by Unknown
As she rounded the bend in the road and her cottage came into view, a gangly young man, around fifteen years of age, stood waiting at her door. He looked vaguely familiar. “A message for you, Fräulein Konrads.” He thrust a fine piece of folded parchment at her. The missive was closed with a wax seal.
“Bode?”
His cheeks turned crimson. “Aye, Fräulein—”
“Oh, do stop with the formalities.” She waved him inside, but he remained on her doorstep. “Call me Monika, if you please. I’ve known you since you were this high.” She swiped the edge of her hand at mid-thigh. “You’re all grown up, Bode. I haven’t seen you since your parents moved to Vollstadt, what…five years ago? I hardly recognized you! What brings you here today?”
“I’m running errands for the Innkeeper in Vollstadt.”
“The tavern at the edge of the town?”
He shook his head. “Oh no, the larger one in the center of town—The Red Stag.”
Monika raised her brows. “Impressive.” She eyed the expensive paper and nodded. “Very impressive.” She glanced around the room and it was her turn to blush. “I’m afraid I haven’t a coin for you, Bode. Did you want me to warm you some soup? We have—”
“No, no. The gentleman who sent me was very generous. Thank you, though.” He bowed his sandy-haired head and dashed off.
Monika harrumphed and closed the door. Breaking the seal, she opened the note.
Chapter Three
Fräulein Konrads,
I am in desperate need of a healer. My father is ailing and I fear for his life. I am told your services are unmatched. You will be handsomely compensated for your time and skills.
T—
Monika frowned. “T?” She reread the missive and the words “handsomely compensated” brought a smile to her face. She pressed the note to her chest and sighed. Perhaps she and her grandmother could finally get another donkey. Most of the healing they did locally was paid through favors and food. Rarely did folks in the village dole out monetary compensation. Times were hard, with all the religious turmoil sweeping across the Kingdom of Germany. Mercenaries had ravaged their town on more than one occasion, and the following months had left the townsfolk struggling to recover. Additionally, people external to Kostbar were seeking healers less and less with all the accusations of witchcraft flying around. Thankfully, most of the persecutions were farther south and had not touched the northern coast. With any luck, circumstances would stay that way, but people were still afraid. More’s the reason why she needed to keep her spell a secret. Such activity would only invite trouble.
She eyed the note once more. Fräulein Konrads…not Frau Markas. The “gentleman” specifically addressed Monika and not her grandmother. Did he know Mina was gone? Or had Monika’s reputation grown to the level of garnering specialized requests?
Monika grabbed her remedy basket, always at the ready, which contained a sampling of herbs and tinctures that would help with most common disorders—fever, wounds, other basic ailments from head pains to stomach cramps—as well as other supplies, such as a small mortar and pestle, harvesting gloves, bandages and the like. Though she may not have something to help the gentleman’s ailing father, she might at least be able to bring him some relief until she figured out what plagued him. Once she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, she spirited out the door and clipped down the road. She had a two-mile walk ahead of her to Vollstadt. Yes, a donkey would be most helpful in times like these.
* * * * *
Monika hopped off the back of the wagon and waved. “Thank you, Herr Schmidt!”
The elderly farmer nodded and smiled. “I’ll only be an hour. I can stop by here on my way back and take you home if you’re done by then.”
She grinned. “You’d be a blessing to me if you did, but I don’t know how long I’ll be. If you’re here when I’m done, I would be most grateful. But don’t tarry on my account. I have nice strong legs on which to walk.”
He chuckled and waved over his shoulder as he departed.
She had been fortunate the old man was traveling down the road to Vollstadt with his latest harvest of vegetables, and even more fortuitous he shared the fruits of his labor. Not only had he saved her a long walk, Herr Schmidt encouraged her to stuff her basket with as much as she could carry. “You and Mina have been good to us. You’re due,” he had insisted.
With a grin, she labored with her basket, filled with three carrots, two onions, two turnips, a small head of cabbage and three leeks. She and Oma would eat well over the next two weeks, and longer if they were frugal.
Strolling across High Street, Monika contemplated the massive inn. A sign carved with a broad-chested stag and impressive antlers swung in the afternoon breeze. And it was indeed painted a bright red to match its name—The Red Stag. Her prospective client awaited, so she entered. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkened interior of the tavern and stepped aside to survey the large room. Customers hunched over their meals in conversation, while a blonde serving girl bustled around carrying an armload of steaming plates and a fistful of beer mugs. Monika tugged self-consciously at the neckline of her worn bodice and smoothed her hand over her threadbare skirt. The patrons were all finely dressed in floral pastels of the latest fashions. Ladies wore pretty lace-edged collars, kerchiefs and winged shoulders. The men wore bloomed pants and slashed sleeves of satiny materials. Their shoes had shiny buckles. A woman, her hair upswept and adorned with a lace cap and trailing veil, assessed Monika with a critical gaze.
“Excuse me, Fräulein.”
Monika jolted at the young man standing breathless before her. She hugged her basket to her side and stepped backward.
He was tall enough for her to have to tilt her head back to look into his hazel eyes, which were warm with sincerity. “I’m sorry to have startled you.” He held a carrot to her. “You dropped this.”
