Ren, and caught her, and held her—like the thrill of a chase, the power of an attack. Ren felt it. Her steps were surer. She knew where Lukasz stepped before he even moved. Around them, the music swelled and doubled in volume.
For the first time, she looked up from her feet. A second domowik appeared on the other side of the hall, smiling at the two of them. Like the first, she had long black hair and white clothes, and she, too, had a violin. Her strings answered the first domowik’s notes, and circling one another, they played back and forth across the expanse. Music surrounded them.
She could hardly believe it. Lukasz sped up, and she followed easily. They whirled across the hardwood, dust billowing under their feet and eddying under the stars. As they spun, Ren caught glimpses of more domowiki: they emerged from the doorways with instruments, they crept out of corners, and one soot-faced creature even clambered headfirst out of the fireplace.
The song swelled around them, and the hall exploded to life.
A thousand unlit candles burst into flame at the same time. Fifty domowiki couples came spinning out of doorways, all in white, catching Ren and Lukasz as they twirled across the floor. Flowered skirts flickered against white trousers, black boots tapped the floor, and near-human hands clapped in time. The fire roared. The crest over the mantel glittered. Music enveloped them. They never missed a note.
Above, the chandelier blazed like a sun in the night sky.
Ren and Lukasz were covered in blood and dirt. Their clothes were torn. They were the only black coats in a sea of white. But Lukasz was grinning like a devil, and suddenly, the waxiness was gone. Perhaps it was pure magic; perhaps it was the music. Ren didn’t know how and she didn’t care why, but she danced as she had never danced before, and she knew she would never dance again. It was as if the two of them had raced backward twenty years and nothing evil had ever happened in these Mountains.
Beyond them, the domowiki danced the traditional dances of Hala Smoków. The skirts spun out and the white jackets danced on their owners’ shoulders. Hands clapped, feet tapped, and over it all, the two violins sang to them. But Ren was blind to anything beyond him, smiling at her. For under those silver bones, among those forgotten heartbeats, beneath that bewitching spell, even then, Ren felt like they were the only people left alive.
And in that moment, in that place: they were.
37
THE FOREST WAS MOVING.
Half blind, Koszmar crawled, searching for his saber. He would not die. He would not die. Not like this. Not out here. His hand found the hilt, and he staggered to his feet. The trees, still smoking, shifted in his vision. Golden flames licked lazily at the earth. Twisted, melted corpses stretched in every direction, and the air was filled with a low mewling sound. It was angry, whining.
Koszmar almost collapsed. Everything hurt. But he was going to live.
I am going to live.
The movement took shape. Elbows and knees. Bald heads and long scaly arms. Hanks of gray fur. They broke from the shadows of trees, crawled out from beneath the branches. And then from the pit they came, swarming up, up, up from the bottom of the world, climbing like ants upon each other’s backs, breaking the surface.
Yellow eyes. Needle-sharp fangs. Hungry.
Hungry.
Strzygi.
38
REN AND LUKASZ DANCED UNTIL the hall grew empty and the night wore on, the domowiki vanishing once more to their shadows and thresholds. Ren didn’t notice. The unseen music played on and she couldn’t look away from him. They danced until the chandelier dimmed and the sky glowed pink overhead, until Ren finally tripped, until Lukasz tried to catch her. He fell, too. They were on the hardwood. Laughing, gasping. A mess of swords and black jackets and dust.
“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing.
He still had his burned hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to hold it. The skin felt thick under her fingertips, like dry leather and sinew.
Lukasz pulled his hand back.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “It’s ugly—”
Ren pushed back her sleeves and held up her own hands. Her fingernails lengthened. Tawny fur raced up her forearms and shuddered to a stop under the sleeves of the jacket.
“It’s who we are,” she said.
His smile faltered. Ren moved her gaze to the dust, swirling gently back to earth around them. He ran his disfigured hand up her arm absently, and she