Bitter Fruit

Everywhere Merritt and I walked we saw more and more evidence of how history had changed. Hitler may have still had a problem with those who were not Aryan, but he had bigger issues with those who were also magickal.

So many of the landmarks known in Crowley had been turned into anti-magickal structures. The Golden Dawn Academy, an institution of learning which I had attended, no longer taught Spelltwisters. The Institute of Prodigious Arts also had a name change. It was now the Institute of Normalcy. I shuddered to think of what was taught within its walls.

Everything about Crowley under the Nazi Regime pointed to an undue hatred of Spelltwisters. I had the sincere feeling that the sentiment was truly personal—as if someone practicing magick did something inexcusable to Hitler.

Despite what Merritt said, I couldn’t imagine keeping the dictatorial leader safe from Arabella. I also didn’t want her to succeed with her mission. One action would allow his hateful rein to continue. The other action could bring about another, possibly heinous, change.

Merritt and I managed to slip into a library—one that did not exist in my period—and found a textbook on world history. As I flipped the pages, it was all too obvious that Arabella had no idea of what havoc she created with her tinkering. Although we had heard a rendition of history without a second world war, it did come about. The Axis—Germany, Japan, and Italy—eventually won. Those leaders split up the world like it was a giant cake and everyone wanted a slice. Germany took over the majority of the globe.

In Crowley, any books regarding Spelltwister history were banned. The Abra Guild, as we knew it, was executed under grounds of treason. Every landmark that we had was either defaced or destroyed. According to the information we uncovered, thousands of Spelltwisters left Crowley and became nomads. No place they went was considered safe. Many of them were captured by the Nazis and sent to concentration camps where they later died. Those who escaped lived in anonymity in the mountains. The Nazis only ventured into those regions when Hitler determined he wanted to take over the land.

Before coming there, Tamara and I had been told that Joseph Stalin no longer existed. Somehow Arabella’s tinkering had erased the man. In a Nazi-run world, however, Stalin was alive and well.

Closing the book in front of me, I said, “We have a lot of work to do.”

“The best way to get it done, young Trevor, is by stopping ya siblings. We take them back to ya time and let the Abra Guild deal with them.”

I nodded. It was all we could do. For a moment, I thought back to the message my late father gave me.

“All you’ve done is delay the inevitable. In the future, you will have a final confrontation with Lance and possibly Arabella.”

Would returning to 1945 be that moment?

The shade who delivered those words had also said, “No matter where you go, there will be obstacles. There will always be someone just over your shoulder waiting to torment you. Are you going to face each situation with magick or your wits?”