Chapter 20 - The Wizard’s Children

Johann stared at the gloves his daughter had found. It dawned on him that he had never felt so proud of his children.

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Recap: In the previous chapter, the Brahms learned from the Shelleys what became of Nina—and it was horrific. It could have been worse, but it was horrific all the same.

At least the mausoleum was something they could break into. At least it wasn’t too far away. But would that be the end of it? Would there ever be an end?

Would they ever be able to restore their peaceful life in the Graveyard House?

---

Johann was horrified by the thought of his wife trapped in a mausoleum, alone in the dark, when the nights had become so cold—especially because she was an innocent.

She’d believed with all of her heart that the creature in the basket was a child, turned into a raccoon by an evil witch. Her instinct to rescue the child and find its parents had been true. It was honorable.

These motherly traits were part of why he’d fallen for her. Nina possessed the compassion he had lacked in his childhood. During the time they’d spent courting, she’d offered attention to his broken soul—even when his moods verged on self-pity, the kind few would have patience for.

She had not only stolen his heart, but she’d nursed it with her gentle hand. She might not have been born with a trace of magic in her body, but hexes and curses were not the only forms of enchantment that existed.

The most beautiful magic, and the most necessary, was something every living human was capable of exercising.

All humans were able to love, and Johann was convinced that the woman he married was the most skilled wielder of this gentle ability. She did not deserve to be punished for having been willing to perform an act of kindness.

Nina did not deserve to suffer because he’d failed to secure his home. She did not deserve, either, to be caught in the animosity that existed between himself and his sister.

No! Nina belonged with her children, in the house she loved, wrapped in blankets and sipping from a cup of tea—how he longed for a cup of tea now, the sort only she could prepare…

“Will you come with me?” he asked Astrid, whose chignon had become untidy as they pored over the grimoire, plotting a way to finish off the Elf—after forcing it to surrender its secrets.

They could not, after all, kill it without finding out where Nina was. Thanks to the Shelleys, this had been taken care of. Now they only needed to save her—to find a way into that crypt and rescue her, and he would be her servant for the rest of his life, because his heart yet recoiled at the thought of where she might have wound up.

If she had been taken elsewhere, to some corner of a remote Elfland, she would have suffered a much crueler fate. The Elves treated humans like little more than animals to be tortured…

“Of course,” Astrid said, with a touch of hurt in her voice. “If I started this, I’ll help finish it. You will have your home back. You will have your peace back, Johann, even if you’re unable to forgive me.”

Johann stared at his sister’s face, torn. How he wanted to tell her that he would forgive her—how he longed to repair a bridge so that they could once more be a family.

He thought of the memories they shared in Cinder House. Astrid had been kind to him, even as their mother pretended he was nothing but a bit of furniture. He remembered retreating into Astrid’s arms when he, being an alert child, realized that nothing he could ever do would coax Mother to offer affection.

He remembered crying while his sister sang to him, because there had been nothing for him on Christmas Day.

Opening his mouth, he tried to form the words. Of course I will forgive you, he wanted to say. Of course, we can start again; we will be a family and celebrate holidays together. Of course, because none of it was your fault.

It was partially true; Astrid wasn’t to blame for the way his mother treated him. She had no say in his being reduced to a servant. He’d endured it with her company for many years, until he could bear no more.

That might not have been Astrid’s fault—but she was to blame for the fact that Nina, his Nina, the person who had loved him to strength again, was trapped in a mausoleum.

Johann cringed as he fancied that some of her terror was washing through him; he felt a chill in his soul that could be nothing less than the absence of light and life and oxygen.

His wife was trapped in a place where no living thing should be—she, who was so full of life…

“Help me,” was all that he managed.

“I’m coming with you,” Marjorie said, with a determined gleam in her eye. “You said that I’m your apprentice, so I have a right to observe. She is my mother, and if there’s even a drop of magic in my veins that might help her, I won’t stay before the hearth.”

Johann’s first instinct was to tell her absolutely not, but he realized Marjorie’s presence might indeed give him the strength he required to take on a duty so grim. He also feared that, if left alone with Astrid, he would show more emotion than he was prepared for.

Astrid swore that she had come in peace and intended to help them, but he was not yet certain he could trust her. They had been apart for too long.

“Very well,” he said—and Marjorie’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “We will go in less than five minutes. Tell Adam to mind the house. If he tries to bicker, remind him that someone needs to keep the fire stoked and the kettle warm. Perhaps Miss Fealy can help. Your mother will be freezing…” His voice thickened as he imagined it. “And tell him to find blankets. Many, many blankets. Yes. Yes.”

Marjorie nodded, hurrying out of the greenhouse with such speed that she nearly knocked the door off of its single, precarious hinge.

Johann turned once more to Astrid, who stared at him with hope and remorse.

He took a step in her direction. Dark and quiet nights at Cinder House, he thought. The corner where I was made to sleep. Astrid appearing with a tray of tea and leftover Christmas cake.

