Between the Shadow and the Soul Page 6

  “Not for long,” Mikael said fiercely.

  “So you’ve found more witches for your little revolutionary group?”

  Mikael rubbed his tired eyes. “Too few. My reach doesn’t go beyond the walls of this bar. I’m not really made for blending in.” Mikael was watching him as if he hoped Darko might volunteer for the job, but Darko had enough on his plate without the additional risk of being part of an anti-Brotherhood group. He agreed with their goals. If it wasn’t for his sister and the planning of the ritual, he would help Mikael without hesitation. “I’m not scared of doing business with you. Could you get me another barrel of bull blood?”

  Mikael watched him for a bit longer, disappointment plain on his face. “Now? Why don’t you come to my booth during opening hours? This is my free time.”

  “I’m busy. Come on. It’s not like you’re busy. I really need the blood.”

  “Valentine is getting worse, isn’t he?”

  Darko stared into the depth of his half-empty mug. Valentine and Mikael knew each other, but Darko wasn’t sure how much he was allowed to share. The Master was secretive. It was a necessity given the nature of their plan. Conjuring up a demon and binding it to someone wasn’t something even witches and wizards would approve of. “He’s doing well enough,” Darko said evasively.

  Mikael laughed. “If you say so. But I haven’t seen him in two years and even back then he wasn’t doing well by a long shot. He sounds weak on the phone.”

  “You talked to him?” Somehow Darko had been convinced that he was the only contact his master had to the outer world.

  “Why do you sound so surprised? Where do you think Valentine gets all his information?”

  “The internet?” Darko said.

  Mikael scoffed. “The internet. I don’t get why humans invented it in the first place. Why forbid magic but invent something that’s devilishly close to being magical and definitely more dangerous?”

  “You really need to leave the 19th century and join the rest of the world in the 21st century.”

  “I’m comfortable where I am, thank you very much.”

  “Maybe your efforts would be more successful if you finally started using modern technology to find more members.”

  “Nonsense. What am I supposed to do? Send invites over Facebook?”

  Darko was shocked Mikael even know what Facebook was.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I don’t live under a rock. I know about those things. I just don’t want anything to do with them.”

  “Facebook is a dangerous place anyway. The Brotherhood has thousands of fake accounts to spy on us. They have over two million likes on their site.”

  “Likes?” Mikael echoed. Darko glanced at his watch and shook his head. It was almost midnight. He hadn’t come here to chat about social networking. “What about the bull blood?”

  Mikael sighed as he rose from his chair and disappeared in the dark tunnel. There was a steal door at the end that led to the black market where Mikael had his booth. In the past there had been dozens of booths but now less than ten were left. After a few minutes, Mikael reappeared with a wooden barrel and put it on the table in front of Darko. The candle was snuffed out by the movement and spilled its wax. Darko put fifteen Euros down on the table, but Mikael shook his head. “It’s eighteen.”

  “Eighteen?” Darko said in disbelief.

  “It’s not as easy as it used to be to get the stuff.”

  Darko put three more Euro on the table. He didn’t really have a choice. Mikael was the only one who still sold bull blood. He put the barrel down on the ground beside his feet. Then he picked up his empty mug. He nodded toward Mikael’s mug. “Another one? Next round is on me.”

  Mikael smiled crookedly. “If that’s the case I’ll have another.”

  “Dragonblood?”

  “What else?”

  Darko grabbed Mikael’s mug, went to the bar and got two mugs for them before returning to their table. Mikael took a deep gulp of the spicy brew, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then raised his white eyebrows. “So what is it you want?”

  “Why do you think there’s something I want?” Darko said, turning his mug around and around without actually drinking anything. He needed to appear casual. If Mikael realized how badly Darko wanted the information, he’d up the price.

  “Because I know you. If there wasn’t something you needed, you’d be long gone back into the night doing whatever it is you do every night.”

  Darko didn’t like where this was heading. Did Mikael actually know where Darko went at night? He preferred to keep his sister a secret. Only the Master knew.

  “There’s a girl.”

  “A girl?” Mikael half-laughed.

