by Libba Bray
“Sarah clasped my hands. ‘It’s only to bring us the power we need. We will bind the spirit to us, make it do our bidding. Don’t worry so, Mary. We will be its masters, not the other way around, and once the Order sees what we can do, what power we hold by ourselves, they’ll have to let me stay. We’ll be together forever.’
“This next part I shuddered to speak aloud. ‘What will it require?’
“Sarah stroked my cheek lovingly. ‘A small sacrifice, nothing more. A grass snake or a sparrow, perhaps. She will tell us. Sleep now, Mary. And tomorrow, we shall make our plans.’
“Oh, diary, my heart feels much misgiving about this endeavor. But what can I do? Sarah is my dearest friend in all the world. I cannot go on without her. And perhaps she is right. Perhaps, if we keep our hearts strong and pure, we can bend the creature to our will, using it only for the best intentions.”
Pippa is nearly breathless. “Well, there’s a fine place to leave off.”
“Yes, the plot thickens,” Felicity says. “In fact, it may be congealing.”
Everyone shares a giggle except me. The passage has left me uneasy. Or it could be the heat. It’s unseasonably warm for September. The air inside the caves is sticky, and I’ve begun to sweat beneath my corset.
“Do you suppose Mother Elena could tell us our futures?” Ann muses.
I can’t help it. At the thought of Gypsies, my eyes find Felicity’s. She gives me a piercing glare as if I’m betraying her with this quick look.
“I’m not sure that Mother Elena could tell us the day of the week,” Felicity says.
“I have the most marvelous idea,” Pippa trills, and suddenly, I know we’re in for it. “Let’s see if we can make our own magic.”
“I’m game,” Felicity says. “Who else wants to commune with the other world?”
Pippa sits on Felicity’s right, their gloved hands intertwined. Ann plops down next to Pippa. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I begin, realizing at once that it sounds cowardly.
“Are you afraid we’ll turn you into a frog?” Felicity pats the ground beside her. There’s no getting around it. I’m going to have to join the circle. Reluctantly, I take my seat and join hands with Ann and Felicity.
Pippa has the giggles again. “What do we say to get started?”
“We’ll go around in a circle and each add something,” Felicity instructs. “I’ll start. O great spirits of the Order. We are your daughters. Speak to us now. Tell us your secrets.”
“Come to us, O daughters of Sappho.” Pippa dissolves into laughter.
“We don’t know that they’re Sapphists,” Felicity says, annoyed. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”
Chastened, Pippa says softly, “Come to us now in this place.”
“We beseech you,” Ann adds.
It’s quiet. They’re waiting for me.
“All right,” I say, sighing and rolling my eyes. “But I do this against my better judgment, and I’d best not hear these words come back to haunt me as private little jokes later.”
I close my eyes and concentrate on Ann’s heavy, congested breathing, willing my mind to stay blank. “Sarah Rees-Toome and Mary Dowd. Wherever you are in this world, show yourselves. You are welcome here.”
There’s nothing but the sound of water trickling along the cave’s walls. No spirits. No visions. I don’t know whether to be relieved or a little disappointed in my lack of power.
I do not get the chance to ponder this dilemma for long. The air sparkles with random bursts of light. Suddenly, it’s as if the cave is on fire, flames leaping up, so hot I can’t catch my breath.
“No!” Using all my strength, I break the circle and find myself back in the cave while Pippa, Ann, and Felicity look at me, stunned.
“Gemma, what’s the matter?” Ann asks, breathing hard.
I’m panting.
“Oh, my. I think someone got a wee bit frightened,” Felicity says.
“I suppose that’s it,” I say, sinking to the floor. My arms feel heavy, but I’m relieved that nothing has happened.
“It’s a curious thing, though,” Pippa says. “But I could swear I felt a sort of tingling for a moment.”
“So did I,” Felicity says in wonder.
Ann nods. “And I.”
They all look at me. My heart’s beating so hard I fear it will leap from my chest. I force a calm I don’t feel into my words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Felicity puts the tip of her hair in her mouth, moistens it with her tongue. “You didn’t feel anything at all?”
“Nothing.” I’m trying hard not to shake.
“Well,” she says, with a triumphant smile. “It would seem that the rest of us have a bit of magic in us. Pity about you, Gemma.”
It’s very funny, this moment. They think I’ve got no aptitude for the supernatural. I would laugh, if I weren’t so completely shaken.
