Between the Shadow and the Soul (19 page)

There was a flicker of hesitation in Darko’s eyes before he straightened and held out his hand to her. She let him pull her up and lead her toward the bed that was hidden in the alcove. It was narrow, definitely not supposed for two. She dropped the towel and slipped under the covers. They were cold; the warmth from the stove hadn’t reached them yet, but they smelt of Darko – spicy and fresh, and she buried her nose in them, but no matter how deeply she inhaled, the stench of burning flesh remained. Darko slipped out of his shoes but stayed otherwise dressed as he lay down beside her. She snuggled against him. “Your clothes don’t smell like fire,” she said softly.

“I used a spell. I can’t stand the smell.” His fingers trailed over her spine, up and down.

“You’re the only person I can trust completely,” she whispered. He halted in his movements, his palm against her lower back. Guilt filled her. She shouldn’t have dismissed Finja so easily, but there were certain things Nela couldn’t,
wouldn’t
share with her friend. Finja had done nothing to attract the attention of the Brotherhood, Nela wouldn’t drag her into something that could cost her life. Darko had already been walking on this dangerous path for a long time. Nela couldn’t possibly make his situation any worse. “I won’t let the same happen to my mother. Will you help me if things go badly?”

“Of course. But maybe your mother won’t be convicted.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

He exhaled. “No, I don’t. But I’m a pessimist, so you shouldn’t listen to me.”

“You didn’t answer my question when we were running from the square. Do you know the shooter?”

“I don’t know him, but he was from Wicca.”

“The tattoo?” Nela guessed. “Why would he risk getting caught by the Brotherhood for a witch?”

“In the past Wicca tried to stay in the background but maybe that’s changing. And even if he got caught, his fate wouldn’t be nearly as horrid as that of a witch who did the same. At the most, he’ll spend a decade behind bars. But we would burn like the woman today.”

“Still a decade behind bars is a lot,” Nela said. “But I suppose he stood up for his beliefs. It’s never easy to do what’s right.”

“No, it’s not,” Darko said in a strange tone. Nela wondered if he was recalling his past. Maybe he thought he could have saved his parents. She decided to change the topic.

“Witches will be even more careful now,” she said. “I don’t think many will dare to do magic or even celebrate their Sabbaths.” It made Nela sad to think that in a few decades her people would have forgotten all about their traditions. If there were still witches alive then.

“Beltane is in two days,” Darko said. His hand had come to rest on Nela’s hip, his thumb drawing small circles on her bare skin, and it was distracting her.

“Is it?” she asked. She had completely forgotten that today was already April the 28
^th
. Time seemed to pass differently since her mother had been captured.

“People come together on the evening of the 30
^th
to celebrate together. It’s amazing.”

“Walpurgisnight,” Nela whispered. That’s what the nightly celebrations were called. The actual Beltane was on May 1
^st
. Her kind celebrated the beginning of summer. In the past, before hatred had set them apart and before the treaty forbid their traditions, humans and witches even used to celebrate together. “Where do they come together?”

“The Brocken,” Darko said. “That’s a mountain in central Germany where witches have been celebrating Walpurgisnight for millennia.”

“I know where the Brocken is, but I didn’t think witches still went there.”

“They do. I was there in the last two years. It’s magical.”

Nela lifted her head from his chest and peered down at his face. “Can we go?”

He seemed surprised by her request.

“I need to distract myself,” she said quickly. “And I want to see how our kind comes together.”

“But there’ll be Beltane fires. Many of them.” He paused, his eyes scanning her face for a reaction. “If you don’t feel up to it after today…”

She linked her hand with his that was resting on her hip. “I can’t run from what happened. It’ll happen again.”

“It will,” Darko agreed. “If we don’t put a stop to it.”

“But how? You said it yourself, the Brotherhood is protected by magic and with the killings going on, we don’t even have the support of the majority of the population.”

“We could raise a demon. Nothing is more powerful than a wizard who controls a demon.” Darko’s eyes had become distant.

“There’s nothing worse than a demon. They are pure evil. Nobody can control them.” Nela pursed her lips. “You’re kidding, right?”

He flashed her a smile and pressed a kiss against her mouth. “Of course.” He kissed her neck, then her collarbone. She was overwhelmed by the new sensations he sent through her. “So you want to me to pick you up for Beltane?”

She nodded, tilting her head back, so he had better access. A loud crackle from the stove ripped her out of her bliss. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and released a breath. She couldn’t even make out with Darko without being reminded of the horrors of the day. Hatred for the Brotherhood and for Grand Master Claudius sliced through her, and her magic flared up. Why was it that her magic always seemed the strongest when hatred dominated her thoughts? Maybe it was her fate as a necromancer.

