Gretel motioned to the woods.
“We have to go after her, Gretel. This has to end here. Today.”
“Hansel, listen to me, and I don’t want any argument.”
Hansel stood motionless, his eyes locked on his sister.
“It’s Mrs. Klahr. I think…I know she is at the orchard. Get to her. She’s in the house somewhere, and she could be in grave condition. When you get there, find her, and then use the phone to call the System.” Gretel looked to Petr, her face intensely serious. “Overseer Conway. That’s right, isn’t it Petr? We can trust him?”
Petr nodded, understanding the impact of his answer.
“Tell him what’s happened. Tell him to come with only his most trusted officers.”
Hansel stood, and Gretel could see him wavering, reluctant to exit the fray.
“Go! The canoe is on the bank.”
“I guess there are two now, right?” Hansel confirmed, a sorrowful look in his eyes.
“Two what?”
“Canoes. That’s how she came here. You were right, Gretel. I should have kept to the plan. I should have been there watching.”
Gretel calmed her tone, eager to bypass having to reassure her brother that he wasn’t at fault. “It doesn’t matter, Hansel. Everybody is okay for now. But you have to go. Go save Mrs. Klahr and call the System. Remember, only Conway. If he isn’t available, then…”
A scream from the front of the woods interrupted them. It was in the direction of Ben.
“Hansel, go!”
Marlene ran into the woods far enough that she could no longer see the Morgan cabin. She sat and rested at the base of a large oak, hidden from the direction she’d just come. She studied the void in her hand where her last three fingers should have been. This was a terrible loss, she thought, just as her eye had been, but not fatal. Not if she could stop the bleeding.
“Ben! Ben watch out!” Marlene heard in the distance. “She’s gone!”
There was another one then. Of course, a sniper. Marlene had always suspected there would be others to contend with, but she had apparently underestimated them, having seen none upon her arrival at the property. She had been right to attack them from the shore of the Klahr’s, but she hadn’t considered a sniper.
Marlene moved deeper into the woods by at least a hundred yards, trying to get distance from them in case they decided to hunt her immediately, and then started to make her way up toward the road that led to the Morgan’s property. It took her less than a minute to reach the point where she could see the road through the trees—at about fifty feet or so— and then she began to backtrack in the direction of the house. If her calculations were right, based on the direction the bullet had flown and the sound of the report, once she retraced her lateral movement from the house, she would be just about at the location of the sniper.
The foliage was dense enough that she could stay hidden from view for most of the way, but with the twigs and leaf litter, there was no way to stay silent for long.
It was time again. It was time to fly.
Marlene crept slowly back toward the house on the latitude where she thought the shooter was and then closed her eyes and smiled. She opened her eyes and began to walk faster. At a small clearing, she broke into a light gallop for three or four steps before lifting herself from the ground.
She glided like a kite lifted by a sudden wind, rising about ten feet up and twenty feet forward until she landed on the sturdy branch of a thick white oak.
Marlene caught her breath, exhilarated by the feeling of flight and of her own powers. She took a moment to view the world below her before continuing her hunt. She couldn’t see the shooter yet. She assumed he had camouflaged himself in some way—but she knew if she gave him enough time, particularly under these circumstances, he would reveal himself. They always did; it was almost as if they wanted to die, Marlene sometimes believed.
While she waited on the branch of the oak, Marlene thought again of the potion as well as the option that Gretel proposed. Perhaps the girl was right. Perhaps she should have left for the docks, stowed away back to Old World and the mountains of her youth. But that would mean an abandonment of the Morgan women, a violation of her commitment to Life.
Or would it? The Old World didn’t mean the end. Not necessarily. There were other sources there she could pull from. They hadn’t the virile potency of the Morgans—the Aulwurms—but they could sustain her for a time. Until she could recover and come back for them.
And even if the Old World meant an end to this life, was that the worst thing? Did she believe it was going to last forever?
The woman shook off this last notion and focused on the task before her. She looked straight ahead, searching for movement, but she only saw still foliage. She was too far away. It was time to move again.
