Page 155 of Foul Days

With the click of her fingers, she could incinerate Karaivanov on the spot. The only sign left of Chernograd’s most notorious criminal would be a black smudge on the ground. The man forever ready to sell his city for the right price would be gone. The man who’d tried to stop the Zmey from destroying the Wall because it would have affected his profit margins would be no more.

That was what the Zmey would have done.

“I have nothing to discuss with you.” Kosara clicked her fingers again.

Karaivanov jumped, a choked sound escaping his throat. When he realised she’d simply made the flame disappear, he gave her a sheepish smile.

“I don’t have anything to talk to you about, either.” Asen clicked a pair of handcuffs open. “You know who does, though? The trafficking unit at the Chernogradean police.”

“Ah, of course,” Karaivanov said, visibly relieved. Kosara had been ready for a fight, but the old smuggler obviously knew when it was time to give up. He gestured at his bodyguards to settle down and presented his hands, palms up, so Asen could handcuff him. “You like playing by the book. I should have guessed.” When Asen reached forwards with the handcuffs, Karaivanov grabbed his wrists. “But I’ve never been one for rules.”

Asen screamed, stumbling backwards. His body convulsed. On his chest, the brand—Karaivanov’s interlocking K’s—shone bright red through his shirt.

Kosara swore. She shouldn’t have let her guard down. She reached inside her pocket for Asen’s wedding ring. In the blur of the previous night, she’d completely forgotten to give it back to him. A stupid, amateur mistake.

She called for her shadows with her mind. In her panic, she couldn’t give them clear instructions, and they twirled helplessly in a circle around her. She’d prepared them to fight bullets and fireballs, not whatever magic this was.

Before she’d managed to channel them towards Karaivanov, one of the bodyguards elbowed her in the stomach. Her breath escaped her lips in a painful gasp. She shot a half-formed, misshapen flame towards the bodyguard, and he stepped back, but not before he’d smeared something hot and blinding across her eyes. It itched as it clung to her skin and made a hissing sound as it glued her eyelashes shut.

Kosara frantically tried to wipe the mixture off with her sleeves. Asen kept screaming.

“We’ll meet each other again, I’m sure,” Karaivanov’s soft voice echoed around them, somehow rising above the commotion. “Cheerio.”

By the time Kosara’s eyesight finally returned, Karaivanov and his men were gone. Through her tears, she saw the bridge: empty, except for Asen’s crumpled form. He kneeled on the cobblestones, grasping his branded chest with his hand. It still glowed red, shining bright through the white fabric and out between his fingers.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Goddamnit!” He slammed his fist against the cobblestones.

“Careful,” Kosara said. She kneeled next to him and unclenched his fists. First, the one he’d used to hit the ground—his knuckles were already growing purple—and then, the one holding his chest. His brand was scorching hot to the touch. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’ll deserve it,” he muttered. “What fool agrees to be branded with Karaivanov’s sign without protest?”

Kosara shuffled closer to him and let him rest his head on her shoulder. The twelve shadows circled them curiously. “Maybe so,” she said. “But if you keep this up, I’ll run out of bandages.”

Beneath her knees, the ground was cold and wet. But she didn’t move until the brand on Asen’s chest faded to black.

When he finally spoke again, his words were barely audible, even with his head next to her ear. “You were right, you know.”

“Mmm?” She’d grown distracted, watching her shadows float among the snowflakes.

Asen took a deep breath. Then, he pulled away and looked her in the eyes. “You were right. Whenever you called me out on breaking the rules, you were completely right. I crossed too many lines trying to catch him.”

“You had a good reason.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But once you start breaking rules, when do you stop? Where do you draw the line between a good reason and a bad reason? Can I trust myself at this point to even know the difference?” He hesitated, and then he added, quietly, “I was going to shoot him, you know.”

“What?” Kosara said, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “Who?”

“Karaivanov. When I had my gun pointed at him. It took all my self-restraint not to pull the trigger.” Asen paused. “I’m scared of myself.”

Birds of a feather. Kosara was scared of herself, too. Once she got home, she planned to fold the eleven shadows—all but her own—back into beads. Then, she’d hide them to keep them safe—even from herself—until she found their rightful owners.

She considered Asen, kneeling on the ground across from her. They were lucky an early morning milk delivery cart hadn’t interrupted their heart-to-heart yet.

“Maybe you should have shot him,” Kosara said. “And I should have burned him. And then, he wouldn’t have got away.”

Asen laughed. “You don’t really mean that.”

“I don’t.” Kosara sighed. “We’ll get him. Next time, he won’t escape.”

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