Circle of Fire

by Michelle Zink

  Standing outside the door in my nightgown and robe, the cold of the floor seeping through my slippers, I am startled to hear voices coming from within the room.

  I waited patiently for the house to quiet before making my way to Aunt Virginia’s room, but it seems I have not waited long enough. Still, going back to my chamber is not an option. I need my aunt’s counsel. More than that, I need her understanding, for only Aunt Virginia can truly understand my horror at standing next to Alice as she explained her engagement to James.

  Raising my hand to the door, I knock as quietly as possible. The hum of voices ceases, and a moment later Aunt Virginia opens the door, a look of surprise on her face.

  “Lia! I thought you’d gone to bed!” Her hair, unbound, tumbles nearly to her waist. She looks quite young, and I flash on the painting of my mother over the fireplace at Birchwood Manor. “Come in, dear.”

  She steps back, holding the door as I enter her chamber, scanning for the owner of the other voice. When I find it, I am more than surprised. I am not sure who I expect, but it is not Edmund, sitting comfortably by the fire in a tall-backed chair covered in thick burgundy velvet.

  “Edmund! What are you doing here?”

  Aunt Virginia laughs softly. “Edmund was simply telling me about Alice’s appearance at the Masquerade. I’m glad you’re here. Doubtless you will be able to tell me more.”

  She casts a glance at Edmund, and I have the distinct impression that this is not the first time they have conversed in Aunt Virginia’s chamber in the dark of night.

  Moving farther into the room, we sit on the small sofa in front of the fire. We do not speak right away, as we each ponder our own thoughts. It is Aunt Virginia who breaks the silence, her voice full of tenderness beside me.

  “I’m sorry, Lia. I know how much James meant to you.”

  “Means to me,” I say, gazing into the fire. “Just because I was forced to set him free—because I have since found Dimitri—doesn’t mean I no longer care what happens to James.”

  “Of course.” She reaches over to take my hand. “Had you no idea about his relationship with Alice? Didn’t he mention it in any of his letters?”

  I shake my head. “We stopped corresponding some time ago, even before I left for Altus.”

  “I simply don’t understand how he could become engaged to Alice. The last time we saw her before coming to London, she was well beyond the point at which I could reach her.”

  “James Douglas is a good man. A smart man,” Edmund says. “But he is a man. Alice looks like you, Lia. And James was very lonely when you left.” There is no accusation in his eyes. He is simply stating the facts.

  “Edmund tells me you don’t believe James knows about the prophecy,” Aunt Virginia says. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”

  I look into the fire, remembering James. His gentle smile as he touched his lips to mine. His eagerness to protect me from harm. His simple goodness.

  Turning back to Aunt Virginia, I am more certain than ever. “James would not be party to such a thing. Not to Alice’s place in it.”

  Aunt Virginia nods. “If that is true, can you not simply tell him? Tell him everything, and beg him to get as far away from Alice as possible, for his own good?”

  I worry my lower lip between my teeth, trying to imagine telling James about the prophecy.

  “You think he won’t believe you,” Edmund says.

  I meet his eyes. “Do you?”

  He speaks slowly, considering his words. “You didn’t trust him once before, and it does not seem that you’ve made peace with it. Perhaps it’s time to try something else.”

  I look down at my hands, at the hated mark on one wrist, the medallion around the other. “Perhaps.”

  We sit in silence for another moment before Aunt Virginia speaks again. “And what do we do about Alice? Do you think she’s come because we’re close to having all four keys?”

  “Even if she knew, it would seem too small a thing to bring her all the way to London. Having almost all of the keys is hardly enough to worry Alice. We could spend years looking for the last one, to say nothing of the Stone.”

  “And the Rite,” Aunt Virginia says, referring to the ritualistic ceremony required to bring about the end of the prophecy at Avebury—a ceremony of which no one seems to have heard. “Although I’m having tea with Elspeth at the Society tomorrow to go over some of the old books on Spellcasting there. Perhaps I will find mention of it in one of them.”

