Page 146 of Foul Days

“Spoiled. Soft. Easy life has turned them all into cowards.”

Kosara shuffled awkwardly in her seat. She’d agreed with him, back before she’d seen Belograd for herself. After spending a few days there, and a few days in Chernograd with Asen, she’d realised Belograd was a city like any city, and the people there were like any other people. They had monsters of their own. Some of them even came from Chernograd—like Konstantin Karaivanov.

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” Kosara said.

Malamir hesitated. “Because they hate us, you know? They really hate us. To them, we’re subhuman. If the Wall falls, they’ll put us in their ghettos, and they’ll only remember us when the monsters attack. And even then, they won’t treat us like humans. They’ll take our magic as if we owe it to them. We’re better off behind the Wall. It protects us from them.”

Kosara was way too tired and grumpy to suffer any more nonsense. It was obvious Malamir was stalling, trying to distract her from the real problem.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “You can’t expect me to believe you agreed to work for Konstantin again because of your high ideals.”

Malamir mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?” Kosara said.

Malamir sighed. “It’s Mother. God, she’ll kill me if she finds out I told you.”

“She won’t find out.”

“She’s sick. Did you notice how much difficulty she has walking? And she simply doesn’t listen to me. She should be resting, not obsessively cleaning the carpets and washing the floor … She needs an operation, and it costs more than our house.”

“And Konstantin promised you the money?”

Malamir sighed again. “If I get him the shadows. I swear, Kosara, I didn’t expect it to go the way it did. After I met Irnik in the pub, he seemed like an easy target. I thought I’d convince him to give me the shadows no problem, but…” Malamir trailed off.

“It was your karakonjul who murdered him, wasn’t it?” Kosara asked.

“It wasn’t Pickle’s fault, Kosara, believe me. It was that bastard, Roksana. Me and Irnik were having a perfectly friendly conversation. In fact, he’d just agreed to sell me the witches’ shadows, since they only caused him trouble. I would have given you yours back, of course.…”

Kosara rolled her eyes, grateful he couldn’t see her. Of course.

“And then,” Malamir continued, his voice trembling, “that big bastard barges in, swinging her fists about and swearing. Pickle was a sweetheart, honestly, but I hadn’t completed his training yet. He got confused and scared, and things got a bit out of control.… Honestly, Kosara, it’s been haunting me every day. My own conscience is my worst punishment. You can’t imagine the guilt I feel about what happened. And having to put Pickle down…”

On the other end of the line, Malamir quietly sobbed. Truly, a touching performance. He could have convinced Kosara he was truly sorry—if, after watching his karakonjul tear a man to pieces, he hadn’t adopted another one.

“You have to get rid of that karakonjul,” Kosara said. “They’re not pets.”

“I…” For a second, he sounded as if he was about to argue. Then he sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s so hard, though, when I see their cute little faces.”

Kosara threw a glance out the window to where a group of karakonjuls ran through the snow. Their curved fangs crossed in front of their crooked muzzles. Saliva dripped from their mouths in long, sticky strands, landing on the pavement in radioactive-green puddles. “Cute” wasn’t the first word that came to mind.

“I’ll release Button into the wild,” Malamir said dreamily. “He can enjoy the last couple of the Foul Days wreaking havoc around the city with his brothers and sisters.”

“Right,” Kosara said, not entirely sure if that was supposed to be a good thing. She fidgeted in her seat again. “Listen, there’s a reason I wanted to speak to you tonight. Remember what you told me about the Zmey? That I need to get over him?”

“I don’t remember saying it, but it’s the truth.”

“I think I figured it out. I can’t get over him while he keeps coming here every year. I have to get rid of him once and for all.”

“I’m listening.”

Kosara kept her tone light. “Would your boss be interested in him?”

“Interested in … talking to him?”

“No. Interested in him. The Zmey. Would your boss like to buy him?”

Malamir was silent for a moment, the only sound being the cracking of the phone line. “I’m not sure if I understand what you mean.”

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