Page 82 of Devil's Deal

“Please, make it known I’m in need of good linen for dresses and towels,” I tell the first matron who comes to visit, claiming her husband, who probably has had too much mead, needs something for indigestion.

One of my two towels was burned with Przemyslaw’s corpse this morning, and my dress got torn up during the werewolf attack. I desperately need new things. I’ll also have to sew up more herb pouches. And gather more herbs, because my supplies are dwindling.

There is so much to do, and I’m grateful for the work. At least I have something to occupy myself with.

Wiosna, who accompanies me today, gasps in outrage when I talk about the linens. Whisperers aren’t supposed to dictate prices, but I find it so ridiculous. How else will people know what to bring?

Ludwika, my client, takes it in stride. “Of course,” she titters. “I brought you a dozen eggs and a cup of cream, but I will tell the others. Say, Jaga. Is that true? Did you kill the werewolf?”

I measure out the herbs, doing my best to unclench my jaw. My face has been tight with anger and frustration ever since Woland left, and I make an effort to loosen it, because it hurts.

“Yes. It jumped at me and I had a knife in my hand. The blade sank into its neck by accident. I was lucky.”

The matron peers at me suspiciously, her ample bosom heaving with excited breaths. “Lucky? Well, you know what they say about luck.”

My jaw tightens, pain shooting up to my temple. “No, I don’t,” I say, my tone acidic.

“That it’s magic,” Ludwika whispers, leaning closer. “A magic gift from the gods.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, handing her a pouch of herbs. “Make a brew and give it your husband to drink. If the problem persists, tell him to see me.”

She pouts, unsatisfied with my curt answer, but with no other excuse to linger, she leaves through my open door. I get back to scrubbing until another client comes in. More people visit me throughout the day, and most bear linens, which lifts my mood just a bit.

I serve them and give the same answers to their curious questions. By the time evening rolls in, I vibrate with anger that has no outlet. Keeping up the appearance of politeness exhausts me. All I want is to see Woland and spit in his face.

When I go to the river after dark to bathe and wash my clothes, I expect him to be there. He doesn’t come.

By the time I’m done washing, I’m ready to scream into the night sky. I shake with my fury and self-loathing, and I think I hate myself even more than him. Because I know I wouldn’t be in this place, suffering such humiliation, if I didn’t want to see him.

I should be relieved he’s stopped stalking me. I should be happy. The fact I’m waiting for him like a lovesick fool is what makes me mad with rage.

“He’ll be back,” Wiosna says when I hurl stones into the river, each falling in with a loud splash.

I snarl at her voice, wishing I could see her. “I don’t care! Or if I do, it’s only because I want to cut him to pieces!”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I just know she judges me. I close my eyes, forcing my anger down into the pit of my stomach, where I keep it locked up. I gather my wet clothes and soap, heading back to my cottage. A light, evening wind dries my skin and plays with the hem of my clean dress.

“You’re too weak to really hurt him,” Wiosna says after a while, her voice mild.

I purse my lips and force myself not to growl. Like I don’t know that.

“So you have to get stronger,” my mentor says calmly, stopping me in my tracks.

“How?”

“You have magic, Jaga. I know you believe it’s weak and worthless, but that is not the truth. Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you. He’s busy now. He won’t eavesdrop.”

I growl, furious his absence or presence dictates what I can and can’t discuss. The only privacy I have is when Woland is busy with matters more important than me. It’s infuriating and strangely insulting.

“Is there a way for me to hide from him? So not everything is on his terms?”

Wiosna sighs. “You’d probably need his blood. That’s the only sure way to influence someone as powerful as him. But even if you had his blood to use for a protective talisman, you’d still need a great deal of power to use it. With the current state of your magic, it’s impossible.”

I walk faster, confusion and curiosity propelling me forward. Wiosna is quiet, and I want to ask her so many questions. I need to know what it is about my magic that she knows and I don’t, and what’s keeping Woland away. I know nothing about him, nothing of the things he does with his day and life, and it shocks me how hungry I am for that knowledge.

But I know better than to ask now. If she says she’ll talk inside, that’s what will happen.

Back home, I hang my clothes out to dry on a string between two trees outside. I wipe my feet on the threshold and put my soap away, but I don’t sit, too agitated to be still.

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