The Lights of Prague

by Nicole Jarvis

  The cravings didn’t disappear over the years, no matter how determined she was to never slip. Instead, it was knowing how disgusted she would be with herself afterward that made human flesh almost unappetizing. She’d gone once to a meeting in a church on the edge of town for a group of people all struggling to resist drink. Only once, and she’d used a false name. For everyone there, the feeling was much the same. Knowing the consequences and hating the action didn’t quite ruin the allure of their poison of choice.

  No matter how much her body ached for the warm blood beside her, she ignored it.

  As they walked, Domek explained what they were heading into. While she had been luring him into opera dates, the lamplighter had been having a horrible week. Days ago, the source of the cure had fallen into his hands, and he’d been hounded by people on all sides for it since, including, of all things, a White Lady.

  The story, strange as it was, had the benefit of distracting her. She had a task now, a mission to complete. Sokol would have shouted at her if she let his death interfere with it. Mayer existed because of Sokol’s masters, and hers. The ministry had given him the resources, and Czernin had pushed him into action. It was her responsibility to end it.

  “This mysterious cure,” Ora said thoughtfully, “this thing—the source of Mayer’s research and your friend Paluska’s power—what is it? I’ve been trying to deduce it from your story, but I can’t imagine anything that could do what you claim it could do. Weintraub, the Zizkovs’ lead scientist, was college-educated. He was a prodigy of chemistry and alchemy, but he was never creative. He shouldn’t have been able to make something so revolutionary. Even with Mayer to lead them, this type of energy should be decades away.”

  “After everything I told you, can’t you see that the fewer people who know about it, the better?”

  “I understand that you still don’t trust me,” Ora said. “But if I’m going to help you tonight, I need to at least know what we’re looking for. Is it a plant, a flower? Has it already been made into a serum like I saw in the cellar? Can we destroy it at the source?”

  Domek was silent. She felt his eyes on her. He had always been quiet and difficult to read, but she knew he was judging whether or not to trust her.

  Did she deserve his confidence? He’d been betrayed twofold tonight by those he saw as allies. She was one of his enemies. He could use her tonight, but she doubted she’d be able to regain his trust fully. Did she even want it? For months, she had been flirting with a lamplighter, someone who would have killed her in a heartbeat if they’d run across each other in another circumstance. His people never gave hers the benefit of the doubt.

  Except Sokol. He had known her nature, accepted it, and still had trusted her as a friend and ally. From the disgust on Domek’s face when he’d found out what she was the night before, she doubted he could ever do the same.

  They stepped onto Charles Bridge. The Vltava flowed as dark as the sky overhead, punctured by the driving rain. The sound of rushing water was as loud as drums.

  “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear that I won’t use the Zizkovs’ secret for my own ends,” Ora said. “I’m not interested in power. Not in that way. I know what you think of pijavice.”

  “I don’t know what I think anymore. Tell me; how did you become one?”

  “I died when I was twenty-five. Or, more accurately, I let a man kill me when I was twenty-five. I know you’re not much older than twenty-five yourself, but it feels as though I was so very young. So foolish. I drank his blood, and the pijavica poison keeps me in stasis.”

  “Is that how all pijavice are made?”

  She shrugged. “The energy of our blood is what makes us what we are. Some take it from a master. Others pull themselves from their own graves, and the poison comes directly from the hate in their hearts. It takes a lot of power and hatred to make a pijavica from nothing. They’re much rarer than those of us who are made. It’s easier to convince a young girl that immortality is a gift.”

  At the center of the bridge, Domek sighed. In the distance, the many spires of Prague peeked over the skyline, leading them onward. “Did you know that will-o’-the-wisps are the souls of witches?” Apparently, he was deciding to trust her.

  “I’ve seen some wisps, but never spoken to them. The witches I’ve known were never my friends, but none had the kind of power you’re talking about.”

