We went outside and headed to the car. The sun, bright and pink, was making its way into the world with swanlike clouds skimming across the sky. If only we were going to a park instead, or on a hike, a picnic, anywhere but down into that cold, damp place.

I climbed into the front seat and snapped on my seatbelt. Mila and Nick tumbled into the back, huddling together as usual. Anatoly got in, started the car, and flipped the heater on. I caught a whiff of his spicy cologne and for a brief, sweet moment, I almost forgot all about the creepy mural and the daunting task ahead of me.

Anatoly clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He stared straight ahead as we traveled, squinting against the rising sun with his jaw tight. The car rumbled down the road, grass and weeds smacking the bumper. My heart jumped with every slap. I closed my eyes and counted backwards as I had done so many times after my nightmares. I tried to visualize a soothing place, a sunny beach. But everything seemed to fade to darkness, to those horrible creatures that thrived inside the painting.

Anatoly slowed as we passed the church, weaving around a pothole in the road. Stained glass windows shimmered in the morning light. The church seemed so peaceful, so sacred from the outside, that no one would guess the place reeked of ancient secrets and horrors beyond imagination.

Mila stretched and yawned in the backseat before pressing her cheek against Nickoli’s shoulder. Nick shifted, wrapped his arm around Mila, spoke softly to her. His voice was soothing, yet reassuring and firm like steel wrapped in satin. The bond they shared was almost palatable—an intense unbreakable fortress of devotion. If Nickoli and Mila could be together why couldn’t Anatoly and I? Just because I was the artist he had to guard? It didn’t seem like a good enough reason to me.

Mila snuggled deeper into his Nick’s arms and the two grew quiet. I couldn’t imagine how they managed to spend the night in that horrible place, guarding that creepy mural surrounded by demons and hundreds of potential zombies buried in the walls, clawing their way out of their coffins in search of human flesh.

I glanced at Anatoly. His gaze was locked in a dark-eyed vice on the road ahead. If only I could find comfort in his arms like Mila did in Nick’s. If only we could be that close, all my fears would be smothered away. All of that would be impossible and I knew it. It was against some ancient code of conduct or whatever.

I hated rules—weren’t some rules made to be broken? Wasn’t there some way around it? Another thought drifted in, maybe he didn’t even want to be with me. He sure acted like it the night before. Maybe that’s just part of his super ego. Why would he flirt and mean it if he knew we could never really be together?

“How are you feeling?” Anatoly asked.

“Let me see…I think 'totally freaked out' sums it up.”

“Do not worry. You will do fine.”

“I hope so….”

“You must believe in yourself.”

“I do…but I worry about something going wrong. I keep having these horrible visions of screwing it up.”

“Fear will only weaken you. You will have protection from us. Do not be afraid.”

“I’m trying, but it’s like telling me not to breathe. I can’t help it.” I swallowed hard and stared out the window as I tried to distract myself, slow down my troubled thoughts.

“For a long time you only had yourself to worry about. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Now, you have greater responsibly because you are no longer alone. You have us. You have home. And you have me.”

Did he just say I had— him? I thought hard about what he'd just said. And he was right. Maybe I didn’t have parents or a family but I had Anatoly and Mila and Nickoli. They were a part of my life now and I knew that would never change. My heart leapt. I could do this, I could do anything. I inhaled waves of courage. Who could be afraid when they had their own personal Bogatyrs to guard them? But as soon as Anatoly pulled into the driveway and switched off the car, my inner courage collapsed.

Nickoli sat up. “Mila, you must wake.” He gently moved his arm from around her shoulders.

Mila struggled to sit up. “I’m trying…I’m just so tired.”

“Please,” Anatoly said. “Stay here and rest. Natasha and I can handle things for a while. Come inside when you can.”

Mila yawned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Anatoly said. “It is important you are rested and strong as possible.”

Anatoly turned to me. “Ready?”

I nodded and he climbed out of the car. Anatoly walked to the back and opened the trunk. He handed me a backpack filled with supplies and another for himself. We hiked to the house in silence, listening to the sounds of birds singing their springtime songs. How could the earth be so happy and carefree when inside its belly lurked a monster? I unlocked the front door and we went inside, our footsteps hollow across the wooden floor to the basement door.

Anatoly opened the door and held a torch high as we descended. The stench of damp earth and moss rose in sickening waves to greet us. My stomach twisted remembering what Mila said about the smell of the Nocnistsa. At the bottom of the steps, Anatoly reached out and took my hand. My heart skipped as his fingers wrapped around mine. We worked our way through the catacombs, dodging cobwebs, and into the chamber with the mural.

