Whispers at Witching Hour

Chapter 13

Musical inspiration: Anger Never Dies – Hooverphonic (Live at Koningin Elisabethzaal 2012)

"Are you ready?" Hilda asked, her hands on Zelda's shoulders at the front door.

"As ready as can be." The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, giving Hilda hope.

"It's going to be okay; you'll see. Just tell her you didn't want to hurt her, apologise... You two can't keep apart for long anyway, can you?"

Zelda rolled her eyes but smiled gratefully. Hilda had been nothing but supportive and she had needed that.

At the entrance to the cottage, Zelda was shifting from one foot to the other, neither able to knock nor turn around and go. She clutched Mary's leather coat, pressed it against her body. With a twirl of her hand, she had summoned a tiny glass in her hand and swallowed the shot within a second. The glass disappeared again, she straightened her posture and went for the door.

The woman who opened it had nothing in common with the Mary Wardwell she knew. Messy hair tied loosely in a bun, no figure-hugging dress but an oversized, navy-blue wool jumper, black leggings, and no make-up. As she recognised who was standing there, she flinched and took a few tiny steps back into the house, arms wrapped around her stomach.

"I've got your coat..." She handed it over hesitantly, Mary quickly put it on the cabinet next to the door.

"You shouldn't be here." The brunette looked down, digging her nails deeper into the fabric of her pullover, sweating.

"Yes, I should." Zelda approached her, wanted to hug the pale, tired-looking witch, but she squirmed even at the implication of touch.

"Please, just leave." Mary begged and turned to get back inside.

"I never meant to hurt you! ... Either way!" Zelda argued in a firm, but warm voice, "Just tell me what's going on... I can feel your fear in my own bones..."

Mary eyed her up and down, unsure whether to believe her or not. The Dark Lord had been clear.

"Where I come from, there's one way to deal with issues: You are betrayed, you get revenge."

"What do you mean, where you come from?"

Mary sighed; no energy left to fight the person she loved most any longer. "Doesn't matter."

"And what about forgiveness?" Zelda could not give up now. And her hopes rose as the brunette lifted her head for the first time, making eye-contact. They were drawn to each other the moment their eyes met, longing for the other's comfort.

Mary moved closer, took Zelda's hands, and watched her thumbs brush over her fingers and nails, searching for words.

"Zelda," she paused, "I need some time on my own."

Tears welled up in Zelda's green eyes; she retracted her hands, face turning ice-cold.

"I shall be on my way then."

Back at the Mortuary, Hilda heard the door fall shut and yelled through the halls, as nobody else was home. "And? How did it go? Kiss and make up?"

At first, she got no answer, but she heard the heels hammer on the tiles coming in her direction.

"She didn't even want to see me!" A cigarette appeared in Zelda's hand and she took a long drag.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love." Hilda put her big wooden spoon away. "Anything I can do?"

"No. I just need this day to be over" Zelda wandered around the kitchen, smoking aggressively.