Page 44 of A Resistance of Witches

She blinked at Lydia’s trembling image. “You.”

Lydia cocked her head to one side. “Yes, me. What on earth—”

“Putain de sorcière démoniaque! C’est toi qui a fait ça n’est ce pas? J’aurais dû te tuer lorsque j’en avais l’opportunité—”

Lydia blanched. “Rebecca, what are you—”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Twenty-two years I’ve never met a witch. This week I’ve mettwo. Am I supposed to think that’s a coincidence?”

“Another witch? Rebecca—”

“She was inside my head!” Rebecca’s voice cracked. “She told me to get in the car, and I did it. She told me tobehave.You expect me to believe that had nothing to do with you?” The violation seemed to hit her all at once—the loss of her autonomy for those few horrible moments. She had been helpless, and that enraged her.

“Rebecca, I promise, whatever happened to you, I had nothing to do with it.”

Rebecca felt blood gathering in her mouth. She spat it out on the floor. “Go to hell.”

Lydia watched silently for a moment, her image wavering in the dim light. She seemed somehow less solid than she ought to be. Eventually, Rebecca’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Why do you look like that?”

Lydia sighed. “What you’re seeing is my projection. I’m not really here. My body is at Château de Laurier. Rebecca,where are you?”

Rebecca stared at the floor in front of her and did not answer.

“Goddamn it, Rebecca, I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t know where I am. I was unconscious when they brought me here.”

“They who? Who took you?”

“A man and a woman. He’s Gestapo. The woman, she’s…” Rebecca felt a shudder run through her. She could still see the woman’s smiling face, with something cruel lurking just behind the eyes. “When she spoke to me, I couldn’t disobey. Anything she told me to do, I had to do it. And she had a knife. Bone handle, with a rune.”

Rebecca watched as the color drained from Lydia’s face.

“I’m going to get you out of there.”

“That would be good. What are you doing here, anyway,sorcière?” She felt her rage beginning to ebb, replaced by a feeble whiff of hope.

“I need to get to Auvergne. I was going to talk to you about your car, although I can see now that will have to wait.”

The sound of footsteps made them both fall silent.

Lydia spoke quickly. “They can’t see or hear me. You’re the only one who knows I’m here. Do you understand?”

Rebecca blinked at her. “I don’t understand any of this.”

The door opened. The woman with the chestnut curls entered theroom and gave a sympathetic pout as she regarded Rebecca’s battered face. Then she closed the door firmly behind her. Rebecca heard the lock click into place with a horrible finality and felt her heart skitter against her rib cage.

The chestnut-haired woman removed her jacket and draped it carefully over the back of her chair. It was crimson red, the color of fresh blood. She clucked over Rebecca like a mother hen as she took her seat.

“Oh dear, he really let you have it, didn’t he?” She spoke French with only a wisp of an accent, subtle enough that a casual listener might not notice it at all. “So unnecessary. And pointless. You strike me as a woman who can withstand a beating.”

Rebecca did not reply.

The woman leaned in conspiratorially. “The secret, of course, is that they’re not interested in extracting information at all. Only in causing pain.” She rolled her eyes.“Men.”

“But not you,” Rebecca said. “You want to be my friend, yes?”

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