The small garden was lit only by the waxing moon and dim starlight peeking through passing clouds. The grasses seemed silver, as delicate and beautiful as the gilded altars in the town’s churches. Hedges sprawled onto the stone pathways, untrimmed for years. A fountain at the center of the small space featured a quartet of women with instruments, their delicate faces dark with mold.
To an outside eye, the layers of Prague, built on top of each other for centuries, seemed to preclude the possibility of privacy. Every moment of solitude was guaranteed to be interrupted by a group of French tourists visiting the health spas or a class of students flocking past. Even at night, when the humans moved inside and darker things prowled, ever-present windows stared down at the streets. However, each city dweller found their own pockets of secret quiet, even if it were only a rock shaded by a tree on Petřín Hill.
Domek had stumbled onto the abandoned garden near his flat one night after patrol. After asking some neighbors, he learned that the broad, pistachio green home had been owned by a man with no children. After his death three years earlier, the estate had become tangled in a legal battle as his nephews fought for ownership. In the meantime, the vast building and garden went to waste, slowly reclaimed by nature.
The stink of the city, the sour musk of too many humans in close proximity, never left the air, but here the grass beneath his feet was fresh and green, and white flowers bloomed on several trees that lined the garden. He leaned against a wide oak tree, the bark scratching against his shirt, and pulled the jar from his bag.
He had spent the whole day trying to find answers, but he hadn’t asked the only being who had them. It was time to change that. There were pijavice and thieves after the wisp, all of whom could use its powers to hurt the lamplighters and the innocents of the city. Domek needed to understand precisely what they were hunting. There was no doubt in Domek’s mind that if Paluska had the wisp, he would find a way to use it. Giving it to Paluska would keep it safe from outsiders, but the lamplighters weren’t the most patient group. If one of the brasher members got a hold of the jar, they could be corrupted by the temptation.
If Domek could not trust the wisp to his own people, he would be obligated to destroy it. And though it had done nothing but threaten him, something in Domek recoiled at the idea of killing a creature bound to his care.
Domek placed his branded palms against the jar. “Come out, but be silent.”
The wisp appeared before him. Its fiery form glowed in the dark, but the wall and home would likely block any peering eyes. Ignoring him, the wisp turned as though looking toward the night sky. The clouds parted for just a moment, like an eye blinking, to reveal a patch of star-strewn sky overhead. Infinity stretched over them for a breath, and then the clouds closed back together like storm water swirling in the river, swallowing anything that dropped into its currents.
“Hello,” Domek said, taking a fortifying breath.
The wisp was silent.
“You said before that you would follow my orders, correct? That’s where I went wrong earlier. I wasn’t clear enough.”
Impassive, the wisp did not move.
“Then take note. You cannot harm me, or any other human, no matter what you believe I’ve ordered you to do,” Domek said, speaking the orders he’d been carefully phrasing for the last hour. “Now you can speak.”
“Where’s the new master you promised me?”
Domek ignored the question. “Tell me about your previous master.”
“You tell me,” the wisp said. “I still don’t know how you acquired me.”
“A pijavica had your jar. I killed it,” Domek said. “Was it the one who put you in there? Have pijavice figured out a way to capture your kind?”
The wisp hesitated, and then said, “No. It wasn’t the pijavica who trapped me. It was a vodník.”
“A vodník?” Domek looked at the jar in his hands. If he had looked more closely at the jars stuck in the mud beneath Evka’s killer, would he have found the same pattern carved into their clay? “I didn’t realize vodníks could capture other spirits.”
“Neither did I. But what am I but a soul? It trapped me in that cold, dark place for countless years, smothering my essence. I knew that if I did burst free from the jar, I would be immediately destroyed by the pond’s water.”
“Then how did the pijavice find you? What did they want with you?”
“I don’t know their minds.”
Domek ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Water would kill you? Is that the only way wisps die?”
“There are other ways,” the wisp told him. “Why, do you plan on trying?”
There was something unsettling about the fact that Domek could make the creature betray its own weaknesses just by asking. Guilt clenched his guts in a fist. Finding the jar and getting bound to the wisp had felt like a curse on Domek. He was starting to wonder now if the wisp saw it the same way. “If I weren’t to kill you, how would I get rid of you?”
“You could die,” it said. “You can gift the jar to someone else, though the bond won’t break until someone else holds it and summons me. Someone could steal it from you and take ownership. Or you could free me.”
Domek leaned back against the tree. “Do you have a name?”
“I do,” said the wisp.
“Tell me.”
“I’ve gone by Kája.”
“Kája,” Domek repeated. A Czech name. Somehow, Domek had expected something more unusual. “I’m Domek Myska.”
“I don’t care.”
“Why are you so determined to work against me?” Domek asked. “You’re malicious, but you don’t seem evil. You could have killed me in that alley. The more I think about it, the more I think you were trying to scare me into freeing you. Why go through all the trouble when you could just work with me?”
“You? The man who controls my spirit against my will? I have no reason to trust you. Most men are selfish, disgusting creatures,” the wisp said. “They will lie, steal, cheat, and murder to get ahead. When they’re suddenly given the power to change the world, nearly all of them immediately use it for self-gain, no matter the cost.”
