Page 94 of Foul Days

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Later that evening, once she’d managed to peel herself out of the bath and had brushed her teeth approximately ten thousand times, Kosara opened a bottle of wine to celebrate their success. It was one of her dad’s vintages: cabernet sauvignon with a touch of whatever fruit was cheapest at the market that day. Asen refused to drink it, and Kosara didn’t blame him—the smell alone was strong enough to make her eyes water. She poured him a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks.” He stopped scrubbing his coat to take it. The scent of lemon juice enveloped the kitchen. In the sink, the baking soda foamed and hissed. He’d got some upir blood on his coat back in the church.

Kosara leaned on the counter and sipped her wine. She coughed, then lifted the bottle and read the label, just to make sure. Yes, it definitely read “cabernet sauvignon,” not “wine vinegar.”

“Why are you so upset?” Asen asked. Kosara looked up and realised he’d been watching her for a while.

“I’m not upset!”

“You’ve bitten your lip so hard I can see the teeth impressions. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s great. We found the compass. We got out of the graveyard alive.”

“What did you see in that graveyard?”

I saw Nevena.

Kosara started to bite her lip again but stopped herself. She couldn’t tell him. They were temporary allies, not friends. They were not friends. If anything, the upirs using her memories of Nevena had cemented it further in her mind: friends made you vulnerable.

“In the graveyard?” she asked, casually. “I can’t remember. I must have hit my head too hard.”

“What then? Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“About what?”

“Visiting the lair of Chernograd’s most dangerous monster?”

“Nervous? No, not at all. We’ll be fine. I told you, the Zmey won’t even know we’re there. We’ll sneak in, catch Roksana, get my shadow, and sneak back out. Easy-peasy.”

A quiet pop sounded. Something warm tickled the back of Kosara’s hand. She looked down: her cup was broken. Tiny pieces of glass glistened all over the floor. Her fingers were red with wine and—she noticed a shard sticking out of her palm—blood.

She must have squeezed her glass too hard. It didn’t hurt yet, but she knew it would start soon.

“Oh,” she muttered.

Asen looked up at her. The blood drained out of his face. “Oh my God.” He dropped his coat back in the sink with a splash. The next second, he leaned over her, inspecting her bloody hand. “Where do you keep your bandages?”

“The big cupboard in the living room. The second drawer from the top.”

He had another look at her hand. “What about tweezers?”

“The vanity in my bedroom,” she said. And then, remembering a particularly steamy romance novel she kept there, quickly added, “The left drawer. Not the right one.”

Asen disappeared up the hallway and soon returned with a box of bandages and a pair of tweezers. He began pulling out shards of glass from her hand, collecting them in a bloody, glistening pile on the table. Kosara sucked in air through her teeth. She was feeling the pain now.

He worked slowly, his fingers turning her hand to locate the shards. His touch was light, as if she was something delicate that might shatter if he pressed too hard. Kosara wasn’t used to being held this gently. Her rough, scarred hands had been through much worse than a few shards of glass.

His brows furrowed in concentration. In the light of the fire, his eyes were a deep, dark brown. Several-day-old stubble covered his chin. It suited him. He lifted his gaze, catching her looking at him, and smiled. Now, he looked even more handsome. He was so close, Kosara saw the fine lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

He was so close, she smelled the magic on him. There was a small lump under his T-shirt, near his neck, as if he wore a pendant. Immediately, she was certain: this was where the magic came from. It had to be. Even without her shadow, she could recognise a talisman this powerful.

She instinctively reached for it. He jumped back, his smile faltering, panic in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His fingers grasped the pendant through his T-shirt. He caught himself and let it go, smoothing the fabric over it.

“Sorry,” she said, realising how inappropriate she’d been. “I was curious about your talisman.”

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