The Viking Witch Mysteries: Books 4-6

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

I didn't realize how much I was projecting my outrage until I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing. I looked up at Thorbjorn, and he made a quick motion of his chin towards the crowd gathered around us.

They were stirring with the beginnings of anger. Had I done that?

I got to my feet and took a step or two away from Nefja's body. Thorbjorn stayed close at my side.

"You realize when you called us all out here, you put a panic inside all of our minds," he said to me in a low voice.

"No, I didn't know that. I didn't mean to. I didn't even know that was a thing I could do," I said.

"And now your anger is spreading like a virus," he said. "Can you calm your mind?"

I nodded, but it took more than a few deep breaths to release the tension in my whole body. I had to will my heart to stop pounding so furiously, to slow the rush of angry blood through my veins.

But when at last my hands unfisted, I sensed the people around me were calmer as well.

Was I amplifying things because of what I had been trying to do with the rune Fe? I had been so close to something, but then so abruptly interrupted. It felt a bit like I had run away from a bit of knitting with the yarn caught on me, unraveling it all over the place. Maybe that had set my magic haywire.

Or maybe it was just that I still didn't have very good control over my magic.

I would have to ask Haraldr about it in the morning.

"Nefja's family," I said. "Are they here?"

"I don't see them," Thorbjorn said. "Perhaps that's for the best. This isn't how they should find out what happened to her, to just find her lying on the street."

"What did happen to her?" I wondered aloud.

"There's just the one wound," Thorge said from where he had taken his brother's place, kneeling by Nefja's side. "Almost directly on top of her head. She must've fallen in somehow, toppled in head-first and hit the ice. I think she was probably gone in an instant."

"She fell in or was pushed," I murmured, but kept my feelings carefully clinical. "The scream I heard ended so quickly, I think you're right that she didn't linger after hitting the ice."

"Is that all you heard?" Thorbjorn asked.

"No, after I came out into the street it seemed to be completely quiet, but then I heard footsteps running away," I said. "I couldn't tell what direction they went. No one else was awake. I got the feeling that whoever was running knew I had come out. Like they were running from me."

"A feeling or a feeling?" Thorbjorn asked, raising one eyebrow.

I took a deep breath while I thought that over. "Just a feeling. The mundane kind. No magic."

"Perhaps just an odd coincidence, then," he said. "But we should investigate to be sure."

"I agree," I said.

Then he sighed. "But the first order of business is to go to Nefja's family. They must be told at once."

"I'll go with you," I said.

"Thorge and I will bring Nefja's body to Brigida's house for now," Valki said, and Thorbjorn nodded.

"Brigida has a room for such things," he whispered to me as Thorge picked up Nefja and placed her in his father's arms. "But the family will decide on what funeral rites to perform."

With the body gone, the crowd began to disperse. Thorbjorn and I blended in with other people going back to their homes, but by twos and threes they fell away until it was just the two of us heading south down the main road.

"Why would Nefja be out alone at this hour?" I asked. "It's long past midnight. And why would she be in the center of town?"

"Perhaps her sister can tell us more," Thorbjorn said.

Then he opened the garden gate in front of one of the houses and we walked up to the front door. Thorbjorn knocked softly, then a bit more briskly.

"I can try my voice again," I said.

"No, not unless you've figured out how to tone it down a little." There was a hint of teasing in his tone, but his eyes were worried. He knocked again, louder still, rattling the sturdy wooden door in its frame.

"You don't think something happened here as well?" I asked, my stomach sinking at the thought.

"I hope not," he said. But he was eyeing the door as if debating battering it down with his shoulder.

Then, finally, we heard footsteps approaching. Slow, shuffling, sleepy footsteps. At last the door opened and Sigvin, dressed in a long white flannel nightgown and fuzzy socks, blinked out at us.

"Wazzit?" she asked. Then her eyes seemed to finally focus on me. "Ingrid?"

"Sigvin. Are your parents home?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, rubbing at her face as if to wake herself up. "Yes, they're upstairs."

"And they're all right?" Thorbjorn asked a little too forcefully.

She frowned at him with something like confusion in her eyes. I don't think she was awake enough yet to decide whether or not she should be worried. "I'm sure they're fine. Their room is at the back of the house, and they're both heavy sleepers. Why do you ask? Why are you here exactly?"

