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Ursula chuckled as she worked her way around the perimeter of the barn, peering outside, searching for the one clue that would tell her where to retrieve her prize.

She walked close to Rebecca, and to Henry, neither one aware of her presence as she passed by.

Finally, she crossed to the far wall and stopped to examine a long metal object—a cattle brand, bearing the mark of the Boucher farm. She grinned.

“Tell your friend I’m on my way.”

And then she was gone.

“Lydia?” Rebecca said.

She was almost finished. Just a few more moments and the Grimorium Bellum would be bound to her forever.

“She’s coming.” Lydia did not pause in her work. “Almost there.” There was a sour taste in the back of her throat. Her skin itched and her cheeks felt hot. Suddenly, a smell like rain filled the barn.

Fiona looked up, sniffing the air. “They’re here.”

It was as if the book was eating her alive. Lydia’s muscles twitched, and heat washed over her like a fever.

Fiona looked at Rebecca and Henry. “Get away from the door,” she commanded. But it was too late.

Light flooded the barn as the door exploded into a thousand pieces, raining down like shrapnel, and the thunderstorm smell was replaced by the acrid stink of smoke.

Six witches appeared, each one carrying an electric torch, and at the center of their ranks stood Ursula Wolfe—taller than the rest, silver hair haloed by torchlight, a smile on her face.

Rebecca and Henry were thrown to the earth by the blast. Rebecca’s head struck the ground hard, and she rolled onto her side, dazed.

Henry scrambled to her. Lydia watched, powerless, unable to tear herself from her spell.

She needed more time. Fiona ran to where Henry and Rebecca lay, placing herself between them and the invading forces. Ursula drew a pistol and aimed.

“ Fyora bryn! ” Fiona called out, and the gun began to glow red in Ursula’s hand. She dropped it, holding her singed fingers and cursing in German. Fiona looked at Rebecca and Henry. “Hide.”

Henry tugged Rebecca to her feet, pulling her to the back of the barn. Fiona turned her attention back to Ursula. The remaining witches hung back, shifting on their feet, awaiting her command.

“You should run as well. We have no quarrel with you,” Ursula said.

Fiona faced her. “Ah, but you see, I do have a quarrel with you. You killed two of our own. I’m afraid I can’t let that stand.”

Ursula shrugged. “As you wish.”

Fiona made the first move. One moment she was standing in the center of the barn; the next she was gone, leaving nothing but the smell of rain in her wake.

She reappeared a second later, standing behind a golden-haired witch at the rear of the formation.

Fiona spoke a word in her ear, and then the earth seemed to reach up and grab the girl by both legs, dragging her to the dirt, which swallowed her up to the chest as she struggled.

The witch screamed and reached for Fiona with both hands, but she was too fast and flicked away again.

A second later Fiona was back, standing inches from Ursula with a spade in her hand.

Fiona raised the spade to deliver her blow, but Ursula pivoted, smoothly, like a dancer, and screamed.

The scream seemed to contain not one voice, but many, an ear-shattering bellow that threw Fiona flat onto her back, the spade clattering uselessly against the wall.

Ursula placed one boot on Fiona’s chest, released the knife from her hip, and raised it high.

Lydia felt the Grimorium Bellum latch on to her with a sickening finality.

She stood, holding the book in her hands, feeling the energy cycling between them, a pulsing circuit of magic, feeding them both like blood in an artery.

She turned her head and was sure she saw an oily creature, clinging to her back like a parasite.

She watched as Fiona was flung to the ground like a doll, as Ursula raised her knife, as if seeing it all unfold in slow motion.

She felt the book surge in her hands, took a deep breath, and her projection left her body like a bullet.

It was as if someone had detonated a bomb.

Ursula was thrown into the air, witches tossed in every direction by the force of the attack.

Fiona curled into a ball as debris fell around her.

Lydia returned to her body with a violent jolt, the power of the Grimorium Bellum raging through her veins like molten metal.

It burned , and for a moment she was helpless, writhing in agony.

Fiona groaned and raised herself to her hands and knees.

Ursula’s discarded pistol lay in the dirt, just out of arm’s reach.

Her eyes widened and she scrambled toward the gun.

Across the room, one of Ursula’s soldiers raised herself to her feet and spoke a word in a strange tongue.

