Excerpt from Vita Nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The storm subsided. The water had been freed of the mud that clung to it, the sea regained its transparency, and Sasha caught a crab, as tiny as a spider. She let it go right away. Half of their vacation had already dissolved into nothingness; it seemed as if they'd just arrived, and now only eight days remained.

She met the man in the blue cap at a street market. Moving along the rows, Sasha was pricing black cherries, when, rounding the corner, she saw him in the midst of the shoppers. The man stood nearby, his dark glasses turned toward Sasha. She was sure he was watching her, and her alone.

Sasha turned and pushed toward the market exit. After all, she could buy the cherries at her street corner; it was more expensive, but not so much that it was worth sticking around. Swinging her plastic bag, she entered the Street That Leads to the Sea and strode up to her apartment building, trying to stay in the shade thrown by the acacia and linden trees.

She looked back after half a block. The man in the dark denim suit was following her.

For some reason, she'd believed he had stayed at the market. Of course, there was the possibility that he needed to go in the same direction, but she was not that naïve. Staring into the impenetrable lenses, she felt unutterable terror.

The street was packed with beachgoers and vacationers. Ice cream was melting down children's fronts in the same way as before, open-air kiosks were just as busy selling bubblegum, beer, and vegetables, the afternoon sun was just as scorching, but Sasha's instant chill felt like a lining of frost in her stomach. Not really aware of why she was so afraid of the dark man, Sasha shot up the street, her sandals drumming a feverish rhythm and passersby hastily moving out of her way.

Gulping air, not daring to look back, she burst into the yard with the "peacock" trees. She leapt into the hallway and rang the doorbell. Mom took a long time to open the door; downstairs, in the entrance hall, a door opened, and Sasha heard footsteps ...

Mom finally made it to the door. Sasha dove into the apartment, nearly toppling her mother. She slammed the door closed and turned the key.

"Are you crazy?"

Sasha clung to the peephole. Looking distorted, as if through a

funny mirror, their next-door neighbor walked up the stairs, carrying a bag of cherry plums, and went farther up to the third floor.

Sasha started breathing again.

"What happened?" Mom's voice was tense.

"Nothing, really." Embarrassment moved in. "Somebody was following me ..."

"Who was?"

Sasha began to explain. The story of the dark man, when narrated logically, did not seem frightening, only ridiculous. Nothing she said made any sense, and Mom clearly wasn't alarmed.

"I assume you did not buy any cherries," Mom concluded.

Sasha shrugged guiltily. The right thing to do was to pick up her bag and return to the market, but the very idea of opening the door and walking out into the yard made her knees shake.

"I suppose I might as well do it myself." Mom sighed. She picked up the bag and money and left for the market.


Next morning, on the way to the beach, Sasha saw the dark man again. He stood by the tourist center, pretending to examine the offered tours and prices, but in reality he was watching Sasha from behind his dark mirrored lenses.

"Mom, look ..."

Mom followed Sasha's gaze. Her eyebrow lifted. "I don't understand. Some guy standing there. And?"

"You don't see anything weird?"

Mom continued walking, each step bringing her closer to the dark man. Sasha slowed down.

"I'm going to walk to the other side of the street."

"Go ahead, if that's what you want. I think you have been getting too much sun lately."

Sasha crossed the asphalt, wrinkled and covered by tire tracks. Mom passed the dark man, but he didn't pay her any attention. He watched Sasha, and only her. His gaze followed her.

Excerpted from Vita Nostra by Sergey Dyachenko and Marina Dyachenko. Copyright © 2018 by Sergey Dyachenko and Marina Dyachenko. Excerpted by permission of Harper Voyager. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.