Page 29 of A Resistance of Witches

“A Traveler would be much appreciated. Thank you.”

Sybil’s tone softened. “Please be safe.”

“I will. I promise.”

And as quickly as she had appeared, Sybil was gone, leaving Lydia under the swiftly darkening sky. For the first time, Lydia felt the true magnitude of what she was undertaking. She was alone, in occupied territory, without the support or protection of the academy.

She looked up at the château and held herself tightly against the cold. She had made her decision. She would need to find a way to see it through.

“Excusez-moi?” a voice came from behind her, making her jump. “Puis-je vous aider, mademoiselle?”

Lydia turned to see a man a little older than herself standing several meters off, regarding her cautiously. He was tall, well over six feet, lean but broad through the shoulders, with dark brown skin and closely cropped black hair. He was dressed for hiking, and carried a walking stick in his hand.

“Bonsoir, monsieur. Je suis désolée d’imposer—”

“You’re English.” He eyed her suspiciously. Lydia silently cursed every instructor who had ever praised her accent.

“And you’re American,” she replied. His voice was deep and soft, with just a hint of some regional inflection she couldn’t quite place.

The man looked around warily, as if he expected the Gestapo to jump out of the bushes at any moment.

Lydia set down her bag. “I came alone, Mister…”

“Boudreaux. Henry Boudreaux.”

So, this was the curator, the one Kitty had mentioned. And not a FrenchHenri, as Lydia had thought, but an AmericanHenry.

She had an idea. A bad one, possibly, but with the temperature dropping and the sun going down, it would have to do. She extended her hand. “Lydia Polk. From the British Museum in London. Mr. Boudreaux, I’d like to talk to you about your art.”

•••

It was nearly as coldinside the château as it was outside, with a chill that seemed to radiate from the stone walls themselves. The kitchen had been wired for electricity, but otherwise appeared exactly as it might have in the fifteen hundreds. Centuries of soot blackened the walls and ceiling above the hearth, giving the room a dingy feel. The furniture was a hodgepodge of old and new, and not enough of it to properly fill the space. There was something profoundly sad about the place.

Henry lit a fire. “I would offer you a cup of tea, but we’re fresh out.” Lydia could sense his wariness, and noticed how he kept his distance from her, even after he’d invited her inside.

“Quite all right. I’ve actually always preferred coffee.”

“Are you sure you’re a Brit?” It sounded like it was meant as a joke, but he didn’t smile.

“Last I checked.”

The fire crackled as he watched her. The air in the room was heavy with the smell of damp and wood smoke.

“I understand you were with the Louvre, before the evacuation,” Lydia said. “You must be very good at what you do. The French can be rather superior, I shouldn’t think they typically hire—”

“Colored men?”

Lydia felt a flush of embarrassment. “I was going to say Americans, actually.”

Henry gave her a long look. “My aunt’s a singer. She came over and made a name for herself in Paris after the Great War. Easier for a Black woman to be a respected artist in Paris than stateside these days. I came to live with her while I finished school, then applied to the École du Louvre. I was apprenticing under one of the curators when the Nazis invaded, and the museum was evacuated. He told me I should go home. I refused.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?”

Henry didn’t answer.He doesn’t trust me, Lydia thought. She suspected he hadn’t had much reason to trust anyone in a very long time.

“Forgive me, but how does Lydia Polk from the British Museum make her way, alone, into the middle of Nazi-occupied France?”

Lydia opted for something close to the truth. “I crossed the channel on a fishing boat late last night. And I’m not alone, strictly speaking. The museum has partnered with the Special Operations Executive to locate and extract world treasures from the country so they don’t end up on the wall of Hitler’s mansion or, worse, destroyed. My SOE counterpart is setting up operations nearby.”

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