Is it wrong to hope to salvage that which is clearly lost? Perhaps. And yet... infernal hope resists subjugation.

  From the journal of Drago? Buh?scu

  Dragos had a new brew waiting for her when Chinhua came back. Something white fluttered in her hand as she flitted across the dim yard. The sun’s warning in the eastern sky brought a cool predawn eminence. Not yet light, but a gloom that would fade as the fiery ball rose.

  He offered her the cup, which she took, leaving a smear of blood on his hand. Meeting his eyes, she held her breath and gulped down the concoction. She hissed a charnel breath at the flavor, then handed offered the cloth.

  “I found a dress but it’s dirty. My fault,” she murmured. Her long feral teeth extended and contracted with her jaw-cracking yawn. “Don’t have time to wash it.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Dragos replied. He wasn’t sure how much of his desire to please her predated the change. He could feel the pull and pulse of it. Every move she made entranced him. She was getting stronger, growing into a true Sangestriga.

  There wasn’t much time left to balance her.

  Chinhua ran a slimy hand along his jaw and smiled with affection, then slipped into the barn. The tarp rustled. She’d sleep there until the next evening, fallen into a near comatose state. He knew it because he’d read it, long ago.

  Dragos considered the stained fabric in his hand. When he looked up again, Zgavra stood right in front of him. Unshaken, he frowned and held it up to show the zmeu, who had taken his shape again. “Stolen?”

  The uncursed version of himself grunted and tipped its chin at the burdei. “Let’s go inside.”

  Dragos followed his twin, flicking the hem of the dress in his fingers. They retreated into the small room with the dim hearth fire, and Dragos sat on the bed, dress laid across his lap. “What did she do?”

  “She circled a few houses, but she only hunted forest animals. I thought she might go for a goat, but she restrained herself. She’s a sangestriga, Dragos. A simple ghoul would be easier to manage.”

  “A corpstriga is simple because it’s stupid. It only has its stomach and its fear,” Dragos replied, still dragging his fingers along the stitching. She’d look pretty in it. Anything, really.

  “How long do you think you can contain her?” Zgavra asked, taking its usual seat on the barrel, propping a leg on the table.

  “I hope to heal her.”

  “Hope shouldn’t be in your vocabulary. You’re abusing the word,” the zmeu scoffed.

  Dragos's lips thinned. “I will balance her, then she’ll be in total control.”

  “You hope,” Zgavra added unironically.

  Dragos stared at it a long moment, not bothering to reply, then laid the dress on the bed to go wash up and look for food. The zmeu dissipated and drifted into the chimney, likely to watch the flame. Dragos didn’t understand its habits, whether it slept or not, ate for anything other than amusement, or did any other living thing. It loved fire. That much he knew for certain.

  Later, Dragos curled up on the bed to do the same, having scavenged enough forest bounty to put together a potage that hung over the hearthfire. The daytime warmth in the burdei drove him to peel most of his clothing off. He’d washed the spare set he had along with the dress Chinhua brought, and hung it all over a hemp cord strung along the rafters.

  Dreams overtook him for a time. The scent of smoke. The endless, empty roads he’d traveled. Viorica’s white eyes stared through him.

  He woke with a pounding heart and fresh sweat trickling off his brow.

  Chinhua stood by the fire, wearing the dress. Her skin was clean, her hair still damp and shining. Zgavra, shapeshifted as the human twin of Dragos, lurked nearby, arms crossed over his chest. The beast’s shaggy black hair fell over his eyes as he watched her. She smiled at him and worked on… What was she making?

  Dragos sat up and looked at her with his mind’s eye. Within the bright black swarm, silver sparked. Not in balance, not yet, but she’d gained a lightness to her. Her smile was soft, more like the one he was used to. The glimmer in her eye when she turned felt real and warm like she hadn’t been since before the fateful night.

  “Chinhua?” Dragos asked, as if he thought he was still dreaming. He didn’t. Wasn’t. The bedframe creaked under him as he swung his legs down, realized he had nothing on, and stood to snatch his clothes down.

  Outside, warm orange flickered at the gaps in the door. Dragos caught it as he turned to shrug his shirt on. The scent of woodsmoke and crackling was greater than the little hearthfire. Someone had built a bonfire in the yard.

  “I made biscuits,” she said, holding up a bowl of baked goods.

  He stepped into his pants, not sure what to make of any of it. Had the treatment worked? Was she just controlling her hunger better tonight?

  Zgavra yawned and stretched, then swept a bottle off the table and, as it crossed to the bed, shoved it against Dragos's chest. It flopped on the bed and grumbled, “About time you woke up. I wasn’t about to climb into bed with you naked.”

  Dragos frowned at the monster as it lay down and crossed its ankles, tilting its head back to look at him. He lifted the bottle and undid the stopper. The mineral-rich scent of wine wafted out.

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  “Go enjoy the fire,” the zmeu said, and closed its eyes.

  Since when did it miss a chance to play with fire?

  Chinhua slipped her arm through his and started for the door. Her hand wasn’t as icy as before, though hardly coursing with the warmth of life. Dragos met her gaze and felt a latch click open in his soul.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, holding the door open.

  Chinhua let go of him and stepped out into the night. She twirled once, more graceful than she’d been in life. Her step glided with unnatural ease.

  “Better than yesterday,” she replied. She gathered her skirts and sat on a log resting before the bonfire. It licked higher than his head, though its base wasn’t very broad.

  Dragos admired it for a moment. The heat was intense, but he imagined she liked it that way. “Zgavra help you build this?”

  “He’s very clever. He built the wood up and got it going very quickly,” Chinhua said.

