Set in the same thrilling world as Genoveva Dimova’s The Witch’s Compendium of Monsters series, “Ace Up Her Sleeve” is a standalone, spoiler-free story featuring the fire witch Kosara, who must match wits with the Tsar of Monsters in a high-stakes card game that is equal parts magic, skill, and subterfuge . . .
The first volume in Genoveva Dimova’s The Witch’s Compendium of Monsters series, Foul Days, is available now! Monstrous Nights, the next volume in the series, releases October 22, 2024 and is available to pre-order now wherever books are sold!
The clocks struck midnight. With every chime echoing in the dark streets, the gap above Chernograd tore wider. With every chime, the sky spat out more monsters.
Kosara cast a glance upwards as she trudged in the ankle-deep snow, her face hidden behind a thick woollen scarf. She didn’t stop to watch. She’d seen it all before: it happened every New Year’s Eve. The new year had been born, but it hadn’t been baptised yet. For the next twelve days, the monsters would be free to terrorise the city. Then, with the first cockerel’s crow on Saint Yordan’s Day, they’d disappear, leaving only destruction behind.
Kosara wasn’t afraid of the monsters. She had pockets crammed with talismans and amulets, fingers skilled in weaving spells, and a tongue trained in magic words. She knew every monster’s weakness: how the karakonjuls could be defeated with a clever riddle, the yudas shied away from their reflection in a mirror, and the upirs hated the stench of garlic.
Well, she was not afraid of most of them. There was one monster no amulet or talisman could defeat; no magic words or spells would chase away. One monster Kosara knew better than anyone in Chernograd, and yet had found no weak spots in his glistening, scaly armour. One monster she’d do her best to avoid this New Year’s Eve, and for the twelve days after.
But as the chiming of the clocks finally died down and her steps sped up, she was left with the nagging feeling that she simply had nowhere to hide. She was trapped, just like everyone else in Chernograd. Trapped inside the city with the monsters.
In the distance, the Wall towered, an ink-black silhouette against the white snow. Its tentacles reached into the sky, preventing anyone from flying over. Its roots sank deep within the ground, stopping anyone from burrowing under. An impenetrable barrier.
A dark shadow crossed the sky above Kosara, and she automatically ducked into a church’s arched entrance. She deeply inhaled the scent of incense drifting from within and let the chants of the priests calm down her thumping heart, before she risked peeking out again.
For a brief second, she was sure she’d seen the Zmey’s large wings and his curved horns flying over the church’s onion dome. She could have sworn she spotted his golden scales glinting in the moonlight. She was certain she heard his soft voice,:Why do you run from me, my little Kosara?
She fished out her strongest talisman, fashioned from a boiled egg, a red thread, and a pair of rusty scissors. Her mouth began shaping the defensive spell, even though she knew it would be useless.
But then, a gust of wind scattered the snowflakes, and Kosara realised the Zmey wasn’t there at all—she’d imagined it all. It had been nothing but the shadows swirling between the tall spires and the smoke pouring from the chimneys, painting wings and horns where there were none. It hadn’t been his voice she’d heard, but the whistling of the wind.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. What was she doing, scrambling about like a scared animal at the first sign of danger? She knew very well the Zmey never came to her in his monster form. He always donned his human disguise first—the one he’d worn when he’d first fooled her into trusting him, six years ago.
She allowed herself a few seconds for her heart to stop hammering against her ribcage. Then she dashed across the city square, a space too open to be comfortable under a sky swarming with monsters. Her shadow followed her a few steps behind—they were both exhausted after a day of casting protective spells. Her throat burned from the cold, and her breath escaped in short gasps as her nostrils filled with a familiar scent.
Nothing smelled quite like New Year’s Eve in Chernograd. Fresh snow, warm fireplaces, fireworks drifting in from the other side of the Wall. And the monsters, of course, had a smell, too: a putrid mixture of blood and gore, and the reek of burnt fur as they hit the protective circles drawn around every window and door in the city. Roars and shouts filled the streets, and the clopping of hooves echoed. Somewhere in the distance, an air-splitting scream sounded. All around Kosara, the last passersby rushed, trying to get behind bolted doors—only their eyes glinted, visible in the sliver of skin between fur hats and wool scarves.
