Chapter 17 - Aunt Astrid’s Defense

Astrid continued: “I found spells that might cast out an Elf, but since you have been paging through the book, I don’t believe it will listen to me without your aid.”

Table of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21

Recap: In the previous chapter, Johann’s sister Astrid provided him with a bit of news that he hadn’t expected - and which did not please him one bit.

It resulted in his rushing out of the house, desperately seeking a place where he could work through his memories in privacy.

Astrid wants to help him with getting rid of the Elf, but has doubts; perhaps Marjorie’s presence would make her efforts stronger. Perhaps if the two of them made an effort, they could liberate the Graveyard House…

---

To everyone’s relief, Mama and Papa returned—after a considerably long absence.

They entered through the back door. Marjorie listened as they walked up the stairs, speaking in low whispers.

Sighing, Marjorie wrestled away her concerns. She knew her father was in a bad way. He would not like for his children to see him weak as he had been. Respecting his desire for privacy, she busied herself tidying the kitchen.

Astrid had not moved from the table since Mama left. She’d gathered herself after that brief display of emotion. Now, she paged through the grimoire, eyes darting from line to line as she searched for something.

Marjorie wished to join her. Had she, herself, not spent hours attempting to discern the contents of the book?

However, she was reluctant to sit with the woman who had disarmed her father. Astrid had broken him so much that he’d fled from his own house.

Marjorie stood before the kitchen window, scrubbing plates and mugs that were already clean. The repetitive movement helped contain her turbulent feelings.

She scrubbed, taking care not to break her mother’s prized china. The tea set had been a wedding gift, Mama claimed—though she never said from whom, and Marjorie never asked.

Her parents always had secrets; she had been content to let them remain secret, but now everything was spilling out…

“May I help you?” came a soft voice.

It was Miss Fealy. She watched Marjorie’s show of scrub, scrub, scrubbing the plates with an expression of disapproval.

Marjorie allowed the girl to take her place, figuring it might be the only thing in the house Miss Fealy would feel comfortable doing.

Drying her hands with a cloth, she looked once more out the window. The headstones reminded her of the trouble that surrounded them: their home was in peril.

It was no comfort that her father had inherited a house in Germany. Judging by his reaction, he never wanted to see Cinder House again.

The battle remained, therefore, to save their home from an Elf who might be hiding in one of those mausoleums, or in a collapsed grave…

“I paid for your ballgown,” said Astrid, startling Marjorie from her thoughts. “Before we came. I didn’t know if I should arrange for it to be delivered; there are not many people who would enjoy wandering these paths to find your home.”

Marjorie bit her lip. She ought to say thank-you, but had seen her father burst into tears like a frightened child because of a memory. In some way, the memory involved the woman who had purchased a ballgown for her.

Instead of saying a word, she nodded, acknowledging Astrid’s kindness without forcing herself to release the anger she felt.

“Marjorie,” said Astrid.

There was no polite way to react to this without turning to face the visitor. Marjorie did so with reluctance, smoothing the skirts of her green winter-frock.

Astrid continued: “I found some spells that might cast out an Elf, but since you have already been paging through the book, I don’t believe it will listen to me without your aid. We’ll have to go into the yard together and see if we can pick up a trail. I need a pen, though; I need to write my name on this page.”

Startled, Marjorie looked at her brother, who shook his head vehemently. You cannot go, his gesture said. It’s not safe.

“Can you find a pen for her?” she asked.

Adam scowled at being sent away, even just for a few seconds. “Mama won’t let you,” he said, standing. “She would’ve allowed you to go with Papa, but not this witch.”

“Adam,” scolded Marjorie. Though her voice was stern, she understood his anger.

No son wished to see his father weep.

Astrid turned to her nephew with a sigh. “You’re a good lad,” she said. “A good son. The kind my brother deserved, and I am glad he has you.”

These words seemed to soften Adam’s anger. His glare vanished as he turned away from Astrid. He shot Marjorie one last warning look before leaving the kitchen for Papa’s study, where the best pens were kept in a drawer.

“Whatever you are suggesting,” Marjorie said, once he had gone, “if my father tells me not to help you, then it is him I’ll listen to. I know where my loyalties lie.”

“Fair enough,” said Astrid, a bit brokenly. “I have no children, so I do not know what it’s like to have one defend me the way you do for him.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I married up; I desired wealth, and am not ashamed to admit it. But there was not time for me to build a family, and besides, I didn’t want children yet.”

“Are you like your mother?” Marjorie blurted out. “Would you only have wanted girls?”

At this, Astrid did flinch. “He told you,” she whispered.

“Yes, he did.” Marjorie crossed her arms over her chest, fixing her aunt with a glare. “Is it true?”

Astrid bit her lip, looking at the ceiling as if it might provide answers.

“My mother,” she said at last, choosing her words with care, “was part of a coven in which, coincidentally—or so she said—the children born were only girls. This coven lived in the middle of the Black Forest. I never joined that coven, Marjorie, because I discovered the truth.

