My plan is not clever, but it is all I have, and so I wait until the exact moment when the Souls will be near enough that I may call on the power of Sonia’s instructions. I must time it carefully, early enough to stop the Souls’ advance but not so soon as to waste what little time I may have to escape. I think of Sonia’s voice in my head, counting.
One… two… three…
Not just yet.
Four… five… six…
They are close now, close enough that I can see their tortured, angry faces, their long beards vanishing over black waistcoats, torn and falling from their hulking bodies.
Seven… eight…
The howl that emanates from the mass is inhuman, a battle cry belonging to a savage animal. As they come nearer, they spread out, over and above me, to either side, even under my hovering body until I despair that I have waited too long. Until I am sure they will devour my soul completely.
There is nothing to do but close my eyes and imagine the seed, tiny and closed in the deepest, most secret part of my body. I see the layers peeling back, revealing ever more layers, lighter and lighter in color until I reach the lush, living entity at its center. It breathes. It throbs. It pulses with life.
I still hear the Souls, but their shrieks are part of another place entirely, for I have retreated into a hushed and muffled world of my own. The only sound I hear clearly is the beating of a heart. At first I think it comes from my own chest, but then I open my eyes and see the red light pulsing at the center of the mass, the thunderous wings beating the air with an ominous whoosh from within the shadowed form of the Souls. From Samael at their center a red glow emanates outward, his heart beating in time to my own, his many, great wings spreading up and out over his Army.
I must force my mind back to the seed, to the thing at its center. I see it opening, unfolding, bursting, filling up every crevice of my body. When I look down, a lavender light spills from my skin, my eyes, my mouth, intensifying with every passing moment as a power I have never before felt or imagined undulates from my body, flowing outward in small ripples that grow to echoing waves.
If the Souls make any sound at all it is lost in the music of my own power and the still-beating heart that throbs between Samael and me. I think this may be the moment, my only moment to flee to the safety of Birchwood while the Souls are held at bay with whatever authority I have managed to tap. But then I hear the voice.
“Mistress… Let chaos reign.… Open the Gate.”
I shake my head by instinct, afraid to utter words that may shake whatever foothold I have gained with my small show of force.
“Power and peace will be yours.… Open your arms, Angel of Chaos, and let the havoc of the Beast flow like a river.… Open the Gate…”
The voice slithers to me through the Souls, through the silky sky. It makes its way through the lilac light as the Souls themselves cannot. It is only a voice. They are only words. But they call to me in a way that is both a warning and a caress.
The light still flows from my body, but my strength wavers as the words of Samael find their way past my ears, past my mind, ever deeper into some ancient place that has been waiting, only waiting, for their call. In the voice is the promise of release. Release from the fight that seems never-ending, though it has only been mine a short time. Release from a future continuing that fight, from a future that will not hold the things I most desire — security, love, hope.
But the seed unfolds ever more, past the point at which I think it can further grow, until it feels as if the power of it will split me apart, body and soul. And with that last burst of strength I find the resolve I need.
I do not take the time to look back. Instead, I turn within the light and call to the mystical power that is mine. I call on it to hurry me home with as much speed as is possible. I call on it to see me back to Birchwood, to hold Samael and his Army at bay long enough for me to fall back into the body awaiting me on the sofa in the library.
I race on the swell of light toward the looming thing in the distance. It does not take me long to confirm that the building ahead is, indeed, Birchwood. There was a reason, after all, that Father wanted to meet me in the world closest to home. He knew they would come.
A great roar erupts in a mad screech behind me. I do not turn and look, though the urge to do so is powerful. I only fly, the fields racing below me as I near the house. It is only when I am close to home that I begin to lose strength. It does not happen all at once. Rather, it is a slow exhaustion that seeps into my bones, weakening the light that flows from my body. I am so near, near enough to make out the diamond panes in the leaded windows. Near enough, even, to see the glow of the lanterns as dusk fast approaches. But a resounding clamor resumes behind me, and when I turn I know why I have fallen just short of the time needed to make a complete escape.
Samael has come for me. He has risen to the front of the Souls, the still-beating heart growing louder as he makes his way to me. The strength of the Souls is nothing compared to that of Samael. His power, his fury, is primordial. It rises in a swell of evil that steals my ability to move.
I am hovering at the library window, my will leaking from me like rain, when I remember something Virginia said. Was it just this morning?
… If you call on them when the time comes, there are those who will help you.
My body is too weak to continue. But my mind… my mind has just enough fight remaining to call for the help I need.
“Sisters… those of Sisterhood past…” My voice does not sound like my own. It is tinny and far away, but I continue anyway, closing my eyes and trying to block from mind Samael drawing closer, closer. “I call on you, Sisters, to help one of your own. To save me that I may save us all.”
I cannot even feel the ridiculousness of asking for such help in the face of the thing roaring toward me. As the moments tick on — are they seconds, minutes, hours? — I resolve to close my eyes, to wait with dignity for whatever will come.
