Circle of Fire

by Michelle Zink

  He reaches a wooden ladder and slides it to an adjoining shelf. Looking up to follow its progress, I see that it is attached to a track that runs the circumference of the room, giving the ladder access to each and every shelf. I have seen such contraptions before, of course, but never in a private library. I cannot help but be impressed.

  “Do you know what it means?” Dimitri’s voice sounds from across the room, but I am not surprised when Victor doesn’t answer. I recognize his single-minded concentration.

  He suddenly stops the ladder and begins to climb. I wonder if his many fears will prevent him from reaching the tome he seeks, but none of his anxiety is evident as he rises swiftly up the ladder’s rungs.

  Near the top he finally stops climbing and reaches toward the shelf closest to the ladder, his fingers caressing the spines of each book in turn. Finally, his fingers cease their dance, settling on one book that, from my vantage point, looks like all the others. But he seems to recognize it, and he holds it close to his chest with one hand as he descends the ladder. When at last he steps to the floor, the air seems to escape his lungs all at once.

  “Well!” He stands a little straighter. “Let’s take a look. If I remember correctly, the answer will be here.”

  7

  But it is not. We wait while Victor pages through the book, first quickly and then more patiently as he seems to scour each word, and still he is unable to find the mention for which he is looking. After a few more tries with different books, a clock chimes in a distant area of the house and we grudgingly decide to head back to London, no closer to an answer than we were this morning.

  Consternation creases Victor’s face as we say our goodbyes. It’s apparent that he is unused to failure in matters of research, and he promises to continue investigating and to send word immediately if he happens upon the phrase.

  We are silent on the ride back to London, the sun hanging low in the sky behind the clouds that lie over the countryside. Even Mr. Wigan lacks his usual enthusiasm, and I am relieved when we leave him with Madame Berrier at the dingy brownstone in front of which Dimitri and I arrived only a few hours ago.

  “I’m sorry, Lia,” Dimitri says as the carriage jostles through the streets of town toward Milthorpe Manor. “I know how much you had hoped that Arthur’s contact would hold the answer, likely even more so once you discovered it was Mr. Wigan and Madame Berrier.”

  I sigh. “It will be all right.” My words do not sound as convincing as I had hoped, and I look into Dimitri’s eyes. “It will be all right, won’t it?”

  I detest myself for voicing aloud my fear that it will not be all right. That we will never find the answers we seek. That the Souls and Alice will rule the world in darkness after all.

  “Lia.” Dimitri takes my hand. His eyes hold the answer, but he says it anyway. “You have Lady Abigail’s adder stone. It will protect you from harm while we search, and search we will, until we find every answer to the prophecy. You have my word.”

  I manage a reassuring smile, feeling the falseness of it. I do not tell him that the adder stone grows cooler with each passing day. I do not tell him that Sonia, Luisa, and I may not be able to maintain our alliance long enough to fight the prophecy together, to say nothing of Helene, arriving tomorrow and throwing yet more uncertainty into our mix.

  And I do not share my biggest fear of all: that as each day passes, my own resolve grows weaker. That I become more an enemy to myself than Alice could ever be.

  With Dimitri back in his quarters at the Society for the night, I spend the ride home worrying over Luisa and Sonia’s reaction to the hour of my return. Darkness has claimed what little remained of the daylight. My promise to be home in time for tea, to spend our last afternoon together before Helene arrives in the morning, was an empty one.

  But I needn’t have worried. Luisa and Sonia have retired to their quarters, leaving the house silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the entry and the faint sound of servants’ footsteps in the kitchen.

  The absence of my friends is a recrimination, and I settle on the sofa near the fire. I am not ready to face my chambers and sleep. There is no peace in slumber. Instead, I turn my thoughts to the endless requirements of the prophecy, paging through them in my mind—the last key, the location of the Stone, the invocation of the Rite necessary to end the prophecy should I discover the answers to everything else. The questions drift on the breeze of my subconscious. It is not unpleasant, and I let my thoughts take me where they will, knowing that sometimes the answers come when you least expect them.

  A soft knock from the entry shakes me from my reverie and I rise from the sofa, gazing into the hallway and wondering if I imagined the sound. No one else seems to have heard it. I am a breath away from making my way back into the parlor when I hear it again. This time I’m certain it is knocking.

  And it is coming from the front door.

  As I look left and right down the hallway, it quickly becomes apparent that no one else has heard the knock. The servants can still be heard moving about the house, but none of them seems to be heading for the door. As I make my way down the hall, I find I am glad. I somehow know this visitor is meant for me.

  My reflection is distorted in the door’s large bronze handle. I do not allow myself to hesitate before opening it. When I do, I am somehow not surprised to find my sister on the doorstep.

  I hardly notice the rush of cold air that invades the house in the moment before Alice speaks.

  “Good evening, Lia. I…” Alice hesitates. “I apologize for the late hour. I hoped you would be awake so that we might speak alone.”

  I search her eyes and do not find hostility in their depth. Besides, I am far more vulnerable on the Plane, even in sleep, than I am standing in the entry with a host of servants—and Edmund—in the house behind me.

