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

by Michelle Zink

  “Will you help me dry off?” I ask into his shoulder.

  He steps back, opening the blanket slowly. I hear the intake of his breath as he gazes upon my naked body. It is surprisingly easy to stand unabashedly before him.

  His eyes do not leave mine as he gently rubs my shoulders with the ends of the blanket. He works his way from my arms to my breasts, the gentle pressure of his hands sending a powerful ripple of longing through my body. Pulling his eyes away from my face, he drops to his knees before me, moving the blanket across my stomach, over the curve of my hips, to the soft skin on the inside of my thigh. I find myself glad that he moves so slowly. I am in no hurry to shield myself from Dimitri’s eyes. My body suddenly seems the deepest of the secrets I have kept, and I do not wish to have secrets from Dimitri anymore.

  His hands are patient and careful. His longing, as powerful as my own, is a presence in the room. When he’s finished he rises, still holding the blanket. I see the question in his eyes and answer him by reaching for his hand.

  “Come.” I pull him toward the bed. “Come and lie with me.”

  He does not speak as I settle into the crook of his arm, touching my hands to the warm flesh exposed between the open ties of his shirt. My fingers travel downward, untying the laces as I go, until they are all undone. Pushing back the fabric, I bare his chest, flattening myself against him and kissing the muscles that ripple beneath his surprisingly soft skin.

  I rest my chin on my hands and look up into his eyes. “I love you, you know. You must remember that.”

  He pulls me up to his mouth so suddenly that it takes my breath away. In an instant I am beneath him, my head sinking into the down pillow as his body presses against mine. He touches my face, staring into my eyes with a ferocity that nearly frightens me.

  “Come away with me, Lia. Come away with me tonight. I’ll protect you from the Souls, as long as it takes. We’ll work together to bring Alice to our side.”

  I twine my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me until our lips meet again. Our passion presses at the barriers of the gentle kiss until I finally pull away.

  “I must do this, Dimitri. I don’t want to live in a world where I have to hide, even in sleep, from the Souls. More important, I don’t wish to live in a world where the other keys, my friends, must do the same. A world where you must compromise your loyalty to the Grigori to protect me.” He begins to protest, but I hold my fingers gently against his mouth to stop him. Then I look into his eyes so he will know that I mean what I say next. “This is how it must be, Dimitri. Please don’t waste our time together speaking of it again. Just be with me here, now. Be with me and know that whatever happens tomorrow, tonight and forever, I am yours.”

  I lean up to press my lips against his. Then I open myself to him, relishing the feel of his bare skin moving against mine. And I have no regrets.

  38

  We spend the day in morose silence. Sonia, Luisa, Helene, Brigid, Aunt Virginia, and I play halfhearted games of cribbage and attempt to read passages from the few dusty books that line the shelves while the men take turns riding out to check the perimeter. By dinner there is still no sign of the Guard, and while I am relieved, I have no doubt they are out there. I don’t know when they’ll arrive, but I know they’re coming.

  As evening approaches, I retire to my room with Dimitri to prepare for the Rite. I am folding my things in silence, packing them for whoever will have to take them back to London should I not survive the night, when I hear Dimitri’s voice behind me.

  “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give this to you.” I turn to face him. He holds out a package, wrapped in plain brown paper. “More likely, I was hoping the occasion would not arise after all. But it’s impossible to lie to myself any longer.”

  I do not take the package right away. I simply look at it, afraid to touch it, as if doing so will set in motion a string of events that cannot be undone. But of course that is pure foolishness. Those events were set in motion long ago. There is nothing I can do to stop them now.

  I reach for the package and am surprised by its heft. “What is it?”

  He sits next to me on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip ever so slightly, so that I slide toward him until our bodies are just touching.

  “Something to bring you comfort this night. Open it.”

  I pull the simple string on the package, turning it over until I find the seam. When I remove the paper, it reveals a thick pile of deep violet silk. When I touch it, a wisp of memory, powerful but barely formed, winds its way into my mind like the remnant of a beautiful dream.

