1
It was nearly midnight on New Year’s Eve, but the city inside the Wall didn’t celebrate. The people there knew the birth of a new year was—like any birth—difficult, painful, and dangerous.
Only one pub, nestled in the snowdrifts between Chernograd’s tall spires, was open that night. It was packed but hushed. The patrons huddled close together, rubbing shoulders as they lifted their glasses. The corner table, hidden in a cloud of pipe smoke, was particularly quiet. It was Kosara’s turn to bet, and she took her time.
Being the best at cards wouldn’t be enough to win tonight: she had to be the best at cheating. And to cheat, she needed that damned fireplace to burn brighter.
“Well?” Roksana said, plum rakia dripping down her chin. It landed on the table, glistening in the dim electric lamplight like droplets of amber. The two golden beads tying her thick braids glinted, contrasting against her tanned skin. Her fingers drummed on the deck of cards, ready to deal. “Are you in?”
All three of them—Roksana, Malamir, and the stranger—had their eyes fixed on Kosara. Don’t let the corners of your mouth twitch. Don’t swallow too loudly, don’t rub the sweat off your palms on your trousers, try to calm down your heartbeat …
“Give me a second,” she said. “I’m thinking.”
“For fuck’s sake, Kosara!” Roksana slammed her tankard on the table. Several of the patrons at the other tables jumped. It was distressing seeing a woman her size lose her temper. “We haven’t got all night.”
Kosara didn’t let Roksana’s raised voice intimidate her. She could pretend all she wanted, but Kosara knew she wasn’t truly angry. It was clear to her that Roksana’s mind wasn’t in the game at all. Her eyes kept darting to the clock, whose hands crept closer and closer to midnight.
“Shush, you old grump.” Kosara looked down at her cards. The queen of clubs, she thought automatically, a woman with black hair and black eyes. It must be me. She also held a king of clubs and a five of diamonds. If only she could replace her five with an ace, she’d be holding the second-strongest combination in a game of Kral.
Kosara cast a glance towards the pile of logs in the fireplace. They’d been smouldering there for what felt like hours, occasionally hissing and sending a wisp of smoke into the air. She could gently encourage them, but was it worth the risk of getting caught?
For a long moment, the only sounds were the gramophone playing quietly in the corner and the soft gurgling of Roksana’s pipe.
No risk, no gain. Kosara quietly clicked her fingers under the table. The fire cracked. Flames enveloped the logs.
She looked around. Roksana’s eyelids were half-shut as she pulled on her pipe. She’d left the last few buttons of her shirt open, and her many evil-eye and brass-bell necklaces peeked from underneath. Malamir and the stranger were both preoccupied with their own thoughts, biting their lips, rearranging their cards, counting their tokens.
At Kosara’s feet, her shadow grew larger, darker, and stronger from the light of the roaring flames. She did her best not to let her gaze follow it as it slid under the table.
“Oh my God!” Kosara said, her gaze fixed on the barred window: on the snow whirling outside, the searchlights piercing the sky, and beyond them, the shadow of the Wall. From a distance, it looked like granite, dark and solid. Close up, it resembled something alive—swirling and rippling, as if thousands of fingers tried to break through from the other side.
Any other day, her opponents would have seen right through Kosara’s obvious distraction attempt. Tonight, their eyes immediately followed hers.
“Are they here already?” Roksana’s fingers slowly drew out her pistol from its holster. It seemed strangely small in her large hand.
Malamir’s leather trousers squeaked as he fidgeted in his seat. Kosara almost felt guilty when she saw the panic in his face. Almost.
“They can’t be here,” he mumbled. “It’s too early.”
The stranger kept pulling on his polka-dot neckerchief, as if he’d tied it too tightly. His eyes darted between the window and Roksana’s pistol. His mouth hung half-open, as if a question was just about to roll out of it. In the end, he swallowed it hard.
Kosara’s shadow extended one dark finger over the table’s edge and flicked through the deck so quickly it was a blur, until it found the card it looked for. It disappeared back under the table.
“I can’t see anything,” Malamir said, his large eyes made even larger by the thick lenses of his glasses, blinking fast.
“No.” Suspicion crept into Roksana’s voice. “Me neither.”
The shadow handed Kosara the ace under the table. She quickly swapped it for the five.
“Oh no, sorry.” Kosara tried to sound genuinely nervous. She didn’t have to pretend much. “I must have imagined it. Perhaps it was a stray cat.”
