Page 72 of A Resistance of Witches

“André was Roger’s cousin,” Claire said evenly.

Roger took a swig from his mug. “André was a good man. Died for the cause.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement around the table.

This was more than Rebecca could take. She sipped her beer. “André betrayed every man and woman he fought beside, and now they’re all dead.”

Silence fell over the room. Claire sighed and shook her head.

Roger stared at Rebecca, mouth open. She stared back, wondering if he was about to strike her, or spit in her face.

“Except you, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re all dead, except for you.”

Rebecca held his gaze. “That’s right.”

Roger’s face rearranged itself into an unpleasant smile. “That must be one hell of a story.”

She looked at Claire, but found no help there.

“Tell us,” he said.

Rebecca did not look at Roger. She looked only at Claire, and Claire looked back, waiting. She felt a pulse of danger.

“I was supposed to meet André at a café outside Lyon. But André never came. I decided to leave, and that’s when I realized I was being followed. They captured me and took me to a room where I was interrogated. And then I escaped.”

“Escaped how?” Roger’s mouth was full as he spoke, and a speck of food flew from his mouth and landed on the table between them.

“I killed the guard.”

“How?” Roger demanded.

Now Rebecca did look at him.

“How did you kill him?” Roger smiled around the food in his mouth.

“Her,” Rebecca corrected. “The guard was a woman. I stabbed her through the throat with her own knife.”

Roger’s face twisted. “They didn’t tie you up?”

Rebecca shifted her eyes to Claire, who raised her eyebrows expectantly.Well?

She took another sip of her beer. “I guess they thought they had beaten me enough that I no longer posed a threat. As it turns out, they were wrong.”

The bird-faced girl grinned. A soft chuckle made its way around the table.

“Where did they beat you?” Roger was no longer smiling.

“What?”

He shrugged, and Rebecca could see the menace settling into hiswiry frame. “You said they beat you. But I don’t see a single bruise. Where did they beat you?”

Rebecca felt the mood at the table shift as the laughter died away.Stupid, she thought. She should have held on to her scars and her bruises. She should have worn them like a badge of honor instead of letting Lydia gather them up, tucking them out of sight with her magic words. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Claire lean forward.

Rebecca inched toward Roger until they were uncomfortably close, as close as lovers. She could smell the sour hunger stink of his breath.

“I could show you the marks.” She ran her fingers delicately along Roger’s wrist, a dare. “But we would have to go someplace private.” She winked. Someone whistled softly.

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