Vodník

  If I didn’t do something quick, I was going to die.

  I struggled harder, forcing my right arm to beat at my attacker awkwardly, shower curtain and all. With my left hand I gouged at his eyes and was rewarded with a nasty bite. I screamed in pain and took in a lungful of water.

  The vodník lunged down on me again, rapping my head against the tub. I was a sputtering, panicked wreck, and then the water slipped over my head, and everything was submerged into silence.

  Totally underwater, it was easier to see, and I stared up at the face of my attacker. He was so calm. Like he was reading the morning paper over his cereal. Like none of this mattered to him at all.

  Like we were still doing nothing more than chatting at the bottom of his well.

  My vision dimmed. There was only so long I could hold my breath. If I didn’t do something now, then I wasn’t going to do anything again. With a last burst of effort, I focused everything I had into thrusting him off.

  It wasn’t enough.

  My mouth opened almost on its own, sucking for air but only getting water. It poured down my throat and into my lungs.

  And I kept breathing.

  Sure, it was like I was breathing jello, but it wasn’t killing me.

  Just freaking me out beyond all expression. I breathed out and in again, still conscious. Still alive. Not choking and definitely not drowning. I relaxed just a little, still in the vodník’s grip.

  The vodník frowned at me in confusion, then dived back into the water and melted into nothing.

  Even with his weight gone, it took a lot of effort for me to sit up out of the water. When I did, I breathed out, water gushing from my mouth like I was some medieval gargoyle. That wasn’t enough for me, though. I got the rest of the way out and shook myself, like a dog trying to get dry. I hated water. Breathing it didn’t make it cooler.

  Though it did answer the question of whether or not my magic resistance included water.

  My left hand was throbbing. There was a huge bite in it, right at the base of my thumb. It wasn’t like a chunk was missing, but I could see teeth impressions, and it stung something awful. I had heard human bites were bad—what did a vodník bite do to you? After all, getting bit by vampires and werewolves wasn’t something you wanted to have happen. I remembered Lesana getting bit by a vodník, and look what happened to her. Would I become a water spirit? Die? Be buried alive?

  Confused-but-alive beat knowing-but-dead any day. The water was still running in the shower, but it was at normal strength now, and the clog—or whatever it had been—had cleared, too. The tub was almost empty.

  I peeked out the door to see if there were any super-sized leprechauns waiting to ambush me. No one. I pulled my head back in and closed the door, turned my back to it, and slid to the floor.

  I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, just enjoying being able to breathe normal air. Not getting burned by fire had been cool; this had been nothing but traumatic. Why had the vodník done that? The last I had seen him, he was nothing but smiles and stutters, and he hadn’t appeared in eight days. Then bam! He tries to kill me? It didn’t make any sense.

  Finally, I stood up, took a deep breath, and jiggled my left hand—the one the vodník bit—trying to get some of the pain out. Enough thinking. It was time to do something. Exactly what was another question, but I knew the first step: get dressed.

  L’uboš’s jeans had a tendency to lowride on me. I slipped the T-shirt on and checked the logo. LA Lackers. The colors were wrong, too: green and red. Did L’uboš realize his shirt was a blatant rip-off?

  I opened up the door all at once, figuring it would be better to surprise anyone waiting there and get the jump on them. The room was still empty, but I kept expecting someone to spring out from nowhere. Only after I had searched under the beds did I feel safe enough to sit and put on my shoes and socks. I needed to talk to Katka and find out every way possible to protect against anything unhuman. Whatever she named, I’d eat it, wear it, convert to it, or arm myself with it.

  When I went outside and locked the door behind me, I felt like a clown in baggy clothes. The shoes flopped around on my feet just enough to make walking awkward. Still, it was better than being wet. The sun was out, and the water on the ground was already evaporating. Slovakia’s weather could be strange.

  Katka was outside sitting by herself on one of the amphitheater benches. The place was empty—cleared out by the earlier rain, no doubt. She smiled when I walked up. “Feel better?”

