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Twenty-Five

Lydia felt as if she’d been defiled. As if the deepest, most essential part of her had been excised.

She languished in bed for one day, and then another, surviving on warm broth and healing potions, wearing her grandmother’s shield stone, all the while knowing that none of it would make a bit of difference until they discovered how she’d been bound, and by whom.

She felt helpless and panic-stricken, and as she lay there, too weak to stand, a constant chorus seemed to drone inside her mind.

Five days until the full moon.

Four.

Three.

Visitors came and were dismissed without Lydia ever seeing them.

Helena came to the flat, her arms stuffed with potions from the infirmary.

Evelyn thanked her for coming, then poured every drop down the sink.

Vivian appeared later that same day, with some paper-thin well-wishes and a dusty old copy of The True Sight: Accessing Wisdom through Dreams and Visions .

“To keep the mind busy during her convalescence.”

Lydia listened as Evelyn greeted her and thanked her for the gift. Evelyn waited until Vivian was gone, then carried the book down three flights of stairs to the street, where she deposited it in the bin.

“Never too safe,” she said.

By the third day, Lydia couldn’t spend another second in bed, and so she asked Evelyn to set her up by the kitchen window, where she could breathe the fresh air.

It was an unseasonably mild day. On the street, people walked briskly, occasionally greeting one another as they went about their business, but otherwise keeping to themselves.

Lydia found herself observing them from the window as they passed.

There was an old man in a flat cap, his nose and cheeks a deep, ruddy pink.

He tipped his hat to an auburn-haired woman on the corner, waiting for the bus in her sky-blue coat and matching hat, and she nodded back.

A young mother and a little boy emerged from the building across the street.

The woman looked frazzled. Lydia imagined that the boy must have been a handful, and even as she thought it, he took off running and tripped and fell on the pavement.

Just at that moment the bus came, blocking her view, and then left again, to reveal the boy back on his feet, sprinting down the street as if nothing had happened.

His mother said something as she passed the woman in blue, and the woman laughed.

Lydia leaned forward, watching the woman at the bus stop more closely.

The bus had come and gone, and still she waited.

There was something about her appearance, as well; her clothing was too fine for the neighborhood, gold buttons flashing, the bright blue of her coat an anomaly among the sea of gray and brown.

“Mother…”

“I saw her.” Evelyn placed a warm cup of tea into Lydia’s hands. The steam smelled of baking spices. “Academy girl?”

“No. I’ve never seen her before.”

“Do you think she’s a Nazi?”

“That was my first thought, yes.” She looked for a knife on the girl’s hip, but if it was there, it was well hidden under her coat.

“It makes sense. I’m sure they’ve realized by now that they can’t use magic to spy on you anymore, so they’ve resorted to doing things the old-fashioned way.”

“Or else she’s the one who was sent to bind me,” Lydia said.

As they spoke, the young woman glanced up at the window, then away again, peering up the street as if looking for the next bus.

Evelyn sniffed. “Not very subtle, if you ask me.”

“What do you think she’s waiting for?” Lydia asked.

Evelyn set about making toast. “Maybe they think you’re going to go after the book again, and they’re hoping you’ll lead them to it. Or they might be wondering if you’re dead, since you’ve become untraceable.”

Lydia was about to say something funny, something about being only half-dead, but even as she thought the words, a wave of dizziness washed over her.

Evelyn looked at her knowingly. “Rest, love. Nothing to be done about it before breakfast.”

···

Lydia stayed by the window for hours, watching the woman in the blue coat as a dozen bright red buses came and went.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she woke much later, bleary and confused, to find Evelyn busily working in her kitchen.

Jars of various shapes and sizes sat open on the table, filled with all manner of herbs and powders.

Evelyn stood over a massive stone mortar, grinding away at some new concoction with a pestle the size of a club.

“What are you making?” Lydia’s tongue was thick from sleep.

“A surprise.” Evelyn ground away with the pestle without pausing. “How are you feeling?”

“Dreadful.”

Evelyn went to Lydia’s side and smoothed her hair, clucking over her as she peered out through the lace curtains. The young woman was still there, conspicuous as a peacock in her bright blue coat.

“She’s barely trying anymore,” Lydia remarked.

She turned to find Evelyn scooping the powder from the mortar into a leather pouch. The powder was a light pink color and gave off a smell that prickled Lydia’s nose and made her eyes water.

