Page 8 of Devil's Deal

I gathered the most beautiful poppies I could find around the village. I wove my chaplet, making it striking and robust, the prettiest of all. Then, before the poppies withered as they always do right after being picked, I spelled them to keep fresh.

Do not take my flowers yet,

Weles mighty, lord of death.

Take from me a little boon

And then let my flowers bloom.

Wiosna taught me that spell in great secret. She used it often to keep herbs fresh if she couldn’t brew a potion right after picking them. I saw her perform it dozens of times and never, not once, did she gush blood from her nose.

In fact, I used to think the line about Weles taking a boon was just there for the sake of the rhyme. Today, I got a big proof that the words are there for a reason. I still don’t know why it never happened to my teacher but it did to me.

Either Wiosna never paid for the power or the payment was invisible. Or maybe she was just the stronger witch of us two. Which would make sense. Whenever I did magic spells in the past, they would either fizzle out or backfire. Wiosna claimed I’d grow into my magic, but look at me.

I am twenty-one and still a hopeless witch.

It’s difficult to hold back despair as I think it. In the past two years, I tried doing magic countless times. Nine out of ten, nothing happened. In the other instances, the spells weakened me and I paid with my blood and pain.

At this rate, I’ll never become her. The woman who crossed through time and flames to save me in the forest.

I purse my lips and skim my fingers over the delicate, gorgeous flowers. It’s no good falling into despair yet. I’ll have plenty of reasons to hate my life later tonight, so I force my mouth to lift in a smile and remind myself I will be powerful one day.

If I manage to become her.

My savior told me in clear terms nothing is set in stone. If I don’t become powerful enough to go back and save myself, both me and my younger self will die.

Just thinking about it is enough to make me queasy.

“Enough wallowing,” I whisper, willing my body to move. It’s like a spell, too, one I use to rein in my mind and heart.

It’s time to go, and it will do me no good to delay it any longer.

When I open my door, I am almost calm. But then, spit lands on the path leading to my cottage. I look up just in time to see Lubka passing by my gate with her husband, three girls following in her footsteps. They don’t even spare me a look, only the youngest looking up with wary curiosity. She’s only eight, her skin scrubbed pink, her hair beautifully braided.

I helped bring her to this world when I still trained with Wiosna.

Having my attention, the girl makes a face, her tongue lolling out as she mocks me. I bare my teeth and hiss at her. She gasps, her grimace turning into real fear as I raise both hands with my fingers splayed wide, mimicking claws.

The girl runs up to her mother and grips her hand, talking rapidly. I lose sight of them as they turn a bend and disappear behind Darobor’s apple orchard.

I’m not sorry. For so long, I tried to be nice and helpful, smiling at children, telling them stories. Some even liked me enough to keep coming back until their parents found out. They taught the kids to fear me. Most villagers say behind my back that I’m cursed, not right in the head, or just evil and petty and mean. They call me a viper, and some say I’m a witch.

But quietly. Because every year on Kupala Night, I prove them wrong. Just as I will tonight.

My cottage stands on the edge of the village, barely within its bounds. A short path leads from my front door to the low gate set in a hawthorn hedge. Past my home, orchards, meadows, and fields roll in a gentle slope until the dark face of the woods.

I walk over the glob of spit by my gate and onto the path. The dusk falls slowly, the sky darkening in the west even as light purples and the last shades of pink color it in the east. We’re in for a clear, cloudless night. The big waxing moon and countless stars will light the scene.

“Move!”

A harsh male voice accompanies heavy steps right behind me on the grassy road leading to the meadow.

I don’t react to the barked order because I’m no one’s bitch to command. Swietko brushes past me, jostling me hard with his shoulder. He sneers down at my face, his yellow teeth bared in a threat.

“Out of the way, you worthless cunt,” he says, bringing his face so close, I could bite his nose off if I wasn’t too disgusted. It’s peppered with black, oily dots.

“Certainly worthless to you since you can’t get it up,” I retort, hot anger warming my bones.

---