Between the Shadow and the Soul (10 page)

Many witches and wizards lived in the less desirable parts of town, probably why they had become even less desirable in the first place. They were the unlucky ones who didn’t have family that could give them a job, or who weren’t qualified enough to get a job in witch-owned businesses. Welfare wasn’t available to people of his kind. They had to hope for the benevolence of a few witch-friendly social organizations. Darko hadn’t set foot into this part of Cologne since the Master had approached him, but the situation seemed to have gotten worse. Many windows were broken and yet candles were glowing in them. He even spotted the face of a thin child in one of them before its mother pulled it back. Magical slums. They’d been growing not only in Cologne.

Eventually, Nela’s mother left the sidewalk and turned toward one of the apartment buildings. This was one of the official refugee homes of the city where people who were seeking asylum lived. Gypsies, too, had found shelter in the shabby apartments. They were as unwanted in society as the magical folk, so they stuck together. And the travelling folk had always been partial to witchcraft and many of them had a witch in their family. Several of the gypsy men were sitting on plastic chairs on the lawn, blowing rings of smoke into the icy air, cigarettes dangling from their fingers. Their dark eyes followed Darko, but he knew he didn’t stick out.

 Nela’s mother was greeted by an older gypsy woman in a flowery skirt and then led inside. Darko hesitated. If he followed them inside, someone would definitely wonder what he was doing there. But Darko needn’t have worried. A large crowd had gathered in front of the room in which Nela’s mother seemed to do her healing business. Darko walked in and tried to peer over the heads and past the shoulders of the waiting people. The smell of herbs mingled with the stench of several unwashed bodies. The water pipes were probably broken.

Nela’s mother examined a small boy who was crying. His mother wrung her hands nervously beside him. Mrs. Vogel took a small vial from her bag and coerced the boy to drink it. He didn’t stop crying but Nela’s mother seemed satisfied. After that a teenage boy sat down on the table and lifted his sleeve. He had a cut on his arm and the skin around it was dark red. Blood poisoning most likely. That explained why he was sweating so much despite the cold. Herbs and salves alone wouldn’t be enough to save that boy’s life. Nela’s mother spread something on the boy’s arm, then clamped her hand around it and closed her eyes, her lips moving quickly. The redness around the wound lessened slightly. After that she stitched the wound up. Darko was sure she’d used magic to extract the poisoning from his blood. And it probably wasn’t the first time she’d resorted to spells to save someone.

The line of asylum seekers, homeless witches and wizards, and gypsies who were waiting for their turn had gotten even longer. It was a huge risk she was taking. People had to spread the word about her visits and that always posed the risk that the information reached the wrong ears. The old men were still smoking and most of the inhabitants of the surrounding houses had either gathered on the lawn or were standing in their windows and watching everything from there. This was quite a spectacle. Darko wasn’t sure how long Nela’s mother had been coming here to help, but it was sheer luck that the Brotherhood hadn’t found out yet. Maybe their hawk eyes didn’t stray as far as to these lost places. No pure souls around to save.

But this probably wasn’t the only place where Nela’s mother offered her services. At some point, the Brotherhood would find out, or the constant use of magic would be revealed by her tattoo. And even though people like the ones living in these apartments had learned to keep their own and other’s secrets, there was always the chance that one went to the Brotherhood in hopes of improving their status.

Darko didn’t understand why she was doing it. She didn’t even ask for money. She was risking too much for very little in return. But she wasn’t his concern. He’d tell his Master what he’d found out and the man would decide what to do with the information. Blackmail was always an option after all.

Chapter 11

N
ela regarded the address that Darko had sent her in a text this morning. He’d invited her into his apartment for their first lesson for the same evening. Nela had to sneak out again and she was starting to feel bad for going behind her mother’s back. She’d never had reason to lie to her mother. Well, except for the problem with her magic.

Nela stopped in front of an old building only a few minutes from the city center. She dismounted her bike and leaned it against the wall. The only source of light was a street lamp a good distance away. There was a lamp attached over the front door of the house but its glass was broken and the light bulb was missing. Two rows of bell buttons, eight in total, lined the wall to the right of the door. Only five of them had name tags, and three of those weren’t legible.

A buzz rang out. Nela jumped back, looking around. The buzz came again and she gingerly pushed against the door, which opened with a creak. She peered inside. It was even darker than outside.

“Fifth floor,” someone called. Nela walked into the middle of the hall and peered up the stairway. High up, Darko was looking over the banister, light pooling behind him. Then he disappeared.

She hesitated with her foot on the first step. It was silent in the house. She touched her phone through her coat and gripped her purse with her pepper spray tighter, then she began her ascend. She was out of breath and sweaty when she reached the fifth floor. Darko was nowhere to be seen, but the door to the left was open and spilled light into the narrow hallway. Her breath left her mouth in small clouds and the smell of smoke and something old came from the other door on the floor.

