“No, thank you. I’ll manage.”
There is a sleepy stumble to the waiting carriage as James settles his father and then a flurry of gay goodbyes. Aunt Virginia has disappeared to supervise cleanup in the kitchen, and Luisa and Sonia have gone to dress for bed. I look around to be sure no one is about before slipping from the warmth of the house to the terrace with James.
He wastes no time pulling me into his arms, twirling a piece of my loose hair around one fingertip. And then his lips are on mine, opening my mouth like the bud of a flower, blossoming until the petals are lush and swollen. These are the times when I feel like another Lia altogether — one who doesn’t care about Miss Gray and her books and books full of rules. One who doesn’t care what is expected of me. These are the times when I think that it is not possible for something to be wrong that is felt so fully, filling me up from the inside out.
It is James who pulls away. It is always James who pulls away, though he is the one who pulls me close as well. “Lia, Lia. I am so happy when I’m with you. You know that, don’t you?” His voice is brusque.
I smile, teasing. “Yes, of course, when I’m not driving you mad with arguments and curiosity!”
“You drive me mad with something else.” He grins before becoming more serious. “It’s true that we’ve not talked about it in any serious way. And I cannot offer you the life to which you are accustomed. But I want you to be mine, someday, when the time is right.”
My nod comes slower than I intend. “Only…”
“Only what?” Naked worry shades his eyes. We have laughed and enjoyed the evening, attempting to forget the small distance that has grown between us. It is a distance borne only by my own secrets and uncertainty, but that does not make the divide any simpler to cross.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I am only sad to be without Father for the holiday. Christmas shan’t be the same.” My voice rings with the truth of it, and for a moment I am able to convince myself that my grief is the only thing between James and me.
“Is that all, then? The only thing that has made you brooding and quiet these last weeks? Because I can’t help feeling there is more to it.”
Tell him. Tell him now before it is too late, before you push him away altogether. But the voice is not insistent enough. I nod, smiling up at him with as much reassurance as I can manage. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you worry. I shall be all right with time.”
I want to believe I am protecting him, but instead it is shame that keeps me quiet. Deep down, I cannot deny that I am anxious James will not have me when he realizes the wicked, ageless story of which I am a part.
“Miss Gray would not approve.” Alice’s voice greets me as I close the door, but it is not the new, hard Alice I have come to watch with guarded eyes. Her voice is playful, her figure a dim outline on the stairs. She sits carelessly on the steps, leaning her body back to rest on her elbows.
I make my way to the staircase, dropping next to her on the step. “Yes, well, I would venture a guess she would not approve of your posture at the moment, either.”
Her teeth flash in the dark, our smiles finding each other across the mystery of the quiet house. “Will you marry him?”
“I don’t know. I once thought so. I was once more sure of it than anything in the world.”
“And now?”
I shrug. “And now things are not so simple.”
It takes her a moment to answer. “No, I suppose not. But perhaps there is a way. A way for us both to have the thing we most desire.”
I hear the unspoken promise of the subject around which she dances. But I am not ready to give away my hard-found knowledge. Not until I hear what she means to say. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
She lowers her voice further. “And I’m sure you do, Lia. You wish to marry and have children, to live a quiet life with James. You must realize how impossible such a dream is with… the way things are now. With your fighting the Souls as you are.”
The frankness of her words surprises me. All at once, the mask has been lowered. She knows as much as I do, perhaps even more. It is quite obvious now, and I wonder why I thought her even a little bit oblivious to the prophecy and its workings.
In the absence of my denial, Alice continues. “If you will only fulfill your duty to Samael, you will find peace. He will leave you alone to the life that you desire. Will that not be easier for all concerned? Is there not a small part of you, the part that was born to be the Gate, that wishes it so?”
I should like to say her words are to no avail, that I am unmoved by the black promises. But it would be a lie, for part of me thrills with anticipation as she speaks of fulfilling the prophecy’s ancient promise. I want to believe it is only the part that desires to live my life with James as any girl would, but somewhere in the halls of my conscience I know it is more. It is the siren’s song of my intended role in the prophecy. It is the deepest part of me, the part I try to pretend is not there at all, the part that must fight the temptation to do just as Alice wants.
I shake my head, denying it, not wanting to betray any weakness. “No. It… it isn’t as you say.” I soften my voice, appealing to the Alice of my childhood, the Alice I love. “It is true that I want my life with James, but I will not have that life in the darkness of a world ruled by the Souls. Surely you understand this, Alice. We agree on one thing: that we should work to a common purpose, a purpose that is an easy matter to decide. You are the Guardian. It is your duty to protect the world from the Souls. And I… Well, I have a choice as well. And I’ll not aid them. I’ll not do a single thing to aid them in destroying the things, the people, I love. And is that not our common purpose? To protect Henry and Aunt Virginia, the only family we have left?”
Her face is half hidden in the shadows, but I see her hesitation at the mention of Henry and Aunt Virginia. It takes a moment for her to speak, and in that moment a lifetime of expression passes over her features. In a heartbeat, childish uncertainty gives way to resignation.