But then I feel a fierce, warm wind, followed by a crack that makes me look to the heavens. When the woman comes into view, Samael and his Souls seem to slow their progress. She stands a few feet away, somewhere between me and the swiftly approaching Army. There is something familiar about the stubborn set of her jaw, the green pools of her eyes.
The nameless woman stands between me and the Souls as other women appear from the sky as if out of nowhere, fanning out and forming a circle around the Souls and Samael. Ethereal gowns billow around their translucent legs as they raise their hands until they are almost touching. White-hot flames spark and burst from their palms, forming a circle of mystic fire between the Beast and me.
The first woman hovers nearest me, the weak lavender light that poured from my body a brilliant purple pouring from hers, extending, rushing outward until it echoes through the circle in which the Souls’ steeds rear on panicked legs.
Her mouth does not move as her voice comes to me from a distance. It resonates in my mind, and I realize she is not speaking aloud at all. “Go, child. Gather your strength. We shall meet again.”
Samael howls, raising a sword through the center of the circle. It glows orange, sparks hissing off its blade, crackling against the light of the sister’s circle, and though they are clearly powerful, I’ve no wish to test their strength against Samael’s for an extended length of time. I nod to the woman in acknowledgment of her words, pushing through the walls of the house in what feels like my last moment of strength.
Sonia and Luisa sit on the floor near the sofa, Sonia holding my limp hand with her eyes closed, her mouth moving in silent prayer. I drop into my waiting body with a gasp felt in both worlds, sucking in air as if I have been deprived of breath for a great while and have only just been revived.
“She’s back! She’s come back!” Luisa’s voice bursts from the floor next to me.
I only vaguely feel Sonia’s smooth touch on my hand, as if all of my senses have not fully re-engaged with my body. I try to speak, to tell them
that we must go back to Father’s room to look for the list, but what comes from my mouth is a series of noises and sounds that do not resemble real words. I shake my head in frustration as Sonia speaks harshly.
“Lia? Lia? Look at me, Lia. Listen to me.” She takes her hand from mine, turning my chin so that I am forced to face her, looking into my eyes with such authority that I am forced to look back. In them is the peaceful sea of the Otherworlds. “You must be calm. It is natural. It is natural to be unable to speak when returning from such a journey, all right?”
I can only stare, not trusting myself to speak again.
“All right, Lia? You must trust me. Your speech will come back in seconds. The feeling in your body will come back in seconds. You must slow your breath and wait. You must allow your mind to process all you have done, all you have seen. You must allow it a few moments to return to its physical state. Look at me, Lia! And nod that you understand.” Her voice is harsh. I feel suddenly like a child, but there is safety in the firm command of her words, and I look her in the eyes and try to nod.
“Good. Now, stay still. Just stay still and breathe.”
I give myself over to the utter helplessness of my body. When I look at Luisa, the fear in her eyes frightens me further, so I force myself to turn back to Sonia, to look into the blue depths of her eyes until I am breathing more normally.
I test my fingers, commanding them to move and am grateful when they do as ordered. I follow the same procedure with the rest of my body, making small demands of it until it seems all is in working order. Only then do I try to speak. Sonia and Luisa are held in rapt attention as I try to form the words.
“H-h-his chamber. The list is in his chamber. Behind the picture of my mother.”
29
“Are you certain this is where it is?”
Luisa hands me the photo of my mother after retrieving it from Father’s room. I have been forced to stay on the sofa, as Sonia has informed me that weak limbs are one of the unfortunate side effects of an especially long and difficult journey on the Plane. As if that is not enough, my head is pounding, giving me new sympathy for the trials of Sonia’s life as a spiritualist. Though it has not been said aloud, the darkness beyond the windowpanes tells us that our time alone runs short. Aunt Virginia will return with Alice and Henry at any moment.
“Not entirely, but as certain as I can be under the circumstances.”
I stare at the image of my mother. Her eyes are no less intense for the black-and-white photo, and I remember their vibrancy during our brief visit on the Plane.
“Would you like me to do it?” Sonia asks softly.
I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it.”
I turn the photo over in my hand, laying it facedown on my lap. The thin metal clips at the back slide easily out of the way, allowing me to lift the thin piece of wood from the frame. At first I think there is nothing there. I can see the back of the photo, and am preparing to lift it, too, from the frame, when something catches my eye in the corner of the frame between the glass and the ornate metal.
As I lift the frame closer to my face, Luisa breaks in. “What is it? Is there something there?”
“I’m not sure.…” But it does not take long to realize that there is, indeed, something there. I pluck it from the corner of the frame with shaking fingers, though whether they tremble from excitement, fear, or my recent visit to the Plane I cannot say.
“But… it’s so small,” Sonia says. “Surely that cannot be the list!”
It is just a scrap, a minute piece of paper that has clearly been torn from the corner of a larger page, but I am not as disappointed as I might have imagined. It is the closest we’ve come yet to the list. Although it is no longer hidden in the frame where my father left it, of one thing I am certain; it once was.
