Page 17 of A Resistance of Witches

“The pontifications of a child,” Vivian sneered. “You’d think losing your friend and your grand mistress in a single night would have taught you better, but—”

“Shut your mouth.”Lydia was shocked by Vivian’s cruelty. She felt as if she’d been slashed open with a knife, and all of her fury and grief and loneliness were spilling onto the floor.

Vivian offered a pitying glance. “There is only one way you will ever succeed in becoming grand mistress of the academy, and that is with my support. Sybil has been campaigning on your behalf, and currently you have five members of the high council on your side. Three others are undecided. The rest firmly oppose your nomination. One can hardly blame them after that ugly spectacle you created. But…” Vivian smiled. “One word from me, and you will have the full support of the entire council.”

“And why would you do that?” But even as Lydia spoke the words, she already knew the answer.

“Because you are going to withdraw the academy from the war effort. You will shut down Project Diana, and we will return to a proud tradition of secrecy that has lasted for five hundred years. You will do this, and you will keepmeas your closest adviser. I will shape you into a witch worthy of your title, and you will reign as grand mistress for the rest of your days, with the full backing of the high council.”

“And if I refuse?” But then, of course, she knew that, too.

“Then I will take it from you. I will challenge your nomination, and I will become grand mistress. I will withdraw the academy from the war effort, just as I have instructed you to do. And then, I will cast you out of the academy as punishment for your insolence, and you can spend the rest of your days just like your mother, reading fortunes and selling tea in that dirty little flat in Hackney.”

Lydia was reeling with rage but could not think of a single thing to say.

“It will bring me no joy to do this. I’d much prefer to spend my remaining years in relative peace and quiet. But I will do as my duty demands. I will do what is best for the academy. The choice is yours.”

It took Lydia a long moment to find her voice. “What about theGrimorium Bellum?”

“What about it?”

She did her best to remain calm. Rational. “You’re a Seer, Vivian. You must know the Nazis have formed their own coven.You knowthat if they find that book, the war will be lost.”

Vivian scowled. “I know no such thing.”

Lydia carried on without pausing. “Hitler doesn’t just want Poland or France, or even Britain. He wants thewhole world, and with theGrimorium Bellum, he can have it. How can you not see that we have to stop him?”

Vivian didn’t respond right away. When she did, she spoke slowly, as if addressing a particularly dim student. “Miss Polk, may I offer you your first lesson on leadership?” She did not wait for an answer. “True leadership is knowing the difference between the things that concern you, and the things that don’t. You would do very well to remember that.”

Lydia did not think she could be shocked by Vivian’s coldness any longer. Now she realized she’d been wrong.

“I want youout,” she hissed.

Vivian smirked. “As you wish.” She made her way laboriously to the door, and Lydia found herself wondering if it was age or spite that made the woman move so slowly. When she had nearly reached it, Lydia spoke again.

“Vivian.”

She turned.

“Great Seer that you are, I have to wonder. How is it that you never saw this assassin in any of your visions?”

Vivian’s smug face collapsed, leaving only a deep frown in its place.

Lydia held her head high. “I look forward to seeing you at Samhain.”

Seven

The evening of the selection ceremony, Lydia washed and dressed, and arranged her glamour to mask the dark circles under her eyes. The gown she chose was the most subdued in her collection—a high-necked sheath of black silk, with a long row of onyx buttons down the back. As she looked at herself in the mirror, it occurred to her that even in her full glamour, she didn’t look quite the same as she had just two weeks prior. It was as if someone had drained just a little bit of the color from her face, and no amount of clever magic would ever bring it back.

Lydia and Sybil had been hard at work campaigning, enduring simpering smiles and infuriatingly banal conversation over lukewarm cups of tea, and though Lydia had her supporters, the council remained divided. Mistresses Alba and Josephine were still undecided, while Helena and Jacqueline were staunchly in Vivian’s camp and showed no signs of wavering.

“They’ll all come around eventually,” Sybil had assured her. “Oncewe secure Alba and Josephine, they’ll see that there’s no use in prolonging the inevitable.”

It had been two weeks since the attack. Two weeks since that precious scrap of paper had fallen into the hands of the Nazis. It made Lydia want to scream. Her only comfort was in knowing that no lone witch, no matter how skilled, could project to the book’s location with nothing but a scrap of tattered paper to guide her. A feat like that would require the help of a coven under a full moon, and that was nearly a fortnight away. It wasn’t too late.

Soon, she told herself. Soon she would be grand mistress, with the resources of the academy at her command. She would have a dozen witches searching for theGrimorium Bellumby morning.

And if you lose?a small voice asked. Lydia did not have an answer for that.

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