“Nobody’s coming. She’s dead.”
“We don’t know that. And there’s clearly magic here. The fires?—”
“Can’t be from her if she’s dead.”
“If she’s alive, the magic might have called her here!”
I catch Gretel around the waist and pull her in for a fierce kiss. When we break apart, she’s gasping, a deep flush in her cheeks.
“If she comes here, she’ll die,” I tell her. “I’ll kill her again with my own two hands. But dead people don’t come back, Gretel. They just don’t. There’s no magic in the world that can bring an evil witch back from the grave.”
“She didn’t have a grave,” says Gretel. “She went into the oven.”
“Back from the oven, then.”
“I really think we should go.”
“And we will,” I promise her. “Just as soon as this is done.”
Gretel helps me as much as she can. The dishes take up a lot of space in the hearth, so after a few more trips, I have to wrench open the oven door.
It’s much hotter than the bedroom fire and chews through wood in a few seconds.
I get one of the window frames out, and a gust of cold air whirls across my face. Somehow, I’ll burn all my memories along with this cottage.
Gretel stops, bracing one hand against the wall and breathing deep.
“Let’s just go,” she pleads, one more time. “Let’s just get the wagon ready and go. We can?—”
She’s interrupted by a loud crack of thunder. Gretel jerks upright, staring at the ceiling. The next second, rain pours down on the roof. The wind howls. My pulse races and something has changed. I can feel it in my bones.
“Thunder,” she shouts. Her eyes are wide with fear when they meet mine. Thunder isn’t right. It’s the middle of winter. It’s not the right time of year for a thunderstorm, and no hot air came to mix with the cold, which has to mean?—
“Gretel,” I shout.
The door of the cottage opens wide. The firelight from the oven dims.
A figure at the door is illuminated in a flash of lightning. Cold scrapes down my spine. Lightning is just as wrong as thunder, but it’s the figure at the door that stops my breath.
It’s a witch.
It’s the witch.
It’s her. Fear used to paralyze me but in this moment every muscle in my body tightens. Every fiber of my being is prepared to fight. To defend Gretel.
I open my mouth to call out to her, to tell her to get behind me, but the witch waves a hand. When I shout Gretel’s name, no sound comes out. Gretel’s face is in shadow, but I can see her mouth moving. She’s trying to speak to me, but I can’t hear a word she says.
Fear races through my veins as my body chills.
We’ve been silenced by magic. I can feel the spell in my throat, trapping my voice.
No. This isn’t fucking happening. Not to us. Not again.
She’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead.
I run toward Gretel, but I’ve only gone two steps when the witch waves her hand again. Another spell. This one paralyzes me in place. I fight against it with all my strength, but I’m no match for the magic.
Gretel leaps toward me, light on her feet and her hands stretched out in front of her. If she can get to me, there’s still hope. If the witch leaves her alone, then I’ll survive somehow.
