Page 101 of A Time of Witches

Her hands fluttered over her face, across the stretch of skin over gaunt cheeks, the patches of dark hair and clumps of scabs upon her scalp. Though Margery’s shawl embraced her shoulders, her thin shift cast her form in shadow, revealing her skeletal body.

If she had thought herself vulnerable and exposed at Mrs. Williams’s hands, that degradation was nothing compared to this unexpected moment of standing before John.

She hadn’t a care for Mrs. Williams or her opinions.

But John…

He knew the feel of her supple body in his arms. He knew the silky texture of her hair gliding through his fingers. His lips had moved over her skin as he whispered poetry that made her feel beautiful.

Standing before him now, his father’s words ravaged her mind.

She was filth. Scarcely a woman. Barely even human.

Worthless.

In that moment, she was drowning in a deluge of shame.

“Sybil.” John whispered her name, soft, tender.

The way he had done so many times in their youth, and she hated the tears welling in her eyes, the painful yearning for that carefree life, for the simplicity of those girlhood days.

She shook her head, unable to bear his presence.

She had never thought to see John again, had never anticipated he might look at her with such soul-reaching depth. And she had never expected to be as she was, so broken and withered.

Why had Kat not simply passed on Sybil’s message?

Instinctively Sybil shrank back, curling her shoulders forward, wishing she could bury herself in the indignity and humiliation. “You should not have come.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Lilith

Lilith stared at her phone in horror, reading Essie’s message again.

Who is this?

Had she already been erased from Essie’s memory? A lifetime of friendship dissolving the way Lilith’s pictures had on her phone?

It’s Lilith.

Three dots appeared.

Lilith held her breath, tethered to the gray bubble of a forming message. Almost too afraid to see Essie’s reply.

Finally, it came.

OMG, where have you been? My phone deleted your number, and I haven’t been able to contact you.

Another message immediately followed.

What is happening? Why are you scared?

A series of texts immediately followed, rapid-fire.

Is it Mr. Darcy?

You send me his picture. I’ll have it to Interpol before you can say cretin.