Page 142 of Foul Days

“Goddamnit, Bakharov, fight!” Kosara shouted, but he was frozen. His hand limply rested on the handle of his revolver. He didn’t draw it.

Kosara reached to drag him away by the hand, his trembling fingers grasping hers. That was a mistake. The kikimora spun towards her and slapped her across the face. Kosara’s left cheek burned. She raised her fingers to it and felt three scrapes, mirroring the ones she already had on her right cheek.

Kosara swore. There was only one kikimora she ever let hit her. She slammed her hands into the wraith’s body, sending her flying backwards.

“Come on!” Kosara shouted.

Before they’d made a step, the kikimora flew towards them again, her teeth bared. Her nails clawed at Asen’s chest, slicing clean through his shirt, digging into the skin beneath.

When she spotted her father’s symbol carved into him, she flung her head back and shrieked. Her hands moved faster and faster, becoming a blur of bright-red fingernails and bright-red blood.

Bile rose up Kosara’s throat. She knew what would come next, but she was helpless to stop it. The kikimora would dig until she revealed his rib cage, and then she’d reach in and pull out his heart, still beating, and she’d devour it.

And the bloody fool didn’t look like he’d fight her. He drew his revolver, but didn’t aim, letting it hang loosely between his fingers. His big, worried eyes were fixed on his wife’s ghost. As if he was about to ask her if she wanted a cup of tea, to calm her throat after all the screaming.

Kosara swore under her breath. She was running out of time. The panic turned her brain to mush. There had to be something she could use to communicate with the kikimora, anything at all, if only she could focus.…

Kosara’s fingers found the wound on her face again. Of course. A promise made in blood couldn’t be broken.

“Hey, Boryana!”

The kikimora turned towards her. Once she was certain she had the wraith’s attention, Kosara ran a finger along her bleeding cheek. She dragged it across the marble gravestone, leaving a red, glistening trail.

The kikimora stopped screaming. She let Asen go and he stumbled to the ground, his fingers pressing at his wounded chest. She watched Kosara, occasionally blinking, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks.

Once Kosara was done, she looked the kikimora in the eyes. They were a bright, almost golden hazel. Painfully human. No wonder Asen had found it so difficult to fight her.

For a few long seconds, the two of them simply stared at each other. The wind died down. The graveyard grew very, very quiet.

Then, Boryana nodded. She raised her hand in something resembling a wave. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the ground where she was standing, enveloping her. Her dark shadow was barely visible, floating above the ground.

When a gust of wind blew the smoke away, Boryana was gone. All that was left of her was the impression of her bare feet in the snow and the faint smell of blood.

Kosara let out a breath and slumped to the ground. Her ears still rang. Despite the cold, sweat rolled down her face and made clumps of hair stick to her forehead. She tried to move them away, but her fingers had turned to shadow.

Asen kneeled down next to her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. She’d screamed too much. “How are you?”

He didn’t answer. She had to admit, it had been a stupid question.

“How the hell did you do that without your shadow?” Asen asked. He pressed at his chest, blood seeping between his fingers. Another nasty wound for Kosara to worry about. Kikimora nails weren’t any cleaner than karakonjul teeth.

“How did I do what?” she asked.

“That!” He nodded towards the series of bloody symbols on the gravestone. Kosara’s handwriting had never been great, and in this case, it was practically undecipherable. It was a good thing Boryana had understood.

“You just drew some sort of magic circle, didn’t you?” Asen said. “A spell?”

“It’s not a spell. It’s a promise.”

“What promise?”

She looked at him through her singed remnants of hair. “The only promise that matters to a kikimora. That by the next Foul Days, I’ll bring justice to her killer.”

25

Day Eleven

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