  “I… I don’t understand.”

  A low chuckle erupts from his throat, an undercurrent of melancholy in it. “You are a terrible receiver of gifts. Open it and you’ll find out.”

  I set the package on the bed, plucking at the fabric on top. It reveals more beneath it, but I leave the rest where it is and shake the pile of silk in my hands until it unfurls, a shimmering purple sea that spills in folds onto the floor. Standing, I hold it away from my body to get a better look at it, and then I understand.

  “Oh! But…” I turn to Dimitri, emotion welling in my throat until I am forced to push it down in order to speak. “How did you get this?”

  He nods his head to the package on the bed. “I believe there’s a note that explains.”

  I set the garment on the bed, searching through the pile of fabric and brown paper until I see a thick piece of parchment. I do not recognize the handwriting, and I walk toward the firebox so that I can read it with some measure of privacy. Whatever it says, whomever it is from, it is for me alone.

  It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the elegant slant of the handwriting, but as soon as I begin reading, my breath catches in my throat.

  Dearest Lia,

  It is strange how something so small can change everything, isn’t it? Your presence here on Altus was like that for me. Though you were here but a few days, your friendship was a blessing. I think of you often.

  I know the time is drawing near for you to face Samael and his Souls, and I know that you do so on behalf of the Sisters—those who have gone before you and all those who would go after you. It seems only right, then, that we are with you in some way, and though I cannot be at Avebury to stand with you in the Rite, I hope you will find comfort and strength in the cloak of our Sisterhood. I hope it will remind you of Altus, and of me. I hope it will remind you that we do stand with you, if only in spirit.

  Your people and island need you, my Lady. My friend.

  We eagerly await your return.

  Una

  I stare at the words long after I finish reading them. They take me to another place, and for a moment I can feel the breeze rushing upward from the sea, carrying with it the scent of oranges from the groves on Altus.

  “She would be here if she could,” Dimitri says from the bed behind me.

  I nod, turning to face him with a small smile. “I know.”

  I cross the room to the package, lifting the first floor-length robe from it before counting the others.

  “There are six of them. One for me, one for each of the keys, and one for Aunt Virginia.” I am still stunned by Una’s thoughtfulness.

  Dimitri nods. “They are the robes used by the Sisters on Altus in the ancient festivals and rites.”

  “They’re lovely.” I clutch the violet silk to my chest as if doing so will connect me with the strength of the Sisters on Altus. “You must thank Una for me.”

  Dimitri rises, pulling me into his arms, the robe crushed between us. “You may tell her yourself, when this is all over.”

  His voice is husky with emotion, and I say nothing. I simply stand there in the protective circle of his arms, letting him pretend for the moment that my survival is a forgone conclusion rather than the leap of faith we both know it is.

  I expect the night to pass quickly, as time so often does when one wishes it wouldn’t. Instead, the hours seem to crawl past
. Dimitri and Edmund rise at regular intervals to scout the field on which Avebury’s stones lay, but there is still no sign of the Guard. It does nothing to ease my mind.

  If anything, the knowledge that they have not yet arrived causes me even more disquiet. I long to sit astride Sargent and patrol with the men, but I do not bother asking. They will only tell me it’s too dangerous, that I must remain cloistered until the ceremony. Even still, I cannot help but think I would rather die atop my horse, in the open fields of Avebury and at the hands of the Guard, than alone in my consignment to the Void.

  But that would mean I did not try to close the Gate. And that is not an option.

  By the time the small clock on the mantel strikes three in the morning, I want only to see it done. I’m tired of waiting, of wondering.

  I am sitting on the small sofa with Dimitri, leaning against him and nestled in the crook of his arm, when he leans down to whisper in my ear.

  “I think it’s time I take the Stone now.”

  I nod, lifting myself off him. There is no need to speak. He will arrange the Stone for the Rite and the rising sun while I wait inside with the keys and Aunt Virginia until the time draws nearer to sunrise. It has all been arranged.