“Heavens, Gemma,” Pippa says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “You’re perspiring like a docks worker.”
“That’s because it’s too bloody hot in here,” I say, relieved to change the subject.
Felicity stands and offers me her hand. “Come on. Let’s claim the night.”
We stumble out of the cave. Miles above us, the moon has started to wane, the edges bitten off, but we bask in its light anyway, howling like wolves. We join hands and run around in a circle, breathe the cold, mossy night air into lungs that can barely hold it all in. I feel better straightaway.
“It’s terribly hot. I can scarcely breathe in this corset,” Felicity says.
“Yes, I wish we could take a dip in the lake,” Ann says.
“Why can’t we?” Felicity muses. “Who will unlace me? Anyone?”
Pippa covers her mouth and gives a little giggle as if she’s both horribly embarrassed by the idea and concerned about looking prudish. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not? There’s no one to see us. And I want to breathe freely for a bit. Here, Gemma—give us a hand.”
My fingers fumble with the laces and grommets but soon Felicity’s thin shift and the soft skin beneath it are both exposed. She gleams in the moonlight, a sliver of bone. “Who wants a dip in the lake, then?”
“Wait!” Pippa stumbles after her. “What are you doing? Felicity—this is obscene!”
“How can my ankles and arms be obscene?” she calls back.
“But you’re not supposed to show them. It isn’t decent!”
Felicity’s voice floats out to us. “Do what you will. I’m going in.”
The water looks cool and inviting. With effort, I manage to liberate myself from the tight corset. My body expands in a thank-you.
“Not you, too?” Pippa says when I pass her.
The frigid water saps the heat from my body immediately, freezing the air in my lungs into hard lumps. When I finally catch my breath, it’s to tell Pippa and Ann, hoarsely, “Come in. The water’s perfect, as long as you don’t need to breathe or feel your legs.”
Pippa responds with a high-pitched shriek the minute she gets knee-deep.
“Shhh, keep your voice down. If Mrs. Nightwing finds us, she’ll punish us by forcing us to teach at Spence for the rest of our lives like that spinsterish, sour-faced crew she’s got teaching us now,” Felicity says.
Pippa tries to cover herself with her hands. Her modesty is showing. Right now, I wouldn’t care if Prince Albert himself saw me. I only want to float here, suspended in time.
“If you’re that modest, Pip, get under the water,” Felicity says.
“It’s so cold!” Pippa answers in that same high-pitched voice.
“Suit yourself, then,” Felicity says, swimming out to the middle of the lake.
Ann stays on the bank, fully clothed. “I’ll keep a watch out,” she says.
The rest of us link our arms for warmth and let our feet lick at the sandy bottom. We’r
e like a band of floating nomads.
“What do you suppose Mrs. Nightwing would say if she could see us now in all our grace, charm, and beauty?” Pippa giggles.
“She’d probably fall over dead,” Ann says.
“Ha!” Felicity says. “There’s wishful thinking.” She leans her head back, lets her hair float out on the water like a halo.
Pippa’s head is up like a shot. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” The lake water in my ears makes it hard to hear anything. But there it is. The woods echo with the sound of a tree branch snapping in two.
“There it is again! Did you hear it?”
“Criminy,” Ann croaks.
“Our clothes!” Pippa scrambles out of the water on heavy legs and runs for her chemise just as Kartik steps out of the trees, carrying a makeshift cricket bat. I can’t tell who is more shocked and surprised—Kartik or Pippa.
“Avert your eyes!” she says in near hysteria, trying desperately to cover herself with the bit of lace and cloth.
Too astonished to argue, Kartik does, but not before I’ve seen the look in his eyes. Wonder and awe. As if he truly has seen a goddess made flesh. The visceral impact of her beauty is more powerful than any word or deed. The cloudiness of my mind clears long enough to record this.
“If this were ancient times, we would hunt you down and put out your eyes for what you’ve seen,” Felicity snarls from the lake.
Kartik says nothing. As quickly as he came upon us, he’s gone, running through the woods.
“Next time,” Felicity says, moving to help Pippa, “we will put his eyes out.”
The room is dark, but I know she’s awake. There’s none of her snoring.
“Ann, are you awake?” She doesn’t answer, but I’m not giving up. “I know you are, so you might as well respond.” Silence. “I won’t give up until you do.” Outside, an owl announces that he is near.
“Why do you do that to yourself? Cut yourself the way you do?”
