Page 12 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter twelve

Storm

I run to the milk bar, my feet sliding on wet cobbles. I’ve only gone out to a shop two streets away to get Dar a healing brew for his cold, but the rain is so thick, I am soaked. It’s been raining for three days now, and most people hide in their homes, only a few shops open for business.

A lightning cracks down the leaden sky, thunder shaking the world. I scream and duck, hoping it didn’t hit the milk bar. From what Lech told us yesterday, over twenty people are already dead, either killed directly by lightning or crushed under rubble of the houses that were hit.

Someone cries out in the distance. Another bolt of lightning falls on the other side of the river, and I clench my teeth and speed up on the final stretch, battling a howling wind of sorrow inside me.

The rain is an eerie reminder of Woland’s curse that made me spread illness and death everywhere I went. As freezing water pummels my head and back, I shiver not just from the cold but also a flood of guilt and regret.

My fingers twitch around the medicine, reliving the phantom feel of the baby I delivered who died in my arms, poisoned by my touch. Hot tears mix with rain on my face, but I only allow myself to cry for a moment. Only when no one will see.

As I step into the shelter of the milk bar, I leave the memories firmly behind. There is no cursed mark on my chin anymore, and Woland has no idea where I am. With a nervous gesture that has become a habit, I finger the pendant at my throat. I’m safe. And now, I’m out of the rain, too. No longer banished, I am welcome. I have friends here.

I’m all right.

The bar is closed, all the mamunas huddled together in the big bar room downstairs. They suckle each other’s breasts for relief and even offered me milk for free, but I refused. Nobody knows I’m a mortal, and I suspect their milk might affect me differently than other magical folk.

“For Perun’s sake, don’t go dripping around the floors! Here.” Zlotomira throws me a big towel, tapping her foot with annoyance until I dry my hair and wring out my dress to her satisfaction.

Being forced to close the bar isn’t good for Zlotomira, who isn’t exactly greedy but prides herself on running a profitable establishment. Now, she’s frustrated and angry like a wasp, bemoaning the lost income any chance she gets. She makes an effort to treat me and the other guests well, though. We’re her only paying customers right now.

“When will Lech come back?” she asks after taking the towel from me. “That boy will catch his death if he keeps loitering around in the storm, mark my words.”

“He promised to come back right after dark,” is all I say.

Lech leaves early every morning after a night spent in Rada’s bed. Neither she nor I know what he does or where he stays when he’s out there. Every time we ask, he says something ironic.

“Haven’t I told you? I play with the poroniec kids in the guard tower. They get bored between trials.”

Once he said he goes out to find a blind, deaf woman with a stoop, because a nice one wouldn’t have him. I knew it was a joke meant to get us to stop asking, but Rada’s silver eyes filled with silent tears. That stupid joke hurt her, and Lech spent an entire night comforting her in their room.

From what she told me, they don’t have sex. Rada never enjoyed it and would rather never have it again in her life. Still, Lech feeds from her every night, and I know from experience sharing blood is deeply intimate—maybe even more so than fucking.

They care for each other and spend every night cuddling under the blankets. Lech claims having a ready meal by his side helps him sleep better, but I know it’s bullshit. He’s in love with Rada.

I’m a little in love with her, too. I’ve never met a kinder, more fragile, and less worldly person in my life. Rada tries very hard to keep both feet firmly on the ground, yet she floats away sometimes, her mind going somewhere normal people can’t follow. She hums strange melodies under her breath or asks nonsensical questions out of the blue.

“Alina, if stars could speak, what do you think they’d tell us? Would they sing songs of loneliness and cold? What do you think their language would sound like? I think it might be like the language of crystals. A sort of a tinkling, a vibration. A dance of particles in the air.”

It’s very hard to interest her in mundane tasks, such as sewing up holes in her dress, when she gets like this. The only person capable of calling her back from her frolics among the stars is Dar. When he cries, she comes running.

“Can I make this into a brew in the kitchen?” I ask Zlotomira, showing her my pouch of herbs.

“Oh, of course. I hope he gets better soon.”

In Rada’s room, Dar whines and squirms in her arms, his nose completely blocked. I’m about to give him the medicine when an idea hits me.

“Would you mind if I strengthened it a bit?” I ask Rada. “I know it’s just a cold, but I feel like I can make it go away faster with a little magic.”

She gives me a brilliant smile that fills me with warmth so powerful, it chases away the chill of the pelting rain.

“Of course! I trust you with my life and his.”

I smile with pleasure, though I feel like I should scold her. Rada has known me for barely a few weeks, but she’s already decided I’m like a sister. Just like Lech is something between a husband and a brother, and they’ve only met after Dar was born. I can’t decide whether life treated her so badly that she clings to barely decent people now, or if her instincts are actually sharp, and both Lech and I deserve her trust.

Holding the cup in my hands, I make my palms heat up with healing power. I know what Dar needs—a potion to drain all the snot from his nose so he can breathe, and maybe something to help him sleep. Good sleep is the best healer.

