Page 154 of Foul Days

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It was the first morning after the Foul Days, and Chernograd was asleep. The only shadows darting over the rooftops were those of stray cats. Kosara deliberately waited until she’d heard not only the first cockerel’s crow on Saint Yordan’s Day but also the second, just in case the first had been a fluke.

She and Asen crossed the dark streets. His blond wig caught the light of the streetlights, and his snakeskin coat shushed against the snow-covered ground. When they got closer, he leaned against Kosara, as if badly wounded. He didn’t have to pretend much, she realised, as his feet dragged in the snowdrifts. He looked much better this morning, after a few hours of sleep, but he must have still been dazed after hitting his head. The wig fell in front of his face, hiding it.

When they reached the bridge, Karaivanov was waiting for them. He sat on the stone railing, his feet dangling above the ground, cradling a cigarette between his fingers. With his round face and rosy cheeks, he looked more like a friendly uncle than a criminal mastermind. The only thing suggesting his true position were the two broad-shouldered bodyguards, dressed in black and openly carrying guns, waiting on either side of him.

Once he spotted Kosara, Karaivanov jumped off the railing. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes deepened as he gave her a broad smile. They met in the middle of the bridge, where its stone hump arched over the river.

“You’re late,” Karaivanov said. His bodyguards stood behind him, eyeing Kosara and the man she’d brought with her. One of them casually rested her hand on the grip of her gun.

Kosara shrugged. “You can’t rush defeating the Tsar of Monsters.”

For a long moment, tense silence fell over the bridge. Then, Karaivanov laughed—a loud bark that made Kosara jump.

“Well, let’s see then.” He extended one finger, carefully moving aside a lock of blond hair from Asen’s face.

Karaivanov jumped back as if he’d been burned.

“Hi, Konstantin.” Asen stood straighter. He took off Kosara’s wig, letting it fall to the ground. The Zmey’s snakeskin coat glinted as Asen drew out his revolver and pointed it at Karaivanov’s chest. “How have you been?”

“Hello, son,” Karaivanov spat out. Kosara had to give it to him, he’d managed to hide his surprise quickly. “It’s been a while.”

Behind him, his bodyguards cocked their guns in synchrony.

“Where’s the Zmey, then?” Karaivanov asked. “I heard the monsters talking. The Zmey’s gone. I would have never agreed to meet you if he wasn’t. Where is he?”

Kosara gave him a toothy smile. “He’s with his sister.”

Karaivanov swore, but it came out flippant. Almost jolly. “I should have known. That’s a surprise, I have to admit, and I don’t get surprised often. For instance, you, my boy, rarely surprise me.” He turned to Asen, his tone conversational, as if they’d met during a stroll in the park. “This is all very typical, in fact. Turning up here, a knight on a white horse, storming the villain’s castle—with no one to aid you but a disgraced witch. You never learn your lessons, do you?”

“Actually, I do,” Asen said.

Kosara clicked her fingers and a flame bloomed on her fingertips. By its bright light, her twelve shadows appeared beneath her feet. She’d done her best to keep them hidden on the way here. Now, she could let them free. They circled Karaivanov like hungry sharks.

“This time,” Asen said, “I’ve brought reinforcements.”

Behind Karaivanov, one of the bodyguards gasped. The other’s hand shook, making his gold rings click against the handle of his gun. His jaw hung open.

Not so disgraced anymore, huh? Kosara smirked. She’d never caused such a reaction before. She had to admit, she could get used to it.

“P-please put that fire out,” Karaivanov said, his eyes firmly on Kosara and not on her shadows. “Let’s discuss things. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

She’d made Chernograd’s most notorious smuggler stutter! She couldn’t wait to tell Vila and the other witches.

“What agreement?” Kosara asked.

Karaivanov spread his arms. “Just name your price. Anything you want. You want money? I can bury you in treasure. I can make you the richest woman in Chernograd.”

Money? What was it with greedy bastards always assuming you were the same as them?

Kosara pretended to consider his offer, just to watch him squirm for a minute longer. She saw her flame reflected in his wide eyes. It was blue. A bright turquoise, like the Zmey’s.

Kill him, whispered one of the witches’ shadows in her head.

Kill him, joined another.

Soon, Kosara’s head was filled with their screams. Kill, kill, kill.…

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