  Darko ignored him. “I need to know more about her and her parents and I thought you might be able to give me some information. After all, you know pretty much everyone in the magical community.”

  “You overestimate me. I only know those that come to the black market.”

  He took a sip from his drink. “So who is it you’re interested in?”

  “Her name is Nela Vogel. I don’t know what her parents are called, but…” Darko trailed off when he noticed the look of recognition on Mikael’s face.

  “Vogel, hm?” He stared into the flame of the candle, his eyes glowing even redder than usual. “Of course I’ve heard about Corbin Vogel. He’s quite notorious in our circles. But I assume you’re more interested in Rebecca Vogel. She must be your Nela’s mother.”

  “She’s not my Nela,” Darko said. “Rebecca Vogel. How do you know her?”

  “She’s one of my most faithful customers.”

  “She’s one of your customers?” Darko wasn’t sure why he was so surprised about that. After all, Nela had a rebellious streak; maybe she got it from her mother. Yet her parents had seemed quite conformist when he’d seen them in front of church. “What does she usually buy?”

  Mikael tilted his head with a smirk, then he handed Darko his once-again empty mug. “You’re lucky I’m in such a jovial mood tonight. Usually this would cost you more than a couple mugs of Dragonblood.”

  When Darko returned with the refilled mug, Mikael took his time relishing in its smell and taste before he finally started talking. “For a family like the Vogels, it isn’t easy to remain in the shadows. Being related to Corbin Vogel has its disadvantages. The family left the USA after he burnt at the stake and saved himself by calling up the dead. Of course there was a huge outcry among our kind when the Vogels appeared in Cologne. I’d actually hoped they’d both join my efforts, but I quickly realized that they were trying to stay in the good graces of the Brotherhood. That’s why I was quite surprised when Rebecca showed up at my booth a couple of years after their arrival to buy herbs and tinctures. She didn’t talk much, so I assumed she needed them for her family. But then she started coming every week. Eventually she told me that she’s secretly working as a healer.”

  “That’s a risky thing to do in this town,” Darko said thoughtfully. Maybe he could use that information to his advantage.

  Chapter 7

  Nela pushed her curtain aside for the fourth time, then she dropped it and sat back down on her desk chair. She needed to talk to someone about what happened after church. She couldn’t talk to her parents, especially not her father. They’d get worried and possibly even tell someone. She didn’t trust that guy Darko one bit but that didn’t mean she wanted him to end up in the Brotherhood’s Witch Tower.

  What he’d offered her was the one thing she wanted desperately, the thing that kept her awake most nights. Even now her magic was simmering under her skin. Would it only get worse? Perhaps. But it was easier to bear than a life in a cell or an end at the stake.

  She raised her hand to her shoulder. Her actions in front of the cathedral, a little bit of accidental healing magic, had already made her tattoo spread. It was only the “I” at the end of “Consimimur Igni” that was elongated and it wasn’t that obvious if you didn’t l
ook too closely. Some might think Claudius had made a flourish at the end of his phrase. Of course the Brotherhood would know what it really meant.

  The bell rang. Nela jumped up and hurried down the stairs, reaching the door before her father. He gave her an odd look when she ripped open the door. Finja, a thick woolen hat on her head, a few blond strands sticking to her forehead, grinned at her. She looked exactly like her mother who stood beside her, except for the missing wrinkles. Her father had a neatly trimmed gray beard. Nela smiled and invited them in. Nela’s father and Mr. Krenz shook hands when Nela’s mother walked in, wearing an apron. She’d spent the last two hours in the kitchen cooking a four-course meal.

  “Is dinner ready?” Nela asked in German. Her family spoke English when they were alone but her parents had taught her that it was rude to do so when other people were around. They switched easily to German since she spoke it as well as English, and her parents only had a light accent.

  “Not yet. 15 minutes.”

  “Can we go up to my room until then? I need to talk to Finja.”

  “And you can’t do that with us around?” her father asked, disapproval plain on his face.

  “Let her be, Felix,” her mother said. “But you come down when I call you for dinner.”

  “Sure,” Nela said, already dragging Finja up the stairs. “Whoa, not so fast. What’s gotten into you?”

