by Molly Tanzer
A knock at her door startled Jane. Smudge sprang off the broom and hid under the bed; the connection broken, Jane had to manually set the broom down before she answered the door.
It was Miriam. She looked unhappy.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jane. Had Miriam heard her laughing?
“It’s Nancy,” she said. “I’m worried about her.”
“Did something happen?”
Miriam shrugged. “She didn’t drink the Bovril.”
Jane sensed Miriam was worried about more than just the Bovril.
“I’ve never seen her like this before,” said Miriam.
“I know. I’ve seen her become absorbed in her work before but haven’t seen her losing herself in it like this.”
“Except she’s not doing work,” said Miriam. “I don’t know what she’s doing, but it’s not anything to do with the Library. That stack of slips is only growing thicker by the day.”
Jane hadn’t noticed, but that was indeed highly irregular.
“Maybe it’s to do with the war?”
Edith was a spy; perhaps Nancy, too, was involved with some sort of clandestine effort. If it was something that important, it might make her less inclined to regulate her time in the Library, or even eat and sleep.
“Maybe,” said Miriam. She didn’t seem convinced. “But at the same time, it’s not like her to just not tell us things.”
The two of them still stood—Jane inside the room, Miriam in the hall—with the door ajar just enough for conversation. Jane pointedly hadn’t invited Miriam in; she respected Miriam’s concerns, and shared them—now just wasn’t the time, what with Smudge under the bed and the broom out in the open in her room.
“She’s just been so very odd,” said Miriam. “She never moves from her desk. It’s after eleven now and she’s not taken a break. But she doesn’t seem like she’s doing anything!” Miriam seemed close to tears. “Her desk is overflowing, Jane. I can’t imagine this can go on much longer. What if someone really needs a book?”
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” said Jane, though that was not at all true.
On impulse, Jane gave her friend a big hug. Miriam looked utterly miserable. She was really worried—and had been for a while, Jane realized.
Miriam pulled back to dash tears from her eyes. “She just seems so different suddenly. I . . . I miss her.”
It occurred to Jane that she didn’t, not really, except in little sentimental bursts here and there. She had learned it was better not to act on and, if she could help it, not to notice what feelings she had toward Nancy.
“It’ll be all right,” said Jane, because it was what one said.
“Do you think we should write to—”
“No!”
Miriam looked confused. Jane blushed. It seemed Miriam hadn’t meant her father.
“Oh,” said Miriam. “I meant Edith might know what we should do.”
“You’re right,” said Jane. “If things get worse, we’ll tell Edith.”
Miriam relaxed enough to smile. “I’m glad I can always count on you to keep a cool head.”
Jane certainly did not know what to say to that, so they stood in awkward silence for a moment. Then Miriam looked down the hall at her door. “I suppose I’ll be going, then.”
“Good night,” said Jane.
Miriam looked surprised, but Jane didn’t relent. It wasn’t her fault that the night Miriam wanted her company was the one night she couldn’t give it to her.
“It’s late,” said Miriam. “But I suppose we’ve both been putting in more late nights than usual.”
“Maybe not for too much longer, for me,” said Jane. She was surprised at herself after she said it. She saw Miriam was, too. It was not like Jane to brag, and they both knew it.
“Oh!” said Miriam. “Congratulations!”
“No—not yet. I mean, I haven’t—” She stopped speaking when she saw Miriam crumpling before her eyes.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Miriam. “I know how much you want to get out of here.”
Jane startled. How could Miriam know what she was up to? Then it hit her—Miriam was talking about Jane finishing her Practical and seeking out an internship, not her imminent flight.
“That’s not—”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” said Miriam, looking as miserable as Jane had ever seen her. “Good night, Jane.” And with that, she disappeared down the hall.
“Good night,” said Jane, though Miriam was out of earshot, and shut the door behind herself.
After a moment, Smudge poked his head out from under the bed.
