Circle of Fire (Prophecy of the Sisters, Book 3)

by Michelle Zink

  After mounting our horses we pass through the crowded waterfront and continue into Dublin proper. Then the city is behind us, and the endless Irish countryside is a lush green carpet in every direction.

  Dimitri and Gareth determine that it is safest to avoid the main roads, and we spend the day crossing verdant meadows and rolling hills. Although cold, it is a pleasant day’s ride, the wild, open beauty of the landscape illuminating some of the darkness lurking in the corners of my heart.

  I turn to Gareth. “How long will it take us to reach the cairns?”

  “A day or so, provided we don’t meet with any trouble.”

  I nod, disappointment dampening my serenity.

  “Do you think you’ll decide soon?” Gareth asks a moment later. “About the position as Lady of Altus?”

  I look over at him, stepping carefully around the details of the prophecy that he does not know. “It seems foolhardy to think of it when there is still so much unfinished.”

  I feel the weight of Dimitri’s silence and avoid his eyes. We are both aware that my decision involves more than simply my place on the Isle. I have not yet formally accepted Dimitri’s offer to be together should I survive the prophecy. At first it was because of James and my uncertainty about my feelings for him. Now it is uncertainty over my own future, and a superstitious fear of taking too much for granted.

  Gareth’s brow furrows. “The workings of the Sisterhood and the Grigori remain something of a mystery, even to me. Although I’m often entrusted with critical tasks, no one is told everything. Yet…”

  He hesitates, and I prompt him. “Yet?”

  “It seems once this business is concluded, you will have to make a decision rather quickly, does it not?”

  I nod slowly. “I suppose so.”

  “Well, then—with all due respect, of course—should you not make your decision in advance so that you might accept or refuse the role when the time comes?”

  I try to smile. “You are most wise, Gareth. I’ll give it further thought.”

  And all that day, I do. Gone is my earlier sense of peace, for Gareth is right: It is foolish to hide from the truth. I have done that too often in the past—hidden from the realities about Alice, Sonia, my very own family. It has done me nothing but harm, and it doesn’t take long to come to at least one conclusion.

  When all is said and done, there are only two possible outcomes: end the prophecy and make a decision that will change the course of my life forever—or die trying.

  15

  I feel our approach to the cairns before I see them. It is a pull originating from the center of my body, one that draws me forward so powerfully that I’m quite certain I could find my way even without Gareth. I am surer than ever that the Stone is there, for why else would I have such a powerful reaction to a place I’ve never been? I try to find comfort in the belief as we come upon a pathway spilling out of a small forest.

  “This will be the road leading to the house. I don’t know about you, but I cannot wait for the comfort of a proper bed,” Gareth says, leading us into the sparsely wooded forest.

  I try to smile through my weariness. “I’m most hoping for a bath.”

  “I will take both of those together with a good meal,” Dimitri adds.

  The pathway is too narrow for us to stay abreast of one another, so we ride single file as we make our way through the trees. For a while, I lose all sense of time and place. I am almost startled when we finally emerge into a clearing, the house visible in the center, its gray stone nearly blending into the steely winter sky beyond. I cannot help but smile at the tendrils of smoke that rise from the chimney.

  Looking over at Gareth and Dimitri, I grin. “Warmth!”

  They return my smile, and we walk the horses over to the fence at the front of the house.

  “We’ll tie them here for the time being,” Gareth says. “Let’s go meet our hosts.”

  Dismounting, I secure Sargent to the fence post, taking a moment to nuzzle his neck. “Thank you,” I whisper, patting his flank before joining the men at the walkway leading to the house.

  “What is the caretaker’s name?” I whisper to Dimitri as we stand on the stoop, waiting for a reply to our knock.

  “Fergus. Fergus O’Leary.”

  I nod, repeating the name under my breath as a sudden knot of nervousness ties itself around my stomach. I have become accustomed to keeping my own counsel. To Milthorpe Manor in London, to Dimitri, and to those with whom I’ve become familiar. It will be strange to stay in someone else’s home while searching for the Stone.

