But no. It looks like any gathering of London’s wealthy and overdressed.
“How on earth did Elspeth manage a church?” Sonia’s voice is very near my ear, and I realize that we have all leaned forward, craning our necks at the window in an effort to get a better view of the men and women stepping from carriages and making their way up the stone walkway.
“I have no idea how Elspeth manages half the things she does!” Luisa laughs aloud, that dear, unselfconscious laugh that brings to mind the birth of our friendship more than a year ago.
“I must confess that I asked no questions about the Masquerade’s venue, but now I find I’m quite curious,” I say. “Surely the Queen would be displeased to find a gathering of such heathens at one of London’s churches.”
Sonia makes a “Psh!” sound before continuing. “Byron told me many concerts and balls are held at St. Johns.”
Her words are delivered with such calm that it takes me a moment to register what she has said. It must take Luisa the same moment, for at once, we both turn to Sonia.
“Byron!”
She blushes, and I am surprised to find that after all that has happened, Sonia can still blush at the mention of a gentleman.
“I saw him at the Society after we returned from Altus.” Her gaze cuts to Luisa. “He’s the one who first told me about the Masquerade.”
A burst of cold air assaults the interior of the carriage as Edmund, very dapper in formal attire, opens the door. “Ladies.”
Shivering, Luisa pulls her wrap tight around her shoulders. “Let’s go, shall we? It seems Dimitri isn’t the only gentleman eagerly awaiting our arrival!”
It is easy to offer her a smile. No one but Luisa could be so gracious as to wish Sonia and me well when she has left her own beau in Altus.
The thought of the island is a warm breeze across my heart—a series of lightning-fast impressions. The smell of oranges, waves crashing against the rocks below the Sanctuary, silk robes against naked skin.
I shake my head, willing myself toward the one person who brings me closest to all of it, though I am worlds away.
We don our masks in the carriage before stepping from its warmth and making our way to the cavernous hall. Slipping through the crowd packed at its periphery, I cannot help but feel I am in a strange kind of sideshow. The costumed faces of those around me seem suddenly garish, my own mask too snug against my face. The masks make conversation difficult, and I am relieved when a man, tall and thin as a rail, removes his disguise to reveal himself as Byron. He bows, taking Sonia’s hand, and she smiles shyly as they move to the dance floor. A moment later Luisa departs with a fair-haired gentleman who cannot take his eyes off her. I watch my friends sparkle under the adoring gazes of the men twirling them across the floor and can hardly fathom that we are the same three girls who met in New York not so long ago.
I am considering the merit of making my way to the refreshments when I notice a man standing amid the crowd some distance away. I know it is Dimitri, though we agreed to keep our masks a secret from each other until tonight. It is his shoulders, I think, and the way he holds his body, as if ready to defend himself—and me—that make me certain it is him.
He turns, his eyes holding my gaze in the moment before he begins striding through the crowd with single-minded purpose. His mask is exquisite, large and adorned with onyx stones set amid shimmering silver glitter and deep red feathers.
As if he knew I would choose the scarlet gown all along.
When he reaches me he takes my hand, but he does not bend to kiss it. Dimitri does not pretend to follow London’s rules. His big hand enfolds my smaller one, and he pulls me close until I feel the hard plane of his body. He stares deeply into my eyes in the moment before he lowers his mouth to mine. His kiss is passionate and lingering, and without thinking, I bring my hand up to touch the dark hair curling at his neck. We part reluctantly, some of the people closest to us raising their eyebrows before turning back to their own business.
He leans toward my ear, his voice a secret meant just for me. “You look ravishing.”
“Why, sir, how very forward of you!” Lifting my chin to look in his eyes, I bat my eyelashes, pretending to be coy. I give up, laughing, a moment later. “How could you be sure it was me?”
“I might ask you the same thing.” He favors me with a grin. “Or am I to assume that you gawk at every gentleman in a feathered, bejeweled mask?”
