Page 81 of Foul Days

Kosara hesitated. “It doesn’t smell of magic. I don’t think it does.”

Another tut. “This could be dangerous,” Vila said again.

“I know.”

“Where does he sleep?”

“In my room.”

“And you?”

“In my room as well, but it’s not what it sounds like—”

“Don’t give me that nonsense. How many years have I known you? When was the last time you let a strange man in your house?”

“I don’t know, I—”

“You need to kick him out and lock the door. Not just out of the room. Out of the house. You have no idea when the curse will take hold and what it will make him do. He’s a ticking time bomb. Find out who cursed him. And kick him out.” And then she hung up. The mirror grew dim.

Kosara stared at the dark surface, massaging her temples.

Kick Asen out? Only a day ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But now, after they’d fought monsters together, it felt difficult to treat him like a stranger.

She was going to sleep on the couch tonight, perhaps with a knife under her pillow, but she wouldn’t kick him out. She couldn’t. It was the middle of the Foul Days. It would be too dangerous for him out there on his own.

With some luck, the curse would stay dormant until she got her shadow back, just like it had done for years. Then, she could deal with it.

Kosara pointedly avoided thinking about how her luck had fared so far.

She got ready for bed and snuggled on the couch. It was a bit too short for her and her legs stuck out over the armrest. The knife under her pillow poked the back of her neck. Still, she was so tired, she fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Asen’s screams woke her up.

Vila’s warning rang clearly in her mind: you never know when the curse will activate. Kosara grabbed the knife from under the pillow and rushed towards the bedroom.

It took her a second before her eyes got used to the darkness, and she saw him. He’d wrapped himself in a cocoon of bedsheets. He breathed fast, his brows furrowed. He didn’t seem as if he was under a spell—just having a nightmare. Kosara exhaled with relief.

“Boryana!” he shouted. “Boryana, don’t!”

Who the hell is Boryana? Was she the witch who’d cursed him? Kosara shook him by the shoulder until he stopped screaming.

“What?” he muttered.

“You were having a nightmare. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine.

“Who’s Boryana?” she asked.

Asen stared at her, wide-eyed. “Just someone I used to know.”

It didn’t seem as if he’d elaborate. His breathing was still ragged. Kosara considered reaching for him and squeezing his hand, or maybe giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

She decided against it. He was a ticking time bomb.

“Why are you holding a knife?” he asked. His eyes must have got used to the dark, too.

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