Page 66 of Devil's Deal

Foul

By the time the sun sets, my exhaustion thoroughly catches up with me. I’ve poured countless brews down Swietko’s throat, checked on the protections around my cottage, and forced myself to eat the broth Alina’s sister brought for us all.

My stomach is heavy with foreboding, the silver knife strapped to my thigh burning like an accusation. I hate that I promised Darobor that I’ll stay home. Woland’s words from last night, telling me he made the monster for me, echo in my mind. The werewolf is my responsibility in a way, and I desperately want to be out there, trying to help.

And yet, I must admit I wasn’t very helpful last night. Because what did I do? I cowered behind the men and watched until the beast was gone. I don’t imagine I’d do anything different tonight, and so I reinforce my decision to stay put.

I am behind my cottage now as dusk settles over the world. The moon will rise any moment and I need my final protection in place.

With water from the well, I douse the fire I used to burn the flesh off Swietko’s amputated arm. Hissing steam rises above the charred wood and bone, and I heave in more water, my tired muscles protesting the effort.

Despite myself, I wish for some of Woland’s magical water. Just to keep me going until the werewolf is dealt with. But of course, Woland is nowhere to be seen, and I’d never ask him for a favor.

Gods, I need to finally get some sleep and screw my head on straight so I can hate him properly, without accepting suspicious drinks from his hand or feeling all hot when he touches me. Although yes, I do hate him.

Just not enough.

I look up and shiver, noticing the first glow of the moon tickling the clouds over the forest. Chors will be out any minute. The fire’s remains are still too hot, Swietko’s blackened bones smoking, bits of charred flesh sticking to their surface. I grimace and wrap a cloth around my hand, grabbing the thickest, longest bone. It will have to do.

With quick steps, I go to the front of the cottage. Alina is inside, so I bark for her to come out. She was supposed to be in the garden, waiting for me to be done.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, tying her kerchief over her hair as she walks out. “He moaned in pain, so I sat by his side. Oh. What… What’s that?”

She points at the black, still smoking bone in my hand. I purse my lips. Its heat is unpleasant even through the cloth, and I am deeply aware that I’m holding a piece of her husband, burnt to a crisp.

“Something that will bar his way if he turns into a werewolf,” I say, deciding to keep it vague. “Will you tell me when the moon comes out?”

She nods, and I allow myself a small, weary sigh. When Alina is distracted, watching the sky, I cautiously peer into my cottage. Swietko is on the table, his movements sluggish as he groans quietly. I lay his charred bone across the threshold and cover it with the filthy cloth I unravel from my palm.

I know he’s chained up, but werewolves are strong. Bone of the victim, or in this case, the beast itself, is supposed to keep the bies out. Hopefully, this one will keep him in if he turns.

And if that happens, my cottage will probably get wrecked. But I can suffer through my furniture getting ravaged. What I cannot abide is being wrong. Ever since Czeslawa said two werewolves will roam tonight, I was ready to pay almost any price to prove I was right and Swietko is harmless. Or, at least, sufficiently contained.

“Jaga, did you do any digging?” Alina calls, her back to me as she faces east. “Because the ground is really uneven here. Someone could trip.”

“I buried lamb bones I got from Waclaw at my gate,” I say with a frown, making sure the bone is stable across the threshold.

If it rolls away for some reason, we’ll be in danger. I’d prefer to bury it, just like the charred lamb bones, but there is no time. This makeshift barrier will have to do. According to the lore I remember from Wiosna’s lessons, neither Przemyslaw, nor Swietko, should be able to touch or cross it.

Przemyslaw, because it’s the bone of his victim. And Swietko, because it’s his bone.

“The moon’s up,” Alina says.

I back away from my front door, looking intently at Swietko. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. His body looks normal, reassuringly human and at peace. I do my best to breathe evenly although my heart beats fast, excitement briefly pushing exhaustion aside.

I don’t want him to turn, but if he does, I’m thrilled to have such a good view. I want to see it. The werewolf curse, though terrifying, is pure magic. The kind of power I hunger for.

Seconds pass. A few male voices carry from the village, sentinels calling out to let everyone know the moon has risen. Swietko’s leg twitches, and I ball my hands into fists. Any moment now…

“Don’t hold your breath,” Woland whispers in my ear, his voice amused, phantom lips brushing my skin. “This one wasn’t worthy of the privilege.”

I blink heavily, still staring at Swietko. My mind is sluggish, so at first, I don’t understand what Woland means and what the privilege is supposed to be. Alina reaches my side, rubbing her arms worriedly as she peers in through the open door. I keep mulling over the devil’s words, my thoughts churning laboriously.

And then, finally, I have it.

“Privilege my ass,” I mutter, making Alina look at me strangely. I shake my head. “Just talking to myself. Your husband is fine. If he was cursed, he would have turned the moment the moon rose.”

That’s what Wiosna taught me about werewolves. They don’t need the direct light of the moon to change, and the shift can’t be controlled. Chors’ appearance in the sky is what triggers the beast to come forth.

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