  I held up my bit hand. “The vodník tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  “When I was in the shower, he attacked me.”

  She rushed forward and took my hand, bending over it as she exam­ined it. “How did you get away?”

  I grunted. “I’m immune to drowning, I guess. When he found that out, he ran off.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “I wish I knew. It wasn’t like he said anything before he went for me.”

  She let my hand go and stepped back to check out the rest of me. “But you’re all right?”

  “Shaken up more than anything. And there’s this.” I waved my bit hand again. “Do vodník bites do anything bad?”

  “Psst!”

  I scanned to see where the sound had come from. It wasn’t too hard. The vodník was standing across from us in the well courtyard. He waved to me.

  I jerked back. Was he going to attack again?

  “What’s the matter?” Katka asked.

  I nodded toward the vodník. “It’s him.”

  She saw him. “Vít’azoslav.”

  “Just vodník,” I said. “He’s not human. He doesn’t deserve a name.”

  The vodník gestured for me to come over. Like that was going to happen. I shook my head, and he made an exaggerated sigh, then held up his hands as if he was surrendering. It would have looked better if he could have gotten his arms all the way above his head, but either his suit coat or his lack of fitness wouldn’t let him. It was all just an act—I knew that now. He’d had no problem moving when he was trying to kill me. Or “save me for later,” as he’d probably phrase it. Drowning was drowning, no matter where your soul ended up.

  “He wants us to go over there?” Katka asked.

  “I guess. Should we?”

  She shrugged. “As long as we stay together, and in the open. If he wants to talk, we might want to know what he has to say. Better to find out now. And maybe he has a teacup with him.”

  Maybe. “Fine,” I said, and the two of us headed over.

  As we approached, the vodník backed up to the armory door. When we were close enough for him to speak without shouting, he opened the door. “Geez. It took you like forever. What did you have to do—have a vote or something? Come. Come in.”

  Katka and I stopped where we were. “What do you want?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I just thought we could get together and talk things over, you know. Just talk. And it’s not like we need to do it out here, out in the open, out in the heat where we’re practically melting. A bit ago when it was pouring, that would have been fine. Comfy, even. But what is it out here now? Boiling? I swear I’m evaporating just standing here. I might faint.”

  “Then faint,” I said.

  He put his hands over his heart, like he was hurt. His suit coat was damp and dripping. “So harsh. So cruel. I guess I can see why you might be a little sour with me. A little annoyed. But would you get mad at a bear if you walked into its den when it was hungry? Would you tell a fox off for trying to get something to eat if a chicken walked into its home?”

  “You’re not a fox or a bear.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m worse. I’m a fox or a bear with a conscience. I feel bad about trying to do what I do. It pains me. I see a shrink about it twice a week. I’m heavily medicated. I’ve got to take so many pills, I consider them my daily lunch. Stuffed with anti-depressants. And all I was trying to do was sneak in and take some of them. I need to t
ake pills around lunchtime, like I said, and I was late, and so I took a shortcut through the pipes—but you don’t want to hear about that. You just want to be mad at me. I only want to apologize.”

  “Great,” I said. I pointed at the bite mark. “Is this going to do anything to me?”

  “What? Like are you going to start howling at the moon or craving blood? Of course not. Just go get a Band-Aid and some iodine. I’m sorry. Aren’t you sorry for trying to gouge out my eyes and hit me in the head?”

  “No.”

  His eyes were a deep green and much older than the few wrinkles on his face would have you believe. Finally he gave a nervous twitter and adjusted his collar. “Right,” he said. “Why would you be? On to business then. The important thing—the reason I wanted to talk to you so u­rgently, even if it was awkward right this second—is that I have the idea to end all ideas. I mean, this is it. This one—oh yeah. Perfect. Wonderful. Wait until you hear it. You’re going to faint. You sure you don’t want to come inside where it’s cool?”

  “Yes,” I said, as Katka said, “No.”

