Page 126 of A Resistance of Witches

Burn the witch.

Lydia looked helplessly into her mother’s eyes as the smell of smoke reached her nose, making her eyes water. Heat rose from the tiles beneath her feet, scorching the hem of her gown. She watched as Evelyn’s eyes cleared, looking at her daughter, then turned grim and determined.

Evelyn leaned back and spoke a word in Sybil’s ear, too low for Lydia to hear, and Sybil immediately let go, going as dull and docile as a lamb. Evelyn staggered away, landing on the floor a safe distance from where Sybil stood.

But something was wrong. Evelyn’s face was hideously white against the sea of black marble, and a pained gasp erupted from her lips as her slick hands slid across the tile, looking for purchase. A crimson stain bloomed on the back of her blouse, making the fabric stick to her skin.

Lydia reached her mother just before she collapsed. She lowered Evelyn to the ground, her heart seizing as a pool of blood began to spread around them.

“Mum?” Lydia’s voice shook, panic taking hold of her as the pool of red expanded and became an ocean.

Evelyn made a pained sound in the back of her throat. “The Nazi bitch got me.” She laughed, dry and tight.

“Mum!” Lydia turned her and saw the slit in the back of Evelyn’s blouse, the flesh underneath bleeding so profusely Lydia couldn’t hope to hold it back with her hands. Lydia looked up at Sybil, with her cold, vacant eyes. She looked at the knife, still held tight in Sybil’s grip, and felt a surge of rage and terror boiling inside her heart.

It was covered in blood.

She laid her mother on her back. The blood was everywhere now, covering them both. Evelyn’s lips were white as death, and Lydia felt a horrible sense of déjà vu.

First Isadora. Now Evelyn.

“No!” Lydia took Evelyn’s hands in hers and began to speak.“Siowan-ban, hela-ban, siowan-lif, hela-lif!”

She was no healer, not really. Nicks and scratches she could mend, but a wound like this one was beyond her power, and she knew it. Still, she spoke the words, feeling the life as it flowed out of Evelyn and onto the cold stone floor.

“Stop, my love,” Evelyn whispered.

“No, I can do this!Siowan-ban, hela-ban, siowan-lif, hela-lif!” Lydia spoke, on and on, even though she knew she was failing.

She glanced to her right. The shadow was there. Her own spectral twin, looking like a dead thing left too long underwater. It was beckoning to her.

Yes.That was it. With the power of the book, she could save hermother. She could feel it, through the cord that bound them. It was making her an offering. Evelyn’s life, in exchange for its own.

“Lydia,stop.” Evelyn’s command ripped the words of power out of Lydia’s mouth, as surely as if she’d never learned them at all, and the book retreated from her, taking its offer with it.

Lydia began to cry as the sea of red crept ever outward. “Mum, I can do this, just let me. You have to let me…”

“No.” Evelyn smiled. Her eyes looked dim. “You save your strength. You’re going to need it.”

“Mum, please!” She drew on all the power inside her, willing herself to defy her mother and speak the words that could save her life. She gritted her teeth, desperately trying to form the syllables, but it was no use. Even as Evelyn lay dying, Lydia was no match for her strength.

Evelyn’s hands were tangled up with Lydia’s. They felt cold.

“It’s all right, my love,” Evelyn said softly. She smiled again, and then Lydia watched as her face went slack, and her eyes went still.

The silence in the chamber was complete. Lydia looked down at her own bloody hands. She felt the words of power flowing back into her mouth once again on a river of despair, but she did not speak them. There was no longer any need. She looked down at her mother, cold and pale in her arms. She felt as if she would die right there, the grief and shock were so great, smothering her to death.

The clatter of footsteps broke the silence. Lydia looked up, and through her tears, saw Sybil running for the door.

“Agonna ban,” Lydia hissed.

Sybil fell to the floor, flailing in agony.

Lydia picked up her knife and stood, crossing the room with quick strides. She would kill Sybil, just like she’d killed Ursula. Sybil, who had caused so much pain and suffering. Who had nearly brought about the deaths of thousands. Who had killed her mother. Lydia would slither throat and leave her body to rot beside the ashes of her coven. She felt no hesitation, no remorse. Only an icy determination.

But then she heard it—a voice, like an echo in her mind.

Will they keep fighting, do you think?

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