Chapter 18 - Where is Nina?

Johann found himself stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling of the room he and Nina shared. She sat looking at him with a face devoid of emotion.

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Recap: In the previous chapter, Marjorie had an important conversation with her aunt Astrid about the childhood that had scarred her father.

It was decided that they should try working together, if they hoped to banish the Elf that was tormenting the Brahms family. After all, the grimoire answered to them both.

But what if things should…get worse? Can Astrid do anything, especially when their trust in her is still so frail?

---

Johann found himself stretched out in bed, staring at the ceiling of the room he and Nina shared. She sat beside him, looking at him with a face devoid of emotion. Perhaps she, too, was overcome by shock.

A moment of silence ensued as he stared back at her. He recalled vaguely the events of that morning.

Astrid had appeared at their door, asking why he never replied to her letters. Johann returned the grimoire he had stolen from her when he was a foolish lad. He had hoped that the returning of the book would be the most dramatic event of her visit.

Then, she had stunned him by saying that their mother was dead. Not only that, but Mother had bequeathed Cinder House to him.

Johann despised that house.

With a stab of embarrassment, he remembered bursting into helpless tears—the tears of the boy he had once been—as he hurried out of the front door.

Nina followed. She must have found him in a frenzy, for he did not recall coming back inside the house or walking to the bedroom. He wondered if Astrid was still in the kitchen, or if she left after seeing his puerile reaction to the news.

“The witch is downstairs,” whispered Nina. “With our children. I don’t know what they are conversing about. I preferred to remain with you, my pet, and ensure that you are alright.”

My pet? She never called him that. Johann grimaced in confusion; his head was pounding, his thoughts had yet to achieve the clarity of wakefulness.

As he sat up, his muscles protested. How fast had he run from the house after Astrid’s revelation? How far—gads—how far had he gone from the boundaries he established around his house to protect it?

Nina stood, smoothing out the skirts of her floral dress. At least it hasn’t been soiled, he thought. I shouldn’t have allowed her to kneel on the floor.

“You were running a fever,” she continued, “because you spent so long in the frigid air.”

Johann’s confusion deepened as he ran a hand through his hair. “How far did I run?”

“Into the forest, my pet,” said Nina. “See? You tumbled into a tree, and its bough gave you a good scrape—there.”

She pointed to his arms. Johann looked and saw, with a chagrin, that his skin had been marked with deep grooves. It was no wonder that he’d been unconscious as Nina led him back home; he might’ve hit his head on a rock, klutz that he could be.

Johann heaved a sigh. He reached for the jug of water on the bedside table and poured some in his glass, draining it; finding that one glass was not enough, he poured another and drained that one, as well.

“I’m going to clean myself up,” he said at last, “and have a conversation with my sister. It’s going to be difficult, but I don’t believe I can make a greater fool of myself than I’ve already done.”

“Yes, tell the witch that she is not needed.” Nina’s tone was calm, as if she had been considering the matter before he woke. “Tell our daughter that I wish to speak with her. It is a matter of utmost gravity.”

Setting the glass back on the table, he frowned. “Has Margo done something she shouldn’t have?”

“Yes,” was the tranquil reply. “She is behaving too kindly with the woman downstairs. You know we cannot trust her. I must tell our daughter to reserve her confidences.”

Slowly, Johann rose. He felt the room spin and realized that he had eaten nothing since the toast he’d not finished at breakfast.

“Wouldn’t you rather she prepare something for lunch?” he asked. “No one has eaten yet, and I understand if you don’t wish to be a hostess to Astrid.”

“I am not hungry. I will speak with our daughter!” Nina’s voice rose an octave.

It was then that Johann came to his senses.

He looked once more at Nina’s dress, which bore no stain. It made no sense, for she had knelt beside him on the sooty kitchen floor. The dress showed no evidence, either, of having been worn as she’d chased him through the wood; there was no sweat, nor did leaves cling to its skirt.

This is not Nina, he thought with a pang. Nina never calls Marjorie our daughter. She has never called Astrid the witch.

