Whisper of Souls

by Michelle Zink

  “Good night, Ginny,” Adelaide said. “Sleep well.”

  Ginny pulled away, looking into her eyes. “Addy, I—”

  “Don’t,” Adelaide said gently, shaking her head. “There comes a time when each of us must do what we think best. That time has come for me, though it has not been an easy realization. Please don’t make it more difficult. If you love me, simply smile and say good night and retire to your chamber as if this were any other night.”

  Ginny hesitated, her eyes filling with tears. She finally nodded. “Good night, Addy.”

  Adelaide smiled. “Good night, Ginny. I will see you soon.”

  She squeezed her sister’s hand and turned, ascending the stairs.

  Adelaide had water brought to her chamber for a bath. She added the last of her lavender oil, undressing and lowering herself into the steaming copper tub in front of the firebox. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempted to empty her mind.

  The water was hot. It worked to loosen the knots in her neck and shoulders. The scent of lavender rose to fill her nose, and she breathed a sigh of contentment and sunk deeper into the bath, letting her mind drift.

  She was floating through darkness, her worldly cares no longer a burden, no longer a thought. The air around her was soft and warm. It glided sensuously across her skin, enveloped her in a cocoon of pleasure and release. She allowed herself to let go, to release every vestige of worry. Something called her forward, a warm presence prompting her to stay. She continued drifting, the world of Thomas and the children and the prophecy growing further and further away.

  Here, it seemed, everything would be all right.

  Then, all at once, it was difficult to breathe. The air that had been close and comforting was now heavy and liquid, difficult to inhale. She gasped as she tried to get enough oxygen. Thrashing, her limbs hit against something hard and unforgiving, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the ceiling through a warped layer of water three inches above her head.

  She grabbed on to the sides of the tub, pulling herself out of the bath, sputtering and coughing, instinctually trying to eliminate the water from her body. She began to shiver. Standing took great effort, and she grabbed the blanket from atop the chair, almost falling to the floor as she tried to step out of the copper bathtub. When at last she was free of the water, she lay on the floor, wrapped in the blanket, shaking from fear and shock. Her hair was splayed around her in wet ropes, water pooling under and around her naked body.

  She had been traveling. Had been called to the Plane by Samael under the guise of escape.

  Under the guise of relief.

  He had used her own exhaustion, her own growing apathy, and she had nearly succumbed.

  Rising from the floor, still clutching the blanket, she forced herself to a standing position, bracing herself against the chair while she got her footing. Then, remembering her promise to her husband, she crossed the room to the wardrobe.

  She pulled out her most beautiful nightdress and dressing gown, purchased for her by Thomas on his last trip to Ireland. It had never been worn.

  Adelaide dried off and pulled the dressing gown over her head, allowing the ivory silk to drape across her body. The gown was fine indeed, trimmed in green satin and delicate Irish lace.

  She touched a hand to it, regretful that she had not worn it sooner. That she had not cherished every possible moment with Thomas when she was still coherent enough to savor it.

  She shook her head, banishing the thought.

  She made her way to the looking glass and brushed her hair. Then she reached into the top drawer of the bureau and pulled out the medallion. She fastened it around her wrist in a vain attempt to take it with her, to keep it from her daughter, though deep down, she knew there was no point.

  The medallion would find its Gate, as it always had. As it always would.

  Still, she would try.

  There was one more thing that must be done before she went to Thomas, and she sat down at the writing table and picked up the quill.

  My Dearest Lia…

  She was already in Thomas’s bed when he entered his chamber. Despite her earlier promise, his eyes lit with surprise when he saw her. That her presence in his chamber should be so unexpected made Adelaide’s heart hurt for all he had sacrificed on her behalf.

  She smiled as he shut the door behind him.

  “You’ve come,” he said, crossing the room.

  “Of course. I said I would.”

  He nodded, and she watched him undress, his body still fine and strong, lit by the flames flickering in the firebox. He laid his clothing carefully across the settee and made his way to the bed.

  “Good evening, my beautiful wife,” he whispered, taking her in his arms.

  She smiled against his chest, running her hands along his muscled back. “Good evening, my handsome husband.”

  He pulled back, studying her face.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, embarrassed.

  “You,” he whispered.

  “Me? Whatever for?”

  He ran his fingers through her hair, his hands traveling to her brow, down the rise of her cheek.

  “Because you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was gruff.

