God, how I love the Carpathians! I fell in love with them the first time I visited this country, for my sister’s wedding to the Prince of Midnight. There’s something timeless about the mountains, the forests, and the quaint villages, many of which have been apparently abandoned. But Juliet and Rux told me stories about the countless mysteries dwelling beyond the appearances. Flip the villages around, and in their mirror dimension they’ll be crawling with magic.
The Carpathians need to arouse as little interest as possible in order to keep nosey investors, the press and researchers at bay. So the government is difficult, and the villages don’t look particularly attractive to outsiders interested in money or power. But there’s abundance beyond this veil, all kinds of it.
The train creaks to a halt in Father Ruben’s old village. I grab my luggage, and hurry out into the crisp mountain air.
God, it’s so fresh and strong that I’m immediately hungry. I close my eyes and breathe in, feeling so happy my heart might burst. If only I could hold on to this moment.
But then I open my eyes to the small, decaying train station, red brick and wooden window frames, the glass dusty as if the windows haven’t been cleaned in years. Someone’s supposed to pick me up, and chances are that someone will be Tristan. Damn it, I get nervous when I think about seeing him again. I thought I was over that crap. Only hours ago, I was still punishing him with my detachment.
But no one’s waiting for me outside the station, and there’s no passageway so I can get from this platform to the building. I walk over the tracks, almost breaking my ankles through the pebbles, balancing my luggage. But after I’ve cursed my way over a few tracks, Tristan and Soraya emerge through the open doors. Tristan hurries to help me with my luggage, our hands touching over the handle.
Butterflies rise in my stomach the moment Tristan and I lock eyes. He’s wearing a black priest’s robe that only makes his beautiful vampire face stand out even more. My God, his white-blond hair, his hard sexy face, the electric blue eyes, that mouth, he’s so incredibly handsome. My vampire assassin. My wet dream.
I have a flash of him between my legs, his priest clothes still on, while I’m spread-eagle like a wanton whore under him. I go dizzy with desire, swallowing hard. Damn it, it must be the love potion, its effects intensifying now that we see each other again after two weeks.
He takes my luggage, and offers me his arm—now facing his supposed wife, Soraya.
She waits in front of the desolate double doors, dressed modestly in a black dress like a proper orthodox priest’s wife, a black bonnet on top of her head. The only patches of color are her white face, the red lipstick, and the bluish-shiny black hair that she wears in two coiled braids like two pretzels hanging from the sides of her head.
I’m sharply aware of Tristan’s closeness as he guides me over the tracks, keeping me steady. His arm is hard and strong under the priest robe, his scent of frost and danger making me high. God, how I missed him! All this time I’ve been only numb, not indifferent. Probably because I wouldn’t have been able to put up with the yearning and the anguish over what could have happened between him and Soraya.
Neither of us speaks until we face Soraya, and then the first and only thing she says is ‘Let’s get to work’. Maybe I’m not helping with conversation either, since my only response is the sound of my swallowing the lump in my throat. God, I resent looking at this woman.
I let go of Tristan’s arm as he leads us outside the train station.
“A good thing you won’t have to stay in the village up the mountain,” Soraya says as she gets into the car by his side. “The old priest lives here at the foot of the mountain, so you’ll be spared the hike on foot. We’re pretty sure Father Ruben will hear that you’re here soon, and he’ll come looking for you.”
“You’ll be staying at the old priest’s house as his permanent nurse,” Tristan says. “At the moment the village women take turns attending to him, but his needs are already too great for people without experience. But don’t worry, you won’t be alone. Soraya and I will be coming to see you.”
Soraya and him.
I catch his eyes in the rear view mirror. God’s sakes. He looks at me like he’s pleading for something. My heart twists and turns like a restless animal inside me.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be safer among these people than among serpents, so I don’t mind being alone with the old man,” I manage.
I keep my eyes out the window as we drive through the village, avoiding Tristan’s eyes again for fear I might break down and cry. I just can’t bear to see him and not have him.
People stop in the streets, women with kerchiefs around their heads and aprons around their wide waists staring after us from their gates. They probably all know the new priest’s car, humming down the earth road and leaving a cloud of dust behind.
The tension is so thick in the car you could cut it with a knife. When we finally stop I can’t get out fast enough. We pulled over in front of an old traditional house with a wooden porch and a thatched roof, just like those I’ve seen at the village museum. Once inside a dingy vestibule, a young woman with chubby reddish cheeks walks up to us.
“Father,” she whispers, and lowers her head for benediction.
Tristan moves his hand over her head in the sign of the cross. If I weren’t so sullen, I’d probably giggle.
“Elena, here is the Father’s new nurse,” Tristan tells her in a warm but detached voice, motioning to me.
The girl looks up at me, revealing she can’t be more than sixteen, doe-eyed and innocent. Her face melts in surprise. I inspect myself, wondering what it could be that had that effect. I’m wearing a grey coat-slash-dress that covers me from neck to ankles, tight only at the waist. I feel a bit like Mary Poppins. But other than that, my hair is tightened on top of my head, and I’m not wearing any make-up. I shouldn’t be a surprising sight.
“It’s the serpent blood you took from Mark,” Soraya whispers acidly behind me. “It gives you beauty that’s unnatural to humans. You stand out to them.”
I huff, not looking at her as I reply, just as hushed. “I guess it slipped my mind. After all, I haven’t been among humans for a very long time.”
“I’ll take you to him,” the girl says shyly.
As she leads me deeper inside the dingy house, I glance over my shoulder at Tristan. His face is like a picture made of light in the gloomy house. At least Soraya is behind him, and I don’t have to see her face. But then Elena opens the door to a narrow little room, and invites me inside.
“The old Father doesn’t like Father Tristan around, that’s why he can’t come in here and make the presentations himself,” she whispers to me as I enter.
Seeing the question in my eyes, the girl shrugs. “He hits furniture and curses whenever Father Tristan is too close. He screams that ‘devil’ should stay away.” She bends to me. “He once told me a look into the young Father’s face could make people lose their soul.”
Which must be why she bowed earlier, avoiding to look at him when he came in.
I step carefully deeper into the room, glancing at the scant decorum before my eyes land on the hunched figure sitting in a chair by the window. There’s a small table with a nylon cover in front of him.