Monika frowned and examined her basket. Three carrots. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“I saw this drop from your basket as you hopped off a cart out front.” He slipped the carrot into her basket next to the others. “Even so, one can’t have too many carrots, eh?”
They shared a laugh and he bent at the waist for a short bow. “My name is Jason Kiefer.”
Monika glanced around the room, then dipped her knees for a brief curtsy. “Monika Konrads.”
“Nice to meet you, Fräulein Konrads.”
“Likewise, Herr Kiefer.” She grinned.
An awkward silence stretched between them.
He combed his fingers through his golden-brown hair.
Monika cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here to help someone’s father who is ill. I really should be going.”
“Of course!” He nodded and smiled. “I hope to see you again.”
She dipped her head in response and chuckled as he near tripped over himself backing out of the inn. Less than an hour and I already have a possible love interest. I should have done that spell months ago!
The lace-adorned woman sneered at Monika from across the room, then whispered behind her hand to the woman seated beside her. The pair of ladies glanced at Monika, then giggled over some private joke, surely at Monika’s expense.
Jutting her chin forward, Monika marched across the room, ignoring the rude women with effort, and stood before the tall, lanky innkeeper. She handed him the fine parchment summons. “Good afternoon, sir. Would you know which one of your guests sent me this note?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, then turned the missive over with his bony fingers and examined the seal and writing. A lascivious grin spread across his thin lips while his eyes roamed over her body. Monika shrank under his scrutiny. “Healer, huh? Is that what they’re calling ’em these days?”
Monika’s cheeks flamed and she clenched her jaw. “I’ll have you know—”
“A spitfire you are, too.” He chuckled and stepped from behind the bar. “This way.” The audacious man led her up the stairway at the back of the co
mmons area, down a hall and stopped before a door, rapping twice before turning on his heel and leaving. His chortles filled the narrow space and grated on her nerves.
The door swung open and a man with raven waves, which hung to his jawline, filled the doorway. His admiring ice-blue gaze covered every inch of her as it traveled down her body, then paused at her neckline before he inched back up to her face. A carefully trimmed moustache and bearded chin framed his mouth, of which the corner turned up to form a rakish grin. “And what did I do to deserve a visit from such a lovely lady?” he drawled in a low, gravelly voice and raised a raven brow. He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame.
One would think she stood naked before him, based on the way he continued to assess her. She resisted the urge to cover herself. If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d have turned and marched right out of this building. Instead, she jutted her chin forward and stood her ground. “I am Monika Konrads. You called for a healer, sir?” Though not overly tall, he was sizeable enough she had to rise on her tiptoes to peer over his broad shoulders into the room…and notice the empty bed. Monika snapped her gaze back to his. “I see no ailing father.”
“Ah, yes, well…if I had told you the truth, I don’t believe you would have rushed over here to help me.”
She hitched her breath and clenched her jaw. “I don’t know what services you referred to in your note, but you have mistaken me for someone else. Good day, sir.”
When she whirled away, he grabbed her arm, dislodging her basket, which tumbled to the floor. He immediately bent to pick up her herbs and vegetables while Monika backed away and trained wary eyes upon him. She glanced at the oil lamp hanging on the wall and readied herself to call forth flame.
“I assure you, you misunderstand me,” he explained as he replaced her things inside the basket.
Her heart hammered in her chest, her legs ready to bolt.
He stood, bundle in hand, an apologetic smile curving under his mustache. “I didn’t bring you here to proposition you, fräulein. I have researched for many years, and have come a very long way to see you. Please, don’t leave.”
“Then why did you lie to me?” She raised her hand to her shoulder when he advanced, and the flame in the lamp flared ever-so slightly in response.
“I am the one who is ill.” He glanced down the corridor before offering her the basket. “Will you please come inside? I don’t want to discuss this out here.”
She snatched her basket and took another step back. “I will do no such thing until you tell me why you sent for me.”
He sighed. “I’m looking for a cure, Fräulein Konrads. A cure your mother was close to achieving…so I’ve heard.” He glanced down the passage once more and leaned forward. “I’m a werewolf,” he whispered.
Monika’s lips parted and her breathing matched the furious pace of her galloping heart.
“I couldn’t very well put that in the note. Such a confession in writing would have me burned at the stake.” His mouth twisted into a devilish smile. “Will you come inside now so we can speak privately?” He swept his arm toward his room and waited.
Monika glanced at her path to freedom—down the hall and away from this man. Not to mention avoiding how being alone with him at an inn would mar her reputation. Then she assessed him and the incredible opportunity awaiting her. She regarded his expectant gray eyes. The simple fact he knew her mother had been trying to find a cure for the werewolf curse gave her hope. She nodded. Slipping past him, she backed into the room while tracking his movements.
He closed the door and faced her. “My name is Thomas Carr. Thank you for trusting me.”
“I don’t trust you, Herr Carr.” She gripped the handle of her basket.
“Well, at least enough to hear my plea.” He waved a graceful hand to the wooden chair beside her. “Please, have a seat.”
