Page 30 of Foul Days

Sentencing? Kosara had zero time for any of this nonsense. It was simply unbelievable she’d got caught now, when her shadow waited for her at 19 Tombul Street. She kept repeating the address in her mind, too afraid she might forget it if she stopped: 19 Tombul Street, 19 Tombul Street …

“You can’t keep me prisoner.” Kosara lifted her gaze and met his, even though the sun made her eyes water. She raised her hand in the air, did an elaborate twist with her wrist, and clicked her fingers. A miniature flame appeared on the tip of her thumb. She’d hidden the trick up her sleeve, just for situations like this. Every witch sometimes utilized a bit of smoke and mirrors. “There are no shackles I can’t shatter. There isn’t a door I can’t unlock. There isn’t a jail I can’t escape.”

“I can see you have no shadow.”

“Oh.” She put the flame out in her fist. Maybe not so clueless, after all.

Bakharov leaned forwards. Perhaps it was because of the sun in her eyes, or due to the lack of sleep, but he suddenly reminded her of Orhan Demirbash, the famous actor. He had the same brown eyes and thick dark hair. “Clever, though,” he said. “You used to be a fire witch, didn’t you?”

“I am a fire witch. How do you know?”

He nodded towards her hands, covered in burn scars.

“Oh,” she said without thinking, “that wasn’t me.”

“Who was it then?”

The Zmey. “Is this in any way relevant to this interrogation?”

Bakharov smiled. “Fair point. Listen, Miss Popova—”

“How do you know my name?”

“One of my responsibilities is keeping an eye on all magic users in Belograd. Especially the new arrivals.”

Kosara swore internally. Through her mind went all the times she’d broken the law recently: she’d practised witchcraft without a license, she’d sold fake talismans, she’d accepted payment without issuing receipts …

She’d crossed the Wall and refused to enter quarantine.

She took a deep breath, and said, a tad too fast to be believable, “I was just about to come in so you can put me under quarantine, but—”

“Of course you were. We’ll get to that later. Firstly, explain to me what you were doing in the Witch’s Cauldron last night.”

“As I told you, I was just having a look.”

“And what was it exactly you were looking for?”

Kosara stared at him. She’d fallen right into that one.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bakharov said. “I can guess. Mistress Ruseva is convinced you were there to steal her merchandise, but we searched the room, and we know you went nowhere near any of the objects. We caught you red-handed, holding the boutique’s address book. I believe you’re looking for your shadow.”

Kosara couldn’t figure out where this was going. She crossed her arms and said nothing.

“I mean,” Bakharov continued, “correct me if I’m wrong, but what other reason would a witch without a shadow have to sneak about a shop which specialises in magical artefacts—”

“Illegally smuggled magical artefacts,” Kosara blurted before she could stop herself.

Bakharov smiled at her. He had a nice smile, she had to admit, for a copper. “Precisely! I’m glad we’re on the same page. See, Miss Popova, the issue is, we know the boutique smuggles its merchandise from Chernograd. Where else would it all come from? However, we’re having a very hard time proving it. Our informants refuse to talk. Our investigations inevitably lead to dead ends. I’ve spent years working on this case, and I think I might finally have a break.”

“You do?” Kosara asked. “What break?”

His smile grew even brighter. “A witness.”

Oh no. Kosara sank deeper into her chair. He was offering her a deal. They had a word back in Chernograd for people who made deals with the police. The closest translation she could think of in the Belogradean dialect was “scum.”

“I’m well aware your people don’t hold the police in particularly high regard,” Bakharov said. Honestly, could he read her mind? “And I understand why a newly arrived refugee from Chernograd wouldn’t even think to enlist our help to search for her shadow. But if you decide to report your shadow as stolen now—”

Kosara shook her head. He’d got it all wrong. “My shadow wasn’t stolen. You can’t steal a witch’s shadow. I gave it to a man I met playing Kral.” She saw his confused face, and added, “It’s a card game.”

---