The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3)

by Christopher Coleman

  “Hey, Gretel,” a voice called in the distance. It came from the trees at the top of the driveway where the road to the Interways began.

  “Ben?”

  “That’s me. Can you see me?”

  “No, where are you?”

  “Up here.”

  Gretel descended the porch stairs and then followed the sound of Ben’s voice until she came to a thick chestnut tree that stood about ten yards deep in the woods. She looked up and saw the boy smiling, his face and shirt smeared with dirt. He gave a silly wave and then looked through the sight of his rifle, practicing his aim, a motion Gretel guessed he’d probably done a hundred times already since establishing his position.

  “So how good are you with that thing?”

  “I’m pretty good.” He paused. “I’m not bad with the rifle either.”

  Gretel laughed despite herself. “You’re gross.”

  Ben laughed and then almost instantly turned somber. “Hey, Gretel?”

  Gretel nodded, waiting.

  “I am good with a gun, and I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your brother.”

  Gretel smiled. “Not even Hansel, huh?”

  “Well...no, not even him.”

  “Thank you, Ben. I need to go check on Petr.” Gretel turned to the house and started walking and then stopped and looked back. “And Ben,” she said, “I’m really sorry about Sofia. I know she was your friend. She should never have been a part of this.”

  “Thanks, Gretel. I’m sorry too. But it was my fault.”

  There was no point in debating the blame. Maybe later, Gretel thought, but not now. Now was a time for preparedness.

  Gretel was pleased with Ben’s readiness, camouflaged and poised like a soldier. She sensed that kind of strength and will in the boy from the moment she met him. It was an attractive quality, the feeling that he was a protector.

  Petr, on the other hand, was still balking at the plan, unsure of their decisions to this point. Gretel sensed he was doubting himself, doubting his ability to perform his role once the horror was at hand.

  Gretel walked down to the back of the house where Petr had been standing for several minutes now, staring out at the lake. She stopped beside him and gazed in the same direction.

  “I’m scared, Gretel.”

  “I am too.”

  Petr turned to Gretel now, a look of confusion on his face. “You don’t understand, Gretel. I’m not scared for me.”

  “Then who? What?”

  Petr shook his head and snickered, seemingly irritated at Gretel’s naiveté. “For so long, I wished for you to come back. I thought about it every night: the moment when you would just appear without notice, to tell me that you were here to stay. And then it happened. You were just floating in the lake in front of me. A mirage. That was a miracle for me, Gretel.”

  Gretel felt flush at the admiration being poured upon her.

  “And now? Now I wish you hadn’t come back. I wish you were still in the Old World and that I had no idea what you were doing because then I would at least know you were safe from her.”

  Gretel let the words land. She didn’t want to step on his thoughts by responding too quickly, diminishing his feelings. Finally, she said, “I’m here, Petr, and there’s nothing that is going to change that. We can only turn into this problem now, face our crisis as the imperative that it is. It’s the only choice we have.”

  “But what of this magic, Gretel?” Petr’s face was pleading, not giving up on the possibility of something divine coming into play.

  “What are you talking about, Petr?”

  “You have these powers. Like Hansel was speaking of. Powers like the witch, yes? Perhaps you’re even stronger.”

  Gretel wasn’t going to argue or downplay her abilities to Petr, so she instead decided to be direct about what she believed her potential to be. “If I wanted that, then yes, I think one day I could be that powerful. Perhaps. But that day will never come to pass. I’ll not live a thousand years, Petr. I’ll never have the luxury of endless time in which to hone and develop whatever heritage has been placed within me.”

  Gretel could sense a shame bubbling in Petr. “I’m sorry, Gretel, I just thought...”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Petr. Do you think I haven’t thought of that? Of course, I have.”

  Petr nodded in understanding. “So what are we doing, Gretel? Are we going to die?”