“I prefer to stand. You may proceed.” She eyed the fire in the hearth, her ally in case Herr Carr overstepped his bounds.
He cocked an eyebrow and nodded. “Very well.” Thomas crossed his muscular arms and proceeded to pace the length of the room. “Allow me to tell you a story, then. About six years ago, I was attacked by a werewolf and, when I awakened, found myself imprisoned in a cage. The man who caught me said his name was Marcus Sparenland.”
Marcus Sparenland! Monika gritted her teeth.
“He said he had a cure to the werewolf curse. He had been the one who attacked me and, by infecting me, said he would test the cure on me. I’m not sure how much you know about the curse, but when someone is bitten, they do not make their first transformation until the next full-moon cycle. As you can guess, I had to endure living in a cage for the next three weeks until the nine-day cycle was upon us.”
The weight of her basket was proving wearisome, so Monika put it down on the desk beside her. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue.
“You’re not asking questions. Do you know the cycle?”
“Since my job is to provide protection against werewolves, among other creatures, I would have to know such things. The nine days are comprised of three days prior to the full moon, the three days of the full moon, and three days after.” She pursed her lips. “Testing my knowledge, Herr Carr? I thought you heard my services were unmatched.”
“I had heard that, yes.” He studied her a long moment, then resumed pacing. “During my month in captivity, Marcus told me how he had paid a witch to find the cure, but once she found it, she left him with nothing in exchange for the money he gave her. You must understand I want to ensure I’m spending my money wisely and will not be left empty-handed for all my efforts.”
Monika clenched her fists under her arms so tightly, her nails dug into her palms and unexpected hot tears dropped from her lashes.
Thomas faced her and frowned. “You seem a little upset by this news.”
“Marcus Sparenland is a liar,” she gritted through her teeth.
“Was a liar. Judging by the anger on your face, you might be pleased to know I killed him.” He narrowed his gray, piercing eyes.
“Though I do not wish death on anyone, he is one man I would have been glad to see suffer a cruel demise.”
Thomas stiffened. “I see.”
“What happened?”
“During my month of captivity, he shared with me, that everyone who had tried the cure died. Why I would be any different, I couldn’t say and nor did he tell me. I only knew he had to open my cage to administer the cure. He would have to force it down my throat before I would cooperate, and that’s when I took my chance. It was a brutal fight, but nothing compared to what happened after moonrise. He tried to give me the cure right before sunset, so the two of us transformed in the middle of our scuffle. I don’t remember much but, by morning, I saw the bloody aftermath. I took the book and ran and I’ve been running ever since.”
Monika stopped breathing. “The book?”
“He stole her book of remedies.”
Monika’s breath left her in a rush. She pulled the chair from the desk and sat hard. Could it be? “Herr Carr…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you have the book?”
With a cocky grin, he swaggered to the bed across the room. Thomas knelt and pulled a thick tome from under the bed—one that dwarfed even his hands—and Monika held her breath as he strolled to her and thumped the book onto the desk. She stared at the tree of life burned onto the wooden cover, its branches and leaves swirling and winding to create an intricate design over the grain. Within the roots, burrowing a curving pattern underground, was nestled a five-pointed star within a circle. Her mother had drawn the tree onto the slate of thin wood with a piece of charcoal. Then her father had used a hot steel rod to burn the sketches, scorching the artwork onto the cover. Katrina used berries and plant leaves to create colorful stains to decorate the tree, the grass, the butterflies and flowers—a picture that symbolized healing and life. The colors had faded, though, over years of neglect. Tears blurred her vision and
she blinked them away. With trembling fingers, she traced the design, the worn leather pieces tacked around the corners, the leather lacing holding the spine and cover together.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His abrasive tone softened as he whispered close to her ear. A woodsy aroma encompassed her with his earthy aura and his dark hair brushed her cheek.
She leaned away to peer at his face, his gray eyes studying the book as he leaned over her, seemingly entranced by the workmanship of the volume. Monika nodded and returned her attention to the book. “My father created the unique binding, based on my mother’s need to keep adding pages. She was dedicated to journaling all of her studies.” Monika opened the cover and grinned at the faded scrawls on the first page. She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Trailing her fingers over the crooked lines ghosting across the parchment, she whispered, “My attempt at helping my mother record her daily tasks.”
A deep chuckle fluttered against her cheek and she leaned away again. He turned his hooded gaze to her. “Who taught you to read and write?”
“Both my parents, but mostly my mother. She learned from my grandmother and grandfather, and my grandmother learned from her mother.”
“In this script?”
Monika bowed her head and shivered. After ten long years of searching, she had been so enraptured at seeing this book again, she had walked right into admitting she knew the Theban Alphabet. Her mother’s journal was entirely written in the script. Also known as the Runes of Honorius after Honorius of Thebes, who created it. The written characters were a one-to-one replacement writing system designed to keep magickal journals and spells secretive from prying eyes.
This alphabet made it possible to write in any language, replacing the native letters with the Theban letters. Based on the information Thomas now had, this script also made it possible for him to prove she was guilty of heresy or witchcraft.