  Stepping back, I open the door wider. “Come in.”

  She steps into the house carefully, looking up at the ceiling as I close the door.

  “I don’t really remember this house,” she murmurs. “I believe we were here with Mother and Father when we were young, but it’s completely unfamiliar to me.”

  I nod, slowly. “It was that way for me when I first arrived as well. It was too long ago, I suppose.”

  She removes her gloves. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

  “Where are you staying while in London?” I regret the question as soon as I ask it. It is one more commonly asked between acquaintances during a formal social call.

  She does not seem to mind. “We’ve taken rooms at the Savoy. I knew I would not be welcome here, of course.”

  We stand without moving, surveying each other until I begin to feel ridiculous. There is a world between us, but Alice is still my sister.

  “Let’s go to the parlor.” I turn to make my way down the hall without waiting to see if she will follow, but I feel her eyes on my back and know that she does.

  Once we are in the fire-warmed room, I settle myself on a chair, leaving Alice to the sofa I occupied only minutes before. She surveys the room, and I wonder if she is comparing it to the parlor at Birchwood.

  “What are you doing, Alice?” My words surprise me with their softness. They hold only a question, without the accusations I feel lurking in the corners of my heart. “Why have you come?”

  She takes a deep breath, looking at her hands before answering. “You’re my sister, Lia. My twin. I’ve often wished that I could share these past weeks with you.”

  The reference to her engagement brings forward the anger lying in wait within me. “I wouldn’t expect my participation in the premarital festivities, if I were you. Especially since you’re engaged to my former beau.” My voice is hard, and I suppose I should not be surprised that it is bitter.

  “You’re angry,” she says.

  A brittle laugh escapes my throat. “Did you think I would throw a party in celebration? Wish you well?”

  She looks up, meeting my eyes. “I suppose I hoped you would find
it in your heart to be happy for me, Lia, whatever else lies between us.”

  Her words cause me to jump to my feet, and I stalk to the mantel, trying to calm the sudden shaking of my hands.

  “Happy? You thought I would be happy for you?” I cannot find words for the incredulity that floods my mind.

  “I suppose.” Her voice is harder than it was only moments ago. “You left him, Lia. You left him. What did you expect? That he would wait with bated breath for your return?”

  I turn on her, the heat of my fury hotter than the flames in the firebox at my back. “You left me no one to return to, Alice. Nothing to stay for.”

  Her eyes flash as she rises. “Don’t be simple, Lia. I’m not alone in my culpability. We both made choices. You could have asked Henry for the list and given it to me, to protect him. You could have aided the Souls, as is your duty as Gate. You made choices, too.” Her voice grows colder. “And you are no innocent.”

  I cross the carpet in three angry strides, stopping directly in front of her. I am quivering with rage. “How dare you. How dare you speak of Henry. You have no right, Alice. You have no right to ever speak of him again.”

  She begins pulling on her gloves, her breath coming so fast that I see the rise and fall of her bosom. “I see this was pointless. I simply hoped that we could set the prophecy aside in matters more personal. That you could find it in your heart to give me your blessing.”

  “My blessing? You want my blessing?” My laughter is colored with hysteria. “Oh, Alice, I assure you that you will not require my blessing for anything at all.”

  She tips her head. “Why is that, Lia?”

  All at once, the hysteria passes. My voice grows calm as I look into her eyes. “Because there will not be a wedding. Not with James.”

  She smiles. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lia. There will be a wedding. One in which I will become the wife of James Douglas.”

  “Really?” I ask. “And are you certain he will make you his wife when he learns of your place in the prophecy?”

  Her body becomes very still. “How do you know he isn’t already aware of it?”

  I smile at her. “Because, Alice, James Douglas is a good man. A man who would never marry someone with a heart as black as yours—if only he knew how black that heart is.”

  She flinches, the color draining from her cheeks, in the moment before she composes herself for my benefit. “He won’t believe you.”

  “Are you certain? Truly certain? Are you certain that James would not look into my eyes and see the truth?”

  Her throat ripples as she swallows hard against my threat. “James loves me. It’s true that for many months I saw your shadow in his eyes, but all of that is forgotten.” She lifts her chin defiantly. “Even if you tell him, even if he believes you, James will stand by my side as he would once have stood by yours. If only you’d had the courage to tell him.”

  Her words are a dagger to my heart. She’s right. I have my own part in all that has happened, not the least of which is James being used as a pawn in the prophecy. Had I trusted him, had I told him everything, he likely would have stood by my side and would not now, at this very moment, be my sister’s betrothed.

  But then I would not have Dimitri. And that, too, is unimaginable.

  “I suppose we’ll see, Alice.”

  She smooths her skirts. “I suppose we will.”

  She starts for the entry and I follow her out of the room and down the hall. Placing one hand on the doorknob, she turns to me.

  “It was never easy, you know.”

  “What wasn’t?” I ask, even though I don’t care. Not really. I simply want her gone.

