Circle of Fire

by Michelle Zink

  And then they are gone.

  “Alice!” My voice carries across the fields, now as silent as death.

  Looking back toward the Souls, I am surprised to find them gone. The wind is still, the crack in the sky sealed shut as if it were never there at all. I hear the clink of metal on the ground near my feet, and when I bend to look I see the medallion lying in the grass. Picking it up, I turn it over in my hands, expecting to see the mark etched into its surface.

  It is blank.

  When I turn my wrist upward, I half-expect to see the mark gone from my skin as well, but it’s there, just as it has been since Father’s death.

  Touching the smooth surface of the medallion, I ponder taking it with me. It has been part of me through things wondrous and terrifying, and I am loath to leave it.

  Yet, I am also eager to relinquish its hold over me. I let it fall back to the ground, looking around and thinking of my sister, waiting for the power of the Plane to take me to her as it always has. I imagine her in the Void, on the beach, in any of the seven Otherworlds I have seen, but none of it propels me to her. Instead, I am plunged into blackness once again, falling and falling until my soul drops into my body and I find myself lying next to my sister’s lifeless form on the fields at Avebury.

  My back arches with the pain of drawing breath, and I gasp for air. I lie there for a moment before gathering the strength to rise to my sister’s side. Slipping my arm under her neck, I lift her upper body onto my lap.

  “Alice! Come back, Alice. You did it. We did it.” The words feel strange coming out of my mouth, my throat screaming in protest, as if I have not spoken for a very long time. I am surprised to see tears dropping onto my sister’s face. Surprised that I can cry for her. “Come back now. James is waiting.” My voice grows harsh, as if I can force her back into her body with my anger. “You did this for him, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  “Lia.” Dimitri bends down next to me, placing a hand on my arm. “She’s gone, Lia. She did what she came to do.”

  “No.” I shake my head, the tears coming faster as I clutch my sister’s body more tightly. “It’s not fair. She cannot be gone. Not after she fulfilled her role as Guardian. Not after she saved me. After she saved us all.”

  “Lia.” His voice is gentle.

  I shake my head. I will not meet his eyes. If I do, it will all be true.

  I look instead at Luisa, Sonia, Aunt Virginia… everyone standing around me. “She’ll be all right, won’t she? It takes time to recover from travel. She’s simply sleeping.”

  Luisa kneels in the grass beside me, her voice soft. I do not want to see the relief on her face. “It’s over, Lia. You did it. You closed the Gate to Samael.”

  I shake my head, rocking back and forth with Alice in my arms. Trying to block out Luisa’s words.

  But Dimitri will not allow me to hide from the truth.

  “Look at me, Lia.” His voice is commanding, and I lift my face to his, still not letting go of Alice’s limp body. “She knew what she was doing. She outran the Guard all the way here. They only left when you closed the Gate. Alice understood the sacrifice she was making. She knew she wouldn’t make it out alive. It was what she wanted.”

  “She wanted to be good again.” The words are choked out in a sob.

  “Yes.” He nods. “She wanted to be good again.”

  41

  The sun is a warrior, fighting valiantly against the steely clouds that surround it. I think it fitting that the day is neither gloomy nor bright, as if even the heavens are unsure how to feel about Alice’s death.

  James is a silent presence on my left. We stand in the small family graveyard on the hill, the freshly turned earth piled into a mound at our feet, the granite tombstone standing rigidly at the head of the grave. Dimitri and the others have gone back to the house, allowing James and me time alone to say goodbye to my sister.

  And to each other.

  I am not sure how to begin. I want James to understand the depth of Alice’s love and sacrifice, but I’m still not entirely certain he grasps the truth of the prophecy. I tried to explain everything upon our return from Avebury, but my account of Alice’s death seemed only to bounce off the surface of his impenetrable expression. He has not asked a single question since.

  I suppose things are simpler for James; the details don’t matter. Only that Alice is gone, and I may as well be.

  Finally I turn to gaze upon his dear face and say the only thing he really needs to know. “She loved you, and she wanted to be worthy of your love in return.”

  I hear the intake of his breath.

  He turns to look at me, his hat in hand. “Is it my fault?”

  I shake my head. “Of course not. Alice did what she wanted to do, as she always has. You couldn’t have stopped her, even if you’d known to try. None of us could have.”

  He sighs, turning back to the gravestone with a halfhearted nod.

  “What will you do now?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “What I’ve always done. Work in the store with Father. Catalogue books. Try to make sense of everything that has happened.” He tilts his head to look at me once more. “What about you? Will you ever come back?”

  “I don’t know. This place…” I scan the rolling hills surrounding the graveyard, the fields covered with wildflowers. “It holds such memories for me.” I turn back to look at him. “I suppose only time will tell if I can bear them.”

  He nods, understanding in his eyes. “If you ever decide that you can, I hope you’ll come to call. Let us know how you’re faring.”

  I manage a smile. “Thank you, James. I will.”

  Setting his hat back on his head, he leans forward, bending to kiss my cheek. I catch the unique blend of scent that has always been James—books and dust and ink—and am instantly fifteen again.

  “Goodbye, Lia.”

  I blink away the tears stinging my eyes. “Goodbye, James.”

