Page 59 of A Time of Witches

She did not even have a whisper of the earth’s power.

All she had was the fortitude of a woman protecting what she loved.

And a vow to live long enough to see this man fall.

“No.” Her protest came out with finality. “I admit to nothing as I’ve done none of those things.”

Hopkins got to his feet and lifted the mug, carrying it as he approached. “I’ve had a witness say they hear you speaking with the Devil at night, that he bids you harm others.” He stopped before her and drank deeply again, every gulp making her throat scorch with a yearning unlike she’d ever known.

When he lowered the mug, his mouth wet, ale trickling down his chin. He held the cup to her, the scent sweet with raw temptation.

“No,” she said again.

His nose wrinkled, and he pulled back. “I would let you bathe as well.” He sneered down at her once fine gown, now stained and rumpled.

Through his eyes, she saw herself reduced to the inhuman prisoner he wanted her to be.

“I am no witch,” she said firmly.

He sighed, as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Very well.”

At his nod, rough hands snatched her up, dragging her backward.

That iron grip upon her body reminded her of the magistrate, of the assault.

Her body stiffened in preparation to fight, but the strength sapped away as soon as it had flared, weakened by her state of extreme deprivation. They carried her to the prison, her feet bumping over uneven cobblestones, and deposited her in an unceremonious heap on the filthy rushes.

She did not know how long she lay there. Edith reached through the bars between their cages, straining to comfort Sybil and receiving a kick from the guards for her kindness.

Eventually, Sybil would be relocated as well, though she did not know when she would be moved. Or when she might eat again.

She let her head fall to her bent arms, made wholly feeble from the encounter.

Though she may be weak of body, she was determined to remain strong in spirit. In her helpless state, her fortitude was the only power she possessed to keep Jacinda safe.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lilith

Lilith leaned over the text of the ancient book, heart racing at the discovery of something so extraordinary. Maybe even something…magical.

Breathing in the musky scent of the marigolds scattered over the table, she turned to the first page. Amid the pulsing warmth of her birthmark, she began to read.

There is danger in putting these words to parchment. Yet there is even more danger in not.

My dearest Sybil, I hope you read this book someday when you embrace the power of the world around us. We are but flesh and bone in a cycle of life that will not cease for our whims. When interest in your gifts is aroused, I may no longer be of this earth.

And so I gift this text to you, to share all I have learned, all that has been passed down to me through generations of women.

There are those who would seek to persecute us for our power. Out of fear. Out of envy. Out of ignorance.

Emotions that are not only vicious, but also dangerous.

We were not always so strong.

Our ancestors were bent into submission, abused for their supposed weakness. But there was one who the earth beckoned, offering her the promise of protection and strength.

This ancestor learned the language of the sun’s path and all the phases of the moon. She witnessed the power in the changing seasons, in the elements around us. She honed her mind to understand the earth’s gifts—how dragon’s glass can sweep away time to expose what will come to be, how tin stone can bring great silence, how even a simple sprig of mugwort can enhance dreams.