I stood in front of the mural and looked at the creatures, their images flickering in the glow of the candlelight. All of them seemed to be staring down at me, challenging me. Making me doubt my abilities like all the foster parents who came to inspect me. Their eyes combing over me to see to if I was good enough, cute enough, smart enough for them to take home. I hated trying to convince total strangers that I wasn't a bad kid, that I’d only been dealt a crummy hand of cards, that I was just trying to survive. But none of them seemed to care.

I shook it off and stepped closer to the painting. I set the backpack near my feet while I studied the section Mila and I went over the night before. The Drevack stood right where she said it would be—glaring at me with hideous black eyes. Its mouth filled with needle-like teeth stretched in a final scream. I pulled out a magnifying glass and examined a hairline crack near the demon’s oblong head. I put the glass aside and took a step back to grab my paints when I noticed Anatoly was sweating, staring at the Drevack.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“When I was a boy, I encountered creature such as this. It lived in village cemetery. A brother to this one. It feasted on flesh of dead. You could hear its vile shrieks as you passed graveyard at night. Screaming for its sibling trapped in mural. My father hunted it down and killed it. But that only made it worse. It brought rage of Baba Yaga on entire village. She was only appeased when she took one of village children in revenge.”

“That's terrible. What happened? Did the kid die?”

Anatoly's eyes turned to steel. “That child was me. That is why my father is crippled. He was badly injured trying to save me. I eventually escaped. Baba Yaga could not break me because of my faith in light.” Anatoly paused. “It is the same with this painting. He pointed to the mural. “There are two things that keep its evil contained. The paint in which it is trapped and the faith in God to help you.” He turned to me. “Do you have faith, Natasha? Do you believe in light?”

I thought about the word "faith" and how it meant different things to different people. How it can get ugly, twisted. I fingered the cross circling my neck. My mother obviously had faith. And Bambi had her own version of religion, something she used like a weapon. She’d cut you one minute, then pray over you the next.

“I have my own religion.”

Anatoly raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“It’s called survival.”

“But you realize, in order to defeat darkness, you must believe in light as well.”

“I do,” I said. “At least…I think I do. It’s just all so confusing.” I squirted a glob of blue and black paint onto my palette. “It’s something that’s been shoved down my throat so much that I want to be free to believe in what I feel is in my heart. I don’t want to be burned down for not believing the same as everyone else.” I took a step closer to the painting. It was like something was pulling me to it. As I drew closer, I heard the low rhythmic thrum of the mural’s heartbeat. It was pulsating, moving, more alive than the first time I saw it. It was as if we were on one side of a door that someone was leaning on, pushing and straining to burst free.

I examined the colors surrounding the first section. It appeared to be a faded gray, but with a closer look, I realized it was a deep charcoal. I mixed a touch of black into a lump of white and found the right shade of gray. I began working on the outsides of the creature. I could see it wriggle the closer I came to it as if it were trying to get away. I would have to paint the corner of its left ear, and then its razor-like cheek bones. I leaned in close, hovering just over its hideous gaping mouth. A smell of rotting flesh assaulted my nostrils and made my eyes water. I leaned closer trying to see the cracks in the paint that needed repair. Cold, rhythmic waves of foul breath feathered my face and neck. I held my breath and flicked the brush over the spots on the ear and then moved to the cheek bones. The more I completed, the more the thing squirmed. My hands shook, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was loathsome having to paint a writhing, slithering creature beneath my brush. Chills snaked up my spine and settled into my brain in a fog. I had never felt more creeped out than at that moment. But as I continued working and was nearly to the last crack in the paint, the creature suddenly stopped moving and my heart leapt.

“OH MY GOSH!”

Anatoly looked at me. His face lined with worry. “What is it?”

“It’s done!” I smiled at my work. One down and a million left to go but still, I had done it. I had completed it without any trouble. No longer would it be a threat to anyone, at least not for a long time!

Anatoly's eyes danced. “Great work!”

I stared at the creature, hands on hips, smiling. I turned back around to face Anatoly just as an ear splitting shriek spewed from the creature. The sound was sharp and disabling. I fell to my knees, grabbing my ears. It felt like a knife had sliced into my head. I grimaced, covering my ears as my gaze shot to the creature. What was wrong? What had I forgotten? There was a thin hole near the corner of its mouth that I hadn’t sealed. I grabbed my brush and dabbed the hole. The paint cut off the scream like a guillotine and I nearly collapsed from the relief.

Anatoly reached for me, keeping me steady. “Are you all right?”

I pressed my head to his chest and caught my breath. “Yeah.”

“Do you need to rest?”

