Page 101 of Devil's Doom

He pounces, stealing a long, deep kiss that I am helpless but to return. I feebly try to remind myself this might be a lie, but my heart won’t have it, and no wonder. Heisgood at this. Either being in love or pretending to—I don’t know. But the way he follows me with his eyes, how he can’t stop touching me, the way he kisses me constantly—it’s all very convincing.

“I’ll take this chance to get back to work,” he says, his sensuous mouth twisting in distaste. “So much to do, love, when I’d rather be here, doingyou.I’ll look in on your mission to make sure you’re safe. Call my name if you need anything.”

He doesn’t leave at once. It’s a lengthy process, with many kisses and caresses, Woland’s eyes glittering with heat. He looks at me like he’s truly in love, and I don’t understand how I was able to resist that before.

“Be good. Miss me well, my love.”

When he’s finally gone, I sit in the sudden silence, confused, heart pounding. This room is too big, and I’m cold, my skin pebbling as I shiver even though the fire roars in the nearest fireplace.

I quash a ridiculous instinct to call his name just to check if he’ll come. I finally got some peace and quiet in the end. I should be glad instead of missing him like a lovesick fool. Besides, I told Woland the truth. I need to get ready, and being distracted will do me no favors.

I have a full day ahead of me. And an important question to find an answer to.

“What are you growing?” I ask Lutowa when I finally find her in the herb workshop, her hands buried in a huge pot of soil.

“Nothing. I just felt restless. This relaxes me.”

She doesn’t look away from the pot, and in the too bright light of the workshop, I notice how the black earth grows paler, somehow thinner, until it’s no longer rich and fertile, but poor and depleted. Lutowa sighs happily, a bit of a flush coming to her bony cheeks.

“I heard you had fun in the dining room today,” she says, arching a dark eyebrow when she turns to me. “So many people lost their bets, you know. Wera said he’d kick you out in just a day after that duel. My eggs are on you staying in his favor for months.”

I take a long, steadying breath. “Thank you for your support. I have a question for you.”

She washes her hands in the basin in the corner of the room. Crouching hunched like that, she looks like an eerie child, its face too drawn, eyes too big. Her long hair trails the floor. I try to remember she is centuries old, but it’s so difficult when she looks like a malnourished girl.

“If you want to know what poison is best to kill or incapacitate a strzyga, I don’t have good news. They are immune to most substances. Weles created them, just like us, biedas. His creations are the best kinds of bies, resilient, powerful, and made to complement the world. He really knew what he was doing. It’s a pity he doesn’t come out anymore.”

“No. I wanted to know if there’s a way to stop a memory modification spell.”

She freezes for a moment, giving me a sharp, too penetrating look. I swallow and hold her gaze, and Lutowa nods slowly, studying my face. Finally, she speaks.

“There is. I’ll teach you.”

I almost hug her from relief, but the bieda hasn’t warmed much to affection, and so I keep my distance. She doesn’t ask me why I want to protect myself, instead launching into a quick, careful explanation.

“Mind spells are tricky, and it’s an obscure, mostly forgotten branch of magic. They are difficult to carry out because of the precision and power required. That’s why most people don’t even think to protect themselves. They are open, their minds easily accessible through their eyes.”

“Their eyes?”

She hums with a nod, taking a step closer until we’re face to face, her big, dark eyes level with mine.

“You must know this. Gazing into someone’s eyes is the most intimate form of contact. That’s because you’re looking directly into someone’s soul. Do you see? How intense it is?”

I blink and swallow, because yes, she’s right. Itisintense. Lutowa nods, satisfied, and takes a step back.

“Thankfully, protecting yourself isn’t even half as hard as doing a successful memory spell. You need to put a barrier just behind your eyes, inside your head. It will use up some of your magic, and you need to hold it with intent. That’s the tricky part. If you’re expecting someone to spell you, it’s easy, but what if they do it without a warning? That’s why the barrier needs to stay on at all times. You need to renew it every morning right after you wake up, and possibly every few hours, as well.”

I mull it over while she fills another pot with rich, moist soil from a sack. It sounds complicated.

“I guess I can’t just close my eyes, then?” I ask.

She snorts. “No. You want the person who casts the spell to think it worked, because if they don’t, they will keep working on you. That’s tricky, too, I suppose. Even after you protect yourself from their spell, you’ll have to smile and pretend like you forgot the thing they wanted you to forget.”

She pushes her hands into the soil with a blissful expression, and I hop on a workbench, leaning my elbows on my knees to think. The implications sound horrifying. If Woland ever hurts me and then makes me forget it, I’ll have to behave as if I don’t remember.

“So, how do I put up that barrier?” I ask when Lutowa is done sucking everything that’s good out of the soil.

“Think of protection or a shield, and just make it happen. With magic,” she says unhelpfully.

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