Rebel Angels

by Libba Bray

  I offer my hands to the woman with the painted face.

  “You are brave, I see,” Asha says. She nods to the woman, who squeezes the mixture onto my hands. It is cold on my skin. Is that the poison working its way into my blood? I can only close my eyes and wait, hoping for the best.

  “Oh, look!” Ann gasps.

  Fearing the worst, I open my eyes. My hands. Where the clay mixture has dried it has turned a glorious brick red in a design more ornate than a spider’s web. It reminds me of the brides of India whose hands are stenciled with henna in honor of their husbands.

  “I shall be next,” Felicity says, rushing to remove her gloves. She is no longer afraid of being poisoned, only of being left out.

  In the deep recesses of the cave is a sheet of water smooth as glass that seems to rise and fall at the same time. The flow of it makes me drowsy. It is the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

  I am standing before a large well. The surface is alive with movement. It shows me things. Roses blooming fast on thick green vines. A cathedral adrift on an island. Black rock awash in fog. A warrior in horned helmet riding a fierce horse. A twisted tree against a bloodred sky. Asha’s painted hands. Nell Hawkins. The green cloak. Something moves in the shadows, startling me, coming closer. A face.

  I wake with a start. Felicity laughs merrily, showing off her hands, which have been painted in beautiful curlicues. She compares them with Ann’s and Pippa’s ornate designs. Asha sits across from me, her thick, scaly legs crossed.

  “What did you see in your dreams?” she asks.

  What did I see? Nothing that means anything to me. "Nothing,” I answer.

  Again I see disappointment in her eyes. “It is time for you to go.”

  She leads us to the mouth of the cave. The sky is no longer blue, but a deep, inky night. Have we been here so long? The pots of incense belch their rainbow of color. Torches line the path. The Hajin stand beside them, bowing as we walk.

  When we once again reach the rock, the door appears. “I thought you said that the only way out was to go forward,” I say.

  “Yes. That is true.”

  “But this is the way we’ve come!”

  “Is it?” she asks. “Take care on the path. Walk quickly and quietly. The paint will keep you hidden from sight.” Asha places her palms together and bows. "Go now.”

  I don’t understand at all, but we’ve wasted too much time already for more questions. We’ve got to get back to the path. In the glow of the amulet, I can see the delicate lines on my hands. It seems a scant protection from whatever may be looking for us, but I hope Asha is right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE GLOW OF THE CRESCENT EYE LEADS US AWAY from the mountain till we are on unfamiliar ground. The sky is not as dark here. It’s suffused with the light of a dark red moon. We’re surrounded by the gnarled bodies of giant trees. Their branches arch high over our heads, those bare, twisted fingers of bark intertwining in an eerie embrace. The effect is rather like being in one long cage.

  “Did we come this way before?” Felicity asks.

  “Where are we?” Pippa asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “It’s a ghastly place,” Ann says.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted them. Filthy vermin!” Pippa says.

  “Hush!” I say. In my hand, the amulet’s glow has softened to a flickering glimmer, and then it’s out like a candle snuffed. "It’s gone out.”

  “Well, that’s a fine thing! Now how will we get back?” Ann mumbles.

  The red moon bleeds through the spindly, stripped branches, casting long shadows.

  “We’ll use the moonlight. Keep walking,” I say. Why has the amulet stopped working?

  “Gracious, what is that smell?” Felicity asks.

  The wind moves this way, and I smell it too. A smell like disease and filth. A smell like death. A breeze pushes down the corridor of trees from behind us, rustling our satins and silks. It is more substantial than a puff of wind. It is an announcement. Something’s coming.

  Ann’s got her hand to her nose and mouth. “Oh, that is truly beastly.”

  “Shhhh!” I say.

  “What?” Pippa asks.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Riders. They’re coming fast. A cloud of dust looms. They’ll overtake us in a moment. The corridor ahead seems to stretch on for a mile. Can we squeeze through the spaces between the trees? The gaps are but slivers of light, too narrow to allow any of us to pass.

  “Where’ve you gone?” Pippa asks, looking about.

  “What do you mean? We’re right here,” Felicity says.

