Page 26 of Foul Days

“Every Wednesday at seven!” the girl shouted after her. “We have wine and cheese!”

Bistra led Kosara through the boutique, ably navigating the maze of fabric and precious stones. In the back of the shop, a small door nestled in between two overflowing clothes racks. Bistra selected a key hanging on a chain around her neck, unlocked the door, and gestured at Kosara to follow her through.

This room was arranged more like a museum than a shop. Only the soft glow of the display cases broke up the darkness. Inside them real samodiva hair gleamed, real upir teeth dripped venom, and real varkolak fur glistened, waxy in the electric light. When Kosara read the price labels, her head started spinning.

“I am so sorry about earlier,” Bistra said. “I didn’t realise you were a witch. I love your shoes, by the way.”

Kosara looked down at her muddy boots. “Thanks?”

“Very bohemian chic. I should have immediately known you are a witch, you have such a unique sense of style.”

Kosara sensed there was a thinly veiled insult somewhere in between the pleasantries, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“In fact,” Bistra continued, “me and the other girls love to play a game whenever someone walks in the shop. We call it, ‘Witch or Bag Lady,’ ha-ha.”

There was the insult.

“Ha-ha,” Kosara said without smiling.

Bistra, on the other hand, was all smiles. “What can I help you with today? We’ve got a large collection of amulets and talismans, the best in all of Belograd, if I say so myself. For example, we just received a seer’s eye. They’re very rare, as I’m sure you know.”

Kosara heard herself saying, “Can I see it?” She wasn’t entirely sure why. Some macabre curiosity.

Bistra slid on a pair of cotton gloves and unlocked one of the display cases. She handed Kosara a ring embedded with an eye instead of a stone. A couple of thin blood vessels ran down the eyeball before disappearing into the silver setting. Kosara waved her hand in front of the eye, and it followed her movement. She shuddered.

“How much?” Kosara asked.

“Two hundred ninety-five.”

“It doesn’t seem to be in the best condition.”

“Four dioptres short-sighted,” Bistra admitted. “But it does catch the eye as a fashion accessory, if you’ll pardon the pun. What about two hundred ninety?”

“I’ll think about it,” Kosara said, doing her best impression of a person who had more money than sense. “Actually, what I’m here for is a witch’s shadow.”

For a brief second, something flashed in Bistra’s eyes. Confusion? Fear? She covered it up with another smile. “What a lucky coincidence! You’ve come right on time. We’re expecting a large delivery very soon.”

Kosara kept her face neutral, despite her heart climbing in her throat. “Oh, how wonderful. How many can I buy for my collection? Twelve?”

“Now that’s just freaky! That’s exactly how many we’re getting.”

So, Sevar had been right. The stranger was about to sell the shadows. It took a con artist to know a con artist, Kosara supposed.

“Are you a bit of a seer yourself?” Bistra asked.

“A little bit,” Kosara said. And then she inhaled deeply and found the courage to ask, “How much do they cost?”

Bistra’s smile grew brighter. “Ten thousand grosh each. But if you want all twelve, I’m sure we can work out a bulk price—”

Kosara found it impossible to focus on the rest of the sentence.

Ten. Thousand. Grosh. She couldn’t even imagine that much money in one place.

How would she ever get ten thousand grosh?

Robbing a bank? Too risky. Taking out a loan from one of Chernograd’s gangsters? Even riskier. Selling a kidney? Perhaps the healthiest option.

There had to be someone out there looking for a witch’s kidney. She could always start a rumour it was great for acne, or warts, or weight loss. Who needed two kidneys, anyway?

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