Page 74 of Devil's Deal

Her genuine distress and gratitude are better than anything I can say or do. I am deeply aware of how awkward I am sometimes, hiding my vulnerabilities, often coming across as haughty and cold. But Alina is unguarded with her emotions. Like Bogna was.

A sharp pain bursts in my heart, my grief as fresh as that night. I use it mercilessly, letting the sad weariness of it show on my face.

“Thank you for your trust,” I say. My voice carries in the sudden quiet, because everyone’s watching. “And I didn’t do anything special. It’s the whisperer’s duty to protect her people.”

I hear it because I expect it. Czeslawa sucks in an outraged breath, and I force myself not to smile in triumph. I’ve never called myself the whisperer before, never assumed that role because it belonged to her. But that’s all in the past. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll take her authority, her livelihood, and all the respect she has in our village.

I’m done being afraid.

After that, everything goes smoothly. The crowd disperses, gossip spreading around the village. Jaga killed the werewolf. It was Przemyslaw. He’s dead. In a moment of quiet, I remove and clean my knife, leaving the body to be taken for the funeral in the morning. Przemyslaw will be burned, just like Bogna.

Those who die violently can come back to haunt the living. Burning the body is supposed to prevent it.

I wash blood off my hands and check on Swietko, giving him another brew to keep him asleep. He can’t be moved yet, so I let Alina sleep in my bed. I’m not tired, anyway. My blood buzzes with power, and it feels like I can do anything.

I hate being cooped up in my cottage with other people, so I grab a fresh dress and my pot of soap, setting out for the meadow where the Kupala celebrations were held. The full moon is high in the sky, lighting my way, and I am confident I’ll have my privacy.

Many people wash in the river in the warm months, but none at night. The dark scares them, but I am Wiosna’s apprentice, used to foraging for herbs in the dead of night. I often bathe after dark.

On my way down the path, I revel in the cooling air. Grasshoppers are loud, filling the night with their eager clicking. As my bare feet sink into the grass, still wet with the evening dew, I exhale in relief and relax.

It’s over. And I’m finally alone. I can rest.

“How are you feeling? Any nausea?”

I stumble with a little shriek when Wiosna’s voice echoes by my ear. I stop and look around with wild eyes, my heart hammering, but of course, she’s invisible. Only her voice is here.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that!” I hiss, keeping it low even though I’m completely alone on the path among the fields.

“Oh, pish. A little fright never hurt no one. Now answer the question, girl. How are you feeling?”

I take a controlled exhale, trying to keep my rising temper at bay as I resume walking. “I feel fine. Where were you when I was almost torn to shreds?”

I know I shouldn’t rely on her, but for Perun’s sake, I almost died tonight. Some help from my nosy dead mentor would have come in handy, and I admit, I feel betrayed and abandoned because she wasn’t there.

“I have things to do other than minding you, and you were supposed to be safe tonight,” she says crossly. “But I saw what happened. You did well, girl. Do you feel any nausea?”

“No,” I growl in irritation. “Why? And I don’t need you minding me. I can deal just fine when a werewolf and the devil gang up on me. As you can see, I’m alive and well. Go away.”

I loathe myself for sounding so petulant and childish. Wiosna brings out the worst in me, but she’s also the only person who actually knows me to the core, warts and all. She was the one who raised me after my mother gave up, too burdened by being alone and rejected by her community. She took me in when Mother died.

“Yes, you dealt fine. Now listen closely, because he will come back any moment. He can hear what I say, and he watches you all the time.”

She means Woland. I push down my annoyance and focus, because Wiosna’s voice is urgent, and I suspect she has secrets to share. So I nod and purse my lips, waiting impatiently for her to speak.

“He fed you his blood,” she murmurs, her voice lowering as if she’s afraid of being overheard.

I look around, taking in the wispy, moonlit clouds, the wall of the forest in the distance, and tall grasses swaying in the light breeze on either side of the path. Only a month ago, I would have felt completely safe and alone, but now I know beings from another world can come here and watch, invisible and hidden.

“Do you know why?” I ask in a whisper, my voice mingling with the rustle of grasses combed by the wind.

“I suspect, but that’s not the point,” she says.

When I make to protest, because Woland’s reasons seem vital to me, she hisses angrily.

“Shut up and listen. He’s a deity of some kind, and that means his blood is a potent cure for mortals. But there’s more to it. Magical blood can strengthen the natural affinity for power in a mortal, though I don’t know how long it will last. We have hours, maybe less. So you need to do something now, while his blood is still in your system.”

I frown, setting my things aside on a flat stone by the river. It flows lazily, its surface silvered by Chors’ cool light.

---