Page 94 of Devil's Deal

Wiosna says there is an easy solution, but alas, it’s not as simple as it seems.

“How am I supposed to invite it to breakfast when I cannot breathe?” I ask her while coiling up my hair into a tight twist of braids.

“Easy. Ask it before it squeezes all air out of you.”

I nod slowly, sliding the final pin into place. I’m ravenous and tired, my ribs still aching from last night’s strain. All I want is some sympathy and a realistic solution, and then a huge breakfast.

“So when I wake up with my heart hammering from terror in my pitch black cottage, with a monster snarling on top of me, somehow I must do the polite thing and ask it to come over? While it suffocates me?”

“You make it sound worse than it is,” Wiosna says with a scoff. “Aren’t you a whisperer? Come on, Jaga. You cut off a man’s arm and laughed. I know you have it in you.”

I purse my lips. I’d rather not think about that moment—and all the other moments when I was terrified or horribly upset and yet, I cackled. I don’t know what that says about me apart from one thing.

Something is horribly wrong.

“What if I slept with my head on the foot of the bed? Isn’t that supposed to confuse the zmora?”

It’s like I can see the dismissive wave of Wiosna’s hand as she clicks her tongue. “You know as well as I do that’s just a temporary solution. A stupid one will get confused for a few nights. A smart one will sniff out where your breath comes from.”

“True. But it might give me some time to speak.”

And so that night, I lie down in the opposite direction to the one I normally choose, and it’s weird. Not only am I waiting anxiously for the zmora, but everything in the cottage seems unfamiliar and sort of upside down, even when it gets too dark to see.

I am truly scared, which surprises me. I went after the werewolf with just a knife, and I let the devil bleed and hump me, but this little domestic bies I’m afraid of? And yet, the werewolf was never in my home where I let my hair loose and hide from judgmental eyes. Woland never tried to get into my bed.

Probably because he wouldn’t fit in here. My straw mattress is narrow and just how I like it. A bed for one.

The night falls deeper, darker, quieter, and still, I can’t stop moving, the straw crunching every time I turn over.

“You know you have to fall asleep for it to come, don’t you?” Wiosna asks drily.

I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of her voice.

“I know! Gods, you startled me. You can’t just… Just say things out of the blue like that!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I wave my hand to let you know I’m about to speak?” And now she’s pissed. I hear the acidic irritation in her voice.

“Just… I don’t know. I’m trying to sleep.”

“You haven’t done your spell.”

I throw my forearm over my face and bite into my flesh, frustration mounting. “I thought the zmora was the priority tonight.”

“It is. Do your spell so you pass out and stop fidgeting.”

“Be gone, cranky spirit,” I whisper but don’t put any power behind it. Wiosna chuckles. I smile and roll my eyes.

“Fine. I’ll try to make the bed more comfortable.”

Soft, I think. Soft and smooth. Even surface. No hard, sticking out straws. Soft and smooth, and the best sleep ever.

Power trickles into my hands and wells in my chest, but when it’s about to pulse out of me, something yanks it back. A sharp pain pierces my heart and darkens my thoughts. I fall unconscious, just like Wiosna wanted.

I wake up in the morning to sunlight flooding in through my single window. Wiosna grumbles under her breath, and I can’t discern the words, but her tone of voice is rife with annoyance.

“Let me guess,” I say, rubbing my groggy eyes. “I slept through it.”

“You did. That thing is as dumb as bricks. Kept sniffing around the cottage for an hour before it gave up. You’re sleeping back around tonight. Let’s get it over with.”

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