Between the Shadow and the Soul

by Susanne Winnacker

  Nela’s father stared at her for a moment with an expression Nela had never seen on his face, then he hurried away.

  “Mom?” Nela whispered. “What’s going on?”

  Heavy steps rang out and her mother rose to her feet. “Good morning.”

  Nela slowly turned around and her heart turned to stone. Two guards of the Brotherhood, dressed in long black frocks, stood in the doorway.

  She could see her father’s pale and helpless face behind them. Had someone found out what Nela had done? Had Mikael betrayed her? Or even Darko? She’d started to trust him; what if that had been a mistake?

  “What’s going on?” Nela asked, but nobody was paying attention to her. The eyes of the two Brotherhood guards were fixed on her mother. “Mrs. Vogel. We arrest you for Maleficium according to the Magical Ban in the Treaty Laws.”

  Nela froze. Her mother looked so calm as if she’d expected this all along. The two guards entered the kitchen and gripped her mother’s arms.

  “Maleficium?” Nela shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. She opened her mouth to protest, but a hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her father was at her side, a warning look on his face. Why was he so calm? Why wasn’t he raging and screaming?

  “This is wrong!” Nela shouted, not caring how her father’s grip tightened. Fury burnt through Nela and it called to her magic. She wanted to hurt those guards. She wished Darko had taught her how to do it. He certainly knew.

  “This must be a mistake,” her father said in a careful voice. So controlled. Nela glared at him. Her magic was pressing against her skin. Maybe her body knew what to do. Maybe she could hurt those men on instinct.

  The guards regarded her father as if he was less than the dirt under their boots. “The Brotherhood will set up a trial which will determine the truth.” The man turned toward Nela’s mother. “Come.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Nela ripped away from her father and stepped in their way. Her mother reached out for her and brushed her fingertips across Nela’s cheek. The taller guard pushed Nela out of the way, separating them. Nela’s back hit the wall and her tattoo flared with pain. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying out.

  “There’s no need for this,” her father said, still in this annoying polite voice. He stood between her and the guards, probably because she looked like she was going to scratch their eyes out.

  Nela’s mother smiled weakly. “Everything will be alright. Don’t worry. Listen to your father.”

  “Mom,” Nela whispered as the guards led her mother out of the kitchen and toward the front door. Nela wanted to run after them, but her father pushed her back. “Stay here. Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

  She stared at him as if this was the first time she saw him. How could that man be her father? Nela didn’t understand how he could keep his composure when his own wife was taken away by the Brotherhood.

  He let go and hurried after the guards. She looked out of the window. Her father stood on the sidewalk, arms limply at his sides, watching how a guard pushed her mother into the back of their black BMW limousine with the black tinted windows. Her mother held her head high and even smiled lovingly at Nela’s father before the door of the car was closed and she was gone from view.

  Nela began shaking, her fingers curling around the windowsill for support. The guards got into the front of the car and drove off, taking her mother away. Few people who were taken by the Brotherhood ever returned.

  ***

  Nela still stood at the window when her father came back into the house. She heard him enter the kitchen, his steps light and measured as usual; she didn’t turn around. He waited. A silent presence, but he didn’t speak up. There wasn’t anything to say.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him pick up the phone from the kitchen table and dial. Her breathing was tight and hard, and cold seemed to conquer her insides.

  “Hi Frank,” her father said in a controlled voice. Tears stung in Nela’s eyes.

  She quickly realized that her father was talking to a lawyer. The man was supposed to defend her mother in the upcoming trial. As if a lawyer could do anything. As if there was any chance the Brotherhood would ever release someone they had in their clutches.

  “You have to get them to reduce the charges from Maleficium to Practice Magic,” her father said. Nela whirled around. “What?”

  Her father gave her a warning look but otherwise ignored her and kept talking to the lawyer on the phone. “You can’t do that!” She tried to take the phone from him but it was too late, he’d hung up.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “What you aren’t doing. Worrying about Mom. Caring about Mom. Being furious.”

  Her father blanched. “I do care about your mother and I do worry, but being furious won’t do her any good.”

  Nela pressed her lips together before she could insult her father. “It’s like you don’t have any emotions. How can you ask the lawyer to reduce the charges to Practice Magic? You should ask him to prove her innocence.”

  He lowered his eyes, a muscle in his neck working. “But what if we can’t?” he said so quietly that Nela wasn’t sure she’d actually heard him right. Did he know what she’d been doing at night?

  She gripped his arm. “But dad, if she was found guilty for Practice Magic, she would still spend her life in the Witch Tower. Nobody survives there for long. We can’t let that happen.”

  Her father straightened and her hand dropped from his arm. “We’ll do what we can.”

  But what if that wasn’t enough? The moment the judges of the Brotherhood saw her mother’s back, she’d be found guilty and they would never agree to lower the charges to Practice Magic. They’d want to see her burn.

  A new thought struck her. “Aren’t there laws that protect witches from having to bare their back without good reason?”

  Her father scanned her face. “What makes you think your mother’s back would prove her guilt?”

