I got up and flew down the marble steps. The school was quiet, in the hour before sunrise. The students were all asleep, deep in their dream trance, not knowing what dreadful fate was waiting for them later that day. I had one day to stop the Priestess’s threats from coming true, but I couldn’t do it alone. As quickly as I could, I hurried to the stables. The horses were moving quietly in their stalls. I remembered that no one would have been to tend to them the night before, so I tried to go around quickly with feed and fresh water, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing. I didn’t have Cal or Josh’s expertise with the big, patient beasts. As I thought of Cal, the knot of anxiety in my stomach twisted again. Was he all right? Had he found Josh yet?
And what would his reaction be when he found out what had happened to Sarah?
A tattered old coat that belonged to Cal was hanging on a hook inside one of the stables. I picked it up and held it close, breathing in his scent of horses and wild grass, and I began to visualize his dark, strong face.
“Cal!” I called to him in my mind. “Where are you?”
The next moment I was in a world of shadows. I seemed to be standing outside the tiny cottage Cal had been lent by the local farmer he worked for. I tried to knock on the door, but my hand passed through it like water, and then I was jerked away into the air and flung down on the top of the moors. In the darkness of the valley below I could see Cal on his horse, galloping across the land, searching this way and that. He was accompanied by a clan of swarthy men riding bareback on rough ponies…the Kinsfolk…They were all looking for Josh….
“Cal!” I shouted, but my voice blew away on the wind. The air swirled again and I was plummeting to the earth, near Agnes’s grave. There was someone there…a dark young man, bent over in agony, biting back tears…Sebastian, Sebastian! No…it was Cal…praying for his friend…weeping for the end of the world…
The vision passed. I flung the coat away and ran to the far corner of the stables. This was where Miss Scratton’s horse, Seraph, was still kept. I let myself into the stall and murmured soothingly to the dazzling white mare. She nibbled a few handfuls of the oats I offered her, and drank from the bucket of fresh water. When Seraph had quenched her thirst, I quickly slipped a halter over her head and led her out into the yard. There was one more thing I needed. Springing up onto her bare back, I urged Seraph over the cobbles. She shook her ears and whinnied with the unexpected attention, but I crouched low over her neck and tried to keep her quiet as I rode round to the front of the school. A dawn of yellow and silver began to streak across the sky. The oak trees that lined the drive looked like giants waking from sleep in the half-light.
The massive front door of the school was locked, but I remembered how we had got out of the parlor window, the night we went to the caverns. We had got out, so I would be able to get in…. I slipped off Seraph’s back and wrenched the window up. A few moments later I had crossed the parlor and was standing in the black-and-white-tiled entrance hall, which was still deep in shadow. But the school would soon be waking up. I had to hurry. The new day would begin, and the Wyldcliffe girls would go through their perfect routine like zombies, not knowing that they were under the control of the woman who had once been responsible for their education and welfare. Some instinct told me that neither the Priestess nor Dr. Franzen was in the building, but I didn’t want to be caught by Miss Dalrymple or any of the other Dark Sisters. Quickly, I found what I was looking for and bundled it under my sweater, then headed back through the parlor and climbed out of the window again. I mounted Seraph, who was waiting patiently, and pressed her to gallop down the drive. We flew past the rows of ancient trees, and I had to cling to her mane, digging in with my fingers. I concentrated with all my powers on the wrought-iron gates ahead, and they burst open to let us pass. As we thundered down the lane, I heard a bell ringing in the Abbey, but I ignored it and rode on to the village and the gray churchyard where I knew I would find Cal.
I slithered off Seraph at the church gate and led her down the gray stone path toward Agnes’s tomb, and I remembered the last time I had been there with Lynton. If only he could have been with me now…I hoped desperately that he hadn’t been too badly hurt by Dr. Franzen and the Dark Sisters. They would’ve had to be careful, I reassured myself, and give some convincing story to St. Martin’s about why Lynton had split his forehead open. If he had gone back to school, that is. If Lynton was really…
Then I saw Cal, kneeling by the statue of the angel. His eyes were closed, either in prayer or deep thought, and his horse was quietly cropping the long grass between the slanting graves.
