Page 16 of Devil's Doom

He laughs at my heated retort, throwing his head back. His throat is bared, revealing a trail of freckles over his collarbones. I realize with a jolt he has the same coloring as me, barring the eyes. Suddenly, I’m curious why he became an upir. If the utopek is to be believed, every bies inhabiting Slawa was once a mortal.

“You’re a feisty one, I’ll admit, but isn’t it a bit misdirected?” he asks, his eyes glittering. “I’ve done nothing to hurt you, and one might even say I helped you. Without my intervention yesterday, Zlotomira wouldn’t have felt compelled to give you more for your overzealous payment. Which, by the way, was impressive. Few people can afford to do that, you know. Three barely hardboiled eggs is about the daily limit for most. You’re sleeping in the most expensive establishment in the city.”

My nape grows cold. Lech watches me with a pleasant enough smile, but his eyes are assessing. I made a mistake by revealing how much magic I have, and now he and Zlotomira both know I’m more powerful than average.

Not to mention, he noticed I dyed my hair. This is bad.

“What do you want?” I bite out, calling my magic forth until it tingles at my fingertips.

I’ll kill him if need be, I think viciously, even though I know I can’t do it. Better not to leave a trail of bodies in my wake if I want to stay hidden.

“You interest me,” he says slowly, as if choosing each word with care. “You’re new, powerful, and you’ve clearly been through a lot. I’d like to spend time in your company, and in exchange, I’ll show you around the city. You’re in need of instruction if you don’t want to be duped by every shopkeeper, that’s for sure.”

It doesn’t take me long to decide. He is right, and I desperately need to know more about this place. And, as the saying goes, one should keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer.

I nod reluctantly.

“Fine. But I want to know whose blood you sucked just now.”

He rolls his eyes with a scoff, folding his arms on his chest in clear disdain for my very reasonable question.

“So judgmental. Darling, we can’t help the way we’re made. And I get my blood legally in a way that benefits my willing victim. Her name is Rada, and she’s a wila. I feed from her once or twice a day, and in return for my payment, Zlotomira lets the poor girl have food and board. Rada has a baby. Our arrangement helps them both stay off the streets.”

“How noble of you,” I mutter, glancing down the corridor at the crimson door. “All right. Let’s go.”

He gives me a flamboyant bow, clearly mocking, and extends a graceful arm to point me down the stairs.

“After you, darling.”

Chapter seven

Ears

We go out through the empty bar, which Lech informs me will open after the toll. I learn the city of Slawa isn’t governed by the natural rhythm of night and day but by the whims of Perun’s magical tax.

“The toll used to happen every day exactly at noon. But rebels used that to schedule their attacks, and so Perun decided in his wisdom to keep everyone guessing.”

We slowly climb a steep cobbled street with handsome house fronts on either side. They are one-story buildings, their windows covered by beautifully painted shutters that open outside. Some houses adjoin the street, and others have small front yards where vegetables grow. They are bordered by wooden fences topped with colorful pots hanging upside down.

“What are those for?” I ask Lech.

He shrugs. “For protection. They are said to keep away curse-bearing birds. And spies.”

Lowering his voice on the last word, he leans close. I catch his covert inhale and sidestep quickly, putting distance between us.

“I told you to stop smelling me, bloodsucker,” I bite out through clenched teeth.

He gives me an exaggerated bow, clearly mocking. “I apologize. After centuries of living, it’s not often that a scent of someone’s blood takes me by surprise. If it weren’t boorish and tactless, I would ask you what type of bies you are.”

“The kind that will curse you with boils if you don’t keep your nose to yourself.”

He gives me an easy grin, and we set off again. When we reach an intersection, the land flattens, the streets growing wider and less steep. I look curiously, noticing that the one on the right is a long row of storefronts. Wooden signs hang above almost every door.

“The street of artisans,” Lech explains. “Most shops are closed at this hour. As you can see, the city is practically deserted, and most places are closed for business.”

He’s right. We walked a good distance from the milk bar and hardly saw anyone. Two short, hunching women with crooked noses and sharp teeth worked in a garden in front of a house, and then we passed a group of furry creatures that communicated in a series of grunts, but apart from them, the streets are empty.

“Let me guess. No one goes out before the toll.”

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