  She playfully pushed him. “Stop, now. You’re embarrassing me with this talk.”

  He moved closer, his body pressed against hers beneath the coverlet, his face only inches away. Her pulse quickened, the heat traveling from his body to hers until she felt her face flush with it.

  Then his lips were on hers.

  At first, his kiss was gentle, but it was not long before his mouth became more urgent, his body tight with passion.

  She gave herself over to him. His hands explored her body, hot fingers branding her skin, as if he was rediscovering every inch of her. She let the passion build between them, letting go of everything but the feel of him next to her, the perfect rightness of it, both a reunion and a goodbye.

  Later, she lay with him while he slept. She stroked his hair, silky under her fingertips as if he were still a boy. She studied his face, memorizing the impossibly dark eyelashes, the curve of his jaw. She closed her eyes, believing just for a moment that his strong arms around her were enough.

  Then she rose from the bed, careful not to wake him, and put on her nightdress. She did not allow herself to look back as she crossed the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

  The girls were asleep when she entered their room. Lia’s arms rested neatly over the coverlet, while Alice’s were flung about, her hair a tangle of curls.

  A sad smile touched Adelaide’s lips. How like them both. Lia, calm and reasoned, even in sleep. Alice, impetuous and passionate.

  Adelaide moved across the room, sitting on the end of the bed. She studied her daughters. They were beautiful, and she wondered what life would bring them. Not simply the prophecy, but life itself. Would they find men as strong and loving as Thomas? Someone who would love them in spite of their place in the prophecy? Would they find their way to Altus, to the legacy that was theirs? Would they, too, watch their daughters in the dark of night, worrying about their futures? Or would one of them accomplish that which had eluded the Sisters for centuries and close the Gate once and for all?

  There was no way to know, but Adelaide would watch from afar. She would watch and offer her assistance—to both her daughters—should it be required. She would send her love across space and time and hope they would feel it in their darkest hours.

  Rising, she moved to the head of the bed. She wanted to touch her daughters, to feel their smooth, porcelain skin under her fingertips one last time, but she didn’t want to wake them. She fingered a lock of Lia’s hair before bending to kiss her forehead.

  “Good night, my sweet,” she whispered.

  She straightened and moved to the other side of the bed. Her heart hurt for Alice. Though she knew Lia would struggle in her role, it was Alice with whom she could most empathize, for whi
le Lia seemed oblivious to the presence of the Souls, Adelaide could almost feel the bond they had forged with Alice. Perhaps they even whispered to her while she slept, as they had to Adelaide for as long as she could remember.

  And yet now, as she slept next to her sister, Alice looked as innocent as any child. Bending toward her, Adelaide kissed Alice’s cheek and wished for that innocence to remain as long as possible. She was rising when she felt the small arms work their way around her neck, squeezing her in an embrace.

  Adelaide pulled back, studying her daughter. “It’s very late. You must go back to sleep, my darling.”

  Alice put her small hand to her mother’s cheek, her expression earnest. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  There was no sarcasm, no hidden meaning in the words. It was as if, for this one moment, Alice was a woman. As if she knew exactly what her mother had suffered and exactly what she would suffer still.

  Adelaide swallowed the tears that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry, too. But I will always love you, Alice. And I will always be with you.”

  Kissing her daughter one last time, Adelaide left the room as quickly as her feet would carry her. There was no time for second thoughts. She had searched and searched for another answer. There wasn’t one.

  That it was painful was of no matter.

  Adelaide stopped outside the girls’ chamber. Tiny flames flickered in the sconces that lined the hall, left alight for the maid who attended to Henry in the night.

  Adelaide could not take her eyes off the closed door across the hall. A moment later, she stepped toward it and turned the knob.

  The chamber was spare save for the crib in the center of the room. She walked slowly toward it, her heart thudding in her chest, her breathing shallow. She stopped at the rail and peered over the side.

  Henry lay on his back, his tiny legs splayed out in front of him, his mouth partially open. He had again kicked off his blanket. Adelaide reached down to pull it over him. He stirred, his small head moving back and forth in the moment before he opened his eyes. They were blue, she noticed. A deep and beautiful blue, as clear as the lake reflecting the sky in summer. She’d been too exhausted to take note immediately after his birth, too full of sorrow when they’d brought him to her a week later.

  A sputter erupted from his mouth and she froze, her hands still on the blanket, now pulled up to his chest. The cry grew louder and more urgent.

