Page 24 of A Resistance of Witches

“You’re twenty-two? You look older.”

“Times are hard.” Rebecca offered an apologetic smile. The man didn’t smile back.

“I’ll need to open the luggage compartment.”

Rebecca’s guts turned to ice. “Is something wrong?”

“Probably not. But we have to check. Wouldn’t want to be fooled by a pretty face.”

“You think I have a pretty face?”Please, please, oh please.

The man made a gesture, as if to say,Eh, I’ve seen better, then held out his hand. “The key?”

She thought fast. There were half a dozen miliciens here, all armed. She could speed off, but she would almost certainly be gunned down. If she handed over her keys, she would have precious seconds to get the pistol from her purse while they opened the luggage compartment. She would have no way to escape, but she was a good shot. She was sure she could kill at least two of them before they cut her down. Who knows? She might even live.Two dead traitors are better than none.

Rebecca smiled. “Of course.” She handed over the keys.

The two men walked to the back of the car. Rebecca reached inside her purse. Next to her lipstick and her pistol was a burgundy leather glasses case, and inside, a pair of round, wire-rimmed spectacles, with both lenses crushed. She pressed her hand to the case, and felt the familiar, comforting texture under her fingertips.

“May my memory be a blessing,” she whispered. “To someone.” She realized that there might not be anyone left who knew her real name.

Rebecca shifted her hand to the pistol as she watched the two men in her mirror. She would aim for the heart. Shoot the two by the car, then start on the others, if they didn’t kill her right away. She listened for a shout of surprise, of anger, but it never came.Perhaps they knew all along.One hand on the door, the other on the gun, she was about to step out of the car, when the hatch closed again. The men returned to the driver’s side window. The little man handed Rebecca her papers and her keys.

“Enjoy Dordogne.”

Rebecca’s hand was still inside her purse. She took it out and placed it back on the wheel.

“Merci.”

She drove and watched the two men grow smaller in her mirror, while her heart leapt inside her like an animal trying to claw its way out.

•••

Rebecca kept her eyeson the rearview mirror, waiting to see if she was being followed. Thirty minutes went by while she sweat through her blouse, one hand on the gun in her purse. Her mind raced. It was impossible the two men hadn’t seen the woman in her luggage compartment. Which left only one possibility—they had seen her, and they had let them go anyway. Why?

When she was sure they were alone, she pulled to the side of the road and circled quickly to the back of the car, pistol in hand. She unlocked it and threw the hatch open. Lydia was there, curled on her side, disheveled and squinting at the sudden burst of light. Rebecca shoved the pistol in her face.

“Get out.”

Lydia’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”

“Get out of the car. Now.”

Lydia scrambled to sit up in the cramped compartment. Once she was upright, Rebecca grabbed her, throwing her to her knees in the middle of the empty country road.

“Why did they let us go?”

Lydia’s hands were raised and bleeding from where they had broken her fall. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t! I have no idea!”

“Who do you work for?”

“I don’t work for anyone. I’m not a spy, you know that.”

“Exactly. You’re not SOE, not French Resistance. Even David doesn’tknow who you really are. Do you want to know what I think?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “I think you’re setting me up.”

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