Page 90 of Night of the Witch
“Yes.”
“So there is no fear of that happening.” He says it simply. Like that’s the only thing that mattered, and it’s taken care of, so we’re fine.
I frown at him, head cocked. “Didn’t you hear what I said?Ilet him into my home.Ibetrayed my coven. All of this happened because ofme.”
I expect Otto to leave. He knows now. He’ll walk away.
“Did you know what he’d do?” he asks quietly. “Did you know what he wanted before he came?”
I swallow once, twice, trying to force my agony back down again, but it’s awake now, and it’s demanding I crumble.
Hands over my face, back against a tree, I manage to shake my head. “No. I thought—I thought he’d just comehome. I missed him. I didn’t know what he’d become. But I should have known. I should havestopped it—”
It takes me a full breath to realize Otto’s holding me now.
I feel the warmth of his body. The rush and grind of his exhale. The solidness of those arms, wrapped around me, pressing me into him, and it makes my whole body jerk to a pause.
“It’s not your fault, Fritzi,” he tells me again, more certain now. “His actions are not on you. It is not your fault.”
He just says that. Over and over. And I’m crying again, sobbing into the cave of his arms, letting him hold me in this frigid forest, on the run for our lives, as if we have time to indulge in my grief right now. But he strokes my hair and murmurs reassurances—It’s not your fault; your family would forgive you; you’re safe now, Fritzi—and I have to believe I’m dreaming.
When I find my breath, tears ebbing just enough, that’s what I say. Or demand, my tone low and surprisingly angry. “How are youreal?”
Otto stills, hand in my hair. I push back to look up at him, knowing I’m well beyond a mess now, but he smiles at me, a confused tilt.
“You’re all contradictions,” I say, hands fisted in his shirt. “You were, until recently, anhonorablehexenjäger. And now you’re a man who’s comforting a woman he should be furious with, at the very least, if not disgusted by—”
He shakes his head, hands on my elbows. “Why on earth would I be furious or disgusted by you?”
“Because of what I’ve done! To my coven. Toyou. To your sister. All the trouble I’ve made for you—”
“And I’ve made no trouble for you? Arresting you. Throwing you into my house fort without explanation. Dragging you into my escape plan. Arresting youagain.”
“Only because I messed up your original plan to start!”
“By rightfully helping who you thought was an innocent woman being accosted by hexenjägers.”
“Don’t try to rationalize my sins.”
Otto waves at his face. “Catholic.”
Unexpectedly, it yanks a laugh out of me. That laugh bubbles up more, until his smile breaks into a matching laugh, and we really must be dreaming, or at least exhausted beyond all reason to find even a small bit of joy in this forest.
He coaxes me back to the clearing with Liesel, still asleep next to her fire, and we sit in companionable silence while she sleeps and the flames crackle. My tears are dried on my face and neck, but I feel the stretch of my laughter too.
We won’t be able to stay here for long. Just enough to take the edge off of Liesel’s discomfort.
But for this moment, in the aftermath of my breakdown, I focus on the feel of that resonant laughter. Not on the hollowness of my grief coiling back up, going dormant, ever waiting, ever living.
Otto and I trade off rowing the next day, interspersing our stints with letting the current drift us on. My arms burn and sweat slicks my underclothes to my skin by the time the sun slips beyond the horizon, throwing the river into pitch blackness, all light from above choked by a heavy barrage of clouds.
I shift my feet on the floor of the boat, trying not to bump beside Liesel, who has settled into sleep again. It won’t be as comfortable as sleeping on the shore, but how many nights can we afford to stop? We won’t be able to go like this forever, but for now, we’ll push, just a little.
I can make out enough in the dark to see that Otto immediately hands me the waterskin and a chunk of hard cheese. I take them, my arm feeling like it’s gone to jelly, and it’s all I can manage to shove the food into my mouth.
“I’ll do the first watch,” he whispers. “I’ll wake you after a few hours.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll go first.”
