Between the Shadow and the Soul (15 page)

Chapter 16

N
ela’s fingers were frozen stiff from holding onto the metal banister of the Hohenzollern Bridge. Its massive steel arches towered over Nela. The illuminated skyline spread out to Nela’s left with the sharp edged towers of the Cologne cathedral above it all, the ringing of its bell announcing midnight. At the fifth chime, Darko appeared at the end of the bridge, shadows spiraling away from him and then vanishing into thin air. After a glance around, he spotted her in the middle of the bridge and strode toward her. She’d been here for almost fifteen minutes already, trying to gather her thoughts by watching the illuminated ships glide over the black Rhine. Worry was plain on Darko’s face when he stopped beside her and rested his forearms on the banister beside her stiff fingers. Her chest tightened as it had done countless times since her mother had been taken. They still hadn’t heard from her – or if her dad had, he wasn’t telling her. It was driving her insane with fear.

Darko scanned her face, dark brows drawn together, his high cheek bones even more pronounced. “What happened?” His voice was like silk and Nela had to look away, toward a ship coming their way to stop herself from losing it. Her throat tightened as she spoke. “The Brotherhood arrested my mother.”

Darko stiffened. He too knew what that meant. The words about what happened rushed out of her and when she was done, her body was wrecked by tremors and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Darko embraced her, enveloping her in his coat, his warmth like a blanket around her. She pressed her face into his chest with its steady heartbeat and smell of burnt wood and cloves. He was solid as she shook.

Nela realized that he was the only person she could trust completely when it came to her magic and the fate of her mother. He would never go to the Brotherhood. He understood pain and loss even though he hadn’t shared his story with her yet. He whispered soft words in a comforting voice. She didn’t understand what he was saying since she didn’t know the language he was talking in, but the gentle flow of his voice, the warmth of his breath against her neck, eased the pain for now and her tears subsided. She lifted her head, the breeze cold against her wet cheeks. Their faces were inches apart. From so close up, she noticed a small scar above his left temple for the first time. Why hadn’t he tried to remove it by magic? He raised his hand, stilling her thoughts, and wiped the tears from her face with gentle strokes.

It was the first time she saw true tenderness in his expression. The despair was gone from his dark eyes. For a moment she believed that everything could be alright. “What language was that?” Her voice was raw and quiet.

“Yugoslavian. That’s where I was born,” he said. His breath fanned over her face, smelling of peppermint and something sweet. She’d been wondering about his accent before, about the way he rolled his “r’s”, but he’d never divulged anything about his past. Silence fell between them.

Nela stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Just a brief touch of her lips to his, then she pulled back, eyes wide. She wasn’t even sure why she’d done it. Embarrassment crawled up her neck. There was surprise on his face, and something else, something darker she couldn’t place. “I’m so--” she didn’t get the chance to finish her apology. Darko leaned down and kissed her almost desperately. She gasped against his lips, against their heat. His arms tightened around her, drew her even closer to his hard chest. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss. His closeness seemed to consume her. Magic thrummed in her body and she could feel his magic answer in turn. It was like a symphony.

His lips moved to her temple, the spot below her ear, almost too hot on her cold skin. She touched the back of his neck, ran her hands through his hair. His lips grazed her ear and he whispered the word “draga” against her skin, only to suck in his breath sharply a heartbeat later. He pulled back, embarrassment on his face. It was the most earnest look she’d ever seen on him.

“What does ‘draga’ mean?” she whispered, her cheeks hot. The word sounded wrong from her lips. She couldn’t roll the ‘r’s like he did, or give it the same rang of emotion.

He glanced out over the river. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat, his eyes drawn to the locks attached to the banister along the entire length of the bridge. “Why are there all these locks?”

