Excerpt from Foul Days by Genoveva Dimova, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"They can't be here," he mumbled. "It's too early."

The stranger kept pulling on his polka-dot neckerchief, as if he'd tied it too tightly. His eyes darted between the window and Roksana's pistol. His mouth hung half-open, as if a question was just about to roll out of it. In the end, he swallowed it hard.

Kosara's shadow extended one dark finger over the table's edge and flicked through the deck so quickly it was a blur, until it found the card it looked for. It disappeared back under the table.

"I can't see anything," Malamir said, his large eyes made even larger by the thick lenses of his glasses, blinking fast.

"No." Suspicion crept into Roksana's voice. "Me neither."

The shadow handed Kosara the ace under the table. She quickly swapped it for the five.

"Oh no, sorry." Kosara tried to sound genuinely nervous. She didn't have to pretend much. "I must have imagined it. Perhaps it was a stray cat."

Malamir gave her a pointed look over the golden rims of his glasses. She would have felt bad, if she wasn't certain he also cheated. As did the stranger: no one had that much luck. And if all of them were cheating, she reasoned, it was as if no one was.

"Sorry," she said again. "We're all a bit on edge tonight, aren't we?"

Roksana's pipe bobbed up and down in her mouth as she considered this. The smoke grew so thick it made Kosara's eyes water. The air seeped with the stench of spilled beer, full ashtrays, and too many people in too tight a space, but beneath that floated the sweet odour of seer's sage. Kosara would recognise it anywhere—a potent sedative she used in all her potions for good dreams. It came in wafts every time Roksana pulled on her pipe, sliding into Kosara's nostrils and making her eyelids heavy.

She would have called Roksana on trying to put them all to sleep, but she knew better than to argue with the dealer.

"Should we get back to the game, then?" Kosara gave her a winning smile.

Roksana sighed and returned the pistol to its holster. "You never told me if you're in."

"I'm in."

"Wasn't that difficult, was it? Malamir?"

"It's getting late." Malamir's watch slid between his trembling fingers and swung on its chain. Kosara felt a strong compulsion to double her bet.

Would you look at that! A hypnotising watch. Kosara had never seen one of those in the wild before.

"Where did you get that from?" she asked.

Malamir grinned, his white teeth glinting. "My watch? It's nice, isn't it? I won it at cards."

No wonder the old rascal was doing so well. If he hadn't already given up, Kosara would have gladly ratted him out to Roksana. As it was, she stashed this information in case it came in handy later.

"Alright," Roksana said. "And what about you, mister…"

"My name isn't important," said the stranger.

Kosara rolled her eyes. He was trying way too hard with the "dark and mysterious" act. He didn't utter a word unless it was to raise the bet. When he wasn't inspecting his cards, he stared at Kosara, as if he waited for her to do something. As if he'd never seen a witch before.

"So, Mr. My-name-isn't-important." Roksana chuckled at her own joke. "Are you in?"

"I might be in." The stranger twisted the knot of his neckerchief. The toes of his red brogues tapped on the dusty floor. "I might be in, if we make things a bit more interesting."

Kosara looked down at her pile of tokens. She'd done well tonight. The silver ones were enough for her to eat like a queen for a month. With the bronze ones she could buy that dress she'd spotted in the tailor's window: velvet and black as midnight. With the iron tokens she'd order everyone in the pub a drink tomorrow—to celebrate, if they survived tonight.

She scratched the scar on her cheek, three raised scrapes. Every self-respecting witch had a few battle scars. "How much?"

"I don't want your money," said the stranger.

Excerpted from Foul Days by Genoveva Dimova. Copyright © 2024 by Genoveva Dimova. Excerpted by permission of Tor Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.