Chapter 5

5

J ake blinked, and his head throbbed as the room swam into focus. The tantalizing scent of warm pie filled his nostrils and memories of the giant and the woods flooded his mind, along with a renewed sense of urgency. He tried to move but he looked down and realized he was bound tightly to a small wooden chair.

But that wasn't the most disturbing part.

He was no longer wearing his uniform, but instead was clad in Lederhosen. Jake stared down in horrified disbelief at the white peasant shirt, the heavily embroidered leather knee-length shorts with braces, and the white stockings that folded over neatly just under his knees and ended in heavy black shoes.

"What the…?" he hissed quietly and then stilled as he felt someone shift behind him. "Mac?"

"Yeah, I'm here," rumbled his partner.

"Uh, are you tied to a chair?"

"That would be an affirmative," Mac replied, and Jake felt his chair wobble as Mac obviously struggled against his ropes. "I think our chairs are tied back to back."

"You still wearing your uniform?" Jake asked.

Mac stilled and then went quiet. "No," he finally said. "I look like I passed out at Oktoberfest?"

"You too?" Jake scowled. "What the hell is going on? And what's with the Bavarian boy shorts?"

"Ah, you're awake!" a new voice called out, accompanied by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Jake craned his neck to see who was speaking and caught sight of an old lady hobbling into the room. She wore a plain black smock dress and had a dirty apron tied around her thin waist. Hands that were claw-like and gnarled with age curled tightly around the handles of a wicker basket, and her hair was wild and gray. She smiled widely at them, revealing large gaps around misshapen teeth .

"Lady, I don't know who the hell you are, but I suggest you untie us. You're messing with the law here."

The woman just cackled with amusement and reached for a huge copper pot.

"Tried that," Mac mused.

Jake quickly scanned his surroundings. They were inside the cottage they'd stumbled across in the woods, there was no doubt about it. He could see the crisscrossing diamond shapes across the glass windows and the rows of freshly baked pies laid out with military-like precision along the sill.

They seemed to be in a kitchen, with a hard flagstone floor and a rough-hewn wooden table in the center that looked less like a table and more like a work bench. It was covered with pots, pans, chopping boards, bunches of herbs, and stacks of raw vegetables and fruits.

A fire burned brightly in a hearth along one wall, a cast-iron kettle hanging from a hook directly above the snapping flames. Beside it, ominously, was a huge iron oven door that was more like something that would be found in a crematorium and was worryingly just big enough to comfortably fit two police officers.

"That can't be good," he muttered.

"What was that?" The old woman turned and stared at him with beady eyes, a large carving knife in her hand.

"Just wondering where you're planning on sticking that knife," Jake murmured as his gaze landed on both his and Mac's cell phones, plus the keys to Bill's truck, all tucked in between a stack of turnips and a head of cabbage.

"Oh, Gretel, mein Liebchen." She patted his cheek with her papery palm. "Don't worry. It won't hurt… much."

She hobbled back to the table and began to chop the carrots roughly and toss them in a copper pot. Jake felt Mac shaking behind him and knew he was laughing.

"What?" he hissed.

Mac snorted. "She thinks you're a girl."

"Shut up," he replied sourly. "You're just jealous because I'm the pretty one."

"Now, now, Hansel," the old woman tutted at Mac. "No making trouble."

Setting the knife down on the edge of the table, she lifted the huge pot and hung it on an empty metal hooksuspended from a metal arm that swung out from the hearth. Picking up a poker, she pushed the pot over the flames beneath the kettle and left it to boil.

"There." She grabbed a large knot of dough from a nearby bowl and slapped it down on the table in a puff of flour, then began to knead and roll it out into pastry. "You, my little Hansel, will make an excellent pie. You're a little more, how you say?" She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Pudgy," she decided.

"Who you calling pudgy?" Mac growled.

"You, my sweet little Gretel, you're more wiry. You'll make an excellent spit roast."

She sucked her teeth loudly, smacking her lips as if she could already taste the glorious flavor of human meat.

Jake glared at her. "Hate to burst your bubble there, Sweeney Todd, but no one's spit roasting anyone."