It was an obvious attempt to distract her from her question, but she decided to let him get away with it. She was confused by their kiss, and with every passing moment her confusion seemed to grow. How could she have kissed Darko after what happened with her mother? How could she have allowed herself that moment of happiness when her mother was locked away in some dark cell in the Witch Tower? Guilt washed over her. His features softened as if he could see on her face what she was thinking. He linked their fingers and she let him, despite her confusion and guilt. He gave her the strength she needed if she wanted to help her mother. There couldn’t be anything wrong with it. “The locks?” he prompted.

She lifted one in bright red with the names Christian and Melanie written on it in black letters. “They are called Lover’s Locks,” she said. “Lovers attach them to the bridge as a sign of their togetherness.”

“They do?”

She flushed. “That’s not why I brought you here. I mean.” She sighed. “I didn’t even think about it. It’s a place my mother took me when I was younger.” Pain blossomed in her chest. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Darko said. He slung his arm over her shoulders and they watched the huge ships pass below them and Cologne’s nightly skyline. “I have to do something. I can’t watch my mother die. I wouldn’t survive seeing her at the stake. Please, Darko. There has to be a way.”

“I’ll come up with something. We still have some time, right?”

“I think so. They haven’t even scheduled the trial yet.”

“That’s good,” he said quietly but she could tell by his expression that he was far away. “But you’re wrong. You would survive.”

She tilted her head up. “It doesn’t feel like it. The mere thought of losing my mother like that tears me apart. How can you be sure?”

“Because I did survive.”

She held her breath, not wanting to break the moment. He leaned forward with his forearms on the banister, dark eyes distant.

“I was born in a small village in rural Yugoslavia. It was surrounded by mountains and their peaks were covered by snow almost all year. And there was a lake that reflected the sky and the snow covered peaks. We could see the lake from our kitchen window. Dad always took me fishing and hiking in the summer.” His voice had become impossibly soft.

“It sounds beautiful,” she whispered.

“It was,” he said and his words were like steal.

“What happened?”

“My mother was a witch. She was a revered healer in our village. There wasn’t a doctor the villagers could ask for help. The next bigger city was too far away for most of them, so she took care of them, even if they couldn’t pay her. But then the Brotherhood came. They sent a new priest and he started spewing lies. And suddenly people who’d known my mother all her life started to fear her. They started to fear my father who only used his limited magical abilities to repair their broken tractors or stoves. They never did anything wrong. They were kind and helpful and loving. They were good people.”

Nela swallowed. She knew where this was going and it was breaking her heart.

“We were the only magical folk in town. We’d never felt unwelcome. But then a house burnt down and two elderly people died, and the priest convinced everyone that we’d done it. That the devil had finally shown his face.”

Nela almost stopped him then because she wasn’t sure she could bear hearing about the horrors of his past when her mother might be facing the same fate soon, but that would have been selfish and so she curled her free hand into a fist.

“They came in the morning. They tore down our door. The priest of the Brotherhood was in the lead and the rest of the villagers followed in his wake like sheep. They ripped us out of bed and dragged us to the town square where they’d prepared stakes over night. They made my sister and me kneel on the ground and watch as they bound my parents to the stakes. It smelled of gasoline. The ground around the stakes was saturated with it. I was crying. I was pleading with them to release my parents. But their eyes, they were so cruel. They looked at me as if I was dirt. The priest of the Brotherhood was praying when he set the stakes on fire and the people around him, people I’d known all my life, people my mother had helped, those people cheered when my parents’ flesh started burning. They were filled with so much hatred, so devoid of pity. That’s when I realized there was evil in this world. My parents looked at each other as their bodies went up in flames and I closed my eyes. But their screams followed me into the darkness. I could smell their burning flesh. For a while it was all I could smell. I wished I’d go deaf. And eventually I couldn’t even distinguish between the screams of agony from my parents and the screams of fervor from the villagers. My sister was mute beside me. She’d always been like that, bottled things up. When I opened my eyes much later, two burnt carcasses were left of my parents, and my sister was staring at them. She must have watched the entire time.”

Nela blinked back tears. Darko wasn’t crying. There was no emotion at all on his face or in his voice.

