Page 103 of A Resistance of Witches

She had been working only a few minutes when she sensed something else with her, there in the shadows. A familiar presence, but not a friendly one. Even as she negotiated with the power of the book, braiding it into herself with steely determination, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Is that you, Ursula?” She became aware of something pulling itself together in the darkness, congealing until it became whole. And then, crouching before her, she saw the blond hair and cruel mouth, the eyes shining in the darkness. The projection alone was enough to fill her with loathing.

“So,” Ursula whispered, “not dead after all?”

“Not yet.” Lydia closed her eyes, drawing more of the book into herself, pouring more of herself into the book.

“What are you doing there, I wonder?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fiona look her way, her attention drawn by the sound of Lydia’s voice.

Ursula stood, circling Lydia as she spoke, her ghostly image wavering as she moved through the barn. “Where are you, Lydia Polk?” she sang. Lydia ignored her.

“Do we have company, then?” Fiona called. “Is it her?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her blood felt sluggish in her veins.

Fiona raised her chin and addressed the air. “I’m looking forward to finally making your acquaintance!” She shouted gaily. “Though I promise, you won’t find the meeting nearly so enjoyable.”

Ursula chuckled as she worked her way around the perimeter of thebarn, peering outside, searching for the one clue that would tell her where to retrieve her prize. She walked close to Rebecca, and to Henry, neither one aware of her presence as she passed by. Finally, she crossed to the far wall and stopped to examine a long metal object—a cattle brand, bearing the mark of the Boucher farm. She grinned.

“Tell your friend I’m on my way.”

And then she was gone.

“Lydia?” Rebecca said.

She was almost finished. Just a few more moments and theGrimorium Bellumwould be bound to her forever.

“She’s coming.” Lydia did not pause in her work. “Almost there.” There was a sour taste in the back of her throat. Her skin itched and her cheeks felt hot. Suddenly, a smell like rain filled the barn.

Fiona looked up, sniffing the air. “They’re here.”

It was as if the book was eating her alive. Lydia’s muscles twitched, and heat washed over her like a fever.

Fiona looked at Rebecca and Henry. “Get away from the door,” she commanded. But it was too late.

Light flooded the barn as the door exploded into a thousand pieces, raining down like shrapnel, and the thunderstorm smell was replaced by the acrid stink of smoke. Six witches appeared, each one carrying an electric torch, and at the center of their ranks stood Ursula Wolfe—taller than the rest, silver hair haloed by torchlight, a smile on her face.

Rebecca and Henry were thrown to the earth by the blast. Rebecca’s head struck the ground hard, and she rolled onto her side, dazed. Henry scrambled to her. Lydia watched, powerless, unable to tear herself from her spell. She needed more time. Fiona ran to where Henry and Rebecca lay, placing herself between them and the invading forces. Ursula drew a pistol and aimed.

“Fyora bryn!” Fiona called out, and the gun began to glow red inUrsula’s hand. She dropped it, holding her singed fingers and cursing in German. Fiona looked at Rebecca and Henry. “Hide.”

Henry tugged Rebecca to her feet, pulling her to the back of the barn. Fiona turned her attention back to Ursula. The remaining witches hung back, shifting on their feet, awaiting her command.

“You should run as well. We have no quarrel with you,” Ursula said.

Fiona faced her. “Ah, but you see, I do have a quarrel with you. You killed two of our own. I’m afraid I can’t let that stand.”

Ursula shrugged. “As you wish.”

Fiona made the first move. One moment she was standing in the center of the barn; the next she was gone, leaving nothing but the smell of rain in her wake. She reappeared a second later, standing behind a golden-haired witch at the rear of the formation. Fiona spoke a word in her ear, and then the earth seemed to reach up and grab the girl by both legs, dragging her to the dirt, which swallowed her up to the chest as she struggled. The witch screamed and reached for Fiona with both hands, but she was too fast and flicked away again.

A second later Fiona was back, standing inches from Ursula with a spade in her hand. Fiona raised the spade to deliver her blow, but Ursula pivoted, smoothly, like a dancer, and screamed. The scream seemed to contain not one voice, but many, an ear-shattering bellow that threw Fiona flat onto her back, the spade clattering uselessly against the wall. Ursula placed one boot on Fiona’s chest, released the knife from her hip, and raised it high.

Lydia felt theGrimorium Bellumlatch on to her with a sickening finality. She stood, holding the book in her hands, feeling the energy cycling between them, a pulsing circuit of magic, feeding them both like blood in an artery. She turned her head and was sure she saw an oily creature, clinging to her back like a parasite. She watched as Fiona was flung to the ground like a doll, as Ursula raised her knife, as if seeing itall unfold in slow motion. She felt the book surge in her hands, took a deep breath, and her projection left her body like a bullet.

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