"Oh, would you look at that." She scanned the table. "I forgot the rosemary. I'll be right back." She picked up a small basket and headed toward the door. "No fighting while I'm gone," she told them in a singsong voice as the door closed behind her.

"What do you say we get the hell out of here?" Mac said quickly.

"I say you had me at what." Jake wriggled and yanked on the ropes holding him to the chair. His gaze slid over to the knife at the edge of the table.

"Mac, we need to shuffle to the right. She left the knife out; I think I might be able to reach it."

"Okay," Mac agreed. "On three."

"Okay," Jake replied. "Ready? One… two… three…"

They hopped and shuffled across the stone floor toward the table. Stretching to the side, Jake used his chin, then the side of his head, to scoot the knife to the very edge. With his hand beneath, he nudged the knife off the table, but it bounced off his fingers and landed on the floor with a clatter.

Jake stared down at it for a second. "Okay, plan B," he declared. "What can you see on your side?"

"There's a metal hook on the wall about waist height. These chairs are pretty small, like they were designed for kids, and they're only wood. If we shuffle over to the wall and brace them over the metal hook, then put stress on the weak joints, they might snap."

"Okay, shuffle and brace, got it…" Jake replied. "Three again."

"Ready?" Mac asked. "One… two… three."

Between the two of them, they managed to shuffle across the room like a Lederhosen- attired crab and hook the side of one of the chairs over the protruding metal.

"Now brace yourself," Mac told Jake as they pulled hard against the rope.

Jake's chair began to creak andthe rope burned against their exposed forearms and thighs with the friction. Where they ended up had put Jake in front of one of the large windows, and as he glanced out, he saw the old woman place a bunch of herbs into her basket and straighten up.

"Hurry, Mac," he panted as he pulled harder. "She's coming back!"

"Almost there." Mac gasped just as the chair splintered and gave way, dropping to the floor in pieces and loosening the ropes binding them. He'd just managed to disentangle himself from the rope as the door opened and launched himself at the old witch. She dropped herbasket of herbs to the floor with a startled cry. Mac plowed into her, pushing her away from Jake so he could free himself from the tangle of ropes.

The witch shrieked in fury as they struggled across the room until she finally picked Mac up and threw him into the cottage door. The heavy oak cracked straight down the center, and Mac slumped to the cold, hard floor.

Jake finally managed to free himself from the tangle of knotted rope and splintered wood and scrambled to his feet.

"Look, lady." He held his hands up as she advanced on him slowly. "I really don't want to hurt you. I was taught not to hit girls, plus you're old, like really old. Wouldn't you rather just sit down with a mug of cocoa and watch Jeopardy ?"

Her wrinkled mouth broke into a slow, toothy grin before she caught him with an uppercut that literally lifted his feet off the floor and sent him flying several feet across the kitchen and into a rack of cooking pots. There was a loud crash of pots and pans as they rained down on Jake's body.

Jake watched, slightly dazed, as the witch spun around in time for Mac to crack her across the chin with a heavy rolling pin. She stumbled back and, seeing an opportunity, Jake scrambled to his feet and opened the furnace door. With a loud battle cry, Mac powered her back into the flames, and together they slammed the door shut and latched it.

They stood breathing heavily as the old woman screamed and beat her fists against the reinforced glass window. Suddenly, she exploded, covering the soot-framed window with purple glitter.

"You okay?" Mac panted.

"She had a helluva right hook." Jake tested his jaw gingerly to make sure it wasn't broken, although it definitely felt like a bruise was already beginning to bloom along his jawline.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Mac grabbed the truck keys and both phones, tossing Jake's to him, and headed for the damaged front door.

A few moments later, Jake sauntered over to where Mac was scanning the forest, looking for a way out. He glanced over to Jake as he joined him and stared at him as he shook his head.

"What?" Jake mumbled around a mouthful of pie. "You want me to get another fork?"

"Never mind." Mac sighed heavily. "Let's go."

Jake reached out and snapped a chunk of gingerbread from the wall of the house and dipped it into the middle of the pie he held. Taking a bite and humming happily, he followed Mac through the woods.