by M. A. Grant
There! Tucked against the back end, at the base of the elevators, he spotted windows of books and a sign proclaiming the store’s hours. He had five minutes before they were due to close. Just enough time to get the map and find his way back to the car so he could drive back to Atlas before sunrise. Finally, something was going his way.
“We’re closing soon,” the clerk, a young woman with lustrous brown hair, warned him as he rushed into the store. Her Romanian came at a slower cadence, with different inflections, and Cristian wondered idly whether Atlas would have been able to pick up more of the language if he’d been stationed in this northwestern region. Maybe, if they ever got to come back, they’d come here to practice.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “I called in and put an atlas on hold.”
“Oh, you’re the one. You’re lucky,” the clerk told Cristian as she brought his hold over to the counter. “This is the last we have in stock right now.”
Cristian flipped through a few pages. The maps in the book were detailed, with plenty of topographical information. He had no fucking clue how to use it, but Atlas would, and that’s all that mattered.
“Looks great.” He pulled out his wallet. “Do you not normally carry them?” he asked, continuing the small talk to make up for keeping her from her closing tasks.
“Oh, we do, but only a couple at a time when it’s not tourist season. We sold the other one last week.” She laughed as she rang him up and slid the map into a bag. “Actually, he was about your age too. Is there a university project going on I should know about?”
Instinct roared at Cristian. He had no reason to think Radu had come here, nothing but his own foolish hope, but maybe it was possible for fate to be kind twice in the same day. He grinned at her, going for rakish good humor and said, “Afraid I’m too old for university. But this guy...about my height? Dark hair? Charming? Talked like a world-weary old soul?”
“Y-yes! You know each other?” the woman asked, intrigued.
Cristian laughed to cover his excitement. “Very well,” he assured her. He couldn’t wait to drive back now. Atlas wouldn’t believe this. But she was looking at him with curiosity and he needed to come up with a lie, something to keep him from sticking out in her memory in case the Council’s team worked their way here too. “I just didn’t think the bastard would beat me here. We agreed whoever got here last owed the other a beer.”
“Sounds like you’ll owe him several,” the woman joked. “He got here days ahead of you.”
“Sounds like I will,” Cristian lamented, earning him another smile from the clerk. “Better see if I can track him down and start repaying that debt.”
“Good luck finding him,” she told him cheerfully as he left.
She had no idea how much he was going to need it.
* * *
He expected Atlas to be at their room when he returned to the bed-and-breakfast, book in hand. Instead, he found an empty room, already tidied by the staff. He refused to let himself consider the possibility that the Council had found them and seized Atlas.
He took his key with him to the empty front desk. He wandered the tiny lobby, staring at the artwork and out the windows. That’s when he spotted Teodora, the owner, crossing the grass from the restaurant. He must have looked a mess because the second she stepped inside, she clucked her tongue at him. “He didn’t get a hold of you?” she asked.
“No,” Cristian said. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He came back a few hours ago and packed up your room. Daria told me you had both decided to stay in the area longer, and she would host you at her house. She let him take her truck since she needed to pick up some supplies.” Teodora gave him a stern look, one that warned shenanigans between Daria and these two unknown men would not be tolerated. “I know the man is a journalist and needs to ask her questions, but remind him to be kind to her. Poor girl has been through enough in one lifetime.”
“I promise I’ll do what I can to steer him from the most painful questions,” Cristian said, grateful to be able to breathe again. He collected himself before handing over his key. “Do you need me to settle any last charges?”
“No, everything is ready.”
“Where was Daria shopping? I’d prefer she not have to walk back home.”
Teodora’s expression softened. “She was stopping at the market before it closed. I’m sure she’d appreciate the help.”
He didn’t scoff at the thought of Daria being excited to see him pull up. Instead he smiled and said, “It’s the least I can do with all the help she’s giving us,” which made Teodora titter with delight and shoo him along his way.
He drove slowly down the village’s main street, keeping a careful eye out for Daria as he went. He found her sitting at one of the tables outside the closed café, her groceries at her feet. She was engaged in a gentle conversation with an older man. He was at ease with her, that much was sure from his relaxed sprawl in the chair opposite, but his easy pose didn’t hide the lines of sorrow on his face or the way his clothes hung loosely on his gaunt frame.
Cristian parked nearby, appreciating the empty streets, and got out of the car. The breeze brought their scents toward him: Daria’s a wet cotton that matched her melancholy expression, and his the moldering heaviness of rotting hay. Grief.
Those scents shifted when the pair spotted Cristian, and he didn’t need much to define the new hints. They were both anxious about his arrival, Daria most of all. Interesting.
Cristian slowed his pace and gave a respectful wave. “Good evening,” he called out. “Daria, Teodora said you might want a lift home. I got back early and thought I’d try to catch you.”
“Who’s this then?” the man asked her.
Daria eyed Cristian and he wondered if she was about to ruin everything. To his relief, she said, “Daniel, the translator.” To his great surprise, she gestured to the man across from her. “This is Paul. His daughter, Alva, was one of the victims your reporter is investigating.”
