Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

8. Yaroslava

✧ ✧ ✧

"Good morning, sunshine! Breakfast's ready."

"Brea--" I cut myself off as the girl who said that is already walking down the hall, her hips swaying in the rhythm with her hoop earrings. Laverna, that's her name. The girl who was so thrilled to see me alive in the graveyard.

In the kitchen, Laverna welcomes me with the smell of fresh coffee that a few minutes later turns out to be as tasty as puddle mud. Yet, she's confident of her breakfast, her smile says so. And only a confident person can wear such a short skirt under a scarlet coat. That was her coat I borrowed for a walk to the cathedral, I realize.

"Or should I have said good midday?" she continues as if trying to occupy me with conversation. "Whatevs. I was up all night, trying to talk some sense into this asshat Nilam, so who cares, right?" She's slender, almost skinny, but bright colors look nice against her olive skin and long and wavy brown hair.

Mir hasn't spoken to me since, not a single word, not until the three of us are out of the apartment. The sun is high now, and the buildings around don't look so depressingly colorless, their ornamental lines and mullioned windows are joyful to see. People and car traffic bustle around the corner, everything's alive.

"I take it you agree to help us, Yaroslava?" Adélard asks, his elbows leaning against his car. It's a shiny black and expensive vehicle, but several small dents on the bumper don't escape my notice under the sun. The same car we drove from the graveyard. Had they had an accident on their way there? "If you're still...you."

I stop by the door to the back seat swung half-open, searching Adélard's face, his brown eyes squinting at the sun. As if I have a choice. But his expression suggests no mockery, it's a genuine question.

"Yes," I say. "But...I have two conditions." I don't even look over my shoulder to hear Laverna stop and Mir fume. It's as if the very air behind me becomes thicker. "Once we're done, I get to spend my year as I please. Not in your apartment, not with you guys, not being followed or watched."

They don't have to agree, for I don't plan on accepting to have just a year. But I want to see their reaction. Will they argue? And if so, they can accidentally tell me something, their own plans.

But they don't argue. Laverna glances at Mir, Mir glances at Ady, and before Mir has a chance to utter a word, Ady nods, his sunglasses lurch from his brows down to the bridge of his nose. "Deal."

"But you don't get to have your bones," says Mir from behind. "And another request?"

I hesitate. "And if--when we find your magical hunter, I'll be the one to end them."

This time nobody looks at each other. Silence shoots between the four of us, the unpleasant kind. Unknown. Before, when I had my powers, I did not need to guess people's emotions and, therefore, their notions. They were plain to me, like weather once you glance at the sky. Blood talked to me. Human pulse is a blatant traitor: it shivers gradually up in agitation, staggers with adrenaline in terror, drags sluggishly in serenity. And flies and misses beats in happiness. The last one was my favorite state--one's heart is quiet and warmed and eager to trust. So easy to convince, so easy to manipulate.

And now I am blind to those hearts, I need to play the way ordinary people do--search the faces and hope not to misread. What else did I lose without knowing I'd yearn for it?

I glance at Mir. He looks away a moment before I can meet his deep-set eyes. Is he worried I'll spoil this girl's body by using her hands to kill? Or does he want to do it himself?

But a second later, Mir's expression's impassive once again. He shrugs, "If you actually manage to find the hunter." But he doesn't say yes.

And when I think we're done and want to slip into the car, Mir stops me, thrusting his palm against the door, shutting it. "No, Fire Girl sits at the front."