  Domek explained the wisp’s magic to her, sketching out a magical soul unfettered by the constraints of life, honed by the will of an enslaver. In all her travels, from England to Russia to India, she had never encountered anything like it. There were always other monsters lurking in the night, but Ora had been young and interested only in herself. Pijavice were her death and rebirth, and she had little time for the other perversions of the human soul. She hadn’t known something this powerful lurked in the fiery flashes floating in her periphery. When had Mayer learned of the wisps’ power? That must have been the secret he had uncovered in the ministry’s archives, the one which had pushed him into action.

  “This wisp, Kája. You think he’ll help your Paluska?” Ora asked.

  “He won’t have a choice. Paluska has the jar, which means he has the vodník’s power to control him. He’s going to use some sort of device to drain his power completely.” Domek looked away. “I should have let him go. He asked, before, but I could only think of stopping the pijavice.”

  Ora shook her head. “You know, I believe your friend Kája was lucky to land in your care.” Domek glanced over at her, frowning. “There aren’t many who could resist the temptation of unlimited power. It fell directly into your hands, and your only thought was on how to keep everyone safe.”

  “It wasn’t my only thought,” Domek admitted, gaze on the horizon. In the darkness and rain, the sky was nearly indistinguishable from the river.

  “Your only action, then,” Ora said, “which is the most important part.”

  Domek was silent as they passed under the dark tower at the east end of the bridge. It loomed over them, the pointed spires on top standing like flags blazing on a parapet. St. Salvador Church greeted them on the other side, pale as a ghost. After two hundred years spent isolated at Lord Czernin’s estate and then exploring the rest of the world, the familiar streets of Prague sometimes seemed to have barely changed. She knew they had—in her time, the four areas of the city had not yet been combined into one. But at night, far from the encroaching steam engines and new structures, the solid heart of Prague made even Ora’s long life seem ephemeral.

  To Prague, Sokol’s life and death would be as a blink.

  “How did you become involved in this? Not just finding the wisp. Why are you a lamplighter, Domek Myska?” Ora asked, pushing down her grief. “You’re thoughtful, introspective—not the kind to look for glory on the dark streets of Prague.”

  “If I was searching for glory, becoming a lamplighter would have been a poor move. Our actions are mostly hidden.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not there. Most of the hunters I’ve met have been looking for proof of their own power. It’s a source of pride for them to kill their predators, even if no one ever knows.” She glanced over at him. “That doesn’t seem like your style.”

  “I’ve only ever wanted to protect people,” Domek said. “Since I was a little boy, that was my only dream.”

  “Most little boys dream of pretty women and horse races.”

  He shrugged. “Not in my area of town,” he said. “Certainly not in my flat.” They walked in silence for a long moment. “I’ve seen what happens when someone with power goes unchecked. When someone who thinks their need, their anger, their power is more important than someone else’s right to live. Not every victim can stand up for themselves. Even before I knew about the pijavice, I knew that there are women and children who need help, who can’t fight for themselves. Sometimes, it takes someone else stepping in on the victims’ behalf to make things right. I grew up big, and I made myself strong
. I became the kind of person who could help.”

  What had Domek’s childhood been like for him to grow that understanding of the world so young? So many like him, boys who grew up as victims and then found power later, fell into the same patterns as their abusers. It was always easier to protect oneself than find a way to protect others. “You’re a good man,” Ora said.

  “I did what anyone would do,” Domek said.

  Ora couldn’t stop her choked laugh. “Domek, I’ve been alive for a very long time. I have more power from one night than most humans can build in years of training. Since then, I’ve experienced more than one lifetime’s share of suffering. Would you like to know my reaction to it?” She didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Asking how I could protect myself next time.” Shaking her head, she said, “Your pain made you selfless. Mine just made me more selfish.”

  “You stopped the Zizkovs tonight.”

  “I was cajoled into it,” Ora said bluntly. “Sokol—my friend—he needed a favor. I wouldn’t have volunteered for any of this. I had to be pushed every step of the way.”

  “You’re coming with me now,” Domek said, not wavering.

