I heave him to the side, into an alley, away from any prying eyes. Though therearen’tany eyes, not in that square; no one is here. No one islooking. Everyone has been chased inside by of the fear that rolls through these streets like fog.
Out of sight, I cup Otto’s face in my hands and make him look at me.
He worked so hard to free Trier. That was his one consolation upon running away with Liesel and me, that he had instigated sparks of change. Johann, one of Otto’s former jägers, had dared to tell us that the city had begun to buck off the oppression of the witch hunters after the prison break.
Any fragments of that change have been swept away. All the work Otto did, all the things he sacrificed to free this city, have been undone.
“We will fix this,” I promise him. My voice comes out stronger than I thought it would. I’m just as broken, just as terrified and trembling, but seeing Otto on the edge of collapse, I find some deeper well of strength I didn’t know I still had. It’s him, for him and from him, and I lower his forehead to mine. “We willfixthis, Otto, I swear to you.”
He licks his lips, trembles against me, his hands coming up to encircle my wrists.
“We cannot stay out here,” I whisper. “We need to get to the aqueducts. Are you all right to do that?”
I don’t want to push him. But at the same time, I know this man. I know how his mind works, how best to distract him:
Ask for a plan.
Otto loves his plans.
I would torment him for it, but it works.
Almost instantly, he peels back from me. Some of his panic recedes, and I catch the moment where he comes through it. Is that how I look when he drags me out of my pain? Like I’d forgotten how it felt to fill my lungs all the way.
He dives in and kisses me hard, rough lips and his hand on my jaw.
“Come on, hexe,” he whispers, and drags me off into Trier.
13
Otto
It’s already so much worse than I expected.
There had been a glimmer of hope, I realize now, a faint belief that perhaps our fears were unrealized. That maybe Dieter wasn’t as strong as he’d been before, that Fritzi’s possession was no more than a dying gasp from a withering man.
But no.
He has consolidated all of his power and strengthened his grip, choking the city in an iron-tight fist. The murders have continued. The terror has continued.
Focus.
I can grieve, or I can act. And Fritzi needs me to act.
We need to get to the aqueducts. The passages the hexenjägers know about—such as the one outside the arena or under the Porta Nigra—are too risky. I don’t love the idea of returning to the housefort I used before. Our stunt to free the prisoners in Trier last year will no doubt have causedDieter to take a closer look at the old tunnels that remained, and the routes that were once secret may be compromised. But it’s still the best option.
By which I mean, it’s the only option.
I pull Fritzi under the arched entryway of the narrow alley leading to the Judengasse. I’m on edge, intently focused on every detail, looking for the swish of a black cloak, the flash of a silver brooch.
A pebble bounces off my shoulder.
I suck in a breath, my heart hammering. I want to whirl around, but I can’t cause a scene. I don’t see anyone else on this street, but hidden eyes may watch me from covered windows. My fingers tighten around Fritzi’s, and we both pause. I look casually over my shoulder…
There.
A mass of dirty rags huddles in the corner, shadowed. The lump almost looks like refuse, but I see bright eyes shining in the darkness.
Mia, an orphan who lived with her brother in the Judengasse and watched over my housefort when I was away. She’s better than any spy; no one looks twice at an orphan, not in a city with so many mothers burnt.