“What is that?”

Evelyn continued filling her pouch. “I think it’s high time we have a conversation with that little bird outside.”

Lydia shook her head. “I’ve dealt with these witches before. They’re dangerous. Best to avoid direct confrontation if we can.”

“Nonsense. She knows things. I’d like to know what they are, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Stay here,” Evelyn said brightly.

Lydia placed a hand on her arm. “Mother, don’t—”

“Stay.” There was something about the way she said the word that left no room for argument.

On the contrary, Lydia found that even as she tried to get up and follow Evelyn, she was unable to do so.

She felt a growing alarm rise in her as she realized that she had been pinned to her chair, immobile as a butterfly under glass.

She watched in horror from the window as Evelyn appeared on the street below, walking straight toward the woman in the blue coat.

Evelyn halted several yards from the bus stop and said something Lydia couldn’t hear.

The woman looked up. A moment later, Evelyn was walking back toward the flat with the woman behind her.

Evelyn came back through the door not a minute later, followed by a very red-faced girl.

She was younger than Lydia had originally thought, no older than sixteen, with spots on her chin she’d done her best to hide with powder, and a crimson flush mottling her milky complexion. Evelyn turned to the girl.

“ Sit. ” She spoke in a voice devoid of all friendliness.

The girl did as she was told. Evelyn turned to Lydia.

“My apologies, love. You’re free to do as you please.

” Lydia felt some invisible thing lift from her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t known was there.

The girl in blue scowled, the veins in her neck bulging with effort, but she did not move from her chair.

“Mother?” Lydia looked from Evelyn to the girl, bewildered.

“Yes, love?” Evelyn looked extremely pleased with herself.

“Should I get anything for our guest? A rope , perhaps?”

Evelyn smiled. “I don’t see why that should be necessary.”

The realization struck her like a blow.

“Mother, could I have a word?”

“Certainly.” Evelyn turned to the girl. “Don’t move.”

Lydia stood, slowly and with great effort, and walked to the sitting room with Evelyn behind her.

“You’re a Force ?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. Even speaking the words felt ludicrous. Forces were rare and dangerous. Evelyn was…well, Evelyn.

“I told you, dear, Polk women are gifted in many forms of magic, both high and low.”

Lydia gaped at her mother. “You’ve never mentioned it. Why?”

Evelyn shrugged. “It never seemed important. I always had a talent for it, but it’s herbs and cards that have my heart.”

“I don’t…do you have any idea how rare…how special? How have I never seen you do this before now?”

Evelyn seemed confused by the question. “It’s a wretched thing to do to a person. Who would I have forced before now, hmm? The butcher, to give me free lamb chops? Why, I never even forced you before today, and you were a hellion at two and three, let me tell you.”

Lydia suddenly remembered every time she’d ever sensed that Evelyn was holding something back. Minding her mouth . What must it have been like to hold all that power and never wield it? Lydia imagined it must have felt like trying to hold lightning in a jelly jar.

She craned her neck to see the girl sitting obediently in her wooden chair. “Can she cast spells?”

“Well, I can’t force her tongue, so I suppose she can say whatever she likes. But she’s already been warned there would be consequences.”

Lydia decided not to ask what Evelyn meant by consequences.

“Come on, love,” Evelyn said merrily. “We’re being rude to our guest.”

They returned to the kitchen, with Evelyn in the lead and Lydia trailing behind.

“What’s your name?” Evelyn asked.

The girl spit on the floor. “Go to hell.” Her voice carried the barest hint of an accent.

Slowly, Evelyn took a rag from the sink and handed it to the girl. “Clean that up . ”

The girl glowered but fell to her knees and wiped up the spittle from the floorboards.

“ Sit ,” Evelyn said.

The girl did.

“Do not spit on my floor again.”

Lydia had never heard this tone from Evelyn before. The voice itself was the same, but there was a steeliness to it that Lydia didn’t recognize.

“What’s your name?” Evelyn asked again.

“You can’t make me betray my coven, and you can’t have my name, hedge witch,” the girl snarled. “I’ll cut my own throat first.”

Lydia flinched, hearing her own ugly words in this witch’s mouth. She looked at Evelyn, but Evelyn did not return the glance. Instead, she lifted the leather pouch from the table and held it lightly in her hand.

“Absolutely right. Clever girl. I can’t force your mind, which means I can’t force your tongue. But I can do this.”