[English] PROPHECY OF THE SISTERS (Lời Tiên Tri)

Prophecy of the Sisters
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Dear Miss Milthorpe,

I believe I know someone who may be of help to you.

Alastair Wigan

Lerwick Farm

You may trust him as you trust me.

He will be expecting you.

Mme. Berrier

“Whom is it from?”

Henry is excited beside me, and I am both heartened and saddened that his days are so staid that even the arrival of a simple letter can elicit such enthusiasm.

I look up and smile. “It’s from Sonia, saying that she has been granted permission for a holiday visit.” I push aside a twinge of guilt at the newest lie I tell. It is only a partial untruth. I have already spoken to Aunt Virginia about inviting Sonia and Luisa for the holiday.

He beams. “Well, that is grand, isn’t it?”

I fold the paper, putting it back into the envelope, feeling a corner of my heart lift with hope.

“Yes, it is, Henry. It is grand indeed.”

17

“Are you very excited, Lia?” Henry’s voice is behind me as I look from the parlor window for the carriage.

I turn to him. “Goodness! For the last time, yes! Though I would wager you are more excited than I, from all the times you’ve inquired!”

He blushes but does not try to hide the smile that starts at his mouth and spreads all the way to his eyes. Sheltered as he is, it is easy to forget that Henry is a boy of ten, but I saw the way he looked at Sonia when she came to tea and know he fancies another chance to see her.

When I turn back to the window, the carriage emerges from the tree-lined drive. For a moment, I forget that I am sixteen and not as prone to excitement as Henry.

“They’ve come!” I rush to the front door, flinging it open and waiting impatiently while Edmund helps Luisa and Sonia from the carriage.

I will greet my guests alone. Aunt Virginia is busy with Margaret, and Alice, even more sullen since learning of my plans to include Sonia and Luisa in our holiday, will likely be sulking on one of her long walks.

Luisa bounds up the steps like a puppy, all enthusiasm and no decorum, making me laugh into my gloved hand.

“I cannot believe Miss Gray let me come! I thought I should have to spend another Thanksgiving eating in the grim dining room at Wycliffe. You’ve saved me!”

Her laugh is catching, and I feel my own bubble forth from my throat. “Nonsense! I’m so happy to have you both here.” I reach over and kiss her cool cheek, doing the same to Sonia as she reaches the top of the stone terrace. “Ready for our holiday to begin?”

Sonia smiles, the radiance behind it glowing from within even on this gray day. “Oh yes! I’ve been beside myself for days! I thought I should drive Mrs. Milburn mad!”

I lead them into the house, the prospect of their companionship for the next three days as warming to me as the hope that together we might find the keys. We share a laughter-filled lunch, retiring to the parlor satiated and happy. Aunt Virginia kindly keeps Henry out of the room so that we might have privacy. He peeks around the corner from time to time, gazing wistfully at Sonia, but we pretend not to notice. We talk and laugh, and for a time, I believe that we are ordinary. That we care for nothing but gowns and books and eligible young men. It is only when Luisa lifts her face to the wall near the firebox that I remember why we have come together.

“That gentleman” — she points to a portrait on the wall — “he looks familiar. Who is he?”

I swallow, feeling the rope that binds us coil and tighten. “My father.”

She nods slowly. “Perhaps I have seen him at Wycliffe. Before…”

I nod. “Perhaps.” It seems we are not so ordinary after all, and I wonder how to tell Sonia and Luisa the one thing that still stands between us.

Sonia tips her head, bewilderment crossing her serene face. “What is it, Lia? You’ve gone so quiet!”

I glance at the empty doorway to the parlor. Alice is noticeably absent, and Henry’s blushing face has not been seen in some time. Even still, it would not be wise to be careless.

“I think I’d like some fresh air. Do you ride?”

“I don’t like this! I don’t like this at all!” Sonia’s voice trembles and shakes as she bounces atop Moon Shadow, the gentlest mare in the stable.

“Nonsense! You shall be fine. You’re hardly moving, and Moon Shadow would not harm a fly. You’re quite safe. I’ll ride behind you, and Moon Shadow will do the rest.”

“Well! That’s easy for you to say. You do this all the time,” Sonia mutters.

Luisa is already a few paces ahead, clearly a competent horsewoman, though I’m sure she has not had occasion to ride often at Wycliffe. Taking out the horses seemed a fine way to escape the house, and it was an easy matter to locate some riding breeches and habits for my two friends. But as I watch Sonia bounce stiffly atop Moon Shadow’s back, I cannot help wondering if I made an error in judgment. I ride behind her in silence, coming up alongside only when her shoulders have relaxed the smallest bit and her jarring bounce seems to flow more smoothly with the horse.

“Feeling better?” I grin.

She makes a sound like “Hmph!” and keeps her eyes determinedly forward.

Up ahead, Luisa slows her pace, turning Eagle’s Run around in a smooth motion that belies the sleek horse’s usual spirit. They trot back toward us, taking up a position on the other side of Sonia.

Luisa’s cheeks are bright from wind and excitement. “Oh, this is such fun, Lia! Thank you ever so much. It’s been far too long since I’ve ridden.”

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I return her smile, absorbing some of her happiness until I remember the reason for our ride. “Actually, I suggested riding because I wanted to speak to you in private.” I glance at Sonia, the panic still evident on her face. “Though I wonder if a walk to the river might not have been kinder.”

Luisa laughs. “I daresay she cannot hear us at all, so great is her fright!”

“I hear you quite well, actually.” Sonia’s voice comes from between clenched lips, her face tight as she stares straight ahead.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

Luisa glances over at me with curiosity. “So? What is it, Lia? What did you want to talk about? Besides the usual; the prophecy, the end of the world, trifling things such as those!”

Even Luisa’s attempt at finding humor in our strange situation cannot bring a smile to my face, for what if she and Sonia blame me for the circumstances in which they find themselves? And yet there is no way to know for certain except to say it. “I believe I understand why my father’s face is familiar to you.”