  Only when they arrived in Nela’s bedroom did she release Finja who pulled off her hat and coat, and dropped them on the desk chair. She tried in vain to fluff up her hair, which stuck to her skull thanks to the hat.

  Nela plopped down on her bed, suddenly nervous. She’d known Finja for as long as she remembered and yet there was a tiny flicker of worry in her about trusting her friend with her secret. A mix of fury and sadness flooded her. This was the Brotherhood’s fault. You couldn’t even trust your own kind, or your family and friends.

  “You have a strange look on your face. As if you want to punch the air – or me.”

  “I’d never punch you,” Nela said distractedly.

  “Okay,” Finja said slowly, then settled beside Nela on the bed. “What’s up? And remember we don’t have forever. If we miss dinner, we’ll get a lecture.”

  “I met someone.”

  Finja’s eyes widened. “You did? Do I know him?”

  Nela shook her head. “It’s not like that. I had a fight with my dad after church.” Finja made an “again?” face, but Nela ignored it. “I ran away and suddenly there was that guy with me in an alley.”

  “A guy stalked you into a deserted alley?”

  “It wasn’t deserted. People were walking past. Kind of.”

  “Please tell me you kicked him in the balls.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Nela said, but seeing the look on her friend’s face, she added, “But I used my pepper spray on him.”

  “Good.”

  Nela pressed her lips together.

  “Okay, sorry. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Thanks,” Nela said sarcastically. “He wanted to talk to me about magic. He wanted to teach me how to do magic.”

  Finja gripped Nela’s arm. “Tell me you send him off. He could be a spy.”

  “Of course I told him to go away. I’m not stupid. But…”

  “But you considered it.”

  “He said witches were meant to use magic and he’s right, but I’d never risk pissing off the Brotherhood.”

  “They wouldn’t only be pissed. They’d burn you, Nela. Next time you see the guy tell him you’ll betray him to the Brotherhood if he doesn’t leave you alone.”

  “But I’d never go to the Brotherhood. I’d rather cut my fingers off.”

  Finja stared at her for a long time. “I know. But he doesn’t know it. You can’t risk getting into trouble. And guys who offer random girls on the street to teach them magic are definitely trouble.” She paused. “I’m surprised that you’re even still thinking about it. Was he cute or why can’t you get him out of your head?”

  Nela shrugged. “I wouldn’t call him cute. He was…dark.”

  “Dark?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it. There was something desperate and tortured about him.”

  “Even more reason for you to get him and his ridiculous offer out of your head.”

  “I’m trying.” She took a deep breath. “Have you never wanted to do magic? Don’t you miss it?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I do. But how can you really miss something you never had in the first place?”

  Nela stared down at her own pale skin. It was tingling, especially her fingertips. “Sometimes it’s hard for me. I feel like I’m going to burst at the seams, if I don’t release my magic. Please tell me that’s something you’ve felt too.”

  “It’s not that bad for me,” Finja said quietly. “Of course I’d love to do what we were born to do. I’d love to celebrate our Sabbaths in the open. I’d love to hear my Grandma’s stories without being scared someone might overhear her. But I know I’ll only make it worse if I hope for something that will never happen. The Brotherhood will never allow us to do magic.”

  “They won’t, you’re right,” Nela whispered, but even knowing it didn’t make her want to do magic any less.

  Laughter trickled up from the kitchen. “Sounds like our mothers are enjoying themselves,” Finja said.

  “Well, it’s certainly not my dad’s laughter. He’s never laughing anymore,” Nela said with no small amount of bitterness.

  “So bad?”

  Nela shrugged. “He sometimes talks as if he’s a member of the Brotherhood.” The image of the witch in the courtroom flitted through her head. “We watched a trial a while back and he didn’t feel any pity for the poor woman being sentenced to death at the stake. Maybe he’s a robot. He’s got the same emotional range.”

  “Your father has learned to blend in,” Finja said. “My father always says the ability to blend in is the most important talent a witch can have.”

  Nela snorted. “Yeah, but he can at least act like a normal person when he’s at home. It’s not like mom and I are going to tell on him. We’re family. We’re supposed to trust and support each other.”

