Page 124 of A Resistance of Witches

“I want you to remember,” Lydia said, “for the rest of your days, however few they may be, that you only survived tonight because of the love I hold for my mother. Her. Not you.”

Sybil stood immobile, but Lydia thought she saw a glimmer of something new behind her eyes. Resignation? No. Rage.

Lydia felt strangely hollow, as if some essential part of herself had been scooped out. She had survived the ritual with the help of the coven, but she felt the price of it in her bones. She returned to where theGrimorium Bellumlay open on the floor, a film of gray ash now collecting on its pages. She felt stronger as she bent to touch it, but she knew the feeling wouldn’t last. She still had a few moments left before the last rays of sunlight were gone, and she intended to use them well.

Thirty-Six

The temperature was falling quickly now as the sun sank below the mountains, and the fast-running stream was cast into shadow. The forest fell quiet, the sounds of small creatures in the undergrowth replaced by the mournful sound of the wind, whistling as it whipped between the spruce trees. A red deer appeared at the water’s edge—a young female, dappled on her haunches. She sniffed the air cautiously, then bent her head to drink.

At the top of the falls, two figures stumbled to their feet—a man and a woman, exhausted beyond measure. Below them, a black-clad figure lay sprawled across the rocks, her body limp.

There in the deepening twilight, the gray woman watched it all—the stream, the deer, the man and woman, brushing themselves off as they staggered forward. Already she was starting to fade, going fuzzy at the edges. Already she was forgetting. She was sure just moments ago she’d been warm and solid, but now that felt like a distant memory. Now she felt like a curl of cold mist, just before it’s blown away. She didn’t mind.This place was nice. Pretty. She’d have liked to stay a little longer, but she was sure there was somewhere else she was meant to be. She could feel herself being pulled there, little by little.

Just a little longer, please.

She watched the young woman’s face as she made her way back up the mountain, and felt a sharp slice of something familiar that stuck in her chest; a deep, aching feeling like a bruise on her heart. It reminded her of something someone had once told her, or maybe it was something she had once said to someone else—something about birds. She wished she could remember.

Just then, a rabbit came darting out of the underbrush, startling the deer. The young woman heard it, too, and turned, almost as if someone had called her name. For a moment, she and the deer looked the same—still, silent, and alert. Both so young, and yet already so accustomed to danger.

The young woman stood and stared for a long time at the space where the gray woman was disappearing into the trees, but did not see her.

Why do birds sing in the morning, little dove?

That was it, she remembered now, even as she began to feel more and more of herself slip from this place to that one, even as she blew away like mist. She couldn’t see the trees anymore, or the deer, didn’t see the black-clad figure on the rocks begin to stir, the chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. She felt herself slowly seeping out of the world until there was nothing left but shadows, but in that moment of perfect peace, Miriam remembered. She remembered everything.

To let each other know they’ve made it safely through the night.

Thirty-Seven

Lydia ran through the corridor, the setting sun strobing in the windows as she flew past. Her feet drummed against the marble floor, Sybil’s moonstone ring burning in her hand.

She stopped before the amber-gold door, her heart racing. She put on the ring and pressed her hand against the wood, watching as a flicker of light passed through the stone. The door opened, and Lydia flung herself through it.

“Mum!”

Evelyn was sitting by the window, watching as the sun crept toward the horizon. When she saw Lydia, she grinned.

“Well?” She stood and smoothed the front of her housedress with her hands. “Did she believe it? I thought I was rather good, actually! I even cried.”

Lydia closed the distance between them and held her tight. “Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry. The things I said, I—”

“Now, now, love.” Evelyn patted her back. “You think I don’t know when my own daughter is having me on?” She leaned back and wiped a tear from Lydia’s cheek. “Don’t go getting weepy on me now. The job’s only half-done.” She took Lydia firmly by both shoulders. “Come on. Let’s finish it.”

•••

Evelyn was wheezingby the time they reached the ceremonial chamber.

“Why couldn’t we have destroyed the damned thing in the east wing, instead of running all the way back here?” she asked.

Sybil stood where Lydia had left her, quivering as she bucked against the spell that held her. In the middle of the room, theGrimorium Bellumgave off an ominous drone.

“This ceremonial chamber is just like the one at the academy. It’s been charmed to amplify any magic cast inside. This is the best place if we want the ritual to succeed.”

Evelyn looked around the opulent chamber. “Our ancestors used to walk into the woods and talk to the trees. Simple.” She turned her eye on Sybil. “This is all a bit much, don’t you think?”

Lydia took her mother by the hand, pulling her attention back to the task before them. She looked toward the setting sun, turning to liquid bronze where it met the mountains. Her heart was racing, a rush of terror taking hold of her pulse. She felt breathless, weightless, and she was suddenly certain that they were doomed to failure, and theGrimorium Bellumwould consume them both, crushing them to atoms. She felt Evelyn’s hands tighten around her own.

“Breathe, my love.”

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