Julia Vanishes (19 page)

I crawl past the fallen, bleeding Mrs. Och, over her wings. Frederick is only half-conscious from the Gethin's blow, but I can see he is alive. I pick up the gun. I do not trust my legs enough to walk, so I crawl back toward the battle in the hall. Professor Baranyi and Bianka and Theo have barricaded themselves inside Mrs. Och's bedroom while Pia and the Gethin swing at each other with shining blades. From floor to walls to ceiling and back again, they are light as air, quick as light. Pia fends off a blow from the Gethin's blade, but in the same instant he catches her with that lethal hand, a blow to the throat. She makes a choking sound and falls, gravity claiming her suddenly. He does not stay to finish her off but goes crashing straight through Mrs. Och's bedroom door. I raise the gun, aim for the left side of his back, and shoot.

The Gethin falls straight forward. I crawl as quickly as I can past Pia, who is struggling to rise, one hand to her throat. The Gethin is still moving, but I pry his shimmering blade from his hand, the one that nearly took off the top of my own head just yesterday night. It weighs hardly anything. I close my eyes and hear myself scream as I lift the blade and bring it down on his neck.

The Gethin's head rolls to the side and his body falls still.

“Burn the body.” Pia's voice is hoarse. She staggers past me, catching the Gethin's head under her arm. I see his face for the last time, white eyes sad and staring. Pia is making straight for Bianka and Theo. I try to shout out, to warn them, but no sound comes from me, and Pia stops a few feet away from them, straining against the air. She is thwarted by something, though I do not see what at first. Then she lets out a snarl, and with one booted foot she kicks out the window. It shatters, and she leaps out of it. Bianka must have found a pen in the room, for on the wall above them, she has scrawled:
STAY BACK
. The smell of rotten flowers—the smell of her magic—still lingers in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

And there we all are. The headless body of the Gethin, bleeding blackly onto the carpet in Mrs. Och's room. The professor huddled in the corner with Bianka and a wailing Theo. Mrs. Och, wingless and quite human now but with blood all over her torn nightdress, standing behind me in the doorway. Frederick groaning and getting to his feet down the hall.

And still the sounds of Florence screaming and the wolf man raging impotently in his locked room.

“Did you see who that was?” says Mrs. Och to the professor, indicating the broken window. She sways and half falls against the wall. The professor lifts her in his arms like she's a child and carries her to her bed, lays her down. Her eyelids flutter.

“Rest,” he says. “The Gethin is dead.”

“She…she belongs to Casimir, that one who was fighting the Gethin!” she whispers. “Who but Casimir could command the Gethin? If
he
did not call it, who did?”

“Hush, now. Rest,” says the professor.

“I will not stay!” Florence is shrieking in the hallway. “Fetch me a hackney immediately! We will not stay a moment longer in this place!”

The professor sighs and says to Bianka, “Are you all right?”

She half nods, Baby Theo whimpering in her arms now and sucking his thumb. “And you, Bessie?” he asks me. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I say. I start to say “It's Ella” for the hundredth time but can't be bothered. I am shaking all over. I want to disappear until morning, but it's too late for that.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” he says. “What you did was very brave.” He pauses. “How did you know to cut its head off?”

“That…woman told me to do it,” I say. Still playacting, still lying. It feels so pointless now. I want to tell him everything and then sleep for a week.

“It was brave and may have saved our lives,” he says. “I know you must be very frightened of what you saw here tonight.” He looks as if he is considering saying more, then shakes his head slightly. “Frederick will get you a drink downstairs to help settle your nerves.”

“I think he's hurt,” I say, but then I see he is beside me looking terribly concerned.

“You aren't injured?” he says.

“I thought you were,” I say.

“A bit dizzy,” he says. “But I'll live.”

“Me too,” I say, and I smile up at him, which is silly, but the fact that I am alive delights me suddenly. The Gethin is dead. I am safe. Even Theo is safe, for tonight at least.

“Come on.” He helps me to the door.

“That woman…she said to burn the body,” I say to Professor Baranyi over my shoulder.

