Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

15. Yaroslava

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Now

The night wind bites my skin and sends a shiver down my spine as I barge out of the club. The innocent rain has grown into a spring downpour, soaking my clothes. My hair clings to my face, the raindrops heavy on my lashes. The street is nothing but a blur, and I'm not even sure if it's the rain to blame--or my tears.

Jasna's last memory?

Yaroslava.

Past the library, past the river bridge, past the old statues of angels guarding the empty streets. Run, run, run. My knees tremble, but my feet move as though knowing where to take me before my brain does.

How could Nilam see me in Jasna's memory? Perhaps someone could plant a fake image along with her body to make me look guilty, but why if I was dead already? I might not remember it all, yet I can bet my new body I've never even met a girl named Jasna. But will they believe me? Will they listen? I didn't kill anyone. Not on purpose.

Aren't you tired of being blamed for everything? But then Mir called me a liar. I'm pathetic. I shouldn't have run, shouldn't have let my fears conquer me once again, practically taking the blame. But their faces the moment before I ran off! I just couldn't bear it. Nilam stared at me, triumphant, Lav was shocked, and Mir... was it disappointment or satisfaction in his eyes? They all looked at me the way Bogdan had looked when I'd finally confessed that I'd been a vedma, and then he'd told me to never talk to him again.

You're a monster. You chose to be.

Gulping the cold air, I find myself in front of the iron bars of a fence, too weary to go looking for the gates. My boots squelching, I jump, grab the wet metal, and lift my body over the fence. A decorative spike at the top grazes my ankle, drawing my blood, as I hop down, and the air instantly stings the cut. It doesn't feel nice, blood and rain trickling down my skin, but I'm grateful for the feeling.

An hour ago, on the roof, I didn't want to feel anything, and now I want it all. All the way through. Mine, real. The thought that this might be my last day on Earth twists and yanks and shreds me from inside. What if they decide to get rid of me now? They can destroy my bones, banish my spirit forever. One eerie witch down just to make sure that she won't cause any troubles in the future, right?

Think, little freak.

Beyond the fence, the graveyard is calm. These slanted crosses used to frighten me, but now they seem...safe, with nobody to see me cry. Even the rain here is quieter, cautious. Maybe because I belong here now, to a grave not to life? It was foolish to think I could change my fate if given a second chance. I can only repeat my mistakes.

Slouching, I dawdle past the graves, round an abandoned chapel, and approach a nameless headstone nestled between two others. They didn't even fill the hole back up after retrieving my bones. That is all what's left of me--a nameless hole.

I fall to my knees, on the muddy ground, ruining my clothes, giving up to my shivering. The chill clutches at my bones while my hot tears course down my cheeks, leaving salt on my lips. It feels like dying all over again, but only inside.

"Hey, Mom," I whisper to the headstone on my left, then turn to the right one. "Hey, Sis." I'm so sorry.

After our house had burned down, I spent most of my money to buy a place in this graveyard. The first one in old St. Daktalion city, where only the richest families could afford a place. And apparently whoever's job was to bury my remains later decided to rest me here, too. The legends say the Nótt river floods this graveyard every hundred years, washing half of the graves away--that's why the city is haunted, that's why there's always a place available. I hope it's a lie.