Well, damn. Cristian gave Paul a solemn nod. “My condolences on your family’s loss.”
Paul gave him a wan smile and pointed at the table next to them. “Come, join us. Daria and I were just discussing Alva. She said the American is up at her house, but would wish to interview me later.”
“Yes, Joseph is working at the house right now. But...would you like to speak to me about it now?” He ignored Daria’s sudden stillness and lied, “I’ve sat in on several of his interviews before and know the questions he asks. I understand that reliving such moments is difficult, but I assure you, I will see that he treats Alva’s memory with the care it deserves.”
Paul took a shuddering breath and looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure—”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Cristian sat back in his chair.
He let the silence envelop them. Paul could take however long he wanted to decide. At first, the waiting was tense. Daria gave him the side-eye more than once, but Cristian remained steadfast and patient. He listened to the insects in the fields and the radio music coming from one of the nearby houses as the family got ready for bed.
Paul’s pulse changed at last. He shifted in his seat and said, “I’m sure your journalist already knows, but they...they found her almost ten meters off the road. She was dragged into the bushes. She had—” He lifted his hands and lightly scratched his nails over his body as he explained. “—wounds...all over. And bite marks on her neck and thigh.”
Claw marks from overeager predators. Bites near major blood vessels. It fit with their understanding of the strigoi. Cristian kept his face carefully schooled to sympathetic interest, and let Paul catch his breath.
“They said the wounds matched those they’d found on other victims of bear attacks,” Paul said, “but I never heard of a bear who acted like that. We asked whether the lab in Bucharest coul
d look too, but it was...we couldn’t...”
Cristian hummed, trying to assure Paul he didn’t need to explain any further. Funerals were expensive and he wished the family hadn’t had to make such difficult decisions. “Did they find any reason she’d stopped on the side of the road?” he asked, deliberately shifting away from the raw subject.
“Her bumper was damaged,” Daria said quietly, never looking away from Paul as she spoke for him, “and that side’s front tire was flat. She’d called her boyfriend and was waiting for him to come help her.”
He nodded. “She grew up here, right? So she was familiar with the woods?”
“Yes,” Paul said. “She always came with me to get firewood. She liked going out on walks...”
It was a small spark, but Cristian fanned it as best he could. He asked Paul more about Alva, trying to get a better sense of the woman she was. His genuine curiosity got the man talking, slowly moving away from the horror of her death and focusing more and more on the vibrancy of her life. Paul told him about the field mouse Alva rescued from the neighbor’s cat and nursed back to health, and the time she’d accidentally won a tennis tournament. He still had her trophy up in his house. Stories brought out tears and laughter, sometimes both, and it wasn’t until Cristian was wiping his eyes after a particularly enjoyable story that he caught sight of Daria watching him.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, trying to figure out her expression. “I promised to get you back home.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s nice to remember Alva this way.”
She had said it quietly, but it was enough to remind them all of the time and where they were. Paul rose from his chair and shook hands with Cristian. “You’d best get back. Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for teaching me about Alva,” Cristian told him. “I’ll share everything I can and will have Daria reach out if Joseph has any other questions for you.”
Daria smiled at Paul. “We’ll talk again soon. Give my love to Mina.”
They parted ways quickly after that. Cristian helped Daria gather her groceries and carried them to the car. She sat in the back, behind the passenger seat, where she could see him easily. She didn’t seem in any mood to talk, so he ignored her.
He wouldn’t have been able to focus on a conversation with her anyway though. Inky blackness surrounded the car, and the headlights barely pierced it. Knowing Alva had been attacked on a road—maybe even targeted by the strigoi hunting along it—made the drive up the mountain terrifying. If they ran into any of them, especially a group of two or more, there would be no chance of escape and no way of letting Atlas know what happened. They would rip Daria to shreds, and that would be the lucky way to go. Andrei’s story warned Cristian might not die from their bite. He might become one of them, lost to his family, to Atlas, for good.
The white-knuckled drive ended at last with the warmth of electric lights shining from the windows. He shut off the car and gave himself a moment to stop trembling. Daria grabbed her groceries and headed inside, leaving Cristian alone in the driver’s seat. Atlas waited at the door, moving aside for Daria to pass. Once he felt a bit more controlled, Cristian grabbed his own purchase and clambered out.
The wood smoke from the chimney mingled with the hot tar of Atlas’s worry, which mellowed every step closer Cristian took. He finally reached the door and looked up at the man, unsure how to organize his torrent of thoughts.
“You found Daria. So Teodora gave you my message?” Atlas asked, breaking the awkward silence for them both.
“Eventually,” Cristian said. His head ached and his muscles were still too tight after the failed feeding and long car ride. The pain and stress loosened his tongue, maybe too much. “Found the room first, then she caught up to me. I... I’m glad to know you weren’t giving me your two weeks’ notice.”
