Page 55

He sighs, his shoulders slackening with defeat. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more honest.”

At his apology, the last traces of my resentment fall away. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding you . . . but a lot’s been going on.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m too scared to mention the mora or my nightmare, so I pull out the diary. Better to start there, with something tangible. I gently set it on the bar between us.

“What’s that?” Luka asks.

“A diary I found.”

Luka studies me with furrowed brows, then picks up the book cautiously. Turning it over, he says, “This looks . . . old.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “Yeah. It is. The person it belonged to—her name was Magdalena—lived here in the late 1800s. She was some kind of healer. Look—” I point to the person with Luka’s last name in the ledger of customers.

He scans the list, then turns the first page. “Where did you get this?”

I hesitate. “The bunja—the one where the mora supposedly lived.”

His eyes widen with surprise. “You went back?”

I nod. “I wanted to see if I could find anything more about the mora. I know you don’t believe it—she—is real,” I add quickly. “But . . . I think she is.”

Luka tenses. “If it’s because of Davor—”

“No,” I cut him off. “The mora . . . she comes to me at night.”

Luka stares at me steadily. “What do you mean?”

“I have nightmares, and my body freezes up. Then I see her. She wears a red crown, just like Davor said.”

The air between us tenses as his gaze probes mine. I swear I can feel the debate brewing in his mind. Whether to dismiss what I said or believe me. Which is worse—mad or cursed?

But then his expression softens, transforming into raw concern. “How long?” he asks, low and gruff.

“Since I first came,” I whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a trace of hurt in his voice.

“I—I wasn’t sure myself if it was real or all in my head.”

Luka falls silent, studying me as he crosses his arms. “Does Karmela know this is happening?”

“Yes, but she brushed it off. She said they were only bad dreams.”

“I thought the same thing,” Luka concedes.

“But you believe me?”

He gives me a heavy look. “If you say it’s true, then yes.”

Relief sweeps through me.

“So . . . this was just lying inside the bunja?”

“No.” I trace the woodwork on the bar. I’m not sure how to explain my surreal experience. “Something . . . strange happened while I was in there.”

“What do you mean?”