“I was not meant to be the Guardian, Lia. We both know it. It’s why I feel the way I do. Why I have known since I was a child that my duty lies with the Souls, whatever name the prophecy gives me. I… I cannot help the way I feel. The way I am.”
I shake my head, not wanting to hear her speak this way. It is harder to have this Alice speak of these things. Were it the Alice of recent days, the cold-eyed, hard-faced Alice… well, then it might be easier to discount her words.
She licks her lips, and they shine in the dark. “If we work in concert, we shall be protected, Lia. We and those we love. I can guarantee your safety. And the safety of James and Henry and Aunt Virginia. Those are the things that make the world worth living in, are they not? As long as those things remain, what does it matter who is in charge? Isn’t it worth the small sacrifice of conscience to live your life in peace?”
Something desperate has crept into her words, waking me from the silken spell of her voice. I shake my head with force, as if to push away the whispered promise that pulls me close even as I want to push it away.
“I cannot… I cannot do such a thing, Alice. I simply cannot. I cannot help the way I feel either. This is the way I am.”
I think she might be angry, but her voice is filled only with sadness. “Yes. I thought as much. I’m sorry, Lia.”
Her hand finds mine across the step, and she takes it the way she used to when we were small. It is not any bigger than mine, not really, and yet there was a time when I always felt safe with my hand in Alice’s. I don’t know why she says she is sorry, but I fear I will soon find out.
And my hand will not be safe in hers again.
19
“Lia!” Sonia waves me into the guest room as I creep toward my own, the conversation with Alice ringing in my ears.
I step into the room. “I thought you would be asleep after such a long day.”
“We had a wonderful day, Lia. But there is still work to do, is there not?” Sonia’s
eyes drift to Luisa, sitting on one of the beds.
I hesitate before nodding. I can only hope that Luisa is as understanding as Sonia.
Luisa lifts her eyebrows. “What is it, Lia? Is something wrong?”
I sit on the end of the bed, shaking my head. “Not wrong, exactly. But there is something that I haven’t had the chance to tell you. Something I found out just after you and Sonia came to tea.”
“What is it?”
I run a hand along my brow, trying to calm my nerves before making the revelation that may sever a friendship I have come to treasure. There is no easy way to say it, and so I say it as simply and quickly as possible. I tell her the reason my mark is different, resisting the urge to soften the information with reassurance or rationalization. If we are to work together truly, Luisa must understand exactly what I am.
She does not say anything right away. Absent are the protestations and anger that I expect. She looks into my eyes, as if the answers to all her questions lie there. At last she reaches over and takes my hand, the hand Alice has just let go for good. When Luisa speaks, her words are simple, but they give me room to hope.
“Tell me everything.”
And so I do. I tell her about the prophecy, my role in it, the medallion. She meets my revelation with stoic calm, the realization that I am the Angel, the Gate, no more than a hiccup in her resolve. I come to the end of my tale, knowing that the rest of the story will be written by us all.
“And so, we are back to the keys,” I say. “But not with so little as we had before.”
Luisa nods, the curls bouncing at the nape of her neck. “And this is where the mysterious Madame comes in, is it not?”
I look at Sonia, raising my eyes in surprise.
She tips her head with a smile. “I told her about our visit to Madame Berrier’s.”
“Good. Then you are all up to date.”
“Yes,” Luisa says, “only…”
“Only what?”
“Well, why didn’t you invite me along? I should have liked to learn more about the prophecy.…” I hear the pout in her voice and feel a pang of guilt, but Sonia answers for it before I’m able.
“It was my doing, Luisa. The maid at Mrs. Millburn’s is acquainted with one of Lia’s maids. I was afraid to try and slip you a note at Wycliffe. I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I knew there would be no stopping you if you knew of our meeting, no matter the consequences.”
Luisa’s silence makes me fear we have hurt her feelings, but her grudging admission follows. “I suppose you’re right. I can be ever so stubborn!” She laughs in response to her own criticism. “So? What did she say, this mysterious woman?”
“She told us that Samhain is an ancient Druid holiday marking a period of Darkness.” I sit up, pulling the pins from my hair. “Apparently, it falls on November first, though we cannot figure what that has to do with the keys. The only thing even a little bit interesting is that it is also Sonia’s birthday.”
Luisa sits up straighter. “What did you say?”
Her expression makes me stop, and I lower my hands as my hair falls to my shoulders.
Sonia breaks in from the other bed where she sits, her head tipped back against the headboard. “She said my birthday happens to fall on the day of Samhain, November first.”
Luisa’s face has grown pale. “Luisa? What is the matter?” I ask her.
“Just that… well, it’s ever so strange.…” She gazes into the fire, speaking softly as if to herself.
“What is?” Sonia slides to the edge of the other bed.
Luisa meets Sonia’s eyes. “That November first is your birthday. It’s strange because it is mine as well.”
Sonia stands, making her way to the fire before turning to face us. “But that’s… Of what year?” Her voice shakes as she asks the question.
“Eighteen seventy-four.” It is a whisper that seems to crawl into the shadowed corners of the room.
“Yes.” Sonia nods, slowly. “Yes. Me, too.”