“Never.” My voice becomes serious. “I only have eyes for you.”
Dimitri’s eyes darken. I recognize the expression as desire from the many hours spent locked in each other’s arms since our return from Altus.
“Come.” He holds out a hand. “Let’s dance. It won’t be quite as it was on Altus, but if we close our eyes, we might pretend.”
He pulls me through the crowd, carving a pathway with his mere presence. As we near the dance floor, Sonia whirls past in Byron’s arms. She looks happy, and in this moment I do not begrudge her the enjoyment.
“Good evening, Miss Milthorpe. I heard you might be in need of a particular kind of expertise.” The voice, coming from just behind me, is not loud, but it gets my attention nonetheless.
Tugging on Dimitri’s arm, I stop my forward progress through the crowd and turn to the man standing amid the revelers. He is aged, as evidenced by his white hair and the wrinkles that fold across his hands. His mask is black and green and surrounded by peacock feathers, but it is the midnight blue robe that gives him away, for he is fond of wearing it even at the more intimate gatherings of the Society.
“Arthur!” I smile as I recognize the elderly Druid. “However did you recognize me?”
“Ah, Miss. My senses are not what they once were, but I’m still a Druid, through and through. Even the extravagance of your costume could not hide your identity.”
“You are wise, indeed!” I turn to Dimitri, trying to speak above the crowd without shouting. “I imagine you’re acquainted with Mr. Frobisher, from the Society?”
Dimitri nods, holding out a hand. “We’ve met on several occasions. Arthur has been most welcoming since I’ve taken a room there.”
Arthur shakes Dimitri’s hand, admiration shining in his eyes. He speaks softly, leaning in to be heard. “It is always an honor to extend hospitality to the Brotherhood.”
The introductions dispensed with, I remember Arthur’s earlier words. “You mentioned expertise?”
He nods, pulling something from his pocket and holding it out toward me. “There is word underground that you are looking for information. This is an address for some acquaintances of mine. They might be able to assist you.”
I reach out, feeling the smooth, crackly surface of folded parchment as it is placed in my palm.
“Arthur, who told you about our need for information?” Worry shades Dimitri’s eyes. “Our inquiries are supposed to be kept in the strictest confidence.”
Arthur nods, leaning in again as he clasps Dimitri’s shoulder with a reassuring hand. “Not to worry, Brother. Word travels slow and careful in these circles.” He straightens, gesturing to the parchment in my hands. “Call on them. They’ll be expecting you.”
Turning to go, he disappears into the crowd without another word. I would like to open the paper now, to see who might be the keeper of the answers we seek, but the name and address will be impossible to read while I am being jostled about at the Masquerade. Dimitri watches me as I fold the paper twice more before opening the drawstring bag that swings at my wrist. I set the paper amid the silk lining and tug the ribbons shut.
Its presence steals the lightheartedness I felt only moments ago. It is a reminder that there is still much to do. That no Masquerade, no ball, no dark-eyed man can render me free of the prophecy. That is something only I can do.
As if sensing my worry, Dimitri reaches for my hand once again. “There will be time enough for that tomorrow.” His eyes hold mine. “Come. Let’s dance.”
I let him lead me forward, to the cente
r of the great room, where he does not hesitate before pulling me onto the dance floor. There is no room for worry as we spin among the brightly colored gowns, the feathers and jewels of the masks passing in a blur. Dimitri’s strong hand is at my waist, and I give myself over to his lead, relieved to allow someone else to be in charge, if only for a dance.
The music builds to a crescendo and then turns into something else entirely. This time, I am the one tugging on Dimitri’s hands, pulling him off the dance floor.
I speak close to his ear. “Let’s get something to drink, shall we?”
He nods, grinning. “Have I made you thirsty, my Lady?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You might say that.”
He throws his head back and laughs. I hear the echo of it even over the music and conversation in the hall.