  I feel the eyes of the others as I lift the chain, heavy with the Stone at its end, from my neck. I hand it to Dimitri without ceremony, holding his gaze in the moment before he stands, nodding to Edmund and Gareth. They make their way from the house in silence. Those of us who remain do not speak in the emptiness left by their absence.

  It is difficult not to feel that I am on the way to my own execution. We stand—the keys, Aunt Virginia, and I—near the door of the cottage, waiting for word that it is time to convene around the fire. I see the flames from the window, large and licking at the sky.

  I am almost out of time.

  Lifting my right hand, I remove the medallion from my right wrist, securing it instead on my left. I have known since the dream of myself at Avebury, the medallion searing my skin, that this would be the final requirement of the prophecy. The final test. I must wear the medallion over my mark to close the Gate.

  Which means I may instead open it if I fail.

  But it doesn’t matter. It is the only way, and I position the tarnished gold disc over the Jorgumand on my skin. My soul seems to expand, nearly sighing aloud as the etched symbol on the medallion nestles against its twin on my wrist. For a moment it seems foolish to have fought so hard when, all along, peace was so close.

  Shaking my head against the thought, I let my hand drop back to my side. Someone’s fingers close around mine, and when I turn, tipping my head to see around the hood of my robe, I see Luisa’s elegant nose and full lips peeking from beneath the silk of her own.

  She turns to me, speaking in a voice so low I wonder if anyone can hear but me. “Lia… I…” She meets my eyes with a sad smile. “Well, you are very brave. Whatever happens, I know you will prevail. In this world or the next. I hope you’ll carry me with you, whichever it may be.”

  “Thank you, Luisa. I hope you’ll do the same.” I am grateful for her honesty. It is the only time my probable death has been openly acknowledged, and it is somehow a relief not to have to pretend. Even still, I haven’t the heart to return her smile, for I know I’m a fraud. I am not brave. In fact, I’m practically shaking from fear, actively resisting the urge to flee atop Sargent’s back as we speak.

  To run and hide from the Guard and the Souls and Samael for as long as I can.

  It is only the truth that prevents it. And the truth is this: I am already dead living this way. There is nowhere to run. As long as the Gate remains open, Samael and his Souls will find me.

  Luisa squeezes my hand and we both turn to the door as it opens. Edmund stands, backlit by the distant fire.

  He nods. “It’s time. We have less than an hour until sunrise, and while I don’t like to have you exposed, I don’t dare cut it any closer.”

  A lump of fresh fear rises in my throat, but I nod and step through the open door. The others fall into step behind me. I hear their footfalls on the rocks of the small road leading from the cottage until we reach the wild grass of the fields. Then all is silent as we follow Edmund to the fire, ringed by the smaller flame of torches encircling it. I lift my head to the indigo sky, noting the faint lightening in the east. It is the clock by which the Rite, and my future, will unfold, and I wonder how long it will be before the sun breaks through the inky darkness to illuminate the Stone.

  Turning my attention back to Dimitri’s dark figure silhouetted before the fire, I note with relief the shadow of the rifle in his hand. I have asked him not to intervene except to keep the Guard from my body once I am in the Otherworlds, for I’ve no doubt that is where I am going. But I am only one person, and I will not be able to maintain my faculties in both places at once. Should a battle rage here while I am there, it will fall to the others to fight it.

  My senses are heightened as I near the fire. The grass is cool underfoot, and I feel renewed satisfaction at my decision to go without shoes. I feel Avebury’s energy in the current that runs beneath my skin, stronger still as I come closer to the stones that stand in the distance. It seems important to be connected to the sacred ground, and I am soothed by the vibration tingling the bottoms of my feet. I will draw strength from whatever source is available—even the now cold adder stone still around my neck. It may not hold spiritual power, but it is a part of Aunt Abigail. Her presence, however faint, is a comfort.

