Page 50 of Devil's Deal

“Don’t feel bad, child. These things are hidden from most,” he tells me sagely. I hide my face in my hands because I’m fairly certain my expression might betray me.

When I look up, back in control, Jarota nods seriously. “We are in grave danger, Jaga dear. Better find that silver.”

I thank him as profusely as I dare without seeming mocking and go home, determination driving me on despite my lack of sleep and rest. I already know where all my silver is, and I’ve put it to work.

The doors and windows in Waclaw’s house are already smeared with lard, into which I dropped silver shavings to make them stick. Herbal pouches mark the four corners of his land, and I buried the charred bones of the killed lambs in the path leading to his house as a clear warning to the werewolf.

Do not cross.

While I sweated, digging the hole for the bones, Wiosna chattered in my ear. She said I was overdoing it, but in the end, she admitted she’d never dealt with a real bies before. So maybe I was right to be too cautious.

“Strange times have come, my girl. I hope I prepared you well.”

Waclaw was kind enough to let me have some of the bones for myself and others, and I buried mine right across my gate. The hedge surrounding my cottage is hawthorn, a strong protection against all evil, so the gate is the only point of entrance.

The burned bone of the victim is a powerful ingredient to deter a bies. The downside is, of course, that it can only be obtained from an animal or person attacked by that bies.

Now, I’m eager to go home and prepare more protections for other people. After Jarota announces who killed the lambs, everyone will want some.

I’m not really doing it out of the goodness of my heart, though. People in a panic always pay well for protection, and I’m done being poor and derided. The wind of change blows through the village, and I’m going to ride the gale until I’m on top. This is my chance.

But there’s more to it.

I want to stick it to Woland. I want to save my village and deal with the murderous beast without his help. I’ll never let him own me after what he did. I’d rather face a werewolf. And this particular one, I have a personal quarrel with.

Because I’m fairly sure the werewolf is Przemyslaw.

When noon passes and the only things keeping me awake are nettle brew and sheer determination, I am surprised by a firm knock on my door. I’m well into making my twentieth pouch of herbs and bone, and my eyes sting from lack of sleep.

“Come in,” I say, tying the pouch together with red string.

When Ida’s mother with two other matrons stand in my doorway, my jaw drops in astonishment. I’m too exhausted to control my expression properly.

“Behave,” Wiosna prompts, so I blink heavily and stand up, waving them inside.

She’s been in my ear all day, and I’m finally getting used to her input. I still don’t know whether it’s magic or insanity, but I’ll take it. It’s been comforting to think she watches over me and helps out, even if her help boils down to cranky reminders to be a gracious host.

“Come in,” I say, and the three matrons shuffle in, the last one closing the door after a quick glance at the path outside. “How can I help you?”

“Ida says the medicine you gave her worked almost instantly,” Ida’s mother, Roza, says, watching me with narrowed eyes from underneath her black kerchief. “Unlike Czeslawa’s medicine. It’s not the first time the whisperer failed us. She’s lost my trust, but you seem to know what you’re about.”

I blink and pinch myself, hiding my hands behind my back. The pain should wake me up just a bit. I desperately need a clear mind to deal with this, but gods, am I exhausted. It doesn’t help my cottage is boiling hot at this time of day.

“Wiosna taught me well,” I demur, instead of saying what I want, which is, “Go see Czeslawa, then. You used her services for five years and spread vicious gossip about me. You made your bed.”

But becoming the whisperer is what I always wanted, so I have to keep my tongue on a leash. I’m rewarded by Wiosna’s pleased chuckle when she hears my praise.

“You know, I always thought you should be the one to take over after her,” Roza says, nodding, her thin lips pursed into a strict line.

I pinch myself again to stop the bitter laughter that foams up my throat. Gods, these people. Sucking up to me with pretty lies on their lips, as if they expect me to purge my memories of the past.

And yet, I have to admire Roza’s audacity. Only a few years ago, she was in my face, telling me if I ever hurt her family, she would make sure my body was dragged and quartered.

It was in the winter when many children got sick and people blamed me. Because of course. What better way to spend my time than make innocent kids cough up muck from their lungs?

Most of them got well after months of recovering and the whole thing was forgotten. Ida’s brother lived, and Roza went back to her usual way of treating me, which was cold indifference.

And now she tells me she always believed in me. What a steaming pile of shit.

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