He nods. “I'll see to it.”

Frederick gives me a brandy in the parlor and pours one for himself. Florence has tossed her belongings into a bag and dragged Chloe out into the night to fetch a hackney. I feel numb.

We sit in silence for a bit, Frederick next to me on the sofa, holding his brandy glass between both hands, head bowed.

“I wish I could think what to say to you about what you saw tonight,” he says at last. “You must be horrified.”

Well, he's not wrong about that. I sip at the brandy and it burns its way down my throat, warming my belly.

“There is more to the world than you realize,” he begins slowly. Heaven save us, he's about to launch into some dry lecture about supernatural forces. I don't have the patience for it.

“I'm not some naïve little girl,” I say sharply. “My mother was a witch, drowned in the Syne when I was seven.”

He looks up at me, white-faced. “I'm sorry,” he says, his voice as thin as paper.

I can't seem to stop myself. “I've seen things….
You
can't imagine the things
I've
seen. I'm not a child!” I slug back the rest of the brandy and nearly choke.

“It's all right,” he says gently, taking my empty glass and putting it with his own on the side table. “It will be all right.”

I realize I have tears on my face, which makes me feel foolish and angry.

“It won't be,” I say harshly. “Give me another drink.”

“One is enough,” he says.

“Don't tell me what is enough!” I cry. I want to strike him, as if all of this is his fault somehow. I raise my hand, and he catches it in his, lowers it to his chest. His hand is big and warm. He is very close to me, his ever-startled face inches from mine, the round spectacles over clear, sad eyes, the untrimmed beard.

“Do you remember asking me about my work?” he says. “I did not explain it clearly, but I am assembling a comprehensive record of the role of witchcraft in the Porian kingdoms. History as it is written now emphasizes the Magic Wars, the competing covens and the terrible abuses of witchcraft in that period, and the Purges, when witches were drowned in vast numbers and witchcraft of any kind became punishable by death. Historians ignore the long period before the Magic Wars, when magic was an integral and controlled part of society. Indeed, even today, in Yongguo, witches are seen as gifted, special. I hope that if we can bring out this history, study it and share it, we can work toward a new Frayne that understands and accepts witchcraft as part of the natural world.”

I just stare at him. No wonder he didn't want to tell me before. He could be executed for saying such things.

“I mean to say…whatever you may have been told about witches is false, Ella. It is a terrible thing that happened to your mother. I am sure she was a good woman, an honest woman. Most witches are.” He is still holding my hand. “No child should lose a parent the way that you did. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Nobody has ever said that to me. Even those that
were
sorry were too afraid to say so. I don't think about what I am doing; I lean forward and kiss him. After a moment's hesitation, he kisses me back. It is soft and warm and rather a relief, like the brandy. I shut my eyes and forget everything but the feel of his lips on mine. But the moment doesn't last. His mustache prickles me; he does not kiss like Wyn. I pull away and burst into ridiculous tears.

“I'm sorry,” Frederick is saying, distraught. “I'm so sorry. Unforgivable. I'm a lout. I just…you looked so…I'm sorry. Please, Ella, you're quite safe with me; it won't happen again. A sweet, innocent girl like you…”

I can't take it anymore.

“I'm
not
!” I cry. “I'm not sweet or innocent. You have no idea!”

For a terrifying, vertiginous moment, I think I am really about to confess everything. It is all there, on the tip of my tongue, when I see a shadow at the window.

“Frederick, look!” Half-mad and fearless with brandy and the kiss and brushes with death and my near confession, I find myself pouncing after it. The shadow disappears, but I throw open the window, scrambling out after it, and Frederick is right behind me. The fur-clad figure is running for the gate. I tackle it in the snow. It is a woman, I see when we turn her over, probably in her fifties, with gray hair escaping from underneath her fur hat.

“I am unarmed,” she gibbers, but when we search her we find a modern cartridge pen and several sheets of paper covered with symbols. Unarmed indeed.

“I think you had better come inside and speak to the professor,” says Frederick.