✧ ✧ ✧

"Nilam, it's an awful idea."

I've been telling myself this all day. I thought it was good, but...trapping someone is one thing and destroying their soul? Forever, no redemption? I'm not sure I can do it. Even after everything the demon has done to me.

The cool early evening conquering the city and long peaceful shadows veiling the streets don't comfort me, either.

"It's your idea," Nilam whispers back. "I only improve and implement it."

I study him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders twitch with impatience as he glances around to make sure nobody sees us lurking along the alley, a febrile glint in his eyes. He's different since I told him we could catch our supernatural murderer. Nilam's become edgy, rushing into the future like there's a tornado at his heels. Like he has something to prove. But what can he possibly want to prove?

I don't believe what Mir said about one of us--them--working with Vlad. I don't want to believe that. But why Mir hasn't told anyone but me about the demon? Lav didn't know Vlad's name when I asked her, and nobody knew that the killer could be more than just another magic user until Mir prompted it out loud. Why is he hiding the truth from everyone?

No, Mir can't be the traitor. The mere possibility of it makes my chest tighten with dread. Why would he even suggest it if he could expose himself? He wants me alive, not dead.

But nobody promised to burn me alive either, people are full of surprises.

It's an eye for an eye then, right? My very first planned murder.

"And I only mastermind it." I sigh, sneaking between the buildings after Nilam, to the back door behind the old stone facade.

The restaurant is closed, but the hall isn't empty. I've been here once when I just moved to the city. The story goes this was the mansion of the very first Vedma before she fell in love with a Vedmak. And here their wedding was held, and here the lightning struck depriving the newlyweds of their powers. These days it's merely a fancy restaurant, where the tables are booked for months ahead by gourmands and ghost story lovers.

On weekends, however, the place is officially closed, and tonight is the weekend.

"What's the occasion?" I peek in through the mullioned window. Countless paintings and tapestries adorn the hall, and all the tables arranged in a single row are brimming with dainties. I see a white woman in a modest velvet dress, the fashion of the Church of Angelic Order, talking to a Black man whose regal bearing resembles Ady's far too much. At least a dozen more people in lavish outfits exchange pleasantries, and as many waiters bustle around. "Nilam, you said we could find the ingredients for the ritual here, but you never said we had to skulk past the mayor dining with friends."

"It's no dinner." Nilam's expression sours when he stops next to me to survey the crowded hall. "The most pompous asses of St. Daktalion come here every weekend to do business, gossip, and show off."

"Won't it be better for us to come on Monday then?"

"We came for snake skulls, Yara, not for lobsters and caviar. My aunt has her pantry spelled, it can be entered only when she's nearby."

Following his gaze, I see an old lady seated at the head of the table row. Brown curls tumble down her back, gold shines on her bony fingers and in her ears. She smiles, but squeamish crow's feet gather around her eyes. As if she looks for a flaw, for a reason to satirize her guests. "You never told me about your aunt. The restaurant is hers?"

"The restaurant, the building, the shitty earrings, yes."

"Then why do you live in a filthy library's basement?"

"First, my club is not filthy, and second--" Nilam grits his teeth for a moment before answering. "Do you remember I said my parents' death was an accident? Well, she has another opinion. She thinks it was my fault. Apparently, whatever spell they performed the night they died, they did it for me or to protect me."

He wants to prove he's not to blame, I realize. That magic isn't ultimately harmful, that's why he's so edgy. He's convinced himself it's his duty to stop bad things from happening now.

"Do other people here know about magic?" I ask. "Do they know that the city serial killer might be a demon, not a human?"

Nilam jerks his head from side to side. "Nah, my aunt never talks about it. She quit practicing sorcery after what happened to my parents, and locked all her macabre stuff in the pantry here. She'd strangle me if she knew about my club. For her, magic is a vicious joke. Do you know the name of the restaurant?"

"Zagovor."

"And what it means?"

I shake my head.

"Just a myth, but...It's a voodoo incantation used to compel others to do your bidding while they don't even realize they're acting against their will. The point is, my aunt named the place where people come to eat--to feel alive--after the sorcery of control and death. A funny joke, right? Ask Jasna when you finally get a chance to meet her in person. She likes spooky myths, she'll tell you more about it."