  Gretel placed her arms around Petr’s neck and focused his eyes to hers. “I don’t know, Petr, but my hunch right now tells me that we are exactly where we should be. It’s true that I may never be as physically strong as she is, but my feelings and insights—my natural instincts—are no less resonant than hers. I believe it’s true. I believe it like I believe I need air to breathe.”

  Petr smiled and pulled Gretel toward him in a hug. “It’s because you’re a good person, Gretel. It’s your reward from the world. It’s your defense. And I trust you. I trust whatever you decide we should do.”

  Gretel pulled away and kissed Petr on the mouth. She held her lips on his for several beats before unlocking and then went in for another short brush of his mouth. “Good. Where’s your gun?”

  Petr hesitated, flashing a proud smile at the gift of Gretel’s mouth, and then walked under the porch stairs and picked up the shotgun with the indifference of a bank robber.

  “Is it loaded?”

  Petr broke open the barrel, peered inside, and nodded; it was a three-part move that Petr pulled off almost simultaneously, and Gretel was comforted by his obvious aptitude with the weapon.

  “There’s no range on this gun, Gretel. If it’s going to be me, if I’m the one that’s going to kill her, she’ll need to be right in front of me. If I’m not close enough, I can’t risk it. No one can shoot and miss.”

  “So you want to have the pistol too?”

  Petr looked down, as if holding back.

  “What is it, Petr?”

  “That goes for you too, Gretel. You have to be sure. You can’t pull the pistol unless you’re sure. You have to understand that.”

  Gretel did understand it. She’d thought intensively about her role as the lure, the magnet that would draw the witch in, freezing her for just long enough that one of the boys could get a shot on her. But for all the trust she held in Ben and Petr, Gretel was intent on insuring the plan by keeping the pistol in the back of her pants, under her shirt. She hoped not to need it—of course she hoped that—since that would mean that the blueprint of their plan had been destroyed and desperation was at hand; but if the situation did devolve into a level of chaos, she wanted a chance.

  “I won’t panic, Petr, if that’s what you’re saying. If you and Ben are as good as you think you are, we can end the day on the right side of life.”

  “Is Hansel ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Gretel followed her brother as he walked past them, not making eye contact, his chest full and his shoulders high.

  “Are you?” Gretel asked.

  Hansel stopped and turned to his sister, his eyes narrow, voice challenging. “Do you think I’m not?”

  “Are you at your post right now?”

  “Are you? Because it looks to me like you’re down here snogging with your boyfriend. Hardly ready, I would say.”

  “Ben is at his post, which is at the front of the property. He’ll see anyone coming from that direction a mile before they’re here. You’re to be at the lake’s edge pretending to be unaware, drawing her to you if she comes from the Klahr’s.”

  “She’s not coming from the Klahr’s, Gretel. We were there just yesterday. And how would she come from the lake, anyway? The canoe is here.”

  “The Klahrs have boats, you nit. She could come easily.”

  “I know why you put me there. You’ve stuck me on the lake to keep me out of the way. To hide me. You know she isn’t coming from the Klahrs. Not on a boat. She would be too vulnerable.”

  “Just get t
here!”

  Gretel was fuming now, and Petr stepped in to bring down the temperature. “Hansel’s right, I think. About us getting ready. And Hansel, your sister is also right. You should get to your station. We agreed on this, remember?”

  “I don’t remember, Petr. I remember you all making the plans and me contesting them and then my sister saying that was the final word on it. I wouldn’t call that an agreement.”

  “Yes, but Hansel—”

  “Forget it. I’ll be at the lakeshore fingering my arse if you need me.”

  And with that, Gretel had enough, and she stepped toward to her brother, intending to grab him by the back of the shirt and pull him to the ground for a wrestling match, the kind they probably hadn’t had since Gretel was in grade school.

  But it was too late for that.

  The witch already had him.

