From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 174
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
"Zoya is watching her. She's safe," Ivy said.
"I'm sorry, Ivy. I'm sorry, Pretoria. Forgive me."
Ivy shook her head. "No need. You're exhausted and you made a mistake. There's no harm done, as long as you learn from it."
"Will you let me try?" Victoria asked hopefully.
Pretoria gave her a wry smile. "The hangover will probably help with that."
"I've never been hungover before," Victoria said with a concern that rose faster than she did as she was helped onto unsteady feet. The hallway swam distressingly.
"Well then, you have another learning experience to look forward to, don't you, Doctor?" Pretoria said.
The alcohol must have been starting to wear off, because no small part of Victoria actually did. Or maybe that was just who she really was underneath.
She was mercifully unconscious before she found out.
In the 10 years Millie had run rescue missions with Niamh, she'd lost count of the number of times she'd been through 'the night before'. The first few she remembered because she hadn't slept, and, on more than one, wrung herself inside-out being sick with nerves. Eventually, once she had gone through enough of them, she slept as well as Niamh. Her body remembered, and eventually caught on that she was better off well-rested than with a dozen worst-case scenarios going off in her head like fireworks of dread.
Tonight was different.
In all of those other times, Elise had never been far from Millie's mind, but now, thanks to the Bond, she was in her mind. Elise was still working, but her shift would end—if nothing horrible happened—soon, and they could each be alone with the other's presence.
Millie couldn't decide if that made things worse or not. She took so much strength from her wife, but had no idea what she was sending back. The assassination attempt had to have been traumatic, with no details other than the fact Millie was alive. She'd tried confirming that Kat and the others were fine, but over such a long distance the telegram was the only word she knew for certain had made it back to Longstown.
One of the things that had kept Millie awake, but also heartened, on those early missions was sitting down and writing to Elise. The letters were a comfort more for Millie, a way to organise her thoughts and crystallise her mood of the moment.
And to say 'I love you' one more time.
Most of them were never intended to be posted, but hand-delivered in the event she was killed. Her brothers had done exactly the same thing on the eve of the battles they fought in, but she had never been able to bring herself to read the ones that her family ultimately received. It was something soldiers had been doing since the invention of literacy, but Millie wasn't a soldier. Still, she understood now—a strange, ethereal connection to Michael, James and John she had never expected. She knew, at least in this small way, what they had all felt the night before they met their fates on the fields of France and Belgium.
Millie agreed with Niamh's assessment that nothing was likely to happen in the morning, and for the same reasons. But she'd seen first-hand how quickly things could go wrong, and for many who were no longer among the living, been the reason.
Had they written letters? Millie doubted it. They hadn't expected to die.
Neither did Millie.
Still, if she didn't put the words down, she would regret it. Now, or in the next life. Or as a ghost, desperately trying to apologise to the woman she loved without a voice to do it with.
She shuddered, and put pen to paper.
Mon ange,
I love you. Nothing I have ever said is more important than those three words, so they come first. If this has found its way to your hands, it's because mine can't be there to hold them anymore. No matter what separated us, know that it wasn't stronger than my love for you, only the body I was given to contain it. A hopeless task. The past month has been the happiest of my life, so if it was the last, then I should count myself lucky. Marrying you was a dream come true, and the best decision I ever made. You changed my life, and made me better. However I am remembered, it is solely because of you. I choose to believe our parting is only temporary, so I will say no more other than that I want you to live your life to the fullest before we are reunited. You bring joy to so many others, and change the lives of all you touch. You must continue to make a difference in the world. I can wait. And watch. Give my love to Vickie, and please… take care of her. I will always love you.
Yours in heart and mind,
Millie
Mid-stroke, Elise blossomed warm and welcome in Millie's mind, and she thought only of the fierce love she was attempting to imbue into every word. Elise didn't need to know why, or likely couldn't, only that it was the truth, and how deeply it ran. The feeling was returned so strongly it was a struggle to scribe Elise's name on the front of the envelope without leaving ink splotches or sending the 's' careening off the edge.
There was an urgency to Elise's feelings that took Millie aback, stronger than any that had come across the Bond from this distance. It wasn't panic or distress, though there were notes of the latter, just an insistent need for Millie to feel what Elise was feeling.
Most of what came across when they were so far apart was nebulous and intermittent, but whether it was the quiet that allowed more focus or a simple lack of distracting thoughts, the Bond felt amplified. As much as it was possible to be, they were alone together.
Setting the sealed envelope on top of her bag, Millie laid down and extinguished her witchlight to make her isolation complete. Unconsciously, her hand went to the heart stone and found it warm, more so than her body heat alone could account for. She gripped it tight, putting every bit of it in contact with her skin, and her breath hitched. Elise's presence was even stronger with the contact, a concentrate of love and affection made all the more intense after being starved of it the last few days.
Millie tried sending the same thing back and felt Elise smile in return. They spent some uncountable stretch of time that way, basking in the presence, and attention, of one another. They simply were, the miracle of their connection more than enough.
