Page 124 of Night of the Witch
She had mentioned that before, although not the method. A protectiveness dangerously close to possessiveness surges inside me at the thought of Fritzi bonding with anyone else, but I push it away. One of the first things she told me about that potion was that it had to be taken willingly or it would not work, and I will never step in front of any choice Fritzi wants to make about her body or her power.
But I can tell she does not choose such a path.
“There seem to be some here who would rather fight than flee,” I say. “Who want to see magic regulated but not eviscerated from the world beyond the barrier.”
Hope flashes in Fritzi’s eyes. “The world has sacrificed enough because of Dieter. Magic isn’t the corrupting force. It’s just the tool, one that can be used in different ways…”
I try to smooth the lines between Fritzi’s brows, pinched together in worry, but there’s no use. I don’t fully understand magic the way she does, and I do not know the right questions to ask to help her find the answers she seeks. So I hold her, and I hope that will be enough.
After several long minutes, she relaxes into my body. Her breathing evens, and I almost think she’s fallen asleep when suddenly she shoots up with a startled cry.
“Fritzi?” I ask.
Her eyes unfocus, looking at something in the distance, something I cannot see even when I crane my head around. Her face drains of color, her mouth going slack in horror as she stands.
“Fritzi?” I ask again, reaching for her.
“Dieter,” she gasps, the word a strangled whisper of true terror.
I leap up, my hand going to my waist—useless; I’m not wearing my sword. I spin around, searching the shadows, but I don’t see whatever she does. Fritzi walks forward, as if entranced, her hands extended, reaching for something I cannot see—
“Fritzi!” I yell, but it’s as if she cannot hear me.
39
FRITZI
“Fritzichen!”
Dieter’s voice rings through my skull, but it’s…younger. It’s the Dieter from my memories, from my childhood, and as I waver to my feet, I blink, and the pool glade vanishes and is replaced with a different forest—
I’d know the trees around Birresborn anywhere.
Strong oaks and thin birches, their steady trunks cutting gray columns of shade against the burning sun.
My head rings with the wrongness of this place. I shouldn’t be here. I was—I was somewhere else.Withsomeone else. I’m not—
It’s summer.
It’s summer, and I’m hiding by a fallen log, hands smashed to my mouth to stifle my giggles. Every quiver of my tiny body trudges up the scent of the forest floor beneath me—musty crushed mushrooms, earthy moss, damp dirt.
“Fritzichen!” my brother calls again.
He’ll never find me here. He always overlooks this rotting log. He’ll never—
A noise pierces the air. Like a scream, quick and jarring and high-pitched.
“Fritz—Fritzi!Come quickly!”
I’m on my feet in an instant, my airy, summer-light kirtle swaying around me, smeared with dirt stains, pockets stuffed with fragrant mint leaves from a plant I’d found a few paces away.
I spin in a circle, eyes stealing through the trees, the columns of shade and light, shade and light.
“Fritzi!Hurry!”
My body takes off like a shot, yanked toward him,I’m coming, Dieter, I’m—
I skid down the side of a hill, round a thick oak, and see my brother kneeling on the ground next to—to something.