Luisa furrows her brow. “Well, it’s certainly possible I came across him at Wycliffe, or —”

“I don’t think that is why.” I interrupt her. “Shall we dismount?”

We have come to the small pond where Alice and I used to feed the ducks when we were small. After our mother’s death, it seemed a safer haven than the lake, its tree-lined shore a gentle dip to the water that provides plenty of shade even in summer.

Luisa and I are tying our horses to a couple of small trees when we notice Sonia, still perched atop Moon Shadow.

“Are you coming down?” I ask her. It takes her a moment to look my way, but when she does I feel a surge of sympathy at the sheer terror still displayed on her face.

“Down? Now that I’m up here you want me to get down?” Her voice borders on hysterical.

“It will be fine, Sonia. Trust me. I’ll help you.”

It is only after I have given her detailed instructions and helped her down from Moon Shadow that Sonia’s face relaxes into something of its normal calm. She sits on the grass with a groan. “I’ll never be able to sit properly again!”

Sitting next to her, I let the silence settle between us as I work up the courage to say what I must say. I look over at Luisa, leaning against a tree near the water with her eyes closed, her lips hinting at a faint smile of contentment.

“Luisa? How did you come to be at Wycliffe all the way from Italy? It seems an odd thing, really, for you to be at school so far from home.”

She opens her eyes, laughing harshly and bending over to feel along the grass until she rises with a few small rocks in her hand. “Odd indeed! My father had planned to send me to school in London, but a business acquaintance convinced him America was the best place to get a modern-day education. ‘The best schooling money can buy,’ my father said. No doubt the same words used to convince him to send me halfway around the world to Wycliffe.” She throws one of the rocks angrily into the water. It lands with a plunk a good deal farther than I can throw even on my best day.

“I believe that was my father.”

She drops her hands to her side. “What do you mean? What was your father?”

“I believe my father is the business acquaintance who recommended your father send you to Wycliffe.”

Luisa makes her way toward me, sinking onto the grass as confusion flickers across her face. “But… how would your father be acquainted with mine, and perchance that he was, why would he concern himself with my schooling?”

“I don’t know, but we all have the mark. Even though mine is different, it is close enough to be strange in the extreme. The fact that we are all in the same town, in the same place, is even stranger, don’t you agree?”

Sonia does not nod or show any sign of agreeing at all, except to start speaking. “My parents were English. They… well, they were quite poor, actually.” Her laugh is wry, a whisper of her normal laugh. “In any case, they didn’t need an excuse to find me other accommodations. When I started showing signs of… well, you know, all the strange things I’m able to see and do, they thought I might be happier surrounded by others of my kind. Or so Mrs. Millburn tells me. More likely they were happier to have one less mouth to feed.”

I offer her a smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Sonia. I could not have managed without your friendship these last weeks!” She returns my smile with a shy one of her own, and I continue. “But it cannot be a coincidence that we have all come to be in the same place. That we all carry the mark. My aunt informed me that my father was seeking out children, children with the mark, from all over the world. She told me…” I stop. Will they be angry? Will they blame me for everything?

“What, Lia? What did she tell you?” Sonia’s voice is soft.

“She told me that he started bringing them here… the children. That he arranged for them to come to America. Only two of them before he died. One from England, one from Italy, she said.”

Luisa blinks in the fading sunlight. “But… why would your father want us here? And in any case, how would he have found us? How would he have known we had the mark?”

“I’ve been thinking about that; you and Sonia have had the mark since birth. I imagine that, with the right resources, it would not be very difficult to find children with the mark. My father was a determined and influential man. Even if your marks were kept a secret, there are those who might see it, are there not? Doctors, teachers, nannies, relatives…” I sigh, not sure any of it makes sense now that I’ve said it aloud. “I’m sorry. I don’t know for certain, all right? I’ve been asking myself the same question for weeks. It’s part of the riddle, I think. It must be.”

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Luisa suddenly jumps to her feet, pacing the bank in front of us with the taut energy of a caged animal. “Perhaps we should just leave all of this alone! After all, what is the worst that will happen if we simply let it be? Is it not better than digging into this thing that we don’t understand?”

“We cannot do nothing, Luisa.” Sonia’s words surprise me.

Luisa opens her palms, a breeze off the water lifting a small lock of her raven hair. “Why ever not? Why can we not?”

Sonia sighs, dusting herself off and rising stiffly to walk toward Luisa. “Because the visions are coming to me more frequently since we have found each other. The spirits are more insistent. They are trying to tell me something, to pull me into their world, and they will not stop until I address them.” She takes Luisa’s hands. “And tell me, haven’t the spirits given chase to you as well? Haven’t you found yourself falling more and more often into swift and strange dreams? Into the travel that only leads you to places both dark and frightening?”

Surprise courses through my body. Sonia knows something I do not.

Luisa’s face is a mask of conflict before she crumples, burying her face in her hands. “Yes! Yes, all right?” She looks up at us with naked fear. “But that does not mean we should give chase in return. Perhaps the Souls are only angry that we have been so persistent. Perhaps if we ignore it… if we stop trying to find the answers, they will leave us all alone.”

But this will not happen. I am certain of it. The thing that stands in the shadows of our dreams, my dreams, is waiting. And it will not be ignored.

Sonia wraps an arm around Luisa. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that is how the Souls work. They want something of us, something of Lia, and now… well, now they shan’t rest until we give it to them.”

18

We pass Thanksgiving Day in pleasant forgetfulness. James and his father join us, and sumptuous smells waft to us from the kitchen as we play parlor games. Henry’s face lights like a shooting star when Sonia agrees to play a game of chess. He does not seem to mind when she beats him soundly, favoring him with a gracious smile while putting him into checkmate.

Alice is wary. Like an animal that smells danger, she watches from a distance as we laugh by the light of the fire. When we adjourn to the dining room, I take my seat to the right of James. Alice surprises me by claiming the seat to his left. Her presence unnerves me, though she is mostly blocked from my view. I push aside my unease. The feast is delicious, filled with wine and conversation that goes on for two lovely hours.

