“Don’t let it step within your shadow, or you’ll get sick,” he warned.

If it touches you, it will bring death, Tomochka. You must never touch a drekavac.

I shivered at the memory. Not the fetal doe. This one came from beyond the veil, from the before, a hazy recollection of walking, and walking, and walking, cold and hungry, with my mother’s hand in my own. We had stopped at an inn where she had introduced herself by another name and with a nervous laugh had told the innkeeper that we were on the way to visit relatives in the Edge. I remember how tightly she had gripped my hand as she’d said it.

That was the first night we had seen them—watching from the tree line, their swollen heads bobbing slowly. But it hadn’t been the last.

The drekavac’s shriek jolted me into the present. Its cry was as shrill as an infant’s scream, filled with despair and need.

“What are you just standing there for?” Mikhail demanded, already several steps down the road. I hurried after him, glancing back at the drekavac as it lumbered after us.

When I looked ahead again, I spotted another crawling figure emerging from the darkness. Then two more, their bulbous heads dragging against the ground.

We were surrounded.

Mikhail thrust out his hands in front of him, his brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment, he slowly lowered his arms with a puzzled grimace. That sudden gesture—palms up and fingers spread, a motion that had seemed more offensive than defensive, as if his hands themselves were weapons—he had been trying to use his powers, hadn’t he?

Raw, anguished shrieks filled the air as the monsters clambered closer. A drekavac lunged from the darkness, its malformed fingers reaching toward me.

“Get back!” I swung my musket toward it, hoping to drive it back by prodding it with the muzzle. Monster or not, I wasn’t willing to shoot anything that even remotely resembled an infant. Then I realized that by trying to ward off the lone drekavac, I would be opening up my back for the others to cross within my shadow.

I stepped away, knocking into Mikhail in the process.

“Give me that,” he said, and made a grab for my musket.

“No! It looks like a baby.” I grimaced as another drekavac screamed at us, the noise driving into my ears as painfully as rusty nails.

His hand closed around the gun’s barrel. “Well, it isn’t one! If you’re not going to—”

A massive black shape freed itself from the darkness, barking furiously. I leveled my musket and curled my finger around the trigger. The creature entered the gleam of our lantern, revealing the broad face and sagging jowls of a shepherd dog. I sighed, transferring my finger to the guard.

Frightened by the dog’s barking, the creatures scattered. As they retreated into the cemetery, I slowly lowered my musket. The dog bounded toward me, wagging its tail as it nestled against my side.