Page 10 of A Resistance of Witches

•••

Kitty did arrive in time,but barely. The council had already begun to arrange themselves in a circle, shifting nervously where they stood. Lydia ran over and embraced her as she walked through the door.

“Isadora looks like she’s been sucking lemons,” she whispered. “What on earth took you so long?”

“I’m sorry.” Kitty’s gaze barely landed on Lydia’s, skimming instead across the room full of black-clad council members. Lydia thought her friend must have been quite nervous after all. Kitty was such a funny thing, perfectly happy to waltz into a German army base or a top secret cabal with nothing but a borrowed face and a lot of gusto, but the pomp and circumstance of traditional spellwork had always made her itchy.

Lydia draped her arm through Kitty’s as she guided her toward the black stone altar. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to do anything special.I’ll do all the work. All right?” It felt strangely calming, playing at being so cool and confident. For a second it almost felt true.

Kitty smiled weakly. “All right.”

Isadora approached, accompanied by the soft rustling of satin.

“Miss Fraser,” Isadora said.

“Grand Mistress.”

There was a moment of silence as Isadora regarded her, eyebrows raised in silent recrimination for her tardiness. Then Isadora turned to address the council.

“Hail, sisters,” Isadora began.

“Hail, Grand Mistress,” the council called back in unison.

Isadora allowed the silence to settle back over the room before she continued. Candlelight flickered across the gathered faces.

“We gather tonight in support of our sister Lydia as she seeks theGrimorium Bellum. May the full moon light her way on her journey. May our voices guide her to her prize. May the Great Mother bless our cause. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” said the council.

Lydia stole a glance at Kitty, hoping to see a glimmer of that familiar mischief, but Kitty was staring intently at the silver bowl on the altar before them.

Isadora returned to the altar and produced a small silver box from the pocket of her gown. The box flipped open, revealing a brittle scrap of stained brown vellum no larger than Lydia’s fingertip. Ever so carefully, Isadora placed the piece of paper into the bottom of the silver bowl. Lydia might have imagined it, but she thought for a moment the candles glowed brighter in the bowl’s reflection. Isadora took Lydia’s hand, and she in turn reached for Kitty.

Isadora looked around the room, finally resting her gaze on Lydia. “Let us begin.”

The grand mistress was the first to recite the incantation, her voice filling the chamber like a bell. After a moment the others joined, and now a dozen voices were rising together to call out the words of power that would propel Lydia toward theGrimorium Bellum.

In past ceremonies the council’s chanting had honed Lydia’s senses, easily sending her consciousness away from her on the tide of their voices, but tonight she felt stymied. The piece of theGrimorium BellumKitty had retrieved was barely more than dust, and its connection to the book was weak and threadbare. Lydia could just barely feel the low pulse of magic emanating from the bowl on the altar, reaching out for its missing piece like a phantom limb, but the signal was dull, like trying to listen to a radio through a heavy wooden door. Given enough time, perhaps she could have made sense of it, but the council was watching with impatience. She could feel their eyes like insects crawling on her skin, hungry and expectant.

No matter, she thought.There are other ways.

She turned her attention away from the scrap of paper on the altar and reached for Kitty with her mind. Tracking through another person had a way of opening up a sort of channel, like a long hallway between their minds, where memories could flow, if only for a second. She’d never tracked through Kitty before, but she thought she knew what she might find inside her best friend’s mind—bracing hikes in green rolling hills; half a dozen squawking, red-haired siblings; the taste of biscuits and black tea on her tongue, so sweet it made her teeth ache. Scenes from an idyllic Highland childhood.

But as Lydia reached for her friend with her mind, she found no flash of Highland green, no comforting fire. Instead, a burst of memories blazed through her, so bright and sharp it was almost blinding—Hunger like a wound. A woman’s voice, ranting and raving. Freezing water all around her, lungs burning, terror so profound it blotted out everythingelse.Kitty’s hand felt cold in hers.Odd, Lydia thought. Kitty’s hands were always warm.

She opened her eyes.

Kitty was watching her, and now, finally, there was the smile Lydia had been waiting for all evening, but it was wrong somehow. Joyless. Kitty released her hand, and from inside her dress she pulled a bone-handled dagger. Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could form the words, Kitty lashed out, fast and sure, and slashed Isadora’s throat.

Four

Isadora’s eyes went wide as she slid to the floor, blood spilling from her neck in a torrent. As she did, Kitty’s visage seemed to fall away like water, replaced with the face of someone Lydia had never seen before—an icy blond with blue eyes and a smile like a wolf. Lydia screamed, and her scream seemed to awaken the council, who until now had been watching in silent shock. The chamber erupted in pandemonium, several council members running for the door, the rest screaming, frozen in fear.

The blond woman knelt by Isadora’s side and lifted her dagger, meaning to finish her work, but Lydia had returned to her senses. She screamed again, a jagged, rage-filled sound, and as she did, she left her body, her projection driving into the woman like a cannon, knocking her to the ground.

The blond woman hit her head on the stone floor with a crack, but she didn’t stay down for long. She scrambled to her feet, searching for her dagger as Lydia returned to her body. Lydia had the strength foronly one projection attack, but she pursued the woman regardless, forgetting fear or sense, thinking only one thing.Stop her.

She turned to the clutch of elder witches, cowering in the far corner of the ceremonial chamber, and felt a flush of disgust.They’ve never had to fight, Lydia realized with sudden, sickening clarity. Battle magic was a standard part of the school’s curriculum, but with the academy’s policy of total isolation, the exercise had always been purely theoretical. Only the academy’s most recent graduates had been prepared for real war.

---