Page 135 of A Time of Witches

Dragon sniffed around the clearing, pawing here and there, as if seeking some kind of cure-all for Lilith. He returned to her periodically, purring as he pressed his body to hers, green eyes wider than she’d ever seen.

As if he worried about losing her.

Around midday, Dragon sat up and looked about abruptly. All at once, his body sagged, no longer alert, and he turned to the edge of the clearing, walking away.

“Dragon?”

His right ear pricked and he partially turned back.

Hope whispered around her. “You can hear me? Dragon!”

He turned and loped slowly away.

“Dragon…” Her voice broke as she watched the little animal stride toward the edge of the clearing.

Her final connection to the earth—to life—had snapped.

The chill of Lilith’s birthmark was like ice on her skin.

Jacinda had been too late. The world had gone on without her.

Lilith Legare had ceased to exist.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Sybil

Rain drizzled, alternating between strong and weak, as though struggling to do so. And yet the flames persisted, dancing closer to Sybil, tongues of fire determined to burn. To destroy.

“Let me through,” a male voice called. “Sybil.”

But Sybil could not look up, not when the fire leaped between the split logs and licked at her feet in blistering bites.

Her mind, unbidden, flashed to Margery, to what she must have suffered through in her final minutes on this earth. What terror.

And what might Jacinda face if anyone suspected she caused the storm?

Sybil’s mind went hazy as she recalled her mother and the faint rosemary scent about her, the way she hummed the hearth’s song before Sybil had ever heard it. How Henry sat by her side, the tender drone of his voice as he read to her. The way John stroked her hair as they lay in a field, basking in the warmth of the sun.

Strong hands were at Sybil’s wrists, wrenching the rough rope free.

Pain flooded her body and she gave a gasping cough for air.

Finally free of their restraints, Sybil staggered forward on legs suddenly unable to bear her weight.

Reassuring arms came around her. “I have you.”

She looked up and recognized the man who carried her as he navigated the fire-strewn pyre.

John Griffin.

“John?”

“I couldn’t leave you.” Gently, he set her on the ground.

Sybil gasped in a lungful of fresh air and reveled in the sensation of the cool, wet grass against her feet. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion, with gratitude.

“God love ye, John Griffin.” Kat hugged him first, then Sybil, catching her in an embrace that smelled of lavender and baking bread.