Page 132 of A Resistance of Witches

Henry looked at the woman in front of him. She looked so much like Lydia, and yet nothing like her at all. She was softer, rounder in the face and in her body, and yet something in the shape of her was unmistakable.

“You’re Lydia’s mother.”

She smiled again. Henry had never seen a spirit smile. “Evelyn. I’d shake your hand, only…”

“No, that’s all right.” He shook his head in astonishment. “You’re so different from the other…other—”

“Dead people?” Evelyn laughed. “I’m a witch, love. Witches live their whole lives on the edge of the veil, even if we don’t always realize it. Crossing over must be very jarring for some.” She winked. “Less so for people like us.”

That word,us, bloomed in Henry’s chest, warm and sweet as honey.He looked around, almost expecting to see the black marble of the ceremonial chamber again, but seeing only the familiar, sunny sitting room. “What about the others? All those witches who were turned to ash?”

Evelyn made a face. “Ah, yes. I believe whatever’s inside that book devoured them, bodyandsoul. I don’t expect we’ll be seeing any more of them. I’d say I’m sorry about it, but…” She shrugged. Evelyn looked into Henry’s eyes then, her irises gone soft and pewter, and for a moment, she looked almost alive. “She needs your help, you know. Lydia.”

“She won’t let me. She needs you. She—” Henry stopped. “Useme. My body. Maybe if you step inside me, together we can—”

Evelyn shook her head, a little sadly. “It won’t be enough. She’s weakened. Heartbroken. And I’m…” She tsked. “At full strength, we might have been enough, but now…” She stepped closer, looking into his eyes. “She won’t survive it. Not alone. She needs her family, Henry.”

All at once he understood. He looked at the rows of closed doors that surrounded them. Some of them had been painted shut. Some were bolted fast, padlocked, chained. Henry looked at each one, fear making his heart beat faster. Not the fear of what he was about to do, but the fear of what would happen if he failed.

He looked at Evelyn. He wished he could have known her while she was still alive.

“I’ve never called up so many at once. What if I…” He trailed off. Evelyn waited. “What if they don’t come?”

Evelyn chuckled, a strange sound that seemed to be piped in from some other place. “Oh, my darling. Don’t you know? They’re already here. They’re waiting.”

•••

First, Lydia smelled tea.

Not just tea. Bergamot. Lavender. Sage. She smelled dust, and old books, and beeswax, and peppermint, and mugwort, and castile soap,and the thousand other things that together could only be one impossible thing.

Evelyn. Her mother.

•••

Henry opened his eyes,and then he saw them.

Old, and young, some beautiful, some withered. Many of them with faces Henry almost recognized—fair skinned and dark haired, strange and hawkish and lovely, each of them radiating magic like a light bulb under the skin. He looked out at the sea of faces, features repeating like notes in a song. He saw a dozen women—this one with Lydia’s eyes, that one her nose, her mouth, her smile. He saw a young woman he recognized, with red hair and a green dress, smiling like a girl with a secret. She stood shoulder to shoulder with another woman, older, but glamorous in a way Henry associated with opera singers and movie stars. And he saw Evelyn, standing over her daughter, tears glowing in her eyes.

“Mum,” Lydia breathed.

Henry reached out and touched her hand. “Can you see them?”

“No, but I…I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

He wished he could explain. He wished he could describe in minute detail the face of every woman standing in this chamber so that when she closed her eyes, she would see them, too, and know that they were there for her. He wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, to know it the way he knew it, but the sky was growing dark, and the sun was nearly gone, and so he simply said, “It’s okay. It’s time.”

•••

Lydia knelt before theGrimorium Bellum, placed her fingers on the page, and the spell began.

The words flowed from her tongue just as quickly as they had thefirst time. The air was ripped from her lungs, and then she was suffocating, the words tumbling out of her but no air coming back in. She’d known it was coming, and that this time there would be no coven to help ease the burden, but the fear came anyway, cold and mean.

Please, let me live long enough to finish it, she thought.

Just across from her, Lydia’s spectral twin crouched on the chamber floor, seething and churning like black fire. It was strangely quiet in that space occupied by only the two of them, like sitting in the eye of a storm. The creature stared into Lydia’s eyes, and for a moment it looked almost mournful, like a friend, begging her to save herself. To save them both.

It doesn’t have to be this way, it seemed to whisper.You can stop this.She felt everything the book did, all its hope and fear, as clearly as if it were her own. Think of all the things we could do together.

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