one.

The candles blaze up, natural orange fire turning unnatural green. The air thickens further. These green flames don't cast shadows anymore, don't radiate any heat. The crack to the dead world is open, the darkness is here.

"Mir?" Yara's voice wavers. My lips halt under her ear. "I'm cold."

"I'm here." But it's not her limbs that are cold. It's always the soul when nature bends, when the rules break, and the air of the dead realm enters the living realm.

No. I've done it all wrong. Alarm stirs inside me. Too many emotions, one over another, hers doubled by mine. I can cover her body with mine, hold her, cradle her, but it's not Polina's body that the darkness seeks.

It's Yara's spirit, and her spirit is in her blood.

Dipping my head, I blow her strand of hair away and press my lips against her collarbone. Yara gasps, her nails digging into my shoulder, when my teeth puncture her tender skin, drawing blood. "Sorry." I lick it away. "If your blood and mine get mixed, it's harder for Death to locate your spirit."

She stares at my bloodstained mouth for a moment, her eyes wide. Then her hand slips to the nape of my neck, and she pulls me into another kiss, grazing my bottom lip. I hiss into her mouth as metallic taste blends with our breaths.

The fire stills.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the green flames calm down, burning low and swaying to the wind that the living can't feel.

"Don't move," Yara whispers, watching the candles, too. Breathing through her nose, she looks back at me and nods.

Holding my breath so as not to disturb the stillness, I let go of her, even though all my instincts beg to keep her close. She shifts from under me, groping for the glass ball on the floor.

"Crap, I can't find it," she murmurs. "It must have rolled under the bench." Her last word comes out too harsh, and the underworld nature instantly reacts, the candles blinking up like a grease fire splashed with water.

I lurch after her, shielding her from the flames. "Then get it!"

Still sprawled on the floor, we both crawl toward the bench in the corner, dirt smearing over our clothes. I can't see anything in the blackness under the bench, only Yaroslava's back twitching as she struggles to sink her hand between its wrought-iron legs. "Did you find it?"

"Wait, Mir, I'm trying."

Every move is like walking on wires, the flames swaying, the air growing colder. Glancing up over my shoulder, horror grabs me as I realize we've knocked one of the candles off its place in the perfect circle. Freed, the flames have torn off the candles, and now those green sparks are tangling into a sphere, soaring up above us. They don't need Fire Girl's emotions anymore, they flutter and crackle and whirl.

A few more minutes, and those fiery claws of fire will find us. Find her. And what if her pendant isn't strong enough to protect her?

"We can't wait!" I swing over Yara's side, feverishly fumbling for the glass too. "Let me."

We both end up squashed under the bench with not enough place for our bodies. Yara's elbow thrusts into my chest, and our hands only prevent each other's attempts to grasp the tiny glass ball stuck in the corner.

"I almost got it." She nudges me away.

"I'm just trying--"

"No, I am trying--"

"Ow! My ribs, Yara."

"Sorry."

I bite the inside of my cheek as her hip rubs against mine while she fidgets between me and the wall. Her warmth is demoralizing. Nothing but the thin fabric of our clothes separates us right now. Her body has never been so close to mine, but my body definitively likes the idea, and everything in me knots and bulges in response.

"Got it! Now--" Her thigh collides with my groin. She goes still. "Mir? Is this your..."

I'm glad that shadows hide my blushed face. "This is a part of my body, Yara." I grit my teeth, striving to conceal my embarrassment behind irritation. "This is the law of nature magic hasn't broken yet."

Thankfully, she doesn't ask anything else.

Cautiously avoiding my body now, Yara turns around, and gently sends the glass ball sliding across the floor. It rolls into the ring of candles and then stops as though caught with an invisible hand, sucking in the green sparks.

Leaving us alone in the dark.

✦ ✦ ✦