Page 111 of Foul Days

“Sorry, what?”

“A broom that flies.”

The lanterns kept whizzing past. From time to time, Kosara could make out what they were attached to: more flying brooms than she could count, but also flying rugs, pots and pans, chairs, stools, and sofas, and in one case, a four-poster bed with its curtain stretched like a sail.

“What’s happening?” Asen called out again.

“I think the guests have started to arrive for the Zmey’s feast.”

Kosara squinted, searching the night for familiar faces, until she found her household spirits. The bathroom spirit sat in her granny’s old cast-iron bathtub. The kitchen spirit flew in an enormous copper cauldron for brewing rakia. The fireplace spirit rode upon a poker, his purple tie flapping in the wind.

Kosara waved at them. The kitchen spirit spotted her first, and her eyes grew larger. She looked an awful lot like Kosara’s mum when she’d caught teenaged Kosara smoking in the toilet. The spirit opened her mouth, but before she’d managed to say anything else, the cauldron carried her away.

Kosara started to climb down. “It looks like we got here right on time,” she shouted. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to be late for the Zmey’s f—”

A loud crack. The branch she stood on snapped beneath her. Her feet lost purchase. Instinctively, she grasped the branch above it while the broken one tumbled to the ground.

She swore loudly. Her arms strained to support her full weight. Her muscles burned.

“Let go,” Asen appeared underneath her, his arms outstretched. “I’ll catch you.”

Kosara hesitated. Just how upset was he with her? Enough to let her crash onto the ground and break her neck?

“Let go!” he said again.

It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She tried to pull herself up to the next branch, but her lower body was too heavy. She was left hanging there like an overripe fruit. The shadow sickness tickled her fingers.

She took a deep breath and, a second before her fingers turned to shadow, she let go. Asen caught her before she hit the ground.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. For a second, they stared at each other, his arms still wrapped around her, her hand on his shoulder.

Then he quickly put her down and stepped away from her. “I couldn’t let you break your leg now, could I?” He obviously tried to sound facetious, but it came out forced.

“No, that would have been unfortunate.” Kosara straightened her dress.

There was a long, awkward pause. The only sound was the chiming of the grass at their feet.

“Listen, about yesterday…” she began, not entirely sure how she’d continue. Was she going to confess about the truth serum?

No, that would be a bad idea. He’d overreact, just like he overreacted about the kiss.

She didn’t have to say anything else, because he was quick to interrupt her. “Let’s not talk about it. It was obviously a momentary lapse of judgement. On both our parts.”

Kosara let out an internal sigh of relief. That worked for her. It was a good thing he wanted to talk about his feelings just as much as she did.

They continued making their way through the gardens in silence, but it was a less tense silence than before. Asen didn’t rush ahead of her. They walked shoulder to shoulder. It was nice, Kosara had to admit, to have him act somewhat normal again, even if she knew he was still upset.

She kicked the grass as she walked, making the strands chime. The closer she got to the palace, the louder the Zmey’s voice in her head grew. From time to time, she heard him so clearly, she had to look over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t standing there.

Crawling back to me, little Kosara? You knew you could never truly leave.

It was as if returning to the palace sent her back in time. Back seven years ago, to when the Zmey had first brought her here. Back to when she’d been stupid enough to let him.

She caught Asen casting worried glances at her and forced a smile. Stupid witch, the Zmey kept repeating in her head. Weak witch. Useless witch.

* * *

The Zmey’s palace perched on the rocks, vulture-like. Its domes glistened golden, green, and purple, as if covered in scales. The windows gleamed, unblinking, and the gate gaped open like a hungry mouth. Kosara’s skin crawled, pierced by hundreds of tiny needles.

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