  “I hope so.” I stand to leave, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed at the thought of the tasks still ahead. “Arthur Frobisher gave me an address for someone who might have knowledge of the Stone’s location. Dimitri and I are going to see what we can find, though I do wish Arthur had given me a name in addition to the address. I’d rather like to know whom I’m meeting.”

  “Well, if you don’t, you’ll be meeting them with me by your side,” Edmund says. “I can’t have you traipsing about meeting strangers without protection, especially now.”

  I do not remind him that I fought the Guard at Chartres. Instead, I simply smile my thanks, bidding them good night and making my way toward the door.

  “Lia?” Aunt Virginia’s voice stops me before I step into the hallway.

  “Yes?”

  “What will you do about Alice? She is undoubtedly waiting for you to make a move.”

  I contemplate my options before speaking.

  “Let me give it further thought,” I finally say, my voice hardening. “I’ll not allow Alice to push me toward a decision I’m not ready to make.”

  Aunt Virginia nods. “Perhaps we will both make progress tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps.” I leave the room, closing the door behind me without voicing the thought that springs to mind. We must. We must make progress now. Whatever it takes.

  4

  I am preparing to close the door the next morning, the cold London air stealing my breath, when I hear Luisa’s voice behind me. “Where are you off to so early?”

  She is standing on the bottom step of the great staircase, her midnight blue gown making her full lips seem even redder than usual. I try to ignore the almost-hidden note of accusation in her voice.

  “I have an errand I must run with Dimitri.” I smile at her, already feeling guilty. “It’s just a quick outing. I’ll be back in time for tea with you and Sonia, and we can talk all about Helene’s arrival tomorrow.”

  “And would your errand have to do with the prophecy?”

  Her resentment is suddenly obvious, and my own temper flares.

  “What does it matter, Luisa? If it pertains to you and Sonia, I’ll fill you in later.” I know how much this hurts her, how much it would hurt me, even as I say it.

  A bitter sound escapes her throat. It is nothing like her usual carefree laughter. “What does it matter? I cannot believe you would say such a thing, Lia. It matters because once, we shared all things related to the prophecy. Once, you recognized its burden on all of us and sought to ease our fear as you sought to ease your own.”

  Her words find their way through the armor around my heart. I know they are true, however much I might wish to deny them.

  “Lia? Is something wrong?” Dimitri’s voice calls out from near the carriage. I turn to him, grateful for the few extra seconds in which to find an answer to Luisa’s accusation.

  I hold up a hand, telling him to wait.

  Turning back to Luisa, I say the only thing I can. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to forgive Sonia so that we might all be friends as we once were. It is…” I look down at my boots while I try to find the words. “It is not as easy as it sounds.”

  She steps off the staircase and makes her way to me. I expect her to be kind. To offer an embrace of friendship and patience, as she always has.

  But Luisa’s patience is at an end. “I am not Sonia. I did not betray you. I don’t need to seek your forgiveness.” Her voice is as icy as the wind blowing into Milthorpe Manor from the streets of Lond
on. “But if you are not careful, you will find it necessary to seek mine.”

  She turns and makes her way down the hall, leaving me in the chill morning air. Her words drop like a stone on my heart, and shame heats my cheeks despite the cold.

  Straightening my spine, I close the door and make my way down the path to the carriage.

  She does not understand, I think. I keep things from her for her own protection. For her own peace of mind.

  But even as I think the words, I know they are a lie.

  Dimitri and I sit side by side in silence as Edmund guides the carriage through the city. It is some time before Dimitri speaks.

  “I’ve been aware of your previous relationship with James Douglas for some time, from the weeks when I was watching you in New York on behalf of the Grigori.”

  I nod, gazing out the window. “I know.”

  “You needn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed,” he says.

  I turn to look at him, indignant that he would think me either. “I’m not. And it is insulting that you would think such a thing. Should I be ashamed for loving someone before you? Embarrassed that I’m not a delicate English flower with no knowledge of men?” My words bite through the shadows of the carriage.

