Your Souls For Flight
1925
1 Maybe this was too convenient to be a coincidence, maybe Tina was being paranoid, but it struck her as exceedingly odd that the witch responsible for her deadly tattoo curse was currently barely three blocks away from the MACUSA building. Then again, a No-Maj-hating witch Tina hadn't even known existed until a few days ago had placed a possibly fatal curse on her. Her life had always been ludicrously dramatic, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were getting weirder and weirder as time marched on – not just for her, but for everybody.
Well, with a lunatic such as Grindelwald on the loose, it was a small wonder that the entire wizarding world was collectively losing its mind.
As she followed Graves into a rather high-class apartment building, she told herself to stop feeding the doom and gloom. There were always bad things happening, no matter what the epoch. Blubbering about it or trying to pass one’s own woes off as more special than everyone else’s was not only ridiculous; it was selfish, too. It was important not to lose perspective of what really mattered, and there was a lot that mattered right now.
Despite the cooling salve that one of the healers had given her for the tattoo, her wrist was itching so badly, she could hardly keep herself from scratching it. Unfortunately, as the healer had told her about ten times inside of five minutes, that would only make it worse. It was already getting worse. The itch started to spread down to her hand. Soon, it would take her arm and get so bad, she’d need to be rendered unconscious to prevent her from skinning herself in desperation.
Not much to look forward to.
Nothing for it.
Graves led her up to the top floor, past a wall of No-Maj-repelling charms, and to a painfully swanky, gold-plated door with the number 19 glued to it in rhinestones. Maybe they were diamonds. Maybe it was a charm. Whatever it was, it was painfully ugly.
Tina couldn’t care less, to be honest. On her slowest day, she had bigger problems than vulgar décor. “Seems to going well, the curse business,” she said dryly, then cast Graves a quick sideways look. “So, do we knock?”
“No reason not to. This is a businesswoman. We’re not here to arrest her.” He raised one gloved hand and rapped his knuckles against the door. The sound was weirdly soft – aha, so it was real gold.
How tacky.
That still was Tina’s smallest concern, though.
Graves’s reaction, however? That. That was strange. Since when did he allow a rogue witch to sell illegal curses to criminals and fanatics unpunished?
To Tina, that made exactly zero sense. “Sir-”
“Not one word, Goldstein.” Oh, was it back to ‘Goldstein’? Well, that wasn’t good. “You need to learn to understand the bigger picture. We need this person to cooperate. Your life depends on it. So just shut up and let me do the talking. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.” She discreetly cleared her throat. By the skin of her teeth, she managed to keep herself from adding, ‘But I don’t have to like it.’ It was a close call, though.
As if on cue, someone opened the door. A woman of perhaps fifty years of age greeted them, smiling: she was tall, light-skinned, rather voluptuous, and had luscious brown hair pinned up in an old-fashioned bun. Her eyes scanned first Tina, then Graves. Her pupils widened. She laughed. “My, my, if it isn't Mister Law Enforcement himself. Have you come to arrest me, good sir?” In a mocking fashion that Tina did not appreciate a single bit, the woman bowed her head.
Tina also didn’t fail to notice that this lady had a very pronounced German accent.
Graves smiled right back at her, not fazed in the slightest. “Miss Trolldenier? You are a very long way from home.”
Raising her carefully plucked eyebrows, the woman said, “You must have me confused with someone else. My name is-”
Sighing with exasperation, Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cut the nonsense, please. We’re not here to arrest or even investigate you. You help us, we leave you alone and simply ignore the broader implications of your presence here.”
Tina might have promised to keep quiet, but she couldn’t help giving her superior a wide-eyed, incredulous stare.
A few seconds ticked by, during which the woman chewed on her lower lip. Then, she shrugged, said, “All right, then. Please enter my humble abode,” beckoned to them, and strolled inside as if she didn’t have a car in the world. Obnoxious, that was what that was.
Tina followed her through a hallway and into a tall drawing room filled with golden furniture, a gigantic gramophone, and displays filled with sparkly jewellery. “Humble, sure,” she mumbled under her breath, shaking her head, making a face. This was the tackiest, swankiest, most garish display of lack of taste that she had ever had the misfortune to set her eyes on – by Merlin. Awful. Some people. Didn’t they realise that in terms of refinement, less was always more? Not that she was the epitome of sophistication, but she was perfectly capable of telling if something was classy or not. Besides, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to cut this witch any slack. There was no sense in being lenient toward a person who had an extravagant lifestyle because she sold fatal curses to criminals.