  Chapter 41

  Anika rode silently in the back of the taxi, taking in the sights of the New Country. The buildings and lights and signage that were routine to most were things Anika had rarely seen in her life. The Back Country—and a few years of riding to the Northlands to visit her father—were the extent of her travels for most her life. Until this past year. Until her incredible journey to the Old World. She considered now the prospects of returning there someday, perhaps even permanently, but something inside her resisted it.

  She reached into her bag for her pocket watch and suddenly felt a shriek ripple through her head. She made a sound like, “Ouoh!”

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” the driver asked with a peek toward the mirror and then back to the road, not wanting to be too intrusive.

  Anika shook her head quickly, not having the energy to reply.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Yes,” she managed, and then put her palms to her temples. “May I lie down?” she asked, and then did so before the driver could answer.

  “Sure, ma’am. I’ll let you know when we’ve arrived.”

  Was it the sickness or the mystery orange pill of the villagers? Anika couldn’t have said, but either way, the pain was ferocious. It was a few more hours to the house. She would sleep until then. And when she arrived, she would find her children. And then find the book.

  Chapter 42

  Amanda Klahr awoke to the staring corpse of the woman from the driveway.

  Amanda was again tied to the bed, this time with thick strands of burlap rope that cut her skin and brought rings of blood to her wrists and ankles.

  The corpse was situated in a chair on the side of the bed, upright, eyes crooked and terrified.

  Amanda barely flinched at the dead body this time; her nerve endings apparently having died somewhere back at the woman’s cabin.

  She did, however, regain a small bit of comfort from being back in her home. She had always assumed she would die at the hands of the abominable witch—Marlene, she’d heard the officer call her—so if that were to be Amanda’s fate, then let it happen in her own home.

  “What are you looking at?” Amanda said to the dead woman, not the slightest tone of amusement in her voice. “We’ll try, right? That’s all we can do. We’ll try to help them. They drew her away from there. Petr and Gretel. They brought her back here. I have faith in them. You should have had faith too. You should have stayed away from here. This wasn’t your fight.”

  Amanda now looked in the woman’s face and began to cry. “I’m sorry for you. And if those were your children.”

  Amanda gave a moment of respect to the dead family and thought of God and heaven; she prayed they were all there now. And then she silently pled for their forgiveness.

  “Now let’s start trying, Amanda. Let’s start trying.”

  Chapter 43

  “Gretel?”

  Hansel’s voice wasn’t loud enough to be considered a whimper, and Gretel had to use all her restraint to keep the gun in its resting place at the small of her back. From the corner of her eye ,she saw Petr twitch just a bit, and Gretel held a hand out, backing him off, signaling him to bury any instinct he was about to follow concerning the shotgun in his hands.

  “If that gun is still in your hands three seconds from now, I’ll bury my finger deep in this boy’s eye.”

  “Petr!” Gretel called, and then watched the gun bounce impotently on the gravel in front of her.

  “Gretel Morgan and Petr Stenson,” the woman sneered, her voice like some ancient insect, a beetle that had gained remedial vocal abilities over the hundreds of millions of years of its evolution. “The great untold love story of our time.” She laughed now, and Gretel’s stomach burned with anxiety and hate.

  “If you let him go, I’ll replace him,” Gretel pled. “You want me. And I can bring you to my mother. Just leave him.”

  Gretel’s breathing was shallow, and she almost crying now, in disbelief that they had ended up in this position. With all their precaution, with all the danger they had left Mrs. Klahr to face, they had still been outmaneuvered.

  But this was the moment now, and she had to turn into it, just like she had advised Petr only minutes ago.

  “He doesn’t have what I have. What we have. You know that I’m right.”

  “He’s an Aulwurm. Maybe not with the Orphic instincts you possess, but his blood is your blood. Although, about your instincts, I’d be remiss were I not to point out how dulled they were just now, eh?” The woman looked at Petr before shaking her head slowly, grinning. “I will have all of you in the end, anyway. You’ve always known this, Gretel.”

  “You can’t make it away from here...” Gretel paused, chasing a name that flashed in her mind for an instant. She’d never heard the woman’s name, or seen it written, but she sensed it somehow. “Marlene? Is that your name?”

