The Kingdom of Back(29)

“Maria Anna Mozart,” I said. “I’m called Nannerl.”

“Nannerl,” the witch repeated. “What a beautiful little girl you are. You remind me so much of my daughter.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Woferl walking alongside me, each time a tiny step farther away. He was going to steal the night flower. I kept my gaze locked on the witch. “Thank you.” I wanted her to stay focused on me. “What is your name?”

“I no longer have one,” she said. Her voice caressed me in its folds, full of sweet melodies and muted violins. “I’m afraid I have been here so long that I cannot remember anymore.” The notes in her voice turned tragic, so that they tore at my heart with their sadness. I steadied myself.

“You look young and strong, child,” she went on. She did not notice Woferl’s widening distance from me—she was too interested in keeping my attention. “You could help me escape.”

“How would I do that?” I asked. “You are bound to this grotto’s floor.”

“All you would need to do is take some of the water from the pool,” she said, gesturing toward where we had come in, “and pour it on my feet. It will loosen them from the stone.” Her eyes flickered toward Woferl. He stopped in his tracks, feigning innocence. The witch smiled at him, and I let out a breath.

It would be difficult for us to sneak around her.

“We have nothing with which to hold the water,” Woferl said. “I am only wearing my nightclothes. We have no shoes, or thick aprons to use as a vessel.”

The witch frowned for a moment at this problem.

“Perhaps we can use one of the night flowers behind you,” I suggested. I pointed toward them. “They are very large. They may be able to hold enough water.”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right, clever girl.” She twisted herself around in place, bent toward the wall behind her, and picked one of the night flowers from the wall. It glowed more brightly in her hand, perhaps in fear, and I saw its thorny stem move slowly in her grasp. Woferl watched it with wide eyes.

I started to move toward her. I could see her wrinkles more plainly now, the circles under her eyes, the creases and folds, the frailness of her skin. She continued to smile at me.

“Nannerl,” she whispered as I drew closer. The night flower glittered in her hand. “Help me escape from this grotto, and I shall repay you in ways you cannot imagine. I can answer your wish. I can keep you from being forgotten, like I have been.”

I swallowed hard. “How do you know about my wish?” I said. My eyes darted toward Woferl.

“Your brother can’t hear me, Nannerl,” the witch said. “Only you can. I know who you are, and I know what you want. If you free me, I can help you.”

I was so close now that the cold blue light of the night flower reflected against my skin. The witch’s eyes bore into mine. “Did Hyacinth tell you?” I asked her. “He must have mentioned it.”

Her lips turned down in a menacing frown. “You sound like you’re very fond of him.”

I hesitated, unsure whether I should answer her.

“And what is it that makes you so fond?” she said. The sweet violins in her voice now turned bitter, the nostalgia shifting into a dark memory.

“Should I not be?” I asked her. A seedling of doubt against Hyacinth was planted in my mind. Careful what she says to you, I reminded myself, alarmed.

“That isn’t something I can tell you. Do you trust him?”

“I don’t know.”

She held out the flower to me. “You would do well to trust me instead, Nannerl.”

I took a deep breath. Behind me, Woferl stood unmoving beside the cavern pool. I turned back to the faery, reached out, and took the night flower from her hand.

Her touch, colder than the wind of a winter night, froze me in place. I wanted to cry out. Instead I found myself staring at her, overwhelmed by the sound of music that came from deep in her throat. The melody flowed through her body and into my hand, wrapping itself around my skin, refusing to let go. I closed my eyes, unable to tear myself away from her.

I wanted to be a part of the music so badly, ached for it to swallow me. It sounded like it came from everywhere—from her throat, from the air, from deep inside me. But the ice of her touch turned to fire. It threatened to scorch me from the inside out, until I turned to ash against the walls.

Woferl’s voice came from somewhere far away, another time and place. “Nannerl!” I thought he said. I could not move. The music roared in my ears.

The white of the witch’s eyes had completely filled with blackness. She did not smile any longer. The music that flowed in me turned deafening, shaking my limbs. Pain shot through my chest. It was too much.

Then I felt a warm hand grab mine and pull me away. I gasped for air. My other hand stayed locked around the night flower. I glanced around in a daze and realized that Woferl had broken her hold on me and was running with me toward the pool.

Behind us, the witch shrieked.

“Help me!” she screamed. “Fill the night flower with water, and pour it on my feet. Free me!”

Such anguish pierced her voice that a part of me yearned to go back to the music that flowed in her. My heart tugged against her magic. No. I struggled against it, then forced myself away with all my strength. The witch tried to lunge toward us, but we were too far now, and diving back into the water where she could not reach, where her grounded feet prevented her from following. The warmth of the water washed away the last of her icy magic’s pull.