The woman Graves had called Miss Trolldenier motioned toward a divan. She herself settled down in an armchair. “So…how can I help you?”
Graves sat down.
Tina followed suit, albeit with reluctance. Was it a consequence of the curse, or did the air in here smell nauseatingly sweet?
He said, “Show her.”
“Are you-”
“Tina. Show her.”
Staring the woman straight in the eye, Tina rolled back her sleeve. The black, thorny vines around her wrist had spread. Delicate-looking twigs were winding down her hands, her fingers. The urge to scratch it became almost unbearable. She bit her tongue. Beads of sweat erupted on her forehead.
Trolldenier whistled lowly. “Oh, dear. How long have you had this?”
“A few hours,” Tina said, in clipped tones.
“Really? Good gracious. This looks so bad already.”
“It’s your handiwork, isn't it?” Graves said. “Sold to a young witch called Ethel Partridge – a witch with an axe to grind.”
“The Grindelwald fanatic, yes.” Trolldenier’s smile blossomed into a pretty loathsome grin. “I remember. Very driven, her. My kind of criminal.”
“Of course,” he said, cracking a smile, as well – much to Tina’s surprise,. “Aren’t you from the same town as Grindelwald? Your French name notwithstanding.”
“And how would an influential man such as yourself know a poor little nobody such as me?” She did look intrigued, though, and spread her hands. “After all, I’m only visiting. My library is waiting for me.”
Tina pulled a grimace. “You’re a librarian?”
“The best in all the German nations, I’d say.” She pointed at Tina’s still exposed wrist. “That, though? I’m afraid I could spend twenty years reading all the books of Drachenstein, and I would still not find a cure for that.”
“Somehow,” Graves said, frowning a little, “I find that hard to believe.”
The wretched woman shrugged. “Bad luck happens.”
Graves only snorted derisively. He was acting a little weird, wasn’t he?
“And an educated woman such as yourself, a Franconian witch hailing from Grindelwald’s hometown, just happens to coincidentally sell a lethal curse to a Grindelwald terrorist? A curse designed to kill an Auror close to busting a terror cell bent on procuring a weapon of mass destruction for Grindelwald?” Tina shook her head and shifted her weight so she could look at Graves properly. “Sir, this has to be deliberate. This has to be political!”
“You know what, Tina?” Graves said, eerily calm and composed, “I believe you’re quite right.” He pulled his wand.
Tina did, too. Finally! Finally, they were going to do what they were supposed to-
The last thing she heard was her boss saying, “Stupefy,” in a quiet, almost contemplative tone.
The spell hit her like a punch in the face.
The world went black.
2 The moment young Tina lost consciousness and dropped back on the divan, Graves pocketed his wand again. “If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you,” he said, in German. Being able to speak several languages was always advantageous, wasn’t it? All that without betraying – or at least confirming – his actual identity. It was tiring, pretending to be someone else, but for quite a while longer, we would have to be patient. A revolution wasn’t won in a year or two, and staying in the Old World as himself had become too dangerous.
“You’ve turn out to be so much more interesting than I believed you would,” she said, not betraying any sign of distress or nervousness. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Never mind that. My Auror is right: you’re here for political reasons, and that curse? You were waiting here for us to find you. Someone like you usually doesn’t wait for law enforcement to catch up with her.”
She waited, but when he remained watching her in silence, she raised her hands, palms upward, in an inquisitive manner. “Is there any more coming, or am I supposed to guess?”
“Can you cure her?” he said, unimpressed with her cheap and easily seen-through theatrics.
“Why would you want me to? When she wakes up-”
“Please. She’ll remember nothing.” He waved off, impatient. It wasn’t as if he had time for this kind of silly pantomime. “Answer my question.”
For another few seconds, she just kept looking back at him blankly, but then, she shrugged. “All right. Yes, I can probably cure her – with emphasis on probably – but not here. If she’s to have any chance of surviving, I need to take her to Franconia, but I’ll not do that before I get what I actually came for.”
There was always something, wasn’t there? Motivations that sent people halfway around the globe in an incessant, cold-blooded quest were something he could sympathise with. From a number of his acquaintances, he knew of this woman’s reputation. It was actually pleasant to meet her.
“And what would that be?” he said, impassive.
“It’s not much. I’ve been helping a small group of rebels find a certain object that would be very helpful to our movement. Unfortunately, the wizard in my employ tasked with finding the object in question was murdered by an Englishman – a Quidditch player, it seems. This English Quidditch player killed a MACUSA informer, as well, if my information is correct.”
Again, he smiled a little. “It is.”
