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Thirty

Lydia felt a rush of horrified disbelief.

“What did you say?”

Sybil’s face was all warmth and good humor. “Your mother is here. She’s perfectly safe, you needn’t worry.” She winked. “You never told me she was a Force .”

Lydia thought about beating her with her fists, gouging her eyes out, tearing at her flesh with her fingernails. But she never moved, and Sybil carried on, smugly oblivious.

“You can imagine my surprise. It took six of my girls to subdue her, and even that was a bit of a trial, from what I understand. Two of them required urgent medical care. She has a rather darkly creative mind, your mother.”

Six witches. Lydia had heard of Forces who could command two, perhaps three at a time. She wondered how long Evelyn had held them off before they finally took her.

“Why?” Lydia’s voice was strained. “Why did you do this?”

“Simply tying up loose ends, darling. If she’d gone running to the academy after you were taken, it would have made a terrible mess.” Something in Lydia’s face must have changed, because Sybil laughed, high and bright. “Oh dear, I would never hurt her.”

“Of course you would. You murdered Isadora in cold blood. And Kitty. You don’t even like Evelyn.”

Sybil huffed. “Honestly, darling, I thought you knew me better than that. She may be a meddlesome thorn in my side, but she’s still your mother .”

It was a lie, of course. Sybil must have at least considered killing her.

Evelyn, a powerful Force with no formal training, working from pure instinct.

Backed into a corner, she would be unpredictable, lethal.

There was only one reason Sybil would have kept her alive—because by killing Evelyn, she would lose all hope of ever winning Lydia to her side.

Lydia forced herself to speak calmly. “Take me to her.”

“No.”

“Sybil!” Lydia lurched forward, fists clenched, but stopped short. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

Sybil looked at her pityingly. “I meant what I said. I want you by my side.” She reached out to brush a lock of hair from Lydia’s face, and Lydia recoiled. “Please think about it.” She turned and walked back toward the door.

“Sybil—”

The door opened, and Sybil stepped through.

“Sybil!”

But Lydia was alone.

···

She spent the remainder of the day in a frenzy, like an animal caught in a trap.

The room had only one door, and it didn’t take long for her to realize the hidden panel would open quite easily for anyone except herself.

People came and went throughout the day, bringing food, or tea, but no one spoke to Lydia, and she did not attempt to engage them.

The Grimorium Bellum beckoned to her with a constant, droning call, but she left it where it lay.

She imagined Evelyn, imprisoned somewhere in this very castle, frightened and alone.

She wanted to murder the next person who walked through that door, slit their throat and fight her way to her mother, but she knew it would never work.

They would kill her, and then they would kill Henry, and Rebecca, and Evelyn.

No. That wasn’t the way. She would need to be clever.

By the end of the first evening, she’d formulated her plan, but she knew that it was best not to rush. Deception had never been her forte, and so she waited as long as she could bear. A day passed in silence. Then a second. Then a third.

On the fourth day, she addressed the girl who brought her breakfast.

“Tell Sybil I’d like to see her.”

The girl scowled, then shuffled out.

···

Sybil came that afternoon, bringing tea for herself and coffee for Lydia.

“You’ll be interested to know that Gerda has made her way back to us. She tells me it was your mother who was responsible for that little stunt.”

Lydia sipped her coffee. “That took less time than I thought it would. Did she share anything interesting with our friends at the SOE while she was in their care?”

“Nothing they would believe.” Sybil’s irritation was barely masked. “Funny, I always thought of your mother as an eccentric, backward little hedge witch. Now I fear I’ve underestimated her.”

Lydia suddenly remembered where she had picked up that horrible phrase, all those years ago. It had been Sybil. Some joke she’d made to the girls on their first day of class; Lydia didn’t remember the particulars. She did remember that she’d laughed.

“Eva says you asked to see me,” Sybil said carefully. “Would you like to discuss things calmly, now that you’ve had some time to think?”

Lydia directed her gaze downward. “The story you told me. About your grandmother turning that boy into a goat. Was that true?”

