Page 37 of Foul Days

“Yes.”

He considered this for a second. “Darn it,” he concluded. “Thank you for your help. Still, I’m going to repeat my advice: lie low. Don’t get yourself in danger. We need you now, more than ever. You might be our key to untangling this mess.”

“I’ll keep out of trouble,” Kosara said, praying Bakharov didn’t notice the blood rushing to her cheeks. It always happened when she told a bald-faced lie.

“I hope you’re going straight home now to pack your bag for tomorrow’s quarantine.”

“I’m going straight home.”

“Good.” Bakharov walked her to the front door. “Good.”

Kosara wove through the crowd of neighbours gathered in front of the house, trying to ignore their stares. Her hands were still covered in dried blood. Bakharov’s gaze was pinned on the back of her neck. He’d follow her, she could feel it.

She was going home. Which was why she couldn’t afford to have the nosy copper trailing her.

Kosara fished for the vial in her bag. Every witch could use a bit of smoke and mirrors—but also needed to know when it was time for real magic.

She unscrewed the lid and took in the smell of moss and peppermint. Then she hesitated. The vial contained the last few drops of a potent anti-tracing potion. Kosara had prepared it last winter, in an attempt to hide from the Zmey. As it turned out, it took more than a handful of moss and a few leaves of peppermint to escape the Tsar of Monsters. It had slowed him down, but he’d sniffed her out in the end.

But the clueless Belogradean? It was more than enough to throw him off her scent.

Kosara downed the potion in one go and watched as her steps in the snow disappeared behind her.

She smiled. She was going straight home.

Straight to Chernograd.

8

Day Five

“I’m not taking you to Chernograd,” Sevar said. He stood at the threshold of his house in his nightshirt, his scrawny legs poking underneath like hairy quotation marks. Judging by how quietly he spoke, Nur must have been in bed. Kosara was confused for a moment, before she remembered—they were criminals. Of course they slept during the day.

“Come on, Sevar!” she said. “You owe me as much.”

“I owe you money, not my life. Why would you want to return to that hellhole, anyway?”

“That ‘hellhole’ is my home. And my shadow is there.”

For a second, Kosara considered asking Sevar about Roksana, but then she changed her mind. If Sevar knew anything about the murder, he wouldn’t tell her. Those two were obviously thick as thieves.

“You took Roksana”—the lying bastard—“across just the other day. It can’t be that dangerous.”

Sevar rolled his eyes so hard, his irises disappeared for a second. “Did she tell you how we nearly died doing that?”

“But you made it through in the end, didn’t you? Besides, you smuggle wine and cigarettes all the time.”

“Yes, because the Wall doesn’t attack wine and cigarettes. It attacks people. I don’t normally fly with them. The balloon’s enchanted to drop all the merchandise in the right place.”

“But when you brought Roksana over—”

“Roksana and I both know how to take care of ourselves, and we still nearly died.”

“Are you suggesting I can’t take care of myself?”

Sevar’s gaze darted towards the ground where Kosara didn’t cast a shadow. “Well…”

“If you get me through the Wall, I’ll never mention your debt again. Consider us even.”

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