– No one. It's just this guy who came by to ask for directions to the center» Misha told her icily. – I hope you understand, mister? Good night!

– No, I think I forgot again. Could you repeat the instructions again? – I've decided to play by her rules.

She's not gonna get rid of me that easily.

At my words Misha tightly pressed her lips and pierced me with a fierce look.

– Let me explain» the girl standing behind the vampire suddenly suggested. – I was born here and have lived here all my life. Almost. So you need to…

– No, Mary, I'll do it myself, but can you fill the bathtub for me? – Misha told her insistently, then went out on the porch, closed the door right in front of Mary's nose, and now stood in front of me with no slippers and only socks.

– You should at least put on some shoes, for decency's sake» I said calmly.

– Listen, you! I don't know why you came here, or how you knew where I live, but don't you ever come here again! – She said in a quiet, shaking voice.

– Who is this girl? – I asked insistently, wanting to find out what was going on behind the door of this house.

– None of your business! – Misha snapped at me. – And anyway, I told you: don't you dare even talk to me, do you understand? Never!

– What do you know about me to talk to me like that? – I was indignant.

– You're right, I don't know anything! But my family forbade me to communicate with you, and I think they had enough reasons for that ban! I don't know what you've done, but I'm not going to talk to you!

– I wonder what you've been doing for the last two minutes. – I grinned: she was ridiculous in her hysterics. – And how old are you, if you still listen to your parents?

– None of your damn business! – Misha said again, raising her voice; I must have hit her with a question about her age: she was boiling with anger.

– All right, calm down. I don't like dealing with hysterical women» I sighed tiredly.

– You're the hysterical one!

– If you knew how to talk normally and wouldn't yell, I'd give you this» I handed Misha her envelope, «and we'd go our separate ways.

The girl looked at the envelope in surprise and incredulity, but took it, and then looked at me with such anger in her eyes that I realized: Misha realized that I was a little curious.

– You read it!

– I don't deny it» I smiled, amused by her reaction.

– How can you… I just don't have words! – The girl was indignant, shaking the envelope in my face. – What an asshole! That's it! I've had enough!

She went into the house, slammed the door behind her, and locked the lock with two clicks.

– Very mature! – I laughed softly, knowing that Misha could hear me perfectly well.

– Get out! – she replied just as quietly.

– See you later, hysterical girl» I said, getting into the car.

– Go to hell! – followed by her angered reply.

«And not so defenseless as she seems at first sight» I thought with a smile. – We'll meet again, Misha. Even though it's pointless.»

Now I was finally certain that she was very much like her sister in appearance, but at the same time she was different: real, a little naive, not yet able to find the right words and arguments: even her swear words were not offensive at all. The girl must have watched a lot of movies and taken all the swear words from them.

When Misha opened the door, I immediately noticed that she held her left shoulder a little higher than her right: almost imperceptibly, just a couple of millimeters.

But what was a mortal doing in her house? Who was she? A guest? Or worse, a neighbor? What's the whim? Misha shouldn't get close to people, much less share living quarters with them. This is nonsense, we'll have to look into it. Why, though? Well, she reminds me of Maria, well, lives with this mortal, what do I care? Let her live, study, have fun. After all, she has a lot of relatives who should take care of her. I wonder how old she is. And how does she eat: does she still drink donated blood or does she already hunt?

But, since Misha did not want to communicate with me, no, not that – since she was forbidden to do so, it means that she knew nothing about me and Maria – it was obvious: she was angry at me for small trifles, not for what I «did» to her sister.

«If this damsel does not wish to see me, why should I see her? But what if she asks for my help? Who? Her? That hussy? She'd rather eat her own head than bother to do so.

Fine, let her live the life she wants. But if I broke her bike, I'll fix it» I thought as I steered my Mustang onto Abington Road.