Finally, Kosara reached her destination, a glittering salon on the main street, the only bright spot among the dark snowdrifts. A tacky, elaborately carved and gilded sign hung over the entrance, its iron chains squeaking in the wind: the witch’s rest. An enchanted drawing of a cauldron bubbled underneath.
Kosara raised her hand to knock on the door but hesitated, remaining frozen for a second. The Zmey would never think to look for her here, she was certain. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was making a mistake in crossing the threshold.
The Witch’s Rest wasn’t named after its clientele—in fact, no self-respecting witch ever patronised it. It was named after its owner, Sofiya Karajova.
Sofiya had been kind enough to allow Kosara to hide there until the end of the Foul Days, but Kosara suspected her motives were far from altruistic. There was nothing worse than owing a favour to a fellow witch. Sofiya would come to claim it one day, undoubtedly at the worst possible moment, and she’d make sure it cost Kosara.
Before Kosara’s knuckles had touched the wood, the door swung open, and a gloved hand caught Kosara’s lapel, pulling her inside.
“Finally.” Sofiya patted the snow off Kosara’s shoulders with an abrupt gesture. “What took you so long?”
“I was getting ready.”
“Were you?” Sofiya looked Kosara up and down, and Kosara knew what the other witch was seeing: her messy hair with snowflakes caught between the dark tresses, her mascara running from the wind and cold outside and settling in the scars on her cheek, her scruffy coat with brand-new patches on the elbows. Kosara, not wanting to be outdone, did her own slow, deliberate once-over of Sofiya.
Sofiya was a tall woman, always impeccably dressed in fabrics imported for eye-watering prices from the other side of the Wall. Multiple leather pouches with spells hidden inside hung around her long neck, and her bracelets chimed as she moved, adorned with never-blinking evil-eye beads. At her feet, two shadows waited—one was Sofiya’s own, and the other had been left to her by her grandmother. It was still alive after the death of its previous owner, a feat very few witches managed to achieve.
Every witch’s magic came from their shadow. With two, Sofiya was one of the most powerful witches in the city.
Not that she used her powers for anything good.
“Take that off,” Sofiya demanded, already stripping Kosara’s coat off her.
“Why?”
“I don’t want my clients seeing you in that old thing. I have an image to uphold. What did you have to patch it for? Couldn’t you just get a new one?” Sofiya rolled her eyes. Kosara’s coat hung off her elbow like a dead animal.
“Not exactly,” Kosara mumbled. She followed the other woman to the salon.
It was a dimly lit, stuffy space, filled with the scent of incense and countless silk cushions scattered across the parquet floor. Thick curtains were draped over the windows. Beneath their tassels glittered magical symbols meant to scare the monsters away.
A long table for seances commanded the centre of the room. It was covered in a velvet tablecloth trimmed in gold, and a large crystal ball was placed atop it, filled with swirling mist. A group of men and women dressed in imported silk shirts and satin dresses sat around it, their gloved hands clasped together, their eyes shut.
One of the women slowly, secretively cracked her left eye open. Her pupil was enlarged and the iris around it was a bright, vibrant purple. She’d probably used enchanted eye drops.
As she spotted Sofiya leading Kosara through the room by the elbow, she raised a single painted eyebrow.
“Coming in a second,” Sofiya said through her teeth. An unnatural smile had spread across her face. “You have to remember,” she whispered, as she pushed Kosara past a curtain into the cramped booth behind, “I’m doing you a huge favour.”
Kosara groaned as she plopped down on the soft cushions. “I know.” She took a deep breath and spat the next part out quickly, like it tasted bitter on her tongue. “And I’m very thankful.”
Once Sofiya was gone, Kosara leaned back against the cushions and placed her muddy boots on the low mahogany table, making sure she left a mark. Petty, but the other witch simply infuriated her.
Sofiya could have been out there today with the other witches, freezing to the bone in the snow, drawing protective circles around shops and houses. If Kosara could do it, then so could Sofiya Two-Shadows. Instead, she’d protected only her salon and had gathered as many rich fools as she could inside it, charging them a hefty fee for the privilege. Sofiya probably planned to hide here until the end of the Foul Days, never as much as showing her nose outside.
