The Red Witch Read online

  Aaron joined us at the table and sat down, grabbing his meatball sub and taking a hearty bite out of it. I was envious of his ability to eat no matter what emotional state he was in. One of the blessings of being a werewolf, I guessed.

  Snap out of it, Amber, I thought.

  When Frank didn’t continue, I said, “She’s talking to a witch she knows—a man in Berlin.”

  “Berlin?” Damien asked, curious. “Berlin, Germany?”

  I nodded. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about, actually.” I looked at Frank, searching for approval, and he gave it with a slight nod. “It’s about the Dark Witch. We’ve had a development.”

  Aaron perked up at this, if only slightly. Damien put his food down, stopped chewing, and asked “What’s happened?”

  “Collette’s been speaking to this Witch in Germany. He says he’s been in contact with Linezka. Says he knows her weaknesses and he’s willing to share them with us.”

  “Willing to? As in, he won’t do it freely?”

  I shook my head. “Collette’s negotiating terms with him as we speak. He’s pretty adamant about staying hidden, staying out of sight.”

  “He’s a hermit,” Frank put in, “Lives off the grid somewhere. He’s terrified of coming face to face with her again, so he wants to be recompensed for his trouble.”

  Aaron scoffed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “We’re giving him books,” I said, “I keep a stash of tomes in the bookstore, books retrieved from all over the world. Some of them have been useful to us in our research until now, so I figured he would have use for them too.”

  “And you think he’ll accept them as his payment?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what Collette is trying to arrange now.”

  Damien thought, searched my eyes, then Frank’s. “What if we need them?”

  “If we need them,” I said, “Then it means that whatever information he’s given us about Linezka has failed us. In which case we’re fucked.”

  “Besides,” Frank added, “I’ve gone through a whole bunch of those books looking for anything that’ll help us against this witch and nothing’s come up as immediately useful.”

  “And if he agrees to the swap?” Aaron finally asked. He had finished his sub. “Books for information?”

  “I… guess we’ll have to make good on the trade,” I said.

  “And that means?”

  He knew the answer. I didn’t have to tell him. And as it turned out, I couldn’t have told him even if I wanted to. Collette’s arrival on the back of a harsh, howling wind halted all conversation in the room. I turned my eyes to the window overlooking the front porch as, outside, fragments of twigs and fallen autumn leaves picked up off the ground flew at the house, slapping against wall, window, and door alike with impunity. Collette herself was only a shadow on that strange wind; a swift spot of shimmering darkness only visible to a witch’s eyes.

  An instant later she pushed the front door open and brought the autumn in with her. Brown leaves and twigs and bits of loose dirt spilled into the house as if they were toys being mindlessly thrown into a child’s toy box by a frustrated parent.

  “Pardon,” she said when the wind died down to a mere suggestion, “I will clean zis up.”

  “What did he say?” I asked. Cleaning up was farthest from my mind.

  Collette closed the front door and came into the living room, standing before us with her hands crossed over each other at her belly. She nodded. “He has agreed.”

  My heart leapt into my throat, and then soared. I threw myself at Collette, hugged her, and thanked her. “What else did he say? Were there any conditions?” I asked.

  “None, only zat we make haste to Berlin. He would like zis business done swiftly, and I do not blame him.”

  “No,” I said, “Neither do I.”

  “Berlin, then,” Frank said, “I’ve always wanted to try a real bratwurst.”

  “You’re not going,” I said, turning around sharply.

  “What? I call bullshit. Why not?”

  “Because I need you here. And you need to be here too. All of you.”

  Aaron didn’t say anything, but as I looked into his blue eyes I found not the cool sensation of first snow on a winter’s eve, but the burning touch of ice so cold it could take the flesh right off a man’s bones. My throat went dry and tightened, but I fought through it.

  “You all have things to do here,” I said, “Frank, someone needs to run the store. Damien, you have a job and your studies; you too, Aaron. If we all go then we’re gonna make a big thing out of this trip and I’d rather just get it over and done with as soon as possible. Get in and get out.”

  “Funny, that’s all I wanted to do too,” Frank said.

  I knew what I was doing to Aaron. I could see it on his face. The last time I had some dangerous trip to go on—when I ventured into the Underworld to rescue Collette’s soul—I had left him out of it and he had hated the feeling of impotence. I told him I would never do it again, that we were a team. And here I was… breaking my promise.

  As if I needed to add insult to injury.

  That thought brought a catch to my throat. I could feel the warmth of impending tears travelling up my throat, past my cheeks, and into my eyes. I didn’t want to look weak in front of them, though; they had put me in charge, after all, and what good was a leader who balked when it came time to make a difficult decision she knew not everyone would agree with?

  “Collette,” I said, “Pack your things. I’m going to book us the earliest flight I can find. We’re going to Berlin.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Flying to Europe brought back memories of my original trek into the old world. I hadn’t been able to sleep on the way there the first time, and I hadn’t been able to sleep this time either—though I slept like a log on the way back and probably would again this time. I guessed it was the excitement of going to a new place, the anticipation of experiencing new things, and the high of it. If going to a new place brought on a high, though, then coming back home was the crash.