  The vodník cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want a minute to confer about it? Maybe ask for a recount? Because I could—”

  “Why can I see you?” Katka asked. “I saw you before too. Before I took the potion that let me. I didn’t see you at the pool when you drowned that boy.”

  “Drowned is such a nasty word,” said the vodník. “I prefer ‘saved.’ I saved the boy. And as to why you could see me sometimes and not others, what can I say? I still have some talents left. I’ve always been naturally gifted. Head of my class at vodník school. Straight A’s in—”

  “Fine,” Katka said. “What are you here for? Spit it out.”

  “Right. Just like the vodník statue you humans made in the town square. What is it with mortals and spitting?” He held up his arms again in surrender. “I know. I’m going to tell you. Here it is. You know that water girl I sent to see you? Lesana?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What about her? You told me not to ask about her.”

  The vodník laughed. “ ‘What about her,’ he asks. You see, this is why you should be glad you have me on your side. I’m practically only brains. I’ve got teacups and teacups full of ideas. My own little think tank. I’ll tell you ‘what’ about her. She’s the key. She’s the answer. She’s a soul just waiting to go home. Free her, and you’ve filled the bargain.” He spread his arms out as if waiting for applause.

  Katka looked hopeful, but she was trying not to show it. Would the vodník let us do what we had been planning to do anyway? What Lesana had been asking me to do for her? When the vodník had warned me away from her the last time we talked? The offer was suspicious to say the least.

  I turned back to him. “How do we do that?” I asked. “Just break the teacup she’s in?”

  He dropped his arms. “A little gratitude can go a long way, you know. I mean, it’s not like I’m coming up with these ideas for my health. How about a thank you, or a ‘what a great idea’?”

  “Thanks for the idea,” I said. “How do we do it?”

  He grunted, then reached inside his coat pocket and took out a sopping wet folded-up piece of paper. “Well for starters, you forget about breaking teacups. Sacrilege. I might as well say, ‘Can I burn your flag now?’ It’s beyond rude. It’s criminal. And Lesana isn’t in any teacup. Teacups, no touchy. She’s something else, and I thought you might be reluctant to go for this one, so that’s why I took the time and effort and strain to write you out a set of instructions. Foolproof. It works because of who you are. You’re special, Tomas. Not necessarily unique, but rare. When people like me are around you, we can do things we haven’t been able to do in years. Decades. Centuries, even. And from what my sources say, you being able to do that makes this whole potion possible. You just do what this tells you, and everything will be all right. Maybe then you’ll trust me. Maybe it’ll be like old times again.”

  Special? Why did he wait until now to tell me this? I edged forward and plucked the paper from his fingers. Even getting that close to him made me nervous. Sure, he seemed harmless now, but after seeing him in action, I knew he was a steel trap. Innocent—until it sprang.

  The vodník sighed. “Well, maybe it’ll still be some time before you and I are playing water polo again. That’s okay. I’m patient. I can wait. Just don’t say I never did anything for you, okay, Tomas?”

  I grunted. “If this works, I’ll owe you one.”

  He smiled. “It’ll work. I’ve had two wizards talking back and forth to each other about this plan for a week straight before they settled on it, then I let a witch pore over it and check it for accuracy. It’ll work. And when it does, you’ll owe me six or seven, not just one.” Without another word he melted. It wasn’t like he turned into a puddle, but he sank into the ground and slipped under the door leading into the armory, leaving me confused.

  Typical.

  A vodník is made when a child is drowned. Not always, of course, but often enough that you should take extra care when handling the drowning of anyone under eight.

  So far it had been a strange day, and for me to say that meant it had been a real doozy. But things were looking up. After all, the vodník had tried to kill me and couldn’t. Maybe he was scared of me now, and that’s what made him decide to tell me how to fill the contract with Morena. Maybe we just had to follow his plan, and everything would be fine.

  Assuming it wasn’t a setup.