Kosara resented the fact that she, too, planned to hide here. She resented the opulent displays of wealth all around her because she herself couldn’t afford the expensive fabrics, the mahogany furniture, the crystal ball. All because she’d lost her money in a stupid, doomed attempt to cross the Wall five years ago.
It had been a mistake. Not only because it had ultimately ended with her stranded on this side of the Wall with no money—but because, in hindsight, it hadn’t been Chernograd she’d wanted to escape at all. It had been the demons from her past. Crossing the Wall would have solved nothing. Yes, the Zmey couldn’t physically get her on the other side, but he’d still be alive in her mind.
He’d know he’d won if he forced her to leave her city.
No, what Kosara needed to do was to defeat the Zmey once and for all. She needed to claim her city back.
The only problem was, she had no idea how. It wasn’t an easy matter, defeating the Tsar of Monsters.
Kosara sighed, making herself comfortable between the cushions. Her eyelids grew heavy. Except, something—some sixth sense—was screaming at her that she couldn’t fall asleep just yet. She was certain the Zmey wouldn’t come to look for her here. And yet, her certainty had cost her before.
Kosara licked her lips and fished out an old, crumpled deck of cards from her pocket. She’d had it for years—six years, in fact. She’d bought one for herself and one for the Zmey. He’d been delighted with her present and had never thought to question her generosity.
Just like every year, she picked out the ace of spades and shoved it down the back of her boot.
Maybe she’d finally be able to use it. Maybe, just for once, her luck would work.
Kosara awoke with a start. Her neck was stiff, stuck at an unnatural angle on the cushions, and her toes hurt in her boots. She’d spent so long outside in the snow today, her throat felt raw.
On the other side of the curtain, in the main hall, the séance continued. Sofiya was loudly asking some long-suffering spirit under which tree in the garden, precisely, he’d buried his treasure, so his greedy nephew could dig it out. What a way to take advantage of the time of year when the boundary between Chernograd and the world of spirits and monsters was thinnest.
At first, Kosara wasn’t sure what had woken her. Nothing in her little booth had changed, as far as she could see.
But then, she smelled the difference in the air. There was the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon coming from the main hall, where incense sticks burned. There was the smell of soot and coal, still clinging to Kosara’s clothes and hair after a day spent outside.
But there was something else, too. Something painfully familiar: a wild, otherworldly scent, raw and magical. It made the hairs on the back of Kosara’s neck stand up.
She scrambled up, thinking there might still be time to run, time to escape . . .
Long, pale fingers pulled the curtain open.
Kosara’s scream stuck in her throat. The Zmey’s eyes met hers.
He’d come in his human disguise, as he always did—his frame filled the opening in the curtain, and his hair caught the light like molten gold.
He smiled his handsome smile. “May I come in?”
Kosara desperately blinked fast, hoping it might dispel him. Hoping she was simply imagining him again.
It didn’t help. He remained standing there, just as solid as before.
“How?” Kosara spat. She barely heard her voice over the thumping of her heart.
“Excuse me?”
“How did you find me?” Her words came out strained. It cost her effort to push them past the lump in her throat.
The Zmey laughed. He had a pleasant, chiming laugh. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t, did you? When have you ever managed to hide from me?”
Kosara stayed silent because she didn’t want to admit the truth. Never.
But she’d never before fallen so low as to ask her least favourite witch in town for a favour. She’d truly thought she was safe here—that, perhaps, had been her downfall. Kosara could see it now: Why would a witch who had no qualms selling trinkets to rich fools instead of doing real magic ever feel bound by the witches’ honour code? Sofiya must have ratted her out to the Zmey.
Kosara had made a mistake trusting her. It wasn’t the first time she’d put her trust in the wrong person.
“Kosara, Kosara, Kosara . . .” The Zmey shut the curtain behind him and, without waiting for an invitation, sprawled himself on the cushions opposite her. He’d taken his snakeskin coat off and wore a simple, old-fashioned linen shirt, embroidered around the cuffs and neckline. The last couple of buttons were left undone, showing off his sculpted chest, covered in tiny, glinting golden hairs. “When will you give up?”
