Prophecy of the Sisters (14 page)

At last, the call of sleep arrives. I reach to turn off the lamp, stopping before I turn the key. I
feel
the medallion in the drawer of my night table. It pulses there like a living thing, sending out a soundless but primeval
signal meant only for me. Part of me believes that the medallion
belongs
to me, belongs on my wrist. But the other part, the thinking part, believes it unwise to wear it until I know what part it
plays.

The will required for me to leave it takes me by surprise. I turn out the light and, all at once, my plan to leave it in the
drawer is nearly overmatched by my desire, my
need,
to have it on, to feel its caress on the warm skin of my wrist. For one strange moment, I cannot remember why I should leave
it off at all.

And then, from some dark recess, I find the clarity to turn away. I turn my back to the table and will myself to sleep.

My dreams are constant. I am both in them and above them, watching them unfold. There are moments when I am conscious of the
feeling of flying, as if I am on one of my travels. But there are others where I know, even in the absent state of sleep,
that it is a dream.

There are flashes — soundless flashes of my mother’s grave, the blackness seeping from the Earth near her marker. Flashes
of the cliff from which she fell, of my father and his tortured, terrified expression when we found him in the Dark Room.
In my dream, the enormous winged demons chase me, but this time the army is led by something even more frightening. Its heart
beats in time to my own, blocking out all rational thought as it approaches in the thunder of a thousand hooves.

Louder, louder, louder.

And then I am falling, falling through a dark and endless emptiness. At first I believe it is the hissing of the dark thing
in my dream that causes me to sit up so suddenly in my bed, my breath coming fast and heavy, my heart beating ferociously
in my chest. But a quick glance to the end of my bed reveals Ari, hissing at me in fear or anger. He eyes me warily, back
arched and teeth bared.

And then he does the strangest thing of all.

He turns, jumping down from the bed and padding purposefully to the corner where he turns his back to me, sitting on his haunches
and staring at the wall as if refusing to acknowledge my existence. I cannot take my eyes off his shadow, an ominous smudge
in the corner of the room, though he is nothing but the cat I have loved for many years.

There is no light coming from the windows, and for a minute, I think perhaps it is still night. But then I hear the sounds
of the servants. I remember that it is almost winter and is quite dark even when we wake.

It all moves through me in seconds — the darkness, Ari’s unusual behavior, the sounds of the house slowly waking. What comes
to me a moment later is the weight around my wrist. It is too dark for me to see, so I use my other hand to feel for it, just
to be sure. Even that is not enough to bring belief, and I fumble for a match, lighting the bedside lamp clumsily until light
bursts forth, illuminating the medallion on my wrist.

It takes me half the morning to escape the house unseen with the medallion.

Alice seems more watchful than usual as we eat breakfast and read, though I tell myself she cannot possibly know what I mean
to do. Still, I don’t take my leave until she retires to her room to work on an overdue French lesson for Wycliffe.

The wind is so cold it takes my breath away, but it does not deter me. I am already committed to the task at hand. Forcing
aside my discomfort, I make my way around the house and toward the river. I will my feet forward as fast as my skirts will
allow, the drawstring bag swinging from one hand as I pick up the pace. I no longer feel the cold. In fact, I don’t feel or
hear a thing. Everything is quiet and still as I put one boot in front of the other, as if the world itself knows what I mean
to do.

When I come to the river’s edge, I reach into my bag, feeling around for the medallion. I half-expect it to be gone, to have
disappeared in an unreasonable bid for safety, as if it has desires all its own. But it is only a thing, after all, and it
lies in the bag right where I placed it before breakfast.

All I want is to be rid of it.

I raise my arm in the air, hesitating only a second before letting go and flinging it into the river with force. A small puff
of steam rises off the water where it lands. I walk as close to the river’s edge as I can manage without risking a fall.

It is there, spinning downstream in the angry current, the black velvet coiling like a snake around the gold disc, glinting
from the water though there is not a speck of sun in the sky.

I stay by the river awhile to gather my thoughts. I do not know how the medallion works with the prophecy, but I feel certain
that it has something to do with the Souls and their pathway back. Now it is somewhere in the cold, wild waters of the river.
It will sink to the bottom and lie among the rocks. I pray to a God I rarely acknowledge that no one will ever see it again.

I sit atop the dry leaves on the bank, my back against the large boulder where I pass the time with James. The thought of
him brings an uneasy turn of my stomach. It is clear that if he believes in the prophecy at all, it is only as legend. Certainly,
my newly revealed role as Gate would be difficult for even the most imaginative person to accept, let alone one as reasoned
as James.

I attempt to envision his reaction, assuming I can summon the courage to tell him. I remind myself that we are more than promised.
We are best friends. But in the confidence of his love I also feel a deep disquiet. A small voice that whispers,
What if he doesn’t want you?
What if he does not wish to marry such a strange person with such a strange role in such a strange tale? He will say his love
is true, but he will never look at you with the same love and trust again.
I shake my head, denying it to no one but myself.

“Why do you shake your head, though you are all alone?” James’s voice startles me, and I hold a hand to the front of my cloak.

