Page 102 of Devil's Doom

I roll my eyes. “Yes. And how will I know it worked?”

She shrugs. “The next time someone tries to wipe your memories, they will fail.”

Most of the hope and relief I felt when she told me there was a simple way to protect myself is gone. This is neither simple nor certain, but what other choice do I have?

“Try now,” Lutowa says, taking pity on me. “You should be able to tell if it works. You’ll feel safer and like there’s a bit of a wall between you and the world. Like things are a bit more distant.”

So I close my eyes and try. I imagine a thick, translucent wall just behind my eyes, protecting my thoughts and memories, keeping Woland’s vile magic away. I imagine him reaching for me with that smug grin, and even though my heart flutters convulsively, already missing him, I hold the image of the wall in my mind.

“You’re glowing,” Lutowa says with amusement. “Is that part of your power? I noticed that before but it felt a little rude to ask.”

I open my eyes. Lutowa grins.

“Forget I ever asked that question.”

Something reaches in through my eyes, tendrils of probing, seeking magic. They crash into my wall, and I blink a few times, trying to shake off the uncanny, slimy feeling.

“And?” she asks, peering at me. “What did I ask you?”

I shake my head and instantly focus on strengthening my wall, understanding what she did. “You asked if the red glow is a part of my powers. That was sneaky, Lutowa. But appreciated. I think it worked.”

“Of course it did. Do you want to learn something else before your suicide mission with Wera? I can teach you how to kill a strzyga, just as a precaution. She’ll probably try to kill you. Not too obviously, of course. She’ll push you into a pit or something.”

I groan and shake my head. I know how to kill a strzyga—with a blade wet with the blood of an innocent—and I don’t think there are any innocents on hand, maybe apart from Dar. Though, who knows. Maybe I stole his innocence by bringing him back to life.

When evening finally comes, it turns out the rescue party is small—just me and four other people. Lech stands by my side, his freckled face impassive, eyes cold. Apart from him and Wera, there is also Lena, a chochol woman who introduces herself as a locksmith artisan, and a latawica.

She is a pale-skinned, slim, washed-out woman that seems almost translucent. Her eyes and lips are very mobile, constantly moving as if she’s chewing on quiet words. Her eyes are pale gray, lined by white eyelashes, and her hair is also white, tied with a few strands of straw on her nape.

I’ve seen a few of them around, and I badly want to ask her what she’s even doing so far underground. A latawica’s power is the wind. They are able to call big gales and whirlwinds down on hapless mortals, stealing things and even people if they so choose.

The best protection against a latawica is to throw a knife into the heart of the gale, thus wounding her. I’m curious why she’s coming and even itch to ask her questions until she says in a dry, almost breathless voice that her name is Sara.

It gives me an unpleasant jolt, and I give up on striking a conversation. She cannot be Sara from my village, the girl who loved my tales and wanted to learn from me, and instead died because of Woland’s plague-bearing mark. And yet, she’ll now forever remind me of her.

“Each of you knows what your task is,” Wera says calmly, her eyes going from face to face. For once, she doesn’t seem antagonistic, and I’m grateful. “The mission is simple: we go in, grab our brothers, and go out. We won’t concern ourselves with other prisoners, and we will not fight if we can avoid it. Do you understand?”

I nod with the others, and we’re off, climbing the endless stairs. I am second to last, with Lech closing our rank. I wonder if he’ll jump aside and let me fall if I stumble, since he hates touching me so much.

“How are you?” he asks when we’re about halfway up the stairs. He sounds a bit sheepish, a bit cold, and a lot like someone I wish would keep their mouth shut.

I don’t answer so as not to encourage him.

I wouldn’t resent Lech so much if he rejected me because of my lies. I pretended to be someone else, and if that was why he hated me, I would understand it. Except, that’s not it. He rejected me out of fear, because Lech thinks calling me the wrong endearment will make Woland rip him apart, and I hate it on so many levels.

How can he be afraid of Woland behaving in such unhinged ways and still respect and follow him? It’s like Lech is a different person. I thought he was smart, discerning, highly critical in his choices.

Instead, he worships Woland, of all people.

“Dar started eating solids recently,” he says after a while. “Mostly meat. His dragon part is really strong.”

I say nothing to that, even though the words are a great peace offering. I see Dar every few days, but not as often as I’d like. My training, the sick chamber, and most of all, Woland, take up all my time.

“We go in groups,” Wera instructs us when we reach the dilapidated house that’s our exit. “Jaga, Lech, you go together. We’ll meet by the guard tower in an hour. Go on.”

“Just like old times,” Lech says with a sarcastic snort when Wera leaves with the chochol and the latawica.

I sigh. I didn’t anticipate being left alone with him, nor for us to have any real free time on the surface. Can I run away? No, Woland is watching, and besides, I really want to take part in the rescue mission. Do something good, for a change. Now that I’m finally allowed to make a difference, I’ll grab my chance with both hands.

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