Chapter 7

Previous Top Next

It's the sound that wakes me. My eyelids flutter open, fighting off the remnants of

dreams. I'm lying on my right side, facing Ann's bed. The door and whatever may be just

inside it are down past my feet at the far end of the room. To get a good look, I'd have to

move, sit up, roll over, and I'm not about to let on that I'm awake. It's a five-year-old's

logic: If I can't see it, it can't see me. No doubt plenty of unfortunate people have wound

up with their heads cut off by assuming the very same thing.

All right, Gem, no use getting frightened. It's probably nothing. I blink and let my eyes

adjust to the dark. Fingers of moonlight reach through the crack in the long velvet drapes

and up the walls, nearly touching the low ceiling. Outside, a branch scratches against the

windowpane with a squeak. My ears strain for some other noise, something in the room

with us. There's nothing else but the rhythm of Ann's steady snoring. For a moment I

think I must have dreamed it. And there it is again. The creaking of floorboards under

careful steps that tells me this is not my imagination. I let my eyelids close to small slits

so that I can pretend to be asleep but still see. No one takes my head without a fight. A

figure looms closer. My tongue feels thick and dry in my mouth. The figure reaches out a

hand and I'm up quickly, smashing my skull into the overhang just above my bed.

I hiss in pain, forgetting my visitor and placing a palm on my throbbing forehead.

A surprisingly small hand clamps over my mouth. "Do you want to wake the whole

bloody school?" Felicity leans over me, the moonlight catching the planes of her face in

such a way that she is all wide, hard angles and milky-white skin. She could be the face

of the moon itself.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my fingers rubbing across the goose egg-sized lump

rising along my hairline.

"I told you we'd come for you."

"You didn't say it would be in the middle of the bloody night," I say, matching her tone.

There's something about Felicity that makes me want to impress her, show her that I'm a

match for her strength and she can't win me so easily.

"Come on. I want to show you something."

"What?"

She speaks to me slowly, as she would a child. "Follow me and I'll show you."

My head still hurts from the bang. Ann is snoring lightly, completely unaware that we're

having this conversation.

"Come back in the morning," I say, flopping back against my pillow. I'm awake enough

to know that whatever she wants to show me at this hour can't be good.

"I won't make this offer again. It's now or never."

Go back to sleep, Gem. This does not sound promising. It's my conscience talking. But

my conscience doesn't have to spend the next two years making inane teatime chatter,

bored to the point of catatonia. This is a challenge, and I've never said no to a challenge

in my life.

"All right, then. I'm up," I say. Then, just to make sure I don't seem too soft, I add, "But

this had better be good."

"Oh, it will. I promise you."

I find myself following Felicity out of my room, down the long corridor, past rooms of

sleeping girls tucked away behind walls that house pictures of women from Spence's

past, grim-faced ghosts in white dresses whose somber mouths are tight in disapproval of

this little escapade, but whose sad eyes all seem to say go. Go while you can. Freedom is

brief.

When we get to the huge landing and the stairs leading down, I pause. "What about Mrs.

Nightwing?" I say, glancing up the enormous stairs that extend to a fourth floor I can't see

in the dark.

"Don't worry about her. Once she's had her glass of sherry, she's down for the night."

Felicity starts down.

"Wait!" I whisper as loudly as I can without waking anyone. Felicity stops, turns to me,

that pale face taunting. Hips swaying, she inches back up to the stair just below me.

"If you want to spend your time here embroidering God Bless Our Home samplers and

learning how to play lawn tennis in a corset and skirt, go back to bed. But if you want to

have a bit of real fun, well…" And with that she trips lightly down the stairs and around

the corner to the next set of stairs, where I can no longer see her.

Pippa meets us in the great hall. The huge fireplaces have all gone dark, with a few

embers still crackling and spitting but no real warmth or light left. She's been hiding

behind a large fern. Now she pops out, eyes wide and agitated.

"What took you so long?"

"It's only been a few minutes," Felicity says.

"I don't like waiting down here. All those eyes on the columns. It's as if they're watching

me."

In the dark, the marble sprites and nymphs take on a ghoulish quality. The room feels

alive, taking note of our every move, counting every breath.

