But it doesn’t take long to realize that my imaginings are futile. The prophecy has already taken the lives of people I love, and, in many ways, even my own. I could not live with myself if it should take another, least of all James’s. It has been unfair to hope that he would wait for me when I cannot even share the reason that I left.
The unwelcome truth is that James is being wise while I have been only naive. My heart twists with the knowledge I have hidden from even myself, stepping around it in the moments when I came too close.
But it has been there just the same.
Standing, I carry the letter to the dying firebox. I think I will throw it in without hesitation. That I will not ponder a future I may not see until the prophecy is laid to rest.
But it is not so simple. My hand stops moving of its own accord, hovering before the firebox and growing warm from its heat. I tell myself that the letter is only paper and ink. That James may very well be waiting when all is said and done. But the letter is an albatross of memory that I cannot afford. I will only read and reread it should it remain intact. It will only distract me from the matter at hand.
It is this thought that relinquishes my hold, and I cast it into the flame as if it is already on fire. As if it is burning my hand through its very existence. I watch as the edges of the paper curl under the heat. In moments, it is as if I never read the words printed by James’s careful hand. As if it was never there at all.
The destruction of the letter lets loose a shaking in my body, and I cross my arms over my chest, trying to force myself still. I tell myself that I am free of the past whether I wish it or not. Henry is dead. James is no longer mine. Alice and I are destined to meet as enemies.
Now it is just the keys, the prophecy, and me.
I do not know how long I have been asleep, but the fire has burned low in the grate. As I scan the darkened room for the source of the sound that awoke me, I see a figure, as ethereal as a ghost, disappear around the corner of my door in a wisp of white fabric.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet do not reach the ground, but I scoot to the edge and drop to the floor. The lush carpets are soft but cool underfoot as I make my way across the room and out the door.
The hall is deserted and silent, the doors to the other chambers closed. I allow my eyes a moment to become used to the dim light from the wall sconces. When I am able to make out the shapes and shadows of the furniture lining the long hallway, I continue toward the staircase.
The figure, clad in a white nightdress, is descending the stairs. It can only be one of the housemaids who would be up this time of night, and I call out softly, trying not to wake anyone.
“Excuse me, is everything all right?”
Stopping near the bottom of the stairs, the figure turns slowly to meet my voice. It is only then that I gasp aloud into the silent house. Only when I see the face of my sister.
As in my travel, a small smile touches the corners of her mouth. It is a smile both soft and sly. A smile only Alice can manage.
“Alice?” Her name is both familiar and frightening on my tongue. Familiar, because she is my sister. My twin. Frightening, because I know that it cannot really be her, not in the flesh. Her figure is dimly lit, and I see now that her physical body is not here at all.
It cannot be, I think. It cannot be. No mortal traveling the Plane can cross the barrier of the physical world. Not visibly. It is one of the oldest edicts of the ancient order of the Grigori, who still set and enforce the rules of the prophecy, of the Plane, of the Otherworlds.
I am still puzzling over Alice’s forbidden appearance when she begins to fade, her figure growing more and more transparent. In the moment before she disappears, her eyes turn steely. And then she is gone.
I grab hold of the banister for support, the room below wavering as the gravity of the sighting hits me. True, Alice is a formidable Spellcaster, dreadfully competent even before my escape to London. But her presence across the miles can only mean that she has grown stronger still in my absence.
Of course, I should never have deluded myself that it would be otherwise. Though I am still discovering the gifts that are mine, I have grown stronger with each passing day. It would only stand to reason that Alice has done the same.
Yet her breaking of the barrier set by the Grigori can only mean one thing: the Souls may have been quiet all these months, but only because they still have my sister working on their behalf.
Only because whatever they have planned, whatever is coming, will more than make up for their long silence.
4
“Lia. Good morning.”
Philip strides into the room, exuding confidence and authority. The fine lines about his eyes are more noticeable than before, and I wonder if it is because he is tired from his travels or simply because he is nearly old enough to be my father.
“Good morning. Please, sit.” I settle myself on the sofa as Philip sits on the chair near the firebox. “How was your trip?”
We avoid by tacit understanding certain words, certain phrases, that would make it easy for someone to understand our conversation.
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t her. I had high hopes this time, but…” He shakes his head in frustration, leaning back against the chair, exhaustion settling more resolutely over his features. “I sometimes despair that we will ever find the girl, to say nothing of the last, unnamed party.”
I suppress my disappointment. Philip Randall has worked ceaselessly to find the two remaining keys. That we have not yet done so is no fault of his. We have only one name — Helene Castilla — from the list Henry so zealously guarded, and we have been unable to locate someone with that name who also bears the mark. The prophecy dictates only that the remaining keys, like Sonia and Luisa, be marked with the Jorgumand and be born near Avebury at midnight on November 1, 1874. Nearly seventeen years have passed since the birth of the keys, and the spotty nature of birth records in the villages of England has done nothing to help our cause.
Helene could reside anywhere in the world by now. She might even be dead.
