Then he left the inn and returned to sunlit days beneath a linden tree, with Hilda’s fingers in his hair, the breeze soft on his skin, and a sense that time, for just a little while, had stopped.
The Wargs of Greymist
One
Achorus of screams rose from the forest surrounding Greymist Fair.
Wenzel, pacing the room, lurched for the window, ignoring the flash of pain across his back. There was only darkness outside the inn, but he could sense something out there rushing into the village, the screams becoming howls, like wolves. The windows rattled. Then the moment passed, and Wenzel stood, hairs raised and heart beating erratically, knowing something terrible had just happened.
He burst out of his room and pushed his way into Heike’s before Fritz, his friend Altan, or Ulrich could stop him. Heike was in bed, her hands closed over her heart, and Doctor Death was slumped against the far wall. Wenzel kneeled next to him. He was cold and still, his eyes open but unseeing.
“He’s dead?” Altan asked. “But how? We were standing right outside.”
Wenzel pulled himself up to the bedside. Heike’s chest rose and fell with her breathing, and her cheeks were a healthy pink. Her hands were folded over a linden bloom.
Outside, the enraged screams of the wargs echoed in the night.
Heike’s eyes opened slowly. She looked around at all of them, at Doctor Death, up at Wenzel. “What happened?”
“The doctor saved you,” Ulrich said. Then, to Fritz and Altan, he said, “Help me move him. He’s not from Greymist Fair. The forest won’t take him—”
But even as he spoke, the doctor’s body vanished in a slice of shadow, leaving only the tatters of his black coat and his shoes behind. They all stood very still, as if a warg might materialize in the room and claim every one of them. A breathless second passed. Another. None of them had ever seen someone become a warg. Very carefully, Fritz picked up the shreds of clothing and the shoes and took them from the room. Altan, looking stunned, followed.
Heike was trying to sit up in bed, but her arms were shaking. Wenzel helped her and stuffed pillows against the headboard so she’d be comfortable. “Is everything back to the way it should be?” Heike asked. She frowned at the impossible linden bloom in her hand but didn’t let go of it. “Is Hans...?”
“Driven into the forest,” Wenzel said. “But something new has happened. I don’t know if it was caused by the magic, or by Hans, or by something else entirely. The wargs—” Screams and howls filled the air once again, driving chills up Wenzel’s arms. “They’re here. I think they’re all here.”
“The wargs belong to Death,” Heike said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, her brow furrowed. “If the wargs are angry, Death is angry. But it’s been weeks since I went to the cottage in the woods. Why would...” She opened her eyes, looked down at the linden bloom. “I was dying, wasn’t I?”
Wenzel couldn’t bring himself to confirm it, but Ulrich nodded. Heike glanced at the spot where Doctor Death had slumped against the wall. “I was supposed to die, but he saved me. Death wanted me dead very badly when we spoke in the forest. I imagine having that satisfaction taken away would be frustrating.”
“Death can hang,” said Ulrich. “Most of the village is crammed in downstairs. I’ll go see what we can find out about what’s happening outside.”
After he left, Heike took Wenzel’s hand. “Your back. I thought reversing the wish would heal it.”
Wenzel shrugged. “It wasn’t a deep cut. I’ll be fine. I’m only glad we don’t live in that awful world anymore. Don’t worry about me, though—you’re in worse shape. I should get yousomething to eat. And you should try to sleep.”
She held his hand tightly. “I won’t be able to sleep while Death has decided to attack the village. Stay with me. We should be safe so long as we aren’t afraid, and it’s much easier to be brave when you’re here.” She smiled weakly. “Tell me some stories. Or better yet, finish writing them down. Make me that storybook you promised me.”
Wenzel lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, then rubbed them between his own to warm them. “I don’t know if now is the time for stories,” he said. “Besides, I’m not much of a writer.”
“You’re an excellent writer,” she replied, but let the subject drop.
They sat together and listened to the murmur of voices downstairs, and the occasional howls outside. Eventually Fritz shouldered his way back into the room with a tray of hot stew. He set it across Heike’s legs.
“Gabi said you should eat and then come downstairs, if you feel strong enough,” Fritz said. “There’s a meeting to decide what should be done about the wargs.”
The few brave enough to go outside—Gottfried the hunter and his husband, Oswald, Dagny the baker, Ulrich, and Elma Klein—hadn’t been able to see the wargs in thedarkness, and there had been no tracks in the snow, but there were traces of destruction. Yule garlands had been torn from fences and eaves, wreaths swiped down from doorways by great claws that left gouges in the doors, and animals sheltered from the cold in barns kicked and butted at their stalls in fear. Gottfried felt hunted but couldn’t see his stalker.
“It was Dagny who saw Death.” Fritz’s voice was quiet. “On the rise by Greymist Manor, silhouetted in a shaft of moonlight. They’re thinking of sending out a hunting party to find Death and... well, and kill them, though I don’t know how they plan to do that.”
“They can’t.” Heike sat forward, jostling the tray and the stew bowls. “You can’t fight Death with guns and axes. Wenzel, help me up—we have to get downstairs.”
Wenzel took the tray, and he and Fritz helped Heike from bed. She teetered on her feet, had to pause to get her bearings, and then had to lean on Wenzel as they shuffled out the door and down the stairs.
The conversation in the inn common room had risen to shouting. Fritz helped wedge a path through the villagers, and Wenzel held Heike close to his side so she wouldn’t be jostled by the crowd. At the far end of the room, by the fireplace, Ulrich, Godric, and Elma stood arguing about their hunting plans, eachbacked by their own supporters. The yelling made Wenzel’s muscles instinctively tighten, even after all these years, so he had to be careful not to hold Heike too hard.
When Heike came into view, the villagers fell quiet. The apothecary jumped up from his chair and offered it to her. Heike sank into it with a breathless “Thank you.”