Malamir gave her a pointed look over the golden rims of his glasses. She would have felt bad, if she wasn’t certain he also cheated. As did the stranger: no one had that much luck. And if all of them were cheating, she reasoned, it was as if no one was.
“Sorry,” she said again. “We’re all a bit on edge tonight, aren’t we?”
Roksana’s pipe bobbed up and down in her mouth as she considered this. The smoke grew so thick it made Kosara’s eyes water. The air seeped with the stench of spilled beer, full ashtrays, and too many people in too tight a space, but beneath that floated the sweet odour of seer’s sage. Kosara would recognise it anywhere—a potent sedative she used in all her potions for good dreams. It came in wafts every time Roksana pulled on her pipe, sliding into Kosara’s nostrils and making her eyelids heavy.
She would have called Roksana on trying to put them all to sleep, but she knew better than to argue with the dealer.
“Should we get back to the game, then?” Kosara gave her a winning smile.
Roksana sighed and returned the pistol to its holster. “You never told me if you’re in.”
“I’m in.”
“Wasn’t that difficult, was it? Malamir?”
“It’s getting late.” Malamir’s watch slid between his trembling fingers and swung on its chain. Kosara felt a strong compulsion to double her bet.
Would you look at that! A hypnotising watch. Kosara had never seen one of those in the wild before.
“Where did you get that from?” she asked.
Malamir grinned, his white teeth glinting. “My watch? It’s nice, isn’t it? I won it at cards.”
No wonder the old rascal was doing so well. If he hadn’t already given up, Kosara would have gladly ratted him out to Roksana. As it was, she stashed this information in case it came in handy later.
“Alright,” Roksana said. “And what about you, mister…”
“My name isn’t important,” said the stranger.
Kosara rolled her eyes. He was trying way too hard with the “dark and mysterious” act. He didn’t utter a word unless it was to raise the bet. When he wasn’t inspecting his cards, he stared at Kosara, as if he waited for her to do something. As if he’d never seen a witch before.
“So, Mr. My-name-isn’t-important.” Roksana chuckled at her own joke. “Are you in?”
“I might be in.” The stranger twisted the knot of his neckerchief. The toes of his red brogues tapped on the dusty floor. “I might be in, if we make things a bit more interesting.”
Kosara looked down at her pile of tokens. She’d done well tonight. The silver ones were enough for her to eat like a queen for a month. With the bronze ones she could buy that dress she’d spotted in the tailor’s window: velvet and black as midnight. With the iron tokens she’d order everyone in the pub a drink tomorrow—to celebrate, if they survived tonight.
She scratched the scar on her cheek, three raised scrapes. Every self-respecting witch had a few battle scars. “How much?”
“I don’t want your money,” said the stranger.
“What do you want, then?”
Slowly, he untied his neckerchief. Roksana whistled.
On a thin chain around the stranger’s neck hung a string of black beads. He brushed them with his palm, and they trembled like candle flames in the wind.
Kosara bit her lip hard, almost to blood. The stranger wore a necklace of witches’ shadows.
“I want your shadow,” he said.
Through the haze of seer’s sage smoke and alcohol, Kosara felt the sharp sting of alarm. She shook her head so quickly, her hair hit her across the face. “No. I can’t.”
“Think about it. You’ll bet one shadow. I’m offering you”—he weighed them in his hand—“eleven. It’s a good deal.”
“I’m a witch. Without my shadow, I’m nothing.”
“You’re a mediocre witch. I’m offering you true power.”
A mediocre witch. She’d be offended if it wasn’t true. She could heat up her coffee with a snap of her fingers and ask her shadow to fetch her coat. On a good day, she could conjure a firework or two. Parlour tricks.
If she won, she’d become a real witch, like the ones from the old fairy tales. She’d pay all the inns, cafes, and restaurants with alchemists’ gold. She’d weave herself a dress from moonlight. She’d turn the river into wine and give the entire city a free drink.
But if she lost …
Everyone knew what happened to witches who’d lost their shadows: they slowly turned into shadows themselves. It could take years or even decades, but it was unavoidable. Was it worth betting her corporeal body for the possibility of almost unlimited power?
“Come on, Kosara,” said the stranger. “Just think what you could do with so much magic. You could cross the Wall and escape this cursed city. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
Kosara chewed on her lip. The stranger had read her completely wrong. She didn’t want to cross the Wall, which—she was aware—made her a minority in Chernograd. She couldn’t leave her city to be ravaged by its monsters while she lived happily ever after on the other side.