“Sometimes,” she said barely audible. “There’s a darkness in me that scares me. And then I want to hurt them, the Brotherhood and everyone who supports them. And the weird thing is, I think I could. I never feel stronger than when I’m angry. But I don’t know what to do with it. You have to teach me.” She was shocked by her own words. Dark magic was something her mother would never agree with. Few witches did.

“No,” Darko said fiercely. “It’s too dangerous. Letting the darkness in isn’t something you should consider lightly.”

“But there is already darkness in me. I’m a necromancer, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you need to invite even more darkness into yourself. It’s a path you should avoid.”

“You didn’t. You never showed me what you can do. Why? You let the darkness in and you’re fine.”

He sat up abruptly, leaving her no choice but to do the same. “I didn’t invite it willingly. It consumed me when they tried to drown me and my sister, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Why?”

“It killed my sister.”

“You said she killed herself.”

“She did, because she couldn’t live with the knowledge of what I’ve become.”

Darko was talking in riddles. Nela wanted nothing more than to understand him, to glimpse behind the mask. “She couldn’t bear living with the memories of how the villagers killed your parents, Darko.”

A chilling smile curled his lips. “But what I did afterward was worse.” He got out of bed and walked over to the window, leaving Nela to stare at his back. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

He shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Don’t ask me to teach you dark magic again.” After a moment he added. “Please.”

“Okay,” Nela said gently. She lifted the covers. “Now please come back.”

He did and he wrapped his arms around her, but she could tell that his mind was far away. Nela wouldn’t ask him again, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways to explore her powers.

Chapter 23

N
ela nervously glanced out of her window. The black Brotherhood limousine was still parked at the curb. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Hadn’t they done enough? She pulled her curtains shut and smoothed her hair. It was usually slightly curly but she’d done her best to straighten it for tonight. She was excited about experiencing a Witch Sabbath how it was supposed to be, with other witches and their traditions alive.

Darko appeared in the pentagram that Nela had painted on the floor. It would have been easier if she could have permanently scratched the sign into the floorboards, but that would have been too risky. If the Brotherhood ever decided to search her room, she couldn’t risk leaving any signs to her nightly activities. Darko stepped out of the pentagram with a tired smile, holding a bundle of colorful fabric in his hand.

Nela gave him a kiss, eying the bundle curiously. “What’s that?”

He held it out and with a soft swish a gown unfolded itself. It had a floor-length bell skirt and a narrow top with spaghetti straps. Its print consisted of every color of the rainbow, the red and yellows and blues smoothly flowing together until new colors were created. Nela took the dress from Darko and looked at him. “Why? Is something wrong with the things I’m wearing?” Of course he hadn’t even known what outfit she would choose before he’d set foot into her room but still Nela scanned her clothes self-consciously. She’d chosen black skinny jeans and black biker boots with metal applications because Darko loved black, and because the boots were comfortable. Above that she was wearing a simple black tanktop and a jeans jacket. Darko shook his head and wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her toward him with a lazy grin. “No, you look hot.”

She flushed with pleasure and gave him a flirty smile. Somehow it felt wrong to be this silly when her mother was locked away in the Witch Tower and yet she felt like she needed to go out if she didn’t want to lose her mind from worry and fear. “Then why the dress?”

“It’s what all the witches will be wearing. It’s traditional, and you’ll sweat if you wear so much.” He gestured at her boots and jeans.

“It’s the end of April and the Brocken is over 3,700 feet high. I’ll freeze my butt off in a summer dress.”

Darko smirked. “Believe me, you won’t. I’m very fond of your butt. I wouldn’t let anything happen to it.”

Nela felt heat rise into her face. Darko seemed in a particularly good mood tonight despite the tiredness around his eyes. “Have you started with the Dragonblood early?” she teased.

“Of course not. There’ll be more mead than anyone could ever drink during Walpurgisnight celebrations. No reason for me to pay for my own Dragonblood when it’ll be provided for free later.”

Nela snorted. “Whatever you say.” Then she turned around and put the dress down on her bed. It wasn’t something she would usually wear. It was a bit too colorful and she always worried that a long skirt would make her appear even shorter. She pushed off her boots and began unbuttoning her jeans when she remembered that she wasn’t alone. She glanced over her shoulder at Darko who was watching her with rapt attention. He reminded her of Finja’s Golden Retriever when you held a treat in front of him. He never let it out of sight and you could make him shake his head simply by moving your hand with the treat. Nela briefly wondered if Darko would react the same way, if she moved. A laugh burst out of her and startled Darko out of his assessment of her backside. He crossed his arms as if to say ‘so what?’. “You can’t send me out of your room. Your father might notice,” he said smugly.