We retire to the parlor once again after eating in proportions that would surely cause Miss Gray upset over our gluttony.

After much prodding, Aunt Virginia sits at the piano. We gather around to sing, laughing and poking each other with elbows when we forget the words. Even Alice joins us in song, though she keeps her distance from Sonia and Luisa, and the room grows quiet as the final refrain of our last ballad rings through the parlor. The fire burns low in the grate, and Aunt Virginia, who never displays weariness of any sort, covers her yawn with a tired hand. Henry sleeps in his chair by the firebox, thick hair falling over his closed eyes.

“Well, I don’t want to break up the celebration, but I think someone needs to be brought to bed.” James looks over my shoulder as he says it, and my eyes drift to Henry.

But when I follow the sparkle in James’s eyes, it is Mr. Douglas I see, hunched and sleeping on the sofa. I smother a laugh, trying not to wake either one of them.

“Yes, well… it is rather late. Shall I ask Edmund to help you to the carriage?” I tip my head to Mr. Douglas.

“No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

There is a sleepy stumble to the waiting carriage as James settles his father and then a flurry of gay goodbyes. Aunt Virginia has disappeared *****pervise cleanup in the kitchen, and Luisa and Sonia have gone to dress for bed. I look around to be sure no one is about before slipping from the warmth of the house to the terrace with James.

He wastes no time pulling me into his arms, twirling a piece of my loose hair around one fingertip. And then his lips are on mine, opening my mouth like the bud of a flower, blossoming until the petals are lush and swollen. These are the times when I feel like another Lia altogether — one who doesn’t care about Miss Gray and her books and books full of rules. One who doesn’t care what is expected of me. These are the times when I think that it is not possible for something to be wrong that is felt so fully, filling me up from the inside out.

It is James who pulls away. It is always James who pulls away, though he is the one who pulls me close as well. “Lia, Lia. I am so happy when I’m with you. You know that, don’t you?” His voice is brusque.

I smile, teasing. “Yes, of course, when I’m not driving you mad with arguments and curiosity!”

“You drive me mad with something else.” He grins before becoming more serious. “It’s true that we’ve not talked about it in any serious way. And I cannot offer you the life to which you are accustomed. But I want you to be mine, someday, when the time is right.”

My nod comes slower than I intend. “Only…”

“Only what?” Naked worry shades his eyes. We have laughed and enjoyed the evening, attempting to forget the small distance that has grown between us. It is a distance borne only by my own secrets and uncertainty, but that does not make the divide any simpler to cross.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I am only sad to be without Father for the holiday. Christmas shan’t be the same.” My voice rings with the truth of it, and for a moment I am able to convince myself that my grief is the only thing between James and me.

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“Is that all, then? The only thing that has made you brooding and quiet these last weeks? Because I can’t help feeling there is more to it.”

Tell him. Tell him now before it is too late, before you push him away altogether. But the voice is not insistent enough. I nod, smiling up at him with as much reassurance as I can manage. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you worry. I shall be all right with time.”

I want to believe I am protecting him, but instead it is shame that keeps me quiet. Deep down, I cannot deny that I am anxious James will not have me when he realizes the wicked, ageless story of which I am a part.

“Miss Gray would not approve.” Alice’s voice greets me as I close the door, but it is not the new, hard Alice I have come to watch with guarded eyes. Her voice is playful, her figure a dim outline on the stairs. She sits carelessly on the steps, leaning her body back to rest on her elbows.

I make my way to the staircase, dropping next to her on the step. “Yes, well, I would venture a guess she would not approve of your posture at the moment, either.”

Her teeth flash in the dark, our smiles finding each other across the mystery of the quiet house. “Will you marry him?”

“I don’t know. I once thought so. I was once more sure of it than anything in the world.”

“And now?”

I shrug. “And now things are not so simple.”

It takes her a moment to answer. “No, I suppose not. But perhaps there is a way. A way for us both to have the thing we most desire.”

I hear the unspoken promise of the subject around which she dances. But I am not ready to give away my hard-found knowledge. Not until I hear what she means to say. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

She lowers her voice further. “And I’m sure you do, Lia. You wish to marry and have children, to live a quiet life with James. You must realize how impossible such a dream is with… the way things are now. With your fighting the Souls as you are.”

The frankness of her words surprises me. All at once, the mask has been lowered. She knows as much as I do, perhaps even more. It is quite obvious now, and I wonder why I thought her even a little bit oblivious to the prophecy and its workings.

In the absence of my denial, Alice continues. “If you will only fulfill your duty to Samael, you will find peace. He will leave you alone to the life that you desire. Will that not be easier for all concerned? Is there not a small part of you, the part that was born to be the Gate, that wishes it so?”

I should like to say her words are to no avail, that I am unmoved by the black promises. But it would be a lie, for part of me thrills with anticipation as she speaks of fulfilling the prophecy’s ancient promise. I want to believe it is only the part that desires to live my life with James as any girl would, but somewhere in the halls of my conscience I know it is more. It is the siren’s song of my intended role in the prophecy. It is the deepest part of me, the part I try to pretend is not there at all, the part that must fight the temptation to do just as Alice wants.

I shake my head, denying it, not wanting to betray any weakness. “No. It… it isn’t as you say.” I soften my voice, appealing to the Alice of my childhood, the Alice I love. “It is true that I want my life with James, but I will not have that life in the darkness of a world ruled by the Souls. Surely you understand this, Alice. We agree on one thing: that we should work to a common purpose, a purpose that is an easy matter to decide. You are the Guardian. It is your duty to protect the world from the Souls. And I… Well, I have a choice as well. And I’ll not aid them. I’ll not do a single thing to aid them in destroying the things, the people, I love. And is that not our common purpose? To protect Henry and Aunt Virginia, the only family we have left?”

Her face is half hidden in the shadows, but I see her hesitation at the mention of Henry and Aunt Virginia. It takes a moment for her to speak, and in that moment a lifetime of expression passes over her features. In a heartbeat, childish uncertainty gives way to resignation.