“Well, from what I glean, this object is now en route to England. Now, I’m guessing that you, for whatever reason, don’t seem too interested in stopping my people, but you do seem interested in saving this young woman here.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Do you think we can work out some kind of deal, Mister Graves?”
“Perhaps we can help each other.”
It remained to be decided whether this woman could be allowed to live after this affair had been dealt with. After all, for all her usefulness, she knew that one of the top MACUSA employees was not what he seemed. Needless to say, that kind of information could not surface – not yet, anyway. Not for a long time. There was too much to do, yet, too much to achieve.
“Perhaps we can, Mister Graves,” she said, and smiled again. “And may I just say that my stay here in this grey metropolis has just become a million times more enticing?”
Despite himself, he returned her expression. “I don’t blame you. There really is no place as beautiful as home.” It was the truth, too.
Sometimes, being completely honest felt even better than the most carefully crafted deception.
3 Consciousness returned to Tina slowly, and she was reluctant to emerge from it. After all, sleep was great. Being knocked out was even better. It felt…actually, it felt like nothing – nothing at all: no questions, no duty, no threats by fanatics, no doubts, no feelings, no deadly curse. Nothingness was so good. It couldn’t last, though. Not even in death did oblivion last. She came to slowly, laboriously, rising to the surface despite herself, finding herself more and more inside a body that felt achy, feverish, itchy, and sore.
Had…wait. What had even happened?
She…the curse! The cursed tattoo! The battle against the Grindelwald supporters!
Queenie.
Abruptly, she sat up, opened her eyes, looked around wildly. What….her left arm was bandaged and…dead. She couldn’t move it. She couldn’t feel it, either. This was like falling asleep on one’s arm: the eyes saw that dead lump of flesh hanging at one’s side, but the brain couldn’t find the arm – until the pins and needles set in, that was. There were no pins and needles now. Huh.
Where the hell was she?
She blinked, took a few soothing breaths, and looked about herself. This…this was a bedroom, obviously: bed, nightstand, wardrobe, rocking chair. The furniture was made of some kind of dark wood. It looked old, not to mention old-fashioned. The walls were covered by wallpaper that sported a black background and a pattern of vines and leafs in several shades of green. Tina wasn’t an expert, but this looked not only somewhat out of fashion, but also very European. Prussian? Bavarian? French?
What was this place? How had she even gotten here? The last thing she remembered was heading out with Graves to find the witch who had sold the cursed tattoo to Ethel Partridge. Her dead left arm was…well, dead, but the rest of her was itching vaguely. How long had she been out, anyway? Long enough to get changed into something that looked like a white nightgown and be treated in some manner.
Now that was a somewhat discomfiting thought.
The fact that she had no idea how she’d even conked out was perplexing, to say the least. Bracing herself for tragedy, she peeked inside the nightgown. There was nothing unusual on the skin of her upper body. Then, she wedged her thumb under the tight bandage at her shoulder and squinted at her arm. Since thick curtains were partially drawn before the one window, there wasn’t too much light. Still, when she saw the black vines on her white skin, her stomach cramped.
Time had passed. She’d gotten worse.
At least someone had managed to dull the symptoms. One had to be grateful for every small favour.
But where was she? Was this some sort of healing institution? It looked more like a guesthouse than anything else. What she needed now was information. It was more difficult than she would have expected, having to move around with one dead arm hanging off her body. Still, she managed to throw back the heavy eiderdown, plant her bare feet on the floorboards, and eventually push herself to her feet, groaning. There were stars dancing before her eyes for a moment, but she managed to remain standing – so far, so good. On rubbery legs (mercifully free of black vines, goodness be thanked), she made her way to the window, pulled back the velvety curtains, and found herself looking at a strange, yet beautiful late afternoon vista: a hilly, picturesque village composed of timbered houses and narrow cobbled streets – smoke rising from chimneys and everything. In the background, mist rose from a vast dark forest that looked to be composed mostly of conifers. Atop the highest hill, amidst the tall trees, stood an imposing grey castle, partially shrouded in fog.
Oh. Okay, then.
Thankfully, there was that rocking chair she could drop herself into.
Somehow, she had lost consciousness in New York City and had woken up in Albenheim, Franconia.
“I’ll be damned,” she heard herself saying, as she stared out the window.
Outside, it had just started to snow.
4 Tina had no idea how much time had passed when someone opened the door and stepped inside the room. She didn’t turn to look. Whoever this person was, they’d make their intent known soon enough. It probably wasn’t harm they intended, either. After all, why go through the trouble of helping a cursed witch and then killing her? Besides, Tina had no idea where her wand had gone. Unlike Graves, she wasn’t any good at doing wandless magic.
