Page 50 of A Time of Witches

The name shot through Lilith like a jolt of lightning, making her birthmark burn.

Breathless, she scrolled down on the screen.

All nineteen victims were put to death on Thingoe Hill on August 27, 1645.

Lilith’s birthmark blazed.

A warning.

This date was of great importance.

She searched the remainder of the exhibit and though her birthmark remained hot to the touch, it did not flare with the same spark as before.

Moyse’s had given her a key, now she had to figure out how to unlock the mystery. Likely the rest of what she needed was at Brackenmere Manor.

A knot of unease curled in her stomach.

She couldn’t keep sneaking around behind Asher’s back. The man might be grumpy as all get out, but he’d shown her kindness. He didn’t deserve to be lied to. And if she was being entirely honest with herself, she hated the idea of disappointing him.

Lord help her.

Much as she was dreading it, she had to ask Asher to let her back in the manor. After all, it was the whole reason she’d come to England.

And the reason suddenly seemed more important now than ever before.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lilith

The dream was unlike any Lilith had before.

The floor was cold as ice under her bare soles. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed down the hallway of mirrors stretching into forever.

Whispers echoed through the air, muffled and distorted, like the apparitions at Brackenmere Manor.

“Hello?” The volume of her voice came out small, her words swallowed by the vastness of the place.

Where was she?

The speed of the murmuring voices intensified, making her flesh crawl. She surveyed her strange surroundings, the world dark beyond the hallway of gold rococo-style mirrors, as if floating in space.

“Hello?” she called uselessly once more, walking forward.

That’s when she noticed she had no reflection.

The mirrors faced one another, a long line of gleaming panes of glass, like a snake with no tail. No matter which way she turned, there was only the image of infinity. One without her.

Her breath caught, stomach clenching in fear.

She checked the next mirror. Then another and another.

On and on down the line, turning from one side of the hall to the other until the truth punched her in the chest.

Not one reflected her image.

As if she had ceased to exist.

Panic jabbed the back of her brain, and her breathing came in ragged gulps.