I cradled my head in my hands, my ears still ringing. “No I want to keep going and get as much done as I can.”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally.”

There was a thin drizzle of blood from Anatoly’s left ear.

“You’re bleeding.” I reached up and gently wiped it away with a paint cloth.

His gaze caught mine, his eyes suddenly soft. “It is nothing. We need to keep working.”

I nodded and faced the mural. It seemed daunting now. So many creatures to seal in and with such frightening possibilities if something went wrong.

I studied the next creature, the Nocnistsa. I wondered if the night hag was responsible for the nightmares that had plagued me for so long. Could her powers extend beyond the limits of the painting? It was eerie the way her eyes stared down at me. The way her lips curved up into a strange, almost knowing, sneer. I tore my eyes from her glare.

“Here,” Anatoly said. “Let me get ladder. She is too high for you to reach.”

Anatoly grabbed the stepladder, brought it in front of the mural and set it up. He held my palette until I climbed halfway up. As I got closer, I caught the hag’s eyes shifting from Anatoly to me, watching our every move. Standing eye level, her gaze seemed frozen. I leaned in a tiny bit and she suddenly blinked and I nearly tumbled down off the ladder.

“What is it? What’s wrong?" Anatoly asked.

“Her eyes—they blinked.”

“Ignore it, keep going. It is trick.”

I shuddered, thinking about painting over those dark eyeballs. They were watery with long, black lashes like the legs of spiders surrounding them. Her face was like a hairless rat, with a long sharp nose and pale white skin. Fine wrinkles gathered and puckered around her mouth, chin, and neck. I balanced my palette on top of the ladder and leaned in close with my magnifying glass. The lines in her face needed to be filled for sure. I swallowed hard as I moved over her eyes. The left one would need paint. I shivered as I picked up my brush and swept it across the eyeball. The eye fluttered and started to tear up. Tiny red veins bulged in the eye as if irritated by the paint.

I shivered violently. “Ugh! I can’t do this. Her eyes are turning red. I’m not into torture.”

“It is illusion. She is playing on your sympathies! Darkness has no feeling.”

A lump rose in my throat as the eye appeared to swell, blinking furiously as I finished working the paint into the hag's eye. The eye seemed to bulge now, a white streak of paint oozed out the corner. I dabbed at it with my pinkie but the moment my skin touched the canvas, I suddenly couldn’t breathe! The palette tumbled from my hand. I seized the side of the ladder to keep from falling.

“Natasha!” Anatoly scaled the ladder. He stood behind me as I clutched my neck. “What is it?”

“Something has a hold of my throat.” I croaked out.

“It’s the hag!” Anatoly yelled. He pulled me backward down the ladder and to the floor. I lay like a fish out of water, the mural looming over me. The creatures faded from my sight as my lungs screamed for air. I tore at my neck in a panic—at the icy hands wrapping tighter around my windpipe. The more I struggled, the harder the hag squeezed and then there was something else…voices, sounds, horrific images from my nightmares. The burn in my oxygen-starved lungs intensified. I slid my hand into the pocket of my jeans. The tips of my fingers grazing the stone. I shoved my hand deeper, grabbing the round object. It was almost free from my pocket when Anatoly pulled me to my feet, slapping me hard on the back causing the stone to roll from my fingertips. “Breathe, Natasha!” his voice rose in pitch. “It is mind trick. You must breathe!”

I desperately shook my head, trying to tell him I needed the stone, that it wasn’t some mind trick—that it was real and that I couldn’t breathe! My lungs ached. I couldn’t hold myself up much longer! Anatoly cradled me in his arms as I gasped, clawing for my neck, trying to pry her invisible fingers from around my throat.

Footsteps thudded in the distance. Nickoli and Mila raced into the chamber.

Mila dropped to her knees beside me. “Natasha? Are you all right?”

I shook my head, clutching my throat.

Mila glanced at Anatoly, her eyes wide with fear. “What’s wrong with her?”

“It’s the hag!” He yelled, his voice tight with panic.

Mila grabbed my shoulders. “Where’s the stone?”

“I dropped it.” I croaked, holding my throat and pointing near the mural.

“Quick,” Mila yelled. “Help me find a white rock with a hole in the center.”

Nickoli dropped to his knees while Anatoly started searching on the other side of the ladder. A screech came from the ceiling, a mist of black swooped down.

“The hag has escaped,” Anatoly yelled.