Kosara’s eyes snapped back to his face. “Give up what?”
“Trying to run away from me. When will you accept your rightful position by my side?”
Kosara stayed silent again. Never.
“I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of,” he said. “I can make you rich beyond your wildest imagination. All you need to do is to say the word.”
Kosara knew this play well. Every year, it was the same. He’d managed to lure her into his palace once when she’d been young and stupid, and there was no way she’d ever return there. That last time, she’d been lucky to make it out, drunk on moon wine and half-starved after spending months eating nothing but enchanted fruit, and she’d only managed it with her mentor’s help. It had taken months for her head to clear, and for her eyes to stop imagining shadows lurking in every corner.
He’d been grooming her, she knew, to give him her magic.
“Why are you here?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. “What do you want?”
The corners of the Zmey’s mouth twitched. “You.”
Bullshit. He didn’t want her. He wanted her power.
He simply thought she was an easy target because she’d fallen for his lies once before.
But, God, there was still some tiny part of her, hidden deep within, that felt flattered by his words. Some tiny part that yearned to snuggle in his familiar arms, and simply end this stupid game of cat and mouse. It had been so long. She was so tired.
Kosara had to keep that part of herself under control because it was an utter idiot.
“Why are you here?” she repeated, slightly more forcefully. Nevertheless, she didn’t dare raise her voice. She couldn’t allow herself to make him angry, or else he’d raze Sofiya’s salon to the ground, and Kosara’s debt to the other witch would grow too costly.
“Well, now.” The Zmey produced a crumpled deck of cards from his back pocket. It was a mystery how it even fit there—his trousers fit him as if painted on, revealing every muscle. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our little tradition.”
Kosara gave him an even stare. She hadn’t forgotten. Every year, the Zmey demanded they play a game of cards. He always suggested the same wager: a lock of hair. At first, Kosara couldn’t figure out what his aim was. For him, winning a lock of her hair wouldn’t mean much. He wasn’t a witch, and his magic wasn’t precise enough to use it to control her through it. She’d simply assumed it was a convenient way for him to force his presence on her, since he knew she couldn’t resist a good gamble.
But then, she couldn’t help wondering if she underestimated his power. Every year, he found her that bit faster. Every year, the fog that fell over her brain in his presence grew thicker. Since he never lost a single game, he had five locks of her hair now. What would he do if he won a sixth one? What if that was what it took for him to finally force her back under his control?
The trouble was, Kosara couldn’t refuse him. Winning a lock of his hair was her only route to true freedom. With an artefact that powerful, she could prevent him from ever coming near her again. If she learned how to keep him away, she’d come one step closer to defeating him.
“Fine,” Kosara said through gritted teeth, painfully aware she was taking too big a gamble yet again. But how likely was it that the Zmey would win six games in a row? “Deal.”
Without saying a word, the Zmey began dealing: one card for Kosara, one for him. One for Kosara, one for him. Finally, he placed five cards face up on the table.
The rules of Kral were simple: each player held two cards. Whoever had the highest combination at the end of the third round won. You were allowed to swap your cards with the five face up on the table, but you had to do it carefully, so as not to alert your opponent to what you held. If your opponent guessed the exact cards in your hand, you lost.
Kosara looked down at her hand and groaned, but only internally. Just as usual, she held two weak cards: a five of diamonds and a three of spades. Her luck never seemed to work when she played against the Zmey. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d enchanted her—used his collection of locks of her hair to place a hex on her. Except he’d sworn he possessed no such magic—and she’d seen no evidence that he did.
If he could already do a spell as intricate as a hex on her luck, he wouldn’t be so desperate to steal her power.
Kosara scratched the scar on her cheek. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a queen of hearts placed face up on the table. She didn’t look at it directly, too aware of the Zmey’s eyes on her. She could take it, but then she would have to hope for a jack to come up next. What were the chances of that happening?
Given her luck so far, minuscule.
“Are you going to fold?” the Zmey asked after a few seconds.