I try to ease Philip’s frustration. “Perhaps we should be grateful. If it were simple, someone else might find them before us.” He smiles with something like gratitude as I continue. “I’ve no doubt we will be back on track in short order.”
He sighs, nodding. “There is never a shortage of leads, though once found, they are often endowed with nothing more than a birthmark or scar from a long-forgotten injury or burn. I suppose I’ll take a few days to review the newest reports and prioritize them before planning my next trip.” His eyes drift to the door of the library before returning to mine. “And you? Have you heard anything new?”
My mood darkens with the question. It is impossible to believe that Aunt Abigail and the Grigori are unaware of Alice’s movements on the Plane and the forbidden use of her power. It is only a matter of time before I am summoned to Altus to retrieve the pages before Alice grows even stronger.
I shake my head in answer. “But I may soon be departing on a journey of my own.”
He sits up straighter. “A journey? Surely you don’t mean to travel alone?”
“I’m afraid so. Well, Sonia will likely accompany me, and I imagine we will need a guide, but other than that, I suppose I will be quite alone.”
“But… where will you go? How long will you be gone?”
It is not often that I must keep something of importance from Philip. Hired by my father before his death, Philip knows more about the prophecy than any other person outside of it save our old coachman Edmund. But even still, I have guarded closely many details in the interest of Philip’s safety and mine. The Souls are forbidding, their power immeasurable. It is not impossible to believe they could find a way to use Philip for their own gain.
I smile. “Let us simply say that it is a journey necessary to the prophecy and that I shall return as quickly as possible.”
He stands suddenly, raking his fingers through his hair in
a gesture of boyish frustration. It makes him look young, and I realize with a start that he may not be as old as I believed, despite the quiet confidence and wisdom that so reminds me of Father.
“It is dangerous enough for you here in London; you cannot possibly consider such a journey.” All at once he straightens. “I will escort you myself.”
I cross the room, taking his hands in mine. It does not feel at all improper, though I have not touched another man since leaving James behind in New York.
“Dear Philip. That is impossible. I don’t know how long I will be gone, and it makes far more sense for you to continue searching for the keys while I see to this other bit of business. Besides, this part of the prophecy must be shouldered only by me, though I heartily wish it were not so.” I lean in and brush his cool cheek with the back of my hand. It is an unexpected impulse, though when his eyes darken I see that my surprise is no match for his. “It is kind of you to offer your company. I know well that you would join me if I would allow it.”
He lifts his hand to his cheek, and I have the strangest feeling that everything said after my brief touch is forgotten. He does not mention my journey again.
That night I travel to Birchwood. I no longer will myself into the Otherworlds, but I do not wish myself back from them either. I know Sonia would be worried to find me traveling without escort, but I am too curious about my sister to relinquish a possible glimpse into her life.
And perhaps a glimpse of James. It is a whisper in my heart.
The sky is inky and endless, with only a sliver of moon to light the tall, swaying grass in the fields. The wind rushes through the leaves in the trees, and I recognize the vacuous calm before a storm, the almost visible crackle of impending lightning and thunder. But for now, at least, it is eerily quiet.
Birchwood Manor is dark and imposing, the steep stone walls rising into the night sky like a fortress. It feels deserted, even from a distance. The lanterns that were once lit near the front door are extinguished, the leaded windows in the library black, though it has long been a habit to keep the lamp on Father’s desk aglow through the night.
And then I am in the entry, the marble icy under my bare feet. Though I feel the cold seep into my skin, I am removed from it in a way that I have come to expect while traveling the Plane. The grandfather clock in the foyer ticks quietly as I make my way up the stairs. Even in my travel, I instinctively avoid the fourth creaky step.
Like so many things in my life, the house has become strange. I recognize its outward appearance — the worn, antique carpets, the carved mahogany banister — but something about its chemistry has changed, as if it is no longer made up of the familiar stone and wood and mortar that housed me since birth.
The Dark Room, of course, is still at the end of the hall. It does not surprise me to see the door open, light seeping from its interior.
I make my way toward it. I am not afraid, only curious, for I rarely find myself on the Plane without purpose. The door to my chambers, my old childhood room, is closed, as are Henry’s and Father’s. I suppose it is only Alice now who matters to Alice. I suppose it is easier for her to forget that we were once a family if all the doors remain tightly shut.
And it is just as well, for I carry reminders of my past, my family, not in the darkest rooms of my heart as one might imagine, but in its brightly lit corners where I can see them for all they were.
I do not hesitate to step through the door to the Dark Room. The laws of the Grigori prevent me from being seen, even if I did wish it to be different. Even if I did wish to gain control over the forbidden powers Alice seems to have harnessed.
And I do not.
The first thing I see when I enter the room is my sister. She sits on the floor in the center of her circle, the same circle in which I found her all those months before, the one carved into the wooden floor and once hidden under the old carpet. Though my experience as a Spellcaster does not come close to matching that of my sister’s, I know enough to recognize the circle as one that strengthens the spell and protects the Caster within it. The site of it causes me to shiver, even in my traveling form.
