Dieter twists Fritzi’s head around, black eyes wide, lips stretching into a toothy grin. Without breaking eye contact, he backs up to the desk he had been focused on.
He flicks the candle, toppling it.
An old book alights immediately, flaring high. The orange flames lick up, making the shadows deeper.
Dieter giggles in Fritzi’s voice. “Let’s keep this our little secret.”
Bile rises in my throat.It had been him all along.That night—she had acted so strangely because she had not been herself.Literally.What had she told me? She’d had a nightmare. She hadn’t meant she had a nightmarebeforeshe left for the library; she meant that the whole time Dieter possessed her and sent her body to the library had seemed like a nightmare to her. She didn’t know it had happened.
And I, verdammt fool that I am, did not see the threat even when it kissed me on the lips and whispered for my silence.
“Oh, you’re figuring it out!” Dieter crows through Fritzi. “My sister and I, we’reconnected. Not even your little bonding potion can break that.”
“Why are you doing this?” I shout, panic blinding me.
“I let you play with my toy long enough.”
“Get out of her body!”
“No,” he says simply, and he tosses Fritzi onto the flames of the table.
Ashy bits of paper and vivid orange sparks fly up as Fritzi’s back hits the burning books, her hair splaying around the flames.
I stare, frozen with horror. There’snoreaction as the fire licks her skin, singes her hair. There’s no reaction—
The smell.
She’s burning.
An animal, guttural roar rips out of me, and I throw myself at Fritzi, at the table, grabbing her blistering hands and pulling her away from it.
She laughs. It’shis laugh. “The irony!” he cackles. “The first witch you ever actually burned, and it’s Fritzi! Because make no mistake.” All merriment fades in an instant, Fritzi’s face falling flat, black eyes narrowed. “This is your fault, traitor. She burns because of you. When you see her scars, know that you gave them to her. The longer you fight, the longer you live, the more pain I will twist through her.”
My grip on her goes slack with horror, and as soon as Dieter’s words die on her tongue, her lips split open in a huge manic smile. Despite her glee, her hands form into fists, squeezing tight around the burnt skin and slamming into me. I stagger back, and she strikes again, landing a blow to my back with both her fists that sends me stumbling forward. I whirl around, and she jabs stiffened fingers toward my eye, her fingernails clawing down my cheek when I dodge. I scoot away, hitting the wall.
Fritzi throws a punch at my head, and I duck. But Dieter doesn’t make Fritzi’s body pull back—he lets her fist slam into the stone so hard I wince, blood streaking out of her knuckles. He cannot feel her pain, but she will when she wakes up.Did she break her hand?
Her knee goes up, hitting my stomach, and with anoof, I bend over double.
Something hard and sharp jabs my back, but the tunic I’m wearing came from Brigitta and was woven magically to be like armor. Dieter, in Fritzi’s body, realizes quickly that the attack didn’t work, and the blade moves up, stabbing me in the neck. I jerk back, the blade tip sliding behind my clavicle before I wrench free. No major artery was hit, but hot blood spurts up from my wound.
I stand and straighten, positioning myself at an angle so I’m no longer trapped at the wall. My dagger is in her hand, the tip now pressed to her chin. A shining bead of red slides down the blade.
“Which will hurt worse,” Dieter asks in Fritzi’s voice, “you dying at your lover’s hand, or you watching as I carve her pretty face?” The tip of the dagger drags over Fritzi’s jawline, leaving a thin red cut.
I cannot fight with a weapon. And he’ll kill her in front of me if I try. I shake my head, the futility of it all leaving me breathless.
This is a battle that is being waged with magic, and the only way to defeat Dieter is with magic.
Magic I do not have.
What I need isFritzi. She would know what to do; she would know how to fight. She would have spells and potions and…
And she’s the one possessed. I could run, raise an alarm, call witches to aid me, but every second that ticks by is another second the love of my life is trapped inside her own body with her torturer.
“Otto, mein kapitän,” Dieter croons. The words lisp as he drags theblade gently from Fritzi’s Cupid’s bow, over her lips, and down her chin. Blood streaks a crimson red, slicking her pale skin. “Pfennig for your thoughts.”
Magic is the only thing keeping Fritzi standing right now, I think. Her body is ravaged—charred skin on her arms and back, blisters over her hands, blood pouring down her face. My heart thuds. I don’t have magic of my own. I can neither heal her nor stop Dieter’s abuse.
