The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(32)

Crawling under the covers, I reached out to turn off my bedside lamp and froze, my fingers hovering inches away from the switch. Even knowing the street light would cast a weak glow over the room and keep full darkness at bay, I couldn't bring myself to turn it off. Screw it. I wasn't paying the electric bill. I punched up my pillow into full fluffiness and let exhaustion take me.

What a difference fourteen hours of sleep made. I woke up Friday around noon, refreshed and starving, to find two texts on my newly-charged phone. The first was from Ari who was glad I'd checked in and promised to relay the message. The second was from Rohan with today's agenda. He'd be with Forrest for part of the afternoon, but said I should meet him in his room for dinner around seven and to dress appropriately. We were going out with Samson.

That fit in with my plans for the day, namely eating and finding this shopkeeper. According to the walking map of Prague I'd downloaded onto my phone, the store Gelman had directed me to find was located in Old Town. I noted the tons of small cafés and bakeries on the map to check out along the way, so I skipped the hotel restaurant and headed off to explore Prague and get breakfast.

I popped my earbuds in, choosing an upbeat playlist that contained no danger of playing "Toccata and Fugue" then, soundtrack in place, slid on a pair of red, plastic, heart-shaped sunglasses that I couldn't wait to break out in Rohan's presence. I tugged on my gloves, my breath gusting in tiny puffs in the crisp cold air. It was a lot chillier here than it had been back home.

Sun reflected off diamond sparkles on the frost-covered ground as I wandered the twisted cobblestone streets in dreamy delight, the one downside being the occasional heel snag in the uneven stones. Prague was like a fairyland, a city filled with so many architectural gems that I got a crick in my neck. I passed building after colorful building, paintings and sculptures adorning their facades, some with attic-level arched windows, and wondered what it would be like to regularly wake up to these rooftops? 

This time of year, there weren't the throngs of tourists jamming up the streets that I'd have found in summer. I snuggled deeper into my coat, following the scent of sugar, cinnamon, and dough. Turning the corner, I was rewarded with a bakery, its front wall open to the street. Inside, workers wrapped dough around a long stick, roasting it over an open flame until it was golden brown. I hopped inside and glanced up at the filling options painted on the menu board.

I pulled an earbud free, the latest Bruno Mars spilling out. "One Trdelnik please. With whipped cream."

The baker pulled one of the long, hollow pastries off of its cooling stick, filled it to overflowing, wrapped it in a napkin, and handed it over. I bit into it, the cream squishing up over my top lip and nose. Flavor ecstasy burst on my tongue. That's it. I was moving here.

I dawdled in the streets as I ate, checking my map every now and then to make sure I was still on the correct route. There was no hurry and I was happy to gawk at everything.

The map eventually directed me into a narrow courtyard, ringed with tiny shops. The one closest to the entrance was my destination. I peered through the windows expecting some dusty creepfest selling crystals and bits of flotsam best not asked about. Instead a plump, cheerful woman clad in colorful clothing sold children's crafts and the ubiquitous marionettes hawked throughout the city.

The shopkeeper greeted me brightly over the jangle of bells. "Can I help you?"

I glanced around the shelves but my items weren't on display. "Uh, I'm looking for something I hope you stock."

"Yes?"

Feeling half-foolish, half-trepidatious, I said, "Virgin soil from a mountain not dug by men and purified well water."

"Wait here." She disappeared behind a purple beaded curtain.

I didn't believe that it could be this easy. She was going to transform and come out with evil a-blazin', right? Nope. She returned with two stoppered glass vials. One was filled with a rich, dark, soil and one contained clear liquid. "That's it?"

She smiled. "That's it."

I eyed them. "How do I know this isn't backyard dirt and tap water?"

The shopkeeper rang up the purchases. "You don't. Though I'd hardly keep my reputation if that's what I passed off."

Good point. I paid for the vials, thanked her, and tucked them safely into my coat pocket. The fabric still smelled like roses. I exited the store, marveling at how uneventful that had been. Since I had tons of time before I had to get ready for tonight, I pulled out my phone, intending to check my map and see how to get to the Charles Bridge, when a burst of color on a sign in the far back corner of the courtyard caught my attention.

It was a sunburst. A gold stylized sunburst with an androgynous face in the middle, framed by hair streaming out as if blown by the wind. Rays of light, some straight, some wavy extended from the face. One of the rays ended in a fleur-de-lis while another one had a hand, palm forward. I'd seen this design before.