Page 156 of Devil's Doom

“I am the one asking questions. Now. How did you feel when I kissed the devil? Were you jealous? Tell me. It pleases me to know these things.”

My head hangs low while gentle plant tendrils wrap around my throat. With a horrid, choking feeling, I understand what my grave will be. I’m already in it, am I not?

“I’m not a bies,” I say numbly, latching onto the one thing she said that’s not reeking mad, just wrong. “I’m mortal.”

Mokosz scoffs. “You look mortal, yes, but you aren’t. Do you think I can’t tell? What are you, actually? I’ve never seen this kind before. It’s almost… Almost as if nothing has changed. Like someone remade you exactly the same way you were as a mortal.”

I groan as sweat seeps into my wounds, mixing with blood. Gods, what I would give for just one drop of Woland’s blood right now. I’d even pretend to accept his apology to get it.

“No, I’m mortal,” I whisper, while the plants crawl up the sides of my face, winding into my hair to connect with the flower chaplet Mokosz gave me.

I must look so strange, I think with a numb, detached amusement. Like a flower effigy.

“So obnoxious,” she mutters, throwing her head in impatience. “You are a bies! Didn’t you die at some point? Come on, think a moment.”

I go still, my chest growing tight, skin heating. Even though I look right at Mokosz, her face grows blurry as my eyes unfocus. I try to remember everything that happened the night I died, but it’s fuzzy, the agony and terror obscuring everything else. I know Woland spoke to me as he worked to bring me back to life, but I can’t remember what he said.

Is that possible? Am I… not mortal anymore? Didn’t Ihaveto be mortal for the prophecy to apply? I don’t understand it.

“Oh, I see,” Mokosz says, her annoyance replaced by delight. “Ha, you truly didn’t know! Who turned you? Was it Woland? Tell me immediately.”

Of course, it was Woland, but I press my lips together and keep my silence, wondering what it means, and how significant this information truly is. If I’m a bies, what kind? Mokosz is right. I am exactly as I was as a mortal, to the last freckle.

Nothing ultimatelychangedwhen Woland brought me back to life after death. Even the seal trapping my magic within me was intact. So if I am a bies, I must be the least impressive of all. Just a mortal girl, only… not.

What does it mean?

Do I have hidden powers? Even if I do, the well of my magic is empty, barely a trickle sloshing at the bottom. I grit my teeth. Why didn’t he tell me? Ah, it’s too late.

The whip cracks, and I cry out from the impact. Mokosz sighs, shaking her head.

“I don’t even care, girl,” she says. “I was just curious. Let’s see, was there something else I needed from you? No, I don’t think so. Goodbye.”

It happens so suddenly. Slim plant shoots slither up my nose and into my mouth as I pant from pain and fear. When I realize they crawl down my throat and up my nose, it’s too late.

I try to take a breath, but I only wheeze, making a desperate, croaking sound. Mokosz watches me with disgust as plants wrap around my face. They force my eyes closed, flowers tickling my skin, more fresh shoots diving into my ears. All of it tightens around my head like a helmet, taking root right inside me. I shake, trying to reach up and claw the things out of my throat, but my arms are pinned to my sides too tightly.

I suffocate. A bitter, hopeless thought clamors in my fading mind. Woland isn’t coming. No one is.

This moment between life and death, with no air, no light, no movement, stretches long. My thoughts grow blurry. It hurts, but the pain fades at the edges, growing muddled. I feel into myself, the coolness of plants pressing into my skin shockingly soothing. Even if I can’t breathe, there is a sensation of a scent in my nose.

I’ll die smelling poppies.

“Why is it taking so long?” Mokosz asks after a time, and I realize with a start she’s still here.

I barely hear her, my ears plugged. I wish she’d go away, but even in death, I won’t get privacy. I let the world fade away, my body the only thing that exists. It’s my anchor and my prison.

“That can’t be.”

She speaks again, startling me. I’ve fallen into a strange stupor that feels like sleep, peaceful and comfortable, even though I can’t lie down. It’s quiet inside me without my breath. I wonder when I’ll get that urge to fly away, the way I did after fighting the poludnica. This time, I’ll go.

But no such urge appears. Instead, someone tears at my herbal helmet, pulling plant shoots out of my throat and nose, uncovering my eyes. I gag and cough, taking deep, hurting breaths. My ears tingle when things that tried to take root inside my head are ripped out.

Mokosz doesn’t let me suffer in peace. She grabs my hair roughly and pulls my face up. I see the night sky above her, so much darker than when she buried me. There is no moon. Chors isn’t coming, either.

“Any living being would have died after half an hour without air,” Mokosz hisses, enraged like a viper. “What is wrong with you? Why won’t you die?”

I can’t answer even if I knew, because I keep coughing, desperately trying to breathe my fill. My body feels raw, violated, but definitely not dead.

---