Page 121 of Foul Days

Asen swore and hit the upir with the handle of his revolver.

“Stand back!” Kosara shouted. “We are guests of the Zmey!”

“We don’t know you,” said Sokol. The crowd picked up her words, don’t know you, don’t know you …

Kosara took a step back and bumped into the large, moist body of a bathroom spirit. A kitchen spirit swung his rolling pin at her head, and she managed to duck a second before it slammed into her skull.

A group of karakonjuls surrounded Asen. One clacked its teeth towards his ankle.

He waved his revolver in the air, unsure where to aim it. There were monsters everywhere. More and more of them crawled out of dark corners, slid out of the hallways, and descended from the platforms above. Everywhere Kosara turned, she saw sharp talons and bared teeth.

She pulled the aspen stake out and clenched it in her fist. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Asen had been right. This had been a terrible idea. No, this had been a series of terrible ideas. The only silver lining was that the Zmey hadn’t sniffed her out yet. The monsters—they’d give her a quick death. They were too impatient to taste her blood. Too excited to tear up her flesh.

The Zmey would have toyed with her. He would have mocked her and revelled in the fact he’d caught her again.

My little Kosara, did you really think you could ever escape me?

His voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It sounded as if it had an echo outside of her head, in the hall.

Oh no, please no …

“Welcome, my little Kosara.” He spoke quietly, but his words reverberated through the hall.

The monsters fell silent. The Zmey had descended from his platform. As he walked among them, they stepped back to make a path for him, bowing.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” The Zmey’s voice dripped with honey. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

21

Day Nine

The Zmey stepped under the light of the bone chandeliers. Kosara’s heart sank to her stomach.

He looked exactly like she remembered him. His blue eyes were fixed on her. He’d left the last few buttons of his embroidered shirt undone and his chest hair glinted golden beneath. Kosara still remembered what it felt like under her fingertips with stomach-churning clarity. His coat shushed against the floor as he walked, flowing from deep purple to bright green like snakeskin.

There was, however, a significant difference. He didn’t have one shadow. He had twelve.

They followed at his feet, all of them different: short and tall, skinny and plump, long-and short-haired.… But, disturbingly, Kosara recognised young women in all of them. She also spotted herself. There was no mistaking her, with her puffy hair, and the way she stood, slouching slightly.

They were too late.

Kosara looked up at the platform, just in time to see Roksana hopping on Sokol’s back. The two of them flew out an arched window and disappeared into the night. Kosara’s nails dug into her palms. Goddamnit.

“I see you’ve spotted my newest acquisitions,” the Zmey said. “Twelve witches’ shadows. Aren’t they magnificent?”

He snapped his fingers, and they danced at his feet, twirling and twisting like snowflakes in the wind. Kosara’s eyes followed her shadow, its coat billowing, its hair tossing wildly. It turned to face the Zmey as it passed beneath the soles of his boots, and it stuck its tongue out at him.

Kosara’s eyes widened. She herself was too frozen in fear to move. She wished she had her shadow’s nerve.

The Zmey’s fire couldn’t hurt her shadow, but it could hurt her. It would run up her skin, gentle at first like a lover’s touch. Then it would grow hotter. It would sink deeper and deeper until she felt as if her bones were on fire. All she’d smell would be burning hair and searing flesh and melting bone. Throbbing blisters would encrust her skin, bubbling to the surface and bursting, again and again, until it hurt to move. It hurt to scream. It hurt to breathe.

Kosara shuddered violently. How could she feel so cold and so hot at the same time?

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” the Zmey said. “Why do you look so scared?”

He watched her, worry and confusion in his eyes. As if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t been the one laughing while he burned her seven years ago. She could still hear it, his cackling rolling over her, sweet and sticky, suffocating her.

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