Nela quickly entered Darko’s apartment and closed the door behind herself. It was only marginally warmer here. She decided to keep her coat on as she made her way toward the room at the end of the long corridor with its creaking wooden floorboards. The room she entered was big but served as kitchen and living room, and behind a curtain in the corner an alcove with a bed was hidden. The red-brown parquet was scratched and in some places even curved, probably from water damage. A tall lamp in the corner next to the door, farthest from the window, cast its honey glow around the room. Nela couldn’t spot a power cable anywhere and wondered how a big lamp like that could be powered by batteries. The light didn’t, however, reach the small kitchen with its two hotplates. There wasn’t a kitchen table, only a lone folding chair. Darko stood in front of a saggy brown suede couch with three pallets piled atop each other serving as table. There was something lying on the pallets.

“I thought you’d changed your mind on the way up,” Darko said. He wasn’t wearing his trademark coat, just a black long-sleeved shirt, despite the cold in the room.

“I almost did,” Nela admitted, taking a few cautious steps closer and then she saw what was lying on the table. A dead cat. She recoiled, eyes widening.

“It’s just a dead cat,” Darko said as if it was normal to have a dead cat lying on your living room table. “It’s dead,” he said again as if that would reassure her.

“I’d prefer if it was alive! Why is it dead? And why is it lying on your table?” Nela took a shivery breath. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

Darko frowned. “It’s a cat. You act as if it’s a newborn child.”

“Answer me,” Nela hissed, considering turning on her heel and leaving him there with the dead cat.

“I didn’t kill it,” he said. Nela narrowed her eyes. “Honestly. I didn’t touch it. I found it like that at a veterinary.”

“You found it?” Nela asked. “And they just let you take it. Where was it, in the trash?”

He shrugged. “Okay, I broke into the practice and stole the body, are you happy now?”

“But why? This is really sick. Why would anyone do that?”

She could tell that Darko was annoyed by her questions, but she didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t normal to steal dead cats and take them home, and the sooner he realized it the better.

“It’s for an experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?”

Darko groaned. “Why don’t you take off your coat first and stop clinging to your bag like it’s your lifeline?”

Nela flushed. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been clutching her purse. Her knuckles were white from the pressure. She loosened her grip but didn’t put the purse down. “It’s cold. Can’t you make it warmer?”

She noticed his amusement when he walked toward a black furnace. It looked like it was at least one hundred years old. When Darko opened the small flap in the front, Nela could see that a few wooden blocks were smoldering inside. Darko added a few more thin branches, closed the flap again and turned a lever. There was a hiss as air streamed down the narrow black duct attached to the wall that led outside. Within a few minutes, the room got warmer and Nela took her coat off and threw it over the armrest of the couch.

“What about your purse? You can put it down, you know?” he said, smirking.

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t want to part with your pepper spray?”

“Maybe,” Nela said. Darko didn’t look annoyed. If possible, he seemed to be satisfied with her reaction.

Nela moved to his side, which put her right in front of the table with the dead cat. Even in her thick turtleneck sweater, she wasn’t exactly warm, but Darko didn’t seem to mind the cold.

“So what kind of experiment?” Nela felt queasy staring down at the lifeless cat. Her red fur was dull, her body stiff. Her open brown eyes were unseeing and cloudy.

“Remember that I told you about necromancers?”

“Of course, I do,” Nela said. She shook her head. “No, wait. Are you a necromancer?” There was a note of hysteria in her voice. Even if Darko had insisted not all necromancers had supported Hitler, everyone knew they were bad news. It was unnatural to be able to bring back the dead.

Darko laughed. “Sadly, not.”

Nela felt more confused than ever. “But--”

“I want you to try to bring the cat back to life.”

He was crazy. “I’m not a necromancer. You stole the cat for nothing. This was a stupid idea.”

“Why don’t you try it? You have nothing to lose.”

Didn’t she? “We’re wasting time. I came here because you promised to teach me how to use my magic. I didn’t agree to playing around with dead things.”

“Are you scared?”

“Of course not. Why would I be scared?” As if to prove her point she reached out and touched the dead cat. Nothing happened. Relief settled in her. Darko with all his taunting had actually made her worried. She was angry at herself for being so stupid.

Darko’s expression darkened. “Pick it up.”

She glared. “Don’t order me around.”

“You’re a spoilt brat. The moment things don’t go the way you want them to, you get angry.”

“That’s not true, but I didn’t come here for this.”

“Fine,” he said, and grabbed the cat. Nela stepped back, afraid he’d actually throw it at her, but instead he walked toward the furnace. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll burn it. We don’t need it anymore. You said it yourself.”

“You can’t burn it. It’ll stink. And what if the owner wants to bury it?”

“Then he wouldn’t have left it at the vet.”

“Maybe the undertaker is supposed to pick it up tomorrow for cremation.”

Darko stopped in front of the furnace, cat dangling from its tail that he held in his right hand. “People actually cremate their pets?” His lips curled. “I guess people who live a sheltered life like yours don’t know what else to do with their money than waste it on their dead cats.”

