Page 58 of A Resistance of Witches

She tossed the grimoire into the fire.

“Wait!” Lydia cried, but it was too late.

Rebecca was thrown violently to her knees, as if someone had comeup from behind and tossed her to the ground with great force. She felt herself snatch the book back from the fire with no hesitation, no regard for the flames that licked at her skin. It was as if something else were driving her body, something unfeeling and inanimate. Blackness crept into her vision as mortal terror washed over her. Her body felt cold and rigid, like the constricting of her muscles would crush her bones to dust.

“She’s not breathing!” Rebecca was vaguely aware of Henry dragging her away from the fire, the book still clutched to her chest, hands frozen in claws. She felt as if her lungs would burst, like she was thousands of meters underwater, with the incredible weight of the entire ocean stacked on top of her like bricks. And all the while, the book clung to her breast like a monstrous child.

“Rebecca.Hey. Look at me.” Henry’s voice was calm, but Rebecca could see the fear in his eyes. “Breathe,” he commanded. “Breathe.”

No air came, and her terror deepened as the seconds ticked by. She wanted to thrash, to fight for air, but she couldn’t, and that was worse than anything. She felt like she was swimming toward the surface of the water, but it was impossibly far away. Henry took her by the shoulders and shook her, hard.

There was a shrouded figure standing in the corner, leering.

Rebecca blinked at the ceiling. The figure moved closer, hovering over Henry as he held her. It didn’t move like a person, but more like a collection of creatures, all running over and around each other, pulsing and swarming. It was grotesque, horrifying, and Rebecca felt the urge to scream, but only a thin hiss of air escaped.

“Good,” Henry said. “Now come on back. Come on.Breathe.”

Air exploded into her lungs, icy and painful. The book released its grasp, and she tossed it into the corner, where it hit the wall and landed with a thud. She turned onto her side and gasped, never certain the next breath would come until it did.

She looked up. There was no shadow creature, only dust and cobwebs. Across the room, Lydia crouched on the stone floor, curled into a ball. They looked at each other, two people who had stared into the same terrible void.

“How many times?” Rebecca’s voice sounded hoarse. “How many times did you throw that book into the fire?”

Lydia’s face was smeared with soot and tears. “Six.”

The feeling was back, as if it had never left.Helplessness. Thick as tar, suffocating her.

They sat in silence for a long time, while the fire burned back down to embers and the air grew cold. Lydia kept her face turned toward the book, as if listening to some secret it was murmuring, just for her. Finally, she got to her feet, swaying slightly.

“Lydia?” Henry stood.

She didn’t look at him. “It’s all right. I know what I have to do.”

Rebecca watched her, waiting.

“The book can’t be destroyed, and it can’t stay here. The academy is the only place where it will be safe.”

“Safe?”Rebecca stared at her in disbelief. “Those Nazi witches broke into your academy once already. Who’s to say they can’t do it again?”

“It’s the only choice I have left.”

Henry shook his head. “Lydia, Rebecca’s right. If they—”

“There’s nowhere else to go!”She held him with her wild-eyed gaze until he looked away.

Lydia took a rag from the table and used it to pick up the book, then disappeared up the stairs, avoiding Henry’s pleading gaze as she passed. Rebecca heard a door close a moment later. Henry fell back against the wall, defeated.

She sat for a moment, exhausted and afraid, listening to the birds outside. It was a perfect morning. A beautiful morning.

Why do birds sing in the morning, little dove?

“What did you feel?” Henry asked quietly. “When you held it?”

Rebecca looked at him. “What did Ifeel?” She felt inexplicably violated by the question.

Henry nodded. “Did it…speak to you?”

Rebecca stood. “No. It didn’t speak to me.” He watched her, waiting, but she would have rather died than say another word about it.

---