Page 133 of A Resistance of Witches

Lydia tried not to listen, but it was no use. They were bound together. They were one.

You won’t survive this, the creature whispered. It sounded deeply sad. Lydia saw her own gray eyes staring back at her, set into a face made of nothing but shadow.

Neither will you.

The creature twitched, inky hair twisting around its face. The air around the thing seemed to boil, and as it did, a deep, visceral loathing flooded through Lydia’s skull.

So be it.

There was a rushing sensation, and Lydia felt something like electricity rising up through her spine, a column of pure power and rage burning through her, more than her body could possibly hold. She felt as if her blood had turned molten, like her lungs and skin and bones would turn to ash.

They will, the creature promised.

She could still smell the distinct aroma that could only beEvelyn, asfamiliar as her voice, or her smile, and for an instant, in spite of everything, she felt safe. She wondered if that meant she was dying. It seemed right, somehow. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure her mother’s face—soft, and kind, and proud. She squeezed her eyes tight and felt as if she could almost see her.

She opened her eyes, and Evelyn was standing before her.

Air flooded her lungs, the crushing weight lifted from her shoulders. Evelyn, pale and lifeless but still somehowEvelyn, stood over Lydia and spoke the words in time with her, and a current of grief and joy rose up within her.

For a moment, Lydia was sure she must be dead already and that her mother had come to take her home. It was the only thing that made sense, the only way this could be real. Then she saw the shadow, kneeling across from her on the chamber floor, this dark sister. She saw it stare up with fear and loathing at Evelyn’s ghostly form, and she understood.

You see her, Lydia thought, her voice carrying through the cord that bound her to theGrimorium Bellum. She had invited it inside her, this instrument of death. She had buried a shard of something evil deep inside her and made them one.

You see her, she thought.And now, so do I.

Lydia watched as more figures came into focus, their voices weaving into hers, as the creature recoiled in horror and confusion. Most of the women were strangers to her. They stood shoulder to shoulder, dark hair and milky eyes, speaking as one. Then she began to see—a stocky matron with hands like her mother’s. A familiar profile, so much like her own. A young woman she knew only from photographs, her mother’s favorite aunt, who had died in childbirth long before Lydia was born. Her gran, solid and upright, one hand held over her heart as she looked into Lydia’s eyes, and chanted, and smiled. She saw Isadora, tall and regal as a queen. She saw Kitty, chin up and defiant, fists clenched, and Lydia heard the spell wrench out of her own chest on a ragged sob.

There was fear now, a deep, black terror, but Lydia knew that it did not come from her. TheGrimorium Bellum, sensing the direction of the tide, had begun to pull in on itself, trying to drag itself from her veins, desperate to stop the ritual at all costs, but the struggle was futile. It was not in its nature to stop a thing once it had begun.

Their chanting lifted higher now, all of them together in one voice. The book writhed and protested, howling against the current of magic that pulled them all ever closer to the end. Lydia could hear it, making threats, whispering promises. It threatened destruction, not just of her body, but her soul, and of the souls of everyone she had ever loved. It promised her perfect peace, eternal life, and power, power above all else, if only she would stop,Oh please, please stop. Lydia heard it all and let it pass through her. Evelyn was kneeling before her now, looking into her eyes as they chanted together. Lydia could see the end laid out before her, a space in the text the length of a single breath. She ran toward it and leapt.

She spoke the name of theGrimorium Bellum.

This time, the silence came like snowfall.

Forty

The chorus of spirits faded and disappeared. Lydia could hear her own heart beating in the crystalline stillness. The book lay open on the floor, unchanged.

Slowly, she reached out and brushed the weathered page with her fingertips. The brittle paper parted easily at her touch, collapsing into a shapeless pile of ash.

“Putain de merde,” Rebecca gasped. She sat on the floor and covered her face with her hands.

It didn’t seem real. Lydia sat, staring for several long seconds at the space that theGrimorium Bellumhad once inhabited.

“Lydia?” Henry whispered.

She looked into Henry’s eyes and realized he was holding back from her, waiting to see if she, too, would crumble and turn to ash. She felt as if she could. There seemed to be an empty space deep inside of her that hadn’t been there before. Something had been taken from her as theGrimorium Bellumhad disappeared from the world—that piece ofherself that she had given over when she’d bound them together. She could survive without it, she knew. But she would feel its loss forever.

Henry pulled Lydia into him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her as tightly as he could. She relaxed into his embrace, listening to his heart as they sat in the silence.

“Henry,” she whispered after a moment. “I can’t see them anymore. Are they still here?”

He looked around. “Some of them. They’re starting to go.”

She hesitated. “My mother. Is she…”

“She’s here.”

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