Page 115 of A Resistance of Witches

Rebecca’s mouth hung open. Henry cleared his throat, prompting her to speak.

“Nothing,” she said feebly. “I said nothing.” Henry gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

The witch looked confused. She placed the brass ring back on her hip without looking at it.

Henry was careful not to glance at the iron key that lay on the floor between them, just within reach. The witch gave her head a shake, as if dispelling an unpleasant dream, then turned and walked back the way she had come.

The gray woman stood, still and silent, and watched her go.

Thirty-Two

The afternoon of the solstice, Sybil requested Lydia’s company for an early dinner. Lydia selected a dress from the wardrobe: a black, floor-length gown with long sleeves and a heart-shaped neckline, fashioned from silk that fell over her skin like water. She curled and pinned her hair, and fixed her makeup, rouging her cheeks and painting her lips a deep claret red. Funny, she thought. Already she’d become accustomed to the look of her face without the benefit of a glamour. In a way, she almost preferred it.

Just before leaving, Lydia took the ivory letter opener from the writing desk. Working quickly, she slipped it inside the hem of her gray wool skirt, tearing the stitches to reveal a tidy row of waxed paper packets, each stuffed with a thimbleful of herbs. She searched, holding them up to the light one by one, until she found what she was looking for. Lydia took the packet and slipped it inside her brassiere.

It was the first time she had been outside of her room since arriving in Bavaria, and the sensation as the binding magic lifted from hershoulders made her head swim. Lydia followed the girl called Eva as she silently led the way to Sybil’s chambers.

Sybil embraced her when she arrived. “Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

The room was much like Lydia’s own, with tall windows and paneled wood walls, although she noticed that these walls were carved with an ordinary vine-work pattern, rather than the intricate binding sigil from her own bedroom. A table and chairs sat in the center of the room, with china and crystal for two. The furniture was richly upholstered in shades of mauve, just like Sybil’s study at the academy. Sybil poured two glasses of wine, leaving the decanter on the table between them.

“You look lovely.” Sybil sipped her wine. “I told you this gown was prettier than the other one. Wasn’t I right?”

Lydia smiled. “As always. The other was far too severe.”

Sybil had visited daily since Lydia’s change of heart, drinking tea and expounding on everything from her own idyllic childhood in Surrey, to which frock Lydia should wear for her initiation. Lydia had spent every second of those visits biting her tongue until she tasted blood, and praying to the Mother that her deception would hold.

“How are you feeling?” Sybil asked.

Terrified, Lydia thought.

“I feel well. I’m ready.” She gazed at her wine. “Only…”

Sybil reached across the table. “What is it, darling?”

Lydia sighed. “It’s my own fault. I’m still afraid the rest of the coven won’t ever trust me, even after I’ve been initiated. It makes sense, really—”

“Nonsense. In a few hours, you will be one of us. After that, you will lead us all in the Unmaking ritual, and win the war for Germany. You will be a sister to them. You’ll see.”

Lydia gave Sybil’s hand a squeeze, then pulled back, grazing Sybil’sglass with her fingers. The glass toppled, spilling its contents and smashing on the floor.

“Oh, damn,” Lydia said. “Did I spill any on your dress? I’m sorry, I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”

“No apologies! It’s just a glass. We have others.” Sybil stood. “Wait here.”

Sybil walked to the door and said a few words to Eva, standing guard in the hallway. As she did, Lydia reached inside her dress and produced the waxed paper packet. She opened it with trembling hands, then hastily emptied the packet into the decanter, swirling it once before placing it back on the table. The powder dissolved to nothing.

Sybil returned with a fresh glass. “They’ll clean up the rest once we’ve finished our meal.”

Lydia refilled Sybil’s glass. Sybil took a sip and smiled.

Dinner was stuffed pheasant served with wild mushrooms, and glazed pears for dessert. Lydia ate little and said nothing when Sybil poured them each a second glass of wine.

Just as they were finishing the meal, a knock came at the door. It was Ursula, already dressed for the evening’s ritual in a black silk blouse and wide satin trousers, which gave the illusion of a voluminous skirt.

“Grand Mistress.” Ursula’s gaze landed on Lydia, then flicked away.

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