Sonia and Luisa are as quiet as I. The disappointment is audible in the silence of our breathing, the lack of words spoken between us. It is I who finally speaks, who finally breaks with one word the heavy quiet in the library.
“Alice.”
I pace the floor in my bedroom, trying to gather my thoughts before confronting Alice. I could not do so amid the flurry of activity as Aunt Virginia and Henry shared their purchases and recounted the tales of their day. I had time only to meet Alice’s gaze in a searing glance before she retired to her room. Dinner followed, a tense though grand affair with guests still in the house, though Thanksgiving proper has passed.
Luisa and Sonia offered to accompany me when I confront my sister. But this part of the prophecy, this part of the battle, is mine. I have waited through the evening with growing fury.
Alice, working in concert with the Souls who would see me dead.
Alice, exposing me to harm by undoing Mother’s spell.
Alice, taking the list.
By the time the house settles into sleep I am more than prepared to retrieve the list from Alice, and I leave my chambers with a purposeful step that is not as silent as it should be given the hour. I knock when I reach her door but open it before she can answer. She will not have the choice to deny me entry.
On her face is a look of true surprise that I have never seen before. Her hand flies to her bosom, her mouth forming an O of bewilderment. “Lia! Whatever —”
I march toward her, and for the first time in all the years we have been sisters, in all the years we have been friends and confidantes, my sister looks afraid of me. She takes a step back as I come within a foot of her face.
“Give it to me, Alice.” I hold out my hand, wanting her to understand that I will not leave without the list of names that is my passage to freedom.
She shakes her head, making a good show of false confusion. “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes… you… do, Alice. You have it. You stole it from Father’s room.”
She pulls herself up straighter, eyes blazing, the look of fear receding behind her own indignation. “I tell you, Lia, whatever it is that you think I have, I don’t. Though from the look of things, it is must be very important to you. I quite wish I had it now, whatever it may be.” Her eyes take on the wicked shine that always makes me fear what she will do or say next. When she continues, I understand why. “Especially since you have something of mine.”
We stare at each other for a moment, our breath shallow and audible in the quiet room. I do not intend to confirm my possession of the knife, nor do I intend to return it to her. Instead, I force a calm into my voice that I do not feel. “Give it back, Alice.”
She tips her head, meeting my eyes without flinching. “I still don’t know what you mean.”
Frustration threatens to boil over. She knows to what I refer. I am sure of it. But I have no choice but to spell it out further unless I should like to stand in Alice’s room playing word games all night.
“The list. Father’s list of names. It was on his night table behind the photo of mother. And now it’s gone.”
She turns, wandering casually back toward her dresser, pulling pins from her hair as she looks at me in the mirror over her bureau. “Ah… Now I see. You have finally become wise enough to realize the importance of the keys.” She turns around then, clapping her hands together in applause as if she is at the theater. The sound erupts into the quiet room. “Well, good for you, Lia. You must be so proud. Nevertheless. I don’t have the list. Oh, I wanted it. I even went into Father’s chamber to retrieve it. I looked behind the picture of mother, but the list was not there even then.”
I cannot hide the confusion I feel spreading across my face. “But how did you know? How did you know where it was when I’ve been looking all this time?”
She laughs aloud, and there is genuine amusement in it. “Oh Lia! You still don’t understand, do you?” She spins to face me once again, her long hair spilling onto her shoulders in a riot of curls. “I don’t need Father to tell me things. I never have. I learned early on that I was of no interest to him. Not when he had his precious Lia. No, I didn
’t need him in this world, and I don’t need him now that he is in the next. I don’t need Virginia. And I don’t need you. I have my own ways of finding things. I’m only sorry I didn’t find the list in time.”
“What do you mean? You found it too late?”
She sighs as if having to explain something very simple to a small child. “The frame was empty save for our dear mother’s picture.” Sarcasm drips from her words. “I knew it was there at one time, so I assumed you’d simply found it and had hidden it elsewhere.”
Facing her, I cannot think of a single thing to say. My anger has been replaced with a deep and unsettling confusion. If I don’t have the list… if Alice truly doesn’t have it…
Who else would have use for such a dark and dangerous thing?
The Angel, guarded only by the gossamer veil of protection, fragile and worldly, easily torn.
I open my eyes to the words, whispered in some lost recess of consciousness. I have slept fitfully, full of dreams that I sense are, for once, only that. Dreams. When I wake, it is not with the answer I need, but with the familiar words echoing in my mind.
The Angel, guarded only by the gossamer veil of protection.
Guarded only by the gossamer veil of protection.
Guarded only by…
Veil of protection…
… of protection.
… of protection.
The words repeat as if there is a scratch on one of Father’s Gramophone disks.
As if someone is trying to tell me something.
And then there are Father’s broken words, spoken across the Worlds, Henry is all that is left of the veil.…
And all at once, I know what it means.
30
I descend the stairs at a dead run. I don’t give a thought to the commotion I make as I reach the bottom, but it must be considerable because Luisa and Sonia emerge in a fright from the dining room.
Sonia holds a napkin in her hand, looking at me with surprise. “Lia! Whatever is the —”