Maybe it was just my imagination. But how could Galina have known my number? I wasn't sure if the predator in the guise of a waitress could have escaped the Smirnovs on the day of the abduction. That day had gone badly for her, at least as far as I could recall from the jagged fragments of memory. But what if vampires healed quickly? Perhaps she had survived—and now, she was hunting me. My father had only found the body of the porter who worked with her, and that could mean anything. I needed to ask Stanislav. He might know more.
I was about to search for his number in my recent calls when hesitation froze me. Everyone in class had been waiting for this day for months, anticipating the school disco and Halloween celebrations. Was it worth stirring panic over a single phone call, especially if I wasn't even certain? Maybe someone was just playing a Halloween prank. Our classmates didn't know anything about the abduction, let alone the other side of Ksertoni, where vampires lived among humans—and who knew what else. After the funeral, I hadn't felt like myself. Perhaps I could wait to ask Stanislav about Galina if the calls continued—or if an opportunity arose. After all, a prank call wouldn't kill me. Even if it really was her. Still, doubt pricked at my mind.
I needed rest, a distraction—something to pull me out of this spiral. Remembering the tea, I went to the kitchen and smiled wryly at myself. Of course, I'd brewed chamomile. Just what my frayed nerves needed. Chamomile's gentle magic, save me.
I poured the cup to the brim and sank into the couch, legs tucked beneath me, waiting in the quiet. My gaze flicked constantly to the phone on the table, half-expecting the same unknown number to flash again—but it never did.
When the tea was gone, the doorbell rang. I hurried to open it. Tanya and Dasha stood there, identical in their meticulous hairdos: diagonal parts, hair swept back and pinned at the left temple in a crisscross pattern, the rest falling in flawless Hollywood waves. Their faces were decorated with sharp, precise lines of makeup, tiny rhinestones perched at the ends—three on each eye. Black pencil traced their lower lids, smudged for effect. On Tanya, it looked stunning; on Dasha, unnatural, masking her features rather than enhancing them. Tatiana had clearly been thinking of the performance, not of her friend. Poor Dasha.
Despite my thoughts, I kept silent. Nobody had asked for my opinion. Rostova scanned me critically, exclaiming:
"Are you really going like that? Where's your costume?"
I lifted the hem of my dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Dracula bride outfit beneath.
"I'm wearing it. It's cold out here. I'll change at school."
Tanya raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"And where will you put all of that?"
"In my backpack?" I answered, frowning at her meaning.
"And then?" she pressed, clearly expecting me to understand.
"Well… in the changing room, probably. Or some other room. The teachers will open something for our things, won't they?"
Dasha pursed her lips, shaking her head.
"Usually everything's locked, so students don't wander around. It's easier to keep track of us."
"Keep track of us? Why?" I asked, confused.
Tanya smirked, as if the answer were obvious.
"What if someone brings alcohol?" she said pointedly. "Or… something else. Anyway, drop everything unnecessary and let's go. You won't freeze in the car. Come on, move! They're waiting for us."
"Who's waiting? The taxi hasn't called yet," I said, bewildered.
"What taxi?" Tanya looked genuinely surprised. "Eddie and his brothers are downstairs—they'll give us a ride."
"Oh." I went to the hall for my phone. "I called a taxi for us."
"Cancel it!" the girls shouted in unison. My legs took over before my brain caught up, and I broke into a run.