Page 70 of Foul Days

“Unfortunately.”

A few years back, Blackbeard had asked every witch in the city to help him look for his magic compass. He’d offered Kosara enough money she put up with his terrible attitude all evening, trying every object-locating spell, amulet, or talisman she could think of.

There was no sign of the compass. As if it had vanished into thin air—or as if it were hidden by a witch powerful enough to erase any trace of it.

“Do you still have it?” Kosara asked.

“Oh no, I got rid of it years ago. I hate holding onto useless knickknacks, you know that.”

Kosara looked around the cramped room, full of a large variety of useless knickknacks. “What did you do with it?”

“Well…” Vila examined her soil-caked nails. If Kosara didn’t know better, she would have thought the old witch was embarrassed. “Have I ever told you how Blackbeard married one of my old students, Algara? And he wouldn’t let her practice? The fool was terrified of witchcraft. Why the hell would you marry a witch if you’re so scared of magic?”

“You have told me,” Kosara said. “Repeatedly.”

“Anyway, Algara died a few years back. So, I thought it would make for great poetic justice to bury the bastard’s compass with her. You know, the thing he treasured above all else, buried with the one treasure he never learned how to appreciate.”

Kosara swore internally. The compass was in a grave. The graveyard came right after the Zmey’s palace in her list of places she’d least like to visit during the Foul Days. The last time she’d been there still gave her nightmares.

“You’re expecting me to go and dig it out?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Vila said. “I thought we’d left that whole thing with the Zmey behind us. How was I supposed to know you might need the compass again?”

Maybe by using those notorious seer powers you’ve got?

“Listen, how about I make it up to you?” Vila began rummaging through her many pockets, and suddenly, all her air of mysticism disappeared as she pulled out dirty hankies, old wrappers, and long-forgotten boiled sweets.

Finally, she drew a ball of moon yarn. The silver light illuminated her face and made the whites of her eyes glint.

“You can have my moon yarn,” she said. “It’s not like I plan on using it. Truth be told, I’m getting way too old for a trek to the palace. Though I hope you realise that means I can’t come and save your arse if you mess up again.”

Then, without warning, she threw it. Kosara was so startled she almost let it hit her in the face, but at the last second, she managed to jerk her hands up to catch it.

It didn’t feel as Kosara had imagined it would. She thought it would be silky soft but substantial, like nice cashmere. Instead, it felt like nothing. She saw it resting in between her opened palms, but all she touched was air.

“Thank you,” she said. The ball of moon yarn bounced slightly at the sound of her voice, as if urging her forwards: “Come on, time to go, time to see the Zmey.”

The yarn and Vila seemed to be in agreement. “You’d better be on your way. You have no time to lose.”

My little Kosara, the Zmey’s voice whispered in Kosara’s ear. He sounded so real, she found it hard not to look over her shoulder. Finally coming back to me again. I knew you would return.

Kosara buttoned up her coat. It took her forever, with her fingertips switching between shadow and flesh every few seconds. She hated for Vila to see her like this, but she simply couldn’t find the focus to make them stop.

Before she’d managed to say anything else, Vila was already pushing them towards the door.

“You’re a witch,” Vila said, as if reading her thoughts. “You’ve been taught by the best. Go and get your shadow back.”

A weak witch. A useless witch. You’re nothing without me, Kosara.

Could she really do this? Could she return to the Zmey’s palace?

Did she have a choice?

“Yes,” Kosara said. “I will.”

Vila grasped her elbow and leaned close to Kosara’s ear. “And remember to check why your Belogradean stinks of magic.”

Then she slammed the door shut.

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