She stood tall on the branch now and, never looking down, stepped forward as if walking from a bridge to her death. She felt the pull of gravity on her front foot and then pushed off the tree with her back, flying forward to another tree eight or nine feet straight ahead.
She landed perfectly on the limb she had aimed for, hugging the trunk to retain her balance.
And then she heard it.
It was just the slightest twinkle of a sound, the clink of metal combined with the cessation of a breath in mid-inhalation, but it was unmistakable and telling.
Marlene narrowed her stare as she looked up, adjusting her perspective, finally zeroing in on the shine of a boy’s blue irises. Beautiful eyes, she thought.
“Ben!” Gretel cried, chasing the sound of the scream that had come from the direction of Ben’s perch. Petr followed closely behind, the shotgun raised in front of him.
Gretel looked ahead to the spot where Ben’s nest had been and saw a violent ruffle in the branches that sent leaves and branches falling to the ground. Petr and Gretel stopped, and Petr aimed his gun at the commotion above him.
“Petr, you can’t see anything. You can’t just fire into the trees. You could hit Ben.”
Petr squinted his free eye and kept the gun poised, his trigger finger stiff and steady.
“Petr!” Gretel yelled again, horrified at what the boy was about to attempt. She debated stepping in front of him, her arms flailing above her.
And then she heard a cry dropping from the trees, followed by a thick, gruesome thud.
“Ben,” Gretel said softly, the defeat in her voice palpable. “Oh my god, Ben.”
“Gretel look,” Petr said, awestruck.
Gretel looked up. She saw an invisible wave ripple through the tops of the oaks, at least ten feet higher than where the scuffle had taken place, cascading away from the house, and flowing deep into the woods toward the Interways. It reminded Gretel of the motion the sea had made when their ship left port for the Old World.
“Is that her?” Petr asked, knowing the obvious answer.
Gretel swallowed, took a deep breath, and jogged over to the place where Ben’s descending yell had come from.
Petr followed behind, saw his friend first, and sprinted over to him. “Ben, are you okay?”
Gretel came up beside Petr, almost too afraid to look down at the body below her, though the tone of Petr’s voice had sounded optimistic.
“My shoulder is dislocated for sure,” Ben said, “and I probably have a broken collarbone. So after we kill this fucking hag, I’m going to need to see a doctor.”
“Oh my god, Ben.” Gretel’s grin was touching her ears, “I can’t believe you’re alive. How?”
“I don’t really know. She came at me through the trees. Which, truth told, I hadn’t expected. The fact that she can fly would have been a helpful biographical point.”
Gretel looked away sheepishly.
“She landed right next to me and knocked me from the tree. I thought she was going to come down after me, pounce on me like a leopard or something, but she just flew off. Like she got spooked or something.”
“She probably saw you with the shotgun,
Petr. She sensed you were going to shoot.”
“I was going to shoot.”
“But what about Ben?” Gretel wasn’t scolding, just curious.
Petr shrugged. “I saw enough of her. I thought I had the shot.”
“You saved me, buddy.” Ben said, pride in his voice at his friend’s conviction. “We’ll call it even on the borrowing-the-truck thing.”
“Well, you and I are not even, Ben. Not even close.” Gretel’s voice was humorless as she and Petr helped Ben get to his feet. Tears of pain erupted from the boy’s eyes the moment he lifted his arm of the ground.
“You saved my brother. She was going to kill him, and you saved him.”
“It was quite a shot if I do say so myself.”
Gretel put her arms around Ben and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”
Ben let the hug linger for a few beats and then said, “You’re welcome, Gretel. Anything for you.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t get too comfortable now,” Petr said. Gretel detected just a touch of jealousy in his voice. “She could be coming back anytime.”
“Oh no,” Gretel said, turning toward the lake. “Oh god, no.”
“Gretel, what is it?”
“She’s not coming back here.”
“Where then?”