  Nela didn’t say anything. If her father really didn’t know, she wouldn’t be the one to reveal her mother’s secret. But then her father gave a jerky nod. “If there’s sufficient proof against your mother, if the person who accused her is of good standing with the Brotherhood, we won’t stand a chance. Few defendants manage to get out of baring their backs.”

  He knew a lot about this. Maybe the lawyer he’d talked to was more capable than she thought. And yet the hopelessness lay like a heavy stone in her stomach. “We have to do something,” she said again. “We have to visit mom. She’ll need us.”

  “We’re not allowed to talk to her before she was interrogated by the Inquisitor. Her lawyer will be with her. Until then we’ll have to wait. We have to set our hopes into a fair trial.”

  Nela almost lost it then. “Fair trial? The Brotherhood doesn’t give a damn about fairness when it comes to witches!”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  She could feel her magic close to bursting out of her, could feel her tattoo burning with the power of it, but she forced it down, reigned it in until only an insistent prickling was left. She could see in her father’s eyes that he knew what was going on. There was horrified recognition in his expression. “Calm down,” he urged.

  And not for the first time she wondered what would happen if he knew what she was doing with Darko. Would she end up in the Witch Tower like her mother? What if he had betrayed her?

  No. She banished the thought as quickly as if had come. Her father loved her mother. But would that also protect Nela? If it was true what her mother had said that her father had despised Nela’s uncle for what he was, who was to say he wouldn’t hate her too?

  ***

  “I can’t believe they expect us to listen to their preaching after what they did yesterday,” Nela whispered furiously.

  Her father shushed her as they approached the south portal of the Cologne Cathedral with its neo-gothic decor. The sharp towers of the transept se
emed to pierce the low hanging clouds. They were later than usual and most of the witches had already disappeared into the old church.

  “We have to make a good impression for your mother. We can’t risk the ire of the Brotherhood. Please behave yourself.”

  Nela bid the inside of her cheek, lowered her gaze and followed her father into the musty inside of the cathedral. The stone figures carved into the arched portals with their grimaces sent a shiver over Nela’s back. And the two guards of the Brotherhood beside the entrance who regarded her with open disdain only increased this sensation. She stayed a couple of paces behind her father as he crossed the long nave, passed rows of pews filled with humans who were busy ignoring them, and headed for the high black iron gates that separated the front part of the church from the back. The scent of incense swirled in the air and brought with it a flood of bad memories. They were one of the last people to enter and their steps rang loudly in the silence of the enormous cathedral. An ocean of candles on both sides of the nave gave off a gentle orange glow, which didn’t penetrate the half-light. Nela’s father, too, lighted a candle before he passed through the iron gates.

  The moment Nela and her father sank down on the uncomfortable wooden pews, she noticed that something had changed. Most of the witches occupying the pews around them didn’t even dare to look their way, as if the slightest eye contact could incriminate them. That was why the Brotherhood was so successful in enslaving them. Because of their cowardice and disloyalty. Darko had been right all along, and she’d been blind. Even Oskar didn’t spare her a single glance. He was wedged between his parents, with their heads bowed low, their hands folded. His mother was wearing a blouse that revealed her unchanged tattoo again. Nela wanted to scream at them, at them all, but then she caught Finja’s gaze over the heads of the other witches. Her friend’s soft expression grounded Nela and she forced herself to take deep breath. The iron gates clanked behind her when the guards locked them. That way no witch could sneak into the nave and mingle with humans.

  Grand Master Claudius’s voice rang out and Nela sank deeper into her bench, trying to blend out his words. She couldn’t bear them today, not when it felt like every word was directed at her family. Her eyes traced the intricate mosaic covering the floor as her mind busied itself counting the myriad of small stones that created images of saints. She jumped up the moment the service was over. She couldn’t stand the stifling atmosphere a second longer. As she and her father headed out, the other witches managed to keep a gap between them even though there wasn’t much room.

  Nobody talked about what happened to Nela’s mother. Fear sealed their lips. Nela stared at her feet. She didn’t want to see their stupid victim faces.

  Outside, the dark façade of the cathedral in their backs, Finja’s parents approached them. Finja gave Nela a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Nela had to fight a new wave of tears. They didn’t speak. This wasn’t a safe place to do so. Finja’s mother patted Nela’s cheek with a gentle look, so motherly that Nela choked up. “We’ll come by later,” Finja’s father said quietly. Nela knew what a big risk they were taking by associating with her family and she felt grateful.

  But when they came to visit later, Nela realized that nothing would come of it. Even though Finja’s presence gave her strength, her parents and Nela’s father didn’t talk about what mattered. They didn’t talk about the injustice of the treaty. They just went along with it without a fight. They never considered overthrowing the treaty. For them it was a fact that wasn’t to be questioned. Nela didn’t dare ask Finja for help. She knew her friend didn’t want to go against the Brotherhood, not in the same way Nela wanted to.

  There was only one person who would understand. Nela sent Darko a message, asking him to meet her at the Hohenzollern Bridge. Her mother had taken her there often to watch the ships on the Rhine when she was younger. With what had happened, she couldn’t risk meeting Darko anywhere near her home. Two minutes later, his response text arrived, agreeing to meet her. She knew if there was anyone who would understand her anger toward the Brotherhood it was him, and maybe he could help.