“I was not meant to be the Guardian, Lia. We both know it. It’s why I feel the way I do. Why I have known since I was a child that my duty lies with the Souls, whatever name the prophecy gives me. I… I cannot help the way I feel. The way I am.”

I shake my head, not wanting to hear her speak this way. It is harder to have this Alice speak of these things. Were it the Alice of recent days, the cold-eyed, hard-faced Alice… well, then it might be easier to discount her words.

She licks her lips, and they shine in the dark. “If we work in concert, we shall be protected, Lia. We and those we love. I can guarantee your safety. And the safety of James and Henry and Aunt Virginia. Those are the things that make the world worth living in, are they not? As long as those things remain, what does it matter who is in charge? Isn’t it worth the small sacrifice of conscience to live your life in peace?”

Something desperate has crept into her words, waking me from the silken spell of her voice. I shake my head with force, as if to push away the whispered promise that pulls me close even as I want to push it away.

“I cannot… I cannot do such a thing, Alice. I simply cannot. I cannot help the way I feel either. This is the way I am.”

I think she might be angry, but her voice is filled only with sadness. “Yes. I thought as much. I’m sorry, Lia.”

Her hand finds mine across the step, and she takes it the way she used to when we were small. It is not any bigger than mine, not really, and yet there was a time when I always felt safe with my hand in Alice’s. I don’t know why she says she is sorry, but I fear I will soon find out.

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And my hand will not be safe in hers again.

19

“Lia!” Sonia waves me into the guest room as I creep toward my own, the conversation with Alice ringing in my ears.

I step into the room. “I thought you would be asleep after such a long day.”

“We had a wonderful day, Lia. But there is still work to do, is there not?” Sonia’s eyes drift to Luisa, sitting on one of the beds.

I hesitate before nodding. I can only hope that Luisa is as understanding as Sonia.

Luisa lifts her eyebrows. “What is it, Lia? Is something wrong?”

I sit on the end of the bed, shaking my head. “Not wrong, exactly. But there is something that I haven’t had the chance to tell you. Something I found out just after you and Sonia came to tea.”

“What is it?”

I run a hand along my brow, trying to calm my nerves before making the revelation that may sever a friendship I have come to treasure. There is no easy way to say it, and so I say it as simply and quickly as possible. I tell her the reason my mark is different, resisting the urge to soften the information with reassurance or rationalization. If we are to work together truly, Luisa must understand exactly what I am.

She does not say anything right away. Absent are the protestations and anger that I expect. She looks into my eyes, as if the answers to all her questions lie there. At last she reaches over and takes my hand, the hand Alice has just let go for good. When Luisa speaks, her words are simple, but they give me room to hope.

“Tell me everything.”

And so I do. I tell her about the prophecy, my role in it, the medallion. She meets my revelation with stoic calm, the realization that I am the Angel, the Gate, no more than a hiccup in her resolve. I come to the end of my tale, knowing that the rest of the story will be written by us all.

“And so, we are back to the keys,” I say. “But not with so little as we had before.”

Luisa nods, the curls bouncing at the nape of her neck. “And this is where the mysterious Madame comes in, is it not?”

I look at Sonia, raising my eyes in surprise.

She tips her head with a smile. “I told her about our visit to Madame Berrier’s.”

“Good. Then you are all up to date.”

“Yes,” Luisa says, “only…”

“Only what?”

“Well, why didn’t you invite me along? I should have liked to learn more about the prophecy.…” I hear the pout in her voice and feel a pang of guilt, but Sonia answers for it before I’m able.

“It was my doing, Luisa. The maid at Mrs. Millburn’s is acquainted with one of Lia’s maids. I was afraid to try and slip you a note at Wycliffe. I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I knew there would be no stopping you if you knew of our meeting, no matter the consequences.”

Luisa’s silence makes me fear we have hurt her feelings, but her grudging admission follows. “I suppose you’re right. I can be ever so stubborn!” She laughs in response to her own criticism. “So? What did she say, this mysterious woman?”

“She told us that Samhain is an ancient Druid holiday marking a period of Darkness.” I sit up, pulling the pins from my hair. “Apparently, it falls on November first, though we cannot figure what that has to do with the keys. The only thing even a little bit interesting is that it is also Sonia’s birthday.”

Luisa sits up straighter. “What did you say?”

Her expression makes me stop, and I lower my hands as my hair falls to my shoulders.

Sonia breaks in from the other bed where she sits, her head tipped back against the headboard. “She said my birthday happens to fall on the day of Samhain, November first.”

Luisa’s face has grown pale. “Luisa? What is the matter?” I ask her.

“Just that… well, it’s ever so strange.…” She gazes into the fire, speaking softly as if to herself.

“What is?” Sonia slides to the edge of the other bed.

Luisa meets Sonia’s eyes. “That November first is your birthday. It’s strange because it is mine as well.”

Sonia stands, making her way to the fire before turning to face us. “But that’s… Of what year?” Her voice shakes as she asks the question.

“Eighteen seventy-four.” It is a whisper that seems to crawl into the shadowed corners of the room.

“Yes.” Sonia nods, slowly. “Yes. Me, too.”

Pacing in front of them both, I try to wrap my mind around the many disparate pieces of the riddle. “It doesn’t make sense. My birthday is not November first, so this is nothing to do with us all, but only the two of you.” I mutter out loud but to no one in particular. “How are we supposed to figure out something so… so…”

“Mad?” Luisa offers from the bed.

I turn to look at her. “Yes. It is mad, isn’t it?”

Sonia drops onto the settee by the fire. “Now what are we to do? The fact that we share the same birthday is odd, but it doesn’t bring us any closer to finding the keys.”

I remember the letter. “Actually, that’s what I was trying to tell you. We may be closer yet.”

Sonia looks up. “What do you mean?”

Withdrawing the envelope from my pocket, I hold it out to her. “Madame Berrier sent this to me after our meeting.”

