The house was suddenly quiet again, and the locust-buzz of the night air had returned. And then, as if cued by the croak of a bullfrog, Amanda heard the click of shoes ascending the wooden staircase.
Amanda squeezed out the last of her tears and then frantically looked around the sink for something she could weaponize. Anything. She reached back behind the faucet and her fingers brushed against the bristles of a toothbrush that had dropped into the ceramic crevice between the faucet and backsplash and had stayed hidden there for what must have been weeks. It was an old wooden toothbrush, the kind that it seemed only she and Georg had used for far too long before finally switching to the more modern variety.
She pinched the neck of the toothbrush and fingered it up into her hand, bringing it up next to her face, gripping it so that the end of the handle faced outward like the blade of a knife. She stood motionless that way, holding her breath for what seemed like ten minutes but was probably only seconds, listening for the approach of footsteps to gauge the timing of her attack.
Like a bomb blast, the bedroom door slammed shut. The witch was now inside the bedroom, and with the door shut, escape would be nearly impossible. A fight was coming.
“Klahr woman?”
Amanda gagged at the sound of her name and at the dripping contempt in the woman’s voice.
“I know you’re here in this room. I can smell you. Like a piece of meat rotting in the sun.”
The light of the bedroom flicked on; Amanda could see the strand of shining yellow under the door. Should she stay back from the door? Perhaps in the bathtub behind the curtain? Or should she position herself right in front, ready to attack the instant the door opened? She held her position for the moment, about halfway between the two options, not wanting to make any noise that would give proof of her presence.
“Your husband’s spirit kept him from suffering. I hadn’t suspected such fight from an old man. That wild axe play in the fields everyday paid off, it seems. He’s dead, of course, that was never in question, but my plan had been to torture him first and then kill him. Sadly, he made that impossible. Too much resistance, you see. I can’t take risks like that anymore.” The woman paused, and her voice turned poisonous. “His body is at the foot of the stairs.”
Amanda pulled open the door and rushed out toward the witch’s voice. She held the toothbrush aloft and poised. The terror Amanda saw in the awful witch’s eyes as she approached was inspiring, and it invigorated her muscles and reflexes to respond to the woman’s fear.
The witch raised her hands to her face, protecting herself from the weapon that spiked down at her. Amanda realized the woman couldn’t have known what she was holding in her fist. For the all old hag knew, Amanda was coming at her with an ice pick. The woman’s psyche had sustained damage over the years, with Gretel and her mother playing no small part in the delivery of that emotional trauma.
Amanda swung the toothbrush down and caught the woman just above the eyebrow, digging it into her forehead before raising it again and giving one final vicious stab. The woman’s skin was soft, and the feel of the wooden brush in her wrinkled flesh was primal and satisfying.
The woman growled at Amanda and backed away quickly, leaving Amanda off balance for just a moment. Amanda stumbled forward, and the witch grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her so that Amanda now faced the door. The witch collapsed upon her from behind like a leopard on an impala, chest to back, so that Amanda was pinned against the door. Amanda could feel the strength of the woman, a hardness in her muscles that Amanda had only known men to possess. She was helpless now. And with that feeling of helplessness came the knowledge that she would soon be dead.
“You have the spirit too, I see.”
“Gretel will kill you next time.” The words came from Amanda’s mouth automatically, as if they weren’t her words at all, a medium speaking the sentence of a soul long dead. She almost smiled at the sound of the witch gasping.
The witch opened her mouth to speak to rebut what Amanda had said, but the words didn’t come.
“She’s stronger than you. And you know that, don’t you?”
The witch again said nothing.
“And what’s more, she knows she’s stronger than you. And that makes her even stronger.” Amanda gave a defeated chuckle, as if she’d found the answer to a profound question but far too late for it to make any difference.