“It’s time to leave all this behind,” muttered Jane.
The cat nodded in approval.
* * *
AFTER WEIGHING THE RISK OF going out the window against that of sneaking down to the back door, Jane elected to use the door. She could explain away sneaking outside, broom in hand—probably—but she couldn’t really explain why she’d fallen from her window and broken her leg if things didn’t go according to plan.
It was a cold night, even though Jane had bundled up with a coat and hat and scarf and mittens and two layers of woolen stockings. As Jane nipped over the frozen lawn for the deeper darkness of the stand of trees beyond the barn, she mentally scolded herself for failing to think through everything, including how cold it would likely be when flying. Next time she would brew up a Winter Warmer, an easy and useful potion that apprentice diabolists were universally assigned because it used the First Transmutation. She could shed a few layers that way, at least—or even go sky-clad, if she liked.
We’re not witches, Jane.
The voice in Jane’s mind was always her mother’s.
“Speak for yourself,” she murmured. “Well, Smudge, what do you say? Just a short flight, to test it out?”
Smudge jumped up on the broom with the same uncanny nimbleness as before. The way his paws seemed to stick to the handle was almost spiderlike.
“Meow,” he said.
Jane climbed up behind him, so that he could perch between her knees. When he put his paw on her hand, at her will, the broom rose a few inches in the air.
Her feet were no longer on the ground, and it was even more exhilarating than Jane had dared imagine. She was flying! It was astonishing, but it was true.
Her heart said onward, and the broom followed her will almost before her mind agreed with it.
After a few hair-raising wobbles and one tumble, they were skimming their way over the miles of moonlight-silvered hills and hollows surrounding the outskirts of Hawkshead. At first, Jane was disinclined to fly more than a few feet off the ground, but after she caught the trick of it, she grew bolder. She took them up to a heart-pounding height to see the slowly thawing countryside rolling out beneath them like a map, circling the quaint brick house that belonged to their closest neighbor, Mrs. Fielding, then speeding her way toward the town just to see what it was like to race along familiar paths without worrying about stubbing a toe or slipping in sheep droppings. She spied a raven as it winged its way through the night sky on some errand, and two deer leaped from behind the tree line into the moonlight only to bound back into the safety of the wood when Jane swooped near.
From the air, Hawkshead looked dark and solemn. Only a few lights burned this late in the night—or was it early in the morning? She’d lost track of time, just like she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, especially not knowing how long the salve would last.
It was worth it.
She heard the clock tower strike midnight, the twelve peals ringing out across the village like thunderclaps. As they sounded, Jane spiraled up on her broom to survey the village from on high. The witching hour, of course!
That’s when Jane saw a flurry of motion from just beyond the wall of the churchyard, two figures racing across a sheep field, away from town.
Jane panicked for a moment. She knew how exposed she was on this clear a night, hanging like a low cloud over the town. She d
idn’t know if staying put or moving was the right choice, but the two people were facing away from her, and they were clearly intent on their own concerns.
Jane knew this was a perfect opportunity to escape, to go home, but her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to know who was racing away from the churchyard at midnight—and why. She slowly circled back down to the ground, like a vulture on a downdraft, and then crept silently closer.
It was a man and a woman, Jane saw, and her stomach felt queasy as she intuited what they were about. A clandestine tête-à-tête was the least interesting thing two people could be up to in the middle of the night—in her opinion at least.
But something about the man’s posture—or maybe it was his hair—caught Jane’s eye. Her heart fluttered as she stared.
Apparently, Sam was a bit of a lad—taking one girl off to do unknown but certainly unsupervised things together, only to then lure another out into the lonely night not long after!
The lovers were still unaware of Jane where she hovered, peering through the spreading branches of an ancient oak. Blissfully unaware, even—before they ducked into a copse of alders, they paused to kiss and giggle; Sam pinched the girl’s bottom as they fled into the privacy of the shadows. Her squeal made Jane startle, it was so piercing in the otherwise silent night, but she kept ahold of her broom.
