Page 66 of Night of the Witch
“They’re all witches, Bertram,” I say. I don’t want much attention. Especially as Kommandant Kirch took such an interest in Fritzi.
“But this is the one that got me punished,” he snarls, his hand raised as if to strike her.
I move like lightning, shoving him back so he staggers against the brick wall. “Yougot yourself punished for being a fool,” I growl. “What was it you claimed? A dozen demons on her side? And yet look.” I sweep my arm toward her. “Just a woman.”
So much more thanjustanything.
Fritzi smiles sweetly at Bertram, fluttering her eyelashes. I shoulder past him, dragging Fritzi closer to me. I hide the flinch on my face when I hear her stumble on the steps, her toe catching on a raised stone. I cannot help her. I cannot express any sympathy at all.
My hands curl into fists. My jaw clenches.
I have been suppressing my true thoughts for years now; why am I suddenly blinded by the need to protect this woman? Ipreparedfor this—I cannot ruin it now, not when we are so close to such a major coup against the tyranny of the archbishop.
“You!” I snap my fingers at a different guard. “Let’s get this witch in the prison. She can burn with the rest tomorrow.”
He nods at me, moving over to the heavy padlock on the cage door. Meanwhile, I hold Fritzi to the side. Her eyes dart past the bars, looking for her younger cousin, the girl she was so certain had been taken by Kommandant Kirch personally.
“She’s not here,” Fritzi whispers so that none but I can hear. My heart sinks. If the little girl isn’t here, where could she be?
“I’ll find her,” I swear, my voice low. But I have no idea how I’ll do that.
“Bring the witch through!” a hexenjäger calls to me, motioning. Near the door, three people—a woman and two children—crouch in moldy hay. Hexenjägers point swords to push back the woman and the two little ones huddled to her side as if they were dire threats.
“On your knees, witch,” I snarl, yanking Fritzi forward and kicking her down. She skids across the stone floor, tossing her hood back to glare at me. “Get in.” I shove her shoulders, pushing her toward the door. It is a mockery, a final form of shame to make the accused crawl into the cage. Her skirts smear across a damp bundle of hay sticky with brownish-green refuse. Seconds after her ankles clear the door, the hexenjägers let it slam shut, trapping her inside.
She stands and rushes to the bars, gripping them, the metal clacking around the manacles on her wrist. “At least take these verdammt irons off,” she demands.
I pull the key from my pocket and step forward.
“Careful, Kapitän,” one of the hexenjägers warns me. I pause long enough to shoot him a withering glare. He bows his head respectfully, remembering my rank.
Fritzi holds her shackled hands to me, palms up. I fit the iron key into the lock. My fingers brush a newly opened, raw blister made by the rusty metal, and she winces, the barest hint of pain flashing across her face, and it’s enough to make me want to rip this prison down brick by brick.
The iron manacles clatter to the ground. Fritzi steps back immediately, rubbing her wrists.
I bend down to pick them up and pull them through the bars toward me.
A shiny black boot stops beside my knee.
I feel the cold aura of fear settling across the basilica—not just from the prisoners, but from the guards as well. Fritzi turns her back, pullingher cloak up over her face, but I catch the sheer terror flashing in her eyes as she moves.
I stand slowly.
And meet the icy gaze of Kommandant Dieter Kirch.
“Good work, Kapitän Ernst,” he tells me, but already his eyes are roving past my shoulder, through the bars, right to Fritzi.
She’s trapped behind iron in the heart of the hexenjägers’ prison. There is nowhere for her to run, no way for her to hide. I watch as her shoulders square, the realization of how trapped she is settling upon her. But no—this is something more. More than the natural fear of imprisonment. This is not a primal terror, but something deeper, something born of knowledge, of dark memories, of realized terror.
She’s hiding from the man standing beside me. Only there’s nowhere for her to hide.
She turns, lowering her hood, meeting Kommandant Kirch’s eyes, her jaw tight.
When she speaks, her voice is quiet, but everyone can hear her words slice through the air toward him. “Hello, brother.”
19
FRITZI