  She sighed and looked back at the castle looming on the hill behind them. The storm made the night nearly impenetrable, but she knew dawn would be on its way soon. “I suppose I am.”

  Domek and Ora entered the Old Town Square from the south, passing alongside the Old Town Hall and its orloj, the ancient clock that tracked the sun, moon, months, and astronomical positions. Its intricate surface, gold and orange and turquoise, was muted by the darkness.

  Domek’s mother had once told him that if the clock ever fell to disuse, Prague would be cursed. She’d warned him that a ghost would appear, crouching above the clock and nodding at passing citizens to confirm the city’s fate. The clock was polished and well-kept, but Domek half-expected to see the White Lady appear on its roof to scream her silent fury anyway. After the night he’d had, it seemed as though the world should have been falling to pieces.

  Buildings walled the square in, limiting the entrances to a few key points. To a hunter’s eye, it was the perfect trap. The creatures Paluska would summon to the center would have to fight to flee as the sun started to rise. If Paluska could successfully amplify Kája’s magic, he would kill every creature in Prague in the morning light. It was everything Domek had once wanted. He hoped he was in time to stop it.

  Domek looked upward, but the tower at the top of the Old Town Hall was dark. There should have been watchmen on guard duty, an offshoot of the lamplighter group. From there, the guards could alert the town if a fire began to crackle through the old wooden buildings, or a foreign army invaded.

  The clock arms split the face as they passed, silently marking six in the morning. The clock would not chime again until nine, when more of the city was awake. Its silence tonight felt like censure of the activities happening in its square.

  Anton and Paluska were standing with Imrich at the base of the Marian column in the square between Týn Church and the Old Town Hall. The column was near the center of the square, built to thank the Virgin Mary for the Czech victory in the Thirty Years’ War. During the day, its shadow could be used to check the time, but at night the soaring, intricately carved column was simply a guardian for the square. At the top, fifteen meters overhead, the Virgin Mary looked down on them, her face wreathed in shadow.

  Imrich was fiddling with a machine resting on the steps of the column, a bundle of gears and brass piping that seemed too heavy for the three of them to have carried across town. To one side, standing impatiently at the base of the column, Paluska was tied to the contraption by a bronze circlet stuck along his scalp. Kája illuminated the scene, trapped in the center of the machine in a glass ball. His flames crackled and licked at the edges, his size not dampened despite the fact the orb seemed entirely sealed against oxygen.

  When the figures at the base of the column finally noticed Ora and Domek striding across the open square toward them, Anton stepped forward in front of the other two and reached for his weapons. Domek’s stakes lined his belt.

  Paluska held out a hand to stop Anton. “Myska,” he greeted, voice clear and loud over the pounding rain. “This is a surprise. Have you changed your mind?” His eyes were cold.

  Anton, Paluska, Ora, and Domek stared at each other. Of all of them, only Ora seemed comfortable. If it hadn’t been for the heavy tension in the air, and her ruined clothes—growing more ruined by the second—she might have been at a literary salon, waiting for the next speaker to start.

  “Who’s this?” Anton asked, nodding to Ora.

  “Ora Fischerová,” she said. “And you are?”

  Anton started and looked at her again. “This is Lady Fischerová?” When Domek stared at him, Anton seemed to remember again that they had fallen on opposing sides. He grimaced and fell silent.

  Domek ignored them. “Kája, they’re dead. They’re dead. The nest that was experimenting on your brothers is gone, and so is their research.”

  “Dead?” Paluska repeated. “You’ve been busy tonight.”

  Kája didn’t react. Had Domek made the wrong choice in pursuing the Zizkovs instead of going directly to save the wisp, or was Kája hiding his reaction because of their company? Or was whatever energy the machine was draining already in progress?

  “Myska, you fool,” Imrich said, leaving one hand on his machine as he surveyed the newcomers. Though the brass and wires were slick with the rain, Imrich did not seem concerned by the water. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. You keep the wisp to yourself, and then bring a lady into this?”

  “More than just a lady,” Ora said, and her smile split too wide for a human face.

