I balk. “But why would she do that? Didn’t she practically raise you?”
Hans nods sadly, but it’s Gerrit who answers. “She wants me to take over. I’m not Father’s blood, so I could only succeed him if I’m his sole heir.”
My face must say,“You’d have your brother killed?” he stares at me like I know nothing.
“I don’t want this, of course. She was doing this for her, not for me. Flint protected Hans, but the curse found its way into our father. He’s dying.”
I reach down and ruffle Flint’s fur. He happily leans into my touch. Maybe I could grow to like this wolf.
“What type of curse is it? How could I possibly be of assistance? We don’t even know what I am.”
“It’s some sort of binding. His life force appears to be tethered to a plant growing outside his window. The intention must have been to bind me to it and pluck the plant out by its roots, and no one would be wiser. But for all her faults, my stepmother loves Father, so she is trying to stave it off. But the plant is dying, and so is he.”
Gerrit’s eyes are downcast, staring at the floor. I can practically see the shame shimmering around him. But why would he feel that way? She may be his mother, but her choices are her own.
“I may be able to help. But I tend to make curses, not break them. Or, at least, I think I do. I can feel more destruction than healing in my magic. Whenever I have some energy stored up, I try to figure out how to get out of here.” Memories of every failed attempt at leaving my fairy circle assault me, and I push them down.
No need for me to get so negative right now.
“Anyways, my magic doesn’t feel like a problem solver. It feels dangerous.”
He nods. “Rumors have it your curses are so powerful no one can undo them.”
I preen, even though there is no way anyone would know what my curses are like because I’m stuck here in the middle of the fucking woods and haven’t cursed anyone.
That I know of.
“Why, who said such a thing?” He laughs at my egotistical fishing.
Gerrit speaks without looking at me. “We were at a tavern near the border to Brindal, and a man was whispering about you. Said in the Whispering Woods a witch lived who could curse with a gaze.”
I wrinkle my nose in thought. No one has ever escaped my home before, and I certainly am not standing around glaring at people as they pass through the woods. Who could be spreading such stories? And for what purpose?
“I thought it was a continuation of the children’s tale about you,” Hans adds.
I balk, swiftly looking between both of them. “What children’s tale?” Both appear sheepish, but Gerrit is flushed red. “Gerrit, what children’s tale?”
Hans clears his throat. “You better tell her since you’re the true believer and all.”
His eyes sheepishly meet mine, and for the first time, he looks vulnerable. “When we were growing up, my mother would tell us stories of the witch in the woods who had a house made of sweets, meant to lure children in so she could eat them.”
My face is rigid in shock, and before I can reply, Hans adds, “But it wasn’t just our mother. All the mothers in the town would tell the story. It was meant to keep naughty children from exploring the woods.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “Despite the joke I made when we met, I have never fed from children,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. “My house looks like sweets because I’ve never had them, and I badly want to try them even though I definitely won’t be able to eat them. I like to imagine it because some of my visitors told me stories about them, and they sound so good, and one nice lady helped me craft the illusion and…”
“Told you,” Hans says to Gerrit out of the corner of his mouth.
Where are these tales about me coming from? “The man you heard talking about me in the tavern, what did he look like?”
Hans leans back, hands resting behind his head. “No idea. He was wearing a hood so high his entire face was shadowed.”
My Banisher.
Chapter8
Tear Me to Pieces
HANS
