Page 39 of A Resistance of Witches

“No?” The witch raised an eyebrow. “We are all followers of the old ways.”

“You twist the old ways to support the cause of a madman. How could you do it?”

The witch shrugged, amused.

“Answer me!”

She looked around, considering her reply. “What will you do after the war? Will you go back into hiding? Continue to cast your little spells in secret while your country forgets you? While the witches of Britain fade into myth?”

Lydia did not respond.

“My mother lived her whole life in secret, you know. Ashamed of what she was, unable to control her powers. She thought she was losing her mind. And soon enough, she did.” The witch’s eyes glittered in the dark. “Thatis what comes from a life lived in secret. Suffering and death, nothing more. But the Führer remembers that once the witches of Germany were more than fairy stories. He knows that returning Germany to her true glory will require the power of the witch.” She stepped closer, so close they could have touched. “The Führer will bring about a Thousand-Year Reich, and when he does, the witches of Germany will be by his side. We are done hiding in the shadows.”

Lydia couldn’t conceal her contempt. “Selling your soul to the most evil man in Europe in exchange for power and glory.”

The witch laughed. “So self-righteous! But just wait. When Germany is victorious, you will see how much better life can be for people like us.”

She’s distracting you, Lydia thought. She forced herself to turn her back on the witch and focus on the task at hand.Plaster walls, wood floor, humble furnishings.She stole a glance at a book, sitting open on a tattered armchair. It was written in French.

The witch seemed uninterested in investigating the farmhouse, as if she had all the time in the world. Instead, she watched Lydia, chuckling to herself.

“So, you’re a Projectionist,” Lydia said. “A Projectionist, and a Glamourer, and a Traveler. That’s rather rare, to be all three.” The witch smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Why, so you can use it to hex me?” The witch clicked her tongue. “I think not.”

“Just exchanging pleasantries.”

Lydia made her way to the window. Outside, scrubby hills lay bare under a clear night sky.No mountains, Lydia thought.No cities, nochurch, no landmarks.A giant oak tree stood in the distance, branches twisting in the wind. She strained her eyes against the darkness. There was something odd about the tree, something she couldn’t quite make out. Something slumped against the massive trunk, framed in moonlight.

A body.

Lydia stared. It was the body of a man, but that was all she could make out in the dark. Behind her, the blond witch laughed softly to herself.

“You know, when we have theGrimorium Bellum, the witches of England will be wiped from the earth, along with the Juden, and the Homosexuelle, and the Zigeuner. A necessary evil, you understand. All who oppose the Führer must be exterminated.” She grinned wide. “Unless, of course, you join us. What has Britain done for witches, after all? Hanged them and despised them and drove them into hiding.” Her voice became serious. “Swear your allegiance to the Führer. Join the Witches of the Third Reich. And theGrimorium Bellumwill spare you.”

Lydia turned to face her. “You’ll never find theGrimorium Bellum.”

“On the contrary. I’ve already found it.”

Lydia felt cold dread rising in her. “Nonsense.”

“You should think about my offer. It would be a shame if any more of your friends died in vain.”

Hate swelled in Lydia’s chest. “You should know I’m going to kill you.”

The witch grinned. “Perhaps. But not tonight.”

Lydia did not respond.

“Auf Wiedersehen, Lydia Polk.”

And she was gone.

Lydia stood in the silence as despair began to slowly close around her like water. The Nazis had discovered the location of the book. And they were coming for it.

“Focus, damn you,” she hissed. There was still time.

Without the witch to distract her, Lydia could begin to feel the hideous call of dark magic that filled the house. She went and stood where the humming was loudest, and thought she could feel the book reaching up, clawing at her through the floorboards, wanting to be found.

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