Nela rolled her eyes. “But I can force you to turn around.” She made an impatient motion with her head. “Go on.”

“I have eyes at the back of my head, just so you know,” Darko said as he turned his back to her. “And it’s not like I haven’t seen you in underwear before.”

That was true, but then she’d been shaken by watching the witch burn and hadn’t spared a thought for her modesty. “I think I would have noticed if you had eyes in the back of your head,” Nela said with a smile in her voice. This banter with Darko was something new, something wonderful. He didn’t often allow himself so much lightheartedness. No wonder with a past like his. She pushed the thought aside and undressed before she slipped into the dress. It was made of a thin, soft material, and the skirt flowed gently around her legs, ending an inch above the ground. The problem was that she couldn’t wear it with a bra or the straps would show, so she got rid of it as well. Then she stared down at her bare feet. She was glad that she’d decided to paint them earlier. She doubted that she could wear her boots with her new outfit.

Darko turned back around and looked her over appreciatively. Nela wiggled her toes. “I’m not sure if I should risk sandals. My feet will fall off.”

“Then wear your boots. It’ll be dark and nobody will look at your feet.”

Nela put on her boots. “If it’ll be so dark then why the dress?”

“You’ll see,” Darko promised, holding out his hand.

She took it, then jutted her chin in his directions. “What about you? You’re not dressed up. You’re always wearing that coat.”

“What’s beneath that coat is much more important.” He said it in a way that made Nela think of many things he probably hadn’t intended. Or maybe he had. She wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes in preparation for traveling by shadow. But they didn’t. Instead they were sucked up; it felt as if they traveled through an invisible tunnel like the time they’d entered the Chandelier Hall. A few seconds later they landed in a pentagram at the foot of a mountain: the Brocken. The forest edged at their landing spot. But theirs wasn’t the only pentagram. A line of ten pentagrams touched the edge of the forest. And even as they stood there, witches and wizards landed in the others. The women were wearing wide skirts and colorful blouses, their lips painted dark red. The men were dressed in what looked like light linen pants in beige and white shirts that were open halfway down their chests. Even the old wizards were sporting those kind of outfits and their breast hair sprouted out of their shirts like wayward weeds. They all climbed up to the peak of the Brocken where at least several hundreds of her kind had gathered around seven huge bonfires. The smell of burning wood and spices carried down to where Darko and Nela still stood. Nela braced herself for the onslaught of memories. She’d been haunted by the images of the burning witch in the last two days, but tonight nothing happened. The stench of scorched flesh didn’t come, instead she picked up the scent of sage and maybe rosemary that people seemed to be burning. The night was filled with cries of joy, laughter, music and singing.

Slowly Darko and Nela followed the procession of witches up the mountain. It looked as if the Brocken was aflame. Each of the seven bonfires was higher than Nela. How could they not be seen from miles away? She glanced behind herself where the lights of a village glowed. Suddenly she felt uneasy. The inhabitants of that village had to be blind if they didn’t see the fires setting their mountain ablaze, and if they did indeed see the bonfires, wouldn’t they call the Brotherhood? She tugged at Darko’s arm. “Why doesn’t the Brotherhood stop the celebrations? They must know that they’re happening.”

“They certainly do. The Walpurgisnight celebrations have been taking place on the Brocken for millennia. Even though witches fear the Brotherhood, they still won’t stop celebrating their most important Sabbath.” Darko pointed at something above their heads. “If you look closely you’ll see a shimmer about thirty feet up in the sky. Those are magical barriers. This place is sacred and it has been dedicated to witches for this night. A very long time ago the most powerful witches of their time came together to ingrain this ground and the mountain with protective charms that guard the Beltane celebrations and the participating witches and wizards from intruders. Unless the Brotherhood finds a bunch of the most powerful witches and forces them to break through the barrier, we’re safe here.”

Nela squinted into the night sky but it took her a while to see anything except for the twinkling stars and the moon. Then she noticed the sliver-thin membrane of magic that seemed to curve over them like a glass dome and now that she really focused on it, she could feel the magic in the air, like a soft drizzle on her skin. “But the Brotherhood is resourceful. Who knows how many powerful witches they’re keeping locked up in their Witch Tower.”

