One more airfare meal and several hours of uncomfortable rest later, they touch down in Moscow. Mikhail is gentlemanly enough to carry her travel bag, yet seems oblivious to how much Nika wants to shower and sleep in a real bed. Instead, their first stop is a grocery store.

“You don’t expect me to cook something, do you?” If so, he should grab a fire extinguisher and prepare to be disappointed.

“No, I will make something.” He says firmly, adding carrots to their cart. He looks so normal, if unusually tall, like any other of the blond boys that went to Nika’s school. It would be easy to hide what he is, to live a completely normal life for as long as he wanted. Not racing against the clock to figure out who he is, or what he wants to do, with plenty of time to change his mind. He had paid a price, of course, but Nika felt just a little bit jealous.

After their unenchanting shopping trip, he wordlessly leads her to a taxi, telling the driver to go to the Western city limits. He continues to not clarify as they leave the city.

“Where are we going?” She finally asks, as they walk down roads that become increasingly rural.

“To what remains of my home.” He looks back at her somberly, and continues on. Eventually, they reach the ruins of a Victorian-style mansion. The walls of the first floor are blackened with scorch marks, while plants carpet the rubble of the Eastern wing. Every window is broken, and one of the weathered front doors hangs at an odd angle. Fortunately, the roof seems intact and stable.

“It was raining, the night they tried to burn it.” Mikhail speaks distantly, being taken back in his mind’s eye to the home he remembers. Nika recalls her history classes and takes a guess.

“The Bolsheviks?”

He shakes his head, “Working men, when the Provisional government failed to do much of anything.” His boots crunch on the gravel path as he walks inside. Nika follows, staring at the dilapidated house. I guess I’m still not getting a shower.

The roof has allowed the inside to stay relatively intact, denying sunlight to plants and sheltering the wooden floors from the rain. Anything of value has long since been taken, adding to the cold emptiness of the building. Surprisingly, no one has dared enter the kitchen and reduce the cabinets to firewood, or hauled off the heavy iron stove, making it the most normal room in the house.

“Could you draw some water?” Mikhail kneels down and opens the woodburning stove, adding what was probably once a chair to the inside. Since it’s the one part of cooking she can do, Nika obliges. She finds an overgrown well behind the house, and an iron bucket. After several rinsings and scrubbings, she can draw water without rusted flakes or yellowed leaves.

“Find somewhere comfortable, we will leave in the morning.” He nods appreciatively when she returns and washes the dust off the counter with an old rag.

Nika dares the rickety stairs to the second floor, finding a bedroom with a moth-eaten blanket on a metal bed frame. She shakes the dust off and sets it down- luckily, nothing falls out or scurries away. Setting her suitcase on the exposed springs, she unpacks a few things.

Returning downstairs in a fresh t-shirt, sweatpants and her favorite jacket, Nika’s suspicions are confirmed. The fairy tale boy is making cabbage soup. She would expect a noble to be as bad at cooking as she is, but he methodically prepares and adds each ingredient without hesitation. He doesn’t seem to mind her either, even when her stomach growls impatiently. As Mikhail hands her a bowl, but no spoon, her face burns a little in remembrance of the chocolate cake from their first meeting.

“Thank you.” She mumbles, and then her fingers begin to burn as well.

They sit together on the floor, waiting for the soup to cool as evening sun shines through the dining room’s empty window. He appears lost in thought, staring through the dusty remains of his home.

“You didn’t come back, after all this time?” Nika looks up at him. He’s at least continued to pay for the land with his magical credit card. Why not come back and restore it?

“For many years, I could not bear the thought, of walking alone in the house I had promised to share with her.” He speaks quietly, continuing to gaze down the empty hall.

Oh. Thinking about her own abandoned home, Nika isn’t sure she could go back either. What is she going to do when all of this is over? She has only one wish to give, and nothing for herself.

“Mikhail, are you going to die when the curse breaks?”

“Most likely, or be given one more lifetime to live.” He picks up his bowl tentatively, watching steam continue to rise.

“If you die, what am I supposed to do?” She dips her pinkie finger into her own broth- still too hot. He reaches into his coat pocket, and takes out his credit card.