As Fiona reached for the pistol, it flew away from her straining fingers, into the hand of the German witch. The witch aimed and fired.

The bullet tore through Fiona’s shoulder, the impact sending her reeling backward into the dirt.

The second bullet hit her in the side, and blood exploded through her white silk blouse.

She screamed in rage and pain as the witch stepped closer and aimed a third time, leveling the pistol at her head.

No , Lydia thought as the Grimorium Bellum burned through her, helpless to do anything but watch. No, please, no.

The smell of ozone filled the air. The witch fired twice, hitting dirt both times. Fiona had disappeared into the ether, leaving nothing behind her but a bloody stain.

“Schei?e!” the witch screamed.

The searing pain ebbed away, and Lydia felt the Grimorium Bellum settling in her blood, acclimating her to its power. It didn’t want to hurt her, she realized with a hideous thrill. They were one now.

Lydia’s eyes cleared. She looked at the pool of blood, turning black as it seeped into the dirt. She looked at the witch, and at the gun. The witch raised the pistol and aimed.

“ Slaepna fae ,” Lydia said, and the witch’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fell to the ground, unconscious.

The thunderstorm smell dissipated. Lydia looked at the dark stain where Fiona had lain just a moment before. There was so much blood. She wondered where Fiona had escaped to. She hoped she’d gone back to Evelyn’s flat. Evelyn would know what to do.

“Enough of this,” Ursula said. The mocking smile had disappeared from her face, leaving only a hard red line.

Three witches stood by her side. She raised her hand and made a sign in the air, calling out a word of power Lydia had never heard before.

The three soldier-witches echoed her call.

Lydia opened her mouth to counter, but too late.

The air left her lungs in a rush, and she was thrown to the ground. She could feel her hands grasping the book, but they felt as if they belonged to someone else. Darkness crept at her vision. The power of the Grimorium Bellum thrashed in her veins, enraged at being constrained.

She watched as Ursula retrieved her gun.

“Bring me the others.” She said it in English, as if for Lydia’s benefit.

Lydia struggled with every ounce of her power against the spell that held her.

She drew from the book, pulling its magic deeper into herself, but it was no use—even with the power of the Grimorium Bellum , she was no match for four witches working a single spell in tandem.

Not if she wanted to survive the effort.

Somewhere in the dark recesses of the barn, she heard a struggle—a grunt from Henry, Rebecca’s garbled shout, then angry curses in German, before Lydia recognized the sizzle of hex words on the air.

A moment later, Rebecca and Henry were thrown to the dirt beside her.

Lydia noticed blood on one witch’s face, and more under Rebecca’s fingernails.

Ursula crouched before her. The smile had returned.

“You should have considered my offer. You could have saved yourself. And your friends.” Ursula’s fingers hovered over the Grimorium Bellum , still clutched tightly in Lydia’s grip. “Now you’re going to watch them die. And for what? Nothing.”

She reached for the book. It slipped from Lydia’s hands easily, and Ursula stood, holding the book high, triumphant. Lydia watched as Ursula took one step, then another. She felt the cord between herself and the book grow taut. Ursula tilted her head as if hearing some distant sound.

“Was ist das—” Then her words were cut short. She began to choke. Ursula’s free hand went to her throat, clawing wildly, her fingernails leaving red welts on her skin. Her mouth hung open in terror, eyes wide, as one side of her face began to go slack.

“Ursula?” One of the witches took a step forward, but Ursula stumbled away from her. Her skin began to go purple, livid bruises appearing at her temples and around her eyes. She retched and gagged, clawing with both hands now, finally dropping the book, which landed in the dirt with a thud.

“Don’t touch it!” she gasped. The color returned to her face, the bruises faded, but the raised, red claw marks on her neck remained.

She looked at Lydia, pure rage contorting her features.

“What did you do?” She crossed the distance between them in an instant, grabbing Lydia and shaking her hard.

The spell broke, and air rushed into Lydia’s lungs. “What did you do?”

Lydia’s vision began to clear. She looked to Henry and Rebecca on either side of her. They were both dazed, battered and bruised, but the sight of them gave her strength.

“It’s a grimoire,” she said, once she’d regained her voice. “Now it’s my grimoire.”

She saw that Ursula understood. Slowly, Ursula got to her feet.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered.

“By all means,” Lydia said. “But you’ll only destroy the book in the process.”