Page 88 of Foul Days

They were nearly there. Nearly back to safety.

Kosara stopped in her tracks. A large group of upirs congregated in front of the doorway, like an impenetrable wall of pale, rotting flesh.

Goddamn it.

“There’s no way we’ll get past them,” she said. “We have to turn back.”

Asen waved his revolver about, as if unsure which enemy to focus on. “And go where?”

Kosara could see only one option. “The church.”

“Is it safe there?”

“It’s safer than out here.”

She was already running up the path, retracing their footsteps in the snow. From time to time, Asen turned back and aimed his revolver at something, but he never pressed the trigger.

The church was dark against the snow. No light came from the painted windows. Only a single lantern flickered, way up in the bell tower, under the patina-covered dome. Perhaps a thoughtful priest had left it out, to guide lost souls towards the church—or lost fools who’d got themselves trapped in the graveyard during the Foul Days.

Kosara opened the door and its creak echoed in the empty nave. The sharp smell of incense hit her: the priests must have burnt it for protection against evil spirits. Hopefully, it would help.

Pictures of saints hung on the walls, with long beards and elaborate robes, their faces dark within their golden halos. They stared at Kosara sternly, almost disapprovingly, as if they knew the church wasn’t a place for a witch. The flickering of the candlelight made it seem as if their eyes followed her through the nave, as she and Asen piled up church furniture in front of the door: wooden chairs, large candleholders, an enormous carving of a cross. Even if the saints hadn’t minded Kosara’s presence earlier, they definitely did now. She’d completely ruined their interior design.

Asen placed one last chair in front of the door, then stepped back and inspected their work. “It’s not the best, but it should hold for a bit.”

Kosara couldn’t hear him over the singing in her head, but she managed to read his lips. “How long?” she asked.

“Depends on how many upirs are out there. Should we go up and have a look?” He pointed towards the bell tower staircase with his thumb.

The staircase was so narrow, their shoulders touched the walls as they climbed up. The steps creaked, each in a different tone, like a badly tuned piano.

Once they were up on the balcony, Nevena’s song grew louder. Kosara pressed her ears with her palms to try to quiet it. It was no use.

A cold wind rose and brought the smell of death. Kosara shivered, despite her many layers of woollen undergarments. Down below, pale shadows moved among the fog.

“Get ready to shoot,” Kosara said. “The bullets won’t kill them, but they’ll slow them down.”

It was getting difficult to form coherent sentences. She felt as if her head was stuffed with cotton candy. The wind grew stronger, dispersing the fog, and a familiar silhouette stepped out. Tall, lanky, wobbly on her high heels. Nevena.

She was so bright and real. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her hair was messy after a night of dancing. Her lips were painted in her favourite lipstick: deep red, like heavy wine. The wind carried her smell, of jasmine, and roses, and tobacco smoke.

Kosara knew this memory. Nevena had looked like that on the night they’d snuck into the graveyard, seven years ago. They were walking home after some obscure local band’s gig. Nevena had gotten one of their songs stuck in her head and kept singing it all night.

Kosara clearly remembered Nevena’s warm hand in hers, the flask of cheap rakia they’d hidden in a rucksack, and the cigarette they’d shared—neither of them could smoke a whole one without getting dizzy. And then, there was the memory of what came next: the pack of wolves and their leader.

A shot fired. Nevena staggered back, her hand on her forehead, panic in her eyes. Her fingers came away red.

“Nev!” Kosara stepped towards the balcony’s railing, but someone pulled her back.

She turned around, expecting to meet the pack leader’s grin. Instead, she saw the worried face of a man. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. His fingers were like pliers around her upper arms.

She squirmed. The man didn’t let go. Oh my God. Someone was shooting at her sister, and Kosara had been taken hostage. Oh my God!

Nevena had been right. They shouldn’t have come into the graveyard. It had been a stupid idea. Kosara’s stupid idea.

Nevena shook her head. Droplets of blood scattered in the snow. She kept walking towards the church. Towards Kosara.

“Take cover, Nev!” Kosara shouted. “Leave me and take cover!”

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