Page 36 of A Resistance of Witches

Moments passed, and she watched as his features seemed to sag. He shook his head.

“That’s not right,” he said softly.

Lydia felt a shudder of something like shame go through her. “What?”

He looked away from her. “You’re ransoming my friend so I’ll help you.” He shook his head again. “I’ll do it. But it’s not right.” Henry turned to go.

“Wait.” Lydia’s cheeks were hot, and there was a sick, churning feeling inside her stomach, but she carried on. “There’s something else.”

Henry looked at her. She hated that look, the resigned contempt in it.

“Tracing an object through another person. It’s hard. Messy. I’ve done it before, but I was with a full coven. I’m not strong enough to do it alone.”

Henry rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how to help you there. I don’t think there are any covens around here I can just call up.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” She swallowed to steady her voice. “I might be able to do it alone, if we were in a place of power.”

“A what?”

“A place of power, like a stone circle, or a spring, perhaps a burial mound. England is covered with them. I suppose France is, too, but I don’t know the land here. Not just any spring will do, you understand. There’s a feeling, it’s…” She faltered, unsure how to explain what it felt like to stand in such a place to someone who had never experienced it.

He regarded her for a moment in silence, and Lydia saw something settle over him—a decision being made. The wariness was still there in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him. Still, she held her breath and hoped.

Thirteen

They set out that night with the full moon hanging above them, silent and watchful. Henry led the way through the thick woods, the light from the electric torch bouncing in the darkness. The forest stretched out before them, the moon bathing the trees in silver. Lydia felt a lump of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. If she failed tonight, all her efforts would have been for nothing.

“What if we get lost?” she whispered.

“We won’t. I’ve been hiking these trails for three years. I could find my way blindfolded.”

They walked in silence, occasionally pausing when a sound from the darkness made them stop in their tracks, listening and waiting.

“Are you worried about animals?” she asked.

“Only the kind that walk on two legs and speak German.”

Lydia was reminded of hiking through the Scottish Highlands on a trip to visit Kitty’s family several years before. They had walked until they were both red-faced and sore, and sat, looking out over the rollinghills of moss and thistle, drinking the scotch they’d nicked from Kitty’s father. Just thinking about it made the grief rise in Lydia’s throat.

Henry broke the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

She coughed to hide the tremor in her voice. “Of course.”

“Why don’t you just kill Hitler?”

“Using magic, you mean?”

“Yeah. Careful here.” He scrambled down a steep and rocky hill. To Lydia’s surprise, he turned and held out his hand for her as she followed, steadying her, but he pulled away again the moment she was on solid ground.

“We tried. Several times, actually. It’s not as simple as chanting a few words from across the channel, you know. To kill, you need to be close, and it’s taxing on the witch, too taxing for most of us to even attempt it.”

“And?”

Lydia shuddered. She hadn’t known any of the girls well, but their names had haunted the halls of the academy for months after their deaths.Genevieve Wood. Sarah Marlowe. Gillian March. Juniper Flynn.

“None of them ever came back. After the last time, the council wouldn’t approve any more attempts, and the mission was abandoned. Their poor families. None of them ever found out what really happened.”

“What did happen?”

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