  Gareth is raising his hand to knock again when the door is opened. I am expecting to see an older man and have to blink a few times at the sight of the girl standing in the doorway before us. Then I remember. Dimitri said the caretaker has a daughter.

  “Good afternoon.” She nods her head, a soft Irish lilt touching her words. “You must be Mr. Markov and company.”

  Dimitri nods, meeting my eyes in a silent reminder to use only my first name. All of the accommodations were arranged by Dimitri, and we have agreed that it is best to keep secret as much as possible about the purpose of our journey—and my identity.

  “These are my associates, Lia and Gareth.” Dimitri nods at each of us. “Gareth will only be staying the night.”

  I look at him with a start. I should not be surprised, for Gareth has not been told the purpose of our stay at Loughcrew. As before, when we made our way to the missing page, Gareth can be allowed only a glimpse into the prophecy’s workings. It is the way Aunt Abigail wished it, and so it will remain.

  “Please, come inside.” The girl steps back, allowing us passage into the house before closing the door behind her. “I’m Brigid O’Leary. My father is waiting in the parlor.”

  She turns and we follow as she makes her way down the hall. Candles flicker along the walls, casting their light on Brigid’s hair. At first, I thought it blond like Sonia’s, but now I see that it is threaded with burnished copper.

  The hallway is narrow and dim. I cannot keep from peeking into the rooms as we pass. The furnishings are not nearly as grand as those at Milthorpe Manor, but I note their well-worn comfort and decide I like the house already.

  “Here we are.” Brigid leads us through a doorway on the right and we emerge into a small room. A gray-haired gentleman sits at a reading table, a large book spread before him as he bends his head to a piece of parchment, his right hand moving across it with a pen. “Excuse me, Father. Our guests have arrived.”

  He looks up, his eyes clouded. I recognize the expression. It is the look my father used to get when he was deeply immersed in research in the library. The look of one returning, reluctantly, from another world.

  “What do you say there, Daughter?” He peers at us in confusion, and I wonder if Brigid has somehow forgotten to tell him of our impending arrival.

  Her voice is gentle. “Our guests, Father. They’ve arrived. Remember, Mr. Markov sent word that he would require rooms during his study of the cairns?”

  Dimitri and I have concocted a story that we are scholars preparing an important report on the historical significance of the cairns. It will allow us to move about freely, asking questions that might lead us to the location of the Stone without arousing too much suspicion.

  “Mr. Markov?” He looks at us questioningly for a moment more before understanding lights his eyes. “Ah, yes! Mr. Markov. We’ve been expecting you.” Standing and moving toward us, he says it as if he was not, just moments ago, staring at us without recognition.

  He walks straight to Dimitri, arm outstretched, and shakes his hand carefully before turning to Gareth and doing the same. But when his eyes settle on me, I think I see a wall drop. I cannot help but think there is suspicion in his gaze. “Look here, Brigid. ’Tis a lass! It seems Mr. Markov’s friend will be good company for you.”

  Two fiery spots of red appear on Brigid’s creamy cheeks, and she ducks her head. “Shush, Father! I’m sure Mr. Markov and h
is associates have important work to attend to and will have little time for leisure.”

  Dimitri nods. “We are on a bit of a deadline. We need to complete our research and be on our way as quickly as possible. But,” he winks at Brigid, “I’m certain there will be ample time for friendly conversation.”

  She nods without enthusiasm.

  Mr. O’Leary clasps his hands behind his back. “There now, you see? It will be nice for you to have the company of a young woman, Brigid.”

  But even as he speaks, it does not seem that he thinks it will be nice, and I feel suddenly as if I have fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in another world altogether. It may be sheer exhaustion, but there seems to be hidden meaning behind every word the O’Learys speak, every glance they cast at each other when they think we’re not paying attention. I scold myself inwardly for being overtired and melodramatic, but I am relieved nonetheless when Mr. O’Leary claps his hands together and speaks.