Alice wears one of her white nightdresses. Trimmed in matching lavender ribbon and once made by the armful, I remember them well. I no longer wear mine, for they are part of another life. But Alice wears hers now, looking strangely innocent and lovely as she rests on her heels, eyes closed and lips moving in an almost-silent whisper.
I remain in place for some time, watching the fine planes of her face fade in and out with the flicker of the candles lighting her circle. Her soft, unnamable words lull me into a strange state of apathy. I find myself almost drowsy, though I am already physically asleep back in London. It is only when Alice opens her eyes that I am forced to alertness.
At first, I think she will gaze into the empty room, but her eyes find mine calmly across the shadows as if she knew I was there all along. She doesn’t need to speak the words for me to know they are true, but she speaks anyway, looking right into my soul as only she has ever been able to do.
“I see you,” she says. “I see you, Lia. And I know you’re there.”
I take my time dressing as I ponder my strange trip to Birchwood. Daylight has done nothing to clarify the experience. Reason tells me that I must not have been traveling at all, that it must have been a simple dream, for between the two dimensions of the astral Plane and the physical world is a veil that cannot be lifted. One can only see what is happening on the Plane by occupying it, and clearly Alice was in the physical world while I was on the Plane.
Yet I am certain that I was traveling. That Alice did know I was there. She said so herself. I am wondering what to do with this newfound knowledge when a knock sounds from the door.
I am not surprised, even in my state of half-undress, when Sonia steps into the room without waiting for me to answer. We stopped standing on ceremony long ago.
“Good morning,” she says. “Did you sleep well?”
I reach past the elaborate velvet gowns hanging in my wardrobe, opting instead for something simple in apricot silk. “Not exactly.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
Sighing, I clutch the gown to my bosom and drop onto the bed next to Sonia. I feel unexpectedly guilty. I have not been honest with Sonia lately. I did not tell her of my terrifying travel to the river the night I saw Samael and awoke with a cut on my cheek. I did not tell her of my vision of Alice the night I saw her on the stairs here at Milthorpe Manor.
And ours is not an alliance that will tolerate secrets.
“I traveled to Birchwood last night.” I say it quickly before I can change my mind.
I do not expect the anger that flushes her cheeks. “You are not supposed to travel the Plane without me, Lia. You know this! It’s dangerous.” Her words are a hiss.
She is right, of course. It has been our habit to travel the Plane together and only when necessary for Sonia to teach me how to use the gifts that are mine. It is for my own protection, for there is always the danger that the Souls might detain me long enough to sever the astral cord that binds my soul to my body. Should that happen, my greatest fear would be realized and I would be stranded in the icy Void for all eternity. Still, Sonia’s agitation surprises me, and I feel renewed affection for her in the face of her concern.
I place a hand on her arm. “I didn’t go intentionally. I felt… summoned.”
She raises her eyebrows, worry creasing her forehead. “By Alice?”
“Yes… Maybe… I don’t know! But I saw her at Birchwood, and I think she saw me.”
There is no mistaking the shock on Sonia’s face. “What do you mean she saw you? She cannot see you when she is in this world and you are on the Plane! She would be in violation!” She hesitates, looking at me with an expression I cannot fathom. “Unless you were the one using forbidden power.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I wasn’t. I may be a Spellcaster, but I don’t have any idea how
to conjure such power, nor do I want to know.” I stand, pulling the gown over my head and feeling it fall over my petticoat and slide over my stockings. When I emerge from the yards of pale silk, I meet Sonia’s eyes. “And I don’t think Alice is very concerned about the Grigori right now, though I suppose I should have expected as much.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh. “I believe I saw her. Here, at Milthorpe Manor. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw someone on the stairs. I thought it was Ruth or one of the other maids, but when I called out, the figure turned and it… it looked like Alice.”
“What do you mean ‘it looked like Alice’?”
“The figure was faint. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a physical being. But it was her.” I nod, surer by the moment. “I’m certain of it.”
Sonia stands, walking to the window overlooking the streets below. She is quiet for a long time. When she finally speaks, the mixture of awe and fear are unmistakable in her voice.
“So she can see us, then. And possibly hear us, too.”
I nod, though Sonia’s back remains turned. “I think so.”
She turns to face me. “What does it mean for us? For the missing pages?”
“No Sister of the prophecy would willingly hand over the location of the missing pages to Alice. But if she has been able to observe our progress, she may try and beat us to them, either to use them to her own gain or to keep us from reaching them.”
“But she can’t cross into this world, not physically. Not for the time it would take to pursue us all that way. She would have to take a ship to London and follow us in person, and that would take time.”
“Unless she has someone do it for her.”
Sonia meets my eyes.
“But what can we do, Lia? How will we stop her from reaching the pages if she can trace our movements from afar?”
I shrug. The answer is simple and not difficult to find.
“We will have to get there first.”
I hope Sonia cannot tell that my words are stronger than my conviction, for the knowledge that I might soon face my sister causes me deep disquiet.
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