Page 121 of A Resistance of Witches

“Hail to the Führer!”

“Heil Hitler!”

“Hail to Lydia, daughter of Evelyn, our beloved sister!”

“Heil Lydia!” they cried back.“Heil Lydia! Heil Lydia!”

The Witches of the Third Reich shouted her name again and again, welcoming their newest sister with voices high, as Sybil beamed, radiant with pride. And there in their midst, Lydia threw open her arms, and embraced them, and smiled, as the dread and shame churned inside her like a serpent, threatening to eat her alive.

Thirty-Five

The sun began its slow descent behind the mountains, plunging Henry and Rebecca into a dull almost night. They ran alongside the stream, praying the rushing water might mask their footfalls, but Ursula was always close by, flitting through the trees, the smell of ozone burning inside their nostrils. Henry wondered why she didn’t just kill them already. She was a powerful witch, able to move through space at will. They were weak and starving, with no way of defending themselves. Then he realized the truth—she was allowing herself the pleasure of the chase. She could end it whenever she liked.

As they ran, Henry spied a figure just ahead of them, half-hidden among the trees. At first, he thought it was the witch, but no—it was the gray woman, watching them, her milky eyes glowing. He kept moving forward, following as she faded out of sight and then reappeared again farther downstream. The witch’s voice broke from the trees.

“I’m afraid we will need to bring this game to an end.” Ursula appeared to their right, and Rebecca jerked away from the sound, causingthem both to stumble. Henry regained his footing and tugged her forward, keeping his eyes on the gray woman. “It’s been so much fun, but sadly I’ve somewhere to be.” Ursula blinked out of sight, reappearing again on a flat rock in the middle of the stream. Henry ran faster, holding tightly to Rebecca.

They were approaching a waterfall. Not very tall, just a jagged point where the water tumbled a few meters down to the foam-covered rocks below. The rocks were slippery, and the climb down would be treacherous. They reached the edge of the fall and stopped. The gray woman was there waiting for them.

Time seemed to slow for Henry. The witch watched from a distance, laughing softly. The gray woman stared at Henry, her expression blank. She seemed to be asking him something, something she couldn’t quite put to words. Her head tilted as she looked at him, her hand hovering in the air between them.

“Henry.”Rebecca stared wide eyed at the witch, who stared back, grinning.

“What is it?” Henry said, not to Rebecca, but to the gray woman.

The gray woman reached out, taking Henry’s hand in hers. They didn’t meet the way two hands should, warm and firm, woven together but still separate. Instead, the woman’s hand seemed to reachintoHenry’s, making his flesh feel cold and numb and dead all the way through. Henry looked into her eyes and understood. She was asking for his consent.

“Yes,” he said.

Rebecca looked at him. “What?”

Henry kept his eyes on the dead woman. “Yes. I understand. Yes.”

The woman stepped inside Henry in one swift movement, forcing the air from his lungs. It felt as if he had been sent to the passenger seat of his own mind—he could feel his body, how everything warm and alive had been driven out of him, replaced with something hollow andicy cold. His body moved, but he was not the one moving it. He should have been afraid, but there was something almost comforting about the surrender, about letting go. He could feel the dead woman there alongside him, and in her presence, he felt a strange solace.

Miriam, a voice inside him said. Her name.

Together they turned and looked at Rebecca. She recoiled, horrified by the sudden change in him, and Henry could feel Miriam’s grief as she looked at her daughter through his eyes. He felt her thoughts as clearly as if they were his own—how desperately she wanted to reach out to Rebecca, to hold her, the profound sense of helplessness. Henry wanted to tell Rebecca that it was all right, but he couldn’t seem to form the words.

The smell of ozone filled the air, like a penny under the tongue.

Rebecca smelled it, too, and turned to run, but too late. Ursula appeared before them, and now she wasted no time. She turned her gaze on Rebecca and uttered a strange word, and Rebecca slumped to the ground. The witch bent over her and took her chin in her hand.

“This is not where you die, Liebchen,” she cooed. Rebecca gasped like a fish, fighting against the spell that had dragged her down. The sound of water crashing onto the rocks below nearly drowned out the witch’s words. “Oh, no no no. You willbegme for death before I am finished with you.”

Henry watched as the gray woman crouched inside his skin. As she picked up a rock with his hand. Ursula looked up and sneered, unconcerned. She opened her mouth and spoke the word of power again.

Nothing happened. Henry waited for his body to weaken, to be overcome with pain or delirium. Then he understood.

Spells were meant for the living.

Now, thought Henry.

They raised the rock.

“Nein—” The smell of ozone filled the air, but too late.

The rock came down. A red gash split across Ursula’s forehead, and her eyes bulged. The gray woman howled, and as she did, Henry felt all the rage and grief inside of her, the unthinkable loss, the unfairness. He looked down at Rebecca and saw her as Miriam saw her, as a child. Just a child, in need of a comb, and a bath, and a cry. Someone precious. Someone worth killing for.

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