  He does not seem surprised at my outburst, and it almost makes me angry that he knows me so well. “Of course not. I’ve never expected you to be a… what did you call it?” A smirk begins to lift the corners of his mouth. “A ‘delicate English flower with no knowledge of men.’ ”

  Something about the way he says it causes me to fight the urge to laugh. But it is no use. He sees the smile sneak its way onto my lips despite my effort to repress it. Soon my shoulders are shaking with the strain of stifling my laughter.

  “I must admit,” he says, his own laughter escaping heartily, “that I’ve never thought of you in quite those terms!”

  Now we are both laughing hysterically, and I reach over to swat his arm. “Why, thank you! You likely…” I am laughing so hard I can hardly get the words out. “You likely say that to all the girls!”

  This brings about a fresh howl of laughter, and I clutch my stomach until our merriment dies down a few moments later.

  “Lia.” Dimitri moves closer, his breath still coming fast on the heels of our laughter. He reaches for my hand. “I only wanted to say that I’m sorry for last night. For the way things have happened between your sister and James. It must be very difficult for you. And I never want anything to be difficult for you.”

  I meet his gaze. “Thank you. But it… Well, it was a long time ago that I thought my future was with James.”

  He brings my hand to his lips, opening my fingers and kissing my palm. The sensation sends a lick of fire from my stomach all the way up my spine. “Yes, but old feelings are not so easy to extinguish, I imagine. It would be impossible to put aside my feelings for you. Ever. I wouldn’t blame you if some of yours for him remained, even after so long a time and all that’s happened.”

  I hear the hesitance, carefully disguised as understanding, in his voice. Pulling my hand from his, I take his face in my palms and look into his eyes. “It’s true that I once loved James. But that love was based on a part of me that no longer exists. Even if I end the prophecy, I’m not the same person. I can never go back to the Lia I once was. Too much has changed. And this Lia, the one who walked Altus’s rolling hills and kissed you in its groves and lay with you beneath its flowering trees… Well, this Lia would not be happy with James.”

  I am surprised to feel the truth of it. Surprised that I mean it with such certainty, despite my lingering affection for James.

  The relief in Dimitri’s eyes is obvious, and I lean forward, touching my lips to his. Our kiss, meant to be a gentle reminder of my loyalty and affection, quickly turns passionate. The rocking of the carriage and the shadows within it only serve to transport me further from reality, to a place where nothing exists except Dimitri’s mouth on mine, his body pressing against me until I am almost lying down in the back of the carriage.

  I do not know how much time passes before we feel the carriage slowing, but its changing pace brings us both back to reality. We pull apart, hurriedly straightening clothing and hair just in time for Edmund to bring the carriage to a complete stop.

  Leaning toward me, Dimitri gives me one last kiss just before Edmund opens the door. As I step from the carriage, I make small talk in an attempt to ignore the feeling that he knows exactly what has transpired during our ride.

  “Where are we, Edmund?”

  He looks disapprovingly at the dirty street and rough men hanging about the walk. “Nowhere good. But this one,” he tips his head at a dingy stone building, “is the address on the paper given to you by Mr. Frobisher.”

  Peering up at it, I would swear it is leaning just the slightest bit to the right. Even still, after everything I have experienced, it will take quite a bit more to strike fear in my heart than an old building and questionable company.

  “All right, then. I suppose that is where we must go.”

  I take Dimitri’s arm as we follow Edmund across the dirty ground and up the crumbling stairs toward a wooden door painted a surprisingly crisp shade of red. It has nary a mark or scuff and stands in stark contrast to the neglected neighborhood around it.

  Edmund looks none too pleased, despite the jaunty door. “Mr. Frobisher should not have sent a respectable young woman to this part of town without so much as a name,” he mutters, lifting a hand to rap on the door with his knuckles.

