Page 6 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter six

Lech

“Why are you laughing?” I ask sharply, revulsion crawling down my spine.

He might seem civilized, clad in a clean linen shirt open at the throat and a pair of tight leather pants, his red hair curling around his sharp cheekbones in debonair waves. But under the veneer of polish is a bloodthirsty monster.

“Because I adore seeing a mamuna sucking someone dry for a change,” he says easily with a mocking smile. “Word of advice, darling: never crack the egg. You stuffed that one with enough juice for two.”

I glance at the mamuna serving me. She shrugs with a grin, looking completely unapologetic.

“My price is three hardboiled eggs. I’ll consider the excess a tip for excellent service.”

“Your service is always excellent,” the upir says with a smarmy smile, bowing slightly. “By the way, is my feeder available?”

“Wait your turn,” she says, thrusting another egg into my palms. “Very well, dear. Let’s do it right. Try to control yourself this time and put in just enough to boil the egg. Go on.”

I focus, cutting off the flow of power much faster than before. This time, the egg stays intact, but it’s still hot. The mamuna snatches it and shakes it by her ear, then taps it a few times against her temple.

“Good,” she says. “One more. And watch out for Lech.”

When something cold touches the exposed skin of my shoulder, I turn fast, almost colliding with the upir. He gives me a dazzling grin and retreats a step while I stare at him with alarm. Did he just… nuzzle my nape? Gods, his skin was so cold and clammy.

I shiver with disgust, and he licks his lips with a seductive smirk.

“What are you doing?” I ask, clenching my empty hands into fist. I wish I had the knife or even the pot in my palm, but I don’t dare look away from the bies.

“Forgive me, darling,” he says with mock deference. “It’s just that your blood smells so different. I was trying to figure out what you remind me of. It seems like such a full bouquet, spicy and hot, with a hint of pine, a pinch of moonlight, and something herbal. You caught my eye.”

Ha. Pine and moonlight—right. The bastard thinks himself so clever. As I purse my lips, trying to control my anger, he smirks, his eyes roaming my form as if I’m an object to be appraised. Hungry and exhausted, I lose the fight with my temper.

I turn to grab my pot and raise it in a threat.

“Smell me again and I’ll bash your skull in,” I say in my most pleasant tone of voice.

The upir laughs under his breath, not cowed in the least. His blue eyes twinkle.

“No bloodshed in my house,” the mamuna says severely. “And that applies to you, as well, Lech. Drink from a guest and I’ll turn you inside out.”

“Of course, most respectable Zlotomira. I’d never dare cross you.”

He steps back, and I force myself to calm down, putting my pot down. I fill the third egg with too much force, making it crack again. Zlotomira gives me a sharp grin, swipes the eggs away, depositing them in a drawer, and pushes the key toward me.

“The supper and hot bath will be waiting for you. And since you overpaid, I’ll send in a comb and a change of clothes, hm? Losing an eye is no reason to let yourself go, dear.”

I gape at her for a stunned moment, then close my mouth with a click. She’s right. After weeks in the woods, I probably look awful, and getting offended about the truth is pointless.

“Thank you. Good night.”

She points me toward a set of wide, comfortable stairs in the back of the barroom. I climb them with my last strength, holding onto the handrail. Upstairs, there is a long corridor, the walls paneled with fair wood, dozens of doors on both sides. Each is painted a different color, and I spot the emerald one at once.

I fumble with the key, my hands shaking from fatigue. My magic is significantly depleted after paying the price for the room.

Inside, the first thing I do is lock the door. Then I just lean my back against it, my eyes closed, my ribs flaring with the first deep breath since I was run out of my village. I’m finally indoors, and the simple pleasure of being inside, with walls separating me from the countless dangers of the world, makes my head spin. I slide down to the wooden floor, sitting and breathing.

When the smell of hot food tickles my nose, I crack my eye open, taking in the room. It’s small but comfortable, with a large, double bed covered by a quilt embroidered with vividly green ferns. Under a small window hidden behind a thick green curtain sits a sturdy table. The pristine white tablecloth resting on top is embroidered with emerald thread. More importantly, the table is laden with food, three fat beeswax candles filling the room with golden light.

A metal tub that might actually fit me sits opposite the bed, the water steaming. As I watch, a small stool with a comb laid out on top of a folded piece of cream fabric pops out of thin air by the tub. I gasp softly, then grin. Even my exhaustion can’t temper my delight.

Because this place is magical.

Magic happens right in the open, people trading it in shops and using it freely, without fearing banishment or the wrath of gods. It seems whatever rules Perun gave mortals, they don’t apply to the citizens of Slawa.

