Part 15

La Ville had moved most of its people to the infirmary quarter, where people lay out on the grass, and volunteers and healers ran about. Elderly witches had set up folded tables with steaming vats of macaroni and cheese and vegetable soup. Rolls steamed through the air, fogging the food tables with their sweet aroma.

Stitched blankets had been dragged out of the small cottages, and collections of fallen wands were being sifted through by bloodied, bedraggled witches still wearing their pajamas.

At the gate, two separate piles had been laid, to be dealt with at a later date. The first pile were the faceless that had entered La Ville, while the second, smaller, pile had been the witches turned during the attack.

At the far edge of the infirmary block, thirteen bodies were laid out respectfully, covered in bedsheets.

Thirteen witches had died as themselves that night. And twenty had died as the faceless.

For a village of nearly five hundred, such numbers were both numbing and paralyzing.

But the witches had been woken up by their Hero, so for now, their bodies moved.

Already, plans were laid out on more fold-up tables for repairs and funerals. The elders had indeed sent people to guard the infirmary, and, Ammie had later learned, an impressive feat of the oldest three elders had saved the entire northwestern block of La Ville from the human-shaped faceless. 

If Ammie’s mother hadn’t died that night, if Lommeil hadn’t decided to go visit Tristian’s childhood home, Ammie wondered if the elders would have kept her mother safe as well. 

Ammie sat inside the infirmary’s open garage. She and her friends had all been pulled to the secluded spot, where the best healers in La Ville had tearfully and thankfully gotten to work on them. 

Ammie was appreciative of the gratitude, but she couldn’t deny that it felt awkward and ridiculous.

I led the animal faceless here, she had confessed to Elder Vaughn when he’d come for their statements a little after the sun had risen to its highest point in the new day.

Her friends had protested, Lis buzzing loudest of them all, high as she was on painkillers.

“They were already here,” the elder had said, his grizzled mustache twitching. He didn’t want to be making concessions for her, Ammie knew, but he was doing it nonetheless.

Ammie never thought watching a grown man swallow his pride would be so entertaining.

And so guilt-inducing.

No, really, she’d insisted, and the elder had held up a barrel-sized hand.

“You saved us tonight, Ammie, and proved that you are, truly, our Hero now. Nobody in this village thinks anything less, and I know both your mother and Tristian would agree if they were here.”

Throat clogged tight, Ammie had only nodded.

Now it was sunset, and La Ville continued to operate solely in the infirmary corner.

Ammie wondered how long it would take for people to go back to their homes, the injured shoved into their rooms or the infirmary’s bursting doors. 

When the dead would be buried and the faceless burned to ashes.

Ms. Ferallis, her curly black hair so unmanageable that Ammie couldn’t even make out the woman’s ears curling above her head, came to the garage opening.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, then visibly fretted before slinging off a series of backpacks from her shoulder. Battered and bruised, Lis’s, Ammie’s, and Juliette’s bags all fell to the ground before them. “Never mind that. I brought these for you.”

She looked weak, but if Ms. Ferallis could lug three heavy packs around with her, then Ammie had underestimated the slim woman.

She smiled up at her kind teacher. “Thank you,” she said. 

Ammie hadn’t been able to use the spellbooks because there had never been a good time to stop and pore over the lengthy tomes. Well, she couldn’t do anything about it now.

Zipping the bag open, Ammie sucked in a breath.

Juliette was busy engaging Ms. Ferallis in conversation while Lis unearthed a series of colorful lollipops, shoving two of them in her mouth at once.

Five noticed, though. “What is it?” He sat up from leaning on his flimsy blue cot. 

The man’s size had made the cot completely touch the floor, but they were so low on supplies that Five had insisted that he didn’t need to exchange with anyone. It would make someone have to give up their own sturdier cot, and, Five had added, whoever had it already needed it more than he did.

He had said that covered nearly head to toe in bandages, though it’s not like Ammie, Lis, or Juliette could say anything while being wrapped nearly as much as he was.

Ammie’s vision turned watery as she beheld the three containers sitting in the base of her bag. “The soup.”

“What soup?” Five leaned over to peer into the bag.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Ammie said, “The veggie soup my mother made.”

Five’s eyes glanced up briefly, meeting hers.

“This was--the last thing--” Ammie couldn’t say any more. Her heart felt as if someone had used an ice scraper to slice the bone marrow from her ribs. After the night she’d had, the experience felt similar to being kicked endlessly in the ribs by a powerful Lommeil.

But this was much, much worse.

Five stuck his bandaged hand into the lip of the backpack, pulling one of the soup containers out. Reaching his hand behind him for where he’d left his lunch plate, Five grabbed a spoon.

Opening the lid, Five slid a large spoonful of potatoes and carrots surrounded by the tan, creamy broth into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said around his puffed cheeks, “this was always my favorite.”

Ammie sobbed, but she pulled the second container out of the bottom, reaching around for her own forgotten lunch spoon. Digging in, Ammie let the tears fall around the cold mouthful of soup that had been left out for far too long.

“We’re gonna get sick from this,” Ammie laughed and sobbed at the same time.

Five grinned softly, taking another spoonful. “Worth it.”

It was worth it.

Lis piped up behind them, “No fair! I want some, too!”

Ammie unearthed the last container. “I only have this one.”

Juliette smiled. “We’ll split it. There’s no way I’m not having some of that.”

Ms. Ferallis jumped in. “I’ll get another bowl for you girls.” The woman smiled, large dimples appearing in her freckled cheeks.

While the witches scurried around working diligently to rebuild their home, the four of them enjoyed the last meal Ammie’s mother would ever make for them.

The sunset fell slowly beyond the horizon, and Ammie glanced at her friends, love swelling within her deeply.

Sylvia scooted onto the cot with Ammie, and the younger girl offered the container with the spoon. Eyes leaking steadily, the healer took up the spoon and swallowed a bite of the soup.

Watching the woman close her eyes, Ammie let the healer have a moment to herself.

Tristian’s next, Ammie thought. Next time, I’ll find him for sure.

The hero mark hummed in her blood, agreeing.

“We survived,” Ammie murmured, and her friends stilled beside her. 

“We did,” Sylvia said over another spoonful. 

Five grabbed Ammie’s knee, squeezing it just once.

Though they were covered in bandages and exhausted to their bones, the group of witches sat and watched the stars paint themselves across the sky. 

They had survived. 

Resolve hardened by their terrible night, the witches had no way of knowing that La Ville wasn’t the only place that had lost its hero and almost lost its community in such a short time.

They couldn’t know that in only a week, answers would come to them. Answers that would change the course of these witches’ fates, and the fate of La Ville, forever.

Author's Note

This is the final chapter of SBCD. Thank you to everyone who has read it. Being my first completed project, SBCD taught me a lot and given me a starting point that I’ve never been able to get to before!