It is the grimoire.
Chapter 22
My heart screams, Niclaus! How could I have been so foolish, leaving the old book where he could so easily find it? I move to take it away but there is a look in his eye that causes me to stop still—to take care. Of a child?
Laurentz is on my heels, circling around the other side of the chair. He kneels down, level with the boy’s face, and begins to slip the book from his lap. “I see you’ve found something that interests you? This is very old. Perhaps we should keep it safe, away from the floor where Margret could rip its pages.”
My heart beats at how easily he persuades the child to relinquish the tome. His words are so convincing that Niclaus agrees without a fuss, nodding quietly and peering toward the little girl who is unaware she has been party to a semi-elaborate scheme. When my face meets his, I am taken aback for there is no sign of the menacing look I’d witnessed just moments ago. The sneer is gone, as is the dark glint in his young brown eyes, and I question I ever saw it at all.
“Is the book a family…” he struggles with his thoughts. “Erbstück? Is it a story?” His small face is round and sweet and I suppose he may have innocently been searching for something to keep him busy. Surely the grimoire’s beautiful red cover was as enticing to him as it was to me when I pulled it from the hideous box deep below this very room.
I take a breath and gather myself, lowering to the floor as Laurentz does. “Yes, I think it may be an heirloom, although I’m not sure what the book’s pages hold, to be honest. I haven’t had the time to examine it, but Laurentz is right, the book is very old and we want to be careful, don’t we?”
Niclaus gives a nod, and like a little gentleman he rises to his feet and holds his hand out for mine so that I might return to the settee to rest. When we are seated and the grimoire is tucked safely away, high upon the mantle, Niclaus turns to me. “Is it true? Are we leaving Pyrmont?”
“I think you’ll like Eltz very much. Laurentz grew up there. It’s a beautiful castle.”
A peculiar expression flits across his brow and it occurs to me that Pyrmont may very well be the only home he really remembers. His memories must be of terror, of his mother being taken away from him, and then, the crowded orphanage and the other children of the witch hunts. He has been here for a year now and may be too young to remember where he’d come from before his little world fell apart.
“I want to stay with you, Rune. I can keep you safe. I’ll be a man one day.” He tries to sound convincing, puffing out his chest a bit so I might see how big and strong he is. His efforts bring a smile that is difficult to contain and my hand circles about his slight shoulders, pulling him close.
“And what would you be keeping me safe from, I wonder?”
Niclaus hoods his eyes and he lowers his voice, as if what he has to say is a desperate secret meant only for me. “You know.”
He has said this before, in the kitchen, when he insisted an old woman visited us to give me a key. I keep up the game, for his sake, for I know very well what he speaks of. I’ve no doubt he’s felt and seen what I have. Ever since the vision of Matilde, the night in the nursery when I told him of the forest I’d grown up in, Niclaus seems to share a second sight. And I don’t wish to provoke it.
I give him a squeeze. “You know what I am, don’t you?”
He gives a tentative nod. “You’re a witch.”
“That’s right.” I sneak a look at Laurentz, expecting shock or concern that I’ve revealed my legacy to a child, but there is neither and it gives me the strength to continue. “I’m witch-born. My mother was very powerful. Did you know this was her home?”
His eyebrows wiggle at the news and I watch him take in our surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time.
“So you see, I’m not a wretched old hag, am I?”
He shakes his head.
“And I’m perfectly safe here,” I reassure him. “This was my family’s home and now it belongs to me.”
“And the red book belongs to you, too?”
“Yes, that it does.”
He leans closer, still, so his mouth is barely an inch from my ear. “The book is full of secrets, Rune. Some are good but some are very, very bad.”
My blood runs cold that a young child would know such things. Without having the opportunity to page through it yet myself, I know the grimoire holds menacing entries—spells, potions…secrets that are perhaps centuries old. But I hope, too, that not all of it is dark and terrifying. I know now that being a witch means I do not have to follow a path that will steer me toward evil, that I carry a power to help others heal and feel safe. I can choose to carry on with the plan the Sacred Mother has for us all.
“How do you know such things?” I whisper back to him.
“She told me.”
“The woman in the woods and the same one from your vision, isn’t that right? You said her name was Matilde?”
He nods again. “She was at the window while you slept. Her mouth shaped the word book, so I tried to read it for you, to help you, only…”
By now I’ve begun to tremble and a slow-creeping fear snakes its way up my spine and into my heart. I want to look at the window to see if someone still stands there, watching. If this specter he insists is Matilde remains at the glass, whispering secrets… But I cannot tear my eyes away from him. The black cape in the woods…was it her?
“Only?” I press him to go on, feeling Laurentz’s concern burn a hole between us.
His shoulders slump with disappointment. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Rune. I tried to understand her but it was too hard.”
I give his tiny body another pull against my own, partly because I don’t want him to worry so, but also because I don’t quite understand. “Why couldn’t you understand her? Was it because of the window?” That is the only reason I can think of—that her ghostly voice couldn’t penetrate the glass.
“Oh, no Rune, the window is cracked. I couldn’t understand her because when she opened her mouth she didn’t have a tongue.” Niclaus pauses and scrunches his brows, remembering what he saw. He looks up at me cockeyed. “Only a black mist swirled inside her mouth.”
