Night Witch

Chapter 38

Karina had reached a point of desperation that involved her rummaging through nearly every box in the room in order to find a way out. She couldn't stand being in his toxic presence any longer, and since she couldn't kill him, the only way to escape it was leaving the room.

A tattered cape that she'd once said was useful. It wouldn't do her much good here, unless she was forced to sleep on the cold, unforgiving floor. Another jar filled with some unidentifiable substance, but one whiff of it told her that it would be thoroughly useless. What potion that could allow someone to walk through doors smelled like rotten eggs?

The box of dolls.

There was clearly nothing she could do with them. They weren't sharp enough to pick a lock, or flat enough to fit in that thin space between the door and the wall. And even if they were, they weren't sturdy enough to hold their own against it. Still, there was an exhilarating energy about it that made her fingers move a little faster, made her pulse run quicker.

Sisters.

She jerked her hand back, startled. Was that why she felt so drawn to them? Hand shaking, Karina picked up one of the dolls. It had two mismatched buttons as eyes, one small and green and the other large and brown. The mouth was stitched just like Lilith's was, and the two dolls were dressed in the same plain garb.

The principal difference between them, however, was the burn marks on this doll's chest that weren't present on Lilith's. At the ominous sight Karina's mind flashed back to the pyre, to her mother whose hair had matched the flames, to the mother who didn't look her in the eyes as she turned from woman to ashes--

She shook her head, trying to keep the fear off her face. She may not be able to feel anymore, but there was something about the flashbacks that left her feeling more like the rabbit than the fox. And she'd spent enough time as the rabbit to know she never wanted to be that again.

It looked as though a single strike had driven a hole straight through the doll and singed all the surrounding fabric. Karina poked her pinky finger through the hole, then threw it back as an odd sensation flooded her body and twisted her stomach. She heard it hit the floor with a dull thump.

"What are you doing?"

The monster. She groaned and turned towards him. "None of your business."

"So you've gone from avoiding your problems quietly to beating them in the face with words. Huh." If he was supposed to be faking nonchalance, he was doing a very bad job of it; hurt bled into his words, dripping bitterness. 

She chose not to respond, instead continuing to examine the goods in front of her. The box held more than just dolls. She could see something glitter over something dark where the doll had previously been. 

"What is it?" His breath was hot against her ear. She suddenly felt very aware of herself, like every move she made could lead to something dangerous. She was not a risk taker if she did not have to be.

It had jagged edges, familiar enough for a once-clumsy girl to recognize. "It's broken glass." She remembered once, when she'd been feeling spiteful, she'd sprinkled ground glass by Olga's bed. The woman had been hurt, but not as hurt as Karina had been when she had been forced to dance atop it in bare feet. "Don't--don't touch it," she whispered. He nodded slowly, a smile curving his lips.

Trying to find her way around the glass to get to the black, flat thing beneath it, Karina slid a hand beneath the dolls. Her knuckles scraped the wood beneath before finding soft leather. She pulled it out, the glass tinkling.

It was a small, black book. It smelled somewhat familiar, like--she held it up to her nose--something woodsy. The space beneath her mother's bed when they played come-find-me. She flipped it open, expecting to find strange text that she couldn't understand or the language of warlocks and yagas. Instead, it was Moracian.

She looked at the inside flap--a name. The letters had been pressed hard into the paper like they were meant to be remembered. The script itself was small, and spiky, but still, she could make it out quite well. "Mara Hedge," she whispered. "I don't--I don't understand." 

"Nothing to do but read it, then," Hans said breezily, grabbing the book from her. "You can continue looking for a way out, like the coward you are, and I'll read it aloud." His eyebrows quirked up; she must have been wearing an incredulous expression. "It may be your relative's diary, but I need some bargaining. And I need to know what's going on."

"How do I know that you won't be making it up as you go along? How can I trust anybody but myself?"

"Can you even trust yourself?" 

She didn't respond in words, instead bowing her head and staring at her hands. 

"Guess you'll just have to trust me," he said, his tone lighter than it had to be. She could hear the flipping of pages, the cough-like sound as Hans cleared his throat. Then footsteps, as he returned to his customary spot by the wall. 

And then he began to read.