Page 106 of A Time of Witches

The young woman was honest.

Too honest.

Lilith knew with utmost certainty that Elspeth was not who she sought. And from Sybil’s reaction to seeing the scullery maid stealing what was likely valuable food back then, it was likely Sybil didn’t make many enemies in their home.

Who would denounce her as a witch?

Lilith slipped back into the kitchen, heavy with regret. She had followed the wrong thread.

Dragon raced around the corner and dashed a quick loop around Lilith’s bare feet, then darted off once more. Clearly wanting her to follow him outside.

Lilith exited the house through a smaller, plainer door meant for the servants and drew back with an audible gasp.

Anne, the sick maid, stood outside, in the shadows of a stack of firewood. She spoke animatedly to a figure in dark clothing.

Lilith went still, frozen where she stood.

She knew that man.

The one from her dreams. The one who would arrest Sybil within hours.

The magistrate.

Chapter Fifty-One

Lilith

Lilith forced herself to step closer to the shadows, where Anne spoke to the magistrate. Apprehension hummed like electricity in the air.

“Bess knows,” Anne said to him, her hand once more caressing her lower stomach. “I’ve tried to be so careful.”

“Mrs. Brantham will not employ you much longer.” There was a coldness to the magistrate’s tone.

Anne’s cheeks went red. “My position here would not be in peril were it not for you.”

The magistrate lifted a brow. “I don’t recall your complaints at the time when you tried to trap me into marriage with this by-blow.”

Anne looked down at the ground, clearly shamed by his words.

Revulsion tightened Lilith’s jaw.

Oblivious of her presence, the magistrate lifted Anne’s chin, forcing her to look back up at him. “I’ll help you, of course. But, Anne, you know what you must do.”

She shook her head, large brown eyes welling with tears. “Please don’t ask this of me. There has to be another way.”

The magistrate’s eyes hardened. “There is no other way. Not for you.”

Lilith scoffed in disgust.

“But my family depends on me,” Anne whimpered. “And Sybil has been so kind.”

“Enough of your sniveling.” The magistrate’s lip curled. “Will you do it or not?”

Anne’s face crumpled as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small cloth poppet, tied with red twine. The very one that would soon be used to condemn Sybil. She shoved the offending object toward him, her eyes averted, as if to lessen her culpability.

The magistrate snatched the poppet from her. “You’ve done this with quite a bit of skill. Are you certain you aren’t a witch?”

Anne’s gaze flew to the magistrate’s in horror.