“The Klahr’s. She’s going back for Mrs. Klahr. And Hansel is over there. We have to go. Now!
“All right then,” Ben said, unable to disguise his weariness. “Let’s go.”
“Not you, my friend.” Petr’s tone was steel, and Ben didn’t raise the immediate protest that was his typical reaction. “You’re staying here. Take the shotgun and stay in the house, alert. I’ll take the rifle. You’re a decent shot, but you’ll be no good firing this thing with one hand.”
“I’d still be better than you.”
Gretel was already in the truck with the engine rumbling. “Petr, let’s go!”
Petr jumped in the bed, and Gretel sped down the drive and out toward the main road. They would be at the Klahrs in less than a minute.
Chapter 44
Amanda Klahr lay defeated on the bed, her eyes closed, listening to the front door open slowly, the creaky hinges deafening in their finality. It was over now. The witch was back, and the children were almost certainly dead. She now prayed it would end quickly for her, not because she feared the pain, but because Amanda wanted as little time in this world as possible to mourn the children she loved so much. Amanda doubted that the woman would grant her even that level of mercy.
She listened closely now, the sound of the intruder moving through the kitchen to the base of the stairs. It could be one of the children. A lump of possibility formed in her throat; but her reasoning sprang to life and quickly killed the hope. Amanda knew if it was Petr or Gretel, they would have entered her house with much more urgency to save their beloved Mrs. Klahr.
No, it could only be the woman; the quiet, unsure footsteps that ascended the stairs were not those of her favorite children.
“Mrs. Klahr?”
Amanda’s eyes exploded open. She waited a beat before answering, needing to register the sound completely, ensuring that what she’d heard was a true sound and not the invention of desperation.
“Mrs. Klahr?”
Hansel.
“Hansel!”
The bedroom door opened slowly, and Hansel Morgan walked in to find his neighbor tied to the bedposts, a brutalized corpse beside her in a chair. She couldn’t have imagined how deranged and pathetic the whole scene must have appeared to the boy.
“Hansel, Hansel it’s me. You’re alive! And your sister? And Petr?” Mrs. Klahr tried to stay composed despite the flood of questions brewing in her mind.
“Yes, ma’am, they’re alive,” Hansel said, his eyes locked on the dead body. He turned his gaze toward Amanda. “But they’re in danger. She’s come here. She’s…”
Hansel stopped in mid-sentence, and Amanda could see that he had recognized there was certainly no need to tell her about the witch’s presence in the Back Country.
“I need your phone. I have to call the System.”
Hansel was already next to the bed working on the restraints, and within seconds, he freed Amanda’s arms. He reached down to her feet and unknotted the twine from her ankles, spinning the fabric away and freeing Amanda completely.
“Where is your phone, Mrs. Klahr?”
“It’s in the kitchen by the sink. You call and I’ll…”
Before Amanda Klahr could finish her directions to Hansel, thunder blasted from the ceiling above them, shaking the floor and the walls around them. It was as if a stick of dynamite had been detonated on the roof.
“What was that, Hansel?”
Hansel was already staring at the ceiling and said with no doubt in his voice, “It’s her, Mrs. Klahr. She’s on top of your house.”
Petr was out of the truck before Gretel came to a full stop, keeping his eyes to the sky, looking, unbelievably, for a flying woman.
Gretel parked and moved quickly toward the house, crouching like a soldier. “Petr, if you see her, shoot,” she said. “No matter what. I’m going in to find Hansel and Mrs. Klahr.”
Petr wanted to protest, but instead just nodded, not knowing if Gretel could even see him.
But he would shoot. If he had even a sliver of an opportunity, he wouldn’t waste a second in filling the woman with as many bullets as he could get off.
But Petr was beginning to think it wasn’t his fate to kill her. That despite his superior claim to her life—Marlene having murdered his father—it wasn’t his fortune to have it end at his hand. There was a connection between Gretel and Marlene that he didn’t have, one of blood and ancestry. Petr realized now that if the witch were to die today, Gretel seemed destined to be the one to land the mortal blow.
