‘I repaired his wound,’ Fetch said, pointing to the upper right quadrant of Gregory’s abdomen. ‘But, sadly, I cannot replace the fluid he has lost.’
Walling off her fear, Elizabeth took command of her focus. Her young life, filled with many years, had given her multiple skills. One such skill was the shamanic sharpness that made witches the healers they were.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth quickly assessed Gregory’s injury and its implications. The side in question retained but a partial neurological memory of its wound. Still, it was enough to tell Elizabeth what must have happened. The filth of death in the guise of a claw somehow penetrated his liver.
Gregory had all but bled out by the time Fetch used his magic. The liver, now whole, had nothing to filter. Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes but did not stop her search.
“There’s got to be a way,” she reasoned as she quickly glanced at the rest of Gregory’s body. Finding only the half-breed’s right shoulder amiss and nothing suggesting she had any chance of saving him, the witch discarded convention.
‘Gossamer, can you get me some water?’
‘How much?’
‘A gallon and a half should do,’ Elizabeth replied using her hands to demonstrate the amount of water she needed. ‘Please, as fast as you can.’
A sudden burst of wind told Elizabeth of Gossamer’s departure. The witch, however, didn’t look up. She had already turned her attention to the molecular integrity of a droplet of Gregory’s blood.
“I can do this,” Elizabeth told herself as she studied the droplet.
Again, the wind gusted, and a thump sounded.
‘Here,’ the dragon offered.
Encased in a large bowl of what looked to be solid water was the water she needed. Quickly, she turned back to Gregory, and using a mental incision, entered his body to extract two cells—one from his liver and the other from his spleen.
Placing the cells along with a droplet of Gregory’s blood in the container, she set in motion the most significant alchemy conversion she had ever attempted.
‘But how …?’ she wondered when the conversion was complete. The answer escaped her.
Realizing there wasn’t time for the snag she had encountered, Elizabeth refused to give in to her panic, and instead, took her problem to the dragons.
‘I need a tube and something pointy.’
‘We don’t understand,’ Gossamer answered.
‘Clear like this,’ she pointed to the bowl. ‘only long and narrow and hollow.’
‘Like this?’ Gossamer asked, touching the bowl that now contained a gallon and a half of Gregory’s blood. Sprouting from the bottom of the bowl was a stream of water. When it reached the length of two feet, the water stopped flowing and turned solid. Instantly, the extension filled with blood, which then began leaking from its far end.
‘Great! Can you make this end small and pointy?’ she asked, pointing to the far end of the tube. ‘I need to be able to insert it through his skin, into his arm.’
The dragon adjusted the end, and in less than a second, Elizabeth plunged it into a vein in Gregory’s arm. Never mind that it was more like a pointy straw than a surgical needle. The blood was getting in.
“Come on, Gregory, you can do this,” Elizabeth begged.
‘He is not good,’ Fetch commented.
‘He has to make it.’
‘Witchling,’ Gossamer projected, ‘he has made his choice.’
‘No!’ Elizabeth argued. ‘He has to …’
Elizabeth knew she was being selfish. Gregory’s future wasn’t her choice to make. Still, she stubbornly held to his recovery; literally willing him to return to her from beyond the veil.
Just then his body twitched.
“Gregory, can you hear me?” Elizabeth cried.
Gregory opened his eyes.
“Oh, Gregory!”
“I … I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t stop him.”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters … you’re alive. That’s all I care about … you’re alive.”
Looking up at her, Gregory gave a weak smile. “Because you called … but Elizabeth, you know I can’t stay.”
“But Greg …”
The Lascion lifted his hand to Elizabeth’s lips. The touch lingered just long enough for Gregory’s eyes to speak the words he did not have the strength to utter. With her heart breaking, Elizabeth knew that there was no more that she could say to change things.
“My path cannot be denied. Nor, it seems, can yours,” he managed. Then, as another smile formed, he added, “I saved the manuscripts.”
“You did good,” Elizabeth sniffled.
“My sweet, sweet witchling, this is merely a fork … in the road. We’ll find our way … back to one another.”
“Promise?”
Just then the Lascion’s body shuddered, leaving Gregory time for one last request. “Tell my father … I love him.”
CHAPTER 23
‘You must be strong,’ Gossamer projected.
‘I will get through this,’ Elizabeth determinedly assured the dragon and herself.
‘No, my dear, I was referring to your magic. The veil is one way. Yet, you brought him back. Fetch and I didn’t think that was possible. We are impressed.’
‘I just wanted more time with him,’ Elizabeth lamented, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve.
‘I don’t understand. You know his path is perfect. If I am not mistaken, you also know you have your own path—one that looks to be already written,’ Gossamer queried; her inflection telling Elizabeth that Gossamer was genuinely confused. But then, the dragon’s statement confused Elizabeth as well.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, failing to put the question into pure thought.
‘Your squawks give me no meaning,’ Gossamer reminded her, sounding apologetic.
‘Sorry,’ Elizabeth apologized. ‘What was that about my life already being written?’
‘It is the story that has many endings. A time long from now, a boy, who will become a man, will join with you. It is a union that will right many wrongs. He doubles your strength as you open him to all things possible.’