She was not tempted to investigate further. It was true that a man and a woman might have business together other than the romantic, even at midnight, alone, on a cold early March night, but when bottom-pinching was given and appreciated, it didn’t take a genius to perceive their intentions.
Jane briefly toyed with the idea of playing a prank on the happy couple—even just sending Smudge to interrupt their trysting would work. But as Jane formulated a plan in her mind, the broom dropped a few inches.
Oh no, she thought.
She hadn’t brought more of the salve. It was time to go.
She made it about halfway back home before the broom gave up and sent her tumbling to the earth, but thankfully she’d thought things through and was skimming over the empty fields only a foot or so above the ground itself. She didn’t even twist an ankle when she took her spill.
Smudge, on the other hand, landed nimbly.
As she trudged back to the farmhouse, it finally hit Jane what she’d done. She’d flown, and it had been incredible. She couldn’t wait to try it again. It had been the most amazing, exhilarating experience of her life, perfect in every way.
Maybe not in every way. As Jane approached the farmhouse, she saw a light was on in Miriam’s window. Seeing Sam’s infidelity had been a blemish, that was true. And come to think of it, so had been the revelation that she would never be able to share her success with anyone. At least not the full measure of it.
No one would ever know what she’d achieved. It would do nothing to protect her from the scrutiny of her peers.
But then again, maybe that didn’t matter. After all, if they came for her, she could always just fly away.
“Just you and me, eh?” said Jane affectionately, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears. That’s when she noticed his bell had yet again fallen off. Perhaps it had been during their hard landing. “We’ll get you a new one tomorrow, I suppose.”
“Meow,” said Smudge.
21
* * *
THE DAGGERS OF SUNSHINE THAT stabbed through the pine boughs of the forest beyond the walls of the Nazi facility did nothing to warm up the sight of Miriam’s father’s corpse. His half-decomposed body remained a grim sight, the bones yellow in the winter daylight. Miriam could see a bit more of her father’s clothing now, too. The rough-spun, threadbare garment had clearly been issued to him, rather than self-selected. There was a tattered, faded patch with the same insignia she’d seen on the gates—the stylized, angular blossom within a halo of some sort, in Nazi black and red.
The bird to which Miriam had cleaved was the perching and twittering kind. To her surprise, it had been much more difficult to control than the fox or even the owl. All this bird wanted to do was to tell the world that spring was on its way and that it was ready for a mate—not go inspect a dead body or fly to a place full of men. But after a longer-than-expected struggle, Miriam won out over the bird’s will, and so off they went.
Miriam had decided her goal with this journey was reconnaissance. She flew hither and yon, trying to learn anything of interest. The few prisoners she saw knew nothing, and she could not bear to look upon their gaunt faces or listen to their ragged steps for long; it had been the well-fed, well-groomed officers, loathsome in their smart uniforms, who had yielded all the worthwhile information Miriam gleaned. From them she learned the location of the kitchens, the barracks, and the medical and scientific facility, which was the main focus of the operation. But it wasn’t until she caught sight of an unhappy-looking officer with a file folder under his arm that bore the same insignia from her father’s uniform that she really started to get somewhere.
Miriam flitted after him. A nurse sat at a desk just inside the door, and Miriam had a moment of panic—how would she get inside without being noticed? But her target unwittingly provided the answer by barking a question at the woman, distracting her enough that she did not notice the bird swooping in silently after him.
The man had asked for a Dr. Karl Querner—at least, Miriam thought that was the name. The officer was from Alsace, and his accent was thick.
“Ah, yes, Rottenführer,” the nurse said. “We have been expecting you. The Dark Lab is that way,” she said, pointing the officer toward an unmarked staircase going down, “but Dr. Querner is in the middle of an experiment; he doesn’t wish to be disturbed!”
