Page 97 of A Resistance of Witches

Evelyn rubbed her daughter’s back with one hand and, with the other, retrieved the teacup from the bedside table.

“Here. Tea first.”

Lydia sipped her tea. It tasted of roses and cinnamon, and a dozen other familiar things she couldn’t quite name. It was lovely.

Her grandmother’s shield stone still hung around her neck. Lydia held it, turning it over in her hands.

“When I’m well again,” she said softly, “I’ll be going back to France first thing.” She felt the panic rushing in her veins, as surely as if she’d been injected with it. “I have to go back, because if I don’t…if I don’t…”

Evelyn brushed Lydia’s hair from her forehead. “What, my darling?”

Lydia was so tired. Tired of keeping secrets, of lying by omission. So she did something she’d never imagined she would: She told Evelyn everything. Everything that had happened since the night Kitty and Isadora were murdered, and every horrible thing that would come to passshould she fail to find theGrimorium Bellumbefore the Nazis did. She told her about the things she had felt, holding that book—all the dark, secret things it had whispered to her. Things she would carry with her until the day she died. She understood the book now. She knew what it wanted, how it worked. She told Evelyn how it could be harnessed, all the ways to negotiate with it, to make it do your bidding.

And then she told her about her plan.

Twenty-Seven

“The Nazis cannot be allowed to have the book. They would exterminate half the world if it meant winning the war, and with theGrimorium Bellum, they could do it in an instant.” Lydia felt sick, remembering the hunger she had felt that night at Château de Laurier. “It can’t go to the academy, that much is clear. It’s possible Sybil was working alone, but there may be others on the high council, as well.” Her mind drifted back to Vivian, Helena, Jacqueline—all those useless, grandstanding biddies who hadn’t lifted a finger when Isadora died. She couldn’t imagine Sybil working with any of them, but then, she never could have imagined Sybil doing what she had done. “That leaves only one option—it has to be destroyed.”

“Destroyed how?”

Lydia took a breath. “There’s a spell called The Unmaking. It’s the most powerful in the book. I read it, that first night after I found it. It unleashes a creature to consume the caster’s enemies from the inside out, it can be used against one person or a thousand, it makes no difference,but the way it’s written, it’s a bit like a ‘fill-in-the-blank’ story. You can name anyone or anything you like, and it will be turned to ash. Not just armies. Cities. Objects. Anything at all.”

Lydia watched Evelyn’s eyes as the realization struck. “You’re going to turn the book’s own magic against itself.”

“Exactly.”

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She composed herself and tried again.

“You nearly died, last time,” she said softly. “If you do this, if you try to use it again? I’m afraid it will kill you.”

Yes, Lydia had no doubt that the book would defend itself.

Because it was a living thing, wasn’t it? That was what she hadn’t understood, what the Nazis still didn’t understand. The book wasn’t simply a weapon, an inanimate thing to be pointed in any direction one liked. It had desires.Appetites. It had spoken to Lydia inside her head, and what she had heard was infinite, all-consuming hunger. If allowed to run free, it would turn the whole world to ash in order to satiate itself.Yes, she thought.It will kill me, if it can. It will eat me alive.

“There has to be another way.” Lydia could hear the raw emotion in Evelyn’s voice.

“There isn’t. With a full coven, maybe I would have the strength to use the book and survive, but—”

Evelyn held up a hand. “Stop. What do you mean by that?”

Lydia sighed. “The spell isn’t meant to be done by a single witch. The power of the book would destroy anyone who attempted to wield it alone. It can only be completed during the last few moments of daylight on the winter solstice, and with a full coven, but that’s out of the question now that Sybil…” She paused. Sybil’s betrayal was still so raw. “I can’t trust Sybil. Which means I can’t trust the high council. I have to do it alone.”

Evelyn frowned, thinking. “Is that what the book said? That you need a coven?”

“Well…not exactly. It’s in an ancient language, the translation is…fluid.”

“What exactly did it say?”

Lydia thought about that, rolling the strange syllables around in her mind. “It’s difficult to translate. It’s meant for a group, but doesn’t actually say how many.” She paused. “The closest translation I suppose would be…‘sisterhood.’ ”

Evelyn wrapped her up in her arms. “My darling girl, as clever as you are, sometimes I fear that school has made you a little dull. Your book doesn’t say anything about gathering twelve initiated elder witches to stand in a circle under the solstice moon. Do you honestly believe that the people who created this book had covens like we have today? Sisterhood means your people. Yourfamily.”

Lydia blinked, understanding at last. “I suppose so.”

She finished her tea. Curls of leaves and rose petals formed tiny shapes in the bottom of her teacup. She wondered what they meant.

“How are you feeling?” Evelyn asked.

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