Page 42 of Devil's Deal

“Good evening, girls,” I say, my voice hollow and calm. I don’t know yet what this is about, but I have an idea from the overheard bit of conversation.

This should be good.

“Hello, Jaga,” Ida says, giving me a challenging look. I sigh and stand up, not just to be polite, but to rise up to her challenge. “Can we come in?”

I study them closely. Only a moon ago, I saw them both on their backs in the grass, with their legs thrown open, faces twisted in ecstasy. Now, they are proper little wives, their heads covered, their dresses long enough to swirl around their ankles. Each carries a wicker basket, and that’s what finally makes me nod.

For the last month, I ate mostly the produce from my garden and whatever I scavenged in the woods. I’m starving for something more sustaining, like butter, cream, or eggs.

“Come in.”

I follow them inside my one-room cottage. The girls stop by my table, its wood scrubbed raw, and I nod at the stools. They sit, putting their baskets in their laps, and watch me warily as if I’m about to sprout a pair of horns. I sigh, rolling my eyes, and turn to the shelf where I keep my herbal remedies.

“Let me guess. Itching, burning, and unpleasant smell, isn’t it?” I ask, picking up two small linen bags. I used to put the right doses of Przemyslaw’s medicine in those for Bogna, but she won’t ever need them again.

“Yes,” Ida says, sounding annoyed. I glance at her over my shoulder, and she gives me an unpleasant, forced smile. “If I hadn’t heard from my mother that this is common after Kupala, I’d think you cursed us. Because you clearly knew this would happen.”

I snort at that, shaking my head as I take two earthen pots of dried herbs to the table and then my mortar and pestle, too.

“Of course, I knew. Word of advice: don’t put food where it doesn’t belong,” I say, smirking under my breath.

And yet, the triumph of being right feels stale and washed out. I’d love to share it with Bogna later, but with her gone, it’s like it’s all for nothing. I don’t even feel like sticking it to Ida now that she needs my help. My fight with her belongs to the past, and besides, it’s so meaningless.

Two girls fighting over which has a nicer chaplet. So childish. Oh, well. At least I’ll eat a nice supper tonight.

Ida scoffs. “Like you hadn’t done that, too. That traveler who caught your chaplet ate you like he was starving. What did you put between your legs for him?”

My hand spasms as I measure out the right dose of dried yarrow into my mortar. I swallow and check that I didn’t put in too much, and then I add in the dried shepherd’s purse blossoms.

So Ida saw me, but she didn’t see Woland in his real form. She saw him as the handsome man who caught my chaplet. It’s just as well. I can do without people gossiping about how I lay with the devil.

“Nothing,” I say with a bitter smile. “Catch the right man and he’ll eat you out without the honey. Now, girls. What have you got for me?”

Ida gives me a belligerent look and rolls back the embroidered napkin hiding the contents of her basket. I swallow thickly. There are a dozen eggs, a flask of mead, a thick cut of ham, and half a loaf of bread. It’s so fresh, it steams.

Ola’s basket has cream and a small wheel of cheese decorated with sprigs of rosemary. Her parents have a dozen milk cows. Her mother is known for making the best cheese in the village.

“That will be enough,” I say, nodding archly to hide how my mouth waters. I’ll have a meal fit for a queen. “And I can’t believe Czeslawa demanded a hen. What kind of ointment did she give you?”

Ola squeaks and gives Ida a spooked look. Oh, right. She doesn’t know I overheard their conversation.

Ida pats her back roughly. “She heard us talking when we came. Honestly, Ola. Have a little trust, will you? If Jaga was a witch, she would have saved Bogna. They were friends.”

Blood drains from my face. Oh gods. Is this what people say about me now? That I can’t be a witch because I let my best friend die? I should really snap out of my daze and pay attention to the gossip, but truth is, I am too battered, too insane to spend time among normal people.

“I couldn’t get out of the circle. Why didn’t you do anything?” I ask, my throat raw. “You were right there. Any of you could have stopped him.”

Ola breathes fast, her eyes wide and terrified. She looks ready to bolt, which Ida notices, as well. She grimaces and grabs Ola’s shoulder.

“For Perun’s sake, stay calm, you idiot.” When she’s certain Ola won’t run, she looks at me, her eyes bright and confident.

“No one did anything because we didn’t know he was like that. But you knew, didn’t you? Mother said Bogna came to you for herbs to keep him calm after he almost killed her two years ago. You kept him on a leash ever since then until this cursed Kupala. So, this is why we’re here. You’re good at this.”

Nausea and guilt churn in my belly, and I swallow it all down, focusing on grinding the herbs into a powder.

“You can say that,” I mutter, not looking at Ida.

She clears her throat and fidgets on the stool, looking around my cottage idly.

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