Page 15 of Foul Days

The buildings around her were tall and imposing. Plaster cherubs played the harp around the windows, and marble tritons supported the entrance archways on their muscly shoulders. The gentlemen passing by wore fine silks and linen. Precious stones and pearls glinted on the necks and wrists of the ladies. She’d found herself in a posh neighbourhood.

“Bah, a hotel!” A tall woman leaned on the wall of the bakery, the flame of her cigarette flickering like a firefly. White handprints covered her apron, and flour coated her hair. When Kosara heard her accent, she felt like running to her and hugging her—which, obviously, she didn’t do. The woman was from Chernograd. Kosara would probably get slapped if she touched her.

“You can stay in my attic room,” the woman said. “Two grosh a night, what do you say, hen? It’s full of dust and spiders. Since you’re a witch, you’d probably feel at home.”

Kosara couldn’t believe her luck. She was so grateful, she chose to ignore that last dig. “Sounds perfect.”

The two of them weaved their way through the crowd. Kosara had to pretend not to hear the questions shouted after her: “How do you break a family curse?” and “Will I get married soon?” and “About that tall dark stranger…”

As Kosara’s new landlady led her through the city, the white cobblestones gave way to grey asphalt and potholes filled with muddy water. The buildings were just as tall, but a lot less grand, with poky stairwells peeking through the open doorways and plaster peeling in large chunks off the facades. The streets grew so narrow, the two of them had to press themselves against the wall whenever one of Belograd’s horseless carriages passed by.

Kosara had read about them, but she’d never seen one. With their bulbous metallic bodies, they reminded her of oversized beetles. They left a trail of black smoke and the stink of chemicals behind them.

“I’m Gizda, by the way,” the landlady said after a while.

“Kosara.”

“How did you end up in Belograd, Kosara?”

“It was kind of an accident.”

“Ha!” Gizda barked, her ruddy face showing no signs of amusement. “An accident!”

Kosara knew how ridiculous she sounded. People spent their entire life savings to come to Belograd. It wasn’t something you simply stumbled into.

“No, honestly,” she said. “I didn’t want to leave Chernograd.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m a witch. I belong in Chernograd.”

“Please, hen. Don’t give me that patriotic nonsense. You’re a witch: you can’t convince me you aren’t happy you’re on this side of the Wall, telling gullible fools’ fortunes, rather than on the other, fighting monsters.”

Kosara bit her lip. Of course she was happy she wasn’t fighting monsters.

But if not her, who would? What would her colleagues think when they heard she’d escaped?

What did the Zmey think?

That he’d won. Again. That was what he would think. That he’d finally managed to chase her away from her city.

“I did consider crossing the Wall once,” Kosara said carefully. “A few years back. I even had the money saved. But then I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

Kosara hesitated. The first reason had been that she’d lost all the money she’d saved, but there was also something else. “Because I don’t feel like I’d have a purpose here. What would I do? Tell gullible fools their fortunes? That’s it?”

“What’s your purpose over in Chernograd, if I may ask?”

“I can help over there. I know how to fight the monsters.”

“And do people listen to you? Or do they get swept up by louder charlatans who promise easy solutions?”

“Well…” Kosara hesitated. “Some listen. We’ve been doing a yearly survey with the Witch and Warlock Association, and we’ve been noticing a slow but steady drop in the number of deaths from monster attacks every year, and—”

“Right, okay. But you’re on this side of the Wall now. You can forget about all that. It’s not your problem anymore. Aren’t you happy?” Gizda studied her face insistently, as if this was some sort of test.

Kosara shook her head. “I traded too much to cross the Wall.”

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