‘Who? When? How do you know about this?’ Elizabeth asked, reacting not so much to what the dragon was saying, but more to how it seemed to refer to the prophecy her uncle hung over her head a million years before she was born.
‘Gossamer, you have said too much!’ Fetch yelled, not bothering to keep his projection with Gossamer private. ‘This is not the time.’
‘Come on Fetch. I deserve to know,’ Elizabeth begged.
‘You will when the time comes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Gossamer conceded. ‘Fetch is right. You already know too much. For it to work as it should …’
‘Gossamer! Can you not hold your tongue?’ Fetch again admonished his mate.
***
After that, the dragons refused to say anything but what was necessary to help the witch make her journey. As that wasn’t much, Elizabeth wished Fetch had not forbidden Gossamer from telling her more about her uncle’s prophecy. That would have distracted her, at least somewhat, from the pain caused by Gregory’s death.
Elizabeth felt a numbness washing over her as she watched Fetch lower Gregory’s body into the hole. He promised Elizabeth it would travel through the portal without a problem.
Gossamer gave Elizabeth the equivalent of a dragon hug, promising to get back to her the day the universe made that possible.
Knowing she would have to live with what little she was told about her future was frustrating. Then again, living with the memory of Gregory’s death was so much worse that, by the time the witch was ready to go, her thoughts were only about how she would be going back alone.
Elizabeth thanked the dragons for their help and took a moment to touch the spot where Gregory had taken his final breath. She then secured the satchel to her back and jumped into the hole. Seconds later she was back in the barn.
/> “Brrr …” she shuddered, trying to shake off the effects of the transfer. Her body wanted to curl up and shiver. Her heart wanted to weep. Still, it was her training that took command.
“Have to check for soldiers,” she told herself, moving to the barn’s closed doors, and opening them just enough to squeeze out.
A quick look about confused the witch more than helped her orient to her surroundings. First of all, the sun was high in the sky. It had been almost dark when she and Gregory left. The men and vehicles of the Third Reich were nowhere to be seen. Suspicious of her findings, Elizabeth crept back into the barn, found an old broom, and took to the sky. She circled twice to confirmed that there was no one about.
Landing behind the barn, Elizabeth, with a binding spell at the ready, made her way to the farmhouse. The family was inside. According to the farmer, Haushofer returned looking more like an old man than the youthful soldier the farmer remembered.
“He looked scared,” the farmer recalled. “He came out of the barn barking orders at everyone. Within the hour, they were gone.”
“The soldiers buried something by the barn,” the farmer’s daughter reminded him.
The young girl’s words seemed to frighten the farmer and his wife. Curious, Elizabeth questioned the farmer to see what he knew about that. Apparently, neither he nor anyone else in his family knew what had been buried. The farmer’s concern came from the warning the old German gave him.
“He told me to never go near that spot,” the man reluctantly explained. “Or to speak of it to anyone,” he frowned at his daughter.
Guessing that it was likely to be the remains of the feran she and Gregory had eliminated, Elizabeth suggested that the family do as the German demanded.
With Haushofer and his little army gone, Elizabeth had but one chore left.
“There’s an old wooden cart behind your barn,” she began, addressing the farmer. “How much would you want for it?”
“It’s no good,” the farmer apologized. “The axle is beyond repair.”
“Still, I would have it. Would a hundred marks suffice?”
The farmer’s mouth dropped open, his daughter squealed, and the mother broke into a smile almost too broad for her face.
Accepting the cash, the family gladly consented to the terms of staying inside for an hour without looking out.
Her privacy ensured, Elizabeth went back to the barn, levitated the cart, and floated it inside. Once in the barn, she tenderly placed Gregory’s remains into the cart, climbed aboard, and raising Gregory’s makeshift chariot through the cloud cover, headed for Pinder Barracks.
***
The worse thing about death is its collateral damage. Regret, grief, and blame slam into everyone who was once associated with the one who has moved on. Often it is a minor scratch that heals with time. But sometimes, the wound is mortal.
Not knowing how the Lantian would take the news of his son’s death had Elizabeth on edge the entire flight back. She knew her heart would mend even as she longed for more memories by which to remember him.
With his body beside her, she knew the news for Urik would be a shock she could not soften. Adding to the wound she was about to inflict, was Haushofer’s escape. She had the manuscripts, but with Gregory’s killer going unpunished, Urik’s reaction might be problematic.
Accordingly, the witch didn’t fly directly to the farm house. Skirting the town of Zirndorf, she found a secluded spot near a little stream, parked the cart, and hid it with a camouflage spell. Flying in without Gregory would be alarming, but not nearly as devastating as coming in with his body.
***
Raul’s presence helped. So too did the job at hand. With his friend’s support and understanding, Urik broke the connection between the two timelines.
Meanwhile, after breaking the news, Elizabeth retrieved Gregory’s body. While the magicians were busy resetting time, Elizabeth cleaned her lover’s body and wrapped it in a sheet she found in one of the farmhouse’s closets. It wasn’t fancy, but it was respectful.
