Page 147 of Foul Days

“I want the Zmey destroyed. I want those blue eyes of his gouged out and mounted onto rings. I want his teeth pulled out one by one and strung up as a necklace. I want his scales scraped off like a fish’s and melted for a crown. Think about how much money you can make selling the Tsar of Monsters. I can deliver him to you.”

“I…” Malamir swallowed loudly. “I’ll have to speak to the boss.”

Kosara waited, trying not to think about how much that phone call would cost. Five minutes later, someone else picked up the receiver on the other side.

“Yes?” Kosara said, expecting Malamir.

Instead, she heard the smooth voice of Konstantin Karaivanov. “Name your price.”

26

Day Twelve

At exactly midnight, there was a knock. Kosara wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers and opened the door.

The Zmey stood at the threshold. Wisps of vapor rose whenever a snowflake landed on his face. His snakeskin coat billowed in the wind. His teeth were bared in a smile.

He extended an arm towards her. “Shall we?”

She didn’t take it. “I need to grab a few things.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Kosara swallowed in a dry throat. The Zmey had never set foot in her house before. Not even back in the day, when he’d show up in the middle of the night, hovering outside her bedroom window. She’d always had enough sense not to let a snake into her home.

Now, she had no choice. She gestured at him to follow her, trying to ignore the way her stomach lurched.

His first step inside, he took deliberately slowly, probably expecting a trap. There was no trap. The Zmey smirked as the pointed toe of his boot landed on the tiled floor.

He looked so out of place in the cramped hallway, a royal guest in a peasant’s hut. His eyes ran over the faded rugs, the peeling paint on the walls, and the mildew growing in the corners.

“A nice place you’ve got,” he said.

Kosara rolled her eyes and led him to the kitchen. On the table, she’d arranged everything they’d need for the spell: a pile of notes and books, a piece of chalk, another piece of chalk—in case the first one broke—and a tiny, thimble-sized glass of rakia. A complicated spell didn’t require complicated props, but knowledge, skill, and steady hands.

“What’s that for?” the Zmey nodded towards the rakia.

“To calm my nerves,” Kosara said and downed it in one go. It burned her throat and made her eyes water, but at least her hands stopped shaking. She pushed the notes to the Zmey’s chest. “Here, you take those.”

He did. “Well.” He gestured towards the door. “Lead the way.”

They walked shoulder to shoulder along the snowy street. From afar, they probably looked like a couple: a handsome young man walking his girlfriend home after school, piles of notes and books in their hands. From close by, everyone recognised the Zmey. There were few people out—mostly monster hunters, pacing the streets, clutching loaded rifles and unsheathed knives. They avoided meeting Kosara’s gaze.

The monsters were out too, enjoying their last night in Chernograd this year. The clop of hooves rang over the rooftops as the samodivas rode their gold-horned deer. A gang of karakonjuls ran past Kosara, their split tongues swinging out of their mouths like pendulums. One of their furry heads brushed against Kosara’s arm, and she shivered, even though she knew they wouldn’t bother her when she was with the Zmey.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

So, he’d noticed. “It’s a cold night.” She buried her face up to the nose in her scarf—to protect her from the cold, but also from his eyes.

He shook off his snakeskin coat and handed it to her. The perfect gentleman. “Here.”

Kosara draped it across her shoulders, over her own coat. It enveloped her in shushing, shimmering fabric. It smelled like him, sickly sweet. Pleasant at first. But once Kosara had detected the stench of rot lingering beneath, she couldn’t ignore it. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

As they approached the Wall, the snow grew sparse, but the wind got stronger. It whistled through the empty streets, climbed down the cold chimneys, and made the boarded-up windows rattle. Most of the houses this close to the Wall had long been abandoned: no one wanted to wake up to its dark tentacles creeping through their bedroom window.

Kosara looked up and saw it towering over her, stretching high into the sky. Its surface rippled and swirled, as if it could sense their presence. As if it was excited.

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