Page 131 of A Resistance of Witches

Something about the tenderness in Henry’s voice brought it all back to the surface again. Hot tears burned in her throat. She could hardly breathe.

“Maybe we can help you. Maybe if we—”

Lydia shook her head. “You can’t help me with this—”

“You don’t know that,” he said. “Maybe we can.”

“Henry—”

“We’re not leaving!” he barked, more harshly than Lydia had ever heard him speak before. She glanced at the window, at the hazy whisper of light on the horizon.

“Henry,” Lydia said softly, and now her voice did break, and she hated herself for it. She wanted to seem strong, just for this one moment. She wanted him to remember her as brave. “It’s okay.”

“You can take the book to London,” Henry said, desperation seeping into his voice. “Find a coven. You don’t have to do this alone. There will be other solstices. You can wait.”

“No, she can’t,” Rebecca said.

Lydia looked at Rebecca, and Rebecca stared back with a grim certainty that Lydia found strangely comforting.

“She’s bound the book to herself. It’s a part of her now. If she leaves here with it, eventually it will consume her. And when that happens, no one will be safe.” She spoke slowly, rationally, looking directly at Lydia as she did.

“This is insane.” Henry’s voice wavered. “Lydia, please—”

“Are you strong enough?” Rebecca looked at Lydia. “If we leave you here, can you destroy that thing, or will it take control of you again?”

“I’m strong enough.”Great Mother, please let me be strong enough, she prayed, and when she did, it was her own mother’s face that she saw.

Rebecca looked into her eyes, searching for something, for confirmation. After a moment, she nodded.

Henry stayed where he was, his head hung low.

“I’ll stay with you,” he whispered.

“Henry.” She took his face in her hands. His cheeks were wet with tears, glowing in the firelight. “Henry, please. It’s too dangerous. You have to go now. You have to. Please.”

And then she kissed him. Because she wanted to. Because she would never get the chance again. He kissed her back, cradling her face in his hands. He cupped the nape of her neck, holding her close. She whispered her goodbyes against his skin. She told him that everything would be all right, and pressed the words into his lips with hers.

•••

Henry tried with every cellin his body to stop time. He felt Lydia, warm and solid in his arms. He could smell her skin, its sweet floral perfume, and sweat, and blood. He told himself that if he could inventory every part of this moment, every sensation down to the most minute detail, that he could make it last forever, and the terrible future they were racing toward would never come.

And then she pulled away from him.

“Go.”

The candles had gone out. The sun was nothing but a splinter of light at the bottom of a swiftly darkening sky.

“Henry, please,go!”

The frozen air seemed to vibrate, like a bell being struck. Henry looked up.

There, standing on the other side of the chamber, was a woman.

She was instantly different from the other spirits Henry had encountered. Warmer, more alive. Perhaps it was the magic that still pulsed around her, humming like a battery, rising off her like heat waves. Heknew her, he realized. He’d seen her in Lydia’s memories—fixing her breakfast, braiding her hair. He knew her name. She looked up, and to his astonishment, she smiled.

“You must be Henry,” she said.

One moment, they were surrounded by black marble tile, and candles, and ash, and the next it was midday, and they were in the sitting room of the house where he grew up. All the furniture had been stripped away, the potted plants, and candles, and family photographs, all gone. A gentle breeze blew through the old shotgun house, tickling his skin. As Henry looked around, he saw that where there should have been the cracked plaster walls of his childhood, now there were dozens upon dozens ofdoors. Some were ordinary, like the front door of a house, the type you’d walk past without ever really noticing. Some looked impossibly old, the brittle wood barely holding together. Some were painted vibrant colors—red, yellow, cobalt blue, emerald green. Some had heavy iron knockers or shining brass knobs. And each and every door was closed.

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