  “I can’t see any of you!”

  The paint! It’s keeping us hidden somehow. " The paint protects us. They can’t see us.”

  “What about me?” Pippa asks, examining her hands, which are quite visible. “Oh, God!” She sounds desperate, and I don’t know what to do to help her. The riders come into view— skeletal wraiths twisted beyond whatever human form they once had. And behind them looms a figure of such terror—a hideous thing with giant, tattered wings and a mouth of long, pointed teeth. Flaps of flesh still cling to them in places. It has no eyes. But it sniffs the air, hunting for us. I know what it is, for I’ve faced one before. It’s a tracker, the sort employed by Circe.

  It sniffs in our direction. Its odor is enough to make me gag. I fight against it.

  “You there,” the dark spirit howls, and for a moment I think he has found us. "You have not passed, spirit?”

  “M-me?” Pippa says. "I—I . . .”

  The thing’s mouth drools in slick, slimy ribbons. Oh, Pip! I want to save her but I’m frightened, unable to give up the safety of my invisibility. The horrid creature sniffs the air.

  “Ah, I can smell them. Living things. The priestess has been here. Have you seen her?”

  Pippa shakes. "N-no,” she whispers.

  The beast moves closer to her. Its voice is a growl laced with the despair of a thousand souls. “You would not lie to us, would you?”

  Pippa opens her mouth but no words come.

  “No matter. We shall find her eventually. My mistress is seeing to it. And when she has the Temple, the balance of power shall fall to the Winterlands at last.” He moves closer to Pippa, showing a terrible grin. "Ride with us. You can share in our victory. Whatever you wish can be yours. Such a pretty pet. Ride with us.”

  That face is so very close to Pippa’s lovely cheek. There’s a rock beneath my boot. Carefully, I reach down and fling it across the lane. The tracker’s massive head swivels in that direction. The wraiths howl and shriek.

  “They are still near. They have some magic working for them. I can feel it. I’m sure we shall meet again, my pet. Ride!” With that, they race screaming into the corridor. We stand without moving or speaking until the ground has settled and the wind is no more.

  “Are you all right, Pip?” Felicity cries.

  “Y-yes. I think so,” she says. “I still can’t see you. I wonder why it didn’t work on me?”

  Yes, I wonder too. It hides what must be hidden and reveals what must be seen. Why would Pippa not need to be hidden, unless she already has protection in the realms? No, Pippa is nothing like that thing. That is what my head says. But in my heart is another, terrible thought: Soon, she might be.

  “I want to leave this place at once,” Ann says.

  We walk quickly and quietly, as Asha advised. When we reach the end of the corridor, the amulet sputters to life in my hands.

  “It’s back!” I say. I move it about. It glows strongest on my left. "This way!”

  Soon, we see the frayed edge of the golden sunset that marks the realm of the garden. By the time we reach the silver archway and the river, we’re visible once more.

  Pippa’s shaking all over. “That creature . . . so horrible.”

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” I ask.

  She nods. "Gemma,” she says, biting her lip, “what shall happen
once you find the Temple?”

  “You know what happens. I must bind the magic.”

  “And what will happen to me? Must I go?” Her voice is whisper thin.

  It is the question I keep pushing away. But tonight, I have begun to realize—to see clearly, as Asha said—that this may not be forever. That Pippa might become one of those dark spirits herself if she does not cross. I can’t bring myself to say it. I pick up a handful of dew from the ground. The drops gather in my fingers, becoming a silvery web that sticks them together.

  “Gemma . . . ,” Pippa pleads.

  “Of course you won’t have to go,” Felicity says, storming past me. "We’ll find a way to change things with the magic. The Order will help us.”

  “We don’t know that,” I say gently.

  “But it’s possible, isn’t it?” Pippa asks, hope turning her eyes bright again. “Think of it! I could stay. We would be together forever.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll find a way. I promise,” Felicity says.

  I flash Felicity a warning look, but Pippa’s crying tears of joy, wrapping her arms about Felicity’s chest, cradling her in her arms. "Fee, thank you. I do love you so.”

  The paint on our hands has faded to nothing more than a shadow of lines and squiggles that disappear under the thin white lies of our gloves.

