Page 46 of A Resistance of Witches

Rebecca did as she was told. The woman with the chestnut hair leaned forward.

“What are you doodling there?”

“Now draw a vertical line, right down the middle,” Lydia commanded.

The woman squinted. “Why, that looks like—”

She never finished the sentence. Rebecca drove the blade through the woman’s throat, straight up to the hilt, and watched as her lovely face opened up in a gasp of surprise and outrage. A hideous gurgle escaped her lips, before her eyes rolled back and she fell to the floor with a thud.

Rebecca sat, silent and shaking, as Lydia stood over the dead witch. Slowly, Rebecca staggered to the far end of the room, leaned into the corner, and retched.

Lydia went to the door and listened. “We need to get you out of here. Someone will be coming soon.”

Rebecca felt very far away from herself. She understood what was happening, but she was dazed and numb.

“Rebecca, it’s time to go.”

She looked up. “Go where? I’ll be shot the moment I walk out that door.”

“Well, you can’t stay here.”

Rebecca sat back down in the chair. She imagined the look on the Gestapo’s face when he returned and saw what she had done. It broughther some small amount of satisfaction. Lydia watched her, thinking. “Wait here.”

“Where else would I go?” But Lydia had already slipped through the closed metal door. She returned a moment later.

“Outside this door is a long hallway. It’s not guarded. There’s another door at the other end.”

“And beyond that door?”

Lydia’s image trembled. “I don’t know. My projection is tied to you. I can only go so far before I’m pulled back.”

Rebecca nodded, still staring at the body of the dead woman on the floor.

“Rebecca,” Lydia said firmly. “I know you’ve been through something horrible. I know you’re scared. But you don’t want to die in this place.”

She was right, of course. The numbness ebbed away. Rebecca could feel herself inside her skin—bruised, bleeding, and frightened, but alive.

She stood. “If I survive, we can talk about you using my car.”

“Fair enough.” An uneasy look appeared on Lydia’s face, like she had just been caught by a wave of dizziness.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rebecca asked.

“I…can’t stay.”

“What?”

“I can only leave my body for a short time, and I was already spent long before I came here. I’ll stay as long as I can, but in a moment, I’ll be gone.”

“You can’t leave me here!” Rebecca hissed.

“I wouldn’t if I had a choice.” Lydia’s image was becoming less stable by the moment, flickering and trembling. “Listen to me. You can do this. Meet me in Dordogne. Stay—”

Her image snuffed out like a candle flame.

“No. Non! Putain de sorcière!” Rebecca looked around in hergrowing panic. The dead woman lay on the floor, growing colder by the second. Any moment now the Gestapo would return, and she was in no condition to defend herself from an armed man twice her size. She tried the door, but found it locked, just as she knew she would. Blood dripped from her mangled arm onto the concrete floor. She was beginning to feel woozy.

“I don’t want to die in this place,” she whispered.

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