We are making our way through the crowd toward the refreshments when a flash of cheekbone catches my eye. Angular and feminine, it rises to eyes so green I see them flash from across the room. I should not feel the jolt of recognition. Not from so far away. Not for someone whose face is almost entirely masked by swirling gold glitter and purple jewels.
And yet, I am almost certain, and I begin moving in her direction without so much as a word to Dimitri.
“Lia? Where are you—” I hear his voice calling out behind me, but my feet move of their own accord without care for anything but the woman standing in an uncannily familiar manner just a few feet away.
I grab for her arm when I reach her, not even considering that I may be wrong.
She does not seem surprised. Indeed, she does not bother to look down at my hand, encircling her thin upper arm. No. She turns slowly toward me, as if my finding her is no surprise at all.
I know before she has fully turned. I see it in the proud line of her chin. The challenging flash of her eyes.
“Alice.” I breathe her name. It is not a question. I have seen her in the Otherworlds, and in my own. I have seen her spirit presence during the months when her power grew strong enough to allow her passage from one world to the other. I slept beside her as a child and listened to her soft breath in the night. Even beneath the mask, I am certain it is Alice.
Her smile is slow and unsurprised. My sister has always enjoyed the subtle brand of power that comes from knowing things before others. And yet, there is something else there, too. Something guarded and indefinable.
“Good evening, Lia. Fancy meeting you here.”
There is something in her eyes, something dark and secret, that frightens me more than the knowledge of her considerable power now residing in London.
I shake my head, still recovering from the shock of seeing my sister in person for the first time since leaving New York. “What are you doing here? I mean… I… Why have you come?”
There are other things I should say. Things I should shout and demand. But the Masquerade and my shock conspire to keep me polite, even as a scream threatens to wrench its way free from my throat.
“I’ve come to do some shopping. To make preparations.” She says it as if her purpose is obvious, and I cannot help but feel I have fallen into the Otherworlds, to a place that looks and sounds like my own world but is, in fact, a version twisted and wrong.
“Preparations? For what?” I feel like the village idiot. It is obvious Alice is toying with me, and yet I am helpless to walk away. She has me in her grip, as she always has.
Even here. Even now.
She smiles, and for a moment I almost think her sincere. “For my wedding, of course.”
I swallow the foreboding that rises like a stone in my throat as she turns to the gentleman beside her. I have been so focused on her that I have not noticed her masked escort.
But I notice him now. I notice him and feel my insides hollow out in the blink of an eye.
He is already reaching up to remove his mask. It takes too long, his face and hair revealed inch by inch until I can no longer hope that I am wrong.
“Lia? Is it really you?” Shock is evident on his face, and his eyes search mine for answers I cannot give him.
“You remember James Douglas, don’t you?” Alice takes his arm, possession clear in her grasp. “We’re to be married in the spring.”
And then the room tilts madly, the faces of the masked guests distorting into something strange and fearsome.
3
I am not the kind of young woman who swoons. I have traveled roads terrifying and dangerous. I have defended my life and the lives of those I love. I have sacrificed everything in the name of the prophecy and the fate of the world.
But this almost brings me to my knees.
I did not notice Dimitri’s arrival, but he is there as my arm flings out of its own accord, searching blindly for something to grasp as I will myself to keep my bearings.
“Oh!” Alice says. “Is this your beau?”
I cannot look at James, but when I turn to Dimitri, confusion coloring his expression as he gazes from James to me and back again, I cannot look at him, either. I settle on Alice and fight the inappropriate urge to laugh aloud. The situation is dire, indeed, if I prefer to gaze at my sister over either man.
“This is Dimitri. Dimitri Markov.” I swallow my shame and continue. I owe Dimitri, and James, this much. “And yes, he is my beau.”
Alice holds out her hand in Dimitri’s direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Markov. I’m Alice Milthorpe, Lia’s sister.”