"Don't be such a ninny. Let's be brave girls, shall we? Where are the others?" As if on

cue, two girls descend the stairs and join us. I'm introduced to Elizabeth, a tiny ratlike

creature who offers an opinion only after everyone else has, and the pinch-faced Cecily,

whose narrow upper lip curls when she takes in the sight of me. Martha, the tripper in the

chapel, isn't among them, and I realize she's not part of the club; she only wishes she

were. That's why she was willing to trip Ann—to curry favor with them.

"Ready?" Cecily sneers.

What have I gotten myself into? Why don't I simply say, All right, girls, it's been lovely.

Thanks ever so for the midnight gambol about the old palatial grounds. Wouldn't have

wanted to miss the way the parlor flares to life at night with a wonderful, nightmarish

glow, but I'll just be getting back to bed now. Instead, I follow them outside onto the back

lawn, where the full moon bleeds yellow behind a thin, high bank of clouds. The bloody

fog is still there and it's frightfully cold. I'm dressed in only my nightgown. They're clever

girls with their blue velvet capes on.

"Follow me." Felicity starts up the hill toward the chapel, the fog swallowing her whole

in just a few steps. I fall in behind her and the others fall in behind me so that turning

back is no longer an option. Suddenly I'm second-guessing my decision to follow the

Mystery Sisters out onto the vast, foggy night all the way to the chapel doors.

"We have a tradition here at Spence," Felicity says. "A little initiation ceremony for new

girls who might prove worthy of our inner circle."

"Can you really have an inner circle with only four people?" I ask, sounding braver than I

feel. "Seems more like an inner square, doesn't it?"

"You're lucky to be here," Cecily snaps.

Yes, I feel incredibly lucky to be standing out here in the freezing cold in only my

nightgown. Some people might call it remarkably stupid, but I'm feeling quite optimistic.

"So, what is this secret initiation?"

Elizabeth looks to Felicity for permission to talk. "You only need to take something from

the chapel."

"As in steal something?" I ask, not liking where this is going one bit but feeling too far in

to get out now.

"It's not stealing. After all, it will never leave Spence. It's just a way to prove that you are

trustworthy," Felicity says.

I have a few seconds to think and even though the most reasonable answer is to say I'm

not interested and go back to bed, I say instead, "What do you want me to take?"

The clouds thin into wisps. Buttery moonlight spreads out and down. Felicity's mouth

opens, her tongue rubbing against her top teeth, feeling them. "The communion wine."

"Communion wine?" I repeat.

Pippa makes a coughing noise in her throat before dissolving into giggles and I can see

this is an impromptu request, an extra bit of daring on Felicity's part.

Cecily looks aghast. "But Fee, that's sacrilege!"

"Yes, I'm not sure that's a good idea," I begin.

"Really? I think it's an excellent idea," Felicity snaps. The admiral's daughter doesn't like

it when her crew disobeys. "What about you, Elizabeth? What do you think?"

Elizabeth the puppet looks between her two masters, Felicity and Cecily. "Oh, I, I

suppose—"

Pippa breaks in. "I think it's a tip-top idea."

I could almost swear I hear the trees whispering idiot. What have I gotten myself into?

"Don't tell me you're afraid to go in there by yourself?" Felicity says.

That's exactly what I'm afraid of, but I can't very well say it. "What happens when

Reverend Waite discovers the communion wine is missing? Won't he be suspicious?"

A contemptuous "ha" escapes from Felicity's mouth. "That drunkard will only suspect

that he drank it himself. Besides, there are always Gypsy caravans around here this time

of year. We can blame it on them if we have to."

I don't like this idea much. The chapel doors seem to have grown taller and more

ominous since vespers. Despite my misgivings, I know I'm going in. "Where does he

keep the wine?"

Pippa pushes me toward the doors. "Behind the altar. There's a small cubbyhole."

She slides the bolt back with all her strength. The doors creak open on the tomblike

darkness inside.

"You can't very well expect me to find it in the dark."

"Feel your way," Felicity says, pushing me inside.

I can't believe that I'm here inside a dark, gloomy chapel ready to commit complete

sacrilege by stealing. Thou shalt not steal. I seem to recall that as being one of God's I'd

rather you didn't lest I have to smite you into ash commandments. Nor do I think it will

help my case that I'm stealing what the Church believes is the holy blood of Christ. It's

not too late. I could still turn back and go to bed. I could, but I'd forever yield what power

I have now to those girls.