Nickoli reached for a coiled whip at his side, then slashed and whipped at the figure. The mist formed a long tunnel, spinning and churning up dirt along the floor. Anatoly drew a fist and hit it hard in the center. The mist separated and faded, then formed again. Nickoli drove it backwards while Anatoly pulled a dagger from his pack and hurled it into the center of the windstorm. A shriek echoed across the walls as the mist separated into thin strands and fell to the floor only to rise again.

The grip tightened around my neck. I dropped to my knees. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t do anything but hold my neck and try to pry invisible fingers off. Mila walked almost directly into the mist. She pulled a vial of holy water from her pocket, opened the lid, and splashed the mist with water . “Blessed water to bind you. May God’s wrath be upon you.” The swirling vapors solidified. The Nocnistsa was even more hideous looking then in the painting. Her skin was white and wrinkled, her nose long and pointed. Her hateful eyes pinned to me as I searched for the rock. She screamed in fury as I gripped the stone in my hand, squeezing it in my palm. I picked up my brush and finished painting the last stroke. The Nocnistsa sucked back into the painting and disappeared so quickly it was like she had never even been there.

Anatoly helped me to the car. I couldn’t believe how bad my neck and throat ached. I flipped down the visor and peered into the mirror. I expected to see long, red claw marks and bruises circling my windpipe, but there was nothing there. I strained to look at Mila in the back seat. “You were incredible in there. Everyone was. I really owe all of you guys for helping me.”

“That is our duty.” Anatoly said.

Duty. Right. I really wished he’d stop saying that.

Nickoli leaned forward from the backseat, his face beaming. “Mila has gift from God. Her grandfather was famous priest.”

Mila blushed. “More like my great, great, great, grandfather. Some say his powers came directly from the right hand of God. And others, like my mother, said just the opposite; that it was a form of witchcraft. She hated the fact I had inherited special gifts from my father’s side of the family. My mother condemned me as a freak and that is one of the reasons she let me go. I’d become an embarrassment to her fellow socialites.” Mila frowned. “Can you tell me how the hag escaped? It’s weird because I thought she’d be one of the last ones to get out. I mean she only had a few minor details that needed touching up.”

I shook my head. “It all happened so fast. I had just used my finger to blot a bit of the paint that was dripping when I felt her hands on my neck.”

Mila’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh, I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Told me what?

“Never touch the paint before it dries. When it’s wet the seal isn’t in full effect yet. That means the demons can slip out by using your energy.”

I rested my head against the seat rest. “You know, I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to do it tomorrow. I think I should finish everything around Koschei and then tackle him last.”

“That would be a good idea. He’s extremely cunning and he has immense power and control over all the others.”

I closed my eyes and pushed away the terrible images. Hopefully, soon, it would all be over.

All the next day and the day after, I worked on the mural. Each brush stroke more draining then the next. There were so many creatures, each one just as horrific and frightening as the last. All the while, Anatoly stayed close by my side, watching and waiting. I got used to his company. It was nice having someone there. I’d been so alone my whole life. It was comforting just to be able to glance out the corner of my eye and see him there, or catch him smiling at me when I’d completed an especially challenging piece.

By the end of the week all I had left to restore was a small section before I started on the center that held Koschei. I stood for the entire day, moving very little, keeping my palette arm immobile and all my attention nailed to the canvas just a few feet away. My vision blurred and my arm and wrist fell asleep from the stiffness, tingling and burning. I worked until my legs cramped and my neck grew sore.

No matter what, I had to get the mural finished as soon as I could. It’s energy was so draining, so depressing. I kept thinking of my mother, spending all those years down here. Working in the dark, pregnant with me. She must have worried how the darkness might be affecting her growing child. I thought of my father and how horrible it must have been for her to deal with the creatures in the mural and then the monster she lived with. The most evil creature of them all who would eventually take her life.

I moved over to a patch of birds. I started painting the left wing of a magpie when it started to flap. It continued flapping so hard that paint flew, splattered other parts of the mural. The more I tried to seal it in the harder it fought back, flapping and pulling away from the canvas. One of the bird’s beady eyes swiveled around, staring at me. The beak opened and a long, skinny tongue hissed. It jerked hard, pulling away from the painting—trying to loosen itself. I added more paint and yet the thing still struggled. Panic rioted within me as I slapped on another layer. The bird flapped again nearly pulling itself free this time, paint splattering everywhere. What was I doing wrong?

I stared at my palette of colors. My throat pulled tight. I had been using a lighter blue instead of a blue black for its wings and I’d used white instead of cream for the tips of the feathers. My vision blurred, my stomach dropped—I was so tired, I was making mistakes. I dipped my brush into the right color, making wide sweeps. The bird froze, let out a final hiss, and settled flat into the painting. The eye glared at me, dull and lifeless.

