“That was a theory of mine also.” Anika smiled wider now. “Maybe I have a little of that special power after all. What do you think?”
Gretel flashed a smile but then was back to business. “I’ve learned the language, mother. The elders were thorough. Once I learned the grammar rules, I was a quick study. I can translate the cure. I’m sure I can.”
“Gretel, you need to rest now. Hansel and Petr are napping, and you should be too. I can’t imagine how tired you must be. When did you sleep last?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m going out to visit Mrs. Klahr at the infirmary today. I’m taking her truck, and then I’ll drive up to the Urbanlands after. I’ll speak with Conway.”
“You can’t drive to the Urbanlands, Gretel. When did you learn to drive at all?”
“I don’t know!” Gretel yelled, her voice breaking, closing in on tears.
“Okay, okay, Gretel, we’ll go together. And I will drive. Later, though. You let me sleep for now.”
Gretel watched her mother cover her eyes again with the cloth, and then Gretel quietly stepped out to the hallway. The house was a museum with Hansel in his room sleeping and Petr on the porch doing the same.
Gretel descended the stairs to the basement, the lingering odor of Marlene still present in the air, and then she stepped out the back door and walked quickly down to the lake. She picked up the oar and pushed the boat into the water, steering the vessel easily across the lake and onto the shores of the Klahr orchard.
She walked up the embankment to Mr. Klahr’s old truck and opened the driver’s side door. She was going now. There wasn’t time to waste, and her mother was in no shape to drive several hours to the Urbanlands anyway.
According to Petr, he had ‘borrowed’ Mr. Klahr’s truck from time to time—an easy enough task since Georg Klahr had always left the keys inside. But Georg hadn’t been the last person to drive the car. Marlene had brought Mrs. Klahr back from her cabin in the truck, so the location of the keys now was anyone’s guess. If there was a God, and if He was merciful, they would be somewhere inside the vehicle.
Gretel sat in the driver’s seat and felt first around the ignition with no luck, and then she scanned the passenger seat, again finding nothing. The glove box was also empty, except for the truck’s registration sticker.
And then Gretel reached under the seat.
There were no keys there either. But there was Orphism.
Gretel bolted from the truck and ran inside the Klahr house, dropping the book on the kitchen table and opening it to a random page. She had learned her own book like a religious obligation, and after a brief scan of Marlene’s book, it took Gretel only a minute to recognize the three pages at the back of this book that didn’t exist in her copy of Orphism.
The symbols on the page organized in her mind like a handful of coins dropped onto a magnet—automatic, effortless—and by sundown Gretel had deciphered the secret to her mother’s sickness.
It was so obvious.
It was the potion.
The recipe that had been made of her mother’s own body was the only thing that could reverse her sickness. It was obscene, this revelation. The cure for her mother was a type of self-cannibalism.
Gretel looked away from the pages of the book for the first time in hours and then stared off across the lake at her home. Her mother was there, dying, and Gretel now realized there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The book’s addendum described her mother’s sickness in a way that was cautionary to the creator of the potion. This cancer—for Gretel’s lack of a better term—was an unintended side-effect that occurred when a source was prepared improperly or incompletely. The Source should be destroyed at this point, the text recommended, but if salvage is preferable, you must make the source ingest that which has already been prepared. This will normally restore the potency and suitability for blending.
It was impossible. If this was the only answer, then there was nothing to be done. And not just because her mother would never agree to undergo the torture of the blending again. And not even because Gretel would never be able to figure out how to prepare the blend or that there wasn’t the time necessary to find all the ingredients.
It was more than that. It was technically impossible to save her mother because even if Gretel could make all those other things happen, the sickness was already inside her, and making a new batch of potion with a sick Source would do her mother no good. It was too late.
Gretel closed the book now, and her mind drifted now to Mrs. Klahr, who had been recovering at the infirmary since early last night. Gretel had promised herself that she’d go see Mrs. Klahr today, but her mother’s revelation had altered those plans.
There was, of course, every excuse not to go now. The hour was late, and Gretel’s prayers of returning her family to normal were effectively destroyed. But still, she wanted to see Mrs. Klahr tonight, and beyond the obvious reason that she loved the woman. Mrs. Klahr seemed to be calling for her, and Gretel knew too much about herself now to ignore those instincts.
