THREE
He felt it then, the first stirrings tugging at him. His teeth ached and his throat was suddenly so … parched. Lifting his gaze, he wasn't surprised to find her holding her wand on him. Yet she didn't appear frightened. Even as he was aware of his attention traveling to her throat in spite of himself, aware of his mouth watering.
No, no … she'd helped him when she didn't have to. A stranger, a monster now! She'd known, and still—
"Take them," she snapped, zapping him with a stinging charm to force his eyes away from her neck.
Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, Antonin uncapped the bottles and downed them together. With a cough, he sealed his lips together to keep even a drop of the atrocious mixture from spilling out.
Dropping the bottles aside, he braced his hands on the sink behind him. He repressed a shudder as the concoction hit his stomach and spread, going to work.
The discomfort crawling through him subsided all at once and he thought he might collapse where he stood. Lifting a shaking hand, he saw the redness gone. Working his jaw back and forth, he felt how the ache had ceased. "Thank you, um …."
"Sofiy."
"Thank you, Sofiy." When he looked up again, she had lowered her wand. Nodding toward a nearby chair, she said, "Sit. Rest a moment."
A moment? Of course. She meant to kick him out now that she'd aided him. Not that he could blame her. Within the last ten minutes, he'd become a more dangerous being than he'd already been, he wouldn't trust himself either.
But she was offering, and so he sat. "Why're you helping me?" By rights she should've left him to burn.
Sofiy shrugged, folding her arms as she watched him. "I had a son once, the same became of him."
"I'm … that's terrible, I'm sorry." Antonin Dolohov wasn't accustomed to speaking words of comfort, and so his voice tumbled out unsteady. He was surprised they didn't leave a foul taste in his mouth, but he was sincere and he supposed that counted for something.
"He was being punished for …" She tossed up her hands. "An accident. The curse makes no distinction."
"What do you mean?"
Her mouth puckered and she cast her gaze toward the ceiling. Shaking her head, she went on, "His friend died because of him. The curse decided him a murderer. I couldn't help him, but I help you."
"The rest of the village knew, didn't they?"
Sofiy nodded. "It was long ago, most now don't remember, like you. I don't know what your crimes are, I don't want to," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll give you more of the red, you'll take it, and you will go to Lychakiv."
Antonin's brows shot up. "The cemetery?" Really necropolis would be more fitting, given the enormity of the place.
Again she nodded, returning to the cupboard for more of the red potion. "Yes. There are many places you can hide safely there."
After divvying up the liquid into a handful of vials, she corked them and came back to him. "Only one at a time, no matter how thirsty you get, and only when you become so thirsty you cannot stand it."
Taking the vials, he stood. Tucking them away in his robes, he asked, "And when I run out?"
"Perhaps you'll be luckier than my Vasyl and by then, your curse will break."
The shock of hope through him at her words was so great he started a little. "So it can be broken?"
"Only one of the old stories said such was possible." Quoting what little she remembered of the tale, she said, "When love like blood flows."
"That's it?" And just like that the hope fled. "Of course it'd be something like that." For whatever the fuck that meant.
"Go now." She jutted her chin toward the cellar steps.
"Thank you, Sofiy."
Once outside—he remembered the cemetery's location well enough—Antonin apparated.