Dimitri is not surprised by the introduction, for who else would have a face exactly like mine? But he does not take her hand. Instead, he leans in so that the others standing nearby might not hear him speak.
“I cannot imagine what you’re doing here, Miss Milthorpe, but I suggest you keep your distance from Lia.” There is a hard edge to his voice.
“Now, listen here,” James breaks in. “There’s no reason to be impolite. I would like for us to get along—despite the strangeness of the situation—but I cannot stand by while you insult my fiancée.” His voice is halting, confused. And then I realize why.
He doesn’t know, I think. Alice has not told him about us. About the prophecy. About the thing that stands between us.
The knowledge that James is engaged to my sister is difficult enough to accept; that he is engaged to my sister with no understanding of the danger in which he has placed himself is unimaginable.
I turn to look at Alice, searching her face for the malice that must be there. She has seduced James, brought him to London, thrown their engagement in my face without warning. All of it, to spite me. There is no reason for her to promise herself to the man I loved, the man I once planned to marry, other than to take something I once held dear. As if she has not taken enough from me already.
Yet, as she gazes up at James, I see none of it. There is only softness in her eyes.
But then I think of Henry. I think of his gentle smile and his little-boy smell and am reminded anew of what Alice is capable.
Pulling myself up straighter, I take Dimitri’s arm. “I’d like to go now, please.”
He nods, putting his hand over mine.
As we turn to go, James’s voice sounds behind me. “Lia.”
I look back to meet his eyes and see my own feelings of futility reflected in his gaze.
He sighs. “I’m glad you are well.”
I can only nod. And then Dimitri is rushing me toward the front of the hall.
“But what is she doing here?”
The carriage is dark on the way back to Milthorpe Manor, and Sonia’s voice drifts from the shadows across from me. Dimitri offered to accompany us home, but it is difficult enough to address the questions of Sonia and Luisa. I am not sure I have the courage to face those in Dimitri’s eyes. Not tonight.
I am grateful when Luisa breaks in before I have time to answer. “I’m sure Lia has no idea what Alice is doing here. How can anyone know what Alice is thinking? Have we ever known?”
“I suppose not,” Sonia says.
“There is a purpose to e
verything Alice does,” I say. “I simply don’t know what it is yet.”
“I cannot believe—” Luisa starts but then stops abruptly.
I shake my head in the darkness, watching the smoky streets and the faceless figures that walk them. “Nor can I.”
“I put nothing beyond Alice, but… marrying James?” Luisa says. “How could she? How could he?”
“I left.” My voice is a murmur, and I wonder if I want Sonia and Luisa to hear me at all. If I want anyone to hear the truth about my abandonment of James. “I left without a word. I never even responded to his letters. He owes me nothing.”
“Maybe not,” Sonia says. “But of all the girls in New York, how could he marry Alice?”
I turn away from the window. There is only more darkness beyond its glass. “He doesn’t know.”
I feel Luisa’s shock in the moment before she speaks. “How can you be certain?”
“I simply am. He has no idea of the thing that stands between Alice and me. No idea of the life he will lead with Alice if she has her way.”
Sonia leans forward in a rustle of silk until her face is illuminated by the weak light of the street lamps. “Then you must tell him, Lia. You must tell him, to save him.”
Despair rises in me like a flood. “What if he won’t believe me?”
Sonia reaches out and grasps my hand. “You must make him believe you. You must.”
I look down at our intertwined hands, pale against the blue of Sonia’s gown and the red of mine. Resting my head against the seat, I close my eyes. I close them and see Alice, standing like a queen in emerald silk, a perfect foil to the scarlet gown draped across my own shoulders and hips.
Of course, I think. Of course.
In the deep green gown, with James on her arm, Alice is the Lia that might have been. I see the two of us standing side by side at the Masquerade, and in my mind’s eye it is difficult to tell which girl is my sister and which is me.
Circle of Fire (Prophecy of the Sisters, Book 3) Page 2