Page 74 of A Resistance of Witches

“Why not?”

“Pierre and Lucas took your car.”

“They what?” Rebecca’s voice rose. “Where did they take it?”

“They had business in town. They should be back in a day or two.”

She felt her face go hot. “Who said they could take my car?”

“Well, Pierre is a communist, so he feels that whatever belongs to one of us belongs to the Resistance.”

Rebecca snorted.

“And more importantly,” Claire said, “it’s not your car. It’s mine.”

Rebecca stared at her. “Like hell it is. I bought that car.”

“With my money.”

“It wasour…that’smy—” Rebecca sputtered. Claire watched her, arms folded across her chest. “Do you want me to go, or not?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Claire said.

“I told you the truth. I was captured. I escaped. There’s nothing more to tell.” Rebecca stepped forward and pressed her forehead against Claire’s, taking her face in her hands, and Claire let her. Rebecca felt her heart ache like an old wound. “Mon cœur,” she whispered, “I would never lie to you. Never.”

Claire looked into her eyes, and Rebecca thought she saw something there she recognized. A softness, hidden behind all that armor. For one moment, Rebecca was sure that everything would be all right.

Then Claire shook her head, pushing Rebecca away, and the cold air rushed to fill the space between them.

“You have until Pierre and Lucas return to think about your story,” she said. “I thought I owed you that much.”

Rebecca stared at Claire’s face, at the splotches that had crept into her neck and cheeks. “And if my story doesn’t change?”

But she already knew the answer.

Mon cœur, she wanted to say,you know me.She wanted to hold her like she did whenever they’d have a fight, so tight and so close that Claire would have no choice but to relent, and love her again. She felt fear, yes, deep in her bone marrow, because she knew Claire and knew what she would do. But more than that, she felt a horrible sadness—not for herself, but for Claire, who would do this terrible, incomprehensible thing, without question. She would kill Rebecca, rip open her own chest for the Resistance, and never share that burden with another soul. And that broke Rebecca’s heart.

“They’ll be back in two days,” Claire said. She opened the door to go inside, no longer looking at Rebecca. “You should tell me what really happened before then.”

Claire walked through the door, and Rebecca was alone, watching her breath as it turned to vapor in the November air.

Twenty

Henry stared at the man-shaped thing in the doorway. It was looking at him.

“René?”

The figure stood perfectly still, its face hidden in the gathering darkness, but Henry knew René’s shape as well as he knew his own. He was afraid to move, afraid of scaring away whatever part of René stood before him now.

“They didn’t find it.” He kept his eyes on the thing in the doorway. “The art. It’s still here. It’s safe.”

The thing that looked like René did not move.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Henry felt the grief rise in his throat, hot and bitter. He thought he saw the figure’s head move just a little, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how to talk to this thing that was not quite René. He tried to imagine what Fabienne would do.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked.

He blinked, and the figure was gone.

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