  Dimitri’s eyes lock onto mine as I cross the ring of torches, coming to a stop before him. I wish more than anything for the power to banish the sorrow and resignation in his eyes.

  In the end, all I can do is let him hear strength in my voice. “I’m ready.”

  He nods, pulling his eyes from mine to gesture to the fire a few feet away. “Everything is in order. The Rite doesn’t require fire, but it will aid Edmund and me in keeping an eye on the fields should anyone approach. We’ve—”

  “Isn’t it a risk to use fire when it’s not called for?” Helene interrupts.

  Dimitri’s sigh is full of weariness. “Fire is a sacred part of many ancient rituals, but it’s also used for simple illumination. As long as everything else is in place, Lia will have the power to summon Samael.”

  But everything is not in place, I think. We don’t have Alice.

  I wonder if the others are thinking the same thing, but there is no use voicing the obvious. There is no turning back now.

  Dimitri looks back at the fire, his eyes lifting to a raised wooden tripod. “We’ve positioned the Stone on a wooden mount of sorts to give it the best chance of catching the light of the rising sun. Now you must form a circle, join hands, and recite the Rite as you wait for the sun to hit the Stone.”

  It will not be as simple as it sounds, but the dim light in the distance is already sweeping the sky, the darkness above us becoming slightly less dense.

  I turn to the others, looking at each of them in turn—Helene, Brigid, Luisa, Sonia, and Aunt Virginia. “Thank you for being here with me. Shall we begin?”

  39

  At first I feel self-conscious. The words of the Rite are stranger on my tongue than they were in my mind. The keys and I do not always recite them in synch, but stumble over them in the circle we form around the fire and the Stone raised above it. I register with perfect clarity Aunt Virginia’s cool hand in mine on one side and Sonia’s, slightly damp, on the other.

  Across from me, through the flames of the fire, Brigid is intent on the words, Helene and Luisa on either side of her. I look to the sky only once, noting with detachment the gathering light as the sun continues its ascent. After that I close my eyes, concentrating on the words of the Rite. On saying them in time with the keys and my aunt. On calling forth the Beast.

  The words begin to come more rhythmically. Our timing improves as we repeat the mantra of the Rite, over and over again. The physical world begins to feel more distant until my only connection
to it is my feet on the ground at Avebury, its ancient energy pulsing upward through my legs, stomach, and arms until my whole body seems to vibrate with it. I think of Altus, wanting to ground myself in something as ancient as the prophecy itself, and smell the heady scent of oranges mixed with the briny air rising from the sea. I am certain I hear waves crashing below, so near that I feel as if I am standing on one of Altus’s rocky cliffs.

  Opening my eyes is no longer a thought. I am floating in the ether that lies between the physical world and the Otherworlds. I give myself over to it. To the primeval words rising from our lips. To the heat of the fire on my face. To the sacred ground beneath my feet.

  And then my eyes are torn open as if by force, a blinding light illuminating the space behind my lids in the moment before I see the Stone, lit by a single ray of sunlight, now peeking just above the horizon in the distance.

  A hum emanates from the center of the circle, rippling outward as the Stone, seemingly lit from within, changes color. It is no longer a dull gray rock, but a glowing green sphere. I cannot take my eyes from it, though my mouth continues moving, as if in near silent prayer, with the words of the Rite. The Stone reaches for me, calling to me until I am lulled into a strangely pleasant state almost like desire. It is a letting loose of the ties that bind me, and I revel in the freedom.

  But it lasts only a moment, for seconds later there is a burst of blinding light from the Stone. It rushes toward us, hungrily devouring the ground between the Stone and our circle. I close my eyes to it, but the light is still there, illuminating the darkness behind my eyelids in the moment before I see flashes of other things.

  James and me by the river at Birchwood, both looking impossibly young and unconcerned.

  Henry, his smiling face turned to mine as we laugh over a book in the parlor.

  Luisa, Sonia, and me, our wrists thrust together, our smooth skin punctuated by our nearly identical marks.