The febrile glint in Nilam's eyes fades, revealing resentful sadness, as he keeps staring at his aunt. The only living member of his family, and she hates him for something he hasn't even done. It's not the magic that makes us suffer, is it? It's people and their prejudices.

I put my hand on Nilam's shoulder and clasp it a little in an attempt to cheer him up. "Believe me, it's never your fault what other people think of you. And I'd better live in your club than sit at that fancy table, eating lobsters."

Nilam looks at my hand for a moment, hesitant, then a small smile tugs at his lips. "Who says we can't order lobsters to my club?"

"The snake skulls first, though."

"Right."

Yet, before proceeding, his hand covers mine on his shoulder. The warmth of his palm is startling against the evening chill reigning around. Startling, but...comforting. It's not the first time I catch myself with that feeling beside him--comfort. Trust. I never feel alone beside him, or misunderstood, or neglected. A feeling I could spend the rest of my life with. Beside him. With him. It would be good.

The back door groans open, shattering the moment. Nilam's hand retreats before our fingers have a chance to lace together. I step away too, suddenly flushed.

Kadri appears on the threshold.

"You're late," she grumbles. "Please, be quick."

She ushers us inside, to the dark corner of the corridor under the curved staircase. Despite the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air and the cacophony of merry voices coming from the hall, she looks unsettled. "My mother wants to leave early. She believes Polina ran off and skipped town, so don't convince her otherwise."

Nilam rolls his eyes. "They won't look at Polina if they see me here. My aunt will probably make a scene while kicking me out through the front door."

"I'd better be kicked out. They're planning my and Ady's future for, like, half an hour already. Do you know how many children I have in that tale?" Blowing air through her nose, Kadri adjusts the collar of her blouse. "Angels help me," she mutters, then skirts the staircase, and disappears into the hall.

It's an awful idea.

And not because I'm stealing something under the noses of Nilam's aunt, the mayor, and the High Priestess, but because for the first time in my life, I'm about to use magic willingly. I've seen dead people before, dead at my powers, I've read about the rituals scarier than a lifetime in Hell, I've memorized the stink of blood, yet...Never have I welcomed the destiny of a witch.

Nilam and I are here for some eerie snake bones, Laverna's gone to an occult boutique at the edge of the city, and right now, Mir's probably digging graveyard soil for the next part of our plan.

We have two days until the full moon to collect all we need, and then...I'm not sure I want my revenge anymore, the thought settles hot between my shoulder blades. What makes me better than a demon who killed me if I bring pain and suffering in return? Demons do it because they feeling nothing, they don't know what sorrow--or love--is.

But I do.

No, not an eye for an eye. Kadri was right, we're doing it to save other people. And Nilam is right, too, we know what's like, to be blamed, to hurt and want to blame someone. We can't let anyone get hurt and die again. If my wrong choices and endless regrets have taught me anything, it's this--I know how to save people.

I can be the savior now, not the villain.

"Yara, come." Once two waiters stroll into the kitchen, and the corridor is clear, Nilam tiptoes toward a wooden door to the left from the staircase. A stained-glass wall separates the dining hall and our corridor, but I can still see the vague figures of the guests at the tables. I recognize Ady's graceful parents, Kadri's stern mother, and then my wandering eyes find a boy.

The sight of him makes my skin crawl, making me forget everything else.

A boy, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair auburn, his jawline prominent. The boy who's attacked me at the shop where Laverna and I came looking for dresses. The boy who promised to shoot me dead if I told anyone the truth. What truth?

"Nilam?" I slink closer to the archway, hunkering down behind a giant vase with dried flowers. "Who's that?"

Fumbling with the lock on the wooden door, Nilam cranes his neck to look where my finger points. "Oh, that one? Zoryan, the jeweler's son and also Polina's fiancé. A dickhead who supposes everything's his business, you better keep out of his sight since you aren't Polina anymore."

Zoryan?

So he wasn't talking about me or to me, when he stalked me? He thought I was his fiancé who'd run off. And the night he was referring to... My eyes travel across the tables, locating Kadri seated side by side with Adélard. Kadri looks anywhere but Zoryan's side, but Adélard's withering glare is buried into Zoryan's temple.