And accept defeat this early? No way.
Kosara shrugged. “I’m simply letting you go first.”
The Zmey smirked and with a quick, fluid gesture swept the queen off the table, discarding one of his cards face down. Either he was bluffing, or he was holding a jack.
Kosara swore under her breath. She shouldn’t have let him take the queen. She wasn’t playing smart. She wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers and took several deep breaths, forcing her heartbeat to slow down. Focus.
She couldn’t lose this one. Stupid, stupid, stupid witch, she chided herself. For whatever reason, the voice in her head sounded an awful lot like the Zmey’s.
He smirked, as if he could read her thoughts. Then, he slowly, deliberately, placed another card face up, to replace the stolen queen.
Hope rose in Kosara’s chest. Could it be, finally, after all these years?
A king of spades.
Don’t let the corners of your mouth twitch. Don’t let your eyebrows go up. Don’t even look down at that card.
This was good. This was more than good—it was perfect.
That king of spades would be useless to her in combination with either of the cards she held. She, however, had an ace up her sleeve. Well, in her boot. Together, the king and the ace made the strongest combination in the game.
The only problem was, she couldn’t reach for the ace and risk the Zmey noticing.
She lifted her eyes to his and saw the glint in them. His smile had acquired a sharp edge. His fingers impatiently drummed on the table, waiting for her next move.
Kosara knew exactly what those fingers felt like wrapped around her throat. She swallowed hard.
But then, her eyes fell on her shadow. Now, there was an idea . . .
The booth was gloomy, and her shadow was barely visible, stretched along the wall behind her. Kosara tried to summon it, but there simply wasn’t enough light.
“It’s getting a bit chilly, don’t you think?” she asked casually.
A single line appeared between the Zmey’s eyebrows. “I wouldn’t say so.”
“My fingers have gone numb. Give me a second.” Kosara placed her cards on the table face down, careful so the Zmey wouldn’t catch a glimpse of them. Then she clicked her fingers.
A small orange flame danced at her fingertip. Its glow warmed her hands and face.
It reflected deep within the Zmey’s eyes as he watched her. “Are you stalling?”
“Not at all. I just need a minute to warm up.”
By the flame’s light, Kosara’s shadow grew darker. She summoned it again, reaching for it with her mind. Nothing happened. Kosara risked clicking her fingers again, making the flame brighter. The Zmey watched her without blinking.
Her shadow twitched as if shaking itself from a deep sleep. Its head slightly, almost imperceptibly turned to Kosara.
She’d done this trick during countless card games. Usually, everyone was too busy watching her for tells—staring at her face, trying to see if her toes nervously tapped on the floor. No one paid attention to her shadow.
No one but the Zmey. Every witch’s magic hid in their shadow, and he knew it. He rarely let her shadow out of his sight when they were together.
Which made it the perfect distraction.
Kosara didn’t let her eyes follow her shadow as it slid under the table. Instead, she stared at the Zmey, and he stared back at her, his smile still spread across his face.
He must have thought she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. The truth was, Kosara didn’t even see him. The corner of her eye followed her shadow.
A shadowy hand appeared, creeping over the tabletop. It was difficult to spot, in the many dancing shadows now covering the booth, animated by Kosara’s flame. The only reason Kosara saw it was she knew what she was looking for.
The shadowy fingers reached for the deck. They quickly thumbed through, so fast they were a blur, looking for the ace of spades . . .
A thud sounded. Kosara flinched, her left hand dropping off the table to dangle next to the back of her boot.
A dagger—glinting steel, with a gilded handle encrusted with rubies—pierced the deck of cards, pinning it to the table. It trembled from the force with which the Zmey had thrown it.
The Zmey, himself, was still. He looked as if he hadn’t even moved.
“What was that for?” Kosara asked, keeping her voice level. Her heart thumped so hard in her chest, she was worried it might be visible through her shirt. Her fingers inched towards her boot.
“Oh,” the Zmey said, pulling his second dagger, the twin to the one sticking out from the deck of cards. He used it to clean his sharp nails. “I thought I saw something. I must have imagined it.”