Sonia rises to take the envelope, opening it and passing it to Luisa when she has finished reading it.

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“Who is he?” Luisa asks. “This Alastair Wigan?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But tomorrow, we shall find out.”

The next morning, we make our way down the stairs, taking our cloaks from the entry and stepping into the cold sunshine. I have already arranged our outing with Aunt Virginia. I know she saw the lie in my excuse to go to town for a proper tea, but whatever happens to me, she is the one tasked with caring for Henry. I only seek to protect her. To protect them both.

Since my conversation with Alice on the stairs, I feel as if we have crossed an invisible barrier, a point beyond which can only lay sadness and loss. Our race to end the prophecy in the way we each desire will be dangerous, even deadly. Yet, there is nothing to do but go forward unless I should like to live in the shadow of it all my life through.

And that is simply not an option.

20

Sonia, Luisa, and I cross the lawn in a flurry of excited conversation, willing for the moment to allow ourselves to be happy about the day’s outing, however dark its purpose.

We make our way up the stairs of the carriage house to the rooms Edmund has occupied for as long as I can remember. He comes quickly to the door in response to my knock, his eyes registering Sonia, Luisa, and me on the threshold.

Before we can say a word, he reaches for his coat, turning back to us. “So? Where are we going today, Miss?”

We are jostled to and fro on the roads leading farther and farther away from Birchwood. I knew from the address that we would not be going to town, but I had not imagined it so far away or in a place quite so remote.

And remote it must be, for we travel so long our excitement dwindles to nothing but tired sighs and long glances out the carriage windows. I am grateful for the silence. My mind is full of hope that Mr. Wigan might help us find the keys.

Edmund turns off the main road, entering a wooded pathway that causes the carriage to grow dark with the shelter of trees above and around us. We sigh aloud when, all at once, everything lightens, and Edmund stops the horses.

“Thank goodness!” Luisa says, holding a hand to her forehead. “I thought I was going to be sick!”

She flings open the door, stumbling from the carriage without waiting for Edmund. I fervently hope that she will not, in fact, be sick. I don’t know how happy Mr. Wigan will be to see three girls appear on his doorstep, but I imagine it will be immeasurably less so if one of them is losing her breakfast in his shrubbery.

But Luisa composes herself, wiping her brow with a handkerchief, and we step toward the door of the ramshackle cottage situated in the center of the small clearing. There is a small garden off to the side and a goat surveying us lazily from the yard. A few chickens peck their way through some stray seed, but other than these few animals, Lerwick Farm is a rather big name for such an unassuming place.

Edmund stands behind us as I knock on the door, peeling white paint drifting to the ground under the small pressure of my fist. No one comes, and we stand in the silence of the clucking chickens, wondering what to do next. Luisa is raising her hand with authority when we hear a voice behind us.

“Well, hello, there! You must be the young ladies Sylvia told me about!”

We turn as one to face a small man in tweed trousers and a half-unbuttoned shirt, his bald head gleaming in the sun. I cannot place the brogue in his voice, but I think it must be the remnant of a Scots or Irish accent long since dulled by blunt American speech.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, eh?” He comes toward us. “Alastair Wigan, at your service. Sylvia said ye’d be coming.” He seems happy to see us, as if we are long-lost friends, and it takes me a moment to realize that I don’t have the faintest idea to whom he is referring.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wigan. I’m Lia Milthorpe, and these are my friends Sonia Sorrensen and Luisa Torelli, and our driver Edmund.” There is hand-shaking all around and a muttering of greetings. “But I’m afraid we don’t know a Sylvia.…”

His face lifts in a smile, his eyes growing devilish. “Why, sure you do! Sylvia Berrier, that luscious lovely from town.”

His language makes Sonia blush. I fight a smile as Luisa coughs, a runaway giggle escaping her throat.

“Well, now I’m even sorrier that I didn’t get to meet the Madame myself,” Luisa says with a grin. “She sounds quite fascinating!”

“Fascinating, indeed!” Mr. Wigan nods knowingly, his eyes taking on a far-off expression. He claps suddenly, as if remembering us. “Well! I can’t have you standing on the stoop like strangers! Not when you’re friends of Sylvia Berrier!”

He moves slowly toward the porch. “Come along, then. I’ll make us some tea. I’ve been experimenting with a new brew from the garden, you see, and it isn’t often I have the chance to try it out on anyone other then Algernon.”

I look around. “Algernon?”

Mr. Wigan waves toward the yard. “Yes, yes.” He holds open the door as we pass through it, one by one.

I take one last look at the yard on my way into the house. There is no one there, only chickens and a goat. Oh my.

“Is… is Algernon the goat, then?” I ask.

“Why, yes, of course!” Mr. Wigan is heading toward another room, his voice growing fainter as he traverses the small house.

Luisa meets my gaze, humor lighting her eyes. It is clear she finds the situation entrancing. My eyes adjust to the dim light of the tiny house. I am quite awestruck by the od***ies lying on every surface.

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Bits of stone and feather dot the bookshelves, dusty and stuffed to the brim. Relics carved in wood sit beside eerie dolls while any number of strange skeletons stare at us, some with firelight flickering from behind sightless eyes. I think I recognize the tiny, walnut-sized head of a squirrel and perhaps even a cracked human skull resting as a bookend on the mantel. I shiver though the room is quite warm.

Edmund leans against the wall near the door. He takes in the room methodically, as if storing it away for future reference. The stubborn set of his jaw tells me that he has no intention of leaving us alone in the strange house, and in truth, his presence is a reassurance I need. It is undoubtedly selfish, but I am most glad he is here.

“Here we are, then!” Mr. Wigan returns bearing a tin tray. He looks around the cluttered room for a spot on which to set it. “Oh dear.”

Sonia jumps to attention. “Shall I clear the books from this table here?” She gestures to a towering stack of volumes under which I suppose is a table, though I cannot see a bit of it from where I stand.

“Oh yes. Yes, indeed!” Mr. Wigan says.

