Chapter Twelve

Perchta was already at the cottage, waiting just outside the front gate in her sleigh, when Astrid arrived.

In a flash of orange, Oskar hopped out, landing quietly in the snow with sleek grace. He paused to sniff the air, black nose twitching.

“You smell different,” Perchta commented with a smirk, as Astrid helped her down.

“Like Altes Geweih,” the fox familiar agreed eagerly.

She hiked four hours that day, down and up the mountain, sweating under all her layers, yet the first thing they scented on her was Gudarīks. And she’d done nothing more than offer him a comforting hug and a helping hand. “Yes, well, we checked out the site together.”

Both mistress and familiar shared a knowing look. The fox smirked. “If you say so.”

Rolling her eyes, Astrid opened the gate.

She crossed the yard to Fritz and Liesel’s pen to see how they were doing. Bleating merrily, they both immediately darted over from their enclosure, bumping their heads into her outstretched hands when she leaned over the fencing to give them scratches.

“If you stay long enough,” she called over her shoulder. “You just might get to meet him.” There’d been no promises, but considering his long-held routine of visits, the odds seemed pretty good.

If luck were on her side, some of the novelty would wear off then, but it was doubtful Mutter would mellow out about the whole seduction thing. Becoming more insufferable was more likely. But after last night, it would be worth it to have the two meet so that they could compare old-creature-of-the-forest notes and figure out who and what they were dealing with.

Perchta yanked something out of the sleigh and announced, “I brought an overnight bag.”

“Of course, you did,” Astrid teased, not at all put out. For as much as coven-expanding innuendos got under her skin, she loved when they spent time together. “Come inside. I’ll put on a pot of water for tea and get a fire started.”

Ever since she was a little girl, Astrid loved watching Mutter Perchta perform magic. So effortless and seamless, it always looked more like art than craft. Magic was real—not just for the storybooks—and it could be hers to wield. When that little girl begged Perchta to teach her, her life as a witch began.

Now, twenty-nine years later, she dreamed of becoming a hag, and watching Perchta work her spells mesmerized just as much as they did when she was a child.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Oskar snoozed on the rug, nose tucked between two paws, in front of the hearth where a fire crackled steadily.

Astrid observed as Perchta uncapped the thermos and, with little more than flexing her fingers, levitated the snow collected from the campsite. It swirled out, round and round, shaping into a spinning, hovering orb between them. Individual flakes glittered as they caught the firelight.

Sitting back in her chair, a cup of tea nestled between two gnarled, clawed hands, Perchta studied the orb. Occasionally, she twirled her index finger, and in response, the floating snow would spin in a new direction.

“What do you see?” Astrid’s own rudimentary magical strengths were more tactile in nature, so she couldn’t discern anything new from this exercise.

“The traces of magic you found are about two thousand years old,” Perchta answered thoughtfully. “The spell I’m using isn’t precise enough to get an exact year. And human in origin, as you said, which should be impossible. The casters would have to be just as old...”

That dated their unseen adversaries to around 23 C.E. “Undead?”

“Perhaps in a way.” Perchta tapped a claw to thin, bloodless lips. “A haunting seems most probable. Lingering spirits leaving their mark, including these traces of magic.”

“But what of the wolf slaying?”

“The work of poachers. The proximity of the killing to haunting grounds would trigger spirit manifestations. Acts of violence and blood-spilling tend to rile up the dead.”

As much as Astrid wished the simplest answer was the right one, there was an uneasiness in her gut that she just couldn’t shake. Something at the site was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on what was inspiring this underlying sense of dread, but it had freaked out even the mighty Gudarīks. “If it isn’t a coincidence, but rather a part of a ritual, what could they be trying to accomplish?”

“Spilled blood has a lot of different uses. It can be used to appease and placate, as a form of protection; to track and communicate with someone across realms; or to lure in a summoning. It’s also used in many old forms of necromantic magic, but unfortunately, without more items from the ritual, if there even was one, I can’t tell which purpose it is. For instance, were any or all parts of the body used? Was it arranged in a certain way? Or not at all?” Perchta gestured to the rotating snow. “Essentially, we have some of the ingredients, but not the whole list, or the recipe card.”

Astrid sat back with a sigh, drumming her nails on top of the table.

“What troubles you, Tochter?”

More than anything, she wanted to believe that this was just a group of average poachers accidentally triggering a haunt. That kind of evil was easy to deal with—a well-aimed swing of her ax and problem solved.

“It feels like too much of a coincidence. Altes Geweih has devoured interlopers for years, and the act has never triggered a haunt.”

“You have to feed a haunt to give it strength, and there’s much power to be gleaned when the food is rare and precious. It could’ve been building up to this all along, the wolf slaying but a catalyst.”

Simple cause and effect. An event unfolding gradually, and then suddenly, like the steady erosion of rock and soil that one day results in a landslide.

Astrid reached out to touch the swirling snow orb, slightly shaking her head. “This feels like communication spell work to me, just leagues beyond anything I’ve ever done.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like it’s reaching, not pulling, and from somewhere... beyond.” When she gestured toward the sky, Perchta arched one sharply sculpted brow. “I don’t actually mean celestial, but somewhere not quite here.”

“That great reaching feeling is still in line with a haunting. Spirts of the dead can sometimes commune with the living if they’re strong or angry enough.”

“That’s true.” Astrid sat back. “You’re probably right. Do I have anything to fear from an old haunt like this? Will special protections be necessary?”

Perchta shook her head. “It sounds like a localized event. And the forest rangers who go to investigate the campsite might get spooked, but that would be the worst of it—Johanna will be fine.”

That settled much of Astrid’s worry.

“But on the subject of protections.” Perchta lifted an accusatory finger, waggling it back and forth. “You’ve taken down your wards.”

Ah. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Mutter noticed.

Yanking down the wards had brought to mind all the painstaking hours she’d spent learning how to make them. Human children complained of piano and violin lessons—this had been her version of that, only the stakes were higher if she skipped practice.

While it rankled to learn how ineffective her efforts had been all these years, at least now she knew they needed to improve the magic. Having an amicable understanding with Gudarīks was all well and good, but the world contained more monsters than him.

“I’m not trying to keep Altes Geweih out anymore, but even if I was, they only burn him.”

“Is that not a deterrent?”

“Not enough of one. It seemed more like an annoyance than a reason to rethink entering my yard.”

“It’s not wielding enough damage then.” Perchta twisted her hands, brow furrowed. She seemed genuinely unsettled. “The spell was calibrated for a deity of his age... We should look into it even though you two are on friendly terms. Knowing what adjustments are needed is a matter of principle and due diligence.”

“Could it be he’s the only one of his kind? Rarity carries a greater weight, as you’d said.”

“Mmm, that very well could be, but speaking of the devil...” A grin spread the width of Perchta’s face, sharp teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I sense him drawing near. Why don’t we go out and welcome our guest, Tochter?”

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