  He joined her on the log. She offered him a cookie. Oats and nuts, likely stolen, not that he cared. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed the sweetness of any kind of grain. Chinhua took the bottle from him and sipped wine from the neck. She smacked her lips with pleasure and handed it back.

  “Why all this?” Dragos asked, then added, “I mean, it seems like it’s a celebration, but it’s just us, and I’m not done. I think another treatment could—”

  “Shh,” Chinhua whispered, giving his lips a tap with her fingertip.

  His lips firmed, and he went quiet, though the questions still raged in his head. Why? Why?

  “I do want to celebrate. You saved me from a fate worse than death. All of us. I saw what you did to the woods by the well. No one will ever be drawn into that trap again, thanks to you.” Her gaze cast to the fire, a haunted look overcoming her.

  “I did what I could,” Dragos murmured. “I should have listened to my doubts, and it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Octavian and Bassus should have listened. It doesn’t matter, now.” She leaned her shoulder into his arm and looked at the flames as her body radiated a penetrating chill.

  “No,” he agreed. He ate the cookie in silence as she basked in the warmth that was almost too hot for him to bear.

  “Do I look pretty?” she asked.

  He blinked and wanted to kick himself for not saying his thoughts sooner. “Yes. Of course.”

  “I’m not covered in deer guts, so, that helps,” she added with a nervous-sounding giggle.

  Dragos exhaled a faint chuckle and nodded. He sipped the wine, let it burn into his stomach with its heat. His hairline felt damp and he leaned back, away from the bonfire.

  “Am I as pretty as I was?”

  “Even more,” he blurted, then wondered why he said that. She’d lost the vivacity of life, but gained a preternatural allure. Now that she didn’t look like a monster, it was much more apparent. He was just being honest, he supposed.

  “How long will I be like this?” She ran her hand over her arm, then turned it to look at her palm. With a deliberate slowness, he watched her curl her fingers and examine the claws that eased out from under her fingernails. Chinhua shuddered gently and shook her hands out.

  Dragos considered her question. The books he’d read on the myriad transformations caused by the Umbregrin had much to say about Sangestriga. “Forever.”

  Her chin dipped. Hands dropped to her lap, she whispered, “I thought so.”

  “Being young forever has some perks,” he suggested. The bottle of wine that had been forgotten in his hand was remembered again. He offered it to her.

  She took it and sipped a long draught.

  “Wanting to devour you every night is hardly a benefit,” she replied, offering him the bottle.

  His fingers wrapped around the bottle, but he held it there between them with a sinking feeling in his belly. “That hasn’t left? I can try to make another tea.”

  “It will never leave, Dragos. I’m more myself than I was, but I’m still hungry. And…” she stood, turning to face him, letting go of the wine. “I don’t want to live forever.”

  A trembling settled in his throat. He swallowed it down and said, “I’ll find a way.”

  “I’m a little mad at you, you know? Even though you saved me. It’s stupid, because you still saved me from a worse fate,” Chinhua acknowledged, taking a few paces in front of him, then turning back. Her cool body insulated him from the roaring heat of the bonfire. Her shadow cast over him made his flesh ache with autumnal chill, despite the summer night’s balm.

  Dragos looked up at her, wanted to say something to make it all alright, but what could he say? What was there to say, except what he already had.

  She went on pacing and talking, shadow swaying over him. “I’m still angry because I’m this. A monster. What would my ancestors say?”

  Dragos scowled. “Be patient. I’ll keep working on it.”

  “You don’t understand,” Chinhua stopped pacing and faced him. She tapped her chest with a finger. “My heart doesn’t beat. I only breathe to speak. I don’t know how any of this works, but I know one thing. I’m already dead.”

  The lump in his throat vibrated. Dragos swallowed again. “In a way.”

  “Not ‘in a way’. I’m dead!” She stomped her foot, and for a second showed her extra row of teeth in a snarl.

  Her expression smoothed just as suddenly as it soured. She leaned in to put her hands on his shoulders. Not roughly, as he’d expected, but gently. Chinhua bent to press her cold lips to his forehead.

  Dragos felt faint at the touch. He didn’t care. Again, caught in the thrall, a moment came when he knew he might let her kiss him to death if that was what she wished. He didn’t care.

  Her lips left him before he could choose to fight it.

  She backed up a step. Regret etched on her features, she flung her arms out and tossed her head back to scream angrily at the sky. Before he could speak or try to appease her frustration, the scream turned into laughter that bordered on madness.

  Dragos shook his head. “Let me try again.”

  Her laughter ceased as quickly as it began. Her head snapped down, her dark eyes wild. “I’m sorry, Dragos. You tried so hard for me, but. No.”

  Instinct drove him to his feet as she took another step back. “Wait!”

  “Goodbye, Dragos. Maybe we’ll meet again, in another life,” Chinhua said, her eyes sparkling. Not with life or joy as he’d seen them before. With tears.

  She hardly seemed to move, but somehow gusted backwards as if the wind had taken her, hair and dress fluttering around her figure with the speed of her backwards jump. Dragos lunged to grab her, but his fingers caught only air.

  The fire sucked inwards, almost like it imploded as her body passed into it.

  A blackness within the heart of the flames expanded, and then heat rushed at him as the roar of something exploding inside it went off. Dragos flew back, arms crossed over his face. The stench of singed flesh and clothing hit a second later, as the bonfire died down.

  Dragos lay on his back, legs propped on the log, staring at the stars. Heart in his throat, and not likely to come out any time soon.

  Sangestriga: Calruthian word for vampire.

  Corpstriga: Calruthian word for a typical ghoul, haunter of graves and eater of the dead.

  Burdei: A type of pit-house or half-dug out shelter, combining sod house and log cabin build concepts.

  Zmeu: Romanian dragon shapeshifter.