Chapter 23
The grimoire sits atop the mantle of the large, ornate fireplace like a mocking red smile. My brief setback is gone, allowing me to march steadily across the room and reach up for it. It is so heavy it takes both my hands to lift it.
Laurentz strikes a long match and inserts the slender stick deep within the small-hinged door of alantern. He then carries it with him as he lights several candles at the largest table in the salon, then pulls two chairs out for us to sit.
Even though it is afternoon, clouds cover the sky, dimming the room as if night has fallen early. At my insistence, Niclaus and Margret have fallen asleep on the settee for their afternoon nap rather than returning to the nursery. My heart is reluctant to allow any of us to be on our own in this large castle, especially the children, which is why I’ve agreed to let Laurentz take them to Castle Eltz. There, they will be surrounded by a full staff who will share the duty of keeping watch over them—Cook especially. She may be a bit rough with orders in her kitchen, but when it comes to children she is a fit nanny, and I am certain she will keep the newest hire, Adelaide, in check.
“That was not Matilde,” I whisper fiercely, setting the grimoire with a weighted thud atop the table.
“Then who? Do you think the woman Niclaus sees is the specter who haunts the corridor? Could she be the breath you felt?”
I shake my head, for I do not know. “Niclaus and I have only seen her outside these walls.” But that is not entirely true. Niclaus saw whom he believed to be Matilde in his vision. “But yes, it is possible. After all, she is the one who brought us the key that would open the room below.”
I steal an unsure glance at Laurentz, and then open the grimoire’s thick cover.
“Wait.” He rises from his chair to make sure the window’s sash is fully closed. Neither of
us can recall when it may have been left open. And while neither he, nor I, will admit it, there is an unmistakable unease hovering about the otherwise comfortable room. The salon, while adorned with golden-framed portraits and rich textures, lush pillows and tapestries to keep the wintry chill at bay, holds a feeling that we are being watched—and it raises every hair upon my body when I stop to think of a specter disguised as my beloved Mutti.
I shake the discomfort from my bones and concentrate on the tome I have placed before us for examination. The ravens and moons etched into the red cover mean nothing to me. There is no recollection of a story Matilde could have told me as a child, nor any reference to them among the peculiar items stowed within the dusty room my mother hid from the rest of the castle.
I flip the red leather over so it kisses the tabletop. “I suppose we begin here.” My finger plays with the corner of the first page as I try to make sense of the writing. The book’s opening entry is barely legible, but I assume it is because the book itself is very old, the ink worn with age.
I turn the page. The paper is so terribly brittle one of the edges crumbles into flakes at my touch.
“Careful,” Laurentz whispers. He, too, realizes how delicate the book is.
“Slide the candle over a bit.” There are symbols I’ve never seen before and small markings that mimic letters. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” The training Matilde was able to give me was very limited. She could read a little, but not write, and would often trade fortunes for small books so she could teach me letters and simple words by the fire in our cottage. After several months, my ability to decipher and scribe surpassed Matilde’s, although it was not enough for me to consider myself educated. This book, however, is foreign to me. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“My father has old books in his library with writing similar to this,” Laurentz offers. “It’s an older language. One I don’t know how to interpret, unfortunately.”
After paging through the first, and oldest, pages of the grimoire, we ascertain that the initial entry dates somewhere around the year 1216. The year, though well-worn and smudged, is legible enough, as are certain words throughout the beginning of the book that I’ve begun to recognize easily from Laurentz’s fine teaching:
Pyrmont…
darkness…
crone…
witch…
I steal a glance at Laurentz from the corner of my eye. It is the dead of winter, yet perspiration beads at his temples. The muscle there twitches and I watch it, mesmerized. If I were to follow his eye with an invisible line it would rest upon the center of an entry, about a third of the way through the tome. I let the words tease me from the old pages. The fact that we have found the grimoire at all is an amazing feat, but as I stare at it, I realize in such a short time I am able to read more than single words. I am able to decipher segments of sentences, too—words that are centuries old, and my soul devours them hungrily. And then, we simultaneously reach a passage in the grimoire that speaks of something dark. Something unholy.
I look to him for reassurance, for I too don’t quite understand the entire segment. Holding the grimoire open with my fingertips, I am careful not to do more damage to the already worn book. “You said castles have ghosts.”
My hand reaches for his and I lay it over his roughened knuckles. I thought the moment he returned I would feel safer, but in all honesty I feel I have only given the castle another person to toy with. “Do you suppose something strange could have always inhabited this fortress?”
“As close as Pyrmont is in proximity to Eltz, I’m afraid I know nothing of its history.” A deep crease cements itself across Laurentz’s forehead as he tries to drum up any sort of recollection that could shed light upon my family’s past, but there is nothing. Pyrmont is as much a mystery to him as it is to me.
I turn my head to check on the children. They sleep, unaware at how confusing and frightening our small world has become. Laurentz did not see the look upon Niclaus’s face as he held the grimoire in his hands. He didn’t see the sneer nor the malice behind his eyes. But I did. And it was a look I’ve never seen on him before. One that did not appear to be his, but rather, someone else’s looking through his little boy eyes.
