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His hair was blacker than black and his eyes were blue like summer twilight. I saw him looking at me through the flames of the young bonfire, and I knew I wanted to make him mine.
Darkness fell and flames rose, stealing color from the sunset sky. The air smelled of warmth and honeysuckle. The crowd mulled by the fire, watching the flames, girls whispering to each other, men solemn. He watched me and I watched him.
A rattle spun in a rattler's hand, jumping, jumping, like hail on a tin roof, like the hoofs of an imp fleeing at the third crow of a rooster, his tail between the goat legs, faster, faster. A flute joined in, heart-wrenching and high-strung, and wild melody streamed forth.
Crowd listened.
Crowd moved.
Crowd broke and the dance began.
On and on it went, twisting, twirling, rivulets around the fire. I blinked and found him gone, vanished in an instant, like an errant eretic caught by the sunrise.
"Dance?" a voice breathed next to me. I put my arms around his neck, he grinned, and off we went into the current, into the dance, spinning in the light of the summer bonfire.
It is the night of Kupalo, when drowned virgins rise from the bottom of ponds to bathe in the moonlight. The night when the small gods come to watch mortals dance.
He kissed my neck and I laughed. He grinned, white teeth gleaming. Welcome all to the night of Kupalo, welcome all to the wild night!
He pulled me close and I put my head on his shoulder. "I'll be gone by the morning," he whispered.
"Then we'll have to make the best of the time we have," I whispered back.
On we went, leaping and spinning close to the flames and far again.
A song rose beyond the dance, a sad song full of longing and broken promise. The fire carried it up and sent it forth, far into the sky to fly among the stars. I stopped and so did he. He held me, his face against my hair, his arms around me, my arms around him. I breathed in his scent and his heat.
"Come with me to the woods," he whispered. "I'll love you sweeter than any husband. I'll bed you better than any lover.
"My husband is three years dead," I told him. "I took up his trade and no lover warms my bed."
He kissed me on my lips, hot and eager, his voice sweet like honey. "Come with me to the woods, then, and I'll give you what you've been missing."
I smiled at the eyes blue like summer twilight, at the hair blacker than black. "Dance with me one more time."
And so we spun, round and round the fire, under rusalki's watchful eye, under leshi's heavy gaze, a man and a woman, wilder than wild, ready to give the devil a run for his money. We halted and he saw men moving through the dancers, men with stares of steel. He tried to pull away but I held his hand.
"Let me go," he whispered. "I must leave."
And again I smiled and said the words softly, so only he heard. "You will not leave. Three years ago you killed my husband and your vanishing stone is in my pocket."
He clutched at his shirt with his free hand. I saw the twilight turn to ash in his eyes, saw him freeze in surprise, and with both hands I twisted his wrist behind his back, hard and fast, and wrenched it up against his spine. Down he went to his knees. Down he went, thief and brigand, who stole my joy. And I felt the chill of my knife's blade, felt it through the leather sheath against my thigh.
On came the men - my men - and I gave him to them, gave him to them quick before the chill from my knife made it all the way to my heart and clutched it in a hard fist. They bowed to me and took him away into the night.
And I turned away from the fire, and started home along the dirt road. With luck, I would get there before my sitting woman left to milk the cows. With luck, I'd make it there before she left, so my little girl would not sleep alone in an empty house.
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FEATURE STORY 
