Page 60

Thirty-Five

The sun began its slow descent behind the mountains, plunging Henry and Rebecca into a dull almost night.

They ran alongside the stream, praying the rushing water might mask their footfalls, but Ursula was always close by, flitting through the trees, the smell of ozone burning inside their nostrils.

Henry wondered why she didn’t just kill them already.

She was a powerful witch, able to move through space at will.

They were weak and starving, with no way of defending themselves.

Then he realized the truth—she was allowing herself the pleasure of the chase. She could end it whenever she liked.

As they ran, Henry spied a figure just ahead of them, half-hidden among the trees.

At first, he thought it was the witch, but no—it was the gray woman, watching them, her milky eyes glowing.

He kept moving forward, following as she faded out of sight and then reappeared again farther downstream. The witch’s voice broke from the trees.

“I’m afraid we will need to bring this game to an end.

” Ursula appeared to their right, and Rebecca jerked away from the sound, causing them both to stumble.

Henry regained his footing and tugged her forward, keeping his eyes on the gray woman.

“It’s been so much fun, but sadly I’ve somewhere to be.

” Ursula blinked out of sight, reappearing again on a flat rock in the middle of the stream.

Henry ran faster, holding tightly to Rebecca.

They were approaching a waterfall. Not very tall, just a jagged point where the water tumbled a few meters down to the foam-covered rocks below.

The rocks were slippery, and the climb down would be treacherous.

They reached the edge of the fall and stopped.

The gray woman was there waiting for them.

Time seemed to slow for Henry. The witch watched from a distance, laughing softly. The gray woman stared at Henry, her expression blank. She seemed to be asking him something, something she couldn’t quite put to words. Her head tilted as she looked at him, her hand hovering in the air between them.

“Henry.” Rebecca stared wide eyed at the witch, who stared back, grinning.

“What is it?” Henry said, not to Rebecca, but to the gray woman.

The gray woman reached out, taking Henry’s hand in hers.

They didn’t meet the way two hands should, warm and firm, woven together but still separate.

Instead, the woman’s hand seemed to reach into Henry’s, making his flesh feel cold and numb and dead all the way through.

Henry looked into her eyes and understood. She was asking for his consent.

“Yes,” he said.

Rebecca looked at him. “What?”

Henry kept his eyes on the dead woman. “Yes. I understand. Yes.”

The woman stepped inside Henry in one swift movement, forcing the air from his lungs.

It felt as if he had been sent to the passenger seat of his own mind—he could feel his body, how everything warm and alive had been driven out of him, replaced with something hollow and icy cold.

His body moved, but he was not the one moving it.

He should have been afraid, but there was something almost comforting about the surrender, about letting go.

He could feel the dead woman there alongside him, and in her presence, he felt a strange solace.

Miriam , a voice inside him said. Her name.

Together they turned and looked at Rebecca.

She recoiled, horrified by the sudden change in him, and Henry could feel Miriam’s grief as she looked at her daughter through his eyes.

He felt her thoughts as clearly as if they were his own—how desperately she wanted to reach out to Rebecca, to hold her, the profound sense of helplessness.

Henry wanted to tell Rebecca that it was all right, but he couldn’t seem to form the words.

The smell of ozone filled the air, like a penny under the tongue.

Rebecca smelled it, too, and turned to run, but too late. Ursula appeared before them, and now she wasted no time. She turned her gaze on Rebecca and uttered a strange word, and Rebecca slumped to the ground. The witch bent over her and took her chin in her hand.

“This is not where you die, Liebchen,” she cooed. Rebecca gasped like a fish, fighting against the spell that had dragged her down. The sound of water crashing onto the rocks below nearly drowned out the witch’s words. “Oh, no no no. You will beg me for death before I am finished with you.”

Henry watched as the gray woman crouched inside his skin. As she picked up a rock with his hand. Ursula looked up and sneered, unconcerned. She opened her mouth and spoke the word of power again.

Nothing happened. Henry waited for his body to weaken, to be overcome with pain or delirium. Then he understood.

Spells were meant for the living.

Now , thought Henry.

They raised the rock.

“Nein—” The smell of ozone filled the air, but too late.