  “Well, now. Let me see to your horses while Brigid shows you to your rooms. You do have horses, don’t you?”

  Gareth nods. “The horses are out front, tied to the fence. I’ll come along and help you get them settled.”

  “Tsk, no. Clean up and rest from your journey. ’Tis well in hand.”

  He turns to go, but Dimitri’s voice stops him in his tracks.

  “Mr. O’Leary?”

  “Yes?”

  “I understand you have five rooms for rent?” Dimitri reaches into his pocket.

  Mr. O’Leary nods. “Yes, but there are only three of you, are there not? Until tomorrow, when this one leaves?” He gestures at Gareth. “Though we can certainly prepare additional rooms if you’ve a need.”

  Dimitri stretches his hand toward the older gentleman. “I haven’t a need for more rooms, Mr. O’Leary, but my work is very important and must be done in silence. I would like us to remain the only guests for our duration here. I will, of course, pay for the empty rooms.”

  Mr. O’Leary hesitates, looking at Dimitri’s hand with something like distaste, though surely he must not get many visitors to the cairns in the months of early spring. I wonder if we have offended him, but a moment later he takes the money from Dimitri’s hand. He says nothing further before turning to go.

  Dimitri’s eyes meet mine in the faint light of the room, and I know we are thinking the same thing: No one is above the suspicion of working for the Souls. Not even Mr. O’Leary and his daughter.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Brigid has filled a large copper tub in the center of my chamber. Steam rises and curls above it, disappearing like ether into the softly lit room.

  “No, thank you. The bath is lovely.”

  Brigid nods. “We serve dinner at six, if it’s all right with you.”

  I notice that her sleeves, far too long, are damp at the cuffs from running my bath. I feel a pang of guilt for my earlier criticism, however warranted, of the O’Learys.

  I smile. “It’s perfectly fine. Thank you for everything.”

  We stand in a silence made awkward by the length of time it stretches between us, and I cannot help but feel as if she has something else she wishes to say. I wait, and a moment later she says it.

  “You’ve come from London, then?”

  “That’s right.” I purposefully avoid elaborating. Vagueness is a friend to those with something to hide.

  She casts her eyes downward, chewing her bottom lip as she contemplates her next words. “And will you be here long?”

  It is only idle curiosity, I tell myself. She is alone in the middle of nowhere with no one but her aging father for company.

  Even still, I harden my voice, hoping to deter further questions. “As long as is necessary to complete our work.”

  She nods once more before turning to leave. “Enjoy your bath.”

  I stand, unmoving, trying to stem the tide of suspicion that has risen in the wake of our arrival at Loughcrew. Something plucks at my subconscious until I’m certain an important clue is hidden there.

  I realize what it is sometime later as I tip my head back against the copper tub, the bathwater cooling against my skin.

  Dimitri and I are not from London. Not really. In fact, neither of us has been in London long enough to develop a Londoner’s accent. I still speak enough like an American that I routinely garner strange looks from those who come from the city. Gareth, for his part, is a drifter, traveling widely on behalf of the Brothers and Sisters of Altus. He has even less accent than I. We are all in rough dress, having purposefully avoided anything fine to prevent drawing attention to ourselves.

  And if all of that is the case… if all of that is the case and Dimitri was careful not to let slip our origins, there is no reason for Brigid to assume that we have come from London. Which means she has either taken a wildly accurate guess, or she knows more about us than she should.

  16

  Dinner is an awkward affair. Whether due to shared suspicion or unfamiliarity with our hosts, we eat mostly in silence, with only the occasional attempt at friendly conversation by Gareth. Brigid has changed into another too-large gown, and her sleeves come perilously close to dragging in the various dishes and sauces on the table before us. I feel a moment’s sadness for her solitude and obvious lack of feminine guidance.

  Despite the strangeness of the company, we eat enthusiastically. Brigid, with the help of an old woman from a town some distance away, has cooked us a wonderful meal. It is simple in preparation but extravagant in quantity, and I eat heartily in portions that would give any proper young woman pause. We are sipping ale after dessert when Mr. O’Leary finally mentions our purpose for coming to the cairns.