Where was he in all this, anyway?
The door was closed. A female voice said, “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” This woman, whoever she was, had a thick German accent. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“All things considered, pretty good. Whoever killed my arm, I want to thank them. I can’t feel anything.”
“I did that.” Steps approached. The voice’s owner walked over to the window and, therefore, into Tina’s field of vision. She was tall, had white skin, brown hair, and looked even more familiar than her voice sounded.
Tina couldn’t quite place her, though – odd. She’d always prided herself in her good memory for faces.
The woman said, “My name is Blanche Trolldenier. I’m the librarian at Drachenstein University.”
“A librarian? So this curse must really be hopeless, if the healers have already given up. Thank you, though. I feel fine.”
Trolldenier smiled. “You were brought from the United States all the way to Franconia, bearing a curse that should’ve killed you inside of seven days, and yet, only your left arm is affected. What does that tell you?”
It told her that she didn’t want to answer riddles. That was then it dawned on her. The proverbial galleon dropped. Her heart picked up the pace. Despite herself, she perked up. “It’s healing?”
“Hm, not quite, no,” Trolldenier said, making a face. “We’ve got it contained to your arm, but if we can’t find a way to reverse the process, it’ll end up spreading.”
Tina tried to keep her disappointment in check. She couldn’t help but clench her right hand into a fist, though. There was a sour taste in her mouth. Randomly, she wondered in what deplorable state her hair might be in, now. Her scalp prickled. “Oh.”
“Don’t you worry, love. You are at the oldest and most prestigious institute of higher learning in the world…at least I like to think so.” She laughed, good-humoured, as if this were nothing but polite chit-chat. It was out of place and tone-deaf, to say the least.
“Thanks,” Tina said, taken aback despite herself. She frowned. “I…can you tell me how I got here? What happened? One minute, I’m following up on an investigation with my boss, the next, I’m waking up halfway around the world.” Wearing a frilly nightgown, no less.
The trip from New York to Southampton via ocean liner took about five days. From Southampton, one needed to get to Franconia; it was too far to Apparate, and the Floo network did not extend to the European mainland. That meant that she’d probably been taken by train, which was half a day’s travel. Her treatment must have taken at least a few hours, probably longer. So…she’d been lugged about, fed, cleaned, treated, and changed into this nightgown without once waking up, for about a week.
That was creepy. That was ungodly creepy.
Now, however, was the time for action. Being unsettled and uncomfortable was a luxury she couldn’t afford. “Please,” she said, “tell me how all of this happened.”
For a moment, Trolldenier just returned her look, an unreadable expression on her face. Then, she smiled again. It was still weirdly out of place. “Your boss, the esteemed Mister Graves, told me to tell you that once you were back home again, he’d explain to you what requires explaining – no more, no less.”
Yes, that sounded like him, all right.
Slowly, Tina nodded. “So Mister Graves had me sent here, then?” No reply came. She discreetly cleared her throat. “I need to talk to him. Could you give me back my wand?”
Trolldenier looked genuinely surprised. “What do you need that for?”
“To light the fireplace. To talk to Mister Graves.”
“No, no, no,” Trolldenier said, waving off, “none of that. You rest and recover. Now that you’re awake, you can take a bath, read a book, have a good meal, drink wine, and relax. You-”
“No! I need to talk to Graves. There’s-”
“Miss Goldstein, please.” Trolldenier raised her hands. “Stress sets off the curse. What you need now is rest. When’s the last time you took a holiday?”
Tina frowned. “Hol…oh, vacation. I, uhm…I don’t remember.”
The smile returned. This time, it was appropriate. “Then this is a blessing in disguise! You rest, get well, and after you’re cured, I will show you around the village, the university, everything. How does that sound?”
Maybe this was only due to Tina’s brain still being fuzzy from her long sleep, but only now did it occur to her that this was Grindelwald’s hometown. She felt cold. A nasty shiver ran down her spine. Her innards roiled. “Sounds great.” Her voice was croaky. Great. How did people manage subterfuge again?
“Lovely! You just wait here. I’ll go tell the hostess to prepare you a nice, hot meal.” Without waiting for a reply, she marched away, leaving Tina alone again.
Tina just looked out the window again, at the village, the forest, and the castle. Yes, she needed to get rid of this curse, but even more importantly, she needed to find out what the hell was going on. There was something wrong here – there was something very, very wrong. At the moment, though, there was nothing she could do about it. She was, effectively, trapped.