I move to help Sonia and together we set the books on the floor amid a cloud of dust that makes us both cough. I try to ignore the dirty table when we are finished, for Mr. Wigan seems not to notice and places the tea tray there without any thought to cleaning it.

“There, now! Sylvia tells me ye have a bit of a mystery on yer hands.” He pours tea into mismatched cups, handing them to each of us in turn, including Edmund, who steps forward with surprise, nodding gratefully. “She told me all about the prophecy, though I’d heard it myself, you know, from my wicked heathen mother.” His eyes twinkle merrily, making it clear he thinks no such thing of his mother. “Quite wondrous to hear talk of it here of all places.”

“What do you… ? Oh!” The tea on my tongue is a surprise. It tastes of orange and, I think, perhaps licorice. “This is quite good!”

Mr. Wigan leans forward, pleasure further creasing his already wrinkled face. “Do you think so? Not too strong, is it?”

I shake my head. “Not at all! It’s wonderful!” I take another sip before setting the cup down. “Why are you surprised to hear talk of the prophecy here of… of all places?”

“Why, because it’s a Celtic myth, really. Oh, sure it is the Watchers are in the Bible, but the myth of the sisters came from the Celts, from Brittany, I believe.”

I nod. “I see. Well, I’m not sure I understand why Madame Berrier, er, Sylvia, thought you might be of help —”

“I know well enough. I’m a bit of an expert you see, on things of the past. Not regular things. Not the things other people know. Sure enough, not anything most people think worthy of knowing. But nevertheless,” he sighs. “I do know quite a bit about Celtic myth, biblical myth, the Druids.…” He waves a sun-spotted hand in the air. “ ’Tis all the same, whatever you might call it.”

“I see. Well, then perhaps you will be able to help, Mr. Wigan.” I pull the translated notes from my bag, handing them to him. “There is one piece of the prophecy we still cannot solve. Madame Berrier told us about Samhain, but she couldn’t place the reference to the stone serpent. She thought the word Aubur sounded like something within your, er, area of expertise.”

He nods, pursing his lips. “Mighty interesting, this is. Mighty interesting, indeed.” He lowers the paper to his lap, taking a drink of tea and looking for all the world like he does not intend to speak again.

I clear my throat, “Yes, well —”

“What we need to know, Mr. Wigan,” Luisa breaks, “is whether or not you can place the reference.”

He looks surprised, as if it were never in question. Rising, he moves to one of the staggering bookcases, eyeing the volumes shelved there as if he knows each and every one, despite their rather haphazard organization. It takes him less than ten seconds to pull a fabric-bound book from the shelf. He turns back to us, reclaiming his seat by the fire and sipping his tea as he turns pages in the book.

Luisa leans so far forward that I fear she will fall off her seat altogether. Her mouth is set in a tight line, and I can only imagine the determination she must be exercising to keep from grabbing the book from Mr. Wigan and searching through it herself. But Mr. Wigan doesn’t mutter or speak. He simply turns the pages slowly and carefully before stopping, finally, near the end.

He hands the book to me as he explains. “’Tisn’t known as Aubur anymore, you see. That’s probably why Sylvia had some trouble. Aubur is its old name. Now we call it Avebury.”

I lower my eyes to the book. In it is an artist’s drawing of small landmarks forming a circle with a line running through it. It doesn’t mean a thing to me.

“I don’t understand. What is it?” I pass the book to Luisa for fear she shall have a fit if she is not given something to do besides wait and listen to Mr. Wigan.

“Why, ’tis a stone circle! A lesser known one, but a stone circle nonetheless.”

His description jars something loose in my memory. “A stone circle? You mean like the large one in England? Stonehenge?”

He nods knowingly. “Ah yes. Stonehenge. ’Tis the one everyone seems to know, but there are many others, scattered throughout the British Isles mostly.”

Sonia has the book in her lap. She looks up at Mr. Wigan. “And this… Avebury is one of them? One of the stone circles?”

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“Aye. ’Tis.” He does not seem to have any more to say on the subject.

Luisa looks anxiously toward me before continuing. “What of the stone serpent? Why does the prophecy call Avebury such a strange thing?”

“Well, that is the odd thing. Not many people know of the connection between Avebury and the serpent, but if one were to trace the lines of it, one would find that it is laid in the shape of a snake, ye see. A snake that passes through a circle.”

The look of alarm on Sonia’s and Luisa’s faces must be a mirror to my own, for the snake passing through a circle is very close to the snake winding around the circle on the medallion and on the marks we all bear.

“But what does a stone circle all the way in England have to do with us? With the prophecy?” Luisa asks.

I pick up the prophecy translation from the table, reading aloud. “‘Birthed in the first breath of Samhain near the Mystic Stone Serpent of Aubur.’” I shake my head, looking at Mr. Wigan. “The keys. Something about the keys being shaped near Avebury… What of the towns nearby? Perhaps there is a town near Avebury, a town where the keys might be hidden or were made? A town known for smith work perhaps?”

Mr. Wigan scratches his head, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “Well, most of the stone circles are in out-of-the-way places, it seems.… But I might have something that will be of help.”

He rises from the chair, crossing to a large desk pushed against one wall and covered with all manner of papers and books. Opening the deep lower drawer, he digs around before emerging with a roll of paper. He waves it in the air.

“Here. Come and take a look.”

He does not bother clearing the desk, but lays the roll of paper on top of the mess, unrolling it bit by bit until it becomes clear that it is a map. Luisa places a rock, two books, and glass jar on the corners to keep the map from snapping back as we read.

Mr. Wigan puts his glasses on, and we lean over the map, Edmund included. I meet his eyes, seeing something there that makes me trust his knowledge of our secret. He was my Father’s oldest employee. His oldest friend. If I cannot trust him, whom shall I trust?

“All right, then. Avebury. Here.” Mr. Wigan points a gnarled finger at a place near the center of the map.

I can only faintly make out the letters A-U-B in the shadowed room.

