Page 47 of Foul Days

“But my wife just gave birth—” the man in front of Kosara kept arguing. She could only see his large back and his hairy neck peeking beneath his fur hat.

A group of young upirs had gathered outside the hospital entrance, drawn by the smell of blood. Their decomposing bodies slammed against the door. Their tongues scraped the thick glass, leaving trails of venomous saliva. Their moans grew louder and louder as they burned themselves on the wards carved around the entrance.

“Congratulations,” the receptionist said. “Now go home. You can’t come in outside of visiting hours.”

“But—”

Kosara fidgeted behind him. Soon, he’d give up, and it would be her turn to try to argue her way in. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d say: the truth would probably get her kicked out. The receptionist’s stern eyes pierced right through the man, her bright-red lips pressed into a thin line.

“But—” the man tried again.

“Go home, mister!”

“For crying out loud!” came a shout from the hallway. A messy-haired doctor flew past the reception desk, her white coat billowing behind her. “Would somebody answer the damned phone?”

The receptionist rolled her eyes and turned around in her chair. She lifted the receiver. “What?” she barked. “No, of course you can’t come in if you’ve been bitten by a varkolak! You have to follow the established quarantine protocols.”

Kosara knew she wouldn’t get a better chance. She looked around. The hallways brimmed with people, but no one paid any attention to her. The doctors and nurses were too busy caring for their patients, and the patients were too busy not bleeding to death.

“What do you mean, you have no cage in the basement?” the receptionist shouted down the phone. “What do you mean, you have no basement?”

Kosara took one careful step back, then another one, and then she slipped into the hallway. She stood straighter and walked confidently forwards. She’d been a witch for a while—she had her “of course I’m supposed to be here” stride honed to perfection.

No one seemed to notice her as she tried to sneak glances in every room. Doctors and nurses rushed past her, pushing gurneys and stretchers, shouting requests for dosages of different medicines. A few medics bandaged wounds and performed CPR right there on the floor. All the beds were full of moaning, bleeding bodies.

A group of relatives huddled around what seemed to be a wounded granny or grandpa, judging by the tuft of white hair poking from under the blanket. A woman held a crying child, and kept whispering, “Please, be quiet. Be quiet, please. If you’re not quiet, I’ll call old Vila to come and take you away and eat you!”

Kosara rolled her eyes and kept walking. Simply unbelievable. Outside the building, hungry upirs crawled up the walls, varkolaks howled in the distance, and yudas flew high above, foretelling death. And yet, the scariest thing that mother could come up with was Vila.

Kosara never figured out how all the rumours about Vila had even started, but she knew there was no truth to any of them. That one about her luring children into houses made of gingerbread so she could eat them, for example? Utter nonsense. Vila was a terrible baker. Her gingerbread always crumbled.

“Hey, you!”

The shout made Kosara jump. She sped up. Perhaps he wasn’t talking to her.

“You, witch lady! You’re from the Association, aren’t you?”

Damn it.

She turned around on her heel, an affable smile plastered across her face. A young doctor marched towards her. His stethoscope bounced with every step, and dry gore was smeared all over the front of his white coat.

“Hi there, Doctor…” Kosara threw a quick look at his name badge, “Krustev. Perhaps you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

He frowned, his thick eyebrows meeting above his nose like kissing caterpillars. “Aren’t you here to fix the leaky ward in the trauma centre?”

“Of course. That’s exactly what I’m here for.”

“Well, come on then!” He grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her down the hallway. Kosara was so stunned he’d dared touch a witch, she didn’t try to fight him. “We’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. I’ve called twice!”

“You know what it’s like.” Kosara struggled to keep up with his long steps. “It’s madness during the Foul Days.”

His bloodshot eyes met hers. “Oh, I know.”

As they walked deeper into the hospital, the upirs’ moans grew more distant, but the yudas’ screams got louder. Kosara saw them through the windows, perched on the hospital’s gutters like gargoyles. There were so many of them, their shrieks were unintelligible, which was perhaps for the best: the last thing the patients needed was to hear a yuda call their name.

As Krustev dragged her along another hallway, Kosara spotted Malamir in one of the rooms. His pale face peeked over his woolly blanket. Only his leg stuck out, tied over the bed in a cast.

He saw her, too. Confusion flashed in his eyes. His hand rose slowly to wave at her. She couldn’t wave back. Doctor Krustev kept pushing her forwards.

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