“She gave me a funny look. I don’t think she believed me.”
“It doesn’t matter, Petr. Let’s just get back to work.” Hansel stood at the top of the porch stairs. “She could be coming any second. You all understand that, right? We have to have the attitude that she’s right around the corner.”
“I told you we stalled her, Hansel. She’s going to wait for your mother. And she doesn’t think your mother is coming for a few more days.”
“Or maybe she just killed a couple of kids on her property and now she’s a little concerned that word will get out. Maybe she’s been spooked. Have you thought of that, Petr?”
This is Hansel now, Gretel thought. A shift had happened within him. Some kind of psychological break. And it was as much her fault as anyone’s. Maybe it was all her fault. Two years from now, if they were still alive, she’d probably feel sorry for him and what she’d instilled in the boy, but in this moment, she was relieved.
“He’s right,” Gretel agreed, “it doesn’t really matter what Sofia’s mother does. What we need to do now is prepare.”
“What are we going to do?” Petr asked. “We don’t have the time to build some elaborate trap.”
“No,” said Ben, “but we do have guns.”
Gretel chimed in. “This one pistol isn’t going to be enough for her, Ben. Believe me.”
Ben snickered. “I’m not talking about your great-grandfather’s gun, Gretel. Or whatever that thing is.”
Gretel frowned, slightly insulted.
Ben jogged over to his truck and dropped the tailgate, and then pulled himself up inside the bed. He walked to the front and then stopped at a dusty red blanket that covered something long and rectangular. Ben pulled the cover toward him until it dropped to the bed, revealing an old wooden box that ran from one sideboard to the other.
“What is it?” Petr asked.
“It’s a gun box. And it ain’t empty.”
Ben unlatched the top and reached down and grabbed a rifle and a double-barreled shotgun, holding them up over his head like a soldier whose platoon had just won the enemy’s high ground.
“A gun box? This would have been a nice thing to know about when we were back at the witch’s cabin. We might have done things differently.”
“Look Petr, I’ve never even seen you fillet a fish. And I had just met Gretel and Hansel. I didn’t want you or me or Mrs. Klahr getting shot by a bunch of kids who don’t know the first thing about guns. And that wasn’t the time to give a crash course. And there was Sofia too. I just—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. What do you have in there?”
“I’ve got these two,” Ben said holding the guns higher, “a shotgun and a rifle with a scope, and a pistol a little more modern than the soaked out one you have there, sweetheart. The rifle is mine. Distribute the others as you see fit.”
“So we’re just going to stand out here with our guns and unload on the woman when she drives up? What about Mrs. Klahr?” Hansel’s tone suggested he wasn’t completely against the plan, but he was skeptical of how they would pull it off.
“We’ll hide. The four of us. One of us will have the angle. I know there’s risk, but that’s always going to be the case.” Ben was becoming annoyed that his friends weren’t as impressed with his arsenal, that they couldn’t see that this was the answer they’d been looking for.”
“No, Ben,” Gretel said. “That plan won’t work. Not like that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re right about Hansel and me. We were never hunters, not really, and we couldn’t be counted on to pull off what you’re talking about. But I also think you’re wrong about Petr.” Gretel looked over at her friend and nodded. “From what I remember, this son of a System officer is quite skilled with the iron. Pistoleer award when you were ten, if I recall correctly.”
Petr grinned and blushed. “I told you about that?”
Gretel knew Petr pretended not to remember. She could see it in his face. In fact, she suspected Petr remembered every moment they spent at Rifle Field. The day of Gretel’s first kiss. “You did.”
“Well, hell, Petr, you never told me that.” Ben seemed genuinely hurt by this biographical omission.
“You never asked.”
“How would I know to ask that?”
Gretel refocused them on task in front of them. “So that’s how it will be then, Ben; you and Petr are going to do the shooting. One of you will have to kill her.”
“What about you and Hansel?” Ben asked.
Gretel grabbed her brother’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Hansel and I will be the bait.
Chapter 39
Marlene drove the Interways at a speed that was just fast enough not to be stopped and ticketed, but not so slowly that she would draw suspicion from some stray backwoods constable. The sun was still a couple of hours away from rising, so there was still time to make it to the Back Country unseen; she hoped to arrive before most folks began their day’s work.
Amanda Klahr slept beside her, a fresh dosage of sedative working in her bloodstream.
Marlene had originally intended to head directly to the Morgan property, where she would confront and kill the Stenson boy, along with any other recruits they had brought on to fight in their battle. And then she would take Gretel. Brutally if necessary, but alive.
They would be waiting for her—of course they would be—but that was to be expected. This renewed chapter of the Morgans was always going to end in confrontation. It was true that events had moved more quickly than she’d expected, and that she’d been somewhat outmaneuvered by her enemies, but those truths were never going to stop her from coming. She would be ready for the trap, the ambuscade, protected by the vulnerable flesh of the Klahr woman. She, and the feelings Gretel and Petr held for her, would be Marlene’s shield, just as the nurse Odalinde had shielded Marlene from Georg Klahr’s shotgun.