  “Shhhhhh,” she said softly, patting his stomach.

  Her ministrations did no good. He continued to cry, his face scrunched up, tiny tears leaking from his eyes. Lifting him from the cradle was instinctual.

  She picked him up with the blanket, holding him close to her chest as she paced the floor. She had held Lia and Alice just this way when they cried. Now she bounced Henry ever so slightly and was relieved when he became silent.

  “There, there, little one,” she whispered. “Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

  She lowered herself to the rocking chair by the fire, settling Henry in the crook of her arm. He gazed up at her, and for a moment, she thought that he understood everything. That he knew exactly why she was here, and why it had taken her so long to come. That he forgave her.

  She rocked slowly back and forth, letting her fingers trace his tiny features. Thomas’s nose, the eyes that came from her side of the family. Eyes that always began as blue and later turned green. Lia and Alice’s eyes.

  She lifted him to her chest, lowering her face to the silky thatch of dark hair. She inhaled, breathing in the scent of him. Tears fell from her cheeks as she whispered, “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  She didn’t know how long she rocked him, but the fire had dimmed by the time he was asleep in her arms. She looked down at his serene face and wished him this kind of peace all his life through.

  Then she carried him to the cradle and set him gently inside, careful to cover him with the blanket.

  She hardly registered the bite of cold air against her skin even though she had not bothered with a cloak. The moon was full and heavy, the sky a deep indigo, almost like that of the Otherworlds. She put one foot in front of the other, focusing on the task at hand. She pictured her family sleeping peacefully within the walls of Birchwood Manor. It gave her comfort, for though there would be dark days ahead, her decision would keep them safe for a time, and she felt sure that whatever the future held, her daughters would be stronger than her.

  She came to the top of the cliffs, the sky opening its arms to her all at once. It was brighter at the top, and she turned in a circle, taking it in.

  She had spent many hours in this spot, her memories going all the way back to her own mother and the many hours they had spent walking the grounds and gazing out over the lake from above.

  A gust of wind whipped her nightdress. Whispered voices traveled to her on its breeze. She heard them, even in this world. They whispered urgently, coaxing her back to the warmth of her bed, to the Otherworlds, where Samael and his Souls would keep her locked away forever.

  It was easy to ignore them here, with the wind lifting her hair, the cold air hitting her face. She saw things with a clarity that had been lost to her for a very long time.

  There was no going back, and she stepped toward the edge of the cliff.

  The wind was more powerful on the precipice. She closed her eyes, letting it blow her hair around her face. In the darkness of her imagination, she saw Lia and Alice come to the cliffs together, sharing secrets on the big boulder as she and Ginny had done. She saw her daughters in summer, swimming in the lake below, riding the horses to its shores and trying to skip stones with Thomas’s gentle instruction. It would be a peaceful existence, at least for a while.

  It was all she could give them.

  The whispers rose around her, angry and urgent. They berated her, told her not to be foolish, that her children would suffer without her presence, that Samael would leave them alone if only Adelaide would give herself over to him.

  All lies designed to get her to the Otherworlds, where they would trap her, waiting for her daughters to grow older and then subjecting them to the same horrors to which she had been subjected.

  No. At least this way she could help them from the other side. At least this way she would see them again one day.

  The promise of it gave her a final burst of certainty. She inched forward, teetering on the edge of the cliff, rocks spilling over the side. She waited a moment, just a moment, holding the faces of her daughters, her beautiful son, in her mind’s eye.

  Then she raised her arms and fell. It was not a drop into the abyss, as she had expected, but a fall into the arms of peace.

  At last, she thought. At last.

  There was only silence.

  About the Author

  Michelle Zink lives in New York with her four children. Prophecy of the Sisters was her first novel, and was chosen as one of Booklist’s Top Ten Debut Novels of 2009 and as one of the Chicago Public Library’s Best Books for Young Readers. It has also been listed on the New York Public Library’s Stuff for the Teen Age and the Lone Star Reading List.

  Also by Michelle Zink

  Prophecy of the Sisters Series:

  Prophecy of the Sisters

  Guardian of the Gate

  Circle of Fire

  Copyright

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Zink

  Cover design by Alison Impey. Cover copyright © 2012 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Cover photography © Galyna Andrushko / Shutterstock

  Cover illustration by Leah Palmer Preiss

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use materia
l from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First e-book edition: June 2012

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  ISBN 978-0-316-22766-7