Pacing in front of them both, I try to wrap my mind around the many disparate pieces of the riddle. “It doesn’t make sense. My birthday is not November first, so this is nothing to do with us all, but only the two of you.” I mutter out loud but to no one in particular. “How are we supposed to figure out something so… so…”
“Mad?” Luisa offers from the bed.
I turn to look at her. “Yes. It is mad, isn’t it?”
Sonia drops onto the settee by the fire. “Now what are we to do? The fact that we share the same birthday is odd, but it doesn’t bring us any closer to finding the keys.”
I remember the letter. “Actually, that’s what I was trying to tell you. We may be closer yet.”
Sonia looks up. “What do you mean?”
Withdrawing the envelope from my pocket, I hold it out to her. “Madame Berrier sent this to me after our meeting.”
Sonia rises to take the envelope, opening it and passing it to Luisa when she has finished reading it.
“Who is he?” Luisa asks. “This Alastair Wigan?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. But tomorrow, we shall find out.”
The next morning, we make our way down the stairs, taking our cloaks from the entry and stepping into the cold sunshine. I have already arranged our outing with Aunt Virginia. I know she saw the lie in my excuse to go to town for a proper tea, but whatever happens to me, she is the one tasked with caring for Henry. I only seek to protect her. To protect them both.
Since my conversation with Alice on the stairs, I feel as if we have crossed an invisible barrier, a point beyond which can only lay sadness and loss. Our race to end the prophecy in the way we each desire will be dangerous, even deadly. Yet, there is nothing to do but go forward unless I should like to live in the shadow of it all my life through.
And that is simply not an option.
20
Sonia, Luisa, and I cross the lawn in a flurry of excited conversation, willing for the moment to allow ourselves to be happy about the day’s outing, however dark its purpose.
We make our way up the stairs of the carriage house to the rooms Edmund has occupied for as long as I can remember. He comes quickly to the door in response to my knock, his eyes registering Sonia, Luisa, and me on the threshold.
Before we can say a word, he reaches for his coat, turning back to us. “So? Where are we going today, Miss?”
We are jostled to and fro on the roads leading farther and farther away from Birchwood. I knew from the address that we would not be going to town, but I had not imagined it so far away or in a place quite so remote.
And remote it must be, for we travel so long our excitement dwindles to nothing but tired sighs and long glances out the carriage windows. I am grateful for the silence. My mind is full of hope that Mr. Wigan might help us find the keys.
Edmund turns off the main road, entering a wooded pathway that causes the carriage to grow dark with the shelter of trees above and around us. We sigh aloud when, all at once, everything lightens, and Edmund stops the horses.
“Thank goodness!” Luisa says, holding a hand to her forehead. “I thought I was going to be sick!”
She flings open the door, stumbling from the carriage without waiting for Edmund. I fervently hope that she will not, in fact, be sick. I don’t know how happy Mr. Wigan will be to see three girls appear on his doorstep, but I imagine it will be immeasurably less so if one of them is losing her breakfast in his shrubbery.
But Luisa composes herself, wiping her brow with a handkerchief, and we step toward the door of the ramshackle cottage situated in the center of the small clearing. There is a small garden off to the side and a goat surveying us lazily from the yard. A few chickens peck their way through some stray seed, but other than these few animals, Lerwick Farm is a rather big name for such an unassuming place.
Edmund stands behind us as I knock on the door, peeling white paint drifting to the ground under the small pressure of my fist. No one comes
, and we stand in the silence of the clucking chickens, wondering what to do next. Luisa is raising her hand with authority when we hear a voice behind us.
“Well, hello, there! You must be the young ladies Sylvia told me about!”
We turn as one to face a small man in tweed trousers and a half-unbuttoned shirt, his bald head gleaming in the sun. I cannot place the brogue in his voice, but I think it must be the remnant of a Scots or Irish accent long since dulled by blunt American speech.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, eh?” He comes toward us. “Alastair Wigan, at your service. Sylvia said ye’d be coming.” He seems happy to see us, as if we are long-lost friends, and it takes me a moment to realize that I don’t have the faintest idea to whom he is referring.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wigan. I’m Lia Milthorpe, and these are my friends Sonia Sorrensen and Luisa Torelli, and our driver Edmund.” There is hand-shaking all around and a muttering of greetings. “But I’m afraid we don’t know a Sylvia.…”
His face lifts in a smile, his eyes growing devilish. “Why, sure you do! Sylvia Berrier, that luscious lovely from town.”
His language makes Sonia blush. I fight a smile as Luisa coughs, a runaway giggle escaping her throat.
“Well, now I’m even sorrier that I didn’t get to meet the Madame myself,” Luisa says with a grin. “She sounds quite fascinating!”
“Fascinating, indeed!” Mr. Wigan nods knowingly, his eyes taking on a far-off expression. He claps suddenly, as if remembering us. “Well! I can’t have you standing on the stoop like strangers! Not when you’re friends of Sylvia Berrier!”
He moves slowly toward the porch. “Come along, then. I’ll make us some tea. I’ve been experimenting with a new brew from the garden, you see, and it isn’t often I have the chance to try it out on anyone other then Algernon.”