Page 52 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter fifty-two

Grave

I shake so hard, it’s almost impossible to speak. No matter how hard I try to free my legs from the flexible, green stalks wrapped around them, I cannot move from my spot. When the whip cracks behind me again, I whine helplessly. Mokosz leans in and cups my cheek with a comforting smile.

“Chin up, girl. Maybe you’ll give me such good gossip, I’ll spare you.”

No, she won’t. That’s an empty promise designed to make me talk, and I still clutch at it, unable to let go of hope.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I manage to say through my tight throat. “I didn’t seduce him. I didn’t even mean for it to happen! I just called him because I needed a favor, and he came. He said he watched me for a long time.”

She looks away with a thoughtful hum. “Hm. You’re telling the truth, but it’s unhelpful. I’d like you to try harder. Think. Why was he attracted to you?”

The plants move against my skin, climbing up my hips and stomach. They wrap around the blanket that I still hold to my chest, the only comfort in this utter horror. It doesn’t escape my attention that Woland gave it to me.

A sudden burst of hope flickers in my chest. Woland. Maybe this is just another one of his schemes. He’s close with Mokosz, after all. Maybe she offered to scare me for him, so he can swoop in and rescue me?

My back is torn with another hit of the whip, and I scream, blood seeping into my blanket.

“Come on, I’m getting bored,” Mokosz says with a petulant pout.

Wait. Would Woland let her whip me?

A hard, horrible weight descends in my stomach as I realize with complete certainty that no, he would not. He tortured my heart and mind, drew agonizing pleasure out of me, but he never hurt my body. At least, not just to cause me pain.

It’s not a scheme, then. It’s real, and I stand no chance.

“Chors said he felt safe with me because he knew me so well,” I choke out, desperate to give her something , even though I’m sure she won’t be able to use it.

When I try to shrug, my back blooms with piercing pain, so I bite back a hiss and resolve not to move. My legs are entirely buried in greenery now. It looks as if sage grows in a neat row where my thighs press together. The fuzzy purple flowers tickle the undersides of my breasts under the blanket, where they have pushed underneath.

“That’s still not useful,” she whines like a spoiled brat. “Oh, girl. You are so bad at this. Do you even have any female friends?”

She looks at me with genuine exasperation. I clench my jaw and shake my head. “Not anymore.”

Mokosz nods with a cruel laugh. “No wonder. I’d drop you as a friend within a day. Well, tell me more. What’s he like when he fucks? Assertive? Submissive? Does he moan? Or is he stoic?”

I blink at her in disbelief, fear momentarily replaced by my outrage. How can she ask me questions like this? Has she no shame?

“That’s private,” I say through gritted teeth, already bracing for the hit.

This time, when the whip plows through my bleeding back, I don’t make a sound. Sweat pours down my face, my eyes squeezed shut, and the pain is horrible, but not as bad as some other things I’ve experienced.

It’s all right. Woland knows she took me, I tell myself, my bleeding heart hanging onto this hope, even though it’s a double-edged sword. Woland might save me in the short run, yet destroy me later.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll never find me. The vial of his blood hidden beneath my collarbones ensures that. I regret hiding it so well now. There’s no way for me to remove it and let him save me.

Well, then. All I have left is to die proud.

“You are the worst,” Mokosz says, folding her arms with a scowl. “Fine. I wanted to be kind and start with something easy, but you clearly don’t appreciate my kindness. Tell me: what’s this idiocy about you knowing how to defeat Perun?”

I exhale, relaxing just a tad. There is a certain relief in the fact that I wasn’t kidnapped and whipped only to talk about my sex life. Mokosz had a more important reason for bringing me here.

“Ask Woland,” I say, feeling bolder now that things are reasonable again. “You two are cozy, aren’t you?”

There’s a bite to my words, and I clench my teeth, expecting another crack of the whip, but the goddess raises her hand, stopping the dragon behind me.

“Finally, something,” she coos. “Let it out, sweet girl. You’re angry with me, aren’t you? You thought he’d be faithful to you? Is that why you seduced Chors? To get back at the devil for kissing me? Don’t feel too bad. You had no chance against me.”

I groan, releasing a shaky stream of air. My legs are cramping, and the plants have reached my collarbones now, wrapping tightly around my arms. Yet, most of my back remains bare. A perfect target for more whip hits.

“Stop asking me inane questions!” I hiss. “Your husband’s rule is in peril. Don’t you care?”

She cocks her head to the side, studying me. Finally, her plump lips stretch in a beautiful smile. It glitters in the soft darkness of the dusk.

“Not particularly. All I care about is all that talk of capturing Woland’s consort. It’s laughable. I won’t have all the gods chasing after a slip of a bies who can’t even properly seduce a man. I’m sorry, but being in competition with you offends me. I’d rather you die today.”

“What?” I gape at her, even my pain forgotten for a moment.

Gods. She is mad. I can’t even begin to comprehend her motivations. As the whip cracks again, splitting my wounds in half, I sob. Mokosz sighs impatiently.

“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 I have to 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 ultimately changed when 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.

What did she say? Half an hour? That’s impossible.

“I’ve wasted enough time.”

I still haven’t said a word, haven’t managed to get my breathing under control, when my entire body spasms with a new torture. Mokosz lets go of my hair, and if not for the plants keeping me upright, I would have fallen to the ground.

My head hangs low, because I have no strength to support it. There’s something wrong with my chest. Slowly and with great effort, I focus my vision.

A knife. That’s what’s wrong. A handle of a knife sticks out from my chest right where my heart is.

My heart that doesn’t beat.

I blink, wondering distractedly how it’s possible for me to still be here. Mokosz growls and reaches in, her dainty fingers wrapping around the knife. She yanks it out. I scream with my last breath, and then without it, my mouth wide open, a silent scream bleeding into the night.

The agony peaks and washes away. My heart gives a painful beat. Then another.

“No.” Mokosz sounds cold and furious.

Everything swirls in my mind like a bad dream. She suffocated me for half an hour. She stuck me with a knife, right through the heart. And I am still here.

“Oh, the devil,” she growls. “Playing a god now, is he? Making bieses immortal? I’ll catch him myself, you just wait. I’ll bury him alive, just as I will you.”

She grabs my jaw, her nails digging in. I don’t see her, just a blurry outline of her face. She spits at me in rage.

“So he made you immortal, huh? That won’t help you! You’ll be just like Swietowit, buried forever, alive yet trapped, suffering for eternity! That’s what you get for giving immortality to those who don’t deserve it!”

She lets go, and I take a shuddering breath, unable to understand what’s going on. Plants tear out of the ground around me, thicker and stronger than the ones she used already. They pile on top of me, wrapping and squeezing. Again, they rip down my throat, and I suffocate, the desperation of trying to take a breath sending me into a panic.

I’m dragged down, lower and lower, the earth cracking open beneath me. I try to scream from terror, but the plants won’t let me. The world shakes and groans, and I feel it, a horrendous weight of the earth burying me alive, hiding me so well, no one will ever find me.

At last, it’s quiet. My eyes are closed, wet, cold things wrapped around my face. It’s colder here, and I shiver. My heart beats laboriously, each thud coming later than the last one.

Awareness slips away from me. There is pain, there is the horrible inability to breathe, and the worst of all, the trap. I cannot move. I cannot speak.

And I’ll never be free again.