We read in collective silence, hunched over the mysterious book. “Listen to this,” he says, pointing to the selection I have found. “…and it is with a heavy heart that I must condemn what has brought me such incredible power. This Böse Macht has wrought my soul a weight I can no longer carry.”
“Böse Macht?”
“It means evil force.”
“What do you suppose this is about?”
Laurentz shakes his head and I can tell by the movement of his eyes that he’s continued reading on without me.
“Such a terrible price, but it is one I must pay. I have carried this secret for far too long. A secret that others believe is myth, tales…do they not know that all stories come from truth? Do they not understand that the darkness we fear is real?”
An immense shudder seizes me all the way through to my bones. I don’t like these words for I, too, feel there is truth in them. I was the girl who had grown up in the Black Forest, the very place children have come to fear thanks to the tales their parents told them. “Does this entry speak of the forest?” I wonder out loud, not certain I can bear the answer Laurentz will give me.
“It appears that way.” He clenches his jaw and the muscle in his cheek twitches. I watch closely how the skin ripples as if it has a mind of its own. How determined he looks, yet says absolutely nothing.
“If it is true,” I say, at last, “and there is an evil that lurks in the forest, then you’ll take the children back to Eltz tomorrow, then?”
Laurentz nods and I am thankful he too feels they’ll be safer where there are more eyes to keep watch over them.
“And what about you, Rune? Won’t you consider going with them?”
I want to tell him that I have considered it, long and hard. That Pyrmont frightens me. That I am a witch frightens me even more, but it is one I must learn to live with. If my family owned Pyrmont, then so should I. Matilde always told me to be careful of what I asked of the Sacred Mother and now I understand—wishes are like spells. If I repeat what I desire over and over, and want it with all my heart, the Mother inevitably answers.
“I’m staying.” I say with a decisive nod. “Now, let’s see what else we can uncover before the children wake, shall we?”
Laurentz holds my chair as I settle myself once again and together we begin the long task of combing through the ancient book in search of a light to end our dark days.
Chapter 24
I hadn’t realized how attached I’d become to the children until I felt my heart breaking in two.
“Do you promise you’ll come for us soon? Promise?” Niclaus has asked this same question over again all morning, from the moment he awoke until now, as I settle him in the sleigh we found in the abandoned mews of the castle.
“Yes, I promise.” I tuck the horsehair blanket about his legs to keep him warm on his way to the neighboring castle. “Do you have your rabbit?” He holds the threadbare toy high for me to see, then tucks it safely within the crook of his elbow. “And you’ll keep watch over Margret? She’s still very small, you know, and quite fond of you.”
“Yes, I promise.” He repeats my words cheerily, but the tone doesn’t reach his eyes. I wish I could tell him he could stay but I don’t trust what is happening here. I don’t feel the children will be safe, especially Niclaus.
Margret has been fussy all morning, still clinging to me as I try to settle her on the seat next to him. “Laurentz will just have to hold her.” I say, trying not to let my frustration show.
When the trunk is loaded onto the back of the sleigh, Laurentz pulls me into a firm embrace, “Please change your mind.”
He has no idea what this request does to my heart, but my decision has not changed. “I need to stay here. I’m going to get to the
bottom of this.”
Laurentz nods, reassuring me that I’ll find the answers I seek. That I’ll put an end to this madness and the darkness inhabiting these walls. “You’re strong, Rune. That is why you’re here, it’s why I care…”
His words are stolen by a breeze that sweeps past, but the kiss he plants upon my lips finishes his sentence. Laurentz steps into the sleigh and situates himself on the leather seat next to Niclaus, pulling little Margret onto his lap and wrapping her snugly within his coat before picking up the reins.
“This will be another adventure for you, won’t it?” His attempt to cheer Niclaus up seems to work and the boy’s eyes no longer hold such a sad gleam to them. “A new castle to play in, plenty of chambermaids to sneak up on. Did I tell you Cook is dreadfully frightened of spiders?”
“She is?”
“Horrified,” Laurentz says with a wink. “Eight-legged creatures are not welcome in her kitchen. How do you feel about spiders?”
Niclaus puffs up his chest beneath the layers. “I’m not afraid!”
“I didn’t think so.”
Suddenly, a brief image of a spider collection comes to mind and I have no fear that Niclaus and Laurentz will get along—not to mention poor Cook. And soon the children will forget the shadows lingering over Pyrmont. Eltz is a short trip away and Laurentz has promised to return tomorrow, after the children have settled in. He shoots me a knowing look, one that says I must be careful on my own but that he trusts I will, and with a snap of the reins tells the horse it is time. The sleigh slides forward and I watch after it until it disappears entirely.
The forest is quiet, watching their departure alongside me. From the corner of my eye a slow fog rolls out from the base of the tree line toward Pyrmont. I hurry inside the kitchen and close the door behind me, scrambling to the window where I watch the ethereal mist gather. It pulls back just a little, tasting the air, sensing I am no longer there—and I wonder, what would happen if I approached it and let it cover me?
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