Thora. My parents. I love you.
The pain is too much, and I crumble to the stone floor and sob.
“Gisela, come back! Look!”
I step to the window, and my eyes grow wide. Brahm, Gunther, Ferdinand, and Willa are holding the four corners of Brahm’s net.
“Jump. We’ll catch you,” Brahm shouts.
It’s risky. I toss my satchel to test the idea. It bounces off the net with ease. I weigh much more than the bag, but it’s my only chance.
From up here, I can see the fog rolling through the trees toward us. It’s now or never. I climb onto the window ledge.
“Hurry! The net’s strong. We’ll catch you!” Brahm says. “Do it for Thora!”
I sit on the stone window, scooting back to the edge. I take a deep breath. And another. Come on, you can do this.
I push myself from the tower.
Flailing through the air, I lose my breath, and my stomach sinks. I close my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, prepared to hit the net. Instead, I hit something hard and sharp with a loud crunch through my spine.
My head and limbs flop back. An intense pain pierces through me. I fling my eyes open and stare into a dark room. Something’s poking from my abdomen. My lungs force curdled coughs, filling my mouth with a metallic liquid. I trace my fingers over the object impaled through me. It’s smooth and hard. I wipe away the crimson liquid to reveal a sharpened bone. After spitting a mouthful of blood, I look around.
My eyes finally adjust, and I’m a dim room built out of bones. The entire floor is made of skulls, there’s a large crystal ball in the center, and incense burners line the walls. Various bottles, chains, and fabrics are arranged atop a table nearby.
I snap my head toward a rustling of fabric. The white-clad priestess—or whatever she is—glides toward me. Her gossamer drapings flow from under a crown of bones on her head. The Crown of Bergot?
“Pretty, pretty Gisela. You are mine at last.” She circles me, grazing my skin with her linen-wrapped fingers. “I’m so happy to have you here.”
“Who are you?” I choke on more blood and spit. “What do you want?”
“You.” She plays with my hair and sniffs it. “My name is Hexegot. You already know my useless sister, Bergot. I allow your people to worship her as long as she provides me with Offerings.”
Anger swirls in my head as I look upon the person responsible for so many deaths.
“Wait. The priestess is Bergot? We’re Offerings…to you? I’m so confused. What do you want from us?”
“I use the Offerings as a source of power by consuming their flesh.”
I gasp and wriggle, trying to pry myself from the bone. She’s not going to consume me without a fight.
“No, no, my precious one. I do not intend to eat you, or I would have done so already.” Hexegot lights incense inside a thurible and swings it around me. “I need you alive.”
“For what?”
Hexegot doesn’t answer but grabs a round, glass bottle. She dabs perfumed ointment onto my forehead, neck, and wrists. I squirm and tug at the bone. She clicks her tongue as she runs her fingers through my hair.
“I’ve been able to sense you for years. I’ve desired you all this time.” Hexegot squeals with delight as she snatches a hazel branch from her table of supplies. She places it on my chest. “Now you will be mine.”
She glides to her crystal ball and swirls her palms above it. Faint silhouettes of a man and a woman appear. Hexegot begins chanting something, but I cut her off.
“What are you doing? Why do you want me?”
The witch-goddess tilts her crowned head at me and hums a slight giggle. She picks up a piece of black silk and ties it around my head, blinding me. “Your body will be my host. A home for my soul.”
Labored breaths of terror catch against my throat. “But why?”
Hexegot hums as her bony fingers poke and prod my body. I reach for the stake again, but she takes my wrists and binds them to the slab. Screaming and thrashing, I can’t get away.
“You are a feisty one, Gisela.”
My blood-wet breaths grow erratic as desperation sets in. “What are you doing to me?”
“A very special ritual.” She runs her hands over my body, pinching my thighs, and massaging my feet. “Just relax, precious one.”
Something soft touches my mouth, and air is forced into my lungs. I gasp and cough. “What was that?”
“What do you mean?” Hexegot asks as she lifts the hem of my dress and strokes my legs.
Again, air is blown into my lungs. It feels like I’m being kissed, but Hexegot is down by my legs. I catch my breath.
“Who else is here? Who’s doing that?”
“Doing what?” Her voice grows cold and ragged.
“Kissing me!”
“No! Don’t you dare!” she yells and grabs my shoulders. “Come back!”
There’s another thrust of air and a powerful sensation on my lips. I try to feel it. I try to kiss back. A hand slaps me. A cool liquid splashes my face. I try to open my eyes, but there’s only the darkness of the blindfold. Another kiss and I reach out. My fingers meet textured rope-like twists. Brahm. I pull him in and kiss harder.
Warm arms embrace me, but I’m afraid to open my eyes. We sway back and forth. Fingers stroke my hair.
“Are you alright, Freckles?”
I gasp and open my eyes, meeting Brahm’s warm amber ones. He rests his forehead against mine.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
I squint into the bright morning sun beaming its warm rays through the trees and wipe wet strands of hair from my face. I touch my abdomen, which is wound-free. The other Offerings are hunched over with their hands on their knees, catching their breaths.
“We had to sprint from the fog.”
“It worked?” I gesture to the net hanging from Brahm’s satchel.
He sways his head. “We caught you just fine. Your eyes were black, as were your lips and veins. You weren’t breathing. You had no pulse. I tried to blow air into your lungs. I tried to slap you. I tried water. Then I went back to blowing in air, and you kissed me.” Brahm throws his arms around me. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose you.”
“Me too.” I pat his back then turn my head to the others. “There’s something I should tell all of you.”
The Red Cloak
ONCE WE SET UP CAMP FOR the night, I remove Brahm’s shirt to get a closer look at his injured shoulder. On our day-long journey here, I tried my best to explain to the group about my dreams, and who the black and white priestesses truly are.
I left out the part about Hexegot wanting to possess me. I still need to process that information.
After my explanation to the other Offerings, Brahm and I kept our distance behind them to keep our eye on Ferdinand. From the net, I crafted a makeshift sling for Brahm’s arm while he stole nearly a year’s worth of kisses along the way.
The tight muscles underneath Brahm’s smooth brown skin are quite distracting, but I focus through my flushed cheeks as I help him.
“Lift your arm,” I command, and he does, wincing. “Alright, now shrug.” I run my hand over the top of Brahm’s shoulder and down to the blade, massaging him. “Nothing seems to be broken or dislocated. It will bruise, but you’re lucky.”