Kosara shrugged, nonchalant. On the inside, however, she was celebrating. He’d fallen right into her trap.
“You must have.” She clicked her fingers. The flame between them disappeared.
In the fraction of the second before both their eyes acclimated to the gloom, she picked up her cards from the table, adding the ace of spades to her hand and seamlessly sliding the five of diamonds up her sleeve.
Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she swiped the king of spades from the table.
The Zmey looked at her for a long moment. The dagger was still in his hand, its rubies casting bloodred reflections across the booth.
“Are you going to fold?” Kosara asked, deliberately taunting him. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying to suppress a smile—which, in fact, she was. The Zmey, however, thought he knew her. He’d think she was bluffing.
“Wouldn’t you just love that?” He exhaled through his nostrils. “I can’t possibly fold, given what I’m holding.”
Was he bluffing? It didn’t matter. There was no combination in the game that could beat Kosara’s cards.
The Zmey slowly put his cards down on the tabletop. First, he revealed the queen of hearts. Then he flicked over his second card.
The jack of hearts. A great combination.
But it still wasn’t good enough to defeat Kosara’s. Just as slowly, she showed her cards, her gaze fixed on the Zmey. She’d treasure that memory forever: the moment the ace of spades appeared on the table, and the Zmey’s eyes first widened, then narrowed.
He inhaled sharply. “You cheated.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He stabbed the table with his dagger, and it remained there, stuck in the mahogany, parallel to the one still penetrating the deck of cards.
“How did you cheat?” The Zmey stood up and towered over Kosara. She resisted the urge to cower in her seat. “I was watching you.”
She looked up and met his gaze. Blue, like the centre of the flame. “I didn’t cheat.”
“How?” he hissed again. Hot saliva flew from his mouth and landed on her cheek.
Kosara wiped it with her sleeve. “Please behave,” she said, sounding calmer than she felt. Her fingers trembled, so she hid them under the table. On the floor, her shadow trembled, too. “I wouldn’t have played with you if I knew you were such a sore loser.”
The Zmey took a deep breath, his chest puffing up. Kosara wanted to bolt to the door. She didn’t. She held his gaze.
“Check the deck, if you don’t believe me,” she said.
That was a gamble. She couldn’t be sure whether her shadow had managed to sneak the ace from his deck away before the Zmey caught it.
The Zmey smirked, no doubt expecting her to be bluffing again. He pulled the dagger from the now ruined deck and flicked through the cards, slowly at first, then faster and faster. A single vein on his temple began pulsating. Kosara tried hard not to fidget.
Finally, the Zmey swore under his breath. He threw the cards on the table, and they scattered, raining all over Kosara’s feet.
She allowed herself a small exhale. He hadn’t found the ace.
Thank God.
“Damn hag,” the Zmey spat out, but he didn’t threaten her again. He might be a terrifying beast from another dimension, but he did have his own moral code he stuck to. This was why he despised cheaters so much.
This was also what made it particularly satisfying to cheat him.
Kosara raised her hand, palm up. “Come on,” she said. “Pay up.”
The Zmey lifted his dagger in one hand and grasped a clump of golden hair in the other. Then, with a fast gesture, he chopped the hair off. It left a gap just above his pale ear.
Kosara grabbed the lock of hair from his hand before he changed his mind. When her skin brushed against his, she drew away as if she’d been burned. The Zmey was scalding hot.
On his forearms, where he’d rolled up his sleeves, his pale flesh bubbled, half revealing the golden scales hiding beneath. Kosara blinked, and for a second she was certain she’d spotted his curved horns rising from his head, so tall they almost touched the ceiling.
She found the amulet in her pocket and gripped it in her hand. If he tried something now, she’d be ready. She had a lock of his hair.
He grinned, and his teeth were long and sharp, crisscrossing in his mouth “I hope you look at it every day while I’m gone.” His forked tongue licked his lips. “And think of me.”
And then, just when Kosara was ready to begin reciting her defensive spell, he turned around and left. The booth’s velvet curtain swished behind his back.
For a long moment, Kosara didn’t dare move. She sat still, until she heard the Zmey’s steps fade and the bell above the salon’s door chime.
