Page 9 of A Time of Witches

Sybil propped a foot in the stirrup and swept into her saddle. “I will never marry another.” Brixton’s strong body beneath her was all the assurance she needed that she was safe. For now.

“Because you loved that decaying old man?” The magistrate scoffed in disgust.

She took the reins. “I will not stand idly by as you insult my husband.”

“Henry is dead.”

The very mention of his name lanced through her chest, his loss as sudden and hot as the fever that had claimed his life.

The magistrate hopped from his saddle and Sybil flinched.

She hated the reflex, but her body reacted on its own accord.

Worse still—the magistrate clearly witnessed her reaction, that one show of weakness. He approached, his boot crushing the honeysuckle blossom into the dirt.

Though Sybil was on horseback and he was not—though she was in a position of protection and power—the moment held breathless terror.

His nostrils flared, as though catching the scent of her fear. He reached for Brixton’s bridle, but the horse snapped his head round and bit the hand that meant to grab him.

The magistrate’s howl pierced the air.

“Leave me be, Robert.” Sybil clicked her tongue and Brixton tore off, but not before she caught sight of the magistrate glowering after her.

A gust shoved at her back, making the leaves tremble overhead, the pitch of warning heightening.

Whatever danger approached, she had just made things worse.

Chapter Five

Lilith

A low rumble sounded overhead as Lilith stepped out of Shelver’s Books that evening. An impending storm to mirror her churning emotions.

Not that the rain would offer a reprieve from Savannah’s July heat. If anything, a deluge thickened the humidity, turning the air into hot sludge, which she struggled to drag into her lungs.

She locked the door behind her, leaving the three bookstore cats happily lapping at their freshly filled bowls—Fred’s proper diet restored.

Rushing to avoid being caught in the rain, Lilith ignored her usual inclination to stroll through the city squares and instead dashed down Liberty Street to Montgomery Street as droplets flicked at her in warning. Enchanted blended innocently among a row of shops despite what the store represented to Lilith.

Her steps faltered, weighted by the sight of black candles and tarot cards displayed in the window. Mama would not have approved.

But Essie was right. Mama wasn’t here anymore.

Still, Lilith hesitated. The dark interior implied the store was likely closed. She glanced at her watch. Quarter past six. Most stores in the historic area were closed by now.

Ah, well. She’d tried.

Lilith turned away from the store when a clap of thunder reverberated through the sky and echoed in her solar plexus. Wind pushed at her, shoving her back toward the door as fat, angry drops pelted with stinging force.

A wave of tourists erupted from City Market, heads covered with bags and jackets. Lilith turned to the shop, grabbed the handle and pulled. The door flew open, and a little bell tinkled above her head. She stepped into the sweet, smoky fragrance of incense and a blast of cold air that raised goose bumps along her damp skin.

The door closed behind her and silence heightened her awe as she took in the curio cabinets filled with neat rows of tarot cards, candles, and crystals. Art depicting skeletons, witches, and crows lined every square inch of the walls and a chandelier of horns and feathers swayed languidly overhead.

This went against everything Lilith had been taught. It was wrong. But it was beautiful and fascinating. An ache broke open within her, a longing she had repressed for far too long.

Warmth blossomed in the crook of Lilith’s right arm, just over her birthmark.

Oh, Essie was going to love hearing about this.