Wolves Among Us(59)

One of Bastion’s men grabbed Mia by the arm. Bastion and Bjorn lunged for him at the same time. Bastion moved faster, throwing the man to the ground in front of Mia.

“Do not touch her!” Bastion said.

Bjorn stepped over her. “Leave her to me. A man has a right to punish his own wife.”

Hilda screamed again, a clotted sound. Bastion glanced in the direction of the door.

“Bjorn, you must see that the men use some restraint with Hilda. Try not to let her die until I can question her.”

Bjorn glanced between Mia and Bastion, then went out the door.

Bastion set Alma down. “Go and sit on the bed, little one.”

Alma stared at him and did not move. Mia reached out and nudged her arm, not taking her eyes off Bastion. “Go on, Alma. Go sit.” Alma obeyed, sitting on the bed, then curling into a ball, sucking her thumb, her eyes like deep white moons.

Bastion slapped Mia. “What have you done? Why did you not trust me?”

Mia covered the burning spot on her cheek with the palm of her hand, too stunned to cry. “I do not trust you. But neither do I trust myself with you. That is why I ran.”

Bastion pulled her in, and she did not resist, her limbs cold with fear. He moved her hand and kissed her red, stinging cheek.

“Was there ever a woman like you?” He pressed his mouth and nose into her neck, inhaling deeply. She felt his chest expand against hers, his warm hands on her cold arms. She tried not to close her eyes.

He nuzzled her as he spoke. “You must stop listening to your little fears. Do you want to die? Do you want Alma to die? In the village I came from last, they burned no fewer than five girls.”

Mia let out a breath.

“I can still save you,” Bastion promised.

Her mind presented answer after answer, dozens of them in the space between two blinks of an eye. She should reject him and call on the name of the Lord. She should ignore her conscience and do whatever he asked to save Alma. She should scream for Alma to run. She did not realize her mouth moved as she sorted through all the choices, until he put a finger to her lips.

“This is what you will do. Admit nothing. Insist on your innocence. I will see to it that you are cleared.”

“And Alma?”

“Alma, too.” He sounded surprised, as if he had forgotten about her.

He went out the door and yelled at the men as a chilling breeze swept in. Bjorn appeared in the doorway, removing his belt, his hard and determined gaze making her shiver. The men talked quietly, but the cold wind brought the words to her ears. Hilda was dead. She had confessed nothing.

Bastion chastised the men, his back still turned. Bjorn took a step toward Mia. She flinched as she imagined the belt across her face. Still, she motioned for him to come nearer. She had to try to do the right thing, no matter who he was inside, no matter that he wouldn’t do the right thing for her.

“I am no witch,” she said as calmly as she could. “But I do know how to break the spell over you,” she said, taking the bottle from her bag. “Bastion told me that only another witch can break a witch’s spell. Hilda gave this to me when I begged for help for my husband. Drink this, and you will be completely free. It’s the only way to be free.”

Bjorn walked behind Mia, pulling her arms behind her back, using his belt to bind her wrists together. He ran one finger down the soft length of her forearm, then he took the vial from her hand.

Bastion returned. “Use my rope, Bjorn. It is easier to pull a woman along a path than to push.”

Bastion walked to Mia, carrying a rope, and ran the rope once around her waist, moving in front of her as he tied it off.

The tears on her cheeks shamed her in front of Alma, who looked at her with fear and anger.

Bastion handed the rope to Bjorn.

“I shouldn’t lead her. She is your wife.”



Stefan could not get used to the smells inside the cell. Bjorn would not have washed them. Bjorn would want a criminal to suffer in every way, and once, Stefan would have agreed.

He hoped he would get used to it after the first hour, but two nights had passed. Every time he relieved himself it grew worse. He could hear very little weeping today. The women in the cells flanking him had worn themselves out. Without family to pay for food and drink, many now saw their third day of starvation. Stefan hoped the other women, those who had families unafraid to visit them, shared their drink and food. If they did not, women would begin dying before Bastion could burn them. Stefan wondered if they preferred that. He wondered where Bastion and Bjorn had been and when they would return. He did not want to speed that hour, but neither did he want to remain here.

“Pray for us, Father,” a woman called to him.

Stefan could hear a guard fling the cell door open to another cell. He heard the crack of palm to face and the guard’s voice. “Do not blaspheme. Not on my watch.”

“My son,” Stefan called. The guard appeared in the square window on the cell door.

“Perhaps you are thirsty?”

The guard frowned at the question.

“If I give you my keys, you will have complete access to my beer cellar.”

“Getting me drunk so you can escape?”

“I am your priest. I answer to a higher authority than yours. Even if I could break down my cell door, I would go nowhere, for God has sent me to serve you and this village.”