Page 47 of Cry of the Firebird

"No, it's because you're assholes but your fur makes good cloaks."

Yvan stepped forward and gently lifted Anya from Izrayl's back. She couldn't move her arms or legs and started to weep as fear overwhelmed her.

"Don't cry,shalost.You're going to be okay, " Yvan whispered.

"Mischief? That doesn't sound like me at all," Anya replied, making him smile.

"Ha! You can't go one day without getting into some kind of trouble," he said.

"We have to hurry. Everything is prepared so my sister and Baba Zosia can work on Anya straight away," Katya interrupted.

Through bleary eyes, Anya saw flames and curious glances from strange faces. Spices and incense filled the air, mixed with the ozone smell of Yvan's skin. If she could have moved, she would have clung to him and buried her face into his chest like a little child, breathing in his comforting scent of storms and fire.

"This way," Katya said, leading them to a wooden caravan painted yellow and black. The door opened, and a short, squat old woman shuffled out. She moved to grip Anya's face with her bony hands. Her snapping black eyes looked deep into her before muttering something in a language Anya didn't know.

"Come," she said in English. Yvan carried Anya up the iron steps and placed her on a narrow bed. "You go."

"But—" Yvan started but was already being pushed outside.

"You here." Trajan ducked into the caravan, followed by a beautiful woman with long black hair. Yvan glared at them but didn't try and fight his way in.

"Hello, Anya. I'm Aleksandra. Everything is going to be fine," the young woman said calmly. She looked at Trajan standing in the corner and started. "What are you?"

"He com wit her," the old woman said haltingly, her acent thick. "He ismoartea spiritului."

"Not anymore," Trajan answered. The old woman rattled a reply to Aleksandra.

"Baba Zosia says you are here so you can feel if we are about to lose Anya's soul," Aleksandra translated. Baba Zosia started to light the many candles in the cramped space, and Aleksandra quickly moved to help her.

"Trajan?" Anya croaked. He knelt down beside her bed and pushed the damp hair from her face. "Can you feel my death yet?"

"Yes," he answered grimly. "I won't let you go just yet, not when I've finally gotten you back."

The pain was lacing her body, but underneath it was all the emotions that had been building the past few days brought on by her memories of him. She knew what she wanted before she died.

"Can I have a final request in case I don't make it?" Anya asked.

"Anything."

"Kiss me. I haven't been kissed in five years, Trajan. I'm s-scared, and it will be a nice way to go," she whispered. It was the first time in months Anya realized she wasn't ready to die after all, but she wanted a kiss goodbye if she was going to.

"Are you sure? Even after what you saw me do today?" he asked, his eyes filled with conflict.

"Yes. You're still you. Please."

"Okay, Anya." Trajan stroked her face before he brought his lips softly to hers. They were gentle and warm, sending heat from her lips to her chest. He tasted of autumn and darkness, spice and forbidden things. When he moved back from her, his eyes were filled with amazement.

"Thank you," Anya whispered before a fit of coughing overtook her.

"We need to get started now," Aleksandra said, moving Trajan into the far corner of the hot room. Baba Zosia crouched down next to the bed and removed Anya's shirt.

"This made by magic. Only magic can un-make," she muttered.

Aleksandra passed a small pestle and mortar to Baba Zosia, and Anya caught the strong smell of spices.

"If I die, give my soul to Tuoni. The bastard got me into this mess, so I'm going to haunt him in the afterlife," Anya said to Trajan.

"I promise," he said with a grim smile.

---