Sybil nodded. “My grandmother could do a great many things the average witch could only dream of.”

Lydia kept her eyes on her cup. “I’ve read about transmutation in stories. I always wanted to learn it. I used to sit in my room by myself, staring at a sixpence, trying to make it turn into a crown. All I ever managed to do was give myself a headache.”

Sybil chuckled. “I used to do that as well.”

“They don’t teach transmutation at the academy. I asked about it once, my first year. Mistress Jacqueline said that was only in fairy stories.”

“Jacqueline has a small mind.”

Lydia set down her cup. “It made me wonder what else might be possible. What other things could be achieved that I was told were only in fairy stories.”

Sybil smiled. She’d never been one to pass up an opportunity to share her wisdom.

Sybil talked at length. She spoke of her grandmother, how she could make barren women fertile, cure disease, hex whole families.

She repeated the stories her grandmother had told her as a girl, about witches who could fly under the full moon, transform into animals, wreck ships, or save them, depending on their mood.

And she told stories that were older still—about the days before the Roman Empire, when the warrior kings of Europe bowed before the power of the witch, and knew their tribes would rise to greatness or fall into ruin at their pleasure.

Lydia listened, and when Sybil finished, she sat quietly, her coffee growing cold.

“I never considered what it might be like to live openly. I always thought there was no way for us to live except in secret.”

Sybil nodded sympathetically. Lydia looked up from her cup and held Sybil’s gaze for the first time since they’d sat down.

“You hurt me terribly, you know. You broke my heart.”

Sybil’s face appeared to crumple before Lydia’s eyes. “I know.”

The tears that gathered in Lydia’s throat were real, and she made no attempt to hide the tremor in her voice as she spoke. “I’ve always trusted you. You’ve been like a mother to me. But this…”

Sybil reached across the table and took Lydia’s hand in hers. Lydia let her.

“It’s in the past. I promise you, from now on, we will have no secrets from each other.” Sybil’s hand felt like a vise. Lydia slipped from her grasp.

“But if I give you access to the Grimorium Bellum , people will die.”

“Darling,” Sybil said, and this time Lydia did not reproach her, “people are already dying. They’re dying on the battlefield every day. And they will continue to die until we put a stop to this war. We can do that with the power of the Grimorium Bellum. ”

It sounded so logical, so reasonable. It sounded like peace, if peace meant the destruction of anyone who would dare stand against you.

“What are you planning to do?”

Sybil drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Some accounts of the Grimorium Bellum refer to a spell which calls forth a creature from inside the book itself. A silent assassin, which feeds on the souls of the caster’s enemies, reducing them to ash. Do you know the spell I mean?”

Lydia’s mouth felt dry. “The Unmaking.”

Sybil nodded. “I think it’s preferable to this messy famine and plague business, don’t you? It will be clean. Simple. Painless.” For a moment, Sybil looked almost saddened by the thought of so much death. But Lydia knew by now that it was all a show.

“And who will be the target? I expect Hitler would…” Lydia found she couldn’t quite finish the thought, and Sybil spared her from having to voice it.

“You expect Hitler would use the book to wipe out the Jews?”

Lydia swallowed the acid that burned in her throat. Even though she knew it was all a farce, she couldn’t help but feel a deep and terrible shame.

Sybil laughed, a sound that made Lydia’s skin crawl.

“Oh no, darling. There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing later.” Lydia felt a sickening chill course through her.

“Hitler has requested that the Witches of the Third Reich take on a more… strategic target for now. Stalingrad, for instance.”

Something turned over inside Lydia’s chest. “You plan to wipe out all of Stalingrad? Why?”

Sybil’s tone was conspiratorial, as if she were discussing the caprices of a particularly moody teenager.

“The Führer is still licking his wounds from his defeat there, and wants to make a statement. It makes sense, in a way. Once it was clear that the Reich could annihilate the population of an entire city without firing a single bullet, I expect the war would be over in fairly short order.”

“I see,” Lydia said. Sybil seemed to notice her discomfort.

“Darling, I know it sounds terrible. But it’s for the best, believe me. When the war is won, you’ll see.”

