Page 23 of Foul Days

“She does?”

“The two of them were made for each other. You know how they could afford those carpets? She robbed a bank. A whole bloody bank! On her own. With a toy gun.”

“No way.” Kosara glanced at Nur with newfound respect. This perhaps showed something was amiss in Kosara’s own moral compass.

Roksana continued, “Sevar says they met when they were pickpocketing the same man at the market. Their fingers touched over the wallet in his back pocket.”

“That has got to be a joke.”

Roksana shrugged. “Knowing those two, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.”

Kosara’s eyes followed Nur and Sevar drifting through the room, bright smiles shining on their faces. Even crooks and criminals eventually found someone who cared about them. There had to be something encouraging in that.

Or perhaps Kosara should have felt more discouraged: she was an even more dire case than those two. Maybe she was destined to live alone, with only the ghosts from her past to keep her company.

Sensing her mood, Roksana offered her another refill, and Kosara accepted it, even though she knew it was a bad idea.

“It’s lucky I met you tonight, actually,” Roksana said. “I need your expertise as a witch.”

Kosara pushed herself up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just personal interest. Have you ever heard of something called a Lamia?”

“I…” Kosara hesitated. She could vaguely recall hearing the name, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where. “Not really. What is it?”

“A monster. I read about it in an old book. It’s said to have caused great destruction in Chernograd back in the day. It’s also supposedly unbeatable because if you cut one of its heads, another three grow in its place.”

“That sounds like good news for a monster hunter. Think of all the eyes, horns, and ears you can sell. It’s a renewable resource.”

Roksana’s face suggested she was in no mood for jokes. “Are you sure you’ve never heard of it?”

“Certain. You know I know my monsters.”

Though now that she thought about it, she did remember an odd gap she’d spotted in the old bestiary Vila had given her, right between “karakonjul” and “kikimora.” The remains of the torn page were blackened and left soot marks on Kosara’s fingers. As if it had been burned.

“Hmm.” Roksana played with the end of her braid, her golden rings glinting. “Fine, then. I have another question. What can you tell me about embedding magic?”

The pleasant haze the wine had created in Kosara’s mind dissipated. Embedding was old, dark magic: one of those that was most dangerous because it truly worked. It hadn’t been practised in a very long time. In fact, Kosara suspected the only witch who still remembered how to do it in all of Chernograd was Vila.

Kosara was aware of the theory, of course. Vila believed you couldn’t condemn something you didn’t know.

“It’s not done anymore,” Kosara said quickly. “It’s not been done in a long time. Why? Do you suspect someone—”

“No, no. I told you, I’m just curious.”

“If you have a wraith in your house who’s been embedded—”

Roksana laughed. “Don’t worry, nothing like that! I just read about it in that same old book.”

“That must be some book,” Kosara muttered.

“Well, what do you know?”

“It’s pretty gruesome.”

“So I figured. From what I gather, the main idea is to embed a living person in the walls of a building to protect it from evil spirits.”

Kosara shuddered. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a big gulp.

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