Atlas winced. “I didn’t even think of that,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”
Cristian nodded and headed inside. Atlas closed the door and slid the heavy bolts into place behind them.
“Did Daria tell you what we did?” Cristian asked, handing over the road atlas.
“No.”
“I met with Paul. His daughter Alva was killed.”
Cristian relayed all he’d learned to Atlas as they made their way into the living room. The man was silent for much of it, especially when Cristian talked about Alva’s life in the village. When he’d finished, Atlas cleared his throat and whispered, “Thank you for talking with him. I... I hope it helped in some way.”
“I do too,” Cristian murmured.
“You’ve had a busy night then,” Atlas said. “Meeting with Paul, getting us a map—”
“Oh, there’s a story behind that too. The clerk at the store said another man came in to buy the exact same atlas about a week ago. Her description matches Radu perfectly.”
Atlas’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened with shock. “You’re shitting me.”
“No. He’s out here somewhere, I know it.”
Atlas ran his thumb absently over the pages. “Do you think he suspects the strigoi too?”
“I don’t know why else he would have come here.” Cristian spun, probably a little faster than he needed to, and smiled at the kitchen, where he knew Daria was hiding. “Anything to add?”
“No,” Daria mumbled. She at least had the decency to come join them by the fire, rather than pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping.
Atlas ignored their exchange of glares in favor of thumbing through the maps to find the correct one. Once he found it, he sat down on Daria’s bench and asked to the room at large, “Does anyone have a pencil?”
Daria rose from her seat opposite Cristian and checked the drawer of a messy desk tucked away in the corner of the room. Atlas thanked her when she handed it over, and went back to work. Cristian eyed Daria as she sat down again, and received a similarly cautious inspection in return. Knowing Atlas would be too focused to stop him, Cristian asked her quietly in Romanian, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You were kind to Paul.”
Cristian snorted. “I’d be a bastard to act otherwise.”
“You’re easier to read than Atlas,” Daria noted. “He pushes things down so he doesn’t have to deal with them.”
“He’s very good at that,” Cristian complained. “Is that what tugged at your heartstrings? I didn’t expect you to allow us in your home.” He gave her his most charming, and hollow, smile. “Or to allow me in, at least.”
“This seemed easier than trying to meet in public and discuss monsters no one else believes in,” she defended. “Besides, I didn’t know when you were going to get back and I wasn’t going to leave him alone when he’s clearly struggling to be here. That would have been cruel.”
“We’ll be polite guests, I promise. But he—” Cristian paused, unsure if he should mention it. Atlas must have mentioned to her already when they discussed their attacks. Hoping he wasn’t betraying any trust, Cristian explained, “He has nightmares. We can handle them, but I don’t want you surprised if they happen tonight.”
Daria shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I have them too. Don’t rush in to comfort me. I might kill you if you do.”
“Good to know.”
Atlas’s pencil point scratched lightly over the surface of the maps and the fire crackled. Daria rose and added more wood to the fire. She was surprisingly patient while she waited Cristian out. When the silence got to be too much, he asked, “Why haven’t you tried to kill me again? You hate me.”
“I haven’t tried to kill you because you intend to stop the strigoi. My father taught me to be practical. Once the strigoi are dead and I know my village is safe, we’ll see if I need to kill you,” Daria said. “Besides, I think your loss would make Atlas very sad, and I don’t want to see him in any more pain.”
“You do realize I’m sitting right
here,” Atlas said, never glancing up from his maps. “I know you’re talking about me.”
“Only good things,” Cristian said in English. He gave Daria a warning look, and despite the face she made, she also switched over.
“We’re comparing notes,” she lied easily.
“And what have you learned?” Atlas asked them both.
“That it’s been a hellishly long day and we all need some rest,” Cristian said.
He prepared himself for Atlas’s arguments that he was fine and could work for a while longer. By some miracle though, Atlas sighed and set aside his work. He dragged his hands down his face, looking more and more exhausted every passing minute.
“We need more details,” he mumbled. “More information.”
“We’ll get it,” Cristian assured him. He rose from his seat and crossed the room to take the road atlas away. He put it on Daria’s desk, within view, but clearly set aside for the rest of the evening. “But first, we need sleep.”
“He’s right,” Daria said. “You need to rest. I’ll grab some blankets and pillows for you both and you can stay in this room with the fire. Bathroom is down the hall. Everything works, but the piping is very old and you may need some patience.”
“I was a Marine,” Atlas said with a weary smile. “I’ve dealt with worse.” He tilted his head toward Cristian. “And even if he hasn’t, he’s a quick learner.”
“Asshole,” Cristian grumbled.
Daria rose, only to go still and look at them both, more intently this time. “I realize...today was challenging,” she said slowly. “I don’t know how well I’ll sleep tonight. I’m sorry if I wake you.”
Whatever their past—or future—animosity, Cristian would forgive it all for the way Atlas’s shoulders relaxed at Daria’s apology. With a handful of words, she’d normalized his sleeping troubles and shown she would understand if he also suffered tonight.
