Chapter Text
“She won’t attend church,” she hears Aunt Ana say, “she’s talking back to me, and I heard … I heard her pleasuring herself last week like some wanton harlot. She was such a docile, sweet girl, but suddenly it’s as if she’s been taken over.”
Alina frowns from her hidden spot at the bottom of the staircase. She’s led a sheltered life with her aunt in the seven years since her parents died, but her friends at her new school have opened her eyes, shown her that she doesn’t have to blindly follow and that there is no sin in a little pleasure.
“Demonic possession is a serious matter, Mrs Kuya,” a low, melodic voice responds, “but it can be overcome, with time and patience and effort.”
“I am so very grateful to you, Mr Morozov,” her aunt almost simpers, “as you can imagine, this is a very distressing time for me and, while I trust Father Belikov, I am anxious that Alina’s condition should not become a subject of scandal at my place of worship.”
In other words, Ana doesn’t want Alina to embarrass her, and she does not wish to be the subject of gossip. As if Alina is killing small animals and trying to summon the devil rather than simply being a normal teenager.
“I understand completely,” the low voice responds, “and I assure you, Mrs Kuya, that I will be the soul of discretion in regards to Alina’s treatment.”
“Of course, I have the utmost confidence in you, Mr Morozov. I just had a few questions about your fees – I am a poor widow, you know, and my brother and sister-in-law were rather shiftless – they left very little to use for Alina’s care.”
That is almost too much for Alina. Her papa and mama might not have had fancy jobs but they had always worked hard and Alina had never felt anything lacking in her life with them.
“As it happens, Mrs Kuya,” says Mr Morozov, “there are a few promising new treatments that I believe would be perfect for your niece. They are still experimental, though, and can be quite rough at times – it’s expected, when it comes to expelling demons, but as these methods have not yet been rigorously tested, I would of course be willing to offer you a steep discount for my services. All I ask is that you permit me to take Alina into my home to properly observe the effects of the treatments, and that you sign a waiver – nothing unusual, I assure you, just formalities.”
Her aunt agrees without a moment’s thought, but Alina goes cold at the very idea. It had been a bit of a joke at first, when her aunt first started shaking her head and saying Alina was being possessed by demons and needed exorcising, but she’s starting to think it’s more serious than that – after all, she’s not ignorant of the history of injury, permanent harm, mental scarring and death that can come from experimental treatments.
Alina hurries upstairs, footsteps light, deftly avoiding the creaky step.
She packs a bag and slips back downstairs, planning to get out of the house before her aunt even realises she’s not in her room. Zoya or Genya will surely let her stay with them for the last few months of high school, especially when she explains what her aunt is trying to do.
A large hand wraps around her wrist before she can get to the door, though.
Mr Morozov looks like a fallen angel. Painfully beautiful, his pale face like it was carved by Michelangelo himself, but something dark and dangerous lurking behind his obsidian eyes.
“And this must be Alina,” his mouth curves into a pleasant smile that she doesn’t trust, his grip on her arm like an iron band.
“Alina!” Aunt Ana exclaims furiously as she takes in her bag and her proximity to the front door, “what are you doing?”
“I am so sorry, Mr Morozov,” her aunt turns towards him, “as you can see, Alina’s willfulness is quite out of control.”
“Do not worry at all, Mrs Kuya,” his dark eyes bore right into Alina’s soul, and although she doesn’t believe in angels or demons, perhaps not even in God, she thinks that if anyone in this room has a demon inside them, then it is certainly Mr Morozov, “my methods are designed to work with even the most intractable of young ladies.”
Alina shivers. Mr Morozov’s eyes seem to glitter, his smile widening.
“I’ll take her now, shall I, Mrs Kuya? I’m sure you would like some well-deserved time to yourself, and Alina has even packed already,” he says, mockingly amused.
Alina opens her mouth to protest or scream or do something, because nothing about this situation is right and she has a terrible feeling that if she ends up in Mr Morozov’s home then her life will never be the same again.
But when her eyes meet his, she finds herself falling silent. There is a warning there, in his face, one that scares her enough that she does not want to ignore it.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and she hates her traitorous body when her pulse races and she blushes at his words.
“Come, Alina,” he says then, firm and commanding, opening the door and gesturing towards the black town car parked on the drive.
And although his grip is now loose enough that she could pull away if she really wanted to, Alina finds herself following him without protest.
Strangely, she never even thinks of trying to run.