  “Pijavica,” Paluska spat.

  “Paluska, you can’t do this,” Domek pressed. “Using Kája in that machine makes you as bad as the monsters. He’s not a tool for you to use and destroy. We can find a better way to do this.”

  Paluska held up his hands. His palms gleamed silver in Kája’s light, covered in the intricate scars that Domek’s hands were now missing. “You’ll find that I can do whatever I want,” he said. “Wisp—”

  “Don’t,” interrupted Imrich. “Don’t use its power while it’s in the machine. You’ll dilute the energies.”

  Paluska stopped, jaw clenching white. Instead, he just said, “Unlike you, who hid it away, I’ve been running tests with Imrich all night. The power is even more than I expected. With Imrich’s machine here, I can stretch that power even further. I’ll be able to do anything.”

  “If pity won’t move you, what about self-preservation? What happens if your machine frees him? Do you think he’ll spare you after what you’re trying?”

  Paluska raised his eyebrows. “I thought you trusted that thing.”

  Domek looked at Kája as he spoke, stroking the soft fabric of the ribbons inside his jacket pocket Kája had used to imprison him. The ribbons he had slipped free from inside his cell, only to find the keys hanging within reach. “If Kája decided to lash back and punish all those who have been keeping him captive and using his powers for their own ends, I couldn’t blame him. I never earned his loyalty, even when I had the chance. I wish I had.”

  “I don’t need its loyalty—I won’t need it at all as of dawn,” Paluska told him. “According to Imrich’s calculations, the wisp will dissipate after the machine is finished. It will serve its purpose.”

  “Those are some very naughty plans,” Ora purred. Even without her hunting teeth and claws extended, it was astounding Domek had never noticed Ora was a predator. There was a gleam in her eye that said she knew she was the most powerful being in the square, and that she thrived on that knowledge. “It takes a strong man to kill an enslaved being.”

  “Silence, pijavica. You would use it too, if you had the chance. You’re as bad as it is. That’s why there will be a pijavica purge come dawn,” Paluska said. “I doubt you’ll survive long enough to die that way, though.”

>   “Pijavice are not all the same,” Domek told him. “You don’t understand. What we’ve learned about pijavice was wrong. They’re not all mindless beasts. They were once human, the same as Kája. They can choose to defy their nature.”

  “This is becoming a habit for you, isn’t it, Domek? Befriending monsters?” Anton said, shaking his head.

  “Apparently,” Domek returned coldly.

  “I am not wrong about the pijavice,” Paluska said. “I haven’t shared all the complexities of the supernatural with the lamplighters. What does their origin matter to you? Having you engage in moral debates while you’re on patrol would waste our time. You knew what you needed to know.”

  “You didn’t think we should get to make that choice?”

  “Of course not,” Paluska said. “I’m not interested in philosophical debates with grunts on the front lines. You were my soldier, Myska, not my equal. If you’d followed my orders when I gave them, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Domek’s hands clenched into fists. How long had he blindly followed this man? “Generals make the difficult decisions,” Paluska continued. “You may not understand it, but my plan is what matters. I’m going to make a decisive strike with the new day, and it will change this city.”

  “And you sent the watchmen away because you’re proud of yourself?” Domek asked, gesturing back to the dark tower.

  “After tonight, none of us will be needed.”

  That was enough conversation. Paluska would not be swayed by words, and Domek couldn’t let him destroy Kája.

  Domek drew the sword he’d taken from Paluska’s office and lunged forward, but Anton met him before he got near the machine, striking at him with Domek’s own hawthorn stakes. Domek ducked out of the way, attempting and failing to use the sword to knock one of the stakes from Anton’s hand.

  As his roommate, Domek had always thought of Anton as a lazy fighter, but it was quickly clear that his extra training sessions with Paluska had made an impact. Domek had never trained with anything larger than a dagger, and Anton was in his element. He was fast and deliberate with his movements, grazing Domek’s shoulder with the stake Domek himself had whittled into a sharp point last week.