And he told me if Polina had left, then tonight I'd be his gift, Kadri's words ring in my head.

Did you tell anyone? Save for Ady?

I can't.

Outrage flares inside me. And now he's sitting there, indulging in the caviar like a gentleman he is not. Like a good boy whose hands haven't touched a girl who asked him to stop. And he dared to coerce me into keeping my mouth shut about it? Had I only still had my powers right now...

You were right, Yara. I used magic.

I assumed I was lucky when Zoryan slipped on the fabric and knocked himself unconscious, but what if it wasn't my good luck but his bad luck? That's the magic Kadri was asking me about at the university, isn't it? The curse of bad luck.

"Nilam, I need to check something."

"What?"

When another waiter pokes the kitchen door open, instead of ducking back under the staircase, I walk straight to him. "Hello." I give him the brightest smile I own. If they all think I'm Polina, I simply need to play a convincing role of a girl who belongs to get what I need.

"H--hey." The waiter's pudgy paunch bulges over his apron, the linen of his shirt wrinkling around the buttons, as he blinks at me. "Haven't seen you in a while, miss...O'Shea? Polina O'Shea, right?"

Hell if I know. I wrap a lock of my hair around my finger, trying to look unfazed. "Right, that's me. Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you spill this drink"--I angle my chin at the glass of wine in his hand--"on someone's clothes?"

Pudgy Paunch's face screws up in confusion. "Beg your pardon?"

"Yara, what--" I raise my hand, shushing Nilam.

"Don't you want to have some fun?" I continue, holding the waiter's gaze. "I'm sure you're sick of serving those arrogant people every day. Do they even pay you enough?"

Pudgy Paunch's confusion slowly transforms into skepticism. "It's you who want to have some fun, huh? Madam Vinshu will fine me for that."

Nilam feigns a cough, concealing his cynical chuckle. "Please, my aunt will fine you anyway. For looking tired, for one. She pays you enough to tolerate it though."

"What do I get from you in return then?"

"I'll kiss you," I blurt out.

Pudgy Paunch's eyes widen with excitement, Nilam's expression darkens with bitterness. "You will?" Their two voices merge into one, making me flinch.

I shouldn't have said it. But I really need Pudgy Paunch to agree.

Crossing my fingers behind my back, I nod again. I'm branded a liar anyway, right? And it's a white lie, nobody gets hurt. Technically. "But your end of the bargain first."

Pudgy Paunch's dubious gaze flicks from me to Nilam to me again, and then something shifts in his eyes, a slightest change, illuminating mischief. "Always wanted to do that anyway. Whose outfit do you want me to ruin?"

Triumph kindles in my stomach. "I don't care, you choose."

Stalling a beat, Pudgy Paunch smirks. He's already decided who'll be his victim. Squaring his shoulders, he starts toward the hall, the glass held high in his hand like a victor's goblet. I hurry back to my watch post behind the vase just in time to see him march along the tables.

"What the hell was that?" Nilam's vexed breath brushes my ear as he peers from behind my back.

"You hate these dinners, don't you? Enjoy the show."

"If he splashes that wine into the mayor's face--"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"Just watch."

In tense silence, we wait for Pudgy Paunch to cross the hall, his confident eyes sweeping across the guests. He stalls next to Ady. For a moment, my heart clenches, and I think I've made a mistake, but then Pudgy Paunch rounds the table and stops next to Zoryan sitting in the opposite corner. My fiancé scowls at him, the gap between bushy eyebrows narrowing.

The waiter's face brightens. With an innocent smile and trained motions, he leans forward as though to place the glass on the table. Then he pretends to stumble. "Oops!" And the ruby red liquid is all over Zoryan's face and shirt.

Nilam gasps beside me.

Zoryan howls with fury, jumping to his feet, wine droplets trickling down his jaw. The whole party erupts in chaos, some guests chastising Pudgy Paunch--others shamelessly laughing. Several waiters bolt toward Zoryan, offering his napkins and help.

"How did you know he'd choose the dickhead?" Nilam clasps his hand to his lips, but laughter bubbles up out of him anyway. "You are a witch after all."