But as they got used to each other and the hour grew too late for Millie to justify being awake, waves of longing began crashing over her consciousness, tinged with impish glee as Elise projected her late-night desires straight into Millie's head.
Heat roared up from her core at such sudden, unexpected intimacy, and she cast about the dark attic to make triply sure she was alone. It was only a feeling, but the sweat that bubbled up from her brow was very real, as was the fact that she had gone all over scarlet.
Her heart was hammering, blood singing at the silent whisper in her ear, the suggestions that had no form. Raw emotion filled her, not entirely her own, bypassing her conscious mind to flood into her body unfiltered.
The glow of witchscale bloomed in the darkness, flowing to where her fire burned the hottest. It was blessedly cool, the shapes it took on achingly familiar, as if sculpted by Elise's hand. Witchscale was of Millie, a part of her, but what slithered beneath her clothing knew what she wanted before she did. It was like being wrapped in Elise, her ghostly touch everywhere at once.
Millie's breath ratcheted with her hips to better meet it.
Elise rose with her.
Mind to mind, they led each other up, scaling their heights in great bounds, until, with a shuddering inhale, they reached the peak together.
A long sigh marked Millie's descent, and she settled back onto the cot.
Gratitude and glowing affection flowed back and forth across the Bond like the tide, and though a thin layer of sweat was nothing to Elise's actual touch, nothing could remove the smile from Millie's face as she stretched, luxuriating in the warmth of her wife's psychic presence.
She'd never let go of the heart stone.
"I love you," she whispered to it.
It grew warm one more time before quickly fading, along with Elise's presence as she soon passed into the realm of sleep.
Millie wasted no time in joining her.
Victoria awoke in sharp disagreement with her body. It insisted that the ceiling was spinning and that an army of tiny gnomes was smashing the walls of her skull from the inside. Darkness still poured in through her open window, but she couldn't bear to exchange it for the one behind her tightly-shut eyelids for more than a few seconds without feeling like her eyeballs were going to burst.
Groaning in abject discomfort, she buried her face in her pillow and wished fervently for the world to end.
It didn't.
Tossing and turning, she flit in and out of consciousness, witness to strange dreams that didn't bother to delineate between reality and unreality. Waking felt dreamlike, whilst dreams felt lifelike, her darkened bedroom the consistent stage.
Bright blue eyes gazed down at her from above, her mother's voice a low susurrus that Victoria couldn't make words out of. Pipe smoke wafted through her open window, the blend that she only associated with her father.
She couldn't let them see her like this, but her covers were too heavy, then intangible, sliding between her fingers like smoke as she tried to hide herself.
Kiska, with wings of fire and a smile blazing brighter than the sun, burning away the darkness and igniting parts of Victoria that had always been cold.
Poor, confused Mary, teetering on the stairs of the asylum, but no matter how fast Victoria ran, she couldn't reach her in time to keep her from falling.
A rain of white feathers, burning as they fell.
Breathing, her own and not. Against her neck and from places unseen, sporadically interrupted by unintelligible muttering. The first words she understood were not her own, nor a surprise.
"It's not your fault, Vita," said Alex from somewhere in the dreamscape.
Since opening her eyes only made things worse instead of brighter, Victoria didn't bother to try. A dream was a perfectly fine realm to try to achieve some degree of catharsis. "That's kind of you to say."
"I didn't try to kill myself," said Alex.
In the no-man's land in which Victoria found herself, she felt a smile appear. "I know you're only telling me what I want to hear so I will awaken unburdened, but it's still nice to hear."
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It's gone on too long," Alex said with all the remorse Victoria could have wanted.
"On that we are in agreement," she replied.
"I heard you in the hall," said Alex.
"I imagine you hear me quite often, since you're a product of my imagination."
"I didn't want to hurt you. Any of you. Nor do I want to see you hurt by anyone else," said Alex.
"Thank you."
"So I can't tell you any more."
Someone who sounded like Victoria laughed. "That follows, since I don't know any more."
"I just wanted you to know that I love you like a sister. Don't blame yourself, Vita. Please. I have to go now."
"Oh? Is it almost morning?" Victoria asked.
"Something like that. Good-bye, Vita. Thank you for everything."
Blackness became darkness, the sound of breathing faded and returned. Victoria cracked open one eye against the splitting pain, but there was nothing to see. Nothing to feel. No Alex. No Manifest.
Just as she'd thought.
It had been a nice dream, if bittersweet, but she would take it over the misery of being awake. Her subconscious had made a valiant effort, and for that much she was grateful.
When she descended back into sleep again, she stayed there until dawn.
At just before nine in Baden-Baden, two visions of Germany's future stood staring across the main square at each other.
Unbeknownst to anyone, including the local officials, the Nazis had decided to 'spontaneously' hold a rally of their own in exactly the same place at exactly the same time as Helga's. She was supposed to be dead, and what was obviously to have been a victory lap around her still-warm body was instead a disgruntled milling about as they decided what to do about this change in circumstances. To the surprise of everyone, including Helga, Hitler himself was amongst those trying to decide.