  “You mustn’t go just yet,” Pippa begs. "I want to pretend that I am also at the opera. And there is a ball after! Come on— dance with me!”

  She runs out into the grass, sweeping her dress from side to side, kicking up her heels. Giggling, Ann runs after. I pull Felicity aside.

  “You oughtn’t to promise Pippa such things.”

  Felicity’s eyes flash. “Why not? Gemma, she was lost to us, and now we have her back. There must be some reason for it, don’t you think?”

  I think of my mother’s passing, of how keen the pain of her loss still feels, like a wound you think healed till you bump the fading bruise of it and feel the hurt anew. It is horrible. And yet . . . Asha’s magic didn’t work on Pip. Those dark spirits saw her. They courted her and hunted us.

  “I do not know what we have, but it is not Pippa. Not our Pippa, at the least.”

  Felicity breaks away from me. "I won’t lose her twice. You can see she isn’t changed. She’s still our Pippa, lovely as ever.”

  “But she ate the berries. She died. You saw her buried.”

  Felicity won’t hear it. “The magic. That will change things.”

  “That isn’t its purpose,” I say softly. “Pip is a creature of the realms now, and she must pass before she is corrupted.”

  Felicity looks out to where Pippa and Ann frolic in the fresh grass, twirling like ballerinas. "You don’t know that.”

  “Fee . . .”

  “You don’t know that!” She breaks into a run.

  “Dance with me, Fee,” Pippa calls, her smile radiant. She takes Felicity’s hands in hers. Something passes between them that I cannot name. A tenderness. A togetherness. Just as if we were all gathered in Spence’s grand ballroom, Felicity places her hands at Pippa’s waist and pulls her into a waltz. They twirl and twirl, Pippa’s ringlets catching the wind, wild and free.

  “Oh, Fee. I do miss you so.” She wraps her arm about Felicity’s waist and Felicity does the same to Pippa. They could be Siamese twins. Pippa whispers something to Felicity, and she laughs. “Don’t leave me,” Pippa says. “Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

  Felicity lays her hands over Pip’s. "I promise.”

  I need a moment to anchor myself. I walk to the river’s edge to sit and think. The gorgon glides silently into view.

  “Are you troubled, Most High?” she says in her slick voice.

  “No,” I grumble.

  “You do not trust me,” she says.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She pivots her enormous green head in the direction of the garden, where my friends are dancing in the sweet grass. “Things are changing. You cannot stop the change.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You will have to make a choice, and soon, I fear.”

  I stand, brushing the grass from my skirt. “I know you helped slaughter members of the Order. You didn’t warn us when the water nymphs were near. For all I know, you could be part of the Winterlands. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

  “I was bound by magic to speak truth and do no harm to your kind.”

  Once.

  I turn to leave. "As you said, things are changing.”

  We return to the empty box of the Royal Opera House just as the curtain falls for the intermission. We’re carrying magic with us. It clings to my body in a way that makes me aware of everything. The slow hiss of the gaslamp mounted on the edge of the private box roars in my head. The rising lights sting my eyes. And people’s thoughts rush through me till I feel I’ll go mad.

  “Gemma? Are you all right?” Ann asks.

  “Don’t you feel that?” I gasp.

  “Feel what?” Felicity says, irritated.

  “The magic. It’s too much.” I put my hands to my ears as if that will stop things. Ann and Felicity do not seem bothered at all. “Try to do something magical—make a grasshopper or a ruby.”

  Felicity closes her eyes and holds out her palm. Something flickers there for a moment, but then it fades. "Why couldn’t I make it happen?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. I can scarcely catch my breath. “You try, Ann.”

  Ann cups her hands together and concentrates. She’s wishing for a diamond crown. I can feel her wish surging inside me. In a moment she stops trying. "I don’t understand,” she says.

  “It’s as if all your magic is in me,” I say, shivering. "As if I have it threefold.”

  Felicity peeks over the top of the lip of the box. “They’ve left their seats! They’ll be looking for us! We’ve got to go to them. Gemma, can you stand?”