“Cal,” I called softly. He sprang to his feet, and his face lit up as he saw me, but there were dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep.
“Helen! Where’s Sarah? I was just on my way to the school to try and see her.”
“Cal, I’m so sorry.” Then the moment I had been dreading. I had to tell him what had happened to Sarah, trying to make it sound better than it really was. “It’s like she’s just sleepwalking, and Evie too, and I know we can help them….”
But Cal stood motionless, as though struck blind. “You mean she’s been—cursed—by the Priestess? And the next step is to be turned into a Bondsoul? Like that girl Laura?” He gave a terrible cry. “I won’t let her do this! I will kill that woman with my bare hands if she hurts Sarah—I swear I will hunt her down and kill her.”
“Death is too good for her, Cal. Besides, I don’t think she’s truly alive as we are—she can’t die—”
“But she can condemn others to a living death!” he said in an anguished voice. “And you just let this happen!”
“I didn’t, Cal, I swear!”
“You were there—you could have stopped it.” He stared at me suspiciously, all his Romany pride flashing in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t the Priestess take you last night too? Are you her favored one—her daughter—is that why you aren’t sharing in their agony?”
“She wants me to unlock the elemental powers for her use, in return for their safety.”
“But you can’t do that! She’d be even more dangerous than she is now.”
“I know, but if I don’t, Sarah and Evie and all the others will be lost forever.”
Cal’s face was dark and grim, as hard as granite. He gripped my arms and shook me roughly. “This is your fault! You could have stopped her—she’s your mother, you could have done something. I’ll never forgive you if Sarah doesn’t come back safe to me!” He pushed me away, and I fell against the statue on Agnes’s tomb. The anger seemed to die in him instantly, and the next moment his face was full of concern as he tried to help me to my feet.
“God, Helen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.” He was fighting back tears. “It’s just that everything’s so messed up.”
“This is exactly what the Priestess would want,” I said quietly. “To see us wasting our time and energy in quarrelling. We need to work together—all of us. We’ve got to stick together. I’ve been trying to do things on my own, but I was wrong. We are all connected, and if one of us falls, we all fall. It’s like we’re in some kind of intricate dance—a dance of destiny. We have to work together, you and me and Josh. Sarah and Evie need us to do that for them.”
Cal’s shoulders slumped wearily. “It’s too late. Josh is gone. I’ve searched the whole valley. Some of the Kinsfolk rode with me under cover of night, while the rest searched every underground cavern and tunnel that they know. Wherever he is, she’s hidden him so well that we’ll never find him; besides, my heart tells me that he’s dead. That’s what I was coming to tell Sarah. Josh is dead.”
“I don’t believe that, Cal. I won’t believe it. The Priestess would have triumphed in his death if he had passed from us. No, she’s hiding him somewhere and we have to help him. Josh would never lose faith in us; we mustn’t lose faith in him.”
“But even if you’re right, how can we ever find him? I told you I’ve been over every inch o
f Wyldcliffe already.”
I smiled at him. “We’re not alone. We’ve got Agnes.”
He looked up, puzzled.
“Remember what happened last term?” I said. “We found out that there’s a spark of Agnes’s healing fire lodged deep in Josh—an inheritance from his family at Uppercliffe Farm. If Agnes can reach out to him, that tiny, mystic flame would be enough to cure him from whatever spell the Priestess has put on him.”
“But how can we reach Agnes without Evie, or the Talisman?”
I tugged under my sweater for the object I had brought from the Abbey. It was the little portrait of Lady Agnes Templeton, our secret sister and friend. That long red hair, those sea-gray eyes; it was so like her that it seemed that Agnes herself gazed at us with her air of mild blessing. In the painting she was leaning against a broken arch in the ruined chapel and looking straight out, her softly curving lips parted as though she was just about to speak.
“Look, Cal, here she is.”
“It’s like she’s really looking at us!” he exclaimed. “So you think we can use this picture to reach her?”
“We can try.”