“But it wasn’t over. They didn’t burn my sister and me. It would have been too cruel. That’s why they decided to drown us. My eleven year old sister and me.” Nela closed her eyes, but it was no use. Tears squeezed past her lashes.

“They carried us to the dock that reached into the lake. They chose the spot where my father had taken me fishing over the years. I don’t know if it was on purpose or not. They bound our feet and arms to our body with heavy silver chains and then they ripped our clothes open over our chests and burnt the cross into our skin with a branding iron. After that, they threw us into the lake, and watched as the chains dragged us down to the bottom. The water was murky but I could see my sister staring at me out of empty eyes. Something had died in her. She wasn’t even fighting death. And I considered doing the same. I considered giving up and letting darkness claim me. But then I thought of my sister and that my parents would have wanted me to take care of her. And I thought of those monsters gathered around the lake watching innocent children die and I felt hatred I’d have never thought possible, and this anger, this hatred, this lust for revenge, it
burnt
the chains off my body.” She saw that same fire in his eyes now and for a fleeting moment she was scared. And yet he looked magnificent with his dark eyes blazing like that – like a dark avenging angel. “After I’d freed myself, I saved my unconscious sister. We fled from our village, the only home I’d known all my life and moved through Europe until we finally arrived in Germany.”

Nela could tell that he was leaving something out, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“I knew we had distant family here but when I asked them for help they sent me away. They didn’t want to be associated with witches. My sister wasn’t even a witch. She was a normal human, but they refused to take her in. She was impure because of her family. We moved from city to city until we came to Cologne. I hoped we’d be safe here. Nobody knew us. But my sister couldn’t live with what had happened, with the constant fear of being caught by the Brotherhood and one day she killed herself. I found her in the bathtub, her wrists slashed, her face submerged in water. I wanted to give up after that but then I started working for my master.”

“Where did you bury her?” Nela whispered.

“Melaten cemetery. Mikael helped me with the formalities. Because of the mark on her chest, they knew she was related to our kind and they forced me to bury her in the witch part.”

“Will you take me to your sister’s grave?”

“Maybe one day.”

“I’m so sorry, Darko. I don’t know how you survived all that. You’re strong.”

“I’m not,” he muttered. “Strength has nothing to do with why I’m still alive. I want to see them burn. Every single Brother.”

“I know.” How could anyone live through what he had without wanting to see the world burn?

Chapter 17

N
ela sat down at the kitchen table after she returned from her meeting with Darko. She wasn’t tired, her mind whirring with the events of the day. The morning would be dawning soon and with it Ostara, another of their Sabbaths which they weren’t allowed to celebrate. The humans would be celebrating Easter in the next few days, which gave witches the chance to sneak in their own small traditions into the celebrations. If her mother were home, maybe she’d be baking plaited yeast buns in the kitchen and their sweet smell would fill their home with memories. They would eat them for breakfast slathered with butter and honey.

“What are you doing up?” Her father’s voice startled her.

“Thinking about Mom,” she said. She wasn’t even angry at him for the question, for even having to ask. She was tired of always being angry and worried.

Her father sank down on the chair across from her. “We’ll have to attend the Easter service in the morning. You should try to get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” she said, though her heavy limbs betrayed her.

“I heard from your mom’s lawyer today.”

Nela’s entire body turned to ice. “Did something happen?” Nela was already half out of the chair.

Her father raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. “We were granted a visit.”

“When? Today?”

“Oh no, they don’t let visitors into the Witch Tower on holidays. On Tuesday.”

Only a few more days.

***

Darko strode through the deserted evening streets of Cologne. On holidays it was always more peaceful in the city. For him it didn’t matter if it was Ostara or not, he’d stopped celebrating things a long time ago.

The days were slowly getting a bit warmer. The ground didn’t freeze over night anymore now that spring was on its way. Darko’s thoughts strayed back to what had happened last night. He still couldn’t believe he’d told Nela so much about himself. Every word had felt as if a new wound had been ripped into his body, but despite the pain it had felt oddly good to talk about it to someone other than the Master. And yet he knew he needed to be careful. He’d called her “draga” and not even to manipulate her. The word had slipped out without his intention and kissing her had made him feel more alive than he’d felt in a while. And that was dangerous.

