Page 150 of Foul Days

“We need to finish this,” Kosara said. “Or it could imprison us both. Focus.”

“I can’t focus, you stupid hag! I’m about to be sent away!” Spittle flew out of his mouth. His fingers painfully clenched hers.

Another cockerel sounded, this time louder.

Kosara took a deep breath. It was now or never. “In that case, you have to give me the shadows.”

“What?”

“There’s no other way. I need to finish the spell after you’re gone.”

The Zmey looked down at his hands holding Kosara’s, as if unsure why he hadn’t started fading away yet. Come on, come on …

“Come on!” Even she heard the desperation in her voice. “You’ll see Lamia next year. I need to finish the spell.”

The Zmey sharply pulled his hands out of Kosara’s.

She’d expected that with him, his power would also withdraw. It didn’t. She still felt the magic at her fingertips. The twelve shadows circled both of them, waiting for her to complete the spell. Thank God.

“What are you doing?” Kosara asked. Her mind struggled to keep the threads of the spell together.

The Zmey stood up and walked towards the light.

“Where are you going?” Kosara’s voice was high-pitched and frantic. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t what she’d planned.

She ran after him, pulling on his arm, trying to slow him down. The Zmey shook her off and kept walking. He crossed the street and squeezed into the gap between two dark houses. The shadows stepped out of his way, sensing his anger.

Kosara followed him through the gap, the rough stone scraping her back. She found herself in a snowy back garden. Asen stood in the middle. A projector from the theatre rose behind him, and several more were scattered in the gardens around, shining at the sky.

In his hand, he held his voice recorder. Its red light flickered. The recording of the cockerel’s crow sounded again, loud and crackling. The sky behind him was still black.

Asen stared, wide-eyed. Kosara realised her face was stuck in a similar expression.

What was she thinking? Tricking the Tsar of Monsters with a set of theatre lights and a voice recorder? It had been a stupid plan to begin with. A pathetic attempt.

The taste of blood filled her mouth. This was all her fault.

“Wait!” Kosara tried to grab the Zmey again, but he evaded her. In the corner of her eye, she saw her shadow on the ground mirror her efforts. Interesting.…

Asen fumbled to draw out his revolver. The Zmey backhanded him across the face, casual, as if brushing away a fly. Asen flew backwards. His head hit the projector’s stand with a thud, and he slumped under it. He didn’t move.

Kosara felt as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. She wanted to scream, but her voice was gone. Oh no no no. She stepped towards Asen, but the Zmey stood in her way.

Asen’s chest rose as he inhaled deeply. Kosara let out a breath. He was all right. Just unconscious.

The Zmey turned towards Asen again, as if considering whether he ought to finish the job. Kosara hung onto his arm, trying to pull him back, and dear God, it worked. He turned his full attention back to her. Dear God.

“You. Stupid. Hag.”

She took a step back. Her heart performed a complicated series of loops and leaps, crashing around in her rib cage. “We need to finish the spell! Do whatever you want with me afterwards, but please—”

“I’ll kill you. I swear, this time I will kill you.”

Kosara turned around and ran towards the Wall, too afraid to look back. She didn’t have to. She could hear the Zmey’s short, fast breaths, and the thumping of his feet as he chased her through the snow.

She reached the Wall and stopped, her back almost touching the dark surface. The Zmey stood a step away from her, his breathing ragged.

“You lying, cheating, snake of a witch,” he spat out. That was rich: getting called a snake by a man whose body was currently in the process of growing scales.

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