Page 95 of Night of the Witch
“The Maiden, right?”
He remembered. I smile. “Yes. This is her time of year—winter and darkness.”
“You sing carols about winter and darkness? That hardly seems festive.”
“About the chance for rejuvenation Holda brings us. The rest, the moment to breathe before spring’s growth.”
Otto nods, his eyes lingering on my face. He’s done that more andmore, like he’s soaking up the final remnants of my words, and usually I drop his gaze first. But now I stare back at him.
“What?” I prod.
He grins. “Nothing.”
Effervescence bubbles in my chest. The Three save me, it’s ripping me in two—that he and Liesel can act so…so…safe. They saw what happened in that cottage, not two hours ago. They know Dieter can still find us.
Yet Liesel is singing Christmas carols, and Otto is sniffing the air as we come up on the first buildings of Baden-Baden. “Ah, cinnamon!” he says.
Liesel stops. She angles her head up, sniffing, and her face brightens. “Come on!”
She grabs my hand and off we go, and I let her take me, Otto in tow, the mistletoe falling out of my fingers.
Baden-Baden’s Christkindlmarkt is bursting. Booths hawk similar wares: warm spiced glühwein, crumbly springerle cookies in fanciful designs, a big vat of savory kartoffelsuppe. Everywhere are families buying treats and singing hymns. A man stands on a stage, telling a wintry tale with puppets on strings.
There are no hexenjägers. No town guards at all.
It’s such a stark contrast to the Christkindlmarkt of Trier that I stand in awe a moment, enthralled by the happiness.
Otto catches a passing reveler, and after a quick word, he turns back to us with a smile. “It’s Christmas Day. We nearly missed it.”
“Then Yule has passed.” Liesel’s happiness dips. She’s fighting memories too. She’s fighting the same sorrow I am, and I squeeze her hand in both of mine.
We would have had these similar foods and smells in Birresborn, only for Yule, not Christmas. The bittersweetness cuts me in two, how each scent and sight reminds me of a home that doesn’t exist anymore.
“It’s too late to venture into the Forest today,” I say. “We should find a place to make camp.”
Otto surveys the town square, the flurry of movement in the Christkindlmarkt. “I don’t have enough for a room at an inn, but—”
He points over the buildings, to a hill towering off to the left. The sun’s final rays hit it, casting it in gold—and illuminate the castle ruins woven in with the trees on top. Half of the structure looks decimated by some sort of fire, gray bricks singed to black, even at this distance.
“There could be others camping there too,” I say.
“But it would provide shelter from the wind. Here.” Otto digs into his coin purse and pulls out the last of his money. “This will be our final chance to get supplies before the Forest. What do you need?”
I snatch a coin from him. “Watch Liesel, will you? I’m going to find herbs in this market if it kills me.”
Liesel tugs Otto’s sleeve until he bends down to her. She whispers something in his ear.
His brows lift. “Well, then we have to, don’t we?”
Matching grins cut across their faces.
My eyes narrow. “What’s that about?” But I’m fighting my own smile.
“Oh, nothing,” Liesel sings. “Get your herbs. We’ll meet you back here. Otto and I have important business to attend to.”
She drags him off into the Christkindlmarkt. The parting glance he throws at me pins me to the cobblestones.
I will find protection herbs. Warding herbs. I’ll tear this town apart if I have to.