But Marlene’s mind was clouded now, unable to focus fully on her mission. It kept drifting to the letter. The letter Anika had left for the Klahrs, with the itinerary and destination of the Morgans in the Old World. The details of the journey didn’t matter anymore as far as the Morgans were concerned, but Marlene’s interest was still unwavering. She had to know. In case she never made it off the Morgan property, she had to be reminded once more of the places she had once known intimately.
The Morgans had gone off to the Old World, that much she had learned since her awakening, but to which region and specific town was a mystery, and that is what continued to tickle the back of her mind. So, at just a few minutes past dawn, just as she was coming up on the dirt driveway where she had planned to steer Georg Klahr’s truck toward the Morgan farm, to head directly into the ambush, Marlene pivoted her plan and continued straight on for a half mile more until she reached the unmarked road of the Klahr orchard. It was the letter that she thought of as she drove, but it was Life that drew her there.
“We’re changing our plans slightly, Mrs. Klahr. I hope you don’t mind.”
“They’ll kill you,” Amanda mumbled. The words were dry, breathy, clearly dialogue from a dream. Still, Marlene was mildly unnerved by how poignant they sounded in the moment.
Marlene nodded and replied somberly, “Not without killing you too. Now let’s go have a look at the old cottage.”
Marlene backed the truck in so it was facing the road—in case she needed a quick escape—and then walked to the passenger door and opened it in a way a chauffeur might after arriving at a sophisticated party. Then, in amazing contrast to her door gesture, she grabbed Amanda by the upper arm and slung her over her shoulder like an old carpet. Marlene felt strong, energized, perhaps a result of her proximity to Gretel and the prospect of a returning Anika. Or maybe it was a sense that the end of her time in this world was coming soon. The Old World beckoned. In any case, she had so much to repay the Morgans.
Amanda Klahr grunted as her abdomen fell across Marlene’s spindly shoulder, but the woman offered no real resistance,
and Marlene quickly carried her inside and up the stairs to the secondary quarters across from the Klahr’s main bedroom.
She placed her on the bare mattress that laid on the iron bedframe and began to tie her down. Marlene realized there probably wasn’t any urgent need for the restraints at this point, with the Klahr woman nearly comatose, but the thin drapery that hung next to the bed seemed like a sign not to be ignored and an ideal fabric for tying Mrs. Klahr’s hands to the bedpost. If it took her longer than she expected to find the letter, she would come back and reinforce the job with more proper shackling.
But within a few moments of searching, Marlene knew that wouldn’t be necessary.
She strode across the hall and into the main bedroom—the arena where she had done battle with the Klahr woman not so many nights ago—and was immediately drawn to the destressed white vanity that sat in the corner of the room, obviously Mrs. Klahr’s side of the bed. She opened the long thin drawer positioned just below the main surface of the vanity and immediately saw a white envelope with GEORG AND AMANDA KLAHR handwritten in the center.
Marlene took the envelope out and smelled it, and then ran her long fingernail under the fold, splitting the paper casing, careful not to destroy the contents. She pulled the wrinkled letter from the envelope and unfolded the paper and began to read:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Klahr,
Thank you for respecting my wishes not to read this letter upon delivery. When you do read it after we are gone, I pray that you are doing so only out of concern, or perhaps burning curiosity, and not because something dire has occurred. I can never repay you or thank you enough for what you have done for my family, so please do not interpret my secrecy regarding where we have gone as anything other than extreme precaution on my part. You are the only ones I trust, and it is why I have written this letter at all.
In the event you must contact us, we have gone to the town of Hecklin in the ancient region of Jena. It is located just at the base of the Koudeheuvul Mountains. This land is the ancient region of my mother and her family, and my belief is that there are secrets there that can help explain the origins of my family, as well as the reasons behind the trauma we recently endured.
And perhaps more fully explain the powers that exist in my daughter.
Our family name is Aulwurm. It is a rare surname, so we should be easy to locate should you need us. Please be prudent, however, and contact us only if there is no other choice.
I fear for us still. Please be careful.
We will return.
Anika
Marlene placed the letter down on the vanity and stared out the window across the lake at the Morgan cabin where all was still and dark. The sun not yet risen above the canopy of the property. A new darkness will be coming soon, she thought.
She sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind, to force her thoughts back to her life in the mountains. The Koudeheuvul Mountains. It was a name similar to the one her family had given to the range thousands of years ago, but it had been bastardized over the centuries, by kings and settlers, to its current iteration. But the name still rang powerfully, and just reading the word elicited energy in her blood. Marlene felt her heart race, and she took a giant breath to calm herself.
Jena. It was the land of Orphism, both the book and the religion. It was where she would flee when this was over, when she had concluded her task with the Morgans. When she had once and for all taken their lives for her own.
She was in a reverie now, and she smiled at the image of her home, the image of a fire burning brightly beyond the hearth, her mother giving a tired simper as she set a basket of wood on the stone floor. There was no father in this image; perhaps she would never remember him.
Marlene could have chased this scene for hours, but she was wrenched from the dream by a woman’s voice screaming from the front of the cottage. She sat still on the bed, eyes wide and searching.
