Page 114 of A Resistance of Witches

Now, for the first time, he tried to imagine this space inside of himself as something else. Not a room, but a vehicle, a means of transit. Atrain that could carry the dead to him over any distance. He imagined calling into the darkness, calling for someone, anyone, to come join him.

All aboard, Henry thought.

When he opened his eyes, there was a woman there with them, standing very still. She was in her late forties, tall and dark haired, prim but stylish in her gray dress and practical heels. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken, her clothing too loose. She stood with her back to the wall, inches from where Rebecca sat.

“Hello,” Henry said.

Rebecca saw the look in his eyes and knew what it meant. She inhaled sharply. Henry held up a hand.

“I’m Henry.” He kept his voice steady. The spirit did not look at him. She was looking at Rebecca. “What’s your name?”

Now the woman did look up, and in her eyes, Henry saw something he hadn’t seen in any of his previous conversations with the dead: the woman looked deeply sad. Not just sad, but grief-stricken, her milky eyes shadowed with something more than just hunger. The woman looked away from him again, returning her gaze to Rebecca. She reached out and stroked Rebecca’s tangled hair, crouching so their faces were inches apart. And then, as Henry watched, the woman’s lips parted and formed a silent phrase.

Ma petite colombe, she said.My little dove.

And then he saw. The likeness was undeniable: long neck, dark brows, a certain squarish set to the jaw, like someone always ready for a fight. As the woman reached out to wipe a smudge of dirt from Rebecca’s face, Henry saw a tear spill like quicksilver onto her sunken cheek.

“Rebecca,” Henry whispered, but then the spirit turned and looked at him, pressing one finger to her mouth, her eyes pleading.Don’t tell her.

Rebecca looked at him questioningly.

Henry shook his head. “It’s okay.”

He looked into the still, unseeing eyes of Rebecca’s mother.

“It’s okay,” he told her. She nodded gratefully. “We’re in trouble. Can you help us?”

The woman nodded again. She lingered for just a moment longer, taking in Rebecca’s face, and then she dissolved into the shadows.

•••

They might havewaited for five minutes, or ten. In the cavernous underground silence, it was impossible to tell. Just as Henry began to wonder if the woman was coming back, they heard footsteps, and a plain-faced girl appeared around the corner. She reached through the bars and placed a pewter water pitcher on the floor of the cell.

Rebecca lunged with shocking speed, reaching for the girl and missing her by mere inches. The girl fell back, wide eyed, and Rebecca cackled.

“I’ll have to be faster next time.” She reached down and retrieved the pitcher, holding the girl in her stare the entire time.

The girl rearranged her face into a sour glare. “Don’t play with me,Jew—”

“Or what?” Rebecca drew herself up to her full height and stepped close to the bars. She was at least four inches taller than the girl, and even with the iron bars between them, Henry could see that the witch was rattled. “Will you come in here and teach me a lesson? Hmm?”

Behind the girl, Henry watched as the gray woman materialized once again from the shadows, statue still and watching with lifeless white eyes.

“Your friend has betrayed you,” the girl hissed, her cheeks flushed. “Tonight, she will swear herself to the Führer, and then you will be of no more use to us. Most likely you’ll be dead before morning. Then again, maybe we’ll ship you off to Poland with the other Jews. Let you sort rags for a few months before they dump you in a hole in the ground.”

The gray woman stepped closer.

“Nazi bitch—” Rebecca snapped, but her words were cut short.

One moment the spirit hovered just behind the witch, so close they nearly touched. The next, the dead woman seemed to step into her, slipping into the witch’s skin the way one might slip into a robe. The witch gasped, a spasm running through her, and then she blinked her milky eyes and was still.

Rebecca jumped back from the bars. Henry caught her by the shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay. She’s here to help.”

The dead woman, now wearing the young witch like a suit, moved her hand slowly to her hip, where it came to rest on a brass key ring. She lifted the keys in front of her face and selected one, releasing the key from the ring and holding it delicately between her fingers before letting it fall to the ground.

The witch blinked again, and her clouded eyes cleared. “What did you say?”

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