“Not all men, though,” Domek said.
“Majority rules in this world,” Kája said. “Even men who exist under everyone’s notice for years, following the rules they were given, lose all sight of their values when someone tells them that they’re exempt from normal laws. You say ‘not all men,’ but you’re the same. The moment you ran into trouble, you called me forward to win your battles.”
“I told you that was a test,” Domek pointed out.
“Are you saying that if you ran into trouble again that you wouldn’t summon me immediately? You would die before calling me to aid you?”
It was right. Domek had tried to summon it not three hours after the last time. If the White Lady had not fled, he would have used it to overcome her. He threw up his hands. “Fine, you’re right. Of course you’re right. When it comes to life or death, I’ll use whatever resources I have.”
“Even if that resource is a slave you got by killing someone else,” the wisp said.
“You’re not a—” Domek cut himself off mid-sentence. Was declaring that the wisp wasn’t a slave enough to constitute wishing him free? “I killed it to save someone else. It was just a pijavica.”
“And you’re just a human.”
“Do you not realize that pijavice kill innocents?”
“So do humans. So do you. From what I saw earlier, pijavice simply do it with more skill than you.”
“I’m not a murderer. I’ve spent my life trying to protect people,” Domek said, twisting the grass beneath his fingers. “I’ve risked death for years trying to make these streets safer for innocents to live in. It’s my job.”
“Give men weapons and tell them they have a righteous war, and they’ll do anything.”
“I don’t want to battle you and control you,” Domek pressed. “I want you to work with me voluntar
ily against the monsters. People should be able to live without fear. It is a righteous war, one that’s worth fighting.”
“I could. I won’t, unless you force me to.”
Fuming, Domek said, “Back in the jar. Don’t come out again until I summon you.”
“As you wish, Master,” Kája said before dematerializing. Though Domek had instructed the wisp to stay quiet, he had left another flaw for Kája to exploit. On its way back into the jar, the wisp glowed so brightly that it seemed like a beacon to all Prague, flashing bright sparks of every color imaginable. The fireworks lasted a long, breathtaking moment, illuminating the overgrown garden. By the time it disappeared, Domek was blinking away lingering stains on his eyes.
After leaving her meeting with the pijavice underground, all Ora wanted was a few hours alone in her home to rest from the world. However, Sokol was waiting for her report in a nearby government office. The building was unobtrusive, overshadowed by the towering castle just behind it, painted a dull gold and unmarked aside from a small plaque etched with the Empire’s double-headed eagle. The road outside cut at a steep angle, building toward the castle. From the name on the office’s doorplate, Sokol was borrowing the space overnight. Like his prey, Sokol kept nocturnal hours. She told him what she had learned; namely that the nest hadn’t been any help on their case whatsoever, but that there was a new pijavica family in power. He perked up at the mention of the Zizkovs like a dog spotting a choice scrap of meat.
“We need to find out more about them,” he said. Despite his familiarity with the night shift, he still looked tired. Perhaps it was the job, rather than the hour. It was as strange to see his bulky form in a stale government office as it was to see him in her sitting room. Was there anywhere outside a battlefield where this man looked comfortable? “I had also heard that pijavice were going missing. If these Zizkovs are behind that, they may be behind this alleged cure as well.”
“Not bad for a night’s work. Are we done?”
“We still don’t know what they’re doing, or how they’re doing it. I can’t send my men into a situation with so little information. What if all these missing pijavice are waiting for them inside the Zizkovs’ door?”
“I’m sure you and your brilliant team will figure it out,” Ora said. “I gave you their name and their new neighborhood. Put a man to watch every door until he sees someone licking blood from their lips.”
He shook his head. “This is pijavica power politics. From what you heard, it’s a complicated mess. These Zizkovs are playing games. Even the others are scared of them for some reason.”
“I’ve already shaken some answers out of some sewer scum. They won’t know much more, even if I find another flavor. There’s nothing I can do that you can’t. You’re the professional, Sokol. You’re good at this.”
A smile twitched at his mouth—he was not immune to her flattery. His eyes were intense on her face, gaze lingering for a moment on her lips. It wasn’t the first time. Ora was never quite sure whether he was envisioning her fangs or…something else. She was distracted enough by the heat in his stare that it took her a moment to wrap her mind around his next statement. “You could ask the expert of pijavica politics.”
“Oh, no,” Ora said, blinking. “Not a chance.”
“You have access to the man who has played every pijavica throughout the Empire like a puppet master pulling strings for centuries,” Sokol said. “Instead of interrogating the whole city, you could ask one man and answer all our questions.”
“If he’s cared to learn anything,” Ora said. “It sounded as though these Zizkovs are new. Lord Czernin plays the long game. He wins chess matches before they’re started. He won’t waste his resources on pawns.”