  My legs are like a new colt’s. Felicity and Ann flank me, our hands locked. We fall in behind a man and his wife. He’s having an affair with her sister. He plans to meet her tonight after the opera. His secrets rush through my veins, poisoning me.

  “Oh,” I gasp, shaking my head to rid myself of his thoughts.

  “This is awful. I can hear and feel everything. I can’t stop it.

  How shall I get through this evening?”

  Felicity guides me down the stairs. “We’ll get you to the dressing room and tell your grandmother that you are indisposed. She’ll take you home.”

  “But then I shall miss my evening with Simon!” I wail.

  “Do you want Simon to see you like this?” Felicity whispers.

  “N-no,” I say, tears slipping down my cheeks.

  “Come on, then.”

  Ann’s humming softly. It’s a nervous habit of hers, but it’s soothing somehow, and if I listen only to her voice, I find I can walk and look reasonably fit.

  When we reach the bottom of the stairs and the grand foyer, Tom’s there, looking for me. Ann stops humming, and I’m assaulted by the din of everyone’s secrets. Concentrate, Gemma. Turn them out. Choose one.

  Ann. I feel her heart beating in rhythm with mine. She’s imagining herself dancing in Tom’s arms, him looking adoringly at her. She wants it desperately, and I’m sorry I know it.

  Here he comes, along with Lady Denby. And Simon. I lose the thread that is Ann. Everything’s rushing in again. I’m in a panic. All I can think about is Simon, beautiful Simon in his white tie and black jacket, and me, undone by the magic. He’s striding over. For a moment, his thoughts push their way in. Fleeting images. His mouth on my neck. His hand removing my glove.

  My knees buckle. Felicity pulls me up sharply.

  “Miss Doyle?” Simon asks quizzically.

  “Miss Doyle is a bit indisposed,” Felicity says to my great embarrassment.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Lady Denby says. “We’ll send for the carriage at once.”

  “If you thi
nk it best, Lady Denby,” Grandmama says, disappointed to cut her evening short.

  “Lady Denby, how very nice to see you!” It’s Cecily Temple’s mother, marching our way with Cecily at her side. Cecily’s eyes go wide when she spies Ann.

  “Good evening,” she says. “Why, Miss Bradshaw. What a surprise to see you here. Why are you not back at Spence with Brigid and the servants?”

  “We are fortunate to have Miss Bradshaw with us for the holiday, as her great-uncle, the Duke of Chesterfield, was delayed in Russia,” Felicity’s mother informs her.

  “Duke of Chesterfield?” Cecily repeats as if she hasn’t heard quite right.

  Mrs. Worthington recounts the tale of Ann’s noble birth for Cecily and her mother. Cecily’s mouth hangs open in astonishment, but cruelty corrects it, bending it into a malicious smile. Something cold and hard flows through me. It’s Cecily’s intention. She’s going to do it. She’s going to tell. Now Ann’s alarm pummels me, mixing with Cecily’s spite to make me woozy. Can’t breathe. Need to think.

  I hear Cecily’s voice. "Ann Bradshaw . . .”

  My eyes flutter. Please stop.

  “. . . is . . .”

  Stop. Please.

  “. . . the most . . .”

  Unable to bear it, I shout out, “Stop!”

  A delicious relief fills me. There is utter and complete silence. No rush of thoughts. No crowd noises. No instruments being tuned. Nothing at all, actually. When I open my eyes, I see why. I’ve made everything stand still: the ladies gathering skirts, chattering. The gentlemen checking pocket watches. They are like the wax tableaus behind the giant glass windows of a department store. I had not intended for this to happen, but it has, and I must use it to our advantage. I must save Ann.

  “Cecily,” I intone, placing my hand on her rigid arm. “You will not say another word against Ann. You will believe everything we say, and what’s more, you will treat Ann as if she were the Queen herself.

  “Ann,” I say, smoothing her hair away from her worried face. “You’ve no reason to fret. You deserve to be here. You are loved.”

  The man having the affair with his wife’s sister stands near. I cannot resist. I slap him hard across the cheek. It is oddly satisfying. “You, sir, are a scoundrel. You will reform yourself immediately and devote yourself to the happiness of your wife.”