Page 48

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 the Grimorium Bellum , they could do it in an instant.” Lydia felt sick, remembering the hunger she had felt that night at Chateau 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. Your family . ”

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.

Lydia thought for a moment. “Angry.”

Evelyn nodded. “Angry is better than heartbroken. Angry gets things done.”

Lydia picked up the brown bottle from the bedside table, considering the cloudy liquid inside.

“Are you ready?” her mother asked.

Lydia turned the bottle over in her hands and nodded.

“Good. I’ll get a bucket.”

···

It was a blustery day in Hyde Park, and a biting wind whipped the leaves in circles, making them dance along the tree-lined path.

Gentlemen clutched their hats to their heads as they rushed past the chestnut trees and scrubby vegetable allotments, and ladies cried out in frustration as the wind tugged at their hair, but Fiona McGann was the picture of well-groomed perfection.

She walked alone, wrapped in a scarlet overcoat with glinting brass buttons, her golden hair neat and shiny, her cheeks glamoured a lovely, windswept pink.

Lydia Polk, standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, couldn’t be bothered. She was saving her energy.

She observed the subtle labyrinth of spellwork that lay across the park like a hedge maze.

It had been placed there by the academy as a special favor from Isadora to Churchill—a layer of confounding magic, meant to keep clandestine meetings within the park hidden from prying eyes.

It’s why she’d chosen this place, as public as it was.

Lydia took comfort in the gentle hum of the spell at work as it buzzed across her skin, knowing that anyone who’d attempted to follow her would find themselves suddenly and inexplicably wandering in some far-flung corner of the park, their true purpose long forgotten.

“Look at you!” Fiona cried when she saw her. “To hear Sybil tell it you were half-dead and not taking visitors, but here you are, alive and well.”

Lydia joined Fiona on the path as they walked side by side. “You didn’t tell her you were meeting me, did you?”

“You told me not to. Besides, I love a secret. Whatever is all the cloak and dagger for, anyway?”

Fiona and Lydia were not close. They might have been—they were both accomplished in their fields, both well liked and respected, both active in the war effort.

The trouble, as far as Lydia could tell, had always been Kitty.

From the first day of school, Kitty and Fiona had taken an intense dislike to each other.

Kitty thought Fiona was vain, spoiled, and moralistic, while Fiona maintained that Kitty was a disreputable hell-raiser.

Lydia had never had any particular issue with Fiona herself, admired her skill in point of fact, but with Kitty always by her side, any chance they had of real friendship was dashed.

Still, the two of them had always maintained a certain polite friendliness.

“I need a favor,” Lydia said.

Fiona raised her perfectly arched eyebrows and waited.

“I need you to take me back to France, and I need you to tell no one. Including Sybil.”

Fiona tilted her head. “Sybil is grand mistress now, Lydia.”

“I know.”

“You want me to lie to the grand mistress? Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Fiona paused. “Well, I’m afraid that’s a bit of a nonstarter.” She looked Lydia up and down appraisingly. “I’m so glad to see you’re on the mend, Lydia. Really, I am. But I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She turned and began to walk back in the direction of the academy.

Lydia followed her. “Fiona, stop, listen—”

Fiona did neither. “No. You want me to take you to France, a place where you almost died , mind you, lie to the grand mistress about it, and you won’t even tell me why? Lydia, I love a bit of trouble when I can get it, but this might be too rich even for my blood.”

Lydia placed a hand on her arm. “Fiona, please.”

Fiona eyed Lydia’s hand coolly until she let go of her arm. Then she sighed dramatically and waited, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her sleeve as she did.

“I want to trust you,” Lydia said.

“Then do. ”

“This isn’t a game, Fiona. What I’m involved in is extremely serious.”

Fiona looked at her in mock surprise, blue eyes flashing. “Goodness, I had no idea it was serious. Why, you’d think I would have put that much together while I was scraping you off the floor of that dirty chateau in Dordogne. How silly of me.”

The silence stretched taut as bowstrings between them. Lydia imagined what Kitty would have said if she could see her now—probably that Fiona was a haughty, uptight prig, and not to be trusted. Fiona stared at Lydia, her face a beautiful, impenetrable wall.

“Perhaps this was a mistake after all.” Lydia felt a wave of resignation. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

She began to walk away, her mind already beginning to spiral.

The full moon was in two days. Without a Traveler she would need to return to France by more traditional means, which would be slow and dangerous.

She had wanted to confide in Fiona—for all her infamous frostiness, Fiona had always struck Lydia as someone who operated from a deep well of integrity.

She’d never bullied the other girls when they were younger, never lorded her privilege or beauty over anyone.

She’d never suffered fools, never hung around with silly girls, never spread ugly rumors.

Once, in private, Isadora had hinted that if Lydia hadn’t been selected to serve as her apprentice, it would have been Fiona McGann in her shoes.

And if Isadora had thought Fiona virtuous enough to stand by her side…

But Lydia could see now that she had misjudged. Fiona had always been a solitary animal—respected, admired even, but infamously aloof. She kept everyone at arm’s length. That had always been her way.

Lydia had walked only a few yards, pulling her coat tighter around her, when she heard Fiona’s voice call out.

“She didn’t tell me about the book, you know.”

Lydia turned. “What?”