Darko shook his head. “The witches and wizards who performed this magic were far too powerful to get caught by the Brotherhood.”

Nela was doubtful. If there were such powerful witches and wizards left in the world, why weren’t they going up against the Brotherhood? She would if she had the power. “But if this place is protected why don’t we gather here more often, or built a house where refuges can live.”

“That would have to be one hell of a skyscraper to house all the people running from the Brotherhood,” Darko said, tugging her along. “Unfortunately, this place has been dedicated for Walpurgisnight specifically. That means it’s only safe from dusk on April 31
^st
until dusk on May 1
^st
.”

Up ahead Nela could see arches that had been formed by knotting together the crowns of young birches, and colorful ribbons had been tied into their branches. “They are maypoles,” Darko explained. “The traditional ones. Many humans use a fake pole today with a green wreath at the top. But we still use birch trees how it’s supposed to be.”

They stepped through one of the arches, which served as a sort of entrance to the actual place of the celebrations. Two witches in long, snow white dresses and flowers in their long hair greeted Darko and Nela with wide smiles. They put a crown of white mayflowers on Nela’s head before they sent them along.

Nela had never seen so many witches in one place. Around the bonfires people danced so fast that they were nothing but a blur. Their hair and skirts flew around the dancers as they twirled around and around. Some of them danced so close to the orange flames that Nela expected their clothes to catch fire any moment, but they remained untouched.

As Darko and Nela drew closer to the fires, she was glad that Darko had insisted she wore a dress. The temperature had risen by several degrees. Many of the dancers glistened with sweat, a fine powder sticking to their skin.

“What is it on their skin?” Nela shouted over the laughing and singing.

“Some people cover themselves with herbs because they like the smell.”

A male dancer wearing only pants and every inch of his upper body covered in a black powder thrust himself at the flames. Nela gasped, jerking forward to help, but Darko held her back. The dancer landed on the other side of the bonfire unscathed but the powder had come to life by the heat and was releasing small fireworks from his skin. He started doing cartwheels until all Nela could see of him was a ring of colorful explosions.

“You’re breaking my fingers,” Darko said with a hint of amusement and Nela quickly released his hand, which she’d been clutching. “Wow,” she breathed as she watched the dancer tumble all the way down the mountain. There were a myriad of languages around her. She heard German, English and French, but also something that sounded like Afrikaans and Arabic. People of all skin colors danced and celebrated together.

A group of witches arrived, all of them sporting massive animal masks that hid their faces as well as part of their upper body and when they began to move, their masks seemed to come to life and the people below were no longer visible. Instead there was a dancing cheetah, its movement lithe and predatory, a giraffe that swished its head back and forth in rhythm with the singing. There was an ostrich, a lion, a zebra, and they all danced around the fire in moves half human, half animal. Nela knew she was gaping but she couldn’t help herself. This was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She felt tears rise into her eyes. “They are from Central Africa, I think. They always put on an amazing show. I really wish they would reveal their secret. I’d love to roam the streets of Cologne as a lion for a night.” Darko glanced at her face and frowned. He reached out and brushed a tear away. “Hey, what’s wrong? This was supposed to make you happy, not cry.”

She gave him a small smile. “This is amazing,” she said slowly. “And it just made me realize that there’s still so much I don’t know about my heritage, about our kind, about myself, and if it were up the Brotherhood this all would be forgotten in time.”

“Don’t let us talk about the Brotherhood tonight. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Let’s be magical and do what we were put on this earth to do.”

Nela nodded and let Darko guide her around the closest bonfire toward a long wooden bar that had been set up. The girls behind it flirted shamelessly with Darko as they picked up his order, but Nela wasn’t even bothered by it. Instead she watched as a group of elderly witches with their hair hidden under bright red shawls, lifted their skirts up to their knees, revealing bare feet and began stomping around the bonfire next to Nela. Their rhythmic stomping went right through Nela and she felt herself move in sync with them. One of the old witches gave Nela a toothless grin, gripped her hand and pulled her into the circle that the women had formed around the bonfire. And then they stomped and clamped, and Nela with them, her body knowing the rhythm she’d never heard. She twirled and clucked her tongue like the women around her. Her skirt whirled higher and higher, brushing the fire again and again. Nela spread her arms and twirled around herself until the flames filled her vision. She swished her fingertips through the fire but instead of pain there was a tingle of magic, and the music around her, the thumping of her feet, the beating of her heart picked up even more. She closed her eyes, drunk on music and magic. Nela’s body was awash with heat. She felt weightless as if any moment she’d rise up into the sky.