“I cannot accept that house,” he whispered. “Not with the memories I’ve spent so long attempting to erase. I would rather live in the middle of a graveyard, teeming with ghosts.”

Astrid nodded slowly.

“If you change your mind,” she said, “the housekeeper is there. She will welcome you as the master of the house. You could fix it, Johann. Your wife could help you redecorate. You might make it into a new place, where you’d create better memories.”

Johann hesitated, but spoke not another word on the subject. He would not waste time discussing a house that he hated, not when his wife was trapped.

“I’ll go talk to Mr. Shelley,” he said, turning away. “He’ll need to guide us to his mausoleum. Hopefully, he’ll keep the rest of the spirits away from us.”

“Right,” mumbled Astrid behind him. “I will put this hateful moth back in the drawer.”

---

To Johann’s surprise, he did not find Adam arguing when he returned to the house. Instead, his son was digging through cupboards and wardrobes, piling an armchair with all of the spare blankets they owned.

“Do hurry,” Adam pleaded of him. “She needs to be back. She needs to sleep in her bed.”

“I promise, Adam, I will not waste a moment. I won’t return to this house without your mother. But you must give me the peace of knowing that you will not follow. Stay here; we need you to be housekeeper, at least for the moment.”

“I’ll stay,” Adam said anxiously. “And Miss Fealy is minding the kitchen fire.” He shrugged helplessly before finishing: “Just bring her home.”

Marjorie hurried down the stairs, wearing a thick cloak over her new embroidered shawl.

“Bundle up,” she said, tossing a pair of gloves at Johann; he caught them, surprised at the cleverness with which she considered such details. He himself would have been too distracted. “It’s a long walk to the Shelleys’ from here. I’ve seen it before. The living will freeze, if not dressed appropriately.”

Johann stared at the gloves. It dawned on him that he had never felt so proud of his children. It did not matter that he was, as usual, a failure to his family. It did not matter that he was paying for something foolish he’d done years ago.

In spite of his flaws, he had managed to build a family, and his children were brave—much braver than others would have been, if they should open their window to find ghosts infesting their yard.

His children had Nina’s spirit. Perhaps they’d inherited something good from him, as well. In that moment, he saw only Nina and her natural instinct to care for others, to fight for those that she considered to be hers.

Slowly, he put the gloves on, knowing he needed to say something. It could not be that Margo and Adam were staring at him, seeking reassurance.

He had allowed them to believe he was a great wizard, when outside waited Astrid, the person who should have possessed the grimoire all along.

“Margo,” Johann said, when at last he was wearing both gloves, and when at last he could speak again. “Adam. We will find your mama.” He managed to maintain a steady voice, but only just. “And we will heal her if she is sick. Then, I will tell you some things about my past I’d hoped to forget. Now that they’ve caught up to me, you have every right to know them.” Swallowing, he forced himself to continue: “And we will make the decision together, whether we wish to visit Cinder House. There is no time now. Marjorie, can you lead us to the Shelleys’ mausoleum?”

“Better yet,” piped in a new voice, the familiar baritone of Mr. Shelley as he appeared from thin air, startling them all—the room had already been tense. “Marilyn and I will guide you. Since we are not bound by walls, Marilyn can enter and tell your wife you’re coming. I’m not sure Mrs. Brahms ever expected to be comforted by a spirit, but it is the least we can do.” Then, with a touch of humor, “It appears there are some benefits to not having bones or flesh.”

Marjorie, pressing a hand to her racing heart, managed a charming smile in spite of the worry that she felt. “Thank you, Mr. Shelley. If she could go inside and tell Mama, we would be most grateful.”

“If only,” said Johann sullenly. He finished silently: If only I could step out of my own body, so I could go embrace her.

He did not give himself more time for self-pity. Nodding for Marjorie to follow, he tossed words over his shoulder at Adam—“Don’t forget to mind the hearths—all of them!”

Astrid opened the door before he could reach it, stepping inside. “I’ve locked the moth in your drawer,” she said, her earlier vulnerability gone. “I think we should take a lamp, just in case.” He heard the rest of her sentence: In case spirit-light isn’t enough.

Johann nodded. He pointed to a lamp on a nearby table and said, “We’ll take that one.”

He then motioned for Marjorie to step outside. She hesitated, but not for long, marching with haste into the ghostly night.

Before, she’d only known about the spirits because she’d been told of them. She had seen a faint glow through her window; while this alarmed her, it was easily forgotten if the curtains were shut.

Out in the yard, spirits of men, women, and children continued to wander in misery. Marjorie stared at them with bewilderment.

Johann stepped near enough that their shoulders touched. “You can see them,” he promised, “and you can hear them, but there is nothing they can do to harm you. They are trapped, little rose; these creatures are less fortunate than us. That says much.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Mr. Shelley, drifting through the door to join them. “It is my hope that you can restore us soon to our former states; it’s quite boring after a while, watching these souls wander about like chickens without heads!”

Mrs. Shelley glided out after her husband and said, “Hurry! We will clear a path so that the other spirits don’t stand in your way.”