Page 120 of A Resistance of Witches

Lydia stared outat the faces of the Witches of the Third Reich. She could feel their suspicion, their resentment. She saw Ingrid and Eva, heads bent together. She saw Gerda, standing in shadow, lips pursed.

Sybil placed a hand on Lydia’s arm. “Are you ready, my darling?”

“Yes, Grand Mistress.”

Sybil made a subtle gesture, and the witches stepped into the light, encircling Lydia and Sybil in the center of the chamber. Yellow candlelight flickered around them, making their faces shape-shift, expressions morphing from benign to sinister and back again in an instant. Sybil turned away from Lydia and addressed the coven.

“Hail, sisters.”

“Hail, Grand Mistress,” came the reply.

“We gather today, on this, the winter solstice, to welcome our sister Lydia into our coven. Our sisterhood is a sacred thing, an unbreakable, lifelong bond. Support must be unanimous. If anyone here objects to this initiate, speak now.”

Lydia scanned the gathered faces, trying to guess who would object first, but no one spoke. These witches did not trust her, but they wouldnot defy their mistress. Sybil allowed the silence to linger a moment longer, then smiled, satisfied.

“Eva.”

Eva stepped forward, a cup of wine in one hand, a blade in the other. Sybil took them both and turned to Lydia. The cup was silver and bore a five-pointed star. The knife was identical to the one Ursula carried, with a polished bone handle, inscribed with a rune—Othala. Homeland.Sybil rested the tip of the blade on Lydia’s breast, just above her heart.

“Lydia Polk, daughter of Evelyn. Why do you come here today?”

Lydia had studied the words and knew her part from memory.

“I come to join with my sisters in devotion to the Great Mother, and in service of the fatherland.” As she spoke, Lydia imagined a wall around her heart made of thorns and twisted metal. She imagined an impregnable barrier, one that her words could not penetrate. She lifted up a silent prayer for the Great Mother to look inside her heart and see the truth.

“How do you come before this coven?”

“With a true and willing heart.”

There were curses for witches who betrayed their covens.May her body burn to ashes. May she go unmourned. May the Great Mother forget her name.

“Whom do you serve?”

“I serve the Great Mother, and the Führer, may he live forever.” She tasted bile in the back of her throat.

For a moment, there was silence. She felt the blade, its tip resting above her heart, and for one second, she was certain that Sybil would realize her betrayal and plunge the knife deep into her chest. Instead, Sybil held out her hand, and Lydia offered her palm. Sybil lifted the blade and pressed it to the skin of Lydia’s hand. It was sharp, and the flesh parted easily. Bright red blood sprang to the surface, but Lydia did not flinch. She held her hand over the silver chalice, letting her bloodspill into the cup. Sybil then held the knife against her own palm, and let her blood fall into the wine, mixing with Lydia’s.

“A vow made in blood cannot be broken. Do you make this vow of your own free will?”

“I do.” The room seemed to darken, although the candle flames remained steady.

“Lydia Polk”—Sybil’s voice rose, echoing throughout the chamber—“do you dedicate your life to the service of the Great Mother?”

“I do.”

“Do you bind yourself with a willing heart to this coven, as a true sister for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

“Do you dedicate your life to the fatherland, and the glory of the Führer?”

“I do.”

Sybil’s face glowed in the firelight. She pressed the handle of the knife into Lydia’s palm so that Lydia stood with the chalice in one hand and the dagger in the other. “Drink, child.” Lydia drank. Blood dripped from her palm and collected on the marble floor.

Sybil addressed her coven, now standing shoulder to shoulder around them. “Hail to the Great Mother!” Sybil shouted.

“Heil, Great Mother!”

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