  Chapter 16

  Nela’s fingers were frozen stiff from holding onto the metal banister of the Hohenzollern Bridge. Its massive steel arches towered over Nela. The illuminated skyline spread out to Nela’s left with the sharp edged towers of the Cologne cathedral above it all, the ringing of its bell announcing midnight. At the fifth chime, Darko appeared at the end of the bridge, shadows spiraling away from him and then vanishing into thin air. After a glance around, he spotted her in the middle of the bridge and strode toward her. She’d been here for almost fifteen minutes already, trying to gather her thoughts by watching the illuminated ships glide over the black Rhine. Worry was plain on Darko’s face when he stopped beside her and rested his forearms on the banister beside her stiff fingers. Her chest tightened as it had done countless times since her mother had been taken. They still hadn’t heard from her – or if her dad had, he wasn’t telling her. It was driving her insane with fear.

  Darko scanned her face, dark brows drawn together, his high cheek bones even more pronounced. “What happened?” His voice was like silk and Nela had to look away, toward a ship coming their way to stop herself from losing it. Her throat tightened as she spoke. “The Brotherhood arrested my mother.”

  Darko stiffened. He too knew what that meant. The words about what happened rushed out of her and when she was done, her body was wrecked by tremors and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Darko embraced her, enveloping her in his coat, his warmth like a blanket around her. She pressed her face into his chest with its steady heartbeat and smell of burnt wood and cloves. He was solid as she shook.

  Nela realized that he was the only person she could trust completely when it came to her magic and the fate of her mother. He would never go to the Brotherhood. He understood pain and loss even though he hadn’t shared his story with her yet. He whispered soft words in a comforting voice. She didn’t understand what he was saying since she didn’t know the language he was talking in, but the gentle flow of his voice, the warmth of his breath against her neck, eased the pain for now and her tears subsided. She lifted her head, the breeze cold against her wet cheeks. Their faces were inches apart. From so close up, she noticed a small scar above his left temple for the first time. Why hadn’t he tried to remove it by magic? He raised his hand, stilling her thoughts, and wiped the tears from her face with gentle strokes.

  It was the first time she saw true tenderness in his expression. The despair was gone from his dark eyes. For a moment she believed that everything could be alright. “What language was that?” Her voice was raw and quiet.

  “Yugoslavian. That’s where I was born,” he said. His breath fanned over her face, smelling of peppermint and something sweet. She’d been wondering about his accent before, about the way he rolled his “r’s”, but he’d never divulged anything about his past. Silence fell between them.

  Nela stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Just a brief touch of her lips to his, then she pulled back, eyes wide. She wasn’t even sure why she’d done it. Embarrassment crawled up her neck. There was surprise on his face, and something else, something darker she couldn’t place. “I’m so--” she didn’t get the chance to finish her apology. Darko leaned down and kissed her almost desperately. She gasped against his lips, against their heat. His arms tightened around her, drew her even closer to his hard chest. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss. His closeness seemed to consume her. Magic thrummed in her body and she could feel his magic answer in turn. It was like a symphony.

  His lips moved to her temple, the spot below her ear, almost too hot on her cold skin. She touched the back of his neck, ran her hands through his hair. His lips grazed her ear and he whispered the word “draga” against her skin, only to suck in his breath sharply a heartbeat later. He pulled back, embarrassment on his face. It was the most earnest look she’d ever seen on him.

  “What does ‘drag
a’ mean?” she whispered, her cheeks hot. The word sounded wrong from her lips. She couldn’t roll the ‘r’s like he did, or give it the same rang of emotion.

  He glanced out over the river. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat, his eyes drawn to the locks attached to the banister along the entire length of the bridge. “Why are there all these locks?”

  It was an obvious attempt to distract her from her question, but she decided to let him get away with it. She was confused by their kiss, and with every passing moment her confusion seemed to grow. How could she have kissed Darko after what happened with her mother? How could she have allowed herself that moment of happiness when her mother was locked away in some dark cell in the Witch Tower? Guilt washed over her. His features softened as if he could see on her face what she was thinking. He linked their fingers and she let him, despite her confusion and guilt. He gave her the strength she needed if she wanted to help her mother. There couldn’t be anything wrong with it. “The locks?” he prompted.

  She lifted one in bright red with the names Christian and Melanie written on it in black letters. “They are called Lover’s Locks,” she said. “Lovers attach them to the bridge as a sign of their togetherness.”

  “They do?”

  She flushed. “That’s not why I brought you here. I mean.” She sighed. “I didn’t even think about it. It’s a place my mother took me when I was younger.” Pain blossomed in her chest. “I’m scared.”

  “I know,” Darko said. He slung his arm over her shoulders and they watched the huge ships pass below them and Cologne’s nightly skyline. “I have to do something. I can’t watch my mother die. I wouldn’t survive seeing her at the stake. Please, Darko. There has to be a way.”

  “I’ll come up with something. We still have some time, right?”

  “I think so. They haven’t even scheduled the trial yet.”

  “That’s good,” he said quietly but she could tell by his expression that he was far away. “But you’re wrong. You would survive.”