Page 60 of A Resistance of Witches

“She was tracking you,” Henry said. Lydia hung her head.

“I don’t understand,” Rebecca said. “Why send the Gestapo? Why not come and take it herself?”

“I don’t know.”

“But why didn’t she—”

“I don’t know!”

Outside, voices called to each other in German. Rebecca went to the window. “They’re surrounding the château. They’ll block all the exits. We’ll have no way out.” She could feel it now, the amphetamine clarity that sometimes took hold of her in moments of crisis. She looked at Henry. “Do you have any weapons?”

“Just an old hunting rifle.”

“Bring it to me.”

Henry turned and moved quietly through the house, crouching to stay below the windows. Rebecca turned to Lydia.

“The spell you cast on me, on the road to Dordogne. Can you do it again?”

Lydia’s eyes were wide. “I can only freeze one person at a time.”

“One is better than none.”

Henry returned with the hunting rifle and handed it to Rebecca. She felt better, holding that gun. Stronger. “It’s loaded?”

“Yes. I hope you’re a good shot. I’m lousy.”

“I’m good.”

There was a knock at the door, and the sound of it shot a metallic slug of fear through her chest. She crouched, and Henry and Lydia followed, moving together to the far side of the room. The knock came again, more insistent this time. A voice called to them through the door in broken French, telling them to open up.

She had an idea. It would work. But for a price.

“I think we should open the door,” Rebecca said.

“What?” Henry hissed. “Are you crazy?”

“If we open this door, it might draw them away from all the others. You and Lydia can escape out the back while I hold them off.”

“You can’t hold them off, there are too many of them. It’s suicide.”

Yes.Perhaps.But she couldn’t think about that now. She could see the shadow again, that phantom she somehow understood could only have come from within the book itself. She saw that squirming, writhing thing, and knew with her whole being that if the Nazis got ahold of theGrimorium Bellum, it wouldn’t make one bit of difference if they survived the day. They would all be dead within a month.

“Get out of here,” Rebecca said as the pounding grew more insistent. She kept her eyes on the door, and away from the thing in the corner. “Don’t be stupid. Take the book and run.”

“Rebecca—”

“My parents are Josef and Miriam Gaiser. My sister is Noémie. She would be sixteen now. Sixteen and a half.” She swallowed to force the tremor from her voice. “They’re probably gone. I know.I knowthey’re probably gone. But if they’re not…I would want them to know…”

Her voice failed her. She stared at Henry, and he stared back, helpless. Finally, he nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She stood and began to walk slowly toward the door.

“Wait,” Lydia said. Rebecca ignored her. “Rebecca, stop.Stop!”

Lydia threw open the book, letting her fingers skim frantically over the pages as Rebecca watched. The characters looked alien, a wall of script so dense the pages were nearly black. Lydia didn’t seem to be reading the words as much as absorbing them through her fingertips, shuddering as they entered her bloodstream.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked.

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