In the main hall, Sofiya’s droning voice kept asking the spirits questions. Her clients were still oohing and ahhing. The smell of sandalwood and cinnamon drifted in, slowly replacing the Zmey’s wild scent lingering behind.
Between Kosara’s fingers, his hair was smooth and metallic.
She grasped it tight in her fist. A triumphant smile split her face.
Finally, she could escape him. Finally.
The Tsar of Monsters waited, perched on the roof opposite Sofiya’s salon. His talons grasped the red roof-tiles. The snow had grown heavier, but he didn’t feel the cold. Each snowflake landing on his golden scales evaporated with a hiss.
It was the last night of the Foul Days. He didn’t have much time left now.
The door to the salon had stayed shut all night, while his monsters wreaked havoc outside. A group of karakonjuls had tried breaking in just after midnight. He’d watched with mild interest as they burned themselves on the protective circle drawn around the door again and again. Finally, frenzied and bloodthirsty, they’d given up and chased a stray cat up the street.
They hadn’t caught it, or else the Zmey would have had to intervene. He had a weak spot for cats.
At nearly six in the morning, just as the sun crept over the rooftops and his monsters began to disappear off the streets, the door to the salon opened. Kosara crept out, her hands hidden deep within her pockets, her dark eyes searching the snowy street.
He knew what she was looking for. Him. He loved the hold he still had over her, after all these years.
He watched her until she disappeared from view. There was a certain quality to the way she walked, like a startled rabbit trying to find cover, that triggered something primal in him. He barely resisted the urge to swoop down and grasp her between his talons.
He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. If he forced her to return to him, she’d never be truly his—and therefore, neither would her magic. No, he’d wait until she sought him out herself. Until, desperate and tired of being alone, she returned to him.
His fingers inadvertently found the tender flesh where several of his golden scales were missing—in his human form, this was where she’d forced him to cut off a lock of his hair.
She’d cheated. He was certain of it. He knew her better than anyone. He knew all her tells.
She’d cheated, and he would find out how. And once he knew, he’d make her pay for it.
He swept down to the ground, transforming back into his human form midflight. What had jumped from the roof had been a monster, horned and winged. What landed was a young man with golden hair. For a brief second, he stood in the street, letting the snowflakes land on his naked skin. Each transformation made him so hot, as if he were on fire.
Then, he enchanted clothes onto himself—a white shirt, dark trousers, and a long, iridescent coat, flowing from purple to green to gold, like snakeskin.
He walked into Sofiya’s salon without bothering to knock. She’d invited him inside once, and that was all he needed. No lock or spell could keep him away now.
He crossed the salon quietly, careful not to wake Sofiya, asleep with her cheek pressed against the tablecloth, her face illuminated by the crystal ball. She hadn’t told him Kosara intended to hide here—he’d had to find out from someone else. Interesting. He’d always assumed a couple of gold coins every other year would be enough to buy the witch’s loyalty. He’d underestimated her.
Her guests were lying on the floor, huddled among the cushions. He’d made sure none of them spotted him during his last visit—it wouldn’t do his reputation any good if the whole town discovered he’d lost a game of cards against some witch.
Finally, the Zmey reached the booth. He closed the curtain behind him.
It still smelled like Kosara, soot and smoke and so much magic. Gods, it drove him mad.
He looked around the booth quickly, and then, rather undignified, fell to his knees and peeked under the low table.
It took him a while to find it, but in the end, it was there, just as he’d suspected. The ace of spades from his deck of cards, hidden under the table leg. The one her shadow had snatched just before he’d caught it. If Kosara hadn’t been so confident she’d fooled him, she would have retrieved it herself.
Or maybe she’d left it there on purpose. Maybe she’d been worried he’d ambush her on her way home and catch her with both aces in her pocket.
In any case, she’d made a fatal mistake.
The Zmey smiled a vicious smile. He’d make her pay for this.
She’d be his again.
“Ace Up Her Sleeve” copyright © 2024 by Genoveva Detelinova Dimova
Art copyright © 2024 by Rovina Cai
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Ace Up Her Sleeve
