Page 34 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter thirty-four

Blue

“Why are you crying, my sweetest?” he asks, careful fingers coaxing my face away from my arms. “Does it hurt anywhere? What’s wrong, pretty thing?”

I shake my head, knowing I can’t tell him the truth. He’s already so smug, so very proud and pleased every time I tell him yes. Now, his eyes are creased with worry, but he still glows with the triumph of having me in public, of making me come all over his cock for his subjects to see. He is so simple, in a way. All he needs is to have me on my hands and knees.

“Tell me, love. Was that too much? Would you like me to make you forget it ever happened? I can, you know.”

His voice is light, clearly joking, but I still stiffen in fear. Woland laughs and kisses the top of my head.

“We can stop with public displays for a while, hm? I’ll make love to you in private next time. I’ll make sure you feel cherished and pampered. Will it help?”

I shake my head violently. No, it will not help. I need him to tell me he’s using me, to show me how little I am to him, but even if he does, it’s over now. My stupid, needy heart has won.

He loves me.

“Oh, you’re bleeding. Show me your hands.”

He takes my palm into his, ever so gently. With barely a prickle of pain, the splinters slide out from underneath my nails, and I am well again, no blood, not even a nick on my finger.

He lifts one hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip, then the other. When our eyes meet, his are warm and a bit mischievous.

“I thought I would be bad at this, but look at me,” he says with a secret smile. “I’m good at it, aren’t I? Tell me, love. Tell me how good I am at loving you.”

“Very good,” I mumble, looking away. My cheeks feel hot. “And distracting. Do you remember I have a mission tonight? I should get ready.”

“I know,” he says with an exuberant smile, raising his arms high in a comfortable stretch. “Yes, of course, I’ll stop distracting you. I had no idea it would be so hard to be apart, you know? It’s like I never want to lose sight of you. My perfect girl.”

He pounces, stealing a long, deep kiss that I am helpless but to return. I feebly try to remind myself this might be a lie, but my heart won’t have it, and no wonder. He is good at this. Either being in love or pretending to—I don’t know. But the way he follows me with his eyes, how he can’t stop touching me, the way he kisses me constantly—it’s all very convincing.

“I’ll take this chance to get back to work,” he says, his sensuous mouth twisting in distaste. “So much to do, love, when I’d rather be here, doing you. I’ll look in on your mission to make sure you’re safe. Call my name if you need anything.”

He doesn’t leave at once. It’s a lengthy process, with many kisses and caresses, Woland’s eyes glittering with heat. He looks at me like he’s truly in love, and I don’t understand how I was able to resist that before.

“Be good. Miss me well, my love.”

When he’s finally gone, I sit in the sudden silence, confused, heart pounding. This room is too big, and I’m cold, my skin pebbling as I shiver even though the fire roars in the nearest fireplace.

I quash a ridiculous instinct to call his name just to check if he’ll come. I finally got some peace and quiet in the end. I should be glad instead of missing him like a lovesick fool. Besides, I told Woland the truth. I need to get ready, and being distracted will do me no favors.

I have a full day ahead of me. And an important question to find an answer to.

“What are you growing?” I ask Lutowa when I finally find her in the herb workshop, her hands buried in a huge pot of soil.

“Nothing. I just felt restless. This relaxes me.”

She doesn’t look away from the pot, and in the too bright light of the workshop, I notice how the black earth grows paler, somehow thinner, until it’s no longer rich and fertile, but poor and depleted. Lutowa sighs happily, a bit of a flush coming to her bony cheeks.

“I heard you had fun in the dining room today,” she says, arching a dark eyebrow when she turns to me. “So many people lost their bets, you know. Wera said he’d kick you out in just a day after that duel. My eggs are on you staying in his favor for months.”

I take a long, steadying breath. “Thank you for your support. I have a question for you.”

She washes her hands in the basin in the corner of the room. Crouching hunched like that, she looks like an eerie child, its face too drawn, eyes too big. Her long hair trails the floor. I try to remember she is centuries old, but it’s so difficult when she looks like a malnourished girl.

“If you want to know what poison is best to kill or incapacitate a strzyga, I don’t have good news. They are immune to most substances. Weles created them, just like us, biedas. His creations are the best kinds of bies, resilient, powerful, and made to complement the world. He really knew what he was doing. It’s a pity he doesn’t come out anymore.”

“No. I wanted to know if there’s a way to stop a memory modification spell.”

She freezes for a moment, giving me a sharp, too penetrating look. I swallow and hold her gaze, and Lutowa nods slowly, studying my face. Finally, she speaks.

“There is. I’ll teach you.”

I almost hug her from relief, but the bieda hasn’t warmed much to affection, and so I keep my distance. She doesn’t ask me why I want to protect myself, instead launching into a quick, careful explanation.

“Mind spells are tricky, and it’s an obscure, mostly forgotten branch of magic. They are difficult to carry out because of the precision and power required. That’s why most people don’t even think to protect themselves. They are open, their minds easily accessible through their eyes.”

“Their eyes?”

She hums with a nod, taking a step closer until we’re face to face, her big, dark eyes level with mine.

“You must know this. Gazing into someone’s eyes is the most intimate form of contact. That’s because you’re looking directly into someone’s soul. Do you see? How intense it is?”

I blink and swallow, because yes, she’s right. It is intense. Lutowa nods, satisfied, and takes a step back.

“Thankfully, protecting yourself isn’t even half as hard as doing a successful memory spell. You need to put a barrier just behind your eyes, inside your head. It will use up some of your magic, and you need to hold it with intent. That’s the tricky part. If you’re expecting someone to spell you, it’s easy, but what if they do it without a warning? That’s why the barrier needs to stay on at all times. You need to renew it every morning right after you wake up, and possibly every few hours, as well.”

I mull it over while she fills another pot with rich, moist soil from a sack. It sounds complicated.

“I guess I can’t just close my eyes, then?” I ask.

She snorts. “No. You want the person who casts the spell to think it worked, because if they don’t, they will keep working on you. That’s tricky, too, I suppose. Even after you protect yourself from their spell, you’ll have to smile and pretend like you forgot the thing they wanted you to forget.”

She pushes her hands into the soil with a blissful expression, and I hop on a workbench, leaning my elbows on my knees to think. The implications sound horrifying. If Woland ever hurts me and then makes me forget it, I’ll have to behave as if I don’t remember.

“So, how do I put up that barrier?” I ask when Lutowa is done sucking everything that’s good out of the soil.

“Think of protection or a shield, and just make it happen. With magic,” she says unhelpfully.

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.

“Let’s go slowly,” I say. “The guard tower isn’t that far.”

“So you still have your tongue,” Lech quips, his blue eyes flashing mockingly. “I wondered.”

We walk along the ravine, the frozen river glittering like metal on the bottom. Our breaths turn into puffy clouds in the night air. There is no snow, but it’s unbearably cold, and even though I should probably save my magic, I warm myself up just a bit.

On the bridge, someone stands. They are wrapped in a cloak, and I can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman, or what race they are. They are tall, and there’s dignity to their posture. Lech pays the person no mind, but I can’t stop staring, my magic humming with an itch, or maybe recognition, even though I don’t recognize them.

Just as we pass each other, the person turns to me, and I catch sight of two intensely blue, gorgeous eyes lined with dark, heavy lashes. They are undeniably feminine, looking straight at me.

I blink, and the woman is gone, a faint aroma of rosemary and hay in the air.