Page 9 of A Resistance of Witches
“Will the whole council be there?” A hint of nerves crept into Kitty’s voice, although she did her best to hide it.
“Yes. Like I said, if I’ve touched a thing, I can project to it anytime I want. But tonight, I’ll have to send my projection who knows where, and with nothing to guide me but a scrap of paper and your silly self. That’s tricky business, even for me. Something like that can only be done under a full moon at midnight, and it’s near impossible without a full coven. The council will act as a sort of amplifier, to make the book easier for me to trace.”
“Lord, will it be a lot of horrible chanting?”
“Only for the first few minutes. After that it’s mostly silent.”
“So I shouldn’t try to make you laugh,” Kitty said with a wicked grin.
“Definitely not.”
Kitty tossed herself across Lydia’s lap. “But I’m so good at it!” Quick as a blink she transformed her face into that of Mistress Helena, whohad taught them both healing arts when they were still just girls. Helena had always been a ridiculous figure to Kitty and Lydia, simultaneously self-important and exceedingly sensitive. Kitty loved to imitate her whenever Lydia was taking herself far too seriously. Lydia squawked with laughter, pushing Kitty away, and Kitty tumbled to the floor shrieking, wearing her own face once again.
“I have to get ready!” Lydia wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
“Will she be there?” Kitty lay sprawled across the floor. “Please say yes!”
“I’m getting dressed.” Lydia walked across the hall to her own tidy room, leaving Kitty where she lay.
“Should I go likethis?” Lydia turned back, and Kitty was Helena once again, grinning up from the floor in Kitty’s bright green dress.
“Get dressed, Kitty!” Lydia shouted, still laughing, and slammed the door.
•••
Kitty announcedshe was going to dinner, and was still gone when Lydia emerged from her room, freshly made up and dressed in a slim black velvet gown with a matching clutch. She thought about joining Kitty in the dining room, but then thought better of it. Lydia rarely ate before a tracking spell, as she was almost always too anxious, and the spellwork often left her feeling queasy. Kitty, on the other hand, could seemingly eat any time of the night or day, and often did, claiming that all her constant shape-shifting required extra fuel.
When Lydia arrived in the ceremonial chamber, the high council was already there, gathered like black crows in groups of twos and threes in the dimly lit chamber. The sight of them put a sudden twist of uneasiness in Lydia’s stomach. Mistress Jacqueline was grumbling in a low whisper to Mistresses Helena and Pearl, all three looking annoyed to be there at such a late hour.
“…don’t even see why it’s necessary. It’s no business of ours if…”
“…what has Britain ever done for us? Why should we continue to risk witch lives for…”
“…power hungry, that’s what it is. She never should have been allowed to involve the academy in…”
Just then, Mistress Jacqueline caught Lydia’s eye and fell suddenly silent. She offered a syrupy smile and quickly turned away.
Moonlight cascaded down from the round skylight above the altar, the soft silver glow mingling with golden pinpoints of scattered candlelight. Isadora stood alone in the center of the room, cutting a severe figure in her black satin evening gown. She nodded to Lydia when she arrived, but did not move to greet her.
Lydia scanned the room, passing over the gaggles of whispering gossips and the false, sickly sweet smiles, until she found a friendly face at last—Mistress Sybil, who appeared to be caught in a rather one-sided conversation with Mistress Alba. Lydia watched with amusement as Sybil made her apologies and crossed the room to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.
Sybil Winter and Isadora Goode had come up through the academy together as girls, and while Isadora had few close friends, Lydia had always observed a respectful camaraderie between the two women. Sybil had taught projection at the academy until her recent retirement and had always shown a special interest in Lydia, whose talent for the subject had been evident from her very first lesson. Lydia, meanwhile, had always taken comfort in Sybil’s motherly attention and companionship. Being Isadora’s apprentice was rewarding in its own way, of course, but Isadora could be prickly and demanding. Sybil, on the other hand, had always coaxed Lydia’s talents to the fore with warmth and good humor. Sybil wore no glamour today, or any other day, and although her face was creased, her blue eyes still held a spark of youth, and her hair had stayed mostly golden, threaded with silver.
“Where is Miss Fraser?” Sybil whispered.
“She’s coming.”
Sybil clucked softly. “She really cannot be late. Not for this.”
There it was again, the same murmur of apprehension she’d heard from Isadora earlier that same day. Lydia found herself overcome by a sudden wave of uneasiness, as if it were contagious.
“If she’s late, I can manage without her. But she’ll be here.”
“I’m sure you can.” Sybil gave Lydia’s hand a squeeze. “Still, if she doesn’t arrive in time, I’m certain Isadora will make her sorry.” She cast the grand mistress a wary glance. “Let’s both hope she gets here soon.”
Lydia looked at Isadora, who was watching her, waiting. Her heart fluttered slightly. It was nearly time. She stepped forward, but Sybil pulled her back.
“Wait.” She reached out and smoothed one of Lydia’s dark curls with her fingertips. “There. Perfect.”
