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Twenty-Nine

Lydia woke to the smell of snow.

Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, clean and sharp and bright. The bed where she lay was heavy with blankets. The room was cavernous, the walls lined with gleaming carved wood panels that reflected the light.

She sat up and went to the window. Mountains loomed all around her, their white caps reflecting the morning light so brightly it was almost painful.

A carpet of mist stretched across the landscape like an ocean, soft peaks undulating like waves in the distance.

Frost etched intricate patterns on the windowpane like lace.

When she looked to the right, she saw pristine stone walls and towering spires.

She was in a gleaming white castle, like a kidnapped princess in a fairy tale.

Her hair was damp, and her clothing had been removed and replaced with a long satin nightgown the color of cream.

She shuddered at the knowledge that one of these women had bathed and dressed her while she’d slept.

Her own clothes lay neatly folded on a chair against the wall.

In the wardrobe, a dozen dresses hung side by side, creating a lush rainbow of saturated jewel tones in cotton, silk, and cashmere.

Lydia didn’t need to try them on to know that each one had been made to her exact measurements.

She selected the most subdued of her options—a simple, long-sleeved dress in a deep plum hue—and got dressed.

The silence in the room was so complete it became its own kind of sound. Lydia could hear her breathing, the shifting of fabric across her skin. At times she was sure she could hear her own pulse. It was that silence that first made her suspect all was not quite as it seemed.

She closed her eyes and thought of Evelyn.

She would be worrying herself sick by now.

Lydia could summon her face without difficulty, her rough hands, her warm, cluttered kitchen.

She wanted to go to her, but try as she might, she could not seem to leave her body.

She tried again, this time picturing Henry’s face in her mind’s eye, then Rebecca, then Fiona.

Nothing happened. The magic felt dull inside her body, the silence growing like a moat all around her.

She stood and walked the perimeter of the room, tracing the carvings on the walls with her fingertips.

The amber-colored wood seemed to vibrate under her hand.

Finally, it dawned on her—the carvings were not decorative at all.

The walls had been etched with one enormous sigil, encircling the room like a snake.

It was a binding, designed to keep anyone inside from performing magic.

The realization made her feel claustrophobic, and the unnatural silence picked up a sinister tone.

The only break in the quiet was the ever-present hum of the Grimorium Bellum , which sat on a marble-topped table in a corner of the room.

Lydia placed her hand on the book, and the energy seemed to rise up to meet her, like a cat wanting to be stroked.

Even the book seemed tamer beneath the weight of the sigil, but no less seductive. She forced herself to back away.

A sound broke through the quiet, making her jump.

A door opened, one she hadn’t seen before, the serpentine carvings blending perfectly into the surrounding panels.

Sybil appeared in the doorway, and the panel closed softly behind her a moment later.

She looked so ordinary to Lydia, so out of place surrounded by all this opulence.

“You’re angry.” Sybil pursed her lips, and Lydia hated her for it, the condescension. “You can speak now, you know. If you want to.”

“What could I possibly have to say to you?”

“I’m sure you have questions.” Sybil smiled sweetly. It made Lydia want to slap her.

“Why?” said Lydia.

“Why what, darling?”

A single bark of disbelief erupted from Lydia’s chest. “ Why? Why have you betrayed your coven? Your country?”

“I promise you, I’ve done no such thing.” She took a step forward. Lydia stepped back. Sybil gave a bemused chuckle. “Darling—”

“Never call me that again,” Lydia said sharply. Sybil looked genuinely hurt.

“Lydia—”

Lydia cut her off. “Did you have Isadora killed?”

There was a long silence. Sybil’s chin trembled. She nodded.

“And Kitty?”

A single tear fell onto Sybil’s cheek, and as it did, a fresh fury rose up inside of Lydia. She lunged forward, forcing Sybil back.

“ Don’t. Don’t you dare weep for them. Don’t you ever let me see you do that, you filthy hypocrite, I will kill you myself, do you understand? I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Lydia—”

“ Why? ” Now Lydia was the one weeping, hot tears streaming down her face as she raged. “Why did you do it? So you could take her place? So you could be grand mistress?”

