Kostya hadn't returned yet when the shrill ring of my phone alarm cut through the silence. I lay in bed, staring at the pale, blank ceiling. My thoughts from the previous night clung to me so tightly that I hadn't even bothered to change out of my clothes. Pushing myself up, I started to get ready for school and called my father. After a few long, impatient rings, he finally answered.
"Hello?"
"Good morning."
"Yeah…" Kostya's voice sounded heavy, tired. "It's him. All signs point to the Kserton maniac having killed himself. The suicide note seems genuine. We're still investigating, but I'm almost certain it's over. I won't be able to pick you up or send anyone to school. It's… a real emergency here. Can you ask someone else? Maybe Stas?"
The suggestion felt both tempting and frightening. I could finally ask Stanislav all the questions that had been gnawing at me through the night—but how safe would it be? I didn't know. Caution felt like the only sensible choice.
"Listen, it's a bit inconvenient. Could you talk to him and arrange it? I talked to Stas so much yesterday, I think he might refuse."
"What did you say to him?"
"Just some things," I replied evasively. "So… can you handle it?"
There was a pause. I could hear the bustling noise from the station through the line—restlessness, urgency.
"Give me a couple of minutes."
"Okay."
My father hung up. Stanislav might refuse, I realized, but at least there was a backup plan—a bike. Not ideal, but it would do.
Outside, the world seemed brighter than usual. A thin layer of snow had settled overnight, glittering faintly in the early light. If I wanted to get to school on the bike, I should have left twenty minutes ago. But there was nothing to do now. Waiting for Kostya's call, I went to the kitchen, set the kettle on, and made myself two sandwiches while the water boiled. I brewed a cup of Earl Grey, sat at the table, and turned on the TV. Just as I took the last sip, a sharp triple knock sounded at the door.
How strange—who knocks on a solid leather door when there's a doorbell? Curious, I approached the peephole. A dark silhouette shifted in the dim light. The lamp above was burnt out, hiding the face. The figure was short, hair sticking out in every direction.
"Who is it?" I called.
"Hey, Asya!" a friendly voice replied. "It's Diana, Stas's sister. Your dad called—he asked Ed to give you a ride to school, but he can't today. I offered to help. Can I come in?"
I unlatched the door and let her in. Diana's light-colored coat hung open over her shoulders, and her shiny black stilettos gave her a touch of height. Snowflakes clung to the ends of her tousled black hair, catching hints of red in the strands.
"Ready?" she asked, brushing away the remaining flakes.
"Just a minute," I said, grabbing my backpack and scarf. When I returned, I fumbled with my jacket, tangled in the sleeves. Diana stepped in to help, holding the fabric at my shoulders. I zipped it up, and her eyes immediately narrowed.
"Are you sure you won't freeze? It's below zero, and the wind is strong."
"We're taking the car anyway."
"Yes, but what if you need the bus later, or wait for Kostya tonight?" She touched my jacket, her brow furrowing. "Anyway, I can drive you there and back—if you don't mind."
"Not at all. That would be great."
I trusted Diana. She hadn't been involved in yesterday's events—a secret I intended to keep that way.
Once seated, I fastened my seatbelt. Winter had arrived overnight; snow continued to fall, shimmering under the half-moon still visible in the pre-dawn sky. Diana removed her gloves, started the engine, and released the handbrake.
"Don't you want to buckle up?" I asked, noticing her focus.
"Damn," she muttered, pulling the belt across herself. "I keep forgetting."
"Not worried about getting pulled over?"
Diana chuckled. "I rarely drive. I only think about getting from point A to point B in one piece. Everything else—stressful."
"Some people love the speed. Others just like owning a big, intimidating car, I guess. Does everyone in your family drive?"
The car eased out of the courtyard.
"Everyone. I was last. The twins got theirs earlier. Only Arthur doesn't—he prefers motorcycles."
"Motorcycles? I didn't see any in the garage."
"And you won't. Dad is strictly against it. He says Arthur would race around Ksertoni, attracting unnecessary attention. Vladimir works hard to keep a good image, but it's not easy. I think you've noticed—we're still outsiders here."
I nodded. "Interesting—your family avoids attention while saving girls from being kidnapped."
Diana's grip on the wheel tightened. "So you remember," she said.
"I forgot… but not for long. Last night gave me a lot to think about."
At the traffic light, I recognized the intersection by the fishing shop with the giant pike on its sign. Diana flicked the lever, and the wipers swept snowflakes aside.
"I was planning to ask Stas about it, but it seems I'll ask you instead," I said.
She exhaled sharply. "He made the mess and sent his sister to deal with it. Classic Ed-style."
"Skipping the first class, then?" she asked.
"Not great. I missed yesterday, too."
"You had a medical check-up. Skipping Russian won't matter—they won't teach anything new."
"That's what you think. Let's see next year's exams," I countered.
Diana shrugged. "We'll see. Ask while we still have time."
"Are you really vampires?" I blurted.
"Yes," she said immediately.
"And you drink blood?"
"Sometimes."
"Human blood?"
"Preferably."
Her curt answers unnerved me, yet I pressed on. My mind was still trapped in yesterday's terror, a world of mystical creatures I had only read about, now frighteningly real.
"The man who kidnapped me—was he one of you?"
"Yes and no."
"Explain."
Diana exhaled, gathering herself. "It's complicated. Want me to give a full guide titled Bloodsucking Creatures and Where They Live?"
"Simplify," I urged, eyes pleading.
"Vampire is a broad term for creatures that feed on blood. I'm a vampire. My father, Vladimir, is one too. Your kidnapper is as well. We're part of a single species. I'm eighteen, born this way—I know no other life. Vladimir, however, was turned. Your kidnapper too. But they aren't the same. Those turned by non-firsts are weaker, doomed to insatiable thirst and slow madness."
The first bell rang faintly. Diana paused, glancing at me. I cursed myself for refusing to skip class.
"The basics are explained. Shall we?" She opened the door, stepped out, and retrieved our bags from the trunk. I followed, catching up just before the school doors.
"Here's your backpack. Was my kidnapper merciful?"
Diana nodded, glancing around. "Not here. Lunch?"
"Sure."
She ascended the steps gracefully, heels clicking lightly—a dancer in every movement. I watched for a moment, mesmerized, then hurried to class.