SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW ➻ DEMETRI VOLTURI

V E N T I

The cold wind blew against her even colder skin, but Cecilia barely noticed it. She was standing in front of the monastery Anya had chosen as their meeting point and though google had claimed that the building had been abandoned only a couple of years ago, it certainly didn't look like it. Most of the windows had been thrown in, the doors to the church broken out and the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust and grime.

Trusting her senses, Cecilia stepped into the church, an unfamiliar feeling crashing over her. It was like she didn't belong here, on this hallowed ground. She suddenly thought of Edward and his conviction that all vampires were dammed, their souls lost. Standing here, eyeing the statue of Jesus on the cross, she could very well imagine he was right.

She shook the unfamiliar feeling away, focusing on the sounds she was hearing. She noticed some stumbling from underneath the ground she was standing on and she tried one of the doors. Satisfied, Cecilia eyed the stairs that led into the darkness, walking it down carefully. Her senses never ceased to amaze her. Even now that it was pitch black, she was still able to make out the tiny cracks and creases in the stone wall.

Once she got to the last stair, she walked along the dark corridor to where the sound was coming from. She tried to ignore the tug in her stomach, like she was a mouse about to get trapped for a piece of cheese, blaming it on the fact that Demetri wasn't by her side. She tried to console herself with the thought that just because he wasn't right next to her didn't mean that he wasn't watching out for her.

She ended up in front of a heavy and old wooden door, which she pushed open gently. The room in front of her was light with several torches, revealing a figure huddled near the far end of the room. That wasn't what caught her attention. It was the wave of decay that threatened to overwhelm her senses and she scrunched up her nose in disgust. At first she thought it was the figure huddled in the room, but then he turned his head, showing he was very much alive.

Well, that depended on how you defined life.

"Nikolai?" she said, sounding incredulous. Her eyes fell on the manacles binding his wrists and feet together, obviously made from special iron. Feeling a sense of deja-vu, she rushed forward.

"No, stay back, Cecilia," he protested. He tried to raise his hands as if to signal her to stop, but they were bound to his ankles, leaving him with a very limited range of movement.

It was too late anyway. As she tried to step forward, she was bounced back, as if there was an invisible wall separating her from Nikolai. Raising her eyebrows in wonder, she reached out, a loud hiss leaving her lips as her fingers touched the edge of the barrier. When she took a couple of steps back, she felt again, this time against her back. It felt like she was being burnt.

"What is this?" she muttered to herself, carefully assessing the circle around her.

"It's called a Michael pentagram," a new voice said suddenly. "You know, for the archangel Michael."

Cecilia turned around, her eyes snapping to the woman who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. It was Anya. She still looked effortlessly mysterious and beautiful, her dark hair flowing in curls over her shoulders, a tight red dress hugging her curves. Her facial expression, however, bore none of the friendliness it had days ago. Her lips were twisted in a mean grimace, a hateful glint in her eyes. Cecilia wondered what exactly she had done to deserve the wrath of this woman.

"Anya?" Cecilia asked, feeling stupid. A mouse lured in a trap for a bit of cheese was exactly how she felt.

"Actually, it's Vasilisa," Anya, or rather Vasilisa said, a triumphant smile on her mouth. Her crimson red eyes moved away from Cecilia to Nikolai, who let out a soft grunt. "Anya's been dead for quite some time now. Now, Cecilia, lift the carpet you're standing on."