“No! Not me. Of course not me. You. ” Sybil looked astonished. “I nominated you myself, you silly thing. I never wanted to be grand mistress of the academy. It was always supposed to be you.”

“They named you—”

“You left . You ran off, traipsing all over France in search of that damned book. They were going to elect Vivian, Mother help us all. You left me no choice but to step in. But it was always supposed to be you.”

“I didn’t want it!” Lydia shouted. “I never asked for it!”

“Which is exactly why you were meant for it. Isadora was a powerful woman, but she was calculating. Ambitious. Her ambition drove the academy into a war, something we had never done in our history, and for what? To be forced back into the shadows once we were no longer needed?”

“To defeat Hitler. To prevent him from murdering millions of innocent people. You’ve aligned yourself with a monster, Sybil.”

Sybil looked as if she were disappointed, as if Lydia’s reasoning were simple, childlike. “Darling—” Lydia took a warning step forward, and Sybil flinched. “ Lydia. Can we sit? Please?”

Lydia wanted to draw on the power of the Grimorium Bellum and cast a pestilence down on Sybil’s head.

She wanted to fill her lying mouth with boils and sores before silencing her forever, but she knew it was futile.

Lydia could cast no magic here. She took a seat.

Sybil followed, letting the silence grow between them before Lydia finally spoke.

“Where are we?”

“Bavaria.” A ray of sunlight fell on Sybil’s face.

“And my friends?”

“They’re here. They’re safe.”

“Bring me to them.”

“No. Not until we understand one another.”

“I don’t see what there is to understand. You’re a Nazi and a traitor.”

Sybil’s face colored. “I am your grand mistress.”

“Isadora was my grand mistress.”

The warmth in Sybil’s blue eyes chilled. Now , Lydia thought. Now she could see it. The mask Sybil wore, and the face underneath it. Not a glamour. Something far more insidious.

Sybil looked out the window, fidgeting with one of her rings.

“My grandmother was from here, you know,” she said.

“Well, strictly speaking she was from the Black Forest. Beautiful country. My mother was born there as well, although you wouldn’t know it from meeting her.

She came to England as a child, no trace of an accent.

Extraordinary witches, they were. Projectionists, both of them.

Like me, I suppose, but they were more than that as well.

Natural talent, nothing like what they teach at the academy.

I used to think there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do.

My grandmother could heal any wound, cure madness, call down the rain.

When my mother was a girl, a local boy violated her behind his father’s butcher shop.

My grandmother turned the boy into a goat, then took him to his own father to be slaughtered and sold for stew.

She was a true witch, like in the stories.

My mother had a portion of her talent, not nearly as strong, and me, even less so.

“I always wondered why I wasn’t more like my grandmother.

Where had all the true witches gone? My grandmother assured me that her homeland had been full of powerful witches, just like her.

But when I came and saw for myself, I found that the witches of Germany were no different than the witches of England.

Their magic was small. Tame . And just like the witches of England, they’d all gone into hiding—in plain sight, that is.

They’d made themselves ordinary in exchange for their safety. ”

Sybil reached out and pressed her fingers to the frozen windowpane and watched as the frost melted under her fingertips.

“My grandmother was never ordinary a day in her life. Everyone knew what she was. She could be strange, terrifying even, but oh, she was powerful . I began to wonder, Was it our secrecy that made our magic small? Magic is about actualization, after all, about changing what isn’t into what is , using only the power of your will.

How much power could a person really wield, pretending to be something she’s not? ”

“But that’s exactly what you did. You lied . To me, and everyone else.” Lydia felt sick at her own stupidity.

Sybil frowned. “I didn’t. I withheld things, but I never lied. Not to you.”

“You poisoned me.”

A shadow crossed Sybil’s face as the sun ducked behind a passing cloud. “I did that for your protection.” Lydia scoffed. “You nearly died. I was only trying to keep you from doing yourself even greater harm.”

“You wanted me out of the way.” Lydia cast her a withering look. “Does the council know, by the way? What you really are?”

Sybil held her gaze. “No.”

Foolish, naive child . She’d been so happy to believe that Vivian was the traitor inside the academy. Now she realized it was because she simply didn’t like the woman. But Sybil . She had loved Sybil with all her heart.

Lydia forced her gaze away from her. After a moment, Sybil continued.