As the sun sank past the trees, she seized her chance. Annelise was seated at the rear of her wagon with her baby while her toddling young sons wrestled before her. The middle child stumbled and fell, then began to cry. At once, Annelise went to his side and examined the damage. Blood streamed from a rip in his trousers.
"Let me help you," Marielle offered. "I can take the baby while you see to Nicolai."
She extended her arms. Annelise thanked her and presented the baby, completely absorbed in her injured son's plight.
Marielle stepped away. Then she drew the ring from her pocket and slipped it onto her finger. At once, it tightened to fit. She stroked the side three times, just as Damius had done. The barb sprang forth, and the stones at the edge of the ring appeared, a circle of tiny teeth, forming a macabre grin.
Marielle pulled the white blanket away from the baby's smooth, chubby leg. She had to choose the site of the wound carefully; otherwise Annelise might see it. She probed the cocoa-brown folds of flesh just behind its knee. Then she inserted the barb. The baby shrieked.
"What now?" asked Annelise, her voice rising with irritation. "No sooner do I get one son settled when the next begins to cry."
"I'm not sure," Marielle replied, struggling to remain calm. "You know I haven't got your touch, Annelise. Perhaps he just misses you."
Annelise patted Nicolai on the head, then turned to Marielle and held out her arms. Marielle released the writhing bundle to its mother, who cradled the baby and began to coo. Still, the creature wailed.
"This is strange," said Annelise. "Surely you must have noticed something."
"I did see a black fly," Marielle replied. "Perhaps it stung him."
"Oh, my poor, poor dear," said Annelise soothingly, searching the baby's limbs for signs of a bite. She spied a red mark behind the baby's knee and kissed it. "That nasty fly. Mama will make it better."
To Marielle's relief, the baby quieted.
She tucked the ring back into her pocket. The deed was done. Now, she need only wait until after dark. Just a few hours. Then she would slip away, never to return.
The hours dragged. The baby slept peacefully. Finally, Marielle bid the others good night and climbed into her vardo. She gathered her treasures — a few pieces of jewelry, a carving made by her father, a miniature portrait of Magda, crafted by an artisan years ago. Then she placed them in a makeshift sack. When she was certain only Yuri remained by the fire, she slipped out and entered the forest.
Damius was waiting at the trysting place, surrounded by mist. He held out his hand.
"The ring," he commanded. His voice was deep and calm.
Marielle pulled it from her skirt and presented it. He smiled faintly as he took the ring and laid it before a large granite rock in the clearing. Then he drew her into his arms.
"Say my name," he whispered.
"Damius," she murmured, drunk with anticipation.
Marielle felt her clothing melt away, one piece at a time, just as it had when she met him before. Then Damius too was naked, a pale statue carved from stone. A yellow flame burned deep within his eyes, mirroring her own internal fire. He pulled her to the ground.
The mist grew heavy and wet. White hands slithered across her body, leaving a trail of searing heat wherever they passed. The cool mist melted upon her flesh and formed tiny streams that raced toward the ground. Damius's pale skin merged with the fog, blurring, until only his shiny blue-black hair remained distinct, sliding across her torso. Marielle sank her fingers into the silken mane. She was delirious, adrift upon an undulating sea of moss.
Then she heard a woman's laughter nearby, soft and faint. She turned her head toward the sound and glimpsed a ghostly figure. Lizette was crouched before a granite rock. She was naked and white, with a mass of gleaming black snakes for hair. Marielle tried to call out, but the words caught in her mouth. Damius groaned above her.
Lizette lifted a tiny object from the ground and held it aloft in the moonlight. It flashed white, then black. She clutched it toward her breast, and it became a small, squirming creature, wrapped in a glowing white shroud. Lizette laid the bundle upon the rock. The mists swirled, consuming the form. When the fog parted, the offering had vanished. Damius, too, was gone.
Lizette stood in the clearing, smiling slyly. "Marielle," she intoned. "I say thy name, and make thee ours."
Then she too departed, drifting away into the night upon the sound of her own laughter.
Marielle was alone and cold as the dead. She lifted her hands toward her face. The fingers had turned black. Though she had never seen this sign before, she knew its meaning. Black hands marked those who had wronged the Vistani.
Then the screaming began, distant and faint. She rose, drawing her garments around her. The screams grew louder. They seemed to emanate from within her own head, yet she knew the voice belonged to Annelise. An image took root in Marielle's mind. She raced back toward the camp. She had to know if her vision was true.
When Marielle reached the tribe, Annelise stood by the fire, her face twisted and red with grief. In her hands lay a bloody shroud. The other members of the tribe stood around her. As Marielle approached, Annelise turned and held out the bundle. A tiny arm fell away from the cloth — limp, shriveled, and black.
"Devil!" rasped Annelise.
The other members of the tribe formed a line beside her. Annelise's mother stooped to the ground and picked up a stone, then flung it with all her might. Marielle felt a sharp blow against her forehead. Blood flowed down the side of her face. Another rock struck. And then another. Marielle did not lift her arms to protect herself. Warm blood filled her eyes, shutting out the mob before her. When the fourth stone crashed against her skull, she sank to her knees and cried out in agony.
She could not see the mists as they rose up from the soil to envelop her battered form. Yet somehow she felt them within, as they transformed her to nothingness and lifted her in their ethereal embrace. When at last they drained away from her body, the scene around her had changed. Her tribe was gone. So too were the stains upon her skin. She was pale and unmarred, glowing white like the swollen moon overhead.
Before her lay the mouth of a great cavern. Its walls were red and glistening. In her mind Marielle heard the faint cry of a baby. She passed her hands over her hard, warm stomach, and knew that the curse had been lifted. From deep within the cavern came the ghostly strains of a fiddle, summoning her forth. She walked toward the sound, ready to greet her new tribe.
Caretaker
"It is too dangerous, Lord Vasili," they said, using the name I'd provided them since my real one was often a burden when dealing with the general populace. "There are many perils in the night. Please stay here with us and be safe. "They'd gathered close to each other in the doorway of the Vallaki Inn, not one of them daring to put so much as a toe past the threshold now that the sun was well down.
"The night doesn't trouble me," I truthfully replied, shrugging on my cape as I strode into the empty street. "Any perils may look out for themselves. "My cavalier manner shocked them. Though too polite (or fearful) to say it, I could read in their faces they thought Lord Vasili a fool or a madman for venturing forth into the dark. Having been both at one time or another, I took no offense at their opinion. I even found myself laughing a little at their sincere concern for my well-being as I swung up on the lead horse of the four harnessed to a great black conveyance bearing the Von Zarovich coat of arms. "Have no worries on my behalf," I added, gesturing at the device. "I serve Strahd von Zarovich, and he always looks after his own."