“Yes, but I don’t suppose the keys will be there, exactly,” Luisa breaks in, studying the map as she chews her thumbnail. “The prophecy says near the stone serpent, does it not?”

“Aye.” Mr. Wigan nods. “I see what you’re gettin’ at. Let’s see, then.…” He slides his fingers outward from the center of the map. “We have the village of Newbury. Here.” He taps the map not far from the place where he marked Avebury. I cannot see any words identifying it as Newbury, but he seems to know his way around the map, so I listen as he continues. “And then we have the village of Swindon, here.” His tap sends another small thump into the room. “From there we have the village of Bath, very well known. Very well known, indeed. Perhaps —”

But Sonia breaks in before he can continue. “Bath? Bath, England? But…”

Luisa looks up, her eyes shining in the light of the fire. “What?”

Sonia meets Luisa’s eyes before turning to mine. “First the date, and now…”

“And now what?” My stomach has curled into a knot. I don’t know what she will say, but I feel the turn of destiny’s wheel.

“And now Bath,” she says. “It’s where I was born. That is what Mrs. Millburn told me when I asked — that I was born in Bath.”

Something clicks into place with her words. I look at Luisa. “You were not born in Italy, were you, Luisa?”

Her words are a fearful whisper into the room. “No.”

“But you said you were born in Italy.” Beads of panic seem to spill from Sonia’s voice, shattering like glass.

Luisa shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. I said I was from Italy. And I am. But my mother was English. I was born in England and taken to Italy when I was a babe.”

I look at Mr. Wigan. “What are the other towns, Mr. Wigan? The other towns near the stone serpent of Avebury?”

Even he looks flustered as he lowers his eyes back to the map, sliding his finger to and fro over the paper until he finds his place. “Let’s see… we had Newbury, Swindon, Bath.” He looks up briefly at Sonia before giving the map his attention once again. “Following that line in a circle, more or less, we have Stroud, Trowbridge, Salisbury, and… Andover. Any of these ring a bell, my dear?” He looks at Luisa expectantly.

At first I think I am wrong. I think I must have it wrong, for Luisa stands stock still as if nothing Mr. Wigan has said has made any sort of impression on her. He sighs heavily, gazing back at the map as if preparing to look for other towns, other villages, when Luisa finally breaks the silence.

“Salisbury,” she mumbles. “I was born in Salisbury.”

Four marks, four keys, circle of fire. Birthed in the first breath of Samhain near the mystic stone serpent of Aubur. The words of the prophecy whisper in my ear, and suddenly, I know. “Sonia? What time were you born?”

She shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

I look to Luisa. “Luisa?”

“A-About midnight, I’m told.”

And now I am certain, as I think they must be as well.

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I look up at Sonia and Luisa in wonder. “It is you. You and others who carry your mark. You are the keys.”

21

We are tired from the journey to Mr. Wigan’s, and the celebratory air of the holiday is all but gone as we pass a tension-filled dinner with Aunt Virginia, Alice, and Henry. It is with mutual relief, I think, that we retreat to our chambers after dessert. I have put on my nightdress and am preparing for sleep when a knock makes me look up from the lamp.

When I open the door, Luisa and Sonia stand in dressing gowns and slippers on the threshold to my chamber.

“You’re still awake? I thought you would be well on your way to sleep by now.”

Sonia shakes her head. “I’m afraid sleep is still a long way off, Lia.”

I step back, holding the door open. “Come. Come in.”

Luisa enters the room, leaning against the wall while Sonia perches on the edge of the bed.

I sit next to her, peering at her pale face by the light of the fire. “What is it?”

“Luisa and I have been discussing things. And we are in agreement. If we are the keys, the sooner we find an end to the prophecy the better.”

I nod, breathing deeply. “Good. But… are you all right?”

Sonia reaches out and takes my hand. “It was just so… so… surprising. I hardly thought I could breathe for a while. Of course, I knew we were a part of the prophecy somehow. Why else would Luisa and I have the mark? Even still, it suddenly seems very frightening, I suppose, to be in such a situation.”

I smile into her eyes. “I understand. But working together is better than going it alone, is it not?” She nods, returning my smile, and I cross to the fire and turn to face them. “All right, then, it’s time to make our next move. Time to find the other keys.”

Sonia shakes her head. “But how? There will be four of us, won’t there? Two more in ad***ion to Luisa and me?”

“That’s right, but we won’t have to start from the beginning if we can only find the list.”

Luisa’s confusion is evident on her face. “What list?”

“The list of names my father compiled. Remember? I told you before that Aunt Virginia said he was looking for children, that he had a list of names and places. It seemed so random before, his finding you, but it makes more sense now. If all of the keys were born near Avebury around midnight on November first of the same year, it would not be very difficult to find four girls with the mark. It can only be that you and Sonia were on that list, and if you were on that list, there were probably others as well. If we can find it before Alice, we can try to locate the other keys.”

Sonia rises, holding her fingertips to her brow in frustration. “Even if we have all the keys, we do not know how to end the prophecy.”

I meet Luisa’s gaze across the room. We are accustomed to Sonia’s calm demeanor. Neither of us knows what to say in the face of her unexpected despair.

I speak the only truth I can. “I know this is maddening. Really, I do. But it took my father nearly ten years to come as far as he did, and right now there might be a way to find the other keys without going back to the beginning. If there is, we must find the list, and soon, for surely it would be dangerous in Alice’s hands. Perhaps the rest will reveal itself to us, or perhaps we will have to find a way to unearth it as we have the clues so far.”

Sonia drops back onto the settee, resting her head in her hands without speaking.

“All right, Lia.” Luisa speaks calmly from across the room. I am relieved to see the light has returned to her eyes. “Where shall we look? Where might the list be hidden?”

“I’ve been thinking of just this thing. There is only one person, one person who knows more about the prophecy than any of us.…”

Sonia looks up. “Who?”

“My father.”

Luisa speaks from the other side of the room. “But, Lia… your father… what I mean to say is —”

“I know well that my father is dead, Luisa. But it so happens that Sonia can sometimes speak with the dead, can you not, Sonia?”