I rested the painting at the foot of Agnes’s tomb and looked deep into her eyes. “Sister of Fire,” I whispered, “Awake! Winds of Time, blow away the veil between us and Agnes. Let us speak to her.”
Nothing happened. I called to her again, and as I gazed on the picture I saw something that I had never noticed before. In the painting, there was a mark on the archway that Agnes was leaning against, as though scratched into the weathered stone. It was a perfect circle, crossed by two marks like the swift wings of a bird…the sign of the great Seal…I reached out and touched it, and suddenly the colors of the painting swirled like autumn leaves. A new image was shimmering in the dark frame. It was Agnes kneeling on the floor, her long skirt spreading around her. She was tending a wounded warrior—a knight who lay with his head in her lap, his golden hair laced with blood. It seemed like something from a fairy tale; then it changed, it was real. Agnes was crouching in a dark, dingy attic, bathing a young man’s head and whispering soothing words. It was Josh, and he was sick, but Agnes was with him. “All circles meet. All paths cross,” she whispered. Then the image dissolved and re-formed into the familiar portrait of an aristocratic young girl with red hair and gray eyes.
“Cal—Josh is alive!” I rejoiced. “And he’s with Agnes—she’s taken him somewhere safe.”
“But where are they? How can we find them?”
“I’m sure I know where they are. I’ve seen that room before. It’s the secret room in the attic at Fairfax Hall. Sebastian hid there when he was fading, in the grip of the Unconquered lords. It was his childhood home, and he returned there in his troubles, but Evie found where he was hiding and we all went there to help him.”
“Where’s this Fairfax Hall then?”
“It’s on the west side of the Upper Moor. Ride there now, and take Seraph to bring Josh back if he’s well enough. But hurry!” The morning was no longer new. The sun had risen behind the heavy clouds and the air was cold, and time was marching on.
Cal hugged me briefly, then mounted his horse, taking hold of Seraph’s reins to lead her by his side. “Look after Sarah for me, and I’ll be back,” he said as he moved away.
“Meet me at the Abbey as soon as you can!” I called after him. The horses’ hooves echoed in the distance as I was left alone. “Thank you, Agnes,” I said as I bent to pick up the painting. I didn’t want to take her portrait back to the school and be caught with it, nor did I want to leave it on the grave. Instead I ran over to the weathered gray church. The door was open and I slipped inside. It smelled of stone and flowers and polished wood, and was very still, as though time had stopped. With its wooden pews and stacked hymn books, and the faded flags hanging over the nave, this place hadn’t changed since Agnes was alive. I walked down the narrow aisle and put the picture at the foot of the altar. It seemed the right place to leave it somehow. I was just about to turn away when I heard footsteps behind me.
“She come back then?”
I spun around. An old woman in a shapeless blue coat was clutching a mop and bucket and nodding toward the painting. It seemed that I had disturbed one of the faithful who had come to do her cleaning duties.
“Who—what do you mean?”
“Her ladyship,” the woman said. “She’ll come one day. Come to save us.” Then she laughed quietly to herself. “She knows what folk do. She sees everything. More than the Reverend in his house yonder. He weren’t born in Wyldcliffe. But she were. Lady Agnes. She knows.”
“Yes,” I answered softly. “I think she does.”
“Aye.”
The woman put down the bucket with a satisfied clatter and started to mop the floor, and took no more notice of me as I left her to her task.
She sees everything. I trusted that Agnes could see Cal riding over the hills, and that she would guide him to where Josh was lying in her healing arms. But I had to watch over the rest of our sacred circle now. I had to get back to school to check on Sarah and Evie. I walked back down the lane as quickly as I could, my head bowed against the cold wind. Soon I was at the gates again. The old sign was still there, attached to the encircling walls with a couple of rusty nails: WYLDCLIFFE ABBEY SCHOOL FOR YOUNG LADIES. The harsh weather of the valley had peeled some of the paint, so that several letters were missing, like broken teeth, and it now read in a lopsided way:…BE…COOL…OR YOU…DIE. It had been like that since I had arrived at Wyldcliffe. It had been there long enough. I grabbed at it and pulled it easily from the wall, and tossed it into the ditch. No one was going to die, or to be hurt by this place; not my friends, not Celeste, not Velvet, not any of them, while I still drew breath and the spirit of Lady Agnes Templeton watched over the Abbey.