A pang of hurt lances my heart. He doesn't say it as a bad thing, as Mir said it.

"I didn't do anything, it's Kadri." She used magic to curse Zoryan. Now wherever he goes and whatever bad thing happens around him, it happens to him. That's her payback.

✧ ✧ ✧

The pantry behind the wooden door is a big room full of vegetable baskets, grain sacks, and oil bottles. Nilam's still sniggering as he shut the door behind us, leaving us in the utter dark.

"Ugh, what's that smell?" My nose scrunched up. "Dirty feet?"

"Blue cheese." He taps his flashlight on. "Super smelly, super expensive. Let's go before the waiter finds us and demands your end of the bargain."

Pushing one of the baskets away, Nilam reveals a small trapdoor in the floor. He yanks at its ring and opens the trapdoor with a grunt.

I stare at the darkness below, dismayed. It looks like a pit into Hell. "You first."

"As you wish."

Climbing down after Nilam, I find myself in a room--no, a set of rooms--bigger than the pantry left overhead. There are all sorts of herbs and crystals and dusty bottles here. Old chests take up almost all the space, butterflies and bugs glued in amber hang on the walls.

With the shadows cast by Nilam's flashlight, the butterflies look morbidly alive. Like it's a crypt. A tomb.

Yara, Yara, Yara...

Noticing my unease, Nilam draws another flashlight out of his pocket and hands it to me. "Don't worry, it won't take long. I'll find the snake skulls, and you look for moroznik seeds and fern flowers, we'll need those for the potion for a bloodcage."

"Where are they?"

"I think in the box under the window."

I look around, but there's no window.

"The room to the left."

"Oh."

Not good. It's an awful idea, my mind keeps chanting as I pad into another room and then the next one to the left, blackness billowing in my wake. I still hate darkness, even though I love nights. Nights are real, full of moonlight and stars and a warm summer breeze. And the darkness is the abyss--no breeze, no stars, no warmth. Dead emptiness.

There's a narrow window under the ceiling in the next room I enter. The sky is clouded tonight though. Even with the flashlight in my hands, it's hard to see anything but a small patch my light falls over. And there's more than one box under the window. How I am supposed to find tiny seed among them?

A weird sensation settles deep in my bones as I take a step further into the room. Like the darkness itself stirring awake.

I'm not scared of death, I'm alive.

This darkness can't touch me, and I have my pendant around my neck so no magic can harm me as well. My body is my armor, my soul safe within it. I hear Nilam humming a tune to himself behind the wall, I hear my own breath and my own heartbeat and...

Something else.

My mouth goes dry. It's rather a sensation than a sound. Another presence behind my back. Swallowing, I glance over my shoulder, but there's nothing but shadows. Motionless shadows. Yet, there's something, I feel it! I still remember how my magic once ran through my veins, hot and fierce. And I feel it now, near me.

My heartbeat doubling, I whirl in place. "Hello?"

Nothing.

I'm about to check the room with my flashlight, but the next second, it flickers and dies. The weak moonlight oozing through the window is my only ally now. But it's enough.

A black figure appears in front of me, gradually gathering like smoke into a human shape. It doesn't move, doesn't breathe, doesn't speak, but I instantly know it's him--the one I saw at the basilica. I wasn't hallucinating.

"Vlad?"

He stays mute.

"Who are you?"

Not a word.

My eyes dart to the door, my muscles knotting. And when I'm ready to sprint, when my body lurches forward in the beginning of the first step, he glides forward. The pale moonlight pours over his face.

He's not Vlad. This boy's hair is brown, not golden, the corners of his lips downcast, his clothes poorly fitting. He shifts from foot to foot as though preparing to chase me if I run. Or to run from me? He's human, yet he's not. Like an unfinished painting lacking shadows and highlights.

It's another long second before I see a freckle on his cheek, right under his left eye. Like a tear.

"Bogdan?" Shock and relief blend in some kind of hysterical laugh in my chest. My only friend, my best friend, the boy from the hospital yard, who never judged me for my bruises. I thought I'd never see him again. "What are you doing here? How--"

He recoils from my touch when I want to pull him into a hug, his expression alarmed.

With a delay, my mind connects another two dots. "You're standing." No wheelchair.