Page 48 of A Resistance of Witches

“A car is coming.”

Lydia jumped from her place at the table.

“Lydia, wait, what if it’s—” But Lydia was already outside, walking swiftly to meet the approaching car, with Henry on her heels.

The Citroën came to a halt a few meters from where they stood. Slowly, painfully, Rebecca opened the door and got out. Her bruiseshad darkened. The left side of her mouth looked discolored and swollen, and her right arm was seeping blood.

“You made it,” Lydia said.

Rebecca nodded with her eyes on the dirt at her feet.

“Rebecca?”

Rebecca didn’t look up. Lydia approached slowly and tried to embrace her, but Rebecca backed away, and Lydia didn’t push. She could hear Rebecca’s shaking breath and saw the tremor that ran through her body.

“You made it, Rebecca. You’re safe.”

Rebecca shook her head. “My friends are dead. I went to the safe house. André betrayed them, just like he betrayed me. They tried to fight back, but they—” She fell silent, unable to continue.

“I’m so sorry.” Even as they came out, the words felt hollow. Useless.

Rebecca looked up, and Lydia saw that her eyes were glassy. “So, where are we going?”

Henry looked from Rebecca to Lydia. “Auvergne. But—”

“But you should stay here and rest,” Lydia said. “You’re in no condition to travel.”

Rebecca looked at Henry. “Who the hell is he?”

For a moment Henry looked like a schoolboy caught talking in class. “Henry Boudreaux,” he said. It sounded like an apology.

“Well, Henry Boudreaux, where my car goes, I go.”

Lydia shook her head. “Rebecca—”

“I have to dosomething.” She held Lydia with her eyes, which were somehow too large, the irises swimming. When she spoke again, her voice was small and empty, almost too quiet to hear. “They killed all my friends.”

Lydia looked at Henry, who lowered his eyes.

She took Rebecca by the hand; Rebecca let her. “Give me five minutes. Let me see what I can do about that arm.”

•••

The cuts were many,but shallow, and Lydia was able to heal Rebecca’s arm with relative ease.

“That’s a good skill to know,” Rebecca admitted grudgingly, watching as Lydia ran her fingers along the wounds like rivers on a map.

“These are mostly superficial. Any deeper and—” She stopped short, wincing as a bloody vision streaked through her mind.Isadora on the chamber floor, lifeblood pouring out of her as Lydia spoke the words of power, and watched the wound open under her fingers again and again.She cleared her throat. “I’m not a healer. I’m useless with anything deeper than a scratch.”

She carried on speaking the words of power until she came to the sigil she had commanded Rebecca to carve into her skin.

“What does it mean?” Rebecca asked. Her voice was flat, eyes cast down.

“It’s for protection. A hex-breaking sigil.”

Rebecca nodded. “Does it work forever? Or just once?”

Lydia hesitated. “I’m not sure. We don’t normally go around carving things into our skin. I wasn’t even sure it would work, what with you not being a witch. I think…” She faltered. “I think it was your need that gave it power.” She looked down at the ugly, bloody wound, already beginning to scab over. “I can take it away, or…”

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