  The plan was frustratingly simple:

  Step One: Make this potion. (He had then included a lengthy list of directions that fit the typical bizarre potion pattern we’d seen so far).

  Step Two: Pour it on Lesana's grave.

  Step Three: Win.

  When we got back to my apartment and I could double-check with Death in the Modern Day, the vodník’s plan was confirmed. Or at least the fundamental concept was. It was in the troubleshooting section, under ghosts, which we’d been toying with already.

  I started to read it out loud. “Because their souls have not yet left this world, they are essentially ‘live deaths’—deaths just waiting to be completed.”

  Katka interrupted me. “I saw that before. A bunch of outlandish ways to release ghosts. But I thought we couldn’t do any of them. We checked when we went to Orava, remember? Besides, the vodník’s potion isn’t listed.”

  “Maybe, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “I suppose.” Katka sighed. She stood up from the table and paced around the living area in my apartment. “But it makes me nervous, doing what the vodník tells us.”

  “Do we have any other choice? We only have three weeks, and we haven’t come up with any other options. At least with this we can prepare for any problems that might arise. We know he’s bad. We’re in the driver’s seat here. And even if this doesn’t work, maybe we can convince him to let us see one of his captured souls or something, then release it instead. Let’s just focus on what we have to do. I’m going to go get something for this bite, and then I’d like you to read that list once more.”

  “Fine,” Katka said after a moment. I got up and puttered around the bathroom, returning with bandaging supplies. When I sat down at the kitchen table again, she cleared her throat and studied the transcribed list I had made for her when we got back. The paper the vodník had given us had been practically falling apart, the ink smeared and running. Any longer, and it would have been illegible.

  Coat a vial with the enchanter’s first morning breath.

  Fill the vial with virgin spring water.

  Seven hours later–on the same day–add to the vial three blades of thyme harvested by the light of a full moon.

  Let rest for three days, and then transfer the mixture to a basin made of pure crystal.

  Use five counterclockwise strokes to stir in thirteen grams of a single Dubak mushroom.

  From a hundred-year-old Persian walnut tree, extract a whole, unbroken nut from its shell. Add it to the mixture
in the noon light of a cloudless day. Break it apart using twelve jabs with a silver fork, then use that same fork to stir the mixture–five clockwise strokes.

  At midnight that night, add only five drops of blood (one from each right-hand finger), given freely by someone other than the enchanter. Place the basin outside, uncovered, for seven days.

  At dawn on the seventh day, transfer the mixture to a wooden cup carved from the heartwood of a cherry tree. Pour the mixture on the intended,s remains (the grave site will do). If everything has been done correctly, the result will occur after sixty seconds. Failure to follow these steps precisely can have serious consequences, so great care should be taken.

  “It could be worse,” I said after she finished. “There’s no dandruff involved.”

  Katka focused on wrapping the vodník bite. “We have three weeks, and this potion takes at least ten days to perform, and that’s assuming we get a cloudless day. Does it really mean that? Completely cloudless?”

  I shrugged. “You got me. It says we’ve got to be precise, though, so I’d go for completely cloudless.”

  “But that makes no sense. There are always clouds somewhere in the world. What if you just can’t see any? If they’re blocked by mountains or—”

  “Katka?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a magic potion to release the soul of a girl trapped as a water ghost. It doesn’t need to make sense. I’d be more worried about finding Lesana’s grave than anything else. It’s a good thing the vodník has her on hand to ask. My dad’s told me what a pain it is to do research for specific stuff like that. We don’t have a Scooby Gang to go run errands for us. Worse yet, what do we do if this potion goes wrong—or if it’s not intended to go right in the first place? After we go through all this junk, we’re not going to have any time left to try much else.”

  “We’ll follow Plan B: break one of the vodník’s teacups.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I keep trying to ask him about them, but he always avoids the question. I say we go along with the vodník for now and hope either his idea works or we get an opportunity to do the teacup thing. It’s not like the potion will do anything bad until it’s—”