  His knock is met with silence, and he is lifting his hand once more when we hear the sound of footsteps making their way toward the front of the house. I cast a nervous glance at Dimitri as the steps become louder. All at once the door is pulled open to reveal an elegant woman, as smartly dressed as if she were on her way to tea. She surveys us with a patient smile and not a single word.

  It takes me only a moment to place her. When I do, I meet her smile with one of my own. “Madame Berrier? Is it really you?”

  5

  Her smile widens. “But of course. Were you expecting someone else?”

  Madame Berrier steps back to allow us entry, her twinkling eyes speaking of a secret kind of mischief. “Come. The gentlemen on the street will do you no harm, but it would still be wise to keep our own counsel, would it not?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” I am still disoriented by the fact that Madame Berrier has made her way from New York to London and is standing before me at this very moment.

  We follow her into the town house and she closes and locks the door behind us. Edmund, looking entirely unfazed, says nothing, and I wonder if he remembers Madame Berrier from our first meeting, when she revealed my identity as Angel of the Gate.

  Turning back to us, Madame Berrier nods appreciatively at Dimitri. “And who might this be? Hmmm?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Madame Berrier, this is Dimitri Markov. Dimitri, Madame Berrier. She was of great help to me in figuring out my place in the prophecy.” I turn back to Madame Berrier. “And Dimitri has been of great help to me since.”

  She smiles slyly. “I’m quite sure he has, dear.”

  My face heats at the innuendo, but I do not have time to come up with a witty retort before Madame Berrier turns, making her way down the central hall toward the back of the house.

  “Come along. I expect the tea will be ready by now.” Her voice, accented with the mysterious mixture of French and something else I am still unable to name, grows steadily fainter as she moves away from us.

  Edmund, Dimitri, and I walk quickly to catch up, and I hope for Madame Berrier’s sake that the rest of the house is better appointed than the hallway. It is dismal, lined with peeling wallpaper and lit only by the frail light leaking in from the adjoining rooms.

  But I needn’t have worried. Madame Berrier turns to enter a parlor on the right, and I suddenly feel as if I have landed in a strange fairy tale. The room is lit with several beaded lamps and the glow of a fire flickering in the firebox. T
he furnishings are well worn, but it is apparent that in this room, at least, Madame Berrier has made herself quite comfortable.

  “Goodness, the tea smells delicious!” She makes her way to a small table set with cups and saucers in front of the sofa. “You are a dear for preparing it.”

  The comment catches me off guard, and from the confusion on Edmund and Dimitri’s faces, it is obvious that I’m not alone. We glance at one another as Madame Berrier settles herself on the sofa. She prepares to pour tea from the pot sitting on a silver tray as if there is nothing at all strange about her thanking someone who isn’t there.

  But as I peer more closely at the shadows lurking around the edges of the room, I realize that we are not, in fact, its only occupants. In the corner, near a bookcase with shelves sagging from the weight of many books and indiscernible objects of all shapes and sizes, is a slightly stoop-shouldered silhouette. Edmund and Dimitri follow my eyes to the figure, both of them tensing when they realize someone else is in the parlor.

  Madame Berrier turns her head in the direction of the figure. “Put your musty books away and join us, will you? I’m quite certain it is you Miss Milthorpe has come to see, although I am, of course, delighted by her company.”

  The figure nods, turning. “Aye. My apologies for being coarse.”

  I did not think it possible for Edmund and Dimitri to become more tense, but as the figure makes its way out of the shadows, I can almost feel their defenses rise around me. I have to bite my tongue to keep from reminding them that I protected myself at Chartres and am not in need of rescue every time a stranger enters the room.

  It is obvious the figure is a man, and he shuffles somewhat slowly forward, becoming visible all at once as he steps into the light of a lamp atop one of the many small tables.

  “There you are, then! It has been some time and many miles since I’ve seen you!”

  I blink for a moment, rooted to the floor as I try to take in yet another surprise.

  “Mr. Wigan?” My voice rises shrilly, and I think I must sound a fool, for, of course, it is Mr. Wigan.