Page 89 of Foul Days

Another shot. Nevena stumbled on her high heels. A steaming wound gaped in her left knee. She shook her leg, as if to check whether it still worked, and continued walking.

Kosara tried to wriggle from the man’s grasp, but he held her tightly. She elbowed him in the stomach. He bent in half, gasping softly. She twisted and finally escaped him, stumbling towards the edge of the balcony.

The railing was freezing cold under her palms. She had to jump. It wasn’t even that high. She’d probably sprain her ankle, or even break her legs, but there was no other way. Nevena needed her. They had to get out of the graveyard before the wolves came.

Another shot. Nevena fell face-first in the snow. A red puddle began forming under her body.

Oh my God, no, not again. I can’t lose her again.

Kosara tried to climb over the railing, but the man got a hold of her again. He pulled her back with his left hand. In his right, he clutched a revolver. Kosara’s sluggish mind finally realised who’d been shooting.

“Monster!” she wanted to shout, but only a wild roar came out. She swung at him. He didn’t move, and her hand slammed into his face. Her nails dug deep into his skin. He kept squeezing her.

“Oh my God, Nev, please run! Get help!”

Nevena jerked and looked up. She didn’t run. She pulled herself forwards on her stomach, leaving a red trail in the snow. Her eyes never left Kosara’s. They gleamed through the curtain of blood covering her face: just as warm and brown as they’d always been.

So much blood. Too much. She’s going to die again.

And it’s all my fault.

“Nev!” Kosara reached for her sister again, grasping at the railing.

“Time for a strategic retreat,” the strange man said.

Before Kosara could react, he lifted her off the floor and threw her over his shoulder. She slammed her fists against his back, kicked and shouted, but he didn’t let her go.

She turned to Nevena. In the last moment before her sister disappeared out of sight, Kosara spotted the dark shadow of the wolves creeping in the fog behind her. A man walked among them, a toothy grin splitting his face. The man they’d been so afraid of. The pack leader.

His eyes glinted in the darkness, blue like candle flames, and his hair fell down his shoulders like molten gold.

Kosara tried to scream, but no sound came out. Only sobs.

A door creaked. The smell of incense burned her nostrils. From the walls peered grumpy old men in golden dresses. As she watched them, they began moving. One of them winked at her.

Someone hit her on the head. It all went dark.

16

Day Seven

Kosara opened her eyes. High up above her, chubby winged babies played the harp.

She blinked. The smell of incense and melting wax. The candles. The saints on the walls. She remembered where she was: in big trouble.

“Are you alright?” Asen’s body language suggested he was shouting, but she could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. He’d stopped in the middle of the church, a tall candleholder in his hand.

Kosara got up on her elbows. She was lying on the floor, on top of Asen’s coat. A small puddle of saliva had formed beneath her cheek. She tried to wipe it with her sleeve without him noticing and smiled apologetically when he caught her.

Sharp pain pulsated at the back of her head. She felt it with her fingers. A lump had begun to form.

“Why did you hit me?” she asked.

“I didn’t. You knocked your head on the wall when you were tossing about.” He carefully placed the candleholder in one of the few empty spaces in front of the door, in between several carved wooden chairs.

Outside, someone moaned. Something heavy slammed against the door. The pile of church furniture creaked.

“And thank God for that,” Asen added and, realising where he was, quickly crossed himself. “I wasn’t going to manage to hold you for much longer.”

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