Page 94 of Night of the Witch
Fury, white hot and searing, replaces the horror.
I willneverlet him do this to her. I will kill him not only for what he has already done, but for what he wanted—wants—to do. I will kill him, and if God takes issue with that sin, let him stay my hand directly, for nothing short of that would stop my blade.
“We should go,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice calm for Liesel’s sake. I feel for the door behind me, too disturbed to take my eyes off thewoman. I get the door open, and Liesel tumbles outside into the cold. I take a step back, grabbing Fritzi’s hand and squeezing hard. Fear radiates off her, and I pull her close, letting her hide her face in my shoulder as we stagger back outside. I keep my arm tight around her waist, supporting her and hoping that she can feel how I will do anything to protect her.
The old woman’s eyes lock onto mine through the open door. And for just a moment, as Dieter’s possession of her body lingers, they are pale, eerie, and soulless.
29
FRITZI
He’s following us.
In all our stops along the river, I tried to scavenge what herbs I could; but winter bears down relentlessly, and I barely had enough for one protection potion that I used to ward our boat.
A lot of good it did.
As we trek through thin, sparse winter trees, I grab handfuls of mistletoe from low-hanging branches. I rush ahead and use the time until Liesel and Otto catch up to shift through the snow and dirt, but there is nothing,nothingthis time of year. I always relied on my dried stores through winter and early spring, and I feel their luxury now, how very useless I am without proper supplies.
Still, I gather the mistletoe into my empty vials. It’s mostly for luck rather than protection, but it will have to do, and I whisper spells over the makeshift potions as we walk. I slip a vial into each of our pockets, and I stick sprigs of mistletoe in Liesel’s braids—I’d used icy river water to wash both of our hair as best I could yesterday, and she’d heated herhands to dry the chill. My blond curls bounce wildly beneath my nearly ruined wide-brimmed hat, but with clean braids and green bursts twisted across her head, Liesel looks festive, like any other innocent child prancing through a forest around Yule.
It won’t be enough, though. Dieter will laugh at these attempts to block him. He’ll possess the next person we come across—or maybe Otto? The Three help me. Hecannot—my brotherwill nottake him—how is he possessing people? Could he do such a thing to me? No. It has to be willpower, him affecting those who aren’t suspecting invasion. We’ll resist him. We have to—
I’m locked in worry, murmuring another spell over a bundle of mistletoe in my hand, when Otto touches my shoulder. “Fritzi. Look.”
I whirl, on alert instantly—
Before us, just down a slight decline, is a town hugged by the Black Forest.
It’s the largest we’ve seen since sailing through Koblenz, not quite as large as Trier, and far less orderly; the whole mess of streets and buildings tumbles out from the thick edge of the Forest’s blanket, rippling across this clearing, no walls to hem it in. A few bridges arch over swamp-like offshoots of rivers, and though it’s getting late and the setting sun should be chasing everyone inside, each bridge is alight with torches and good-natured cheers. From deep in the town, music plays, a few different overlapping songs fighting for dominance from a bonfire-drenched center square.
The light and levity combats the heavy density of the Forest beyond, both sensations pulling my attention equally: the vast darkness of the Black Forest, just there, finally, we’ve made it; and the buoyant joy of a town in celebration.
“Baden-Baden?” Liesel looks up at Otto.
He smiles at her. “Just in time for a party, it seems.”
Liesel brightens. Her cheeks are rosier, not quite fuller, but not as gaunt.
I have seen the way Otto slips her some of his rations. I have seen the way he always looks at her upon waking, making sure she’s here still and safe, before we trade watches.
And I have seen the way Liesel has the little animal he carved for her in her skirt’s pocket, the way she checks on it every once in a while.
Liesel starts down the hill, humming one of the songs we can hear playing. “Fritzi! I know that one—hm hmm hm, there are angels singing; hm hmm hm, the bells are ringing!”
“How do you know a Christian carol?” I call after her.
“I know things!” she snaps back, but she’s smiling, and she continues down the hill, singing to herself.
“Did you not have carols in Birresborn?” Otto asks as we follow her.
“Not your Christian ones. I have no idea where she learned it. Likely doing something she shouldn’t have—”
“What carols do you have?”
Otto’s question catches me, and I look up at him, the mistletoe still in my hands, the spell half finished.
“Oh.” I shrug. “We sing to our goddesses too. Mostly to Holda.”
