Authors: Laura Bickle
“Yeah. Well . . . not for lack of trying by your Elder guys.” He kissed the top of my head. “They roughed me up, tied me to the horse. Spooked him with gunshots to send him running west. Horse ran for what seemed like forever.”
I fingered scratches on his face. “Like the cow in your myth?”
“Like Io.”
“And the vampires didn’t find you.” I hugged him happily.
“Well . . . not exactly. They did.”
I drew back, stared at him. I began to run my fingers over his neck and wrists.
“Horse ran out of steam, eventually. I was busy trying to cut the rope on a stop sign beside the road when the vampires turned up. And it should have been easy for them, since I was still trussed up like a pig.” He looked down at his arms. “I think it’s the tattoos.”
“It is,” the Hexenmeister confirmed. I turned to see the old man limping across the yard toward us. “I cannot read them, but they are just as powerful as the
Himmelsbrief.
”
I ran my fingers over the black ink. “They’re holy to you.”
Alex flexed his fingers. “They are now.”
“How did you escape?” I asked Herr Stoltz.
The Hexenmeister’s eyes twinkled. “My guard likes to sleep. He does not pay much attention to the back windows. Though my old joints do.” He rubbed his knee.
“What will happen when they find out you’re gone?”
The old man smiled. “There is little they can do to me. They will need me. They know it, even though they refuse to admit it. I shall confess, ask forgiveness. I will allow them to swear me to silence, immerse myself in making ink and paint.” He made a dismissive gesture.
“More
Himmelsbriefen.
More hex signs.”
“
Ja.
I will do what I can do.” He glanced at the bodies of the vampires before stumping away, muttering to himself. “But for now, we need more kerosene. And some kindling . . . maybe salt . . .”
“I’ll get the kerosene and the salt.” Ginger ran into the house.
Alex took my hands. His hands were warm and solid. I rested my head against his, a prayer of thanksgiving on my lips.
***
Dawn seared the horizon pink and red, burning away the violet of night.
I stood at the gate in a clean dress, with a heavy pack on my shoulder, watching the sun rise.
“What happens now?” I asked.
I would be lying to say I wasn’t afraid. I glanced back, seeing the line of Elders in the distance, like crows on a telephone wire. The Hexenmeister was with them, but he was silent. I knew that he would do his best to protect our community. I think that my parents believed what had happened last night, after Elijah had told them. But the Elders couldn’t allow that belief to spread. It made me angry, leaving everything I loved behind. But, on some level, I also craved it. I turned my face to the sun.
I was sad that my family would not come with me. Some sliver of me hoped that they would not send me out into the world alone, knowing that I spoke the truth. But I knew that they had Sarah to care for. And that this was the safest place for them.
Baptized or not, I was an adult woman now. Time to make my own choices. I chose not to repent and ask for mercy. I chose to go beyond the gate.
Alex shrugged, adjusting his pack. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows and shirt unbuttoned to show his tattoos, and his hat was pulled down low to shade his eyes. His black jacket with the zippers was tucked under one arm. He led the white horse on a bridle behind us.
“What happens now?” I asked again.
“I dunno, Bonnet. But we’ll figure it out.”‘
“Wait! Wait for me!”
I turned. A round figure in Amish dress ran toward us, kicking up dust and clutching a pink purse. Ginger. She broke past the startled line of Elders as if she were playing an adult version of red rover, launched herself over the fence with a degree of agility that shocked me. She skidded to a stop in the dust before us, the sun reflecting off her eyeglasses.
“Um. You guys want some company?”
“Ja.”
I grinned and nodded. I unlatched the gate and we stepped through into the unknown together.
Laura Bickle's professional background is in criminal justice and library science. When she's not patrolling the stacks at the public library, she's dreaming up stories about the monsters under the stairs, and writing contemporary fantasy novels under the name Alayna Williams. Laura lives in Ohio with her husband and five mostly-reformed feral cats.
The Hallowed Ones
is her first young adult novel. For more about Laura, please visit her website at:
www.laurabickle.com
.