Lydia feared she wouldn’t be able to maintain her composure for much longer. She stood and looked out the window, turning her face away from Sybil’s gaze.

“How do you know you can trust him? How do you know he won’t turn on you when the war is over?”

Sybil sipped her tea. “I fully expect he will. And I expect he will regret it.”

She’s a fool , Lydia thought. An arrogant fool, drunk on her own fairy tales.

“And how do I know I can trust you ?” Lydia turned to face Sybil once again.

“The solstice is in eight days. You are one witch short of a full coven, and I alone control the Grimorium Bellum. You need me. How can I be sure you won’t turn on me , once the spell is complete?

Your coven doesn’t trust me, and to be fair, I’ve given them good reason not to.

You would do just as well to replace me at the earliest convenience with another girl from one of your ancient Germanic families. How do I know you won’t?”

Sybil stood. “Because I love you like my own child. I will never betray you. Never.”

It was exactly what Lydia had hoped she would say. Sybil had always been sentimental. Lydia might have felt guilty, under different circumstances. Now she felt only revulsion.

“I’m afraid Ursula will not be so easily won over.”

Sybil gave her a wry look. “Ursula will do as she’s told. I know you two have had your differences, but she’s been with me since the beginning, and she is the most capable witch in this coven. I hope someday you two may be like sisters.”

The notion was so ludicrous that Lydia had to turn her face away in order to hide her expression. When she turned back, Sybil was watching her expectantly.

“I’d like some time,” Lydia said. “Just until tomorrow. Just to consider everything you’ve said. Can you give me that?”

Sybil’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “Of course.” And then, before Lydia could react, she closed the distance between them and embraced her, kissing her on the cheek.

Lydia could smell Sybil’s rose perfume, the tea and incense smell that clung to her hair.

A terrible sorrow seized at her heart then, a full recognition of everything she had lost. Not just Isadora and Kitty, but Sybil too.

Lydia pulled away, breaking their embrace. “Come see me again tomorrow. You’ll have your answer.”

Sybil nodded. She looked for a moment like she was debating something. “Your mother has been asking for you. She’s been quite insistent. Would you like me to give her a message?”

Lydia’s heart leapt, but she kept her face implacable. Tell her I’m safe , she wanted to say. Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m coming. Tell her this will all be over soon.

“No,” she said. “Thank you, Sybil.”

Lydia saw a flicker of a smile flash across Sybil’s lips.

Then she left, and Lydia was alone once again.

She was beginning to get used to the silence, the way every sound fell dead at her feet.

She wished she could see Fiona, to know whether she’d survived her injuries, and to apologize for getting her into this mess.

She wanted to see Rebecca, to hear whatever creative profanity she would have reserved for Sybil.

She wanted Henry, his arms around her, the warm, steady comfort of him.

Most of all, she wanted Evelyn. She wanted her mother.

Patience , she thought.

Lydia went to the chair where her clothes from home had been neatly folded.

She set aside the blouse and jumper and held up the gray wool skirt, running her fingers along the hem.

She held the fabric to her nose, and smelled something faintly herbal, and for just a moment, she was back in her mother’s kitchen.

She folded the skirt and placed it back on the chair, exactly as she’d found it.

···

When Sybil arrived the next morning, Lydia was ready for her. She did not wait for them to exchange pleasantries.

“I’ve made my decision.” She stood in a shaft of morning sunshine, with Sybil standing opposite her, eyes intent on Lydia.

“I don’t relish the idea of causing more suffering.

But if a little more will put a stop to this war once and for all…

then I believe it will have been worth it.

And I…” Lydia hesitated. “I want to know what it’s like.

To live without secrets. I want to know a world where witches may live openly. ”

A hopeful smile spread across Sybil’s face. “Does that mean you will join us?”

Lydia had said the words in front of the mirror.

She had practiced them in bed, had fallen asleep with them on her lips, worried that when the moment came, they might ring false.

She had said them again and again, all night and all morning, until the falsehood fell away, and the words transformed, and became true.

“Yes. Yes, I will join you.”