Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

42. Yaroslava

✧ ✧ ✧

Three years and five months ago.

The night of my death

I never looked back.

Not for a minute did I allow myself to grieve. Escaping the detective's endless questions, I hurried back to the city, with one thought in my mind sharpening like a blade. Vengeance. Still having the wallet Vlad had thrown at me the night he'd abandoned me, I had one last hint of where to look for him. A business card that was tucked in the wallet's pocket. Praejis Hall.

A small internet search told me that it was the name of the law firm, and Igor Praejis was some supercilious attorney, the best of the best, praised by everyone who knew him. If Mr. Praejis's reputation was the result of some magical scam, I thought, I wouldn't be surprised. He must know Vlad.

The rest of the day I spent making arrangements for my family's burial at St. Daktalion's graveyard and--burying Mom's pendant under cathedral walls. Wearing it felt like too much, a reminder of loss, pain, and tears. If I rest it there, in a jewelry box, in the ground, I swore to myself, my tears would be locked away with it; I wouldn't have to grieve, or mourn, or hurt. And I crumpled the business card and threw it into the box as well, it was an impulse, a wish to forget.

When the evening settled over the city, it was bitter cold. No stars, no moon in the sky, only dark clouds and endless snow, falling over my head like ashes. A perfect night for revenge.

"You want to break into a lawyer's office, driving there in a stolen car?" Wayra asked that night, his dark, bushy brows arching, when I told him to make a quick stop. "Are you high or generally nuts?"

I'm angry. I'd never felt that way before, seething with fury I could barely hold inside. And every time my thoughts slipped back to the image of my charred house and the detective's meaningless Sorry for your loss, the magic in my blood throbbed hot, ready to ravage. I didn't need anyone's sorry--I needed justice.

"It might be fun, though." In the car's rearview mirror, Qing cast me a scythe-like smile. She looked sly, but her pointed chin and heavy black makeup made her also appear confident. And she truly was, I sensed it. She always knew what she wanted. I envied that, so I started to wear makeup just like hers. "Are you sure the office is empty at night, Slavich?"

"You don't need to come," I told them. "I don't want the money, I only need... Praejis's files." I needed something--anything--that would show me the direction where to search for Vlad. He could break my heart, but burning my house, taking my family away from me? That was unforgivable.

Our car suddenly lurched to a stop in the middle of a road. Wayra's gaze shone with a dangerous spark, when he turned to look at me. "Did you say Praejis?" he asked, his large hands gripping the wheel.

I nodded.

"That bastard of a lawyer threw my uncle in jail for a crime he's never committed. Just because it looked good for the press." The car jerked in another direction. "Hell yeah, we're breaking in. And I do want the money."

All this time, Euklas sat right beside me, mute as a fish. He never said yes, but he never argued, so no one paid attention to him then. "What about the guards or security cameras?" he only asked.

"People like Praejis don't favor security cameras," Wayra said. "Too much shady business can be caught on those. And I bet he's too self-assured to even think someone would dare rob him."

The streets flew past, and soon, I stood in front of Praejis Hall. It was an imposing building, its glass facade reflecting the streetlights. It looked like a frozen ghost in the dark. I knew I was right the instance I set a foot in that building. The front door was open, yet not a living soul was around. A sense of foreboding rippled through me. The magic was always a feeling, and I felt it here, in the very air. A death's breath.