Page 135 of A Resistance of Witches
“Where will you go now?” Lydia asked. “You can go anywhere you’d like, you know. I can see to it. France is still so dangerous, and—”
“Thank you, but no. France is my home.”
Lydia had expected as much.
“I’d like to check on you, from time to time,” she said. “If you’re ever in trouble, just say the word and I’ll send a Traveler to collect you. Would that be all right?”
“Could I stop you if it wasn’t?” Lydia could hear the smile in her voice.
“Not really, no.”
Rebecca laughed softly at that.
The sound of footsteps made them both turn. Behind them, Henry stood alone in the shadow of the massive castle.
“And you?” Rebecca called out to him. “Where will you go now, Henri Boudreaux?”
Henry’s eyes lingered on Lydia’s, and she felt something grow warm inside her. She nearly said something clever, something about the weather in London this time of year, but stopped herself. In her heart, she knew his answer before he said the words.
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” he said, and Lydia felt something twist inside her chest.
Rebecca looked from Henry to Lydia. “Seems like you two have some things to discuss.” She turned, walking back toward the castle. She gave Henry’s shoulder a nudge. “Give her a proper goodbye at least, eh, Romeo?”
Henry smiled. “I intend to.” He looked at Lydia again, and she feltthat something inside her chest loosen. He cleared his throat. “But actually, I was coming to talk to you.” He looked at Rebecca, and his face turned serious. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Rebecca frowned but followed Henry as he stepped out into the night. Lydia felt him reach for her as he passed, the tips of his fingers intertwining with hers, and for a moment she felt that heat again, like hot coals inside her belly.
She stayed there, alone, listening to the sound of the wind, and night creatures moving among the trees. She could just hear Henry’s voice out there in the dark, saying something to Rebecca she couldn’t quite make out. She thought she heard him saylittle dove. Heard him saymotherandpeace.And thenI’m so sorry.
After a moment she heard the low, soft sound of Rebecca crying. She watched as Henry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
She stepped away, letting the night swallow her up, until the muffled sound faded behind her, and it was quiet once again.
•••
There, in the darkand the quiet, Lydia held herself against the cold, and tried to envision a world without her mother in it.
The universe seemed more enormous in that moment than it ever had before. The sky above her looked like an endless sea of stars, and Lydia was a boat, suddenly unmoored for the very first time, in a vast and terrifying ocean.
She tried to remember what Evelyn had said to her, years and years ago, just after her gran had died.
We don’t die, my love, Evelyn had told her, though Lydia remembered her mother’s eyes were red and rimmed with tears.Not really. We change, yes. We become other things—the grass and flowers, trees and wind and stars. We rejoin the Great Mother, and our souls disperse into the universe, and become a part of a hundred million other living things, forever and ever.
Lydia hadn’t understood then. She’d only known that she wanted her gran, and her mother was always sad, and nothing would ever be the same.
But now, Lydia lingered on that strange mountaintop and thought about Evelyn. She imagined her spirit as it rejoined the Great Mother—mingling with the night, joining with the plants and stones and frozen earth. There would be herbs, waiting there beneath the snow: mint and gentian, stinging nettle, wild garlic, alpine rose. Evelyn would have known a hundred uses for each of them, all of their names, both common and arcane.
Lydia closed her eyes and envisioned her mother, dispersing and diffusing into those tender roots. She would be sleeping now, Lydia thought, curled upon herself like a seedling, waiting for the thaw. Waiting to rise up, green and triumphant, and rejoin the world as something new.
London, 8 May 1945
Lydia Polk passed through the glossy black door of 10 Downing Street, and into a new world.
The newspapers had predicted showers that day, but by midafternoon the air was unseasonably warm, without a drop of rain to be seen. Most blamed the discrepancy on chance, or at best good luck. Lydia knew better.
The streets were thick with people, all shouting happily and jostling one another. Children rode on shoulders, waving Union Jack flags, while some of the bolder men climbed the streetlights, shouting and waving to the pretty girls. Someone began to sing, and now great throngs of people were joining in, men and women forming chains in the streets, holding each other by the waist, and dancing, and laughing.
“How’s the old man?” someone called out. Lydia turned to see Fiona McGann, standing alone at the corner of Whitehall and Downing Street.
