Untethering Dark

Chapter Fourteen

Little piles of bone, twig, and twine were spread out on Astrid’s dining table—supplies for making household wards. If someone was indeed ramping up to challenge Gudarīks, she needed to make better ones. For all she knew, which was very little, she might be targeted next.

Holding up a jar of dried plant clippings, she twisted it around, the glass glinting orange in the firelight. It held the active ingredient she’d used in wards past. “What is it exactly?”

When Astrid was a child, Mutter had only told her that it was a rare and nameless plant, and that had been explanation enough for her. Rare meant potent, but recent events proved it wasn’t strong enough, and she needed to understand why.

Perchta sat with her hands clasped beneath her chin, lost in thought, but looked up at the question. “Clippings from Altes Geweih’s garden. There’s a power in using something that he tended to with caring and love.” The creature in question had left them in favor of patrolling the forest for trespassers, too restless for spell talk over cups of tea. “Then, I added stinging nettle and poison root to, well, poison his own cultivation against him, giving it its repelling effect, but evidently not as strong of one as I’d previously believed. That, or I very much underestimated his love for his garden.”

The prehistoric beast had a garden? Growing and nurturing things seemed too tender and human a hobby for a creature that ate people.

Astrid ran her fingers through the ends of her hair. Just days ago, his claws had delicately curled around the strands with a practiced gentleness that surprised her. Perhaps now she had her answer about where that gentleness came from. “How did you get the clippings without him knowing?” Doubtful he would’ve taken kindly to the theft if he’d known about it.

“I asked Oskar to fetch them. My dear little loophole.”

Hearing his name, Oskar lifted his head from his paws and yawned wide, tongue lolling, before his features settled into a smug, sly smile. “While my service as a familiar draws attention, I’m a creature of the forest first and foremost and thus under Altes Geweih’s protection,” he explained. “It allows me quite a bit of leeway to do ‘fox’ things.”

Like stealing.

Astrid nodded approvingly. “Clever.”

“Always.”

“The only thing stronger than a possession or a creation,” Perchta continued, a wicked smile forming, “is something of his body, which for obvious reasons, I could not obtain. But you, Tochter, with a little bit of effort, might be able to acquire such a thing. Blood or fur will do, but that’s not as much fun as his se...”

“Mutter!” Astrid slammed the jar down on the table, cheeks burning. “Do not finish that sentence!”

The Hexe had the actual audacity to start cackling. Insufferable, horny old woman. She was right though. While Astrid’s first two encounters with Gudarīks had been a flirtation with death, a different sort of desperation simmered beneath every meeting that followed. One that yanked on heartstrings, not primal, existential dread.

The night they found the slain wolf, Gudarīks embraced Astrid like she was the last creature on earth. The cool, hard bone of his face tucked neatly against her neck, his arms almost long enough to wrap around her twice. And when he breathed in, nuzzling into her scent, she nearly whimpered. His fur was so soft beneath her fingers, his body a furnace. Heat seeped through the thick layers of her coat and sweater to her very skin as if she hadn’t bothered to wear clothes at all.

Holding him felt forbidden, impossible. Someone so old, so powerful, and utterly terrifying shouldn’t fall to pieces in her arms, craving comfort more than flesh. But he did, and she held him all the tighter for it.

Bits of his fur still clung to her clothes from that night, and all it had taken was kindness. But she wouldn’t tell Mutter that. Using that moment of vulnerability felt wrong in a way even Astrid’s morally bankrupt sensibilities wouldn’t allow.

“Anyway,” Astrid huffed. “All we have of the human magic users are the traces of their magic in the snow I collected.”

Perchta sobered.

“I doubt it would be strong enough to power a warding spell, but it’s all we’ve got.” Astrid ducked over to her supply chest, rooting around inside until she found what she was looking for, and held up a silver bell with a tinny jingle. “But I can spell it to alert me. Should this manifestation develop into something more, something that can darken my doorstep, this will least buy me some getaway time.”

“Very good, Tochter.” A soft smile spread across thin, pale lips, Perchta genuinely pleased. “You know, I’ve been thinking it’s near time you’ve taken up my mantle.”

Astrid blinked in surprise.

She thought she’d have to spend the better part of the year convincing Perchta she needed the rest, but the winter goddess was offering.

She studied the gnarled hands of the Hexe who’d taken her in at the tender age of six and nursed her back to health. The hands that spoon-fed her thin broth when she was severely malnourished. The hands that snipped away dirty, matted hair, crawling with lice. The hands that bathed her and put clean clothes on her body, told her wild, enchanting tales, taught her magic, and gave her all the tools she needed not only for survival but a life well lived.

When Perchta gave her the choice to shed her humanity and take the hag’s path, Astrid didn’t even hesitate to accept. There was no one she looked up to more, and the promise of power, the magic of the winter solstice at her fingertips, was too great an opportunity to ignore.

“I procured the remaining potion ingredients. You should move up your plans to complete the transformation.” Perchta reached out to cup her hands, ice-cold to the touch. “If there’s a threat, you’ll need the power, strength, and constitution it’ll grant you. As for my mantle, we can begin discussing what that entails.”

Nervous excitement bubbled up in Astrid’s chest. “You really think I’m ready?”

Protecting children, eviscerating their wicked parents, taking up the Yuletide rites.

“I really do,” Perchta replied softly. “You’re already a capable and competent Hexe. The wisdom that comes with age, of living one century after the other, will come with time.” Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Astrid could have sworn she saw those wolfish, yellow eyes glisten.

Happy tears sprang to Astrid’s eyes, and with an avalanche of giddy emotion, she grasped Perchta in a suffocating, rocking hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Perchta squeezed her tight, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Of course, Tochter. And I’ll start brewing the potion as soon as I return home. You’ll need to take a dose every day. Oh, and you better scry that satyr of yours to make final ritual arrangements.”

Not even an insinuation that Gudarīks should be the one, which, given the horny old woman’s earlier teasing about bodily fluids, was surprising, but such a relief. At the end of the day, her safety, her power, and her choice...that was what was most important.

“I will.”

Before the night was through, Demos was contacted, and new totems hung from the trees surrounding Astrid’s home. Silver bells tied to leather pouches containing sprinklings of snow were spelled so that not even a hard wind would disturb them. Only an approaching adversary would make them ring.