Suddenly, the trees behind Petr rustled, and he turned away from the house and pointed the rifle in the direction of the sound, exhaling as he watched a golden eagle fly away over the lake. He tracked the bird in his sight for a second before lowering the rifle. That would have been too easy, he thought.
Petr focused a few more seconds on the eagle as it diminished into the blue sky, and for a moment, he was envious of how detached the creature was from the tragedy playing out below him. How amazing it would be to just fly above all the troubles of the world, to escape to the air whenever life became too burdensome.
Boom!
Petr snapped back to the moment and turned to the sound, his right eye already in the scope, searching. It had come from the roof, on the pitch opposite where Petr stood.
Petr took his eyes from the sight and looked over at Gretel, whose hand was frozen on the door knob as she was about to enter the Klahr house. She was staring back at Petr, eyes wandering, listening for the sound again.
She gave a pointing motion toward the house indicating that she was going inside, and then gave another to Petr instructing him to head around to the back. Petr shook her off furiously. They had to stay together, and he certainly didn’t want her trapped inside.
Gretel pulled the pistol from her waistband and nodded. She was going in, and no look he gave was going to stop her. She gave Petr the five-minute hand sign, indicating that she would head in, get her brother and Mrs. Klahr, and be back in that spot in five minutes.
Petr frowned and nodded, knowing it would never work out that way.
After Gretel made her decision, she moved quickly, entering the house in a sprint and ascending the stairs two at a time. At the top of the staircase, she ran headfirst into Amanda Klahr, nearly knocking her to the floor of the upstairs hallway. Only Hansel, who was standing directly behind her, kept them both on their feet.
“Mrs. Klahr!” Gretel blurted, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “You are alive! I knew you would be.”
Mrs. Klahr bear hugged Gretel and then released her in one motion. She then spun her and pressed her hands to Gretel’s back, guiding her down the steps. “I know, my baby. I knew you wo
uld know. But now we have to go.”
“Hansel, are you okay?” Gretel asked, looking over her shoulder.
The shattering of glass in the bedroom seemed to answer Gretel’s question, and before she could scream, Marlene was standing in her line of sight. Her face was wild, smiling, and she was holding up her hand to show the nubs of where her fingers had been.
“Gretel go!” Hansel screamed. He was at the back of their small pack, and he would have been the first one skewered by the nails of the flying psychopath who had just plunged in from the sky.
“Come here, boy.” The woman spoke with a terrifying confidence, as if she were reaching to grab a lobster from a crowded tank.
As Hansel would tell it later in his life, after the images of the woman started to fade and he could finally speak about the events, that the moment when he felt the woman’s fingernails rake across the back of his head, down his neck, and between his shoulder blades, just missing the collar of his shirt, that he was as certain of his own death as he had ever been in his life. Even more certain than when she had held him as a negotiating pawn and Ben Richter had saved his life.
If she latched on this time, he knew it would be fatal. At that point, there would have been no more negotiation; Marlene was on a rampage.
Gretel leaped down the remaining four or five steps to the bottom, retained her footing, and then turned toward the stairs with the gun raised. She waited for Mrs. Klahr and Hansel to reach the floor and clear the way, and then she fired three rounds through the empty space into the wall at the top of the stairs.
Marlene was gone.
Gretel stared up the stairwell, allowing a moment for the terrible face to appear one last time. Just one more chance so she could shoot a bullet through the woman’s cranium. But there was only silence from upstairs.
“Gretel, let’s go,” Mrs. Klahr said.
“She can’t live, Mrs. Klahr. Not past today.”
Hansel, Gretel, and Mrs. Klahr stood paralyzed in the foyer, waiting for the sound from Marlene’s location to dictate their next move. She was fast, faster than any of them had realized, and she was capable of flight, so it wasn’t as easy as just running out the door into the open space of the orchard. From there Marlene could pick them off easily, like grubs exposed in an opossum’s den.
Marlene's Revenge (Gretel #2) Page 25