“Goodness! What are you doing here? It’s Sunday!” He has appeared, leaning against a tree across from the rock, as suddenly
as if I had conjured him by thought alone.

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Can’t I come to call, just for the pleasure of it?”

I am torn between my desire to see him and the increasing difficulty of keeping so many secrets. “Well… yes. Yes, of course.
I simply didn’t expect you.”

He walks over, his boots crunching across the forest floor. “Father didn’t need the carriage, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow
to see you. I hoped I might find you here.” He reaches a hand down toward me, and I take it, allowing him to pull me up and
against him. When he speaks again his voice is low and rough. “Good morning.”

I am embarrassed by the scrutiny of his eyes on my face, though surely he has looked at me in this manner a thousand times
before. “Good morning.” I dip my head, avoiding his eyes and stepping away from the warmth of his body. “And how is your father?”

It is a silly question. Of course Mr. Douglas is fine, otherwise James would not be here with me. Still, it gives me a chance
to wander away from him while trying not to seem as if I want to put distance between us.

But James knows me too well. He ignores my question, making his way to me in two long strides. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He takes my hand, and I feel his eyes on my face as I stare at the swirling water. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

This is it. This is where you tell him. Tell him everything. Trust in his love.
It is a persistent wind that whistles through my heart but one I ignore, though reason calls me a fool.

“Of course I am.” I smile, digging deeply to make it as bright and carefree as possible. “I’m… I’m simply not feeling myself
today, that’s all. Perhaps I should retire to my chamber for the afternoon.”

He is disappointed. Disappointed that I shall not spend the day with him when he has come all this way. “All right, then.
I’ll walk you back to the house and fetch the carriage from Edmund.” He covers the wounded look in his eyes with a smile anyone
would believe, if only they did not know James as well as I.

James and I part in the courtyard after making our way back from the river amid strained conversation. He holds my hand as
he begins to walk away, as if trying to keep me from slipping further from his grasp. I watch his carriage disappear around
the bend in the drive before turning toward the house.

The small voice comes from behind me as I climb the stone steps on my way to the front door. “Miss? You’ve dropped something,
Miss.”

It is the young girl from town, the one who gave me my comb with the bracelet. She wears the same sky blue pinafore, her flaxen
ringlets springing around her shoulders.

I look around, struck silent by the unlikelihood of the child turning up here, so far from town. There is no sign of an adult,
no carriage or horse. I descend the stairs toward her, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. It was she, after all, who gave me
the medallion in the first place, never mind the innocence of her face.

“I’ve not dropped anything. What is your name? How did you get here?”

She ignores the question, thrusting her small hand toward me, her fingers closed into a fist. “I’m quite certain it’s yours,
Miss. And I’ve come all this way.” Her hand comes toward me so quickly that it is a reflex, really, opening my palm and taking
the thing from her. She turns and skips down the tree-lined drive, humming the same tune that drifted after her in town.

It is only then that I feel the water. Water that leaks from my fingers in a torrent. My hand shakes violently when I open
it to see what the girl has delivered.

It cannot be.

The medallion lies in my palm, black velvet coils made all the blacker by the water that soaks them, pouring through my fingers
and onto the stone stairs. The bracelet is more than damp. It is
dripping
with water, soaked through as if it was lifted from the river only a moment before.

I have to stop the girl.

The girl, the girl, the girl.

Running down the stairs, the hateful thing I do not want clutched in my hand, I enter the darkening pathway leading to the
road. I run until I am deep within the path, the trees forming a shadowy canopy that rises on either side. I stand there far
longer than makes sense, staring off in the direction I saw her skip, the wind an eerie whisper in the trees overhead. But
it is no use. She is gone, as I somehow knew she would be.

“Is it very cold out?” Henry asks as I come into the entry, rubbing my hands together. He and Aunt Virginia are playing cards,
the fire crackling in the firebox.

“Quite. I should think none of us will be spending much time by the river until spring.” I hang my cloak, turning to them
with a smile that I hope hides my unease. “Who’s winning?”

Henry grins, triumphant. “I am, of course!”

“Of course? Oh, you little beast!” Aunt Virginia teases. She looks over at me. “Care to join us, Lia?”

“Not just now. I’m freezing. I think I’ll change into warm clothes. After dinner, perhaps?”

Aunt Virginia nods absentmindedly.

I look around the parlor. “Where is Alice?”

“She said she was going to her chambers to rest,” Aunt Virginia murmurs, studying her cards with great concentration.

I head to my room to look for a blanket, a deep disquiet settling into my chest. When I come to my room and see the figure,
hunched and digging through the top drawer of my dresser, I understand.

“May I help you find something?” The coldness in my voice feels unfamiliar in my throat.

Alice whirls around. She stares at me, her face an impassive mask, weighing her words before speaking as she strolls casually
toward me. “No, thank you. I was looking for the brooch I lent you last summer.” She stops in front of me, unable to leave
the room as I stand in the doorway.

“I gave it back to you, Alice. Before school resumed in the fall.”