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“Sybil. She came to me that day in an absolute panic. She said you were in France on some secret mission and needed to be extracted right away. She told me you were in trouble. But she never said anything about any book.”

Lydia swallowed. “I see.”

“Seems a rather important thing to overlook.” Fiona looked at Lydia pointedly.

“A few days later she remembered. She insisted that she had told me about the book from the start. Of course, I blamed myself. I let her convince me that the mistake had been mine. I returned to France. I looked for it everywhere. But I’ve gone over it in my head a hundred times since, and I’m absolutely certain: Sybil simply never told me to retrieve it. ”

Lydia watched Fiona’s face. Fiona had always worn a sort of mask, separate from the intricate glamour that gilded her features, but no less cunning.

It was a face that invited you in, but not too close, a mask of flashing eyes and coy downward glances and wry, pretty smirks.

Utterly intoxicating and false as false could be, like beautiful armor.

For the first time, Lydia saw the mask slip.

Lydia returned to Fiona’s side. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“It was only a feeling. If I was wrong, I would never regain the trust of the council, let alone the grand mistress.” Fiona stared down the empty, tree-lined path. “Tell me, Lydia. You know Sybil better than anyone. Do you think it was just an honest mistake?”

Lydia didn’t answer. They walked in silence, watching the people in the park, men and women all going about their days in the fading afternoon light.

“I have a proposal,” Fiona said. “I’ll go first. I’ll tell you my suspicions, based on what I’ve observed.

Once you hear me out, you can decide whether to tell me what you know.

If you decide not to trust me after all, well, that’s fine.

I hope you’ll refrain from telling the high council about my wild and unsubstantiated theories, and in return, I won’t tell the grand mistress that you asked me to ferry you back to France. Do we have a deal?”

“That sounds fair,” Lydia said.

Fiona peered out across the windswept park.

“Sybil is no fool. If she’d wanted the book brought to London, she would have told me.

I think she knew that there would be Gestapo waiting outside that chateau when I arrived, and she preferred them to have it over us.

A thing like that would be nearly impossible to remove from the academy once the council had their hands on it, after all.

I think the only reason she mentioned it at all was because by then she’d discovered that the book had not in fact been recovered by the Gestapo, but had gone missing, along with your two friends, and she needed it found.

” Fiona looked at Lydia then, her perfect glamour marred by worry. “I think Sybil has been compromised.”

The air had become colder, the sunlight dimming to a burnished bronze. As Lydia watched, Fiona rearranged her face. The clever, pretty mask reappeared before her eyes.

“Well, how did I do?”

As good as Fiona was at managing her face, it was her voice that gave her away. She was harboring a terrible suspicion, and she had no one she could trust—and she was scared. Lydia made up her mind.

“I have reason to believe that Sybil is not only working with the Witches of the Third Reich, she’s leading them.

I have no idea which members of the high council might have been compromised, or whom we can trust. Meanwhile my only allies in France are in danger, the book is missing, and I need to find it before the Nazis do. And I can’t do it without you.”

Fiona stood for a moment, staring into the distance. She pulled a silver cigarette case from her pocket and offered it to Lydia. Lydia shook her head. Fiona lit her cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“I was sorry about Kitty, you know,” she said.

Lydia looked at her, surprised.

“Oh, there was no love lost between us, to be sure. But she didn’t deserve to die like that. She was one of us.”

Lydia’s eyes stung, and she blinked to keep the tears from falling.

“Do you think we’ll run into her? The witch who killed Kitty?”

A chill ran through Lydia’s blood. “Yes. I believe we will.”

Fiona took a thoughtful drag. Lydia noticed that her cherry-red lips left no mark on the cigarette. “I should like to meet her. I have a few things I’d like to express in person.”

“I daresay you’ll get the chance,” Lydia said. “There’s just one thing we need to do first.”

···

They arrived at the flat separately so no one would note their arrival. First Lydia, slipping unnoticed up the back stairwell she’d used to sneak out earlier that day; then Fiona a few minutes later, appearing from thin air in Evelyn’s kitchen on a gust of wind that smelled of fresh rain.

“You must be Fiona!” Evelyn stood to greet her guest. “I’m Lydia’s mum.”

“Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Polk.” Fiona smiled warmly as she took Evelyn’s hand.

“Please, call me Evelyn. I’ve got the kettle on. I can fix us all a cuppa before we get on our way, if there’s time.”

Fiona glanced at Lydia but said nothing.

“Milk?” Evelyn asked. “I’m afraid I’m all out of sugar.”

“Milk is fine.” Fiona turned her gaze on Lydia. “Might I speak with you for a moment? Please excuse us, Evelyn.”

“Go on, dear.” Evelyn retreated to the kitchen while Lydia led Fiona to the sitting room.

Fiona’s smile dissolved the moment Evelyn was out of sight. “You said we were going to pick up a few things.”

“Yes, well, strictly speaking—”

“You didn’t think to mention one of those things would be your mother ?”

“As well as some other assorted provisions.”

Lydia glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen.

Evelyn was seated at her table, the kettle already hissing away, with one of Lydia’s plain wool skirts in her lap.

She was stitching something into the hem—a half dozen tiny, waxed paper packets, each one containing a different spell from Evelyn’s own cupboard.

Spells for healing, for hexing, for protection against dark magic.

Lydia had tried to assure her that everything would go to plan, but Evelyn would not be dissuaded.

“Do you think I’m a bloody ferryman?” Fiona hissed. “You do know I can only travel with one person at a time, don’t you?”

“I did realize that, yes.”

“It will take time,” Fiona went on. “I’ll need at least a few minutes before I can travel again after the first trip. It’s not easy, you know, dragging a whole extra person hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye.”

“I understand.” Lydia looked again toward the kitchen. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important. I need her.”

Sisterhood means your people , Evelyn had said. Your family. Well, Evelyn was Lydia’s only family. A family of two. She hoped they would be enough.

Fiona fumed, darting a look toward the kitchen as Evelyn hummed away. After a moment, her face softened.

“Is she up for this? What you’re going to do, you don’t need me to tell you it’s bloody dangerous. Is she strong enough?”

“She’s strong enough,” Lydia said, but even as she spoke the words, a hard, metallic fear wedged itself inside of her.

“For her sake, I hope you’re right.”

Evelyn appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a worn, pink tea towel. Fiona quickly arranged her face, the bright smile reappearing in an instant.

“Tea’s ready.” Evelyn smiled as Fiona walked past her into the kitchen, but when she looked at Lydia, the smile faltered, and all of her anxiety seemed to be laid bare, just for a second. She did her best to hide it, but it was too late. Lydia had already seen.

“Come on, love.” She held out her hand. “Tea first.”

···

Lydia sat at the kitchen table with her gran’s shield stone hanging like an anchor around her neck. The plain wool skirt she wore felt strangely heavy, the hem weighed down with her mother’s concoctions.

“Remember, you need to work quickly,” Evelyn said. “The moment you take off the shield stone, they’ll be able to track you. They might not notice right away, but I wager you’ll only have a few minutes before they realize you’re back on the board.”

“I know.” Lydia felt the magic in her blood pulsing at full strength against the weight of the stone.

“Are you ready?” Fiona asked. Her tea sat in front of her, untouched.

Lydia nodded and lifted the shield stone from around her neck, feeling the magic surge in her veins as she placed it on the table.

She took a moment to center herself, then set her focus, letting her limbs grow heavy as Evelyn’s kitchen seemed to grow dimmer around her.

She felt the sudden sensation of falling, felt herself sink into the floor, and then—