Her face, smooth as alabaster in the light of the fire, betrays no emotion. “Well, yes. Sometimes.” She comes over to me, looking into my eyes. “But not always. I cannot control who will come and who will not. I cannot control the messages that are passed from one world to the next. It is not for show that I tell my customers that I work at the will of the spirits. It’s quite true.”

“Yes, but you could try, couldn’t you? To… *****mmon him? To bring about his presence?”

Her answer comes more slowly and with less enthusiasm than I expect. “I suppose so. But what about Virginia? You said she was once the Guardian. Can’t we simply ask her?”

“My father kept everything a secret. She knew there was a list, but not where it was hidden, and she only knows a portion of the prophecy. Only her part in it and the part of my mother. And surely Alice will not share anything with us.” I shake my head. “No. We must speak to my father. It’s the only way.”

“But even if I managed to locate your father, the spirits cannot intervene in the world they have left behind, not really. They can speak to us of the Otherworlds and of things as they were before they passed, but they cannot see anything in our world beyond the moment when they departed it.”

She pauses, pressing her lips together as she tries to find the words she needs. “Once a soul moves on to the next world, it’s as if… as if a curtain drops between that soul and us. Sometimes it thins so that we may speak to the soul, but your father won’t be able to tell you anything that has happened since his death.”

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It would be a lie to say that I am not disappointed. I had hoped for a quick and easy answer to the location of the list. Even still, that does not mean Father cannot be of any help at all. “So… he could tell us where he hid it before his death?”

She nods. “I think so.”

A feather of hope drifts into my heart. “Perhaps it is still there… It is worth a try, isn’t it? A place to begin?”

Sonia nods, meeting my eyes. “All right, then. Let us try.”

We move to the floor without speaking further, settling into a small circle in front of the fire. Once there, we quickly join hands, as if this alone might offer protection against whatever waits on the other side of this world. I remember that first encounter in the sitting room at Mrs. Millburn’s. How long ago it seems, and how impossible that we should find ourselves together at Birchwood, forming yet another circle, this time without Alice, and for something far more dangerous than a lark.

Sonia closes her eyes. I look to Luisa, her impossibly long, dark lashes casting a shadow on the fine upsweep of her cheek. There is nothing to do but join them. I close my eyes, waiting, listening to the soft sound of Sonia’s breath. When nothing happens, I open my eyes to find Sonia looking at me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She swallows so hard that her delicate throat ripples. “It is only… well,” she laughs nervously. “I find I’m suddenly afraid. Will you keep watch over me? If something should happen, something that does not seem right, you must break the circle and force me out of the spirit trance.”

I know of what she speaks. I have felt the dark thing. I have heard the throbbing of the Souls, felt their fiery breath on my back. “We’ll keep watch, Sonia. You have my word.”

She nods, closing her eyes against her fear.

For a time, nothing happens. I slip into a state that is almost hypnotic, aided by the crackling of the fire and the silence in the room. I have stopped expecting something to happen when I smell him, as I did before. It is the faint reminder of Father’s pipe, the wool of his favorite jacket smelling of cedar from the wardrobe.

Sonia’s voice breaks the heavy silence in the room. “Is that Thomas Milthorpe? Father of Lia and Alice and Henry?” There is a pause before she continues, this time speaking more softly. “Yes, yes. We shall be quiet.”

Her eyes open, an unusual sharpness burning within them. The blue of her eyes is brighter, the black circle on the outer edge of her pupil more clearly defined. A strange pulsing energy, almost heard, has filled the room. It makes me feel warm and overwhelmed at the same time, and I fight the urge to cover my ears as if this will somehow block out the presence that seems to spill into the room from some unseen place.

“Before Lia will speak to you, Spirit, you must tell her something only she will know. Something that will prove your identity.”

I wonder at this question, at her reason for asking it, waiting for Sonia to pass my father’s reply back into the room. A prickly tingling begins where my palm meets Sonia’s, one that spreads to include my fingers so that my whole hand feels alive with fire. And then I hear the voice, hoarse and coming from what seems a very long distance.

“Lia? Lia? Do you hear me, Daughter?”

I shake my head, disbelieving. It is my father’s voice, of this I’m certain, but I do not know how I have come to hear it, to make contact with my dead father simply by holding Sonia’s hand. My eyes drift to Luisa, whose hand has become hot in mine. Her eyes are open and startled as she stares in wonder at Sonia’s face. She hears it as well.

The voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, forces me to attention. “Lia… Listen. There is much to discuss…” The voice is crackly, breaking in the middle of some of the words. “I shall offer you the proof the Spirit Talker demands, but we must be quick. They will soon come.…”

His voice fades for a moment before returning. “Lia… Daughter… Do you remember when you tried to build the raft? Henry dropped… into the river and… remember? You were so small, but… sure you could catch up to it if… paddled swiftly enough. You were never very good… building things, Lia. Remember? But you tried anyway. You worked and worked, though surely… it could not be done.…”

Tears sting my eyelids as I remember working to build a makeshift raft to find Henry’s toy boat, certain I could catch it though it traveled purposefully downstream. Alice stood by, saying over and over again it could not be done. I think even poor Henry knew that we would never catch the toy, though the river’s current was gentle after a long season without rain. But I hammered wood together anyway, all the while in my best pinafore, using tools and scrap that father’s workmen had left lying about when they broke for lunch. I worked feverishly, though with no real skill. When I finally launched my haphazard rescue raft, it sank before I could get in as much as a toe. I think I was more distraught over my inability to save the toy boat than Henry was with losing it.

“I remember.” My voice is a whisper.

For a moment all is silent, and I fear we have lost the fragile connection to the Otherworlds. But the voice returns, though quite a bit fainter.

“Good, Lia. Good. You must find the… keys. I tried… I tried to… over. I located… but only two… You must… list… to complete the circle. I left it in… behind the… It is the only way… an end to the prophecy. You are the… It is your… once and for all, but not without the four.”