  I think I catch a flash of pain in the moment before the veil of hostility again descends over her face. “Seeing the adoration in everyone’s eyes when they spoke of you. Knowing that Father, James, even our own mother, preferred you to me. Is it so difficult to believe that perhaps James has made peace with your abandonment? That he may well and truly love me? That maybe, just this once, you are not adored above all others?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alice. I’ve been in your shadow since the moment of our birth. James’s love for me was one of the few things that was mine alone.” I hear the dismay in my voice. Alice has always been the chosen one.

  Beautiful. Vibrant. Alive.

  Her smile is without the conciliatory warmth from the parlor. “You are so very stubborn, Lia. And so unwilling to see things as they really are where it doesn’t suit you. I cannot imagine why I always hope things will be different. They never are.”

  “No. And they never will be, Alice. Not where the prophecy and my place in it are concerned. Not where the fate of those I love is concerned.”

  I fear the smile that touches her lips. It is the one I remember from our many meetings on the Plane, the one that speaks of Alice’s allegiance to the Souls, even at the peril of mankind. “It surprises me that you can still be so self-righteous, Lia. That you still don’t see the truth.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “What truth is that, Alice?”

  She tips her head, as if it is very obvious. “That you’re not so different from me after all. That you become more like me every day.”

  She pulls the door open, slipping through it and closing it behind her.

  I stand there for some time, staring at the door, thinking of my sister and James and the prophecy. Of how tangled our web has become.

  When I finally turn to make my way up the stairs, I try to focus on James and what I will say to him. I try to focus on his fate, and the importance of saving him from Alice. But all I hear are Alice’s last words. They echo through my mind until I’m not sure if they are hers or my own.

  I do not sleep well. My dreams are full of dark figures and of whispering that seems to come from inside my head.

  Even as I drift through the landscape of half-sleep, I am aware of turning over the possible locations of the Stone in my mind. Victor is there, riding his ladder along its tracks from book to book while Dimitri stands below him, parchment in hand. In the moment before I wake, I feel the answer slip and slide through my fingers.

  When I sit up in bed a minute later, I think I have it.

  8

  “Explain to me what we’re doing again?”

  Dimitri rubs a tired hand over his face, fighting a yawn as the carriage lurches through the countryside in the faintly blue light of early morning.

  I lean toward him, grabbing his hand in excitement. “Don’t you see? We’ve been looking at it all wrong.” I chew my lip, considering my words. “That is, I think we’ve been looking at it all wrong. I suppose we cannot be certain until we speak to Victor.”

  Dimitri sighs. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that, but I’m unclear exactly what we’ve been looking at all wrong. You still haven’t gotten to that part.”

  “We asked Victor and Mr. Wigan about the words from the prophecy’s final page.”

  He nods. “Yes, because that is what we’re trying to decipher. But that still doesn’t explain why we’re on our way to Victor’s at this ungodly hour.”

  I hold out my hand. “Did you bring the list?”

  “Yes, of course. You asked me to, didn’t you?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of parchment, placing it in my hand.

  Opening it, I read through the list of potential locations—the many we have crossed off and the nine remaining possibilities.

  “On the final page, the location of the Stone seems to be written in another language.” My voice is a murmur under the clatter of the carriage wheels over rocky ground, and I wonder how Edmund is able to keep us upright. “Searching for it based on that reference alone, a reference we don’t even understand, is rather like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “That is rather obvious, love, and the reason we haven’t yet uncovered the location of the Stone.” Dimitri is trying to keep the impatience from his voice, but I hear it n
onetheless.

  “Yes, but that is why we’ve been looking at it all wrong.” I pull my eyes from the parchment, meeting Dimitri’s gaze. “We haven’t been using what we have already.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I wave the parchment at him. “This. There are only nine locations left.”

  His brow furrows. “Yes.”

  “If we give the list of nine locations to Victor, perhaps he can research only those nine, looking for a reference to Sliabh na Cailli’.” I pause, suddenly feeling that my idea is not as profound as it seemed in the quiet of my chamber two hours ago. “It’s no guarantee, I suppose, but it’s better than starting from nothing, isn’t it?”

  Dimitri is quiet in the moment before he leans over to kiss me on the lips. “It’s far more than we had before. And so simple it’s brilliant.”

  I try to absorb his enthusiasm, attempting to recapture the hope I felt upon waking with the idea to bring the list to Victor. But all at once, I’m not so sure. It seems a tenuous thread on which to hang our hope for answers, and with all the questions that remain, there is one thing of which I am certain: Beltane is only two months away.

  And we are running out of time.

  “Ugh! There are too many! We’ll never get through them all!”

  I lean back in the upholstered wing chair, knowing it’s unladylike but not caring.

  After some coaxing, Victor finally answered the door—a full twenty minutes after we began knocking. He listened to our explanation over a tray of tea and toast and began pulling books from the shelves of the library almost as soon as we showed him the list.

  “Psh!” Victor says in response to my frustration. “You may speak for yourself, young lady. Now that I have a direction in which to work, I will not cease looking for your answer until I’ve researched each and every location on that list.”