Page 27 of Foul Days

Or maybe there was another way. If she could see the stranger herself, try to convince him to make a deal with her …

“Can I speak to your supplier?” she asked. “I’d like to ask them a few questions about the shadows.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Bistra saw right through her. “We’ll take care of your order for you. Believe me, you’re in safe hands with us. We’ve worked with some very important clients. We even do home deliveries, so you don’t have to lift a finger.”

Who knew buying smuggled magical objects was as easy as ordering a new hat from the milliners?

“In that case, can I give you my address?” Kosara said. “So you can contact me when you receive the shadows.”

“Certainly. Just a second.” Bistra opened a drawer hidden under the upir-teeth display and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. Its pages were covered top to bottom in tiny handwriting: a list of names, addresses, and phone numbers.

The stranger’s name and address must have been in there somewhere. Only an arm’s length away. Kosara craned her neck to take a peek inside, but Bistra turned it away from her.

“Your name?” Bistra asked, her pen ready.

“Kosara Popova. I live on—”

The clicking of heels sounded from the hallway. Bistra swore under her breath.

The door flew open. At the threshold stood a tall woman, made even taller by a pair of impossibly high stilettos. She also wore—Kosara did a double take to make sure she wasn’t seeing things—a cape. Black velvet with a red silk lining. It whispered against the parquet as she marched towards them.

“What’s going on here? Give me that!” The tall woman grabbed the key hanging around Bistra’s neck and pulled it sharply until the chain undid itself.

Bistra’s smile didn’t falter. “Um, this is Kosara, Mistress Ruseva. She’s a witch, and she—”

“She isn’t a witch. How many times have I told you to ask before bringing people here?” Ruseva dropped the key in her cape’s inside pocket.

“You were out for lunch,” Bistra said, her smile still on her face. Her eyes, however, were welling up. “I was simply trying to take initiative, as we discussed during my last career progression meeting. She said she was a witch—”

“I’m standing right here!” Kosara said. “And I am a witch.”

Ruseva wrinkled her nose, as if Kosara was something she’d found stuck to her sole. “Don’t lie to me, darling. You’re not a witch. You know how I know?”

Kosara bit her lip. She had no idea what had given her away. It was too dark in the boutique for anyone to notice her shadow missing.

In Chernograd, witches were relatively common. Kosara suspected this was because of the city’s proximity to the monsters’ realm. After all, the first witches had learned magic to fight the monsters.

Everywhere else magic users were becoming rarer and rarer, ever since the Wall was built. Which is why the next thing Ruseva said came as a complete surprise.

“I know because I am a witch.”

Damn it. That was just Kosara’s luck.

“I can smell another witch’s magic from miles away,” Ruseva continued. “You don’t smell of magic, but of cheap perfume and sour cabbage.”

And you smell of casual xenophobia and a superiority complex.

Kosara didn’t clench her fists, didn’t swing, and didn’t punch Ruseva in her big, self-important nose. Instead, she smiled. “We’ll speak again.”

As she walked towards the door, she bumped into Ruseva shoulder-first, making the tall woman stagger.

“Excuse me.” Kosara placed the key for the room in her coat’s pocket.

* * *

The shutters came rattling down. The clicking of heels faded into the distance.

The boutique grew eerily quiet: the only sound was the tapping of the stray cats’ nails on the ceramic tiles as they darted across the roof. Kosara stretched, and the cracking of her neck sounded thunderously loud.

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