By the time the magicians returned, Elizabeth had turned the main room of the little farmhouse into a shrine. It was the best she could do, and though she was certain Urik appreciated it, it didn’t lessen the Lantian’s grief.
For a while, the witch and Raul did their best to dissuade Urik from blaming himself. But the emotion had found the Lantian’s heart, and all the talk in the world was not about to dislodge it. As the father mourned, Elizabeth and Raul left Urik with his son and made their way outside.
“He’s taking it hard,” Raul said, once they were out of the house.
“Do you think he’ll do something rash?” Elizabeth asked worriedly.
“I’ll handle it,” Raul promised and then, looking at Elizabeth, asked what Elizabeth herself had yet to question, “How are you doing?”
The witch tried to say, ‘Okay,’ but found the response blocked.
“I find the lie necessary. Why do you keep me from it?” the witch said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“The truth might hurt, but it best exposed as quickly as possible,” Raul gently smiled.
“Okay, if you must … it’s hard. What I felt for Gregory was very special.”
“He was a kindred spirit,” Raul affirmed. Then, reading Elizabeth’s expression, added, “I’m glad you took the opportunity to express your love for one another.”
“Me too,” Elizabeth whispered through her tears.
***
Leaving the manuscripts and Gregory’s body with the magicians, Elizabeth headed west. At mach four, the broomstick she was using began to smoke. Not wanting to swim, the witchling put a cap on her impatience and slowed the broom down.
Her heart lifted slightly as the east coast of America appeared on the horizon. Elizabeth continued west angling slightly north. An hour later, she was on the ground thanking the broom for its effort. Elizabeth could have landed precisely at her transition point. Instead, her need for doing something physical redirected her to the valley below that location. Her landing spot was chosen for the walk it would provide.
Slowly she made her way up the hill, breathing every smell, her fingertips brushing every plant within reach; taking in the abundance of all the life she encountered. Birds, bees, plants, and mammals all willingly came to greet her; almost as if the universe was telling her that all was well.
Finally, she reached her mark. Closing her eyes, she hurried through the familiar routine and stepped into the past. Back she went, back to the early eighteen hundreds, back to that place she would always call home.
Opening her eyes, Elizabeth reoriented, found the teepee, and started toward it. When she was halfway there, a woman lifted the flap and stepped out into the sunshine.
“Mom!” the witchling cried, her voice cracking with emotion. The woman turned, saw her daughter, and smiling, opened her arms wide.
Elizabeth broke into a run, and as the distance between them closed, the young woman, a witch of untold power, morphed into the child by the name of Powahti.
CHAPTER 24
Six years later
The old man looked over at his wife and wondered for the thousandth time what life would have been like had he been able to take the dragon’s magic. Instead, it was almost as if the dragon took his. Not only did he not get the magic of flight, but he lost the manuscripts. On top of that, what little magic he had been able to accomplish on his own faded quickly after his return.
‘That was the worst of it,’ he lamented, then changing his mind, added aloud, “Or so I thought at the time.”
“What was that Karl?” his wife asked, unable to make out what her husband had mumbled.
To avoid answering, the German asked about the company they were expecting. “What time are the Kaufmanns arriving?”
“Eight o’clock, dear. You still have an hour. But then I expect you to be ready. Don’t want to keep our guests waiting. I’m heading to the kitchen now to prepare.”
Karl nod
ded and settled back into his chair. “Everything was so promising,” he lamented. With Hanussen’s death in thirty-three, he had sole control of the manuscripts.
‘My magic took a leap that year,’ the old man thought. He remembered how his aging process reversed, and how he gained in power. At the age of sixty-four, he looked and felt forty at the most.
‘In thirty-nine that Lantian took me for a young man. The fool, he deserved everything he got,’ Haushofer thought, reminiscing on what it took to break Urik.
“I was a magnificent magician, destined to be the best,” he said sorrowfully. “The dragon’s magic was mine … and then those bastards …” he lamented as he remembered again how the girl and the Lascion had interfered.
“That Lascion stole the books. It was as if he reached through time and snatched them back. What he did was impossible,” he declared. “And I don’t know how, but I swear someone stripped me of all my magic; everything I had ever learned.”
These were questions he had never been able to find answers to. Haushofer was now resigned to the thought that what happened that day would always remain a mystery.
“I came out of that hole a powerless, old man,” he said bitterly.
Time travel, dragons, werewolves, and magic … no way to prove anything, and no one to tell, though there was a moment when he thought to say something to Hess.
“Probably a good thing I didn’t. He would have turned on me sooner. Oh, Albrecht, I’m so, so sorry.” A single tear ran down his cheek as he thought of his son. He looked down the hallway toward the kitchen, not wanting Martha to catch him grieving.
Martha had been through enough. First, there were the years he worked with the Nazis all the while knowing they thought his wife contemptible. It didn’t matter that Martha was only half Jewish. They wanted her dead and would have probably insisted on it if Hess hadn’t intervened.
“He saved her and my boy,” Haushofer remembered. But that reprieve was erased in April of forty-five just before the Nazis surrendered. The Gestapo killed Albrecht and everyone else suspected of having anything to do with the assassination attempt on Hitler’s life.
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