"I think we should go inside and sit down," I said. I aimed for my most gentle tone, but somehow my words ignited the panic in Sigvin that Thorbjorn's urgency had failed to.

"What's happened?" she demanded. Then her eyes went wide. "Is it Nefja? But no. She's sleeping in her room." She looked back over her shoulder as if she could see through walls and verify that this was true.

"Sigvin, let's sit down," I said. She turned back to look at me, her grip on the halfway-opened door so tight her knuckles were white and bloodless. But she shook her head.

"No, tell me here. Tell me now. What happened?"

"We don't exactly know how it happened," I said. "But I heard a scream a little while ago, and when I went out to investigate, I found your sister in the well. I'm sorry, Sigvin, but she's dead."

"But she's in her room," Sigvin said. Yet despite her own words of disbelief, I could see her eyes flooding with tears. "I put her to bed myself barely an hour ago. She was in no condition to get up again."

"She'd been drinking?" Thorbjorn asked.

"Yes, too much. That was my fault," she said. Then she pressed a hand to her mouth as horror filled her eyes. "It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"I doubt that very much," I said, but she dodged away from my attempts to touch her.

"You don't look like you've been drinking," Thorbjorn said.

"I had some mead. Not much," she said. "Nefja needed a little comfort, but I should have cut her off."

"What exactly happened last night?" Thorbjorn asked.

"It's a long story," she said, her voice still catching on random words. My heart was breaking for her. She was trembling as she stood in the doorway, looking back over one shoulder towards where I imagined her sister's bedroom must be and over the other towards the room of her still-sleeping parents.

"I think we need to hear it, Sigvin," Thorbjorn said.

"Right now?" I hissed at him.

"Sooner is better," he whispered back to me.

"I know, I know," Sigvin said. She pinched at the bridge of her nose for a moment, then took a deep breath. When she looked up at us again, she was the picture of calm resolve. "I know you need to hear the whole story. And I'll tell it to you, every detail I can remember, I swear it. But please, let me wake up my parents first and tell them what's happened. Alone?" she added with a hint of desperation.

Thorbjorn scowled, but I said, "of course we can wait until you've told your parents. It's not like you're a suspect," I added with a significant glance at Thorbjorn.

"Not a suspect?" Sigvin said. "You think this was a murder?"

"We think this was a murder?" Thorbjorn repeated. I realized I hadn't spoken any of my suspicions out loud to him yet.

"We don't know," I admitted to both of them.

"Well, if she was drinking as much as you say, perhaps not," Thorbjorn said. "Perhaps this was a tragic accident. But we need the whole story first."

"Murder," Sigvin said, fighting tears again. "Who would want to kill my sister?"

Then something dark passed over her face. She had not until that moment entertained such thoughts, but now that she had, I could tell she was starting to connect dots. She was coming up with a list of suspects. She was looking for motives and connections.

I knew those dark paths well.

"You're thinking something," Thorbjorn said.

"I am," she admitted. "But it would be easier to tell it all at once, from the beginning."

"After you talk to your parents," I said.

She nodded. Her lips twitched, not quite reaching the grateful smile I was sure she was trying for. But I nodded back my understanding.

"My father has taken Nefja to Brigida's house," Thorbjorn said. "You can go there to see her and speak with Brigida about what you will have done."

"Of course. Thank you," Sigvin said.

"Then, when you're ready, come to my house," I said. "We'll be waiting for you there. I would like to hear your version of events as soon as possible."

"I want you to hear what happened from me first, that's for sure," Sigvin said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay?" I asked.

"No, I would prefer to do this alone. Just the family," she said. "But thank you, Ingrid. I know you will find out what really happened to my sister. I have complete faith in that."

She reached out and clasped my hand, just one quick squeeze, and then she stepped back and shut the door.

I looked up at Thorbjorn and realized that the sun must be close to rising, as I could see him more clearly now.

He looked down at me with sadness in his eyes.

"What is it?" I asked. That sadness felt too personal to be about Nefja.

"This is not how I would've chosen to welcome you to your new home," he said.

"I know," I said.

Although personally, I thought it felt entirely appropriate. Investigating a suspicious death? That was what the two of us did.

I was just grateful that for once at least this case didn't seem likely to cross the boundary between Villmark and Runde.

Of course, we had no suspects or clues yet. Who could know where this all would lead to in the end?