  The witch gasped, almost choking on the oxygen in her throat, her jaw hanging loosely in awe, a look of fear glazing over her eyes.

  “You can’t get away, Marlene. The System knows about you.”

  The spell Gretel had cast on Marlene at the utterance of her name was broken at the mention of the System, and the witch threw back her head in a gregarious, taunting laugh. “Yes, the System. They know all about me.”

  “I’m not talking about Dodd.”

  Marlene stopped her cackle and stared with interest at Gretel.

  “I’m talking about the overseer of your case. Conway.” Gretel could tell by the look on her face that Marlene didn’t know about this person. “Yes, Marlene, it’s not all covered up like Dodd wants you to believe. There are other people at the System, good people, and they’ll be coming for you.”

  Gretel paused, allowing the witch an opportunity to join in the dialogue if she wished. Instead, she remained silent, listening.

  “But I can make it go away. Petr and I.”

  Marlene’s eyes shifted to Petr, her grip on Hansel’s neck tightening, causing a groan from the boy.

  Gretel stayed calm, despite her brother’s suffering. “Petr has known that you were alive this whole time. He tried to convince the System months ago, and everybody else for that matter, but nobody would listen. It’s been his quest to find you.”

  “What is this to do with me?” Marlene finally said, humoring Gretel, the impatience in her voice obvious.

  “If he says you’re dead, if he tells the System he saw proof of your dead corpse at Rifle Field, or floating in the lake or something, they’ll believe him. And then you can go. You can escape back to the Old World.”

  The witch raised her eyebrows just slightly and tilted her head to the side at the idea Gretel had just presented. Gretel thought she even detected the faint trace of a smile.

  “But you have to let go of Hansel. You have to take the truck, the truck that’s here, and drive it to the docks. You can get on the first steamer headed for the Old World. It’s your only chance.”

  “But there are no more Aulwurms in the Old World,” Marlene said to herself, as if now considering a point she’d failed to earlier. “My potion would not—”

  “There’s no m
ore potion!” Gretel growled, the fury in her voice as potent as any she’d ever delivered. It felt almost divine.

  Marlene looked at Gretel confused, almost hurt by her words. “But there will always be my potion. That is what this is all for.” She turned now to Hansel and studied him curiously. “I don’t need this one really,” she said. “In the end, you’ll be far more trouble than I need.”

  Marlene’s expression turned wickedly twisted, like the face of a rotting jack-o-lantern, and she raised her hand high above her head, nails pointing toward the top of the boy’s skull.

  “No!” Gretel screamed, and then reached at her lower back for the gun tucked in the waistband of her pants.

  As her hand touched the handle, before she could brandish her weapon, Gretel heard the report of a rifle followed by the scream of Marlene.

  “MARLENE? IS THAT YOUR name?”

  The sound of her own name landed like a boot in Marlene’s gut. How could a girl this young have developed the skill so quickly? It had taken Marlene generations to finally acquire this ability—which wasn’t quite mind-reading but was something akin to it—and Gretel apparently now possessed it as a mere teenager. And it seemed she was more adept than Marlene, who rarely landed on the exact name.

  “You can’t get away, Marlene. The System knows you’re coming.”

  Marlene’s fascination with the girl was broken, diminished by the ineptitude of the System. She laughed. “Yes, the System. They know all about me.”

  “I’m not talking about Dodd. I’m talking about the overseer of your case. Conway.”

  Marlene didn’t quite know what an overseer was and had never heard of this Conway person before.

  “Yes, Marlene. It’s not all covered up like Dodd wants you to believe. There are other people at the System, good people, and they’ll be coming for you.”

  Dodd was dead. Marlene had thought little of him since she’d skewered him with the point of her cane, but the mention of him brought her back to the reality of her situation. They would be coming. Again. And there would be no cover-up this time. No hiding out in the ground, hibernating until the trouble passed.