  Although I shouldn’t have been thinking about crashes… not that I was scared of flying or anything, far from it, but I didn’t want to tempt Fate.

  Luckily there had been no crashes, no accidents, and no mishaps. And some twenty hours after having set out from Raven’s Glen to SFO International in San Francisco, with a stopover in London, we were touching down on German soil at the international airport of Tegel located about an hour’s drive west of downtown. It was just like last time; the wonder and the sense of adventure. Like a breath of fresh air or a hug from an old friend. Only now I had another witch to share it with; a sister bound in blood and magick.

  After landing, we marched our way through the terminal, rushed through customs and passport control, and hurried right into the baggage reclaim feeling about as anxious as… well, a girl who was worried her luggage would wind up in another country. I had decided to go easy on the magick use until we had actually gotten to Berlin because I didn’t want to risk being detected prematurely and intercepted mid-air by anyone looking out for us. I didn’t know just how much intercepting Linezka and her minions were capable of, but a minor manipulation of Fate to ensure our bags arrived in Germany in a timely manner didn’t seem worth a potential mid-flight disaster.

  Collette stretched out, yawned, and her back clicked in several places.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said when she recovered. “I am fine. I am just not used to long flights.”

  “Yeah, I’m a little stiff too. Nothing a good drink won’t fix, though.”

  “A drink? Now?”

  “What?” I asked, shrugging.

  “It’s… five in ze afternoon. Wouldn’t you prefer a nap?”

  “Not really. It feels like we’ve been sitting down for years, I’m too excited to sleep, and I want to unwind a little before we get into the serious stuff, don’t you?”

  “And your situatio
n with Aaron has nothing to do with zis need for a drink?”

  Suddenly I couldn’t keep eye contact with her.

  “Things with Aaron will get better,” she said, “Ze time apart will do you both good. Distance makes ze heart grow fonder.”

  This she had said before. We had spoken about Aaron at length while we waited for our first flight. Then again he came up on the flight to London. One more time he came up while we waited for our next flight at Heathrow airport. Of course, we spoke about him on the flight to Berlin, too. Aaron hadn’t been all we had talked about, sure, but he had come up once or twice.

  Or fourteen times.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “We don’t have to go into it again. He drove us to the airport, so he can’t be that pissed at me. I think he’s more annoyed about my leaving him behind. This is the second time I’ve kept him on the sidelines.”

  “And, in my opinion, rightly so. A man of Aaron’s… kind… would not serve us well on zis mission.”

  “Try telling that to my big, macho, alpha dog of a boyf—holy shit, that’s my bag!”

  I squealed, dashed for it, and pulled it off the carousel while only barely avoiding a collision with the cutest looking little blond boy on the planet. After making many awkward apologies to the parents, who I was sure were Dutch, or Swiss, or Swedish—had I really become that rusty at picking up nationalities?—I made my way back to Collette with my big red suitcase in tow and a triumphant smile on my face.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see a bag before,” I said, sighing with relief.

  “But you have been to Europe before, non?” Collette asked. If she was worried for her bag it didn’t show on her face.

  “Yeah I have, but last time I didn’t bring a suitcase with me – only a big backpack with as many spare clothes as I could cram into it. I sweet-talked my way into having them let me carry it on as hand-luggage so I didn’t have to wait for it in baggage reclaim.”

  “It must have been exciting to go on an adventure like zat on your own.”

  “Just like when you came to see me, right? You were on your own when I met you.”

  “Yes, but zere was nothing exciting about zat journey.”

  “I guess not…” I said, trailing off.

  We stood in silence for a while until Collette’s bag came rolling along the carousel. During that time I fished my phone out of my pocket, registered it to a local network, and hunted around for a decent Wi-Fi. The airport gave me 30 minutes of free time before they started asking me for money, so I capitalized on it and checked my emails and messages. As soon as internet connectivity returned to my phone the screen flooded with messages from Frank.

  Frank: I don’t miss you.

  Frank: Really, I don’t.

  Frank: Your boyfriend is a big bore when you’re not here. Does he know any tricks?

  Frank: So I was walking around town today and guess who I bumped into.

  What followed was a selfie Frank had taken with a friend of his who I sort of knew. Frank was putting on a wide-eyed sneer which, with his milky white contacts and pale skin, made him look like some kind of ghoul. The other guy, who was as tall as Frank, with his cropped brown hair and deep brown eyes seemed way too normal to be associated with the likes of Frank.

  I say I sort of knew him because Frank had spoken about an “old friend” who had come into town recently and had been spending time with him lately. But I hadn’t met him yet, this stranger who was taking so much of Frank’s attention.

  Was it possible Frank had a boyfriend?

  Frank: I miss you less now, see? Gonna go get a Pumpkin Spice Latte #psl4life

  Frank: He’s cute isn’t he?

  Frank: Music booked, catering on standby, gonna see a man about a Centenary Hall to close the deal on the Halloween party soon. You better be back in time for it. I think I may go as Wednesday Addams. Thoughts?