  And then he’s walking away, his retreating figure growing smaller as he makes his way down the hill. I watch him until he is gone.

  Turning my head, I allow my gaze to sweep over the other graves. There are the graves of Mother and Father, the wild grass growing in a lush carpet beneath the white lilies I laid there only this morning. There are the dirty, slightly leaning markers of my father’s parents.

  But it is Henry’s grave that draws my eyes. I make my way to it, unsurprised to see that violet wildflowers have overtaken the grass that covers his final resting place. I think of his kind heart and quiet strength and believe it no accident that the flowers adorning his grave are the color of the Sisterhood.

  Of Altus.

  I picture Henry running under a brilliant sky in the Final World, free at last, like any other boy. He, above all others, is deserving of that peace. I bring my hand to my lips before reaching forward to touch my fingers to the place where his name is carved into the marker.

  “Goodbye, Henry. You were better than all of us.”

  The past is a reminder of the winding road leading me to this time and place. It is a road that continues into the future, for today is more than a day of goodbyes.

  It is a new beginning.

  I recall the day Dimitri and I stood on the deck of the ship carrying us from England to New York, the sea churning before us as far as the eye could see. I didn’t look at him right away. I simply stared out over the water and told him as calmly as I could that I would accept the role of Lady of Altus, and yes, as his partner in all things. He leaned over, smiling in the moment before he kissed my lips with the tender ferocity I have grown used to since our time at Avebury. When he pulled away, I saw in his eyes all the love and certainty in the world, as if there had never been a doubt in his mind that I would make such a decision—or that I would live to do so.

  But thoughts of the future are for another day. I turn back to Alice’s grave, knowing this may be the last time I stand before it. My eyes are drawn to the epitaph carved into the headstone’s smooth s
urface:

  Alice Elizabeth Milthorpe

  Sister, Daughter, Guardian

  1874–1892

  She has earned all three titles, but I feel a momentary pang of regret for the inscription’s lack of emotion. Even now, I don’t know what to make of my sister. How to feel about her race to Avebury. Her final sacrifice to aid me in closing the Gate. I thought my feelings would clarify with time, but my emotions are still clouded by too many things for me to distill them into something simple. Something I can name.

  I see flashes of us as we were before the prophecy, racing across the fields surrounding Birchwood, Alice always too fast for me to catch and never caring to let me try. I see us lying next to each other in our childhood nursery, our curls mingling atop the pillows as we drifted into sleep. I see us floating, hand in hand, in the sea as we learned to swim, our childish bodies mirror images of each other. I see it all and know that, whatever else I may come to understand in this world, Alice will always be a beautiful mystery.

  It is one I am content not to solve. I can love her now in all her lovely darkness.

  I run my hands along the top of the granite marker one more time before turning to go, making my way down the grassy slope toward Birchwood Manor and knowing, at last, the only thing that matters.

  Alice was my sister.

  And we were not so different after all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Telling this story in its entirety has been five years and innumerable amazing people in the making. It’s impossible to thank everyone, but it’s only right to keep trying.

  First to my agent, Steven Malk. Your initial belief in this story made everything possible. More important, your continued faith in me and the many stories I still have to tell is a gift of immeasurable value. Thank you for being on my side when I was right, telling it to me straight when I was wrong, and putting your faith and considerable skill behind my every endeavor.

  Thank you to my brilliant editor, Nancy Conescu, for being the one person who loves this story as much as I do. Your incredible talent has given me a wealth of knoweldge that continues to make me a better writer. It is your firm and compassionate voice I hear in my head as I tell stories at the keyboard. I can never thank you enough for sharing this journey with me.

  Thank you to Alison Impey for never giving up on my cover—and for giving me numerous amazing ones.

  Thank you to Kate Sullivan, Megan Tingley, Andrew Smith, Melanie Chang, Lisa Sabater, Jessica Bromberg, Lauren Hodge, and everyone at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers for working so hard to bring Prophecy to the world in such an elegant way.

  Thank you to Lisa Mantchev, Jenny Draeger, Tonya Hurley, and Georgia McBride, dear friends who have supported me through late nights and angsty interludes. Thank you also to the passionate readers and writers who frequent my website and keep me company online, especially Devyn Burton, Catherine Haines, Adele Walsh, Kaiden Blake, and Sophie and Katie of the Mundie Moms.

  A special thank-you to Dan Russo for ensuring that my Latin was correct; to Jenny and her mum, Janet, for helping me navigate the landscape of rural England; and to Gail Yates and Laura McCarthy for giving me the lowdown on historical Ireland.

  Thank you to Morgan and Anthony, lifelong members of the Zink posse. And to Layla, the perfect writing partner.

  There are never enough words to thank my mother, Claudia Baker, for her support and persistence in the difficult task of understanding and accepting me. When I think of the things for which I am most grateful in this life, you are right at the top.

  Last, to the loves and lights of my life, Kenneth, Rebekah, Andrew, and Caroline. Everything is for and because of you.

  And to you, dear readers, who make everything possible through the continued reading of my stories. I do not take your faith in me for granted.

  Contents

  Front Cover Image

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011 by Michelle Zink

  Hand-lettering and interior ornamentation by Leah Palmer Preiss

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

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  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  First eBook Edition: August 2011

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-13390-6