Page 34 of Night of the Witch
One hexenjäger, I can kill.
He’s focused on wherever he’s taking me, his breath huffing fast, his heart hammering against my back. We take another turn, his boots sloshing through puddles that sound deeper now—another sharp turn, more water sloshing. How will I find my way out?
Never mind that now. Getaway.
I lift my manacled arms and slam my elbow back into the kapitän’s stomach. He huffs a startled breath and releases his grip, but only barely—I manage a single step forward before he seizes my arm, a predator’s instincts, and slams me against the wall of the tunnel.
Terror shoots through me, a white fog across my mind, and all I want,all I am, is the need to scream. The kapitän’s forearm presses across my chest, his elbow and fist connecting with the bruised spots where his knees pinned me in the garden, and I wince, teeth flashing in the dark.
“I won’t make it easy for you,” I spit, terror disintegrating into anger. I fall backward into it; anger, I can use, and I thrash against his weight. “I may not have magic right now, but I have claws and teeth. Every moment, everybreathwill be a fight, jäger—”
“A fight? Schiesse, that’s not what I—stop. I know it’s hard for you,” he tells me, and for once, his voice is almost sorrowful, “but unless you want to end up on a stake, stay quiet andtrust me.”
“Trust you?” I gasp, bucking. He’s incredibly strong. So strong I know I have little chance of overpowering him, and that realization sends a shudder through me, fed by the icy water soaking into my boots.
I have been manacled, bound, and locked in a prison wagon, but it’s his display of strength that reminds me how much of a prisoner I am.
“Yes,” he says, his breath warm on my face. He’s a voice only. A voice and a press of weight in the dark. “Trust me. And if that’s too impossible, then know that this is the only way to save everyone.”
“By purging the city of—”
“No. The people locked up by the hexenjägers. I’m going to save them, and you’re going to help me.”
I stare into the darkness, my eyes wide, brows to my hairline.
He doesn’t wait for my reaction. He grabs the chain between my manacles and hauls me on, and I go, because I can’t fight him off, because I have no other options, because his words are dancing through my head.
He’s trying tosavethe people he helped imprison?
No. This is a trick. This is some kind of final test before the hexenjägers burn me, before Kirch returns and has his fun. He’s trying to break me. That’s it—this is him, this is all Kommandant Kirch—
My mind is heaving, roiling. A panic, a delirium, a final shattering as the kapitän stops.
There’s rustling, the sound of keys rattling. I hear one go into a lock, twist.
Dim, hazy light pushes into the tunnel. I lurch forward, drawn to the light like a moth, my panic momentarily hesitating as my eyes adjust, and I cansee.
Beyond lies a small square room, crates stacked against one wall, a distant, steady dripping breaking the silence. There’s a shaft in the ceiling where a ladder might go and no windows or doors beyond this entrance—it’s a cellar.
I don’t get a chance to ask a question. The kapitän shoves me into the room.
“Staysilent,” he says, and I hear the grate of his words fully now, see the desperation on his face. In that moment, he’s not just a soulless hexenjäger; he’s a boy, wide-eyed and scared.
He’s pleading with me.Beggingme to stay quiet.
“What is goingon—”
But he slams the door on me.
I throw myself at it. There’s no handle from this side, just a smooth outline, and when I hammer my fist on it, it doesn’t even rattle.
“Jäger!” I shout at the wall. No response. “Jäger!”
Nothing.
I kick it. It only sends a jolt of pain up my foot, and I dance backward until my thighs catch on a crate. I sit, heavy and shocked, staring at the door.
The shaft above dumps foggy light down on me—there must be windows up there, an exit. Around me, the crates are mostly whole, some dampened from moisture, the floor slick and the walls unbroken by other openings.
