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 oddities lying on every surface.
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?”
“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.
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 addition 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… to summon 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.”
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.
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