Loud music pulsed through the car, turning the ride into a wordless blur. Tanya had claimed the aux cord from Stanislav and, without hesitation, flooded the speakers with dance remixes of love songs from the eighties. The volume made conversation impossible—which, truth be told, was a relief. I had no idea what to say, and the music neatly patched that silence. At least in the store, we'd be able to hear ourselves think.
Through the narrow gap between the seats, I watched Stanislav. Tanya's hand appeared, offering something, and Smirnov accepted it without hesitation, lips brushing whatever sweet or snack she'd given him. The sight pricked at me with a faint, sour déjà vu, an ache settling unpleasantly in my chest. Since when had he started indulging her so openly? They could have exchanged whatever tender little gestures they wanted somewhere—anywhere—other than right in front of me. Feeling like an intruder at a private play, I turned to the window.
Rain streaked the glass in thin rivulets, racing each other until they vanished in the blur of our speed. Outside, the autumn forest was surrendering to dusk, the colors drained to muted browns and grays, as though someone had turned the saturation dial down to zero. A gray day, a gray city—perfect camouflage for my mood.
Costume shopping was the last thing I wanted. But the promise of answers—real answers—was worth the detour. The sooner I pieced the truth together, the sooner I could claw my way back to something resembling a normal life. Crushes, awkward school dances, looming college applications… anything but this. I told myself to at least try to treat this like an ordinary errand with classmates. What could be more harmless than a group of seniors picking out costumes for a party?
I'd never been to this part of town before. Past the railway tracks, a row of dark-green garages sagged under years of road dust, abandoned by owners who no longer cared. Across from them stretched a sprawl of covered market stalls, a labyrinth of themed shopfronts and faded signage. Stanislav's car slowed at the checkpoint, passing displays of bathroom fixtures, second-hand furniture, and building supplies. Nothing here suggested the exotic, vaguely "Eastern" aesthetic we were meant to find—unless Tanya had decided to abandon the whole Dracula's-brides idea, which, truth be told, only existed because of a decade-old Van Helsing adaptation.
Then we turned the corner.
The building ahead was squat and sprawling, its windows masked entirely in printed film. Cartoon Santas, fairy-tale heroines, and glossy comic-book heroes peered out from the advertisements, all rendered in vibrant costume.
Stanislav finally turned the music down. The sudden quiet made the ringing in my ears obvious, and I mentally added "turn it down on the way back" to my list of requests. We unbuckled in unison. I was just reaching for the door when Tanya's hand slid across Stanislav's palm in an unmistakably intimate stroke. He didn't flinch—or even look particularly bothered. A thin bitterness coated my tongue, along with the ridiculous impulse to say something sharp. But I swallowed it. The last thing I needed was for Tanya to think I cared.
Tanya joined Stanislav at the front of the car, threading her arm through his as we braved the icy road toward the store. Under the dim glow of the lamps, the frozen surface glittered like powdered diamonds—beautiful, treacherous. The moment our soles hit it, they skidded. I grabbed Dasha's arm for balance; she gripped mine without hesitation, and together we shuffled forward in small, deliberate steps. Tanya took the hint and latched onto Stanislav—who, instead of walking carefully, gave a sudden push-off, gliding across the ice with practiced ease and towing her along like a reluctant passenger. Her horrified squeal nearly broke my composure; I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing outright.
They made it to the asphalt just outside the store's canopy. Tanya, less graceful, lost her grip and teetered backward—until Stanislav caught her at the waist. She straightened instantly, but instead of letting go, she melted against him.
"Oh!" she breathed, all mock-innocence. "If it weren't for you, I'd have fallen. You're so attentive, Stanislav."
His answering smile was all gallant warmth. I found it nauseating.
"Asya?" Dasha's voice cut through my thoughts, her fingers tightening on my arm. "You okay?"
Only then did I realize I was still standing in the middle of the icy road, cheeks hot.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Just felt a little… dizzy in the car."
Without missing a beat, Dasha fished in her pocket and produced a mint in a crinkling blue wrapper. "Here—this will help."
I accepted it gratefully, unwrapping and letting the cool sweetness spread across my tongue. "Thanks," I said, the relief of her simple kindness outweighing the candy itself.
Stanislav and Tanya were already at the entrance, heads bent in quiet conversation. I caught the moment his hand brushed a strand of her pale hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting across her flushed cheek. My jaw tightened.
"Let's just go in," I said loudly, grabbing the handle and pushing the door open.
Inside, a riot of color and texture unfolded—rows upon rows of costumes spilling in serpentine racks deep into the store. Every corner beckoned, every fabric shimmered in the low light. No signs. No labels. Just chaos.
"Oh, God," I muttered. "How are we ever going to find what we need?"