  “I expect you’ll need a guide, then.” I am almost certain I catch a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

  I have not found an opportunity to fill Dimitri in on my conversation with Brigid, and I speak before he has a chance to answer. “Actually, we prefer to work alone, though we do appreciate the offer.”

  Dimitri casts a glance my way, and I try to send him a look that says, I’ll explain everything later.

  Mr. O’Leary’s nod is slow. “I expect you’ll have a map of the site.”

  “We do, as a matter of fact,” says Dimitri. “But I’m sure we will have need of your expertise as we get further into our research.”

  Brigid speaks from her father’s right. “Father knows much about the cairns. If there is anything specific you seek, he’ll be able to help you find it.”

  Mr. O’Leary’s laugh is a cold wind in the candlelit dining room. “Daughter, you have forgotten; Mr. Markov and his party seek only historical knowledge of the cairns. And that is easy enough for any man learned in the ways of research.” The sarcasm in his voice is obvious, and he turns to look at Dimitri. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Markov?”

  Dimitri holds his eyes. “That’s right.”

  There is a moment of silence in which the two men stare each other down. I almost wonder if they will come to blows, so intense is the hostility between them, but a minute later Mr. O’Leary pushes his chair back from the table.

  “It has been a long and tiring day, for you more than any. Please make yourselves comfortable. Brigid serves the morning meal at seven.”

  He disappears into the hall and Brigid rises with an awkward smile. “My father is unused to company. We rarely have guests, and it’s easy to forget how to behave among others. Please forgive him.”

  Dimitri sits back in his chair, at ease now that Mr. O’Leary has gone. “Think nothing of it.”

  Brigid nods. “Is there anything else I can see to before retiring for the evening?”

  “I can speak only for myself,” Gareth says, “but I have everything I need in the mattress that awaits me upstairs.”

  “We’re fine, thank you.” I try to smile at her. To force down my unease with the reminder that we are all tired and skittish.

  “Very well.”

  We say our good nights but remain around the table in silenc
e until she has been gone more than a minute.

  Gareth leans forward in his seat, his voice a loud whisper. “What was that all about?”

  Dimitri shakes his head. “Not here.” He rises, gesturing at us to follow. “We’ll have to speak in one of our chambers, and we’ll have to do it quietly.”

  We follow him up the stairs, past the rooms assigned to him and Gareth upon our arrival. He stops at the door to my chamber, pushing it open. He lifts his eyebrows in silent question and I nod, giving him permission to enter my room though he is asking only for Gareth’s sake. Dimitri is welcome in my room, and he knows it.

  Once we are all inside, Dimitri closes the door and we move farther into the room. A fire has been lit in the firebox, and we cross to the small sofa and set of chairs that sit before it. Gareth sits in one of the high-backed chairs, covered in threadbare tapestry, while I curl up at the end of the sofa. Dimitri drops to the carpet before the fire, stretching his long limbs with a sigh and leaning back on his forearms.

  “Now,” he says softly. “What do you suspect?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure. It’s just that Brigid asked if we came from London. But not in the way one asks when one needs to hear the answer.”

  “I must be confused about the nature of an inquiry, then.” Gareth’s voice is tinged with humor. “Isn’t that the only way one asks a question?”

  I level my gaze at him, trying to keep the exasperation from my voice. “No. Sometimes one asks a question to confirm something one already knows.”

  “So you think Brigid already knew we came from London?” Dimitri asks from the floor.

  “It certainly seemed that way.” I look from one to the other of them. “Are you sure that neither of you let slip our origins?”

  “Positive,” Dimitri says without hesitation. “I’ve taken great care to protect our identities, our backgrounds, anything and everything beyond the story we concocted. After what happened on the way to Chartres, I take no chances with your safety, Lia.” His voice is full of something deep and rich, and I feel my cheeks flush with heat.