Page 25 of Foul Days

“More authentic.” Kosara leaned closer. “I’m a witch.”

Kosara felt it again—the pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t quite understand why. She was a witch. All her knowledge and all her experience were still there, she only lacked her magic powers temporarily. A pianist didn’t stop being a pianist just because he got a wrist cramp.

“Oh,” Bistra said. “Oh!” She looked around. “Please wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She walked away, leaving Kosara to stand awkwardly in the middle of the shop. Nearby, a middle-aged woman tried on a “varkolak fur” vest, wildly searching for the second sleeve hole with her arm and missing. The fur looked more like it came from a fox. In the corner, a group of girls loudly discussed the necklaces made from braided samodiva hair. If they were real, they’d light up the whole room.

Kosara couldn’t believe her eyes. The Belogradeans had turned Chernograd into a fashion trend. The monsters were terrifying, otherworldly creatures—they weren’t chic accessories. They certainly weren’t, as a nearby poster of an upir-tooth necklace proclaimed, “a great way to add edge to your prom outfit.”

“Oh my God,” a voice sounded from behind Kosara’s back. She turned around. A teenaged girl rushed towards her, her ponytail bobbing up and down behind her back. “Are you a witch?”

“Um.” Kosara saw no point in denying it. “Yes.”

“From Chernograd? A real witch? Oh my God!” The girl produced a crumpled receipt and a pen from her bag. “Can I have an autograph?”

“Um, sure.” Kosara had never been asked for one before. She added way more flourish to her signature than she normally would.

“This is so exciting! My great-granny was a witch, look!” The girl pulled out a vial hanging on a long cord from under her shirt. The glass was old and cloudy, but Kosara could just make out something black hidden inside. “It’s a good-luck amulet. Isn’t it cool?”

“Is this a shadow?” Kosara asked, trying not to sound horrified.

“The tiniest little piece. My granny had a lot of grandchildren. She left us all a bit of herself before she died.”

“How nice of her.” Kosara gave the girl a stilted smile. The Belogradeans would probably think it a silly superstition, but in Chernograd, it was believed that splitting your shadow was the same as splitting your soul. No witch would ever do it unless she absolutely had to.

“Actually,” the girl continued, “I’m a member of the Friends of Chernograd Society. You should totally come and give us a talk one day! We meet every Wednesday evening in the community hall on Lale Street.”

“Give you a talk about what?”

“Chernograd, witchcraft, the Wall … I’m so glad you’ve made it through the Wall, by the way. We’ve been sending petitions to the government for years, trying to convince them to evacuate the human population from Chernograd, but it’s been no use.”

To evacuate them?

“But Chernograd is our home,” Kosara mumbled.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said Chernograd is my home.”

“You can’t mean that. It’s full of monsters.”

Kosara did mean it. Chernograd was where she’d grown up. Where her house was, and her work, and her family—what was left of it, at least.

Some monsters were a part of families, too. You couldn’t convince people they had to “evacuate” and leave Uncle Dimitar behind, just because he grew a bit hairier during the full moon. Aunty Kalina shouldn’t have to stay alone in the house simply because she happened to have died fifty years ago.

“No,” the teenaged girl insisted. “You can’t mean that. Once the Royal Council lets us, we’ll evacuate everyone. You’ll see.”

The Royal Council? She couldn’t mean that Royal Council: the twelve wizards who’d erected the Wall in the first place a hundred years ago.

“Surely the Royal Council are all dead.…” Kosara said.

“Most of them did get replaced, you’re right, but believe it or not, Grand Magus Kliment is still going. They wheel him out every New Year’s Eve to give a speech on the radio about the dangers of letting the Chernogradeans come here and”—the girl shaped air quotes with her fingers—“steal our jobs. Complete nonsense. Chauvinistic propaganda.”

Kosara could tell the girl was about to launch into another passionate defence of Chernograd. Thankfully, she spotted Bistra rushing through the crowd towards her.

“Follow me,” Bistra mouthed.

“Excuse me,” Kosara said to the teenager.

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