As we neared the schoolyard, the rhythmic thump of music reached us, mingling with the flickering glow of colorful spotlights through the glass panels of the entrance. The parking lot was alive with activity: groups of students gathered around cars, some with scraps of fabric peeking out from beneath their coats, others flaunting voluminous, ruffled skirts. Viola circled the lot, searching for a spot, but Stanislav's car soon disappeared from view.
Finally, Viola maneuvered the SUV between two vehicles, leaving plenty of room on either side. We slipped out silently. The Smirnov sisters immediately headed to the trunk, yanking their jackets off by the sleeves. Soon, Arthur joined them.
"Don't you want to take off your things too?" Viola asked, and recalling Tatiana's earlier suggestion, the idea suddenly seemed appealing. I shrugged off my jacket, folded it neatly, and handed it to Viola. Then, I started to peel off my voluminous cloak, revealing the Eastern-style costume beneath. Diana retrieved a wide-brimmed witch hat from the trunk, its thick silk ribbon catching the nearest streetlamp's glow, scattering points of light like a constellation.
Viola's gaze briefly flickered over me, and she complimented my costume. I wasn't expecting that. Violet herself was draped in a Greek-style white tunic, cinched with a braided leather belt. One shoulder was secured with a round brooch etched with the image of a towering mountain. A gilded laurel wreath crowned her loosely styled curls, and a wide, intricately designed bracelet adorned her right arm. Arthur's outfit mirrored hers perfectly: a snowy tunic accented with a thick crimson velvet ribbon embroidered with gold. The same laurel wreath, placed on his head by Viola's deft hands, completed the ensemble.
"So, who are you dressed as?" I asked the group.
"Aphrodite and Hephaestus," Arthur said, brandishing a toy blacksmith's hammer before sizing me up. "And you?"
"One of Dracula's brides," I replied.
"Performing with Stanislav tonight?"
"I was supposed to, but I never got the chance to rehearse. My grandmother passed away recently, so I spent the past few weeks in Rostov for the funeral."
The Smirnovs looked at me with quiet sympathy. Only Diana whispered gently, "I'm sorry for your loss," her hand brushing my shoulder as though my fragile body might shatter under any more weight. "Losing someone is never easy."
"We know," Violet said softly, adjusting items in the trunk with care. Arthur and Diana remained silent.
"By the way, where's Maxim?" I asked.
"He won't be coming," Viola said sharply, slamming the trunk shut with a flourish. Arthur's eyes widened. "Are you insane? We're outside! What if someone saw us?"
She glanced around calmly, then shrugged. "Nobody did."
Before anyone could respond, a voice rang from the side, startling not only me but all the vampires.
In the dim lantern light, I didn't immediately recognize Tatiana. She staggered forward in a zigzag rather than a straight line, and then, with a sudden movement, launched herself into my arms. I groaned under her weight. She pressed herself against me, her icy jacket against my exposed skin, and for a moment, I wanted to shove her away—but I couldn't. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my arms around her waist, guiding her back to solid ground.
Tatiana, like a mischievous child, resisted, sliding slightly on the ice, laughing and shrieking something incomprehensible. My frustration grew as a sharp scent hit me—alcohol. Just like Arthur. I realized that Tatiana hadn't just drunk alone; she had been instigating the same reckless mischief.
"Are you drunk?" I asked, my voice trembling.
She only laughed, full of spirited amusement. I saw nothing funny. A fresh wave of anxiety replaced my initial worry: what if the teachers noticed? What if Tatiana fell ill? I knew she would; her mind was clouded, and alcohol never boded well. Memories of a previous encounter, long burned into my memory, surfaced: a drunk neighbor sprawled across the staircase, vomit streaked across his coat, the stench so harsh it stung my eyes and nose. I was a child, unable to help. My mother intervened, and the man survived, but the image haunted me for years.
Even small, casual drinking by friends didn't disturb me, but drunkenness like Tatiana's—stumbling, laughing for no reason—filled me with disgust. I tried to steady her, only to notice Dasha approaching, swaying similarly, and felt my stomach churn. How did Tatiana have such a destructive influence on others? What a parasite.
"Do you hear that?" Violetta said, keeping me from freeing Tatiana.
Arthur turned his head slightly and nodded.
"Like a phone ringing. Yours?"
"Not mine," Viola muttered, bustling around, trying to locate the sound. "Seems to be coming from the trunk. Did anyone leave a phone in a jacket?"
I realized instantly: my smartphone. Whoever was calling, I needed it—maybe Dad was trying to reach me. I cursed Tatiana, forced her release, and finally set her feet on the asphalt.
"Asya, move! Otherwise, we'll freeze to death," Violetta snapped.
I hurried after her, uneasy, feeling as though all eyes were on me. My anger at my drunken classmates burned, yet I reminded myself: their missteps were their own. I rummaged through the trunk, imagining the deputy principal pulling Tatiana aside, only to have her vomit on his suit. Parents called, music halted, the chaos spreading, justice served in real time.
At last, I found my neatly folded jacket—likely Diana's doing—and retrieved my phone. The screen glowed: Kostya was calling. I pressed the button in haste.
"Dad, sorry, I didn't hear the phone. What's up…"
"And hello again, dear," came a pretentious, icy voice that made my skin crawl. "Listen carefully if you want to keep your father safe. If you understand, say 'Yes, Dad,' loudly and cheerfully, so your friends don't suspect a thing."