Something snapped in Nela then. She stomped toward him and ripped the cat from his grip. “You’re an asshole. Just because I didn’t go through the same things you did doesn’t mean my life is always easy. You’re so full of yourself.” Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, her fingers, her entire body tingling with magic. And then there was a meow. Nela dropped the cat and fell back, stumbling against the sofa and sinking down on it. The dead cat was squirming on the ground, eyes rolling back in its head. It led out another high-pitched meow and began writhing on the floor. It was in pain. Its claws were out, digging into the floor. The sound coming from it tore through Nela. What had she done?

***

“You did it,” Darko said. He couldn’t believe it. He felt like laughing, but then Nela’s panicked voice burst through his bubble of elation.

“Make it stop!”

His eyes found the cat on the ground. It was squirming, obviously in pain. They had to release it quickly. He squatted beside Nela who sat stone-still on the sofa. Her eyes were wide as she watched the animal she’d brought back from the dead. “You have to release its spirit. You’re in control of it. Give it back to death.”

Her amber eyes focused on him. Her pupils were too wide and she was deathly pale. “I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t understand.” Her gaze returned to the creature. Darko gripped her arms. “Nela, listen to me. You raised the cat from the dead and only you can put it back.”

She pushed him away and he fell to his knees. She rose to her legs and slowly backed away, shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t!” She collided with the wall. The black of her pupils had consumed her irises. The cat let out another pitiful yowl.

Darko watched her for a moment longer, then he jumped to his feet. She wasn’t in control and from the look of it she was close to falling into shock. He strode toward his kitchen and ripped open the top drawer with the cutlery that had been there when he’d moved in and that he never used. He grasped the butcher’s knife. He couldn’t go against her magic. Only a necromancer could release its spell. There was only one thing left he could think of. He hurried back to the cat and knelt down beside it. “Look away,” he ordered, but Nela was watching him with terror-widened eyes. He raised the knife and swung it down. With sickening crunch, he severed the cat’s head from its body. The last meow died away and the cat lay still. The knife stuck in the wooden floor. Blood pooled around the lifeless body of the cat, trickled into the gaps between the floorboards.

Darko quickly got up before the liquid reached his jeans. He glanced at Nela who was cowering against the wall. Her eyes were closed and she was shaking. He wondered if his actions had really released the cat or if Nela had done it accidentally when she had to watch him decapitate the cat. He hesitated. Should he go to her and console her? But he didn’t know how. It had been a while since he’d taken care of someone like that. His chest tightened. He bent down and carefully picked up the remains of the cat. He stuffed them into a black trash bag and sealed it with a knot. He’d have to dispose of it later. He couldn’t possibly return it to the vet like that.

Darko looked at Nela to make sure she wasn’t going to bolt – she was still frozen in place with her eyes now open and staring at the pool of blood where the cat had been. “I’ll have to take this to the trash can,” he said, lifting the black bag. She didn’t react to his words and he decided to hurry. He took the steps two at a time and was glad for the cold that hit him when he stepped outside. It would prevent the cat from starting to smell until he got the chance to dispose it somewhere else. He walked around the house to the shared trash can for the apartment building and stuffed the cat inside. It was still a few days until the trash would get picked up, but he’d deal with the problem tomorrow. For a moment he relished in the cold and thought about the cemetery and his sister’s grave where he would have spent the night under normal circumstances. He couldn’t believe that Master Valentine had been right. They’d finally found their medium. The ritual could take place as planned, if Nela didn’t run away before then. Not that he would let her. The Master would never forgive him and probably punish him, not that it would actually bother Darko. The worst punishment would be if he lost the chance to get his sister back because he botched it with Nela.

Then an idea struck him. What if Nela could bring his sister back? If that was the case, he wouldn’t have to work for the Master anymore. He wouldn’t have to wait months until Litha and maybe even longer if his Master needed time to recover from the ritual. He could have his sister back right away.

An image of the writhing cat came into his mind. Could that happen to his sister if Nela tried to bring her back to life? He didn’t know how the cat had died and if that might have factored into her rude awakening, but he couldn’t risk that with his sister, especially considering that her death hadn’t exactly been peaceful. And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the option. Maybe with a little practice Nela would be able to do it.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up the stairs. He stopped in the doorway, a strange noise reaching his ears. Then he quickly strode into the living room. Nela was gone from the place against the wall, instead she was kneeling where the cat had been moments before and scrubbing the floor with a dirty rag. Darko had no clue where she’d found it. He never cleaned his apartment like that. And she wasn’t doing a good job cleaning the blood he’d spilled. She was smearing the red liquid all over the wooden boards. The noises he’d heard earlier were the small whimpers of distress coming from somewhere deep in her body. He crouched beside her and took the rag from her hands. She didn’t resist him. She sat back on her haunches and alternately stared at the stained floor and her red-tainted hands. Darko wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t know the cat would react like that. I’m sorry, but she’s found peace now.”