Page 127 of A Time of Witches

Lilith closed her eyes imagining the library at Brackenmere Manor with Dragon at her side, cooing as he nuzzled her shins for affection.

Hands closed over her shoulders, pressure followed by a shove, and she toppled backward.

“This might hurt,” Jacinda cautioned.

Before Lilith could ask what she meant, there was an explosion of pain. As if every atom in Lilith’s body was being sent in the wrong direction.

As if she was being ripped apart.

A scream tore from her throat, her teeth loosening.

“Focus,” a voice hissed at her.

Lilith squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, fisting her hands, flexing her muscles. In her mind, she imagined her body like magnetized balls, clinking together, forming a tight mass.

Keep it together.

Her body shuddered.

Keep it together.

She imagined herself ripping into pieces. Pink mist and bone fragments.

No.

Keep. It. Together.

Her limbs curled toward her torso. A fetal position. Desperate to stay intact.

There was a final wrench that threatened to shatter her. She clenched her teeth, a whimper sharp in the back of her throat.

This would be how she would die, shredded between two centuries, scattered across a landscape of time.

Ceasing to exist.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Sybil

Even as Sybil was dragged toward the pyre, she could not pull her gaze from Jacinda. She stood at the front of the mob, absent her iron bracelet, wide hazel eyes brimming with tears.

Of all people to watch Sybil burn, Jacinda was the last person who should be there.

While Sybil had never been to a burning herself, she heard the horrific stories of how quickly clothing singed away, how long the flames licked at flesh before death finally prevailed. The strongest spirits were broken in such ways, resulting in terrified cries of anguish.

These could not be Jacinda’s last memories of her.

“You have been charged as a witch,” a booming voice announced.

Sybil turned to find the magistrate alight with the force of his wrath.

He held a torch in his hand, the flame flickering in the wind.

“You have used your evil to kill your husband. May Henry Brantham rest in peace.” The magistrate looked out at the crowd, playing for his audience as he announced, “And now you will burn for your sins.”

The crowd roared their approval and icy fear coiled in Sybil’s stomach.

The clouds blackened and swirled overhead, thick and ominous.