Small tendrils of hope spread through my heart, my throat suddenly tight with an unfamiliar though pleasant emotion. I focus on it, smiling to myself, until I realize that what I feel is belonging. Finally, there is a place where I fit in. And it doesn’t matter I know almost nothing about Slawa—my yearning heart already decided it’s home.

I heave myself up to my feet with a groan and wash my hands and face in the hot water. It feels so good, I sigh in bliss. A pot of soap sits in a clay jar, suspended in a small metal basket at the edge of the tub. It smells strongly of roses, and the scent stays on my skin after I rinse it off. I cannot wait to lie in the tub, but the food beckons first.

The dishes are made of dark red clay, their edges decorated with simple patterns that match. There is a large bowl filled with cabbage stew, a side plate laden with roast carrots and thick cuts of meat dripping with butter, and another one with a tall stack of dark bread slices. A large cup and a jug complete the setup. I take a sniff and raise my eyebrows at the dark red, acidic drink. Fermented beetroot juice.

Even though my stomach grumbles, I still force myself to eat slowly because I’d actually cry if I threw this up. Every bite makes me moan in pleasure, maybe because hunger is the best seasoning, or maybe because Slawa’s food is superb.

The bath is another delightful experience, since the water hasn’t cooled even a bit throughout my supper. Magic must keep it hot, and I whisper thanks to Zlotomira under my breath as I soak my tired bones in the fragrant bath.

With my last strength, I wash my dress in the bathwater. When I finally roll into bed, the first rooster crows, announcing the dawn. Finally safe and indoors, I fall asleep within seconds.

I wake up in the dark to a bell ringing somewhere in the room. I roll out of bed, falling on the floor with a thud. I’m groggy, my eyes refusing to open. Someone knocks on my door firmly, and I groan, walking blindly toward the sound.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Zlotomira, dear,” comes her muffled voice. “If you want to stay another night, you need to pay.”

I take a moment to check in with my stores of magic. They feel comfortable, though not full. There must have been another toll during the day that I slept through.

“I’ll be right out,” I mumble, going back to the table, where I left my eye patch. I tie it hastily around my head and go back to the door. Zlotomira looks up with a pleasant smile, extending a basket with three eggs toward me. Her graying gold hair is braided today, the braids wrapped around her head in a splendid crown.

“You haven’t eaten your breakfast, by the way,” she chides me, wagging her finger. “We don’t give refunds for uneaten food.”

I nod, blinking fast to chase sleep from my eyes. “Thank you. Ah, and for the dress, too. It’s lovely.”

I wore the new dress to bed for lack of another garment. It’s long and simple, its neckline embroidered with ferns and silver flowers that actually glimmer. I think it’s even prettier than my mother’s poppy dress, the one I wore to Kupala Night back home.

“It suits you. Tell you what, make the eggs crack again, and I’ll throw in a pair of shoes. You have good magic, girl. Good currency. Stay as long as you want, and Mama will take care of you, hm?”

I cough in surprise, my unfocused gaze straying to her large breasts dripping milk. Mama, indeed. “Oh… Yes to the shoes. Thank you. The room is very comfortable.”

All three eggs crack, filled to the brim with my magic. Zlotomira gives me a pleased grin and leaves, and I stumble back inside. The candles light as soon as I close the door. I use a clay chamber pot that sits by the bed and watch its contents disappear at once. Gods, I love magic.

Soon, another supper arrives with another hot bathtub, and I eat my fill and bathe, then go back to bed. The candles go out when I fall asleep.

The next morning, I finally feel rested. As soon as I open the curtains, my breakfast arrives, accompanied by a jug of water and a shallow basin that I use to wash my face. I gulp down buttered bread, scrambled eggs, and a small dish of the sweetest cream with a handful of raspberries, washing it all down with a mint brew sweetened with honey. My hair thoroughly combed and braided, I don my new shoes, which are made of leather so supple, it’s like a caress for my battered feet.

As I come out and lock up, a crimson door down the corridor opens. Lech comes out, his lips stained red. I freeze, and he gives me an indolent smile, licking his fangs obscenely.

“Look who finally woke up,” he drawls, eyeing my clenched fists with a smirk. “Now, that’s better, darling. You’ve washed off the remnants of the dye at your hairline and now your hair looks completely natural.”

I release a startled breath, gripping my key. I decided to leave my knife behind so as not to call even more attention to myself, but that was clearly a mistake.

The upir laughs under his breath, ambling over while he fixes his hair that’s a bit disheveled.

“Don’t come near me,” I growl, taking a step back. “Or I swear, I’ll cut off your head and bury it far away from the rest of you.”

He snorts, shooting me an amused glance. “You’ve got lots to learn, one-eyed girl. For example, we don’t do any killing here until after the toll. You might overtax yourself and then die, and let me tell you, perishing from the lack of magic is a sad, pitiful death.”

“Not as sad as losing your head.”

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.”