The village's name meant "child of the peak", as it had been built at the foot of the Urals, like so many others.

Unlike the others, however, it was inside an inverted pentagram.

Just like the shape could bring demons to Earth, its mirror image, invented by Solomon, could both summon and trap-even bind, if the maker was skilled enough-them. With the right adjustments, it could trap other things too.

It was well below freezing, so the mages standing at each point of the purple, glowing pentagram were almost invisible under their thick clothes. Russian Strangeguard, their winter uniforms sporting a haloed soldier standing over a multi-coloured, chimeric monster, stabbing it with a bayonet. Each of them held chains, ropes or other bindings.

And far above the centre of the pentagram, their leader stood on air, clutching a pair of shears that could have cut a man in half. Nodding down at me and Szabo, the white-haired, matronly woman mouthed a spell, then spoke as if we were next to each other.

'We are sorry for calling on you, strigoi,' she said, not sparing me a glance. Szabo grinned, waving up at her.

'Aw, it's fine, baba! I wasn't doing anyone at the moment,' he giggled as her subordinates made sounds of distaste, and I swear I heard her mutter "we are not sorry to you..."

'You are the junior?" she asked me, still keeping an eye on my supervisor. 'Strigoi are always useful. We need as many Tunguska Beings as possible to take down another.'

The Russians classified supernatural threats into four levels. Bogeyman for threats to buildings or large groups of people, Tunguska for city-killers. I didn't know the last two, like most people outside the Strangeguard.

But...the village was sealed off. The monster was already inside, or why would they build a pentagram?

Were we too late? Were we here to exterminate, not defend?

Was there no one to save?

'This village has been enslaved,' the old woman began bluntly. 'Little Sofia's parents never got along, and her magic awakened in response to a desire for peace and quiet.' She clicked her shears once, twice. 'Mind control, growing more refined with each enthralled mind. First the parents were made to play nice, then the neighbours...' the old witch smirked sardonically. 'Whole place is like a damn dollhouse. Eerie.'

'We're hemming her in,' one of the mages on the ground, holding a pair of birdcages, spoke. His red beard was beaded with frost. 'Keeping her mind here, so it doesn't drown the country.'

Ah, that explained their trinkets-foci. Magic was enamoured with symbolism, and focusing mana through bindings made for good wards.

'And I'm cutting off her influence,' the leader hefted the shears. 'At the village's edge, her power ends.'

I heard what they weren't saying, too: binding and severance, harnessed for a spell, called to the aether and shaped the symbolism of united, opposed forces into power.

And Szabo and I were the hammer to their anvil. We would walk in, and...

And what? Kill this stupid girl, who was probably insane too, now? For having the misfortune of being born somewhere with no one to teach her how to control her power?

A child cried out. It was not the little witch.

The boy in coveralls came skipping out of a windowless house. His smile was happy, so happy, and almost as wide as his eyes were.

As empty, too.

There were almost no teeth left in his mouth, only bleeding holes, seeping filth. His skin was almost as pale as mine, and one of his ears had fallen off. Frostbite.

The witch pouted at me with her puppet's mouth. I didn't understand her words. I just heard the meaning in my mind.

'Mommy always said the strigoi would come to take me if I was bad,' Sofia said. 'So why are you here?'

I took a sharp breath as Szabo grinned in anticipation, then nodded at me.

'Your mission. I'm just here to pull you out of the fire, brother mine.' He casually leapt backwards, landing nearly two kilometres away and three up on a mountaintop, smashing through the stone like glass. Hands on his knees, he looked down, gesturing for me to go on.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I turned back to the wretched boy. He was still pouting.

'Why did you take over, Sofia?' I asked, trying to look into those hollow, doll-like eyes, not at the gaping wounds.

Sofia blinked in incomprehension, then spoke slowly, maybe worried I was dense. 'Don't you get sad when people make each other sad, strigoi? I do-well, did. Now, no one in the village is sad! I knew we could get along.'

'You're forcing them to...get along, Sofi.' I tried not to spit the words, walking closer to the pentagram's edge. 'Didn't you get mad when your parents made you do stuff? Didn't you feel they were being jerks?'

Sofia nodded. 'Yeah, but. But I'm makin' things better! No one cries or cusses or drinks. It's good! I can feel what they do, you know? Everyone feels as happy as I do.'

 Because you feel happy, I thought but didn't say. 'Well, anyone would be happy to have nice friends! But what about other, everyday things? Don't they get tired, or hungry, or thirsty?'

The puppet boy stared at me once more, then giggled. 'Silly dead man! Friends don't share dumb stuff like that with friends!'

An instinctive safety measure on her magic's part, maybe. Sensing things through other's senses, but not the weaknesses of their bodies. The perfect puppeteer.

'Even so,' I squatted down, and the boy stepped back. 'You should take more care of your friends. Look at the one I'm talking to. He's clearly not dressing warm enough. I'd say he should go inside, but his house seems open to the elements.'

The boy shrugged, shifting from foot to foot. 'Dunno how to fix stuff like that. Grown-up thing.'

'Then,' I tried to smile gently. 'Wouldn't it be really nice if you let everyone be, and the grown-ups made sure everyone had a nice, warm house? They'll get along, I promise. I'll tell them.'

The thrall's mouth hung open, then closed with a snap. 'You just want to take them! You think we've all been bad, but we're friends! Stupid strigoi! Stupid stupid stupid-!'

The boy's bare foot stamped down until it was a ruin of blood and mangled bone, no matter how much I screamed at Sofia to stop.

'You're hurting him, dammit!' I snarled. 'Again! Just like when you tore his teeth out-why even do that? Or his ear, did you force him to stay outside? He could have died!'

The thrall stopped, and Sofia growled thinly at me. 'Ivan never wanted to play with anyone! Always cooped up inside with his dumb books, but I showed him!'

'And the teeth?' I pressed on.

'He was such a bad friend, he felt sorry and gave them to me, for the Tooth Fairy!' she giggled again, pus trickling slowly down the thrall's chin. 'Just you wait, strigoi. I'll make everyone in this dumb world love each other, and freaks like you who can't be touched will be thrown aside!'

It was then that we realised she didn't control minds. She projected her mind into people, and things. Any thing.

The air above the village spun into a storm, and an ivory lightning bolt came at the floating witch, well over a thousand times faster than sound. She raised her shears so fast plasma blazed around them, and cut the bolt in half, harmlessly dispersing it.

But dozens of other bolts struck at the ground, blasting craters into the snow, setting houses on fire...and breaking the pentagram. It had been drawn with telepathy in mind, not control over the material world.

The mages fell back, swearing and brandishing their foci, as the village's hundreds of inhabitants came out of their ruined, blazing houses. Some were dragging along broken limbs, while others were burning alive, fat crackling under skin. And there was not one person among them not smiling.

They were friends, after all.