  My stomach sank to the floor. Shit, I thought. I had forgotten about Halloween. I had wanted to help him put this party together—this great big witchy blowout—but then this happened, and now I was in Berlin. With just over two weeks to Halloween, and me caught in Europe for most of that time, I wondered how much I would be able to help. But there was a message from Aaron waiting for me on my phone that stole my thoughts; a message that I had seen come in when the Wi-Fi hooked on, but one that I hadn’t chosen to look at first. Whether I had been savoring it or dreading it I couldn’t say. All I knew was that it had waited long enough.

  I pressed the screen above Aaron’s name and the message opened up.

  Aaron: Come back to me in one piece, okay?

  If reading Frank’s messages had me already teetering on the edge of emotion, Aaron’s message sent me plunging into it. A strange sound escaped my lips—half laugh, half cry—and the sound was followed by a smile. Collette saw it as she approached, laid a hand on my shoulder, and asked me if I was alright. I told her that it was and her touch made the swell of feeling subside to a more manageable level.

  “I’m glad you’re with me,” I said.

  Collette smiled and we made our way toward the exit. I worked fast at the keys to type a message out to Aaron before we lost Wi-Fi coverage, but by the time I hit send it was too late. It would have to send later on at the hotel.

  Outside, a grey Berlin yawned in greeting. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds but hadn’t quite made it. It was a bright smear, feebly illuminating through cover that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. The air was crisp and cool, but it didn’t have the bite of the fall yet. From their lofty height, seated atop a power-line, a murder of crows called out their raucous, rowdy cries.

  We didn’t have to pick a cab out of the lineup—a cabbie approached us. In fact, it was almost as if he had honed in on us from a distance and made haste toward us like some kind of missile. He was friendly enough, though, and he helped hoist our bags into the trunk of the cab. Moments later, we were on the road.

  Berlin raced along outside my window as we made our way through the streets of the German Capital. The gothic structures, some hundreds of years old, all styled in the Christian-architecture that drew me to Europe in the first place, still held their wonder. Gargoyles, black iron, roman windows, and crosses—so many crosses—stood in stark contrast to the modern concrete structures of today, which incidentally were all covered in graffiti tags.

  That was something that I loved about Berlin; it was the birth place of street-art, and today’s cradle of self-expression.

  There was barely a single building I could see that hadn’t been touched by some kind of neon blue, green, pink, or yellow paint save, maybe, for the oldest buildings. The ones the city really maintained. The driver, Yens was his name, explained that the police in Berlin didn’t clamp down so much on street artists, so a lot of the art would remain on the canvas for a long time.

  One of the pieces I saw was huge. It was an astronaut tagged in black spray paint, floating on the side of an apartment block. It must have been 20 feet tall, and the artist must have had to pull some crazy acrobatics to get it done, but there it was, blowing my mind. I suspected Yens, who had been telling us the incredible stories of how these bits of art were created, was taking us for a ride. It was a fantastic tour, don’t get me wrong, but when he slapped us with an 89 Euro bill I felt that familiar angry heat rise into my throat.

  “That was, like, 130 bucks,” I said to Collette once we had gotten off the cab. “Did we just get ripped off?”

  Collette shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, “But we’re safe, and we’re here.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  I made a 360 degree spin and took in my surroundings. Alexanderplatz, one of the city’s main districts, wasn’t as tall as an American would have come to expect of a central district in a capital city. Nor was it as cramped as some cities, like New York, tended to be in many places. But it was perfectly European, with its red-brick Victorian buildings, its massive clock towers, and its wide open pedestrian courtyard
s; not to mention the slew of little cafes, bistros, and eateries.

  Across the busy street I saw the Alexanderplatz overhead train station; the city’s main train hub, which saw the connection of three underground lines, three overhead lines, and several bus lines. We could have taken the train from the airport, I thought. But that was in the past, and in any case the thought was immediately dwarfed by the hugely impressive TV Tower, otherwise known as the Fernsehturm Berlin—a disco ball impaled on a tall spike—the tallest building in all of Berlin. At least, that I knew anyway.

  Not wanting to be overcome with tourist syndrome, we made tracks for the hotel. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to get to from where we were. We had chosen Alexanderplatz because of its accessibility—and because the last time I was in Berlin I had been too concerned with the Berlin Wall to even think of visiting Amexanderplatz—but mostly because the hotels and hostels here weren’t too expensive, so we figured we would stay somewhere comfortable as well as central.

  Of course, just because we were in a European city didn’t mean that we needed to necessarily stay at a hostel like a pair of travelers. I wasn’t a penniless student anymore, and while I wasn’t a snob either, I had grown out of communal bathrooms, no showers, and no internet. So we strolled right into the Holiday Inn across the way, checked in to our room, and headed on upstairs. It still marveled me how everyone here spoke English so well.

  When I pulled the curtains back a darkening Berlin rolled out in front of me. From here I could see the train station, all red brick and fluorescent light. Beyond it the TV tower, with the red light atop its spire glowing red and tall in the night. And beyond that, the twinkling lights of a city that was starting to look more alive now, in the dark, than it had during the day.

  I had missed Europe so much.

  Collette’s reflection melted in next to mine. She was smiling.

  “This is as close to home as you’ve been in a long time, huh?” I asked.

  “Oui,” she said.

  “Do you miss home?”