I skirted around the main house and made my way to the back of the building, where the old wing projected long and low, at a right angle to the terrace. This was where Miss Scratton’s classroom had been, and I peeped in at the arched windows. A Latin class was taking place, supervised by Miss Clarke, who was watching the students with unseeing, glassy eyes. The girls all bent over their work, methodical, well-mannered, and meaningless. Any spark of life or individuality had been subdued by the Priestess’s spell. And this was just a warning, a foretaste of the horror that would come that very night, if I failed to stop it.
Eager to find Sarah and Evie, I crept round to one of the side doors of the building and stepped inside. I didn’t want to be seen by the coven. I thought they might leave me alone, confident that their mistress had trapped me with her desperate choices, but I couldn’t be sure. I was just near the locker rooms, and I remembered how I had nearly burst out of the air in front of Velvet’s friends, and only Velvet had seen me. Perhaps I could hide on the secret paths from the coven; perhaps their eyes, blind to so many things, would not see into the purity of the elemental mysteries.
I reached deep inside myself, to the swirling powers of air that seemed to wrap themselves around my heart. With a tremendous force of will I drew back from the solid world around me, and sought out the in-between places: change; transition; the passage from one dimension to another. I hovered in the secret gaps, neither leaving Wyldcliffe nor arriving elsewhere. Hidden in the secret currents of the air, I passed through the school unnoticed by Miss Dalrymple, Miss Schofield, and the other Dark Sisters who patrolled the place for their mistress.
It was painful to watch two hundred girls gliding noiselessly through the day as though they were already dead. They were like ghosts, a twisted sham of youth and hope. They talked and studied and obeyed every bell that rang out in the dim corridors, and kept to every rule and tradition. But there was no life in their eyes.
By the time the morning had passed and the afternoon crept up on me, my only faint comfort was that I knew now that we had been right to trust Miss Hetherington, and Miss Clarke, too. They had both fallen under the Priestess’s deep spell, which proved that they could
n’t be part of her coven. And the cross little German professor was never a Dark Sister, nor the housekeeper, nor the woman in charge of the laundry, and others like them…they were all innocent, and all sleepwalking through the hushed house in a living nightmare.
Evie and Sarah were empty mockeries of themselves. I hovered near them unseen, but got no response from them when I tried to reach their minds. I even tried to wake Velvet in the hope that her fiery nature might have resisted the Priestess’s curse, but although her eyes widened for a second as I secretly whispered in her ear, she soon relapsed into a stupor, just as doll-like as the others. The Priestess had been so clever to grant me twenty-four hours to make up my mind. This short day was giving me a bitter a taste of what it would be like if my friends, and all the Wyldcliffe students, really did become Bondsouls. For now they were simply hypnotized, but if once their souls were drained, if they were wandering beyond death in agony like Laura—it was too dreadful to imagine.
Retreating from the paths of the air and the corridors of the school, I headed for the grotto and hid there. I had been hopeful that morning when I had asked Cal to look for Josh at Fairfax Hall, but now I was beginning to panic. There was so little time left, and I still had no clear plan. Again, I went over the options I had. Should I try to attack the Priestess before she returned to Wyldcliffe? But I didn’t even know where she was hiding out, or how I would break down her defenses. At the very moment when I had finally opened the Seal and witnessed some of its powers, she had snatched it away from me—and without it, did I really have the power to defeat her in open conflict? Or should I do as the Priestess demanded and find some way to hand over our elemental powers to her, in the forlorn hope that then she would really go far away and leave my friends in peace? They both seemed like terrible options. Sarah and Evie couldn’t help me to decide, and Agnes, Cal, and Josh were still at Fairfax Hall. The Priestess had stolen the Keys. Miss Scratton had departed. I didn’t even know where Lynton was, and how could a charming musician help me now? Who else—what else—could I turn to? What was left for me to connect with?
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