I infuse the brew with just a little pinch of magic, afraid to overdo it.

“All right. It’s sweet, so he should like it.”

Rada holds him, and I feed him the magical brew spoon by spoon. I can’t help grinning. I’ve always loved babies, and he is adorable, his shimmery cheeks delightfully pudgy.

A thunder rolls over the milk bar just as I give him the last spoonful. Dar takes a deep breath, his face scrunching up… and sneezes, covering the front of my dress with oodles of snot.

“Some magic,” Rada says, giggling with delight.

“Well, at least we got it out. Give him a breast and he should sleep.”

I change in my room and come back to find Dar sleeping peacefully in his basket, his breathing even and quiet. Rada sits by the window, looking at the raindrops sliding down the cold pane. I come over and stroke her head.

Like once with Bogna, my only friend back in the village, I had to learn to offer Rada the simple affections of friendship. My hands are unused to touching people for any other reason than to heal. But it’s worth it—I quickly discovered Rada craves all kinds of friendly touch. Even holding Dar for most of every day doesn’t fill that well inside her.

Suddenly, the sounds of rain grow muffled. I have enough time to brace my arm against the wall, and the toll hits, scorching pain splitting my chest open. Dar whines through his sleep, his voice like the cry of a swallow, and Rada shakes in silence, pressing both hands to her chest.

For a few minutes, we focus on breathing as a heavy mood settles around the room. I check on Dar, worried the toll might be too much when he’s sick, but his temperature and breathing seem fine. He sleeps on.

I come back to Rada’s side, standing behind her while she faces the window. She takes my hand and presses it to her cheek, her eyes closed.

“I loved him from the moment I knew I was pregnant,” she says softly, her breath fogging up the window pane.

I inhale sharply, surprised. She’s never talked about her pregnancy or Dar’s conception with me, and I never pried.

“My sisters in the brothel said I couldn’t keep him. Our mama sat me down and explained that as her most expensive girl, I couldn’t afford to have a child like others. You see, some clients like pregnant girls, so it’s not unusual to let it happen. Only, I wasn’t allowed to. She said she’d pay to get rid of the pregnancy, but how could I agree? I already loved him.”

“Were they your actual sisters and mother?” I ask carefully.

“Oh, no.” She laughs softly. “It was just what we called each other. Like a family.”

I stroke her glossy, smooth hair. “So what did you do?”

“I lived on the streets.” She shrugs. “I mostly hid, only came out to look for food. Some of my sisters helped me in secret until mama found out and forbid it. She hated the fact I left since I was her most expensive girl. But I was actually happy despite having no home or friends anymore. I never liked working there. It’s not… I’m not made for sex.”

“How did you even get pregnant? Didn’t you get runes for that?” I ask, controlling my voice even though rage on Rada’s behalf stirs in my gut. If I ever meet that mama, I will curse her with boils and itching in some very uncomfortable places.

“Oh, I only wore the rune to work. One beautiful autumn day, I went out for a walk and… well, it happened. Dragons take what they want and don’t care about the consequences. I was too distraught to remember the rune after, and when I did, it was too late. But in the end, I’m glad, you know? Dar is only mine. I don’t have to share him with anyone else.”

“You do share him a bit, though.” I smile playfully, braiding her hair. “With me, with Lech, sometimes with Zlotomira. She has a soft spot for you both.”

“But that’s different. I chose you all. I trust you.”

We sit in comfortable silence, listening to the rhythmic sounds of rain beating against the roof. As soon as it gets dark, Lech comes back, frowning and wet with rainwater. Yet when he sees Rada, his face brightens for just a moment. He cups her face in his chilly hands and kisses her forehead.

“Bad news. Guards are doing raids tonight. There’s a good chance they will come in here, since every place with rooms to let is suspect.”

Rada swallows thickly, growing pale, and I clench my teeth with anger.

“What do they expect to find?” I ask.

“Rebels, of course,” the upir says, his eyes lighting up with the familiar sarcastic spark. “They will be easy to recognize, I’m sure. Bodies splattered with the blood of Perun’s soldiers, rebellion sigils tattooed on their foreheads, throats raw from screaming heretic chants.”

I smile weakly, and Lech sighs, wiping water from his face. “Don’t worry, girls. You’ll be safe.”

But I am not so sure and neither is Rada. She glances at Dar’s basket, her fingers nervously playing with the neckline of her dress. She isn’t afraid for herself but for him, I know. And I’m scared for them both. Lech, too, because he’s one smart comment away from being drawn and quartered. He claims to always keep his mouth shut when dragons are near, but I have yet to see him bite his tongue when he gets an idea for a sarcastic remark.

“Why do they raid homes if they won’t find anything?” I ask, huffing with frustration.

“Darling, the point isn’t to find rebels. It’s to make everyone else hate the rebellion, so if someone accidentally discovers the devil’s followers, they will report them to the guards.” Lech gives me a sardonic smile, taking off his wet boots. “Why do you think Perun punishes the whole city with a storm after an attack? It’s so everyone wishes the rebels would just fucking stop.”