Gretel drove the Klahr truck a little less than ten miles up the Interways until she arrived at the infirmary. Mrs. Klahr’s room was on the second floor—a floor that seemed to indicate Amanda Klahr was in worse shape than Gretel first believed. God knew what poison Marlene had injected inside of her, and Gretel perished at the thought of losing her mother and Mrs. Klahr to the same evil woman.
Gretel pushed open the door to Mrs. Klahr’s room and stepped inside, and there she saw Mrs. Klahr sitting up in her bed, a small glass container clutched in her fist.
“This is it, Gretel. This is what you came for, yes?”
“Yes,” was all Gretel could manage despite the flurry in her mind.
“It was there, in her kitchen, sitting on the counter. I was alone there, for only a moment, feigning sleep, but it was enough time. It was supposed to happen. Just a moment before we left to come here. And I grabbed it and stashed it in a rather unmentionable place.”
Gretel didn’t even suggest a smile at Mrs. Klahr’s attempt at levity; she just stood staring at the bottle, entranced.
“There’s but a swallow left, Gretel.”
“It’s enough. How did you know?”
Mrs. Klahr paused now, considering the question carefully. “I don’t think I knew anything, Gretel. I still don’t. But I think that whatever gift you have, whatever signals you receive from the world, sometimes transmit outward as well.”
“But I didn’t even know about the potion. I didn’t even know I needed it until less than an hour ago. How could you have known to take it?”
“Or perhaps you did know, Gretel. Without knowing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I listened to that witch speak at her cabin while I was locked away in my own delirium. I heard her teaching that corrupt officer about the lessons she had learned throughout her life. About gifts bestowed upon her that she couldn’t explain. As long as she had lived, she still didn’t understand all the powers she possessed or where they came from. She just accepted them as they came. Unquestioning. The universe delivers, Gretel. You know this. Life delivers.”
Anika grabbed the vial and swallowed what remained of the potion in one swig, not questioning the potential effects or the story her daughter had just told her. At this stage, there was nothing to lose.
“Delicious,” Anika teased. “I can see why Marlene was so set on this recipe.”
Gretel smiled. “I know this will work.”
“I know it will too.”
Gretel left the room and returned an hour later to find her mother up from her bed, straightening the room. “You’re better then?” Gretel asked, the glee in her voice obvious.
“I feel quite wonderful,” Anika said. “I feel as if I could swim the oceans.”
Gretel couldn’t hold back any longer and began to weep, a month’s worth of pent up emotions flowing from her at once.
With purpose, she walked towar
d her mother and hugged her tightly, sinking her face into her shoulders to muffle the sobs. Anika stroked her daughter’s hair and reciprocated the embrace. “I knew it would work,” Gretel said. “It had to.”
“Yes, dear. You were right. It seems to have brought me from the brink. I feel wonderful.”
Anika now pulled away from Gretel and smiled with her lips, though her eyes suggested other emotions.
“Is everything okay, Mother?”
Anika chuckled in a way that made Gretel shiver. “Of course. I just, I feel so wonderful.”
“Yes, you’ve said.” Gretel’s smile waned. She looked at her mother, wary.
Anika’s eyes flickered at the sarcasm, and Gretel detected the slight curl of a sneer on her mouth.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
“I have to ask you a question, Gretel,” Anika said stoically, staring in her daughter’s eyes, the pace of her words unusually fast.
“A question? Okay, what is it?
“It’s about the potion.”
Gretel forced down a swallow and then took an enormous breath as she nodded.
Anika Morgan dropped her gaze to the floor for just a beat and then looked back to her daughter and smiled. Her eyes blazed, and Gretel noticed her teeth seemed a bit larger than before.
“What about the potion, mother?”
“I was just wondering,” Anika said, her hands trembling lightly. “Is there any more?”
THE END
If you liked Marlene’s Revenge (Gretel Book Two), please consider leaving a review on Amazon:
My Book
It doesn’t have to be long, just a sentence or two is all that is needed. Thank you so much.
If you haven’t read Gretel (Gretel Book One), it’s available here:
My Book
Hansel (Gretel Book Three) is coming in 2017.
To stay in touch with Chris and receive exclusive cover reveals and sneak peeks, news about his latest releases, and other information, subscribe to his newsletter here: http://www.christophercolemanauthor.com/newsletter/ or like his Facebook Fan page here: https://www.facebook.com/christophercolemanauthor
Marlene's Revenge (Gretel #2) Page 27
