"Who even keeps a handwritten diary in the twenty-first century?" I crouched down and quickly scanned the lines on the first page:
Hello, stupid diary, which my mother made me keep under strict supervision, so that in a few hundred years I'd thank her for it.
After reading this, my throat tightened uncomfortably. I realized that Stas would never be able to thank Olga, even if he really wanted to. His eternal life had been cut short, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste of sadness and fear: the mistake made in the past by local witches had left no chance for any vampire to feel what it was like to be ordinary. None of them could escape the thirst for blood, which demanded payment for their existence on Earth — another life. Illusions shattered with Dr. Smirnov's failed attempt to free his wife from the cruel fate.
I looked away from the text, afraid to get lost in reading, and snapped the diary shut. Since Kaandor kept insisting on playing around, I couldn't think of anything better than shoving the book under the dresser — from there, he certainly wouldn't be able to knock it off. Noticing what I was doing, he growled threateningly.
"It annoys you, doesn't it? It annoyed me too. Consider us even now."
"You can't just leave someone else's diary like that," Kaandor growled, beside himself with anger.
"Oh, yes I can," I replied coldly.
I walked over to the wardrobe, grabbed my swimsuit from the shelf, and made my way to the bathroom to change, fully aware that it was the only place the dark companion wouldn't follow me.
"I didn't ask Stas to prove anything to me. He doesn't owe me anything, just as I don't owe him anything."
"And yet, he gave you the most precious thing he has — his thoughts," Kaandor's voice echoed again.
"If Stas wants to tell me something specific, he can come and say it to me personally, aloud, instead of hiding behind his notes."
As I was about to step through the door and give Kaandor the signal that I didn't want to talk about Stas anymore, the spirit's next question made me freeze in horror in the doorway:
"Should I tell him then?"
I slowly turned around and began to look at Kaandor's face with suspicion, hoping that it was just another one of his jokes.
"Do you talk to him?"
Kaandor crossed his arms, straightened his shoulders, and raised his chin, speaking with his posture, Even if I do, what will you do about it?
"Yes or no?" I maintained my firmness.
"Yes and no," he answered evasively. "Stanislav can't see me, if you remember. He's lacking witchcraft abilities."
I nodded in understanding and felt a slight sense of relief inside.
"So you communicate through Max?"
"Exactly."
"How come I have to stay away from the whole Smirnov family, while my spirit happily gets closer to them? Some double standards here, Kaandor."
The spirit shrugged, and for a moment, I thought I saw a sarcastic smirk play at the corners of his lips.
"Not all vampires are the same. I've had enough time to observe each of them, draw conclusions. Some have managed to surprise me, and since we share some common goals, I found it useful to occasionally have conversations with Maxim. To exchange information, so to speak. You're not strong enough yet to properly protect yourself. And don't even get me started on self-control. These particular vampires — they're a useful tool on your path to ascension."
He came up to me almost close enough to touch, and if Kaandor had been physical, I surely would have felt his breath. But he remained only an ethereal conduit. An illusion that almost no one could perceive.
"A wolf must hunt in a pack. And, to our mutual regret, your father, when he was still an unwise youth, refused his fate as a leader for the sake of love. The Kserton wolves are weak, scattered, and incapable of protecting the land as they should. And you," Kaandor pointed at me with a long claw, "you've been in ignorance of the magical world for too long to restore what others have destroyed. This isn't your burden. A child shouldn't bear the sins of their father. I've lived too long to not understand that."
"I don't see the logic. What does your obsession with the Smirnovs have to do with this? Why can you get closer to them and I can't?" A bitter taste of injustice settled on my palate. I felt deceived by someone who had always painted vampires as terrible creatures, but now was trying not only to convince me to open Stas's personal diary, but was calmly talking about communicating with Maxim.
"Because I'm just a spirit. The power of blood doesn't call to me, but to you…" Kaandor trailed off meaningfully, and even at the mention of the vampires' blood, I almost instinctively licked my lips. The gesture did not escape the spirit.
"See? You're not ready yet. You lack the external stimulus to control the thirst."
"But when will I be ready?"
"Perhaps when you read this diary," Kaandor nodded toward the dresser, where the heavy tome was hidden, and I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
"Come up with a better excuse," I snapped, stepping over the bathroom threshold and slamming the door behind me. "Don't follow me!"
"As you wish," he replied after a brief pause, and from the tone of Kaandor's voice, the binding thread between us snapped. Another step backward, instead of the much-needed step forward.