Page 151 of Foul Days

Kosara imaged how his horned head would rise above the rooftops. How he’d open his mouth and flames would shoot out, and the stench of sulphur and burning flesh would envelop the night.…

“Listen, you have to calm down.” She knew it was no use trying to reason with him as soon as she opened her mouth. He was too far gone.

Steam rolled out of his nostrils, melting the snowflakes between them. Beneath his feet, the snowdrifts turned to water, running in a stream between the cobbles. If they reached the circle she’d drawn and smeared the symbols, all of this would have been for nought. They’d both be trapped in the Wall.

He took a step towards her. The shadows scrambled to get as far away from him as possible, huddling together in a dark corner at the foot of the Wall. Even as shadows, they were still terrified of him. Just as terrified as Kosara was.

The Zmey’s fist clenched around her forearm. Kosara screamed. Her skin sizzled under his touch. Oh no, not again.…

“Listen to me,” she said again. “If you want to see your sister again, you have to calm down.”

The Zmey’s grip around her arm loosened ever so slightly. His eyes studied her.

“You cheating hag,” he hissed. Then he grabbed her with both hands and swung her across the street. Her body crashed against the ground, pain shooting up her spine. Hot blood trickled down her arms, from the gashes where the Zmey’s talons had sunk into her.

“Listen…” she mumbled, but she had nothing left to say.

In any case, he wouldn’t hear her. He loomed over her, tall and terrifying, with the Wall rising behind him.

She felt as small as she had seven years ago. Like a frightened bunny rabbit trapped in the snake’s lair. And just like a bunny rabbit, she thought her heart might simply give up. It would have been a more merciful death than whatever the Zmey had planned for her.

No, insisted a voice in her head. You’re not that terrified little creature anymore. Think.

But there was also the other voice in her head, the one she knew so well. I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m—

Think! You owe it to Nevena.

Kosara looked at her shadow, standing in front of the other eleven, protecting them with its ink-black body. She also owed it to them: the eleven other witches who’d lost their shadows to the Zmey.

The eleven other witches …

An idea started to take shape. A witch’s shadow couldn’t be taken away, it had to be given willingly. And just how willingly had those twelve been given? In her case, the Zmey had taken her shadow with treachery and tricks. She’d bet, looking at the way they acted, the Zmey had coerced the other eleven from their owners with threats. They were given away in fear. They were never truly his.

Kosara raised her hand in the air as if to protect her face from the Zmey and watched as her shadow raised hers. Through the fear and panic, she couldn’t help but smile. It was like fighting monsters with an old friend again.

“Please, help me,” Kosara shaped with her lips.

The Zmey’s fingers clenched around her throat, blistering hot. For a long, terrifying second, everything turned black. Kosara blinked fast through the tears.

“Please,” she whispered again.

The Zmey must have thought she was talking to him. He squeezed her harder. She clawed at his hand, scratching herself as well as him, warm blood trickling over her fingers. All she smelled was sulphur. Every breath burned.

Perhaps she had been wrong after all. Perhaps she would die here.

“Please,” she tried to say, but no sound came out. “Help me and I will protect you.”

The Zmey’s face swam before her vision, coming in and out of focus, his teeth bared. The twelve shadows ran across the ground behind him, trembling in the wind. For a long moment, they simply watched her.

Then, slowly, one by one, they peeled themselves off the ground. Kosara inhaled sharply. She tried not to focus her gaze on them—not to let the Zmey notice anything was wrong.

The shadows crept up behind him. Don’t turn back, please don’t turn back.…

In the last moment before they enveloped him, he spun around. Too late.

The fire in his eyes died down, to be replaced by the haunted look Kosara had seen earlier: the look of utter terror. He let go, and she slumped to the ground. She gasped in the cold winter air, letting it sooth her burning throat. It tasted so good.

The Zmey took a step back, stumbling through the snow. Not fast enough. The shadows rolled over him like a wave of ink. They stuck to his pale skin and clung to his golden hair.

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