The rock came down. A red gash split across Ursula’s forehead, and her eyes bulged.

The gray woman howled, and as she did, Henry felt all the rage and grief inside of her, the unthinkable loss, the unfairness.

He looked down at Rebecca and saw her as Miriam saw her, as a child.

Just a child, in need of a comb, and a bath, and a cry.

Someone precious. Someone worth killing for.

Ursula was on all fours, dazed. She moaned, examining the blood on her fingers.

Together, Henry and Miriam reached down and lifted Ursula to her feet.

She kicked and fought, but she was no match for Henry’s strength and size, nor Miriam’s deep, maternal fury.

She spat spells and shrieked curses, but each one fell flat.

Miriam shook Ursula hard, howling in her face, and Henry stepped away, surrendering control.

And then, when the last drop of air in her lungs ran out and the howling ceased, Miriam fell silent and quietly, easily, tossed Ursula onto the rocks below.

···

Lydia was perspiring in her gown despite the cold draft that cut through the ceremonial chamber.

Her hand had been bandaged, and the ceremonial cup replaced with a glass of champagne.

The bone-handled knife sat heavy on her hip.

All around her, witches spoke in low tones, darting occasional glances at the west-facing windows and the swiftly setting sun.

“Ursula should be back by now,” said Sybil. “What on earth could be keeping her?”

“Ursula is very capable. I’m sure she’s fine.” For a moment, Lydia allowed her imagination to run wild—perhaps Rebecca and Henry had escaped after all, leading Ursula on a wild chase and causing her to lose track of the time. Perhaps she’d been disarmed somehow, or even killed.

Or perhaps she had successfully hunted down her prey, and was even at this very moment exacting her terrible revenge for the death of her friend. This last thought came with a flood of gruesome visions that felt to Lydia like a waking nightmare.

“Without her we don’t have a full coven for the ritual,” Sybil said, almost to herself. She looked to Lydia, her brow furrowed. “We may need to postpone.”

Lydia nearly shouted No! but managed to stop herself. “Whatever you think is best, Grand Mistress. It’s only…” Sybil looked at her expectantly. Lydia sighed. “Everything has been so fraught. This is my chance to earn the coven’s trust.” She took Sybil’s hand in hers. “Please, let me try.”

Lydia could see that Sybil was pleased, more certain than ever of Lydia’s loyalty and devotion. Her cheeks flushed pink as she squeezed Lydia’s uninjured hand.

“All right,” she said.

Lydia squeezed back. “All right.”

···

Henry felt a rush of blood and heat as Miriam left his body, and he fell to the ground, gasping.

Rebecca reached out to him, her hand warm and solid in his.

She felt like a rope, he thought dimly, pulling him back to shore.

They lay there at the edge of the falls, both catching their breath, the crashing of water below them the only sound.

Finally, Rebecca released her hold, crawled toward the edge of the falls, and peered over.

“Is she dead?” Henry asked.

“I can’t tell.”

Henry turned onto his side and looked around for Miriam, but saw only trees.

Slowly, he sat up and looked over the edge of the falls, to where Ursula lay sprawled on the rocks below, one leg dangling in the churning water.

She was on her back, blond hair obscuring her face, blood seeping through the silver strands where the gray woman had struck her with the rock.

Sickly green foam bubbled at the base of the waterfall and gathered at the edge of her black trousers.

Henry watched her, trying to see the rise and fall of her chest, but his vision was swimming, and the light was fading fast. Rebecca stood.

“What now?” She reached out a hand, and he took it, both of them groaning as she pulled him to his feet.

Henry looked up and saw the castle, just visible through a break in the trees, silhouetted against the purple sky.

He thought he saw the flicker of firelight somewhere inside.

The Witches of the Third Reich would be gathering for their spell by now.

No one else would be hunting them tonight.

“Now, we go back for Lydia.”

···

Lydia stood in the perfect silence of the ceremonial chamber.

Through the window she could see the shimmering pink of the winter sky fading into shades of purple and indigo as the sun slipped behind the snowcapped mountains.

In her hands, the Grimorium Bellum felt like a coiled snake, quiet for now but primed to rain down chaos at the slightest provocation.

All around her, the coven stood in silent anticipation, awaiting her instruction.