“Something tells me you may be right,” the witch finally replied, her lips dusting the ears of Amanda with each word, the blood from the wound above her eye now spilling onto Amanda’s cheek. “I’ve not had the pleasure of young Gretel’s company for more than a few frantic moments at a time, but in those moments, my yes, she has shown a great strength. But, of course, she’s an Aulwurm. We are strong on levels most in this world aren’t even aware exist.”
Amanda knew the name Aulwurm. Anika had mentioned it in the letter she delivered just before leaving for the Old World. It was the name of her ancestral family, the ones she and Gretel and Hansel sought.
“Were you not aware we were kin?”
Amanda was not aware of this part, but she didn’t let on. “She’ll kill you just the same. You Aulwurms don’t seem to be a very close-knit family.”
The witch brought her hand to Amanda’s neck and gripped it just tight enough to allow her to breathe.
“Do it!” Amanda screamed.
The witch released the pressure just slightly and smiled. Amanda could feel the corners of her mouth turn up and the parting of her lips. “You won’t die today, Amanda Klahr. I need you. You’re going to tell me where Gretel and her mother have gone. And, if necessary, you’ll take me to them.”
Amanda laughed. “Is that what you think? That I know where they’ve gone?” Amanda laughed harder now. “I have no idea where they are. You might as well kill me here and now if you’re expecting me to know that little bit of information.”
The witch continued smiling, but Amanda could feel the stiffening tension in her body.
Amanda’s voice was serious now, trying to avoid the tone of pleading. “She and Hansel never even said good-bye. They packed up and left in the night. Georg and I hardly even knew the mother. They wouldn’t have told us where they were going. You’re a fool if you think so.”
The witch extended the nail of her right hand and brushed it down the side of Amanda’s cheek, swirling the blood that had dripped there from the witch’s eye wound. “You do know, Mrs. Klahr, I know you do.” She paused and then stuck her nail into Amanda’s cheek, piercing it all the way through until it came out on the inside of her mouth.
Amanda screamed, but the blood from the wound rushed to her throat and clogged the sound. She coughed it out and then screamed again.
“And for Petr’s sake,” the old woman continued, “you had better know.”
Chapter 15
“Petr, don’t go.”
“I have to, Sofia. I haven’t been home in two days.”
Sofia Karlsson pouted and cocked her head. “Pleeease?”
If Petr had any hope of staying at the fishing hole for another hour or two, it was now wiped away entirely by Sofia’s whining. He liked her just fine—she was very sweet and by far the prettiest of the girls in his group of friends—but her puerile tendencies were a turn off. He wanted her to not care what he did. It was the opposite though: when he brooded, she acted like a four-year-old, hoping it would convince him to see things her way. It hadn’t worked yet; he had no idea why she kept trying.
Besides, he really did have to get home. It just felt wrong to be gone this long.
Since his meeting with Officer Dodd and Overseer Conway, Petr had kept quiet about the subject of the witch’s missing body. He’d tripped a cord at the barracks, he was sure of it, certainly as far as Dodd was concerned anyway, and he now thought it wise to keep any further theories on the subject to himself for a while, especially since Georg had shown a mild interest in Petr’s investigations lately. The last thing Petr wanted was to ge
t Georg mixed up in his conspiracies.
So, Petr had asked Ben if he could stay at his house for a little while until the dust settled a bit. Ben’s parents agreed after calling Amanda to get her approval, which she gave, though no doubt reluctantly, Petr had assumed. But it was just for a few days. No big deal.
But here it was only two days later and Petr wanted to go home—as much for the Klahrs as for himself.
“Ben told me you were staying with him. And Ben’s not going anywhere. Are you Ben?”
Petr shuddered at the infantile lilt Sofia put on the question and immediately started walking back toward the pickup truck.
“I was staying with Ben, but now I’m going home,” he muttered, his back to the girl.
“Hey, you still haven’t gotten your truck privileges back, young man,” Ben Richter shouted from the pier. He didn’t turn as he said it, focused instead on a taut fishing line and a potential bite in the water.
“It’s fine, I’m walking,” Petr shouted, his back still turned. “Thanks for the hospitality, Ben. I owe you one.”