What had happened in those instances when he lost his mind? Where was Nina?

Difficult as it was to pretend, he could not let the impostor know he had caught on to its trickery. When he spoke next, he used his steadiest tone: “Very well. Change into something comfortable, dearest, and I’ll send Margo upstairs.”

A lie. He would never send his daughter upstairs, for though the creature staring back at him had his wife’s features, something was not right. Her eyes were too sharp, the angles of her face too pronounced.

Johann pretended to stumble as he made his way to the door, so that the creature would believe that he was yet dizzy and confused. It did not turn as he left; it stood unmoving, in such a manner that he was reminded of the gravestones outside that were shaped like angels.

Unnerved, Johann closed the door. He then placed both hands over the lock, breathing an incantation he had learned as a student. Not even the strongest of creatures could break it to enter the room or exit.

He would not have this invader, whatever it might be, further threaten his family.

Was Astrid behind this, as well? Johann doubted it. He’d returned the book to her; there was no reason for her to continue playing tricks on him, and he did not think she was interested in continued games.

It would hurt his pride, but he had no choice: he needed to ask his sister for help.

---

He found Marjorie and Astrid at the kitchen table, poring over the grimoire.

Astrid was giving Marjorie instructions in a low tone, and the young lady listened with an expression of utmost sobriety, looking up only when she heard her father enter the kitchen.

“Papa!” she cried, standing up. “You’re awake! We worried that you would be unconscious into the night, and—”

Johann motioned for silence. When next he spoke, he addressed Astrid, words scarcely a whisper: “The creature upstairs is not my wife. I’m certain of it. The dress it is wearing is clean, and it’s not speaking as Nina does. I fear…”

Astrid sat up, eyes widening. “The Elf,” she breathed.

Swallowing, Johann nodded. He did not wish to cry again in front of his sister, but it was difficult to keep his emotions at bay; if the creature upstairs was not Nina, where was she? What had the Elf done to her?

It was his fault for having run off—his fault for acting like a child in a moment of weakness…

And it was with buckling knees that he placed both hands on the table, looking her in the eye, searching for the Astrid with whom he had grown up. She was there somewhere, behind Mrs. Stonewall, behind all of the years that had separated them since he left.

“Help me,” Johann pleaded. Astrid stood, so their gazes were level. He continued with a dry sob: “I—I’m at my wits’ end. There is an Elf in my house, and my wife—I—I do not know where she is.”

Astrid reached for his hand, and he remembered how she had used to do the same thing, so many years ago, when he’d been a boy and needed to cry because Mother would not let him eat with them—because Mother hadn’t remembered his birthday—because Mother treated him like a slave.

“If it is the same Elf I dealt with days ago,” she said, “then I have been waiting for a second round with him. Let me upstairs; I just found a spell that will—”

Her speech was interrupted by a thunderous roar.

It originated from the bedroom where Johann had trapped the thing pretending to be Nina—but it was no longer trying to sound like Nina, for the sound was horrific, as if a devil had slipped into her body. The impostor had realized that Johann was aware of its trickery. It roared with fury that its farce had not lasted for long.

Marjorie whimpered, looking from Astrid to Johann with wide, fearful eyes. “Mama is gone?” she whispered. “Has that thing taken her? What is it that’s making that horrific soun—”

Johann raised a hand for silence, hoping Marjorie could not see that the panic he felt equaled hers.

If Nina has been taken by the Elves, he thought, what are they doing to her?

He could not dwell on it; he had to be strong for his children, even if he had failed his wife miserably—even if they might be torturing her now—

“Stay here with Adam and Miss Fealy,” he ordered, as tears slid down Marjorie’s fair face. “If Astrid has found a spell she thinks will work, we must trust her.”

Astrid was taking off her lace gloves, setting them on the kitchen table. Her blue eyes gleamed with anger, and there was something of their mother in her expression. Mother had been a formidable witch; he could not deny that, even if she had never loved him.