I gathered my things and climbed down from the ladder.

Anatoly came to my side. “You have made great progress. Are you finished for the day?”

I eyed the painting, double checking that the bird was still. “I think so.”

“Good. Then we go. Now that you are gaining on Koschei he is desperate for escape. We must leave before dark. Is not good to work on painting at night when his evil is at its strongest.”

I cleaned it all up and arranged it so I could easily get back to work in the morning.

“Please,” Nickoli said. “We go now.”

We hurried down the long tunnel. To my right, a strange grating noise echoed to the side of us. “What is that?”

Mila shook his head. “Just ignore it and keep going.”

We hurried up the steps and burst into the dark kitchen. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Nickoli shut and locked the door behind us. Anatoly took a flashlight off the counter and switched it on, sending a beam sweeping out in front of us.

The basement door thumped as if something were on the other side trying to get out. I jumped and Anatoly ushered me out of the house and down the path to the car.

I climbed inside and locked the door. “What was that?”

“It is negative energy. Koschei has some control over his environment outside of painting when it is nighttime. He can create lots of noise and trouble. Best to take it serious. You never know what dark energy is capable of.”

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Anatoly steered out of the driveway and down the road, not bothering to stop and lock the gate. “Slide over here. I will keep you warm.” He extended his arm, driving with the other. I was freezing cold for some reason. Maybe I was coming down with the flu or maybe it was something else—either way, every muscle ached.

“Come,” he said again. “You will lean against me, I will keep you warm until we get to house.” I slid next to him, while he wrapped an arm over me. So happy for his warmth and protection, I inhaled his spicy exotic scent and closed my eyes. In his arms there were no nightmares. Only the pure safety that I had longed for--for so long. Finally peace would be mine in his arms. If only it could last a lifetime. Or forever.

Anatoly parked in front of his house. I made a move to take off my seatbelt when he touched my shoulder. “Please. There is something I want to show you.”

He turned and spoke to Mila and Nickoli in Russian as they got out of the car. Mila tapped on my window and grinned. “Have fun!”

Anatoly waited until they disappeared into the house before pulling out of the driveway. We drove into the village, it was so eerie how silent it was. As if everyone had just left everything and walked away. We continued on until the road widened into an open field that rose into a high knoll with a large statue overlooking the village. Anatoly took my hand. “Come. I want to show you something. He flipped a switch near the base of the statue and the most beautiful burst of water flowed straight up into the air and then down into the base again. A generator kicked on and blue and pink lights spun around the sides and top of the statue, illuminating the marvelous deep greens of the trees and reverberating in the droplets of water spurting from the fountain.

“This will renew your positive energy. Give you strength.” Anatoly pointed to the fountain. “I wanted to show you there is beauty here in village as well as darkness.”

“It’s spectacular. I never imagined something like this would be here.”

We sat side by side in the grass, enjoying the fresh air. I wished that things could have been different between Anatoly and me. That he could break whatever oath it was that he took to not fall in love with me.

“What is it?” he said softly.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Good,” he got to his feet. “Now we dance.”

“What?”

“Don’t you know how to dance?”

“Yes, I mean, no.” I shook my head. “Let me start over. I can dance, but I’m dangerous. If you want to keep all your toes, I’d advise against it.”

“Nonsense.” He went to the car and rolled the windows down, letting classical music flow from the car stereo.

“You like Rachmaninoff? I thought I was the only teenager in the universe that did.”

“Russia is home to many great composers. Without music you have no heart. Music is life force.” He held out his arms. “You will dance with me now. Come.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“Come. Now. I will show you.”

I stood, wiping grass from the back of my jeans, and grasped his hand. He slid one behind my back and intertwined the other with mine.

For someone so large, he moved with grace. Light on his toes, spinning me in elegant circles. We danced until the pink of the sky turned gray. Until we could no longer stand. He pulled me against him hard. I lifted my chin to look deep into his eyes as he leaned down, inches from my face.

For a long moment, with the moonlight streaking the air and the faint sweet strains of Rachmaninoff waltzing around us, I stared into Anatoly’s dark eyes, knowing this moment would be ours, always, sending its own echo down through the rest of our lives.

Anatoly held me closer, his breathing shallow. I leaned into him and suddenly he pushed me away.

“We go home now. Is late.”

I stared up at him, his eye hard and dark. I was stunned at his abruptness. Why couldn't he let himself go, even if only for a few minutes? What would one kiss hurt?

As we drove home, weaving through the peaceful village, my mind was lost in the music, still dancing on that beautiful grassy knoll. Still encased in Anatoly’s arms dreaming of the kiss…we almost shared.