“I won this in a witch’s bargain, ten years ago. You may have it.” Mikhail slides the card over to her. “Money will get you far in this modern world.”

It really was magical! Nika carefully places the card in her jacket pocket, promising herself to never lose it. “That’s okay,” she imagines herself saying to some important-looking man in front of a college, “I don’t need any scholarships, just let me swipe my card.” Then she could go to Stanford, Oxford- well, she probably wasn’t smart enough for either of those. Wherever rich people go to college.

Finally, the soup is cool enough to eat. It’s a bit sour for her taste, but as her mother would say, only the cook has the right to complain. Though she’s only known him for a few days, the meal feels very personal, like she’s sitting with a good friend. In this quiet moment, sharing warm light from the stove’s embers, he seems like his most honest self. The distant longing in his eyes is so very real, contrasted with the flowery words and vague answers he had previously given her. Nika can feel not just sympathy, but empathy on the heels of her own loss. She will never hear stories from her grandmother again, never again receive comfort from her mother. Feeling the beginnings of tears, she finishes her bowl and excuses herself. Mikhail watches her go, but says nothing.

Nika escapes from her grief by falling asleep, easy enough after days of travel. Not even an earthquake could wake her, or so she thought.

“Ivanika, get up!” As her shoulder is again shaken, she forces open her heavy eyes. Mikhail is next to her, hard to see in the dark.

“You have to come with me, before he realizes I’m here.” The brother has found them? Terrifying memories of the campground ablaze jolt her awake. She nods to show that she understands, following behind as he quietly walks up to the doorframe.

The coast is clear, and he steps out. Rather than take the creaking stairs, he leads her to the East wing. Carefully, he helps her climb down the rubble, moss and leaves quieting their steps. About four feet from the ground, they have to jump. He lands softly, making only a small sound on the grass. Nika’s attempt is- less graceful. Part of the brick she’s standing on crumbles at the last second, and the remnants of wooden floorboards crack as she lands heavily.

Mikhail’s eyes fill with fear as he lifts her out of the mess of broken wood. “Go!” He whispers urgently, drawing an antique saber from his side. Where did that come from?

“Mikhail! Are you here to steal my wishes?” A shout from inside the house, remarkably similar to the boy she’s standing beside, causes Nika to panic. She sprints into the backyard, looking for somewhere to go. The well is the nearest hiding spot, and she crouches behind it.

“You are the thief, they belong to the girl!” That must be Mikhail.

“Don’t act so noble, you’ll be begging her to give them to you- if I let you live!” There is a roaring, crashing sound.

“You have always let me live Joseph. You seem to survive on my suffering.” Looking up, Nika can just make out gray smoke rising into the night sky.

“You took her from me! You took her, and for that, I will take everything you ever want!” The back wall of the house bursts into flames. There are more crashing, crackling sounds, and fire spreads unnaturally quickly to every part of the house. Suddenly, someone is thrown through one of the burning walls. Seeing his saber in hand, Nika grabs the iron bucket and douses him with the remaining water.

“Oh, Nika.” Speaking with the greatest disappointment, stepping out from the flaming house holding a flickering, molten blade is- Mikhail.

She stares incomprehensibly as the other brother stands. In the full moonlight, she can finally see a long scar across his face. He steps protectively in front of her.

“But you are right brother. It will be better to watch you fail than kill you now.” Mikhail- Mikhail or Joseph? Their voices are exactly the same, and she wants desperately to be imagining the scar on the other brother’s face. The boy with the fiery sword turns toward her.

“Thank you for telling me all you know, dear. I’m sure, as the cleverer one, I will find the wishes first.” He gives a small, smug bow. Then he turns and walks away, obviously unafraid of his brother’s inferior weapon. Nika watches him go, her heart pounding and stomach churning as the truth sinks in. When it’s clear they’re no longer in danger, the other brother turns to her.

“Nika, it’s alright now. He can’t hurt you any more.” But there wasn’t a scratch on her. He had never threatened her, only fed her lie after lie. And somehow, that hurt more than anything he could have ever done.