“Come with me,” Astrid said. “I’ve never had a sister, but they will not toy with my sister-in-law.”

Adam emerged from the study as Johann and Astrid raced in the direction of the stairs.

“What in the blazes is that sound?” he complained, but seeing the tears on his sister’s face, his fighting spirit wavered.

“I will explain later,” Johann choked, only just managing to keep himself upright as he tried to remember what had taken place in that forest—when Nina had been taken—and wondered, in a panic, where they were hiding her.

Astrid kicked off her shoes and began ascending, stocking-footed, to the door from which the sound continued to come. She placed a hand over the knob and turned to him with a question in her expression: Did you secure the lock?

“I used the sealing hex,” he choked, finding that he had to lean against the wall in order to keep steady; Nina, alone in the forest…Nina, frightened and lost, because he had been too weak to read a piece of paper…

Astrid reached for the silver comb in her hair and removed it. With a swift, precise slicing gesture, she undid the hex that Johann set: he could sense it falling to pieces, like an invisible wall of glass before him, but rather than falling at his feet, the remnants faded into thin air.

“You tricked me,” Astrid hissed, stepping in without an ounce of fear. The creature was still growling. It had gotten into the wardrobe and was tearing Nina’s favorite gowns to ribbons in a rage. “Where is she?”

“You hag,” raged the thing that looked like Nina, its eyes gleaming a terrifying shade of red. “We made a deal. I was to find the book, and you would send me home—”

“You never brought the book,” Astrid barked, “and I’ve come to realize that I should never have made an agreement with you in the first place.”

“It was never part of the agreement—” The Elf made another tear in Nina’s favorite lilac gown, causing Johann to hiss with anger—“that you would turn me into an animal wolves would hunt at night—”

“No,” Astrid said, with a harsh laugh. “It was never agreed that I would turn you into a raccoon.” She stepped forward, eyes flashing. “I only regret not changing you into a fly, instead. Then a spider would’ve finished you off in her nice, cozy web.”

“I, a Prince of the Fae!” the thing raged. Johann realized that it no longer possessed feminine features; it was morphing into the same not-boy that had ransacked his study, days before. “Hunted by wolves, powerless! I will take you. I will take all of you. The girl is next. Perhaps not tonight, perhaps not tomorrow, but the girl is next.”

Johann lunged forward, landing a blow to the creature’s nose. It produced a satisfying crunch.

The creature became tangled in the dress it had been desecrating, its legs becoming wound up in strips of cloth, causing it to tumble to the floor as it spat curses in a Fae language.

Johann used his foot and crushed the creature’s face in, using such strength that he felt pain jolt up his own body.

“You,” he hissed, “will never lay a finger on Marjorie.” He shuddered to think of what would’ve become of his daughter, had he been foolish enough to send her up.

The Elf barked a laugh, choking as blood poured from its broken nose and into its mouth. It no longer wore the frock that resembled Nina’s; that dress must’ve been a charm. Its attire had morphed into what Johann imagined was the uniform of a rejected Fae prince: blue with silver trim and an excess of gleaming buttons.

“You thought that you had safeguarded the yard,” laughed the hateful creature. “But you missed a spot, behind the stable. Ha ha! Fool of a wizard, softened by the foolishness that is love…”

Astrid kicked the Elf in the side, then made a whimsical motion with her hand. The Elf’s expression showed its unfiltered rage, seconds before it transformed into a moth, its wings stained the color of crimson—like the blood with which it had been choking.

Astrid took the empty jug of water and caught the fat moth inside of it. She spat inside of the jar before breathing a spell. Johann watched, shaken, as a layer of ice spread over the opening, making an icy barrier.

“I am not finished with you,” she hissed. “But for now, I will put you next to a lamp. I will watch as you crash into the glass, once and then again, like the coward you are.”

Johann sat at the edge of the bed—the one he shared with his beloved wife—and felt his hands tremble.

Felt his body become cold.

Wished to crumble into a heap on the ground.

Nina had been taken, and he did not know where.