Page 97 of Devil's Deal

“It hurt my ribs,” I whisper to my zmora, wincing from the pain when I try to take a deeper breath. “What do you think we should do?”

My zmora doesn’t even look at me. She pulls back her free hand and delivers a powerful blow to the small zmora’s side. It squeals from pain, its bones crunching.

“I think you hurt it more than it did me,” I say, prowling closer. “But I approve.”

Gods, I am fascinated. This creature born of dark and hate brims with magic and potency. She seems invincible, and exactly the kind of thing I have to become. In her posture, in her unhesitating cruelty, I see the echoes of the Jaga who saved me.

“You’re magnificent,” I whisper, stroking her hair with reverence.

She snarls at the smaller zmora, but that beast is barely conscious. All its air is gone, its eyes bulging as my zmora’s fist squeezes tighter and tighter around its throat.

There is a wet crunch and a splatter. The zmora’s body and its head fall to the ground, the head rolling under my table. My zmora squeezed its neck right through.

“Gods.”

That’s all Wiosna has to say. I don’t think I ever witnessed her so terrified, and it gives me a sick pleasure to know that I shocked her for once. I’m not just a girl to push around and nitpick at. I have power, too.

A stench of rotten eggs fills the cottage, and the remains of the dead zmora dissolve into a thick, yellowish smoke that soon dissipates. My zmora turns to me. We look at each other, and even though her features are monstrous, her eyes snakelike, fangs long and sharp, I smile. Love and tenderness well within my hurting chest as I look at this monster, so sorry I kept her hidden away for so long.

“You deserve to run free,” I whisper. “So powerful. You deserve to rule the world.”

She grins back, clearly sentient and able to understand me. Suddenly, she lunges for me, her arms wrapping around my body, tightly and yet gently so as not to hurt my ribs. I swallow, getting lost in that feeling of strength and comfort. It’s like I’m seen and understood for the first time.

Like I finally found my place.

When I hug her back, she melts into me, and we become one again.

Chapter thirty-two

Blow

“No one will come,” Wiosna says cooly in the morning as I add wood to the fire to boil water for chicory brew. “The whole point is for the zmora to go back to the host and relay the invitation, and you killed it before it could do that.”

She is angry with me about how I handled the situation, but when I asked her last night exactly what she minds, she wouldn’t say. Apparently, I should know this myself, and if I don’t, that means I’m flawed.

Despite Wiosna’s judgment, I’m convinced I made the right choice. I saved myself. I can’t believe she holds a grudge over that.

Now, I only smile, making Wiosna groan with irritation. I do think the zmora’s host will come, and that’s because I know what it feels like to have a zmora. It’s not a separate being but an extension of a person.

For example, I felt the echoes of everything my zmora did, and ultimately, I controlled her. I think it’s the same way for the person who sent one after me, and that makes me far less merciful than I was before.

Even if they only thought they were hurting me in their dreams, they still deserve to pay for the pleasure they took from it. And they took a lot. That zmora was bent on killing me.

When I pour the brew into two cups and check that the food is nicely laid out, there is a hesitant knock on the door. I open with a wide grin to see Czeslawa on my doorstep.

“Welcome,” I say while Wiosna curses behind me. “I’m so glad you came.”

Czeslawa looks bewildered, her hair sticking out from under her kerchief as if she didn’t pin it up properly. There is a vacant look in her eyes, and her mouth keeps moving, like she’s about to say something but doesn’t know what.

My eyes linger on the boils that have sprung up on her cheeks and forehead since I saw her last. They are the result of the well hex I did. Every time Czeslawa looks into the well, a new boil appears, and now they dot her face, fat and bulging. She looks like a witch now. That’s the price for spreading vicious gossip.

And the punishment for trying to get me killed is so much better than I could have planned. It looks like Czeslawa is completely defeated. I don’t think she’s likely to recover.

When I look down, I notice she’s wearing the slippers I left in her ante-room. That means she’ll leave the village soon. Hopefully, forever.

I show her in and close the door, feeling like a victor.

“I never heard any stories of zmoras getting killed,” Wiosna mutters, sounding grave. “But it looks like there are consequences.”

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