Right. Get this over quickly, then. The light from the open door brightens up the

vestibule, but the far end, where the altar and wine are, is in complete darkness. I start

toward it and hear the door creaking closed, the light vanishing with the girls, the heavy

thud of the wooden bolt being thrown on the outside of the door. They're locking me in.

Without thinking, I throw myself shoulder first into the door, hoping for enough time to

push it open. It doesn't give. And actually, it hurts quite badly.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Gem. What did I expect? How could I have been taken in by that

story about wanting me to be part of their private club? Ann's voice swims in my head—

what's the point? There's no winning against them. I don't have time to feel sorry for

myself. I've got to think.

There must be another way out of here. I only have to find it. All around me, the church

seems to breathe with shadows. Mice scurry under pews, their claws scratching against

the marble floor. My skin crawls at the thought. But the moon is strong. It falls through

the stained-glass windows, bringing an angel to life, then the gorgon's head, its eyes

burning yellow in the dark.

I'm up and feeling my way from pew to pew, hoping I don't run into furry rodents or

worse. Every sound is magnified. The clicking of night crawlers. Creaking and groaning

of wood in the wind. Silently, I berate myself for falling prey to such a nasty prank. It's

just a little initiation we have here at Spence—we like to torture each other. Beauty,

grace, and charm my foot. It's a school for sadists with good tea-serving skills.

Click-click. Creak.

Felicity's probably no more related to Admiral Worthington than I am.

Click-click. Creak.

I don't even want to go to Paris.

Click, creak. Cough.

A cough. I didn't cough. And if I didn't, then who did?

It takes just a second for this to sink down into my legs and now I'm stumble-running up

the middle aisle as fast as I can manage. My foot finds the first step to the altar. I trip and

land sprawled on the hard marble, the sharp edge biting into my leg. But I can hear

footsteps running up behind me, so I'm on hands and knees, scrambling for what I see

just behind the organ—a door, open just a crack. Feel the last step and I'm up on wobbly

legs, running hard for the promise of what's on the other side of that door. Reach out a

hand and…

There's something overhead. Dear God, I must be imagining things because something,

someone, is flying over my head, landing with a thump in the space between the door and

me. A hand clamps over my mouth, trapping my scream there. The other arm pulls me in,

pins me tight.

It's instinct that makes me bite the hand on my mouth. I'm unceremoniously dumped to

the floor. And then I'm up on my feet again, leaping for the door. A hand snakes around

my ankle, bringing me down hard till I see pinpricks of light behind closed eyes. I try to

crawl away but my knee and head hurt too badly.

"Stop. Please." The voice is young, male, and vaguely familiar.

A match flares in the darkness. My eyes follow the light as it fills the chamber of a

lantern. The light spills out, catches the outline of broad shoulders, a black cloak, before

rising to frame a face with large dark eyes fringed in a halo of lashes. I'm not imagining

things. He's really here. I jump up but he's faster, blocking off all access to the door.

"I'll scream. I swear I will." My voice is no more than a scratching sound in the dark.

He's tensed and ready, for what I don't know, but it makes my heart hammer against my

ribs. "No, you won't. How will you explain what you're doing here with me in the middle

of the night without proper clothes, Miss Doyle?"

Instinctively, I put my arms around my body, trying to hide the shape of me beneath my

thin white gown. He knows me, knows my name. My pulse throbs in my ears. How long

would it take for my scream to reach someone? Is there anyone out there to hear me?

I step behind the altar, putting it between us. "Who are you?"

"You don't need to know who I am."

"You know my name. Why can't I know yours?"

He ponders this before answering with a curt reply. "Kartik."

"Kartik. Is that your real name?"

"I've given you a name. That's enough."

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk to you."

Keep thinking, Gemma. Keep him talking. "You've been following me. At the train

station today. And earlier at vespers."

He nods. "I stowed away on the Mary Elizabeth in Bombay. Rough passage. I know the

English are terribly sentimental about the sea, but I can live without it." The lantern casts

his shadow up and across the wall like a winged thing, hovering. He's still guarding the

door. Neither of us moves.

"Why? Why come all this way?"

"As I told you, I need to talk to you." He takes a step forward. I shrink back and he stops.

"It's about that day and your mother."

"What do you know about my mother?" My voice startles a bird hiding in the rafters.