“One? Ha! Where did you learn to count?”
Petr smiled at this last dig and kept walking toward the road, his duffel across his back and his water jug in hand. His house was a little over three miles from the fishing hole; it was a walk he’d done a dozen times since moving in with the Klahrs.
“Hey, want some company?” Sofia tapped Petr on the opposite shoulder from where she’d run up on him, dragging her feet and kicking up dust as she arrived.
“Uh, well, sure. It’s a little bit of a walk though. And if my...if Mr. Klahr isn’t home, I won’t be able to give you a ride back. At least not for a while anyway.
“I guess I’ll have to hang out with you for the time being then.” Sofia smiled at Petr, trying to get him to lock eyes with her, but Petr focused his attention on the road ahead.
The two teenagers walked in silence for a few moments, staring from the road to the woods that lined the pavement, pretending to be interested in the surrounding nature.
“I knew Gretel. Did you know that?”
Petr turned his head with a snap toward Sofia and stopped walking. Sofia stopped with him.
“Not well, but I knew her a little. She was always very nice to me. A little quiet, I guess, but nice. I can see why you would have liked her.”
Petr forced a smile and nodded. This was the Sofia he liked, the sincere Sofia who had a knack for kind words. “Thank you for saying that, Sofia. I did...do like her.”
Sofia smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Is she coming back?”
The two began their walk again, and Petr kept his gaze locked on his feet, pondering. “I think so, but...”
“What is it?”
“I had expected her back months ago. Certainly, by now. It’s been a year. I honestly don’t know if she’s coming back. I hope so.”
“Where did she go?”
Petr didn’t respond.
“People say...” Sofia stopped and shook her head as if to strike the words.
Petr looked at her, his eyes wide with curiosity and defense. “What do they say?”
“That...that she’s a witch, just like the one she killed, that...”
“That’s not true!” Petr’s words came out more like a growl than a yell, low and guttural.
“I don’t believe it, Petr, of course not. I told you, I knew her and liked her, but some people have said that she was related to the witch in some way. A distant relative or something. I don’t really know.”
“I think I’d rather walk alone, actually.” Petr stopped walking and faced Sofia, staring slightly up and past her eye line.
“Petr, I...”
“I would. Thank you,” he interrupted. “I’ll see you later. Please don’t follow me.”
Petr continued walking home, as fast as he could without running, listening to Sofia’s footsteps as they faded in the opposite direction.
Chapter 16
“You like a drink, madam?” Oskar leaned back on the large stone boulder and closed his eyes in satisfaction, raising the iron mug to the sky as an offering. “It is, ah, how do you say it? Delicious!”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Anika crouched in front of the fire, staring into the flames and rubbing her hands.
“It will keep you warm.”
“The fire is plenty warm.”
“Maybe you want Oskar to keep you warm.” Oskar laughed at this, widening his eyes to show he was up for it if she was. He stared at Noah, who only looked away.
Anika’s mouth opened slightly, and she shivered, instinctively hugging herself, tightening the perimeter of her body.
“I’m only for kidding, Anika. Relax. Have a drink!”
Anika stood from the fire and walked to a footprint of blankets and coats she had arranged as her bedding. “I’m going to try to sleep now. We’ll leave at dawn.”
Anika and her fellow travelers set off for the mountain home of her ancestors the day Hansel and Gretel boarded the Schwebenberg. There was no point in waiting, she decided; the one thing she knew for sure was that she wasn’t going to get any better if she waited. And the sooner she got started on this desperate attempt to spare herself, to squeeze out a few more years in this living world, the sooner she’d know if there was any hope at all. Whether these people could help or not, only then would she be able to accept her fate and begin her journey back to the New Country to reunite with her children.
