Page 32 of Foul Days

“As I told you,” Kosara said at the end, “I don’t think any of this is particularly useful information.”

Bakharov kept scribbling in his notepad without looking up at her. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. I trust you’d be willing to repeat your story in court?”

Kosara made a noncommittal harrumph.

“Or would you rather return to the cell?”

Kosara really, truly had no time for this. “I will,” she said. Here’s hoping she got her shadow back before Karaivanov’s cronies got her.

“It’s important that you lie low until that happens. I can’t have my only witness putting herself in danger. I don’t know what you found in the Witch’s Cauldron, but I don’t want you trying to do anything on your own accord. Leave it to us. Will you?”

No way. “I will,” she said, smiling. He wasn’t the only one in the room who could disarm with a smile.

Bakharov gave her a long look. “Good,” he said at last.

“So, when you said I’d be able to walk away free…”

“Of course. Right after your quarantine. Give me a second, I’ll find a refugee form for you to fill out, and then you’ll have forty-eight hours to hand yourself in.” He studied her face carefully. Then he added, “I hope you understand the quarantine is for your own good, as much as for the good of Belograd.”

Sure. That’s why if you discover I’m infected, you’ll shoot me. For my own good.

Still, arguing with Bakharov would be a waste of time. It wasn’t he who made the rules, he just followed them infuriatingly strictly.

He asked her to sign two copies of at least two dozen different forms and agreements. She confirmed she wasn’t a lycanthrope, she swore she had no prior family history of upirism, she promised she’d do her best not to turn into a wraith—as if that was something under her control.…

At the end, she formally agreed to return to the police station in forty-eight hours to be detained. Yeah, right. Once she got her shadow back, they could do nothing to force her. She was a witch, and there weren’t shackles she couldn’t shatter.

“Don’t even consider trying to hide,” Bakharov said. Perhaps she had to work on her poker face. “All our government is asking from you is to stay detained within the station until the full moon is over. Three days, that’s all. After that you’ll be free to do as you please.”

“Of course.” She stood up.

Bakharov walked her to the door and extended his hand towards her. “It was a pleasure talking to you.”

“Yes,” Kosara said, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the same. “Well, goodbye.”

She made to shake his hand, her eyes still fixed on him. For some reason, she grasped at nothing but air. Her fingertips tingled. It felt like the anticipation right before casting a spell—like an itch in a phantom limb.

Kosara frowned and looked down.

One second, her hand appeared just like it always did—covered in burn scars, dry from the winter air, with calluses at the fingertips from casting spells. Then, for a blink of an eye, it changed, turning midnight black and flat like an ink drawing. Like a shadow.

Kosara stifled a scream. This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening.

Of course it can, silly. You know this is what happens to witches who’ve been stupid enough to trade away their shadows.

Yes, fine, Kosara admitted, I knew that. But it couldn’t be happening so fast.

She’d thought she had years before the sickness finally caught up with her. Decades. Not four days.

Perhaps she’d imagined it. She’d been through a lot and—

Kosara looked up and met Bakharov’s eyes. Immediately, she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed flustered. “That’s terrible. Awful. I’ve never seen it manifest so quickly.”

Kosara sighed. Of course he knew exactly what he was witnessing. It was a strangely intimate moment to share with a complete stranger. It was, essentially, her death sentence.

And, judging by the pity in his eyes, he knew it. Why did the sickness always have to start at the fingertips, advertising its presence for all to see? Couldn’t it begin at her armpit or the small of her back?

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