Page 17 of Night of the Witch
Heart in my throat, I ease around the corner of the house and stop just before the front yard. Slowly, so slowly, I lean around—and spot a group of horses pawing the road, tied to the yard’s fence.
Latched to them is a prison wagon.
Liesel.
Tears sting my eyes. Maybe the Three haven’t forsaken me after all.
Or, at the very least, they haven’t forsaken Liesel, but whatever the reason, I’ll take their gift.
I throw down the squash. Within the house, I hear now the gruff, taunting voices of men who think they’re in control. The woman they’re arresting is putting up a fight, spitting all kinds of vile insults at them—I’d laugh, if I was still capable.
There are a number of windows that look on the front yard, and the open door too.
I take off at a full sprint, running as hard as I can for the horses. They’re war horses; my approach doesn’t faze them in the least. I slide to a stop beside the prison wagon, the slickness of the dirt road sending me to my backside, but I’m hidden now from view of the house, and no one calls outHexe!orAfter her!
Still, I hold for a breath, two, willing my heart to slow.
“Liesel?” Her name comes out of my throat croaked and trembling. “Liesel?”
I knock on the outside of the wagon.
No answer.
She could be unconscious. Or tied up. Or—
She’s alive. He wanted her alive. She has to be alive.
Shaking, I push to my feet and round to the back of the wagon. There’s a small window with iron bars across it, and I use the step at the back to hoist myself up and peer within.
“Liese—”
I don’t even finish saying her name.
It’s empty.
This isn’t the group that arrested my cousin. That killed my coven.
My stupidity heats my chest. That I thought the Three could have turned a blind eye to my sins. That they would have rewarded me, even if to reward Liesel more.
What will I do now?
I know what Iwon’tdo.
I won’t keep trudging through this forest, lost, desperate, scared.
Hexenjägers stomp through these lands, lands theystolefrom the tribes that came from these hills, and they incite fear and terror into all who hold to the ancient ways. And now they’re arresting yetanotherinnocent woman, dragging her back to Trier for a faux trial and gruesome death.
It’s timetheytrembled.
It’s timetheyfeared.
Deep in my mind, beneath the surge of righteous fury, I swear I hear the voice sigh happily.
That should give me more pause than it does.
I wouldn’t be the first witch to crack like this. To give in to wild magic out of anger and well-earned rage, only to become exactly that which the hexenjägers preach against: a murderous demon that could bring down curses on whole herds of livestock, make men blind where they stand, and mutilate flesh with a snap of their fingers.
Their fear of us is not entirely unjustified.