“We won’t know if they’re pawns unless we learn more,” Sokol said. “If there is a nest of pijavice who learn how to cure themselves, we need to know. Why would pijavice be trying to rid themselves of their powers? You said yourself that the pijavice in the sewer were horrified by the idea. You’re the only one I’ve met who wasn’t salivating for more power, not less. Pijavice bleed everything dry—there’s a reason they’re named for leeches.”
“Thank you.”
He ignored her. “I need to know what they’re doing. If they truly are looking for a cure, if they’ve found a way to eliminate the poison that causes the bloodlust, I would move mountains to make sure it was administered to every pijavica on the continent. If they have some darker ulterior motive, I need to know that too. This isn’t what I’ve been trained to handle. That’s why I need your help.”
Her help. As though requesting she walk back into Lord Czernin’s grasp were as simple as asking to borrow a few hundred crowns. “I don’t like seeing my friends hurt, but there’s a reason you don’t see me prowling the streets at night trying to save every victim in sight. I don’t care to, Sokol. I have a life that I’ve clawed into place, and I won’t throw that away by getting involved in the mess of pijavica politics again for your sake. I’m not a spy or a soldier. I’m just a widow with an unfortunate taste in friends.”
“Perhaps it’s my taste in friends that’s in question,” Sokol shot back. “If there’s a way to rid our streets of an entire breed of predators, we have to try. But we need information, the kind of information we can’t get on our own. By not helping us, you’re hurting us. You hide while innocent people die. Do you not care if I’m next?”
“Mortals die. That’s what they do. I’ve done this song and dance before. I’ve lived…a long time. I can’t fight every day.”
“Just one more favor,” Sokol said. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe it was important.”
“You know that I haven’t spoken to Lord Czernin in years. There’s a reason I left him. I despise him. What I’ve told you, it wasn’t everything. You don’t know him.”
“The ministry has been around far longer than the lamplighters. Our very first records mention Czernin, though by previous names. He’s a myth, but you’ve told me that he is real. If anyone will know what is happening, it’s him.”
Ora clenched her fingers, watching her skin shift with the bones. “If you’ve read stories, you know what he’s capable of. You have to understand what you’re asking of me.”
“I do. And I’m still asking.”
* * *
So, after pretending to take a nap until a reasonable hour, Ora was stuck getting dressed for another adventure.
“You want the feathers and the pearls in your hair?” Lina asked, standing behind her as Ora went through her closet. She had woken with the dawn, just in time to help. Lina’s expression was still fuzzy with sleepiness and a cup of tea steamed on the dresser, but she was giving Ora’s wardrobe her full attention.
“You think it’s too much?” Ora asked as she moved another day dress aside. Over the years, she’d collected outfits for all sorts of occasions, but none of them seemed right today. Some of the dresses in her closet were decades out of style by now. Why had she ever thought that this particular shade of yellow would look good on her?
Lina cleared her throat. “I do, actually.”
Ora bit her lip and moved past another gown. Too frilly. The gowns she had shipped in from Paris were all drowning in ruffles these days. “None of my dresses are interesting enough,” she said. “Besides, head ornamentation is in fashion in London. I’ll bring it to Prague.”
“Ease them into it,” Lina said. “Here, what about the gray muslin?” She pulled out a dress with a simple silhouette in a soft, dove gray. There was a layer of lace over the bodice that flared over the hips, adding an element of sophistication.
“Gray?” Ora asked. “I’d look as though I’m still in mourning.”
“Unless we add that pink belt I saw in here the other day,” Lina said, digging through one of the accessory boxes. “Gray and pink look lovely together, especially with your red hair. With pink feathers, and no pearls, it would be the height of class.”
Ora frowned at the dress. “You’re
sure?”
“It will be perfect,” Lina insisted. “After all, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. Not for them.”
“Absolutely not,” Ora agreed.
* * *
The horizon was gray by the time Domek trudged up the stairs to his flat, the promise of the sun slowly staining the clouds. He’d spent the rest of the night walking along the Vltava, lost in his thoughts. The clouds that had been lurking overhead all night had opened up again on his way back, raining just enough to make him feel damp and heavy, but not enough to justify stopping his journey until it cleared. It felt like the river had come to life, drifting across the city in miniscule droplets to explore beyond its shores. Shaking the dew from his hair, he unlocked the door and entered the flat.
And then stopped.
The flat had been ransacked. The contents of the drawers were strewn across the counters, the pillows on the couch had been sliced open and de-feathered, and the window in the kitchen was shattered. He ran to his bedroom and found his bed shredded and flipped, his closet upended, and torn pages of his journal scattered on the floor. It was as though a feral animal had been let loose, tearing and destroying everything it could reach.
“There you are,” said Anton, coming into the bedroom behind him.
“What happened here?” Domek demanded.
His roommate looked exhausted, shadows like the clouds outside lurking under his eyes. “It was like this when I got home. I was getting worried about you. Where were you all night? Your shift ended hours ago.”
“I had things to take care of,” Domek said, looking around. “What did they take?”
“Not much, from what I can tell,” Anton said. “They picked the wrong apartment to rob, didn’t they? All I have of value is my stash of coins, and they didn’t find it. Are you missing anything?”
The Lights of Prague Page 10