The officer brightened momentarily to have his rank called out, but that didn’t stop his shoulders from slumping as he said, “I have my orders,” in a grim manner before marching off in the direction of the stairs.
Miriam had no idea what the Dark Lab was, but in spite of her curiosity, she didn’t follow the officer. She’d be too easily spotted in her current form. But while exploring the facility, she had seen a nest of paper wasps in an attic, for next time. That would be much better camouflage for her, though it would be an inconvenience to only be able to see and not hear.
Not wanting to abandon her songbird indoors, Miriam waited to see if the door would open again, allowing her to make her escape. As she perched on her beam, Miriam watched as a second nurse stopped by the desk. She asked after an officer.
“I’m sorry,” said the first. “We thought he had a chance when the fall didn’t kill him, but infection in his skull took hold. The claws of whatever attacked him must have been very dirty.”
Miriam lost control of the bird and felt herself returning to her body. Surely they must be speaking of the guard she herself had attacked when she’d been inside the owl . . .
She had, apparently, killed a man. Murdered him—and yet she felt nothing.
No remorse.
No joy.
Miriam’s shadow-self, that dark being deep within her that gladly claimed her anger and rage, agreed with her.
What was done was done.
The next morning, Miriam was ravenous. Jane had prepared a hearty fruit- and nut-laced oatmeal that was just what she needed. Miriam scraped her bowl clean—and even better, she and Jane managed to cajole Nancy into eating most of the portion she’d been served, which cheered both girls.
Once her stomach was full, Miriam mulled over the mysteries she’d left behind—the Dark Lab, Dr. Karl Querner, and more. She decided she would risk another attempt that afternoon. Though it had only been a short sleep since her last trip, she was feeling fairly lively. And while it was true that Badgerskin had cautioned her against doing exactly what she was thinking of doing, Miriam did not want to let the trail go cold. So, after breakfast, Miriam sidled down to the Library to raid the storeroom once again for liquid diabolic essence.
There wasn’t a lot left. She hadn’t been the only one raid
ing the supply closet. Jane’s project must need quite a lot . . .
She helped herself to a few bottles. If she was going to make any progress, she’d need to be bold.
Bold enough to cut deeper into her spirit, slice more of it away so that she could better control her hosts. Bold enough to venture down those shadowed stairs to see the Dark Lab of Dr. Querner. Bold enough to endure learning what happened to her father.
She would be bold. As to whether fortune would favor her, that she could not predict.
* * *
THE PAPER WASPS WERE AWAKE.
Miriam had been afraid they would be hibernating. The real challenge, however, proved to be figuring out how to jump out of the bird she had guided to the attic where they dwelt and not get immediately eaten the moment she left its body behind. That had been a serious miscalculation—Miriam had only considered the bird’s greater wingspan when she’d selected it, not its diet, and the first wasp she jumped into almost instantly ended up in her former host’s beak.
She had to make a quick second leap to escape death—both the wasp’s and her own.
Badgerskin had been quite clear about what would happen if a host creature died while the diabolist was inside of it. So she zipped to the door and crawled under it, away from the bird, and then down, down, down, keeping clear of anyone who might try to swat her.
Grateful the wasp did not resist her much, Miriam crawled on the ceiling past the nurses to draw as little attention as possible, then descended the yawning stairwell where the officer had gone.
At the bottom of the stairs, she encountered a steel door shut tight against intruders. There was no gap under it, as in the room above—but there was a keyhole, and it was just wide enough for her to wriggle through.
When Miriam emerged, she beheld a square, windowless room lit by oddly bright, very white electric bulbs that made everything look strange and sickly. In the center of the room was a metal desk that had a stark and cold look to it. It was covered in loose papers as well as folders and packets of more papers. At this desk sat a fair, lean, unwholesome-looking man with circular gold-framed spectacles. He was reading what looked like some kind of report or dossier. He seemed haunted, desperate as his bright blue eyes scanned the paper before him.