فصل سی و ششم

36

Sister and Brother

How they all stared at him when he walked into the dining room. Gone was the glory, the feeling of invincibility. They had last gathered to celebrate their victory in the woods. Vidal felt the bloody bandage on his cheek like a branding. Failure . . . slashed onto his face with a kitchen knife.

Serrano was sitting on a chair beside the fire, his heavy body deflated and slumped.

“Where’s Garces?”

Serrano shook his head. Vidal sat down on the chair next to him.

“How many were there?”

“Fifty. At least. Only Garcia and I escaped. The rest didn’t make it.” Serrano could barely look at him.

“Our watch posts aren’t responding either,” said the soldier who’d delivered the bad news to Vidal. He still couldn’t remember his name. “How many men do we have left?” “Twenty. Maybe fewer.”

Vidal felt for the pocket watch, but he had left it on his table. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it had announced his father’s approaching death by ticking louder. He tried to mock the thought with a smile, but the pain this caused him was another reminder of just how badly things had gone wrong.

If he couldn’t get his hands on Mercedes, he would kill the girl.

Ofelia was still standing in Vidal’s room holding her brother. So small, so warm, his face all fresh and new under the white cap their mother had made for him, his eyes, clear and trusting, looking up at her.

Sister. Brother.

Ofelia had never been a sister before, just a daughter and a girl who’d ruined her new dress in the woods and still wasn’t sure what the moon-shaped mark on her left shoulder meant.

Sister. The word changed everything.

“We’re leaving,” she whispered into her brother’s ear. “Together. Don’t be afraid.” Her brother uttered a timid whimper. This is all new to me, Ofelia believed to hear him say. Please protect me, sister.

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” She pressed him firmly to her shoulder.

That is such a tough promise to keep.

She was walking toward the door when she heard his father’s voice on the stairs. Oh, why hadn’t she left a moment earlier?

“When the rest of the squad gets back, have them report to me immediately.” The Wolf’s voice was close. Too close.

Ofelia hid behind the door. Don’t cry, brother! she begged silently. Don’t give us away! Though he hadn’t listened to her pleas for their mother’s life.

“Radio for enforcements,” she heard the Wolf say. “Now.”

And there he was, back in the room. Hold your breath, Ofelia.

The Wolf walked over to his table and put the watch that lay next to the glass into his pocket. Then he reached for the liquor. Ofelia slipped out from behind the door the moment he turned his back and gulped the brandy down. Her brother slept peacefully in her arms and his trust in her made it easy to trust her luck. But it didn’t hold. Ofelia had just made it through the open door when an explosion shook the walls of the mill. It came from the yard. The shine of flames ripped the cloak of the night and painted the walls around Ofelia in bright reds and whites. The Wolf spun around and saw her standing in the doorway, frozen like a hunted deer, with his son in her arms.

“Leave him!” His voice was a knife, a hammer, a bullet.

Ofelia held the Wolf’s gaze and shook her head. That was all she managed to do.

The Wolf took a step toward her but he swayed, barely keeping his balance, and Ofelia sent a prayer of thanks to Dr. Ferreira for protecting her from his murderer.

Then she turned. And ran.

Vidal followed her, but he barely made it through the door. His head was swimming. What was wrong with him? He didn’t suspect the brandy, he was too proud to consider the idea that a child had drugged him. No, it was the wounds the other witch had dealt him. He would find and kill her as well, but first the girl. He had known she would bring bad luck the moment she’d gotten out of that car. Her eyes were like the forest, her face so full of silence. He couldn’t wait to break her neck.

She was still on the stairs when Vidal stumbled out of his room, but he was barely able to draw his pistol and the wretched girl was out the door before he could take aim. He saw her disappearing under the trees when he finally made it down the stairs and stepped outside. Why had she taken his son? Would she bring him to the rebels so they could kill him as revenge for her mother’s death?

No. For the rebels had come to the mill. The trucks and tents were burning, there was smoke and fire everywhere and men fighting, their silhouettes as black as paper cuts against the red flames. Vidal should have killed the girl. And Mercedes. For she had kept her promise to Ofelia. She’d come back for her with her brother and his men. But when she and Pedro reached Ofelia’s room, it was empty. Mercedes called Ofelia’s name but there was no answer. All they found was her pale green jacket—and the outline of a door, drawn with white chalk on the floor.