The considerable crowd around Helga had an encouragingly large number of women and young people in it, and was only growing larger as the announced time for her speech approached. Millie didn't sense any trouble brewing from them, as most of those who had shown up seemed more curious than anything. Who wouldn't be? An already famous opera singer running for office would be a sight all by itself, but a witch opera singer who'd almost been murdered in broad daylight brought out everyone in town who had a free Saturday. And even a few that didn't, going by the eyeballs peering out of the nearby businesses.
They were all giving the Nazis a wide berth, and more than a few dirty looks. People whose livelihoods depended on keeping the peace were less than shy about showing how they felt about it being broken so violently and brazenly right on their doorsteps.
Around all of it was a wreath of cameras and reporters from every corner, amplifying the anticipation with the knowledge that every moment was being documented. What was supposed to have been a test run was now suddenly historic, regardless of what happened.
Millie stood with Niamh and Kat off to the side of Helga's crowd, far enough to stay out of the way, but close enough in case things went south. Since there had already been one open assassination attempt that week, it was close indeed. The APP were well back, behind even the reporters, a not-so-subtle signal that they were simply there to observe.
Ostensibly, so was EVE, even if they didn't bother to sound like it.
"Which of those twats with the stupid moustache is Hitler?" Niamh asked.
"The one not wearing specs. The other one is Himmler, head of the SS," Millie said. Though she hadn't been able to read the rest of the captions, the newspaper photos had been that helpful, at least.
"A Hitler and a Himmler, both with the same moustache? Not much for creativity, are they?"
"I wish you wouldn't be so glib," Kat said. "We survived one attack. Don't underestimate them."
"I'm not. But in my experience, bullies only respond to two things: being laughed at or punched in the mouth. Pardon if I indulge the former for once," Niamh said.
Going by the storm clouds gathering in Kat's features, she disagreed, but said nothing.
Then, from the top of small platform, Helga's newly-minted Manifest went to work without need for a megaphone: "Greetings, all. Thank you so much for being here on this fine morning."
A murmur of acknowledgement and greetings burbled through the crowd as Hedwig translated for the EVE witches.
"I had planned a very different opening to my remarks, but…" Helga gestured at the uniformed group of entirely men across the square, an alarming number of which carried guns, "I wasn't expecting such a warm reception."
Millie took the nervous laughter that followed as a good sign. She could see over the heads of everyone save a handful, and the overall body language read more as curious than afraid. Cautious, perhaps, which felt about right. She hoped. She'd never been in a crowd of unarmed civilians staring across at a group of thugs with pistols before.
But whatever lightness Helga had managed to imbue into the crowd faded when she continued in far more sober tones. "Today, I come to stand before you unafraid, my countryfolk. Just two days ago, this group of rabble tried to kill me."
A gasp ripped through half the crowd, while the other half nodded or shouted confirmation. Flashbulbs popped.
"But they failed! My sister witches and I stood together, and we survived! And so it must be for all of Germany!"
Cheers of agreement roiled up all around them, an undulating wave that crested as Helga raised her hand to point with unflinching accusation at the knot of brown shirts and waving flags across from them. "That is not who we are! The German people are not so cowardly! The NSDAP preach only hate and violence as a solution to our problems, but it was hate and violence that created them! They prey on your fear, take advantage of it! Of you! They only wish to tear down, while we have spent our lives building up! We are your sisters, your mothers, your grandmothers! Your aunties, your schoolteachers! We are you!"
Even before the translation arrived from Hedwig, Millie could feel the righteousness that emanated from every syllable, and it reverberated through to her very marrow. Helga's Manifest made it carry, giving it a supernatural boost in projection, but no magic could replace the raw emotion in her voice. There was a certain tenor that a call for justice took on when it was made by one who had suffered injustice, and Helga's shook with it.
"They fear a better Germany! When the people are empowered, they have none! Those men there will keep you down, keep you fearful. They know only terror, it is all they have! Will you let it work? Or will you stand up? Will you take their easy answers, or will you work for real solutions?"
Positivity began to percolate, the energy of a crowd coalescing behind the person standing at the front of it.
"We are German! We do not fear work, nor strife! We will work together to help all Germans, not only a select few! We have suffered, yes, but it will not end with guns and bombs this time! Already we make progress, and they stand in the way of it! They want us to fail! They are selfish, greedy cowards who merely project strength by preying on the weak! Jews, Roma, witches, we are too small in number to be behind everything they accuse us of! If we were so powerful, I would be Chancellor already!"
This was met with laughter from Millie's side, and deepening scowls from the other. Millie stood up a little taller. The last thing a bully wanted was the piss taken out of him, and for such a mild barb to make them shift on their feet and clutch their banners all the tighter told Millie everything she needed to know about who they truly were. She added her laughter to the chorus.
Beside her, Niamh was wearing a grin that had devoured an entire pasture's worth of manure, while Kat was far less enthused, staring ahead and chewing on the inside of her lip.