Panicked, it flaps to another beam in a flurry of frantic wings.

"I know that she didn't die of cholera, for one thing."

I force a deep breath. "If you're hoping to blackmail my family…"

"Nothing of the sort." Another step forward.

Against the cool marble of the altar, my hands tremble, unsure whether they'll have to put

up a fight. "Go on."

"You saw it happen, didn't you?"

"No." The lie turns my breath shallow and fast.

"You're lying."

"N-no…I…"

Fast as a snake, he's up on the altar, crouched before me, the lantern inches from my face.

He could easily burn me or snap my neck. "For the last time, what did you see?"

My mouth has gone completely dry with the sort of fear that will say anything. "I… I saw

her killed. I saw them both killed."

His jaw clenches tight. "Go on."

There's a sob riding hard on my ragged breath. I push it down. "I… I tried to call out to

her, but she couldn't hear me. And then…"

"What?"

The weight in my chest is unbearable, making each word a struggle. "I don't know. It was

as if the shadows started to move… I've never seen anything like it… some hideous

creature." For some reason, it feels good to pour out to a complete stranger what I've been

holding in from everyone else.

"Your mother took her own life, didn't she?"

"Yes," I whisper, astonished that he knows this.

"She was lucky."

"How dare you—"

"Trust me, she was lucky not to be taken by that thing. As for my brother, he was not so

fortunate."

"What is it?"

"Nothing you can fight."

"I saw it again. On the carriage ride here. I had another… vision."

He's alarmed. I can see the fear in him, and now I'm sorry I've told him anything. In one

move, he's off the altar and in front of me. "Listen to me well, Miss Doyle. You are not to

speak about what you've seen to anyone. Do you understand?"

Moonlight pokes through the stained glass in weak slices. "Why not?"

"Because it will put you in danger."

"What was that thing I saw?"

"It was a warning. And if you don't want other, terrible things to happen, you will not

bring on any more visions."

The night, the pranks, the fear and exhaustion—they all collide in a sneering laugh I can't

seem to stop. "And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that? It's not as if I asked for it in

the first place."

"Close your mind to them and they'll stop soon enough."

"And if I can't?"

Without a sound, he reaches out quickly and clamps a hand around the delicate bones of

my wrist, squeezing tightly. "You will." Down the center aisle, a mouse makes a bold run

for it, rushing across to the other side of the church, where it's only a scratching sound

again. I'm bending under the pressure on my wrist. He lets go, a satisfied smirk on his

face. I pull my arm close and rub at the sting on my skin.

"We'll be watching you, Miss Doyle."

There's a clattering sound at the chapel's heavy oak doors. I can hear Reverend Waite's

drunken singing as he fumbles to lift the bolt, cursing as it falls back into place with a

thud. I don't know whether to be thankful or terrified that he'll find me here. In the instant

I turned to look, my tormentor has vanished. He's simply gone. The door is unguarded. I

have a way out. And then I see it. The decanter of communion wine sitting full and ready

in its cubbyhole.

The wooden bolt slides free. He's almost in. But tonight Reverend Waite will be denied

his wine. It's cradled in my arm as I bound through the side door and stop at the top of a

dark stairwell. What if he's waiting for me down those shadowy stairs?

Reverend Waite calls out, half-drunk. "Is anyone there?"

I'm down the stairwell and out behind the chapel as if I've been shot from a cannon. Not

till I've stumbled my way down the hill and have the imposing bricks of Spence in sight

do I stop for breath. A crow caws, making me jump. I feel eyes on me everywhere.

We'll be watching you.

What did he mean by that? Who is "we"? And why would anyone want to keep an eye on

a girl who wasn't clever enough to outwit a quartet of boarding school pranksters? What

does he know about my mother?

Just keep looking at the school, Gemma. You'll be all right. I keep my eyes on the rows of

windows ahead. They bob up and down with each step. You will not bring on any more

visions.

It's ridiculous. Galling, in fact. As if I have any control over them. As if I could just shut

my eyes, like this, right now, and will myself into one. The sound of my breath slows,

grows louder. My whole body has gone warm and relaxed, as if I'm floating in the most

delicious bath of sweet rose water. At the smell of roses, I snap my eyes open.

The little girl from the alley stands in front of me, shimmering. She beckons me with her

hand. "This way."