He falls silent, his movements jerky with anger. I remember what he said when he got drunk a few days ago—that the rebel attack was pointless. It nags at me. Woland doesn’t do pointless. He always tries to win.

“So it happens after every rebel attack?” I ask. “Perun punishes everyone?”

The upir huffs while Rada sits by his side and gently dries his hair with a towel.

“Not every one. This is especially bad, because seven of his dragons are dead.”

“So the attack wasn’t completely pointless,” I murmur.

Lech jerks, shooting me a sharp look. “Forget what I said that night. I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I’m just a simple man. I have no idea what those rebels are trying to do.”

I think he has some idea, though, and he’s definitely not a simple man. But Lech is in a foul mood, so I drop it. Maybe I can pry more information out of him when he’s fed and comfortable.

We usually speak freely in the rooms above the milk bar. Apparently, there are privacy charms woven into the walls that make it somewhat safe, though the upir still won’t tell us his secrets. While he has Rada’s full confidence, I still harbor some suspicions. Lech is too secretive to be fully trustworthy.

“I’ll wake you up if they come here,” he tells us. “Try to sleep.”

With that, I go back to my room and try to enjoy my bath, but my heart won’t stop beating like a frightened bird in my chest. It’s bad enough the dragons will come here to search the rooms, but my personal nightmare is that one of them will be Foss.

I dye my hair again with the magical paste that turns it a mousy, unappealing shade of brown. After washing, I apply spelled paint to my face. It covers my freckles and distorts my features enough to make me “quite plain”, in Lech’s words. Which is good. Plain is invisible, and invisible is perfect.

Rada tried it once, too, hoping the paint might diminish some of her beauty. It didn’t. Her wila magic is so strong, it makes her look stunning no matter what she does. I snort without humor, thinking whichever god cursed her to become a wila after she died must have had a twisted sense of humor.

To make a girl utterly uninterested in sex become the symbol of sexual attraction is truly ironic. I wonder if Woland was the one who punished her. It seems like his style.

Instead of going to bed, I sit down on the floor and stretch out my hands in front of me, palms up. Despite the daily tolls and payments for my room, I’m brimming with magic. I finally have enough to eat and a safe place to sleep. A period of wellbeing and relative calm has refilled the well inside me.

I’m even more powerful than Lech estimated at first, but I’ve learned my lesson and told no one. I checked my limits one day, and I can comfortably fill nine eggs—twelve if I push myself almost until depletion. And that’s after the toll. If only Perun didn’t steal some of my magic every day, I would be a force to reckon with.

I wonder how many eggs Woland can fill. Two dozen? Three? A hundred dozen eggs? I imagine him as I saw him last, sprawled comfortably on the grass, looking at me with pleased, hooded eyes. A moment later, the image of him appears, flickering slightly above my palms. He’s small, as if seen from a great distance, and still, my heart wrenches with a frustrating tangle of longing, fear, and hate.

The miniature illusion of Woland stretches with a smile, his tail flicking gently by his side. He looks at me with warmth, and I release a shaky breath, waving the image away. Truth is, he only looked at me that way once , and as I know now, he was already plotting to impregnate me then.

I think that’s what hurts the most. I have this one memory of Woland taking care of me in such a kind, loving way, his arms around me as I bled under a dead tree—and even that stupid memory is tarnished. It was a lie I was foolish enough to believe.

Taking a deep breath, I force him out of my thoughts, calling forth another image. I conjure the utopek who tried to rape me and have him do a series of idiotic capers over my spread palms, the exercise ending with him having his head stuck in a pot. I smile weakly and wave him away, too.

Illusion is a form of magic that requires immense concentration but little power. That’s why I use it to practice. My power might exceed everyone else’s, but if I can’t direct it with confidence, it’s useless.

So I train. Alone, in my room, where no one can see.

The house is quiet, the beating of rain the only sound. I go over to a wall and stroke it with my hand, willing the surface to become as clear and smooth as a pond. I feel a stretch in my chest, my hands heating, and the wall obeys.

I look at myself, a brown-haired, tall woman who finally gained some weight, though not enough to be truly attractive. I tilt my head this way and that, smooth down my dress—a gray, shapeless thing that covers me from my neck down to my ankles—and try to decide if Foss will be fooled if he sees me.

He might. He might not. My weakest detail is the violet eye, because if he tears down my eye patch, he will recognize me.

And so I focus on creating an illusion that will overlay my right eye. Holding the image firmly in my mind, I take off the patch, revealing an ugly, jagged scar where an eye should be. I stare at my reflection, searching for any vagueness or flickers around the scar, but the illusion holds. It seems real, and it’s ugly enough to make anyone look away with disgust.

That, then, is my best bet. I sigh and put on the eye patch, braiding my hair quickly. I cover it with a kerchief for good measure. It’s gray just like my dress, the colorless clothing making me look washed out and insignificant.

A faint sound comes from the street outside. A moment later, Lech pounds on my door.

“They are here!”