Page 145 of Foul Days

But if she was honest with herself, Asen’s mission wasn’t the only thing making her nervous. When she couldn’t take it anymore, Kosara stood up. Slowly, she walked up the hallway and knocked on the red door. There was no response. What had she been expecting?

She pushed the door open. The room looked just like it had on that night seven years ago. Except now, a thick layer of dust coated every surface and spiders lived in the lampshade. The curtains were drawn shut, letting in only a trickle of light. The sheets were crumpled from when Asen had stayed there. His bare feet had left a trail on the dusty floor.

“Nevena?” Kosara said. She felt like an intruder, coming back here after all those years.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a figure appeared, only for a brief second, flickering in the corner of Kosara’s eye. Kosara looked down at her own flickering form, changing between flesh and shadow.

She’d practised what to say. First, she’d apologise for never coming to visit. Then she’d tell Nevena how much she missed her. The words were stuck in her throat. Suddenly, they seemed so meaningless. What would a wraith care about any of that? There was only one thing Nevena wanted to hear.

Kosara peeled off the plaster on her cheek and scratched her wound until it started bleeding again. When she touched it, her fingers came back red, making her wince. She sat in front of the vanity and scribbled in blood on the mirror. It was the same promise she’d made Boryana: I’ll bring justice to your killer.

And then, she thought about it, and added: or I’ll die.

Kosara couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Nevena smiling back at her in the mirror before her ghostly figure faded away again.

Kosara sat there for a while. The faint trace of Nevena’s perfume lingered in the air, jasmine and roses. Her bag still hung on the door, her favourite lipstick peeking from the front pocket. Kosara’s eyes started to water, and she furiously wiped them with her palm. Nevena would have made so much fun of her if she saw her sitting here in an empty room, bawling like a baby.

“Goodbye, Nevena,” Kosara whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

She stood up and had one last look around the room. Then she tiptoed back out.

Instead of returning to the bedroom, Kosara threw her coat on and walked to the door. She was dying to get some sleep, but there was one more job she had to do. She had a phone call to make.

* * *

The post office was quiet. A single telephone operator sat at her desk behind a dirty glass panel, connecting the outgoing calls, jumping every time there was a loud noise outside.

Kosara walked to the cabin the operator had indicated. For a while, she stared at the telephone, rehearsing the conversation in her head. Was she making a mistake getting a dangerous criminal involved in this already messy situation? Probably. Was there any other way to fulfil her promise to Boryana? Not really. In the end, she lifted the receiver.

“It’s me.” What a silly thing to say. The operator had already told him who was calling.

“Hi, doll,” Malamir replied, speaking fast, not letting Kosara get a word in. “I’m so glad to hear from you. I was starting to get worried. Did you get your shadow back?”

The hairs on the back of Kosara’s neck stood up. She doubted it was only because of the cold outside.

“Why?” she asked. “So you can rat me out to your boss?”

Malamir was silent for a few seconds. “No,” he said finally. “Because I’ve been worried about you. Has Roksana been filling your head with her nonsense?”

“We spoke.”

“And you trust her? She’s a murderer, Kosara! A murderer and a madwoman.”

“And you’re one of Karaivanov’s cronies, despite what you’ve been telling me.”

Silence again, and then, “It’s hardly the same.” He didn’t deny it. “Roksana stole your shadow. Did she tell you what she’s been trying to do?”

“She wants to destroy the Wall.”

Malamir let out a groan. “Isn’t that the stupidest idea you’ve ever heard?”

“Why? Because your boss would lose his income if there isn’t a Wall to smuggle magical objects through?”

There was a loud, hollow noise. It took Kosara a second to realise it had been Malamir, slamming his bandaged fist against a hard surface. “No. Because the Wall protects us from Belograd’s debased influence. You’ve been over there. You know what they’re like.”

Debased influence? That was a bit rich, coming from a smuggler.

“What are they like?” Kosara asked.

---