Night of the Witch by Sara Raasch EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Sara Raasch
- Language: English
- Genre:Historical Fantasy
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- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
FRITZI
DECEMBER, 1591
My mother’s eyes are fire embodied, smoldering with such fury that I feel
their heat on my skin. That fire burns straight to my core, spearing me, as I
stand helplessly in our little kitchen, arms splayed, empty potion vials
clutched in my fists.
“Go, Friederike,” she tells me, a growl of command. “Get in the
cellar.”
The shouts of battle outside haven’t waned. How long has the fight
lasted? And still, each cry of attack is as jarring as a crack of thunder,
surging alertness into my veins, a building stockpile of wake up and danger
and go.
Mama tells me that again. “Go, now.”
I only came in here to restock my supplies and regroup. Our coven
needs help—
“Mama, you cannot ask me to hide. You cannot.”
She throws a glance through our warped front window. A protection
talisman hangs against our single pane of fogged glass, ash tree twigs
knotted into a triangle, limbs strung with rosemary bundles still fresh and
floral-sweet.
A lot of good that talisman has done.
A lot of good any of our protection spells have done.
I grab for the herbs spread on our kitchen table. Birchbark for
protection, fennel seed in a cedar box for defense; what will work, what will
be enough? I brought everything that we had out of the cellar, all our last
remaining herbs, but I turn back to the open hatch helplessly, like
something else will appear, some great solution I’m too panicked to see.
“Mama,” I try again. I am faltering, my voice is too high, my
movements too unsteady. When I reach for the herbs again, the cedar box
tips, spilling dozens of tender fragrant fennel seeds across the wood. “Let
me make more potions. I can do it quickly. Let me try—”
The wrinkles around her usually smiling mouth tug down. She smooths
back her unruly blond curls, identical to mine, hoping to wipe away some of
her uncappable sorrow. I have seen that look before; it is branded on my
soul, and I know, a flash of realization, what’s changed in the last few
seconds.
This battle teetered on the edge of hope before it even began. We
always knew the witch hunters would come for us, so we had defenses,
strategies planned, but success relied too heavily on luck.
And every ounce of luck turned its back on us from the start.
Whatever my mother saw outside has told her: We can’t win. We won’t.
I pull the empty vials to my chest. “We’re still standing. We have to
keep fighting!”
Mama surges forward to cup my cheek in her palm. She smells of
sweat and gunpowder.
Outside, screams. From my family. From hexenjägers, the vile witch
hunters. Spells explode and rifles pop.
“Mein Schatz,” Mama whispers, her thumb soft on my face. “I don’t
need you to be brave now. I need you to listen.”
I shove the potion vials into the leather pouches hanging from my belt
and grab her wrists. “Mama, please—I need to tell you—”
She presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you, Friederike.”
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