  “Some witches were betrayed by family members. It can happen.”

  That was a sobering thought. “I hate it.”

  “I know. It’s crazy. I trust my family and I trust you. I don’t think I could live without trust. Seems lonely.”

  “It does. But I’m not a good person to ask about those things. I don’t think I’m very good at blending in. I’m not sure I even want to.”

  Worry flashed across Finja’s face. “You’ll have to if you want to survive.” Then her face brightened quickly. “Maybe we should ask Oskar to teach us. Ever since he got his tattoo he’s been acting weird. He even started talking about marrying a human.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that way he will seem less suspicious to the Brotherhood.”

  “I’m not sure. The Brotherhood probably believes such a connection pollutes the pure hearted.”

  “On the other hand it thins out our witch lines, which should be what the Brotherhood wants.”

  “Dinner!” Nela’s mother called, and Nela was glad to have a distraction from the frustrating topic. She and Finja hurried downstairs into the dining room where their parents had already gathered around the long table.

  Halfway through dinner the conversation finally turned to a topic Nela was interested in: the murders of humans by witches, which had dominated the news in the last few weeks.

  “It’s irresponsible. This person is risking all of our lives by going around killing humans. I hope they catch him soon and burn him at the stake,” Nela’s father said fiercely. For a moment, there was silence. Nela couldn’t believe her father had actually said that.

  “Or maybe he won’t burn,” she said in a forced casual voice. “If he’s a human parading as a witch he’ll only get sent to prison.”
>
  “That seems highly unlikely,” her father said tightly. “Everything points toward a wizard or witch being the culprit.”

  “All the more reason to be suspicious, don’t you think?” Nela didn’t believe it herself, but she seemed incapable of agreeing with her father. She wanted to egg him on until he lost it in front of Finja’s parents. She was being spiteful, she knew it, but she didn’t care.

  “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” her father said. Nela tensed and opened her mouth for a reply that would probably get her into a lot of trouble, but her mother quickly spoke up before things could truly get out of hand. Always the mediator.

  “Let’s not talk about this. There are far more interesting topics that are more fitting for a dinner table.” Then she glanced at Nela with a warning look. “Why don’t you and Finja go up to your room? I’m sure you’re tired of spending time with your parents.”

  Actually Nela wasn’t tired at all. She wanted to keep arguing, but a glance from Finja convinced her otherwise and she followed her friend back upstairs. Nela flung herself on her bed and let out a groan. “I hate him.”

  “No, you don’t,” Finja said. “But you certainly love to provoke your dad.”

  “How could I not after what he said? He’s a traitor to his own kind.”

  “Whoa, slow down. He just voiced what many witches and wizards are thinking. The killer is getting us all into trouble. We’ll be better off if he’s put to trial. People are starting to get angry with witches again. That’s a dangerous thing.”

  “I know,” Nela admitted grudgingly. “Let’s watch a few videos on youtube. I want to think about something else. This topic is riling me up.”

  “Wouldn’t have noticed,” Finja said with a grin. Nela grabbed her laptop and propped it up on their legs.

  “There’s a new video from Witch Riot. Have you watched it yet?” Finja asked. She and Nela had been obsessed with the band for a year now. There were four girls in it, all of them witches.

  “No. Where is it?” She scrolled through the songs with titles like “Burn, witch, burn” or “Iron in my Blood.” Finja pointed at the newest video. The song was titled “Blame it on the witch.” The melody was always pretty similar, but the lyrics where what made Nela love Witch Riot’s music. Their songs were a protest against how witches were treated in their society. They said what nobody dared to voice. That was probably why they were banned. All the songs Nela could find on youtube had been put up in the last two days. Even the Brotherhood wasn’t that quick to delete the videos. “It’s about the murders, isn’t it?” she said before she read the lyrics aloud. “There are whispers in the streets. Blame it on the witch. They are rising into screams. Blame it on the witch. Blame it on the witch. Make them pay, make them burn. Blame it on the witch. And the brothers they comply, pile the wood and fuel the fire. Innocence is no excuse. Blame it on the witch.”