Page 66 of Foul Days

“Who’s your friend?” Vila asked.

“This is Asen. He’s not my friend, he’s a police officer.”

Vila clapped her hands, as if Kosara had presented her with the best macaroni necklace in the whole kindergarten class. “A police officer! Isn’t this a surprise.”

Of course it isn’t, you old hag, Kosara thought. You’re the best seer in the city. You’ve seen us coming from hours away.

What she said instead was, “I’m full of surprises today.”

Vila gestured to Asen to approach her and grabbed his hand in between hers. She wrinkled her large nose. “I smell a Belogradean smell.”

“He’s from Belograd.” Kosara could tell where this was going. Maybe she should have warned Asen about Vila.

“Are you going to stay for dinner, my boy?”

“Um,” Asen said, “what’s for dinner?”

“Well, I was going to have fish soup, but I’m starting to crave something a bit more exotic.” She sniffed his hand again, and for a split second, in between two blinks of an eye, she changed: her hair grew thinner, hanging in front of her face in greasy streaks; her eyes turned milky white and rolled inside her skull; her skin drooped like a fast-melting candle. Asen sharply pulled his hand back.

Vila, now young again, cackled. She turned to Kosara. “Do you think he’ll fit in the cauldron?”

“Very funny,” Kosara said. “We can’t stay for dinner. We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Is that so? And here I was, thinking you’ve decided to pay your old teacher a visit because you missed me. What do you want?”

“We’re looking for Roksana.”

“And what makes you think I can help you?”

“I found one of your chalk circles on her bedroom floor.”

“Ah. Yes, I went to pay her a visit, but she’d left already. To tell you the truth, I’d like to speak to her myself.”

“Why?”

“I heard some very strange rumours about that girl. Had a few peculiar visions, too. I’d hoped she’d give me a rational explanation.”

Kosara shook her head. So had she.

“Unfortunately,” Vila said, “what I found only confirms my suspicions. She’s got herself involved with someone very dangerous.”

“I know. Konstantin Karaivanov.”

Vila clicked her tongue. “No.” She paused. For a long moment, the only sound was the fire crackling in the fireplace. “The Zmey.”

Kosara’s blood rushed to her ears. It couldn’t be. She must have misheard.

“What?” she said, almost inaudibly.

“Roksana is collecting witches’ shadows for the Zmey.”

* * *

Kosara’s ears buzzed. It couldn’t be. Vila must have been mistaken. The old woman had got herself mixed up, that had to be it. Roksana would never betray Kosara to the Zmey. Never.

Just like she’d never have stayed friends with Sevar. Just like she’d never have committed a murder. Just like she’d never have stolen Kosara’s shadow.

But what about Konstantin’s symbol scribbled on Irnik’s floor? Had Roksana drawn it simply to throw Kosara—and the coppers—off her scent? Or had she lied to Karaivanov in order to get one of his amulets for crossing the Wall? Roksana wouldn’t be so foolish as to risk angering Karaivanov. Would she?

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