“Petr Stenson!” The voice was desperate, almost sobbing. “Come out here! I know this is where you live! You will tell me where my children are!”
Amanda stumbled from the bed at the sound of the screaming, like a farmer conditioned to rise at the crowing of a rooster, but she was yanked back to the mattress by the sheets wrapped around her wrists.
“Who is that?” she whispered to herself, her intoxication still heavy, creating doubt as to whether she had heard anything at all.
“Petr Stenson!” the woman called again.
Amanda got to her feet again, slowly this time, and leaned her body forward toward the window as far as possible without falling, the sheets keeping her from collapsing.
She could see the shape of the woman standing still in the driveway—based on her voice and posture, Amanda guessed she was in her forties—and then she started walking toward the house, her stride purposeful.
“No!” Amanda called to the closed wall of glass in front of her. “Run!”
With a heavy tug, Amanda tested the curtains on her wrists and could instantly feel the loose wriggle of fabric. Compared to her imprisonment at the cabin, these restraints hadn’t been tied with any real purpose. She flailed her arms now, flexing all the strength in her biceps and forearms; she must have looked like a mad woman, she thought, or a drowning victim.
But the motions paid off, and within a few more desperate twists and yanks, Amanda managed finally to get one hand free, which she then used to untie the other. She was free.
Amanda immediately ran to the window and opened it. “Go away!” she called to the woman. “She’ll kill you! Go! Please!”
“Who are you? Are you Petr’s grandmother?” The woman’s pitch was angry, accusing.
“You have to listen to me.” Amanda was desperate now, almost crying. “Get away from here. Get in your car and…”
Amanda never heard the woman enter her room, and she never saw the cane that struck her in the back of her head just above her neck.
And thankfully, she never heard the tortuous death of Sofia Karlsson’s mother as she was torn apart on the dusty driveway at the entrance of the Klahr orchard.
Amanda saw only a flash of light, followed by a voice that said, “I’ll deal with you later.” And then she lost consciousness.
Chapter 40
Gretel walked out to the front porch and looked up at the darkening sky. It was still early, but rain appeared imminent.
“Hey, Gretel,” a voice called in the distance. It came from the trees at the top of the driveway where the road to the Interways began.
“Ben?”
“That’s me. Can you see me?”
“No, where are you?”
“Up here.”
Gretel descended the porch stairs and then followed the sound of Ben’s voice until she came to a thick chestnut tree that stood about ten yards deep in the woods. She looked up and saw the boy smiling, his face and shirt smeared with dirt. He gave a silly wave and then looked through the sight of his rifle, practicing his aim, a motion Gretel guessed he’d probably done a hundred times already since establishing his position.
“So how good are you with that thing?”
“I’m pretty good.” He paused. “I’m not bad with the rifle either.”
Gretel laughed despite herself. “You’re gross.”
Ben laughed and then almost instantly turned somber. “Hey, Gretel?”
Gretel nodded, waiting.
“I am good with a gun, and I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your brother.”
Gretel smiled. “Not even Hansel, huh?”
“Well…no, not even him.”
“Thank you, Ben. I need to go check on Petr.” Gretel turned to the house and started walking and then stopped and looked back. “And Ben,” she said, “I’m really sorry about Sofia. I know she was your friend. She should never have been a part of this.”
“Thanks, Gretel. I’m sorry too. But it was my fault.”
There was no point in debating the blame. Maybe late
r, Gretel thought, but not now. Now was a time for preparedness.
Gretel was pleased with Ben’s readiness, camouflaged and poised like a soldier. She sensed that kind of strength and will in the boy from the moment she met him. It was an attractive quality, the feeling that he was a protector.
Petr, on the other hand, was still balking at the plan, unsure of their decisions to this point. Gretel sensed he was doubting himself, doubting his ability to perform his role once the horror was at hand.
Gretel walked down to the back of the house where Petr had been standing for several minutes now, staring out at the lake. She stopped beside him and gazed in the same direction.
“I’m scared, Gretel.”
“I am too.”
Petr turned to Gretel now, a look of confusion on his face. “You don’t understand, Gretel. I’m not scared for me.”
“Then who? What?”
Petr shook his head and snickered, seemingly irritated at Gretel’s naiveté. “For so long, I wished for you to come back. I thought about it every night: the moment when you would just appear without notice, to tell me that you were here to stay. And then it happened. You were just floating in the lake in front of me. A mirage. That was a miracle for me, Gretel.”
Gretel felt flush at the admiration being poured upon her.
“And now? Now I wish you hadn’t come back. I wish you were still in the Old World and that I had no idea what you were doing because then I would at least know you were safe from her.”
Gretel let the words land. She didn’t want to step on his thoughts by responding too quickly, diminishing his feelings. Finally, she said, “I’m here, Petr, and there’s nothing that is going to change that. We can only turn into this problem now, face our crisis as the imperative that it is. It’s the only choice we have.”
“But what of this magic, Gretel?” Petr’s face was pleading, not giving up on the possibility of something divine coming into play.
Marlene's Revenge (Gretel #2) Page 23