He sucked in a deep breath. He should know better than to trust anyone. Even the Master only saw him as a means to an end. It certainly wasn’t pity that made Master Valentine take Darko in when he’d found him half frozen to death lying on his sister’s grave more than two years ago. Darko had already been sixteen, not a small child that generated parental feelings in others.

The Master was looking for someone desperate and broken enough to do his dirty work. At first, when Darko had watched the Master stride toward him through half closed eyes, he had thought the man was death itself in his long black coat and with the satchel that was pulsating as if souls were knocking against the fabric, wanting out. Later Darko realized it weren’t souls, but the hearts of others that kept his Master alive. Darko hadn’t been as repulsed and scared as someone else might have been. He’d seen too much. Back then Darko would have done anything for the chance to get his sister back – and he did. He’d killed so many, and lost a piece of himself with every murder, or at least the pieces that were left after finding his sister’s lifeless body.

Was he any better than the people killing members of Wicca? He felt superior because he usually tried to kill the worthy, but who was he to decide who deserved to die? The Brotherhood, too, was so sure they knew who was deserving to end at the stake.

Darko left behind the deserted shopping street with their display windows full of things he didn’t need, and made his way into the smaller streets branching off the center.

Darko hadn’t been at his sister’s grave tonight. It wasn’t only guilt over the kiss that kept him away. Though it was a big part. The last few years his life had revolved around bringing his sister back to life, about righting his wrongs, but when he was with Nela he caught himself more and more often forgetting about his sister, about the sickening remorse and grief.

But the other reason why he was roaming the streets of Cologne was his inkling that another murder would happen tonight. All murders so far had happened on days that could be linked to witches – full moon or witches’ Sabbaths, and this time probably wouldn’t be different. The killer would keep on killing until he was caught or until he’d reached whatever goal he was pursuing.

Darko made his way through the small streets, always listening for sounds. He couldn’t risk being caught sneaking around in dark alleys, especially not if someone got killed again tonight. Nobody would believe his innocence. He’d burn at the stake within a few days, no doubt.

Darko tried to focus on the shadows, on the darkness they harbored and he found himself walking into another small street, closer to the shopping district. He could see the display windows glowing in the distance. But he turned his eyes away from them and followed his instincts further into the street. He’d always been drawn to death, ever since he’d experienced so much of it.

His eyes came to rest on a shadow on the ground. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he gingerly approached the unmoving figure. It was the body of a human woman, her long blond hair matted against her head with blood. It was the only blood left in or around her body. Someone had drained her of blood. Her skin was ashen, blue eyes wide and already clouded with death. Around her body a pentagram had been burnt into the ground. Darko glanced behind himself once more before he knelt down beside the woman. He touched his fingertips to the pentagram, but it held no magic. Either it had never held any magic in the first place or the magic had faded over time. The pentagram could have been used to transport the body here. She couldn’t have been killed in this street, or there would be blood somewhere. Unless someone was familiar with the darkest magic that allowed you to kill your victims in more creative ways. But seeing that the woman’s throat and wrists were slashed, it seemed she’d bled out that way. Nothing magical about it. He carefully reached out and pushed her sleeves further up until the entire length of her forearm was revealed. The inside of it had been burned; that’s where Wicca members had their symbols. Of course that could be a simple coincidence, but Darko doubted it.

His Master had said the other victims had been with Wicca as well. Someone was hunting witch supporters. And this death would make the situation for his kind even worse. Maybe he should get rid of the body.

A sound ripped him from his thoughts. He straightened and pressed himself against the wall of a house. A police car parked at the mouth of the alley. Darko quickly drew the shadows to his body and disappeared, one thought swirling in his mind. Why had the police stopped at this alley in particular? Had someone let them know there would be a body to find?