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he would be comfortable for what remained of thenight. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.
    “Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”
    “Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
    “I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.
    Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.
    “One of
them
,” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. “Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow. They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”
    “Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”
    There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep. Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and … interesting.”
    “If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”
    But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of hisbath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen.
I’m here. Your friend is here
. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

We stood in the courtyard. Two horses were saddled and bridled—ready for the ride down to Braşov, where Father would transfer to a cart. Gabriel was traveling with him and would stay by his side through the winter, to watch over him. With our man of all work, Dorin, away at his sister’s wedding celebrations in Ţara Romǎneascǎ and not due back for some time, Piscul Dracului would be a house of women, save for the stalwart Petru.
    Uncle Nicolae and his son, Cezar, had come down from Vǎrful cu Negurǎ to see Father off. Both wore sheepskin caps, heavy wool-lined gloves, and long fur-trimmed cloaks over their working clothes. Uncle Nicolae was smiling, his bearded face radiating genial confidence. Maybe he was putting it on for Father’s benefit, but I found it reassuring. Uncle Nicolae had always been kind to us girls, ready with jokes and compliments, his pockets housing small treats that could be producedanytime one of us was upset or overtaken by shyness. Now that Tati and I were young ladies, he addressed us by our full names, with affectionate courtesy.
    “Tatiana, Jenica, you know our home is always open to you and your sisters. Please come to me or Bogdana, or to Cezar, if anything at all is troubling you. We want to help in any way we can.”
    “I’ll be overseeing your part of the business, Uncle Teodor,” said Cezar to our father, who had gone suddenly quiet now that his departure was imminent. At eighteen, Cezar was as tall as his father and a great deal broader, with a short, well-kept dark beard and forceful eyebrows. Our cousin was not a particularly easy person to like, and growing from a boy into a man did not seem to have improved him. I had tried to be a friend to him, thinking I owed him that. When we were little, he had saved my life.
    “Of course, I will supervise Cezar’s work closely,” put in Uncle Nicolae, seeing Father’s expression of doubt. “This will be good experience for him.”
    “I’ll be looking after the accounts,” I reminded them. “I don’t need any help with that, it’s all in order. In fact, I can handle everything at this