“It’s not that the only children born to those women were girls. Rather, these witches would abandon their newborns if they were sons; they would leave them in the woods to die or be taken by the Fae as offerings. She wanted to do that to my brother, but I didn’t let her. I realized what was going on; I might have been a child, but I was no fool. I begged for her to keep him, because he was small, and he was beautiful, and I wanted somebody to play with.”

Marjorie listened, transfixed.

“She took him, anyway,” whispered Astrid, “but I was looking out of the window to see where she vanished. I went out that night with a lantern, after she’d gone to sleep. I was resolved: he was my brother.

“When I found him, he had been left underneath a bush to be eaten by wild animals, or freeze to death.” A sob interrupted her story; she continued. “I was ten, but I knew right from wrong. I wrapped my baby brother in my cloak and carried him home, and when I found her waiting there for me, I confronted her.”

Marjorie suddenly understood her father’s fear of that home in the Black Forest. Perhaps he did not remember being an infant left under a bush, but he would remember being treated as a servant during the years that followed. He would remember being reduced to a stable-boy. It was no wonder why he refused to return to that house, even if he inherited it.

Even if the will now proclaimed him to be Master of Cinder House.

“My mother was furious,” Astrid continued. “She told me he could stay, but I was not to interfere in how she brought him up—which meant that, if I did not let her treat him the way she did, she would send him to the wood again where I would not find him. I do not know why she had no softness for him; even I could not look at that babe without love.”

Astrid clasped her hands as she recalled the horrific event that had marked her every bit as much as it marked her brother.

“But I did not want him to freeze to death. I had to keep my distance, though sometimes I would find a moment and sneak out to visit him. I would bring him candy while he worked in the stable. I would give him a blanket when it was cold in the basement, where he slept on a mat. Regardless, I know that I could have done more for him.

“He ran away when he was old enough to do so, and I did not blame him for it. I was not even terribly angry that he had taken the grimoire. I understood him; truly, I did. I went to America as soon as I was old enough to travel alone. I did not join my mother’s coven, and I only returned when she asked me to help settle her affairs.

“It was my idea that the house should go to Johann, but she fought me. To the end of her life, she had no remorse for how she had treated her son. I will never understand her behavior. Perhaps he was conceived in violence. Perhaps there was something that caused her to fear feeling affection for him.

“I did not leave her be until she wrote those words. I won’t blame him if he never returns to that house, but it is his.”

“Does that coven still exist?” Marjorie asked, hoping that the answer was no.

Astrid buried her face in her hands, took a deep breath. “It might. I think they have mostly died out. An old crone or two might wander that wood, but for obvious reasons, there’s not much of a lineage. I did not join them; I had no desire to, after I saw what my mother did to her newborn son. If I were to have a boy, I would not be part of a cult that forced me to sacrifice him.”

“What if my papa does not want this house?” Marjorie asked, as Adam returned with a pen in his hand. “What if the memories are too much for him? You cannot force him to live in a place where he has never known a good memory, a place where he was left to die.”

“If Johann does not want Cinder House,” said Astrid determinedly, “I will do honor to its name and burn it to the ground. I have no need for it, and I will not leave it for a nightmarish cult to take possession of it.

“I look at this house and all that my brother has achieved. He could have turned out to be a wicked man, angry and vengeful. Instead, he is loved by everybody in town because he’s dedicated his life to healing them. I don’t know what happened; perhaps he was taught by a master who saw his wounds and knew how to heal them.

“Whatever his choice might be, I will honor it. I will do my best to undo the mistake I made, so you can have your house back. I only hope for one conversation with my brother before I go.” She smiled sadly. “One meaningful conversation. I want to look him in the eye and apologize.”

Marjorie stared at her aunt’s face, seeing nothing but honesty in the woman’s eyes.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be having that conversation today,” Marjorie said. “But if you help us—if you do send away that Elf—he might be open to listening to you.”

Astrid accepted the pen from Adam and turned to the grimoire once more. She held the pen’s nib over the front page, where all of the names had been written. Biting her lip, she looked up at the ceiling as if in prayer.

Then, carefully, Astrid signed her name underneath Papa’s. Marjorie inched closer to watch; she saw the ink shimmer as if its touch activated an enchantment on the page. It was a spell, coming to life as the ink woke it, then settling to its natural shade of inky black.

Once finished, Astrid closed her eyes and set the pen down, shoulders relaxing. The book must have accepted her, then. At last, it bore her name—the grimoire that was always meant to be hers.

“You will have your house back,” whispered Astrid. “I am ready for battle tonight.”

Marjorie and Adam exchanged an uneasy glance.

“Well,” Marjorie said, “you might as well stay, then. The Shelleys will come around when the sun goes down. They’re our allies on the field.”

Astrid frowned. “The Shelleys?”

Adam smirked. Marjorie nodded for him to explain. No one liked to tell bizarre tales more than he.

“They’re a spirit couple,” she heard him say as she left the kitchen, seeking the privacy of her father’s study. “They’re in charge of the spirits in the graveyard…”

Marjorie took a seat at Papa’s desk, closed her eyes, and allowed a single tear to escape.

The book had accepted Astrid. If Astrid one day had children, then it would never belong to her.

Why had Papa led her to believe there was even a chance that it would?

---