Page 74 of Foul Days

“Gurgle Gurgle Gurgle by the Drowning Rusalkas?”

“Excellent album.”

“The Mystery of the Chernogradean Voices?”

“Oh, this one’s my mum’s. It’s one of those folk affairs, with flutes and drums and gadulki and gaidi. So boring.”

Asen pulled it out and studied the cover. Several women in traditional dress posed in front of a blooming cherry tree, while a red-faced man blew the flute.

“Looks pretty good to me,” he said.

“Of course it does.”

“I think we should choose this one.”

Here was that we again. “I told you, you’re not coming.”

“What if something goes wrong? You need me to cover your back.”

“You’ll just get in the way.”

“Excuse me?”

Kosara grasped for words to explain it to him. She’d seen plenty of men, and quite a few women, enchanted by samodivas. Their relatives brought them to her in the middle of the night, half-dead from exhaustion, covered in bruises, their eyes wild and their mouths foaming. They didn’t want water or food or sleep. They only wanted the samodivas.

“The samodivas’ magic is very strong,” she said.

“You think they’ll enchant me, but not you?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“Why?”

Kosara considered him. “Are you attracted to women?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, slightly flustered.

“It’s the way their magic works. Vila told me all about it. It’s nothing to do with you as a person, it’s to do with their pharaoh’s moans.”

“Their what?”

“The way they smell or something.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Magic doesn’t work on me.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t?”

“It just doesn’t. You know how my job is arresting witches and warlocks? You have no idea the number of curses I’ve accumulated over the years. ‘May you turn into a toad,’ ‘May your nose fall off,’ ‘May you grow a big ugly wart on your behind…’ Did I grow a big ugly wart on my behind?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Kosara narrowed her eyes at him. He looked infuriatingly sure of himself, especially for someone who stank of magic. Little did he know, that wart on his behind could still be coming.

“Look,” she said. “This isn’t some silly old warlock’s half-baked curse we’re talking about. This is proper magic. It works on everyone.”

“Not on me.”

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