No, what she truly wanted was for the monsters to be dealt with, once and for all. And with such power, she could finally achieve that.
“Don’t do anything stupid, doll.” Malamir’s horrified eyes searched hers.
“No risk”—Roksana shot a cloud of smoke at her—“no gain.”
“Well?” said the stranger. “I’ve been told you can’t resist a good gamble.”
“Who told you that?” Kosara asked.
“One of your friends.”
Kosara raised her eyebrows at Roksana and Malamir. She would hardly call them “friends.” More like good acquaintances.
Roksana smirked, her face half-hidden behind a curtain of smoke. “Wasn’t me.”
“Me neither,” Malamir said quickly. “I’d never.”
“How many years have we known each other?” Roksana asked. “I’ve never said a bad word about you.”
“Me neither,” added Malamir. “Never.”
Kosara let out a puff of air through her nostrils. Dirty liars. They were lucky she liked them.
She looked down at her cards, blurring slightly in her trembling fingers. Her hand was nearly unbeatable. The only way the stranger could win was if he held a queen, a king, and an ace of spades.
Kosara had bet on much worse chances before, but she’d never bet anything so precious.
“Come on, Kosara,” the stranger said again.
He wouldn’t give up easily. A witch’s shadow couldn’t be stolen—it had to be given willingly. He’d already convinced eleven other witches to give him theirs.
Kosara downed her glass of plum rakia in one go. It burned her tongue and seared her throat, but it did nothing to calm her nerves.
“Kosara, doll.” Malamir rested a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look at him. In the corner of her eye, she saw his hypnotising watch swinging in the dark hollows of his coat. “I really don’t think this is a smart—”
“Stop pestering her, for fuck’s sake,” Roksana snapped. “It’s her decision. Our Kosara knows what she’s doing.”
Do I? Kosara struggled to keep her hands steady. Her heart thumped in her ears, fast and loud. So loud, she almost didn’t hear the chiming of the clock.
It was midnight.
For a bizarre second, Kosara felt relieved—she didn’t need to decide tonight. Then her heart beat even louder. It was midnight.
“Well?” said the stranger. “What do you say?”
Kosara gave him a grim look. “We’ll have to continue the game some other time.”
“Why?”
“It’s midnight.”
“So?”
He had to be joking. There was no way he didn’t know.
“What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
Kosara nodded towards the window. At first, it was quiet. The only noise was the distant hissing and popping of fireworks on the other side of the Wall. Chernograd slept under its blanket of snow.
Then the nightmare began.
The spotlights grew brighter, moving faster and faster, frantically searching the black sky. A siren sounded, so loud even the curtain of snow couldn’t dampen its wails.
The monsters descended on the walled city. High in the sky, their oily wings glistened in the moonlight, and their eyes shone like lanterns. As they landed, their curved talons screeched against the cobblestones.
Kosara quickly patted her trousers’ pockets, to make sure all her talismans were ready. There was one she itched to try, crafted from a rabbit’s paw and a cockerel’s comb—it would choke anyone or anything who tried to land a hand on her.
Let them come. Her eyes were fixed on the window. The streetlights flickered, revealing and hiding the dark shadows of the monsters. Let them come.
There was a scratch at the door and a low purr.
“Is that a stray cat?” the stranger asked, the words tumbling out fast. “Please tell me that’s just a—”
The purr grew into a growl. Something heavy slammed against the door. The hinges creaked, straining under the pressure. Talons slashed at the wood, sinking deep enough for their sharp tips to protrude on the other side.
Malamir crossed himself. Roksana cocked her gun.
“What the hell is that?” the stranger shouted.
Kosara’s fingers gripped the talisman in her pocket, the magic words ready on her lips. If the ward she’d drawn in front of the door didn’t work …
A loud shriek sounded, as if from an animal that had been badly burned.
Kosara smiled. The ward had done its job. That had been its first test tonight, undoubtedly the first of many. She tiptoed closer to the window, careful to stay hidden behind the curtain.
Several furry figures dashed across the street, leaving deep tracks in the fresh snow. One could mistake them for children in the dark—that was how small they were—if it wasn’t for their teeth the size of daggers. As they ran past the milliner’s, all the mirrors in the shop window shattered.
“Karakonjuls,” she said when she returned to her seat. “They’re gone now. They must have smelled easier prey elsewhere.”
Copyright © 2024 by Genoveva Dimova
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