The Morgan family had all given each other their somber farewells that morning on the dock, surprisingly without any tears being shed. It had been hard for Anika to hold back the emotions she felt, and she imagined that was true for Gretel and Hansel as well; but for Anika, she had made the decision several days earlier that once she saw her children launch toward the New Country, she would get right to the work of healing. She wasn’t going to spend critical moments worrying about them or what their lives without her would become. There was no reward in it, emotionally or otherwise. And once she began her trek up the Koudeheuvul Mountains, there would be no way to contact them anyway. She would just have to believe in the guidance of the universe and in her daughter’s resolve. Anika didn’t have the intuition of her Gretel, but she felt strongly in those two things.
And besides, with everything Hansel and Gretel had been through over the past two years, they would handle a sea crossing just fine. As for money, Anika had borrowed and saved enough to ensure they had plenty to get home, plus a little more for any trouble that arose along the way. The ten- or twelve-day voyage to the New Country would be through a smooth passage of sea, and they would have a relatively comfortable forward cabin, especially considering it was just the two of them taking up the space. The Schwebenberg would then dock about twenty minutes off the coast of the Urbanlands, where the children would take a tender to shore.
Once at port, they were to call the Klahrs.
Anika supposed the Klahrs were the wildcard in this whole plan. Would they even still be living in the orchard across the lake? How was their health? She couldn’t have imagined them selling out and moving away, but their health concerned her. At a certain age, well-being was always a necessary consideration.
And then there was the question of forgiveness. What if they weren’t willing to forgive them for vanishing and cutting off all communication with them?
But Anika dismissed this last notion almost immediately. Of course, they’d forgive. And even if they didn’t forgive Anika—it was she, after all, who was to blame for their leaving and not staying in touch—they loved their Gretel. Anika saw it in their eyes when they spoke about her. They loved Gretel every bit as much as Anika did. And Gretel loved them with the same conviction. Yes, Hansel and Gretel would find their way home just fine.
Anika’s journey, however, was a bit more involved.
“Noah? Hey Noah?” It was Oskar again, his drunkenness becoming more apparent with each syllable.
Noah gave only a dismissive grunt. He was lying away
from the fire, shrouded in darkness, ostensibly trying to sleep.
“Noah, do you think she kind of likes me?” He erupted with laughter. It was the jovial, grog-impaired kind of laugher that always contained a dusting of sinisterness.
Anika pulled the wool blanket to her chin and listened, praying for just one or two more outbursts, followed by snoring. At the very least, though, Anika hoped Noah would chime in with a few subtle words of warning indicating he was ready for Oskar’s foolishness to end. Noah was almost twice Oskar’s size, and even if a drunken Oskar felt daring enough to defy his larger companion, if Noah truly wanted, he could bring Oskar to silence. But Noah was there as a guide, not a translator, and she now wondered if Noah even understood their conversations at all. He hadn’t spoken since they set out.
Anika disliked Oskar from the day they met, but he was good with languages—as good as she could afford—and she needed someone who could translate complicated phrases and expressions, perhaps even some medical terminology that could make the difference between life and death.
But translations, she decided, would not come at the cost of her assault. She’d never live at the mercy of another person. Not ever again.
“I bet she does like me, right Noah? I mean, what is there not to like? I got my pretty face, my pretty teeth, a pretty big cock.” He erupted with laughter again, this time almost choking on his ale. “Not as big as yours though, Noah! Ha ha! I never seen nobody’s big as yours!”
Anika’s expression became steely, and she lowered her hand to her shoe, keeping it hidden beneath the covering. She tapped the tip of the blade’s handle with her middle finger and wrapped her hand around it before gliding it from her boot.
She raised her head a fraction and peeked over at Oskar, who had closed his eyes again and was leaning back against the rock. He was either asleep or almost there. Thank God, Anika thought, silently begging things wouldn’t get messy now. Not yet. According to Noah—through Oskar’s translation—they had another two days, which meant this camp night and then one more. She could make it. And once she got what she needed from the Aulwurm elders, whether that be a cure or a death sentence, Oskar could take his rotten liver to the summit of Mount Koude and jump. But for now, she still needed him.
The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3) Page 41