There’s no answer for a good long minute, and I think that perhaps she has fallen asleep after all, but then it comes. Her voice, so soft I have to strain in the dark to hear it, to hear the faint cry she’s holding back.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel nothing, and I’m so afraid. Afraid I’ll stop feeling anything at all. I’ll just slip away inside myself.” There’s a cough and a sniffling sound. “I just need to feel something.”
The owl makes his call in the night again, waiting to see if anyone is at home.
“No more doing that,” I say. “Promise me?”
More sniffles. “All right.”
It feels as if I should do something here. Put my arm around her. Offer a hug. I don’t know what to do that wouldn’t horrify and embarrass us both.
“If you don’t, I’ll be forced to confiscate your needlepoint, and where would you be without the satisfaction of finishing your little Dutch girl and windmill in seven different colors of thread, hmmm?”
She gives a weak gurgle of a laugh, and I’m relieved.
“Gemma?” she says after a moment has passed.
“Hmmm?”
“You won’t tell, will you?”
“No.”
More secrets. How did I end up keeping so many? Satisfied, Ann shifts in her bed and the familiar snoring begins. I stare at a patch of wall, willing sleep to come, listening to the owl cry into a night that never answers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I KNOW YOU DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING HAPPENED last night, but I think we should try to contact the other world again,” Felicity whispers to me. We’re standing in the middle of the cavernous ballroom waiting for Mrs. Nightwing to begin our dance instruction. Above us, four chandeliers drip crystals whose light cuts dazzling squares into the marble floors below.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I say, choking back my panic.
“Why not? Are your feelings hurt that you didn’t feel what the rest of us did?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snort, a sound that seems to accompany my lies, which is most unfortunate. I’m on the road to becoming a snorting fool these days.
“What, then?”
“I happen to find it dull. That’s all.”
“Dull?” Felicity’s mouth hangs open. “You call that dull? Dull is what we’re going to experience in a moment.”
Pippa is standing with Cecily and her crowd, desperately trying to get Felicity’s attention. “Fee, come stand over here with us. Mrs. Nightwing’s about to pair us off.”
Each time I start to like Pippa, she does something like this to make me despise her again. “It’s so nice to be loved,” I mutter under my breath.
Felicity looks over at the fashionable crowd and turns her back on them, rather obviously and deliberately. Pippa’s face falls. I can’t help gloating just a little bit.
“Ladies, may I have your attention, please?” Mrs. Nightwing’s voice booms across the room. “Today we are going to practice our waltzing. Remember: posture is paramount. You must pretend your spine is on a string pulled by God himself.”
“Makes it sound as if we’re God’s puppets,” Ann mumbles.
“We are, if you believe Reverend Waite and Mrs. Nightwing,” Felicity says with a wink.
“Is there something you wish to share with us all, Miss Worthington?”
“No, Mrs. Nightwing. Forgive me.”
Mrs. Nightwing takes a moment, letting us squirm under her scrutiny. “Miss Worthington, you shall partner with Miss Bradshaw. Miss Temple with Miss Poole, and Miss Cross, you will please partner with Miss Doyle.”
Of all the luck. Pippa lets out a petulant sigh and stands sullenly in front of me, throwing a glance to Felicity, who shrugs.
“Don’t look to me. It’s not my fault,” I say.
“You lead. I want to be the woman,” Pippa snaps.
“We shall take turns leading and being led. Everyone shall have a chance,” Mrs. Nightwing says wearily. “Now then, ladies. Arms held high. Do not let your elbows droop. Posture, always posture. Many a lady’s chances of securing a good marriage prospect have rested on her perfect carriage.”
“Especially if it’s a private carriage attached to a good deal of money,” Felicity jokes.
“Miss Worthington . . . ,” Mrs. Nightwing warns.
Felicity straightens like Cleopatra’s Needle. Satisfied, the headmistress cranks the arm of the Victrola and drops the needle onto a phonograph disc. The measured bars of a waltz fill the room.
“And one, two, three, one, two, three. Feel the music! Miss Doyle! Watch your feet! Small, ladylike steps. You are a gazelle, not an elephant. Ladies, hold yourselves erect! You’ll never find a husband looking down on the floor!”
“She’s obviously never seen some of those men after a few brandies,” Felicity whispers, waltzing by.
Mrs. Nightwing claps sharply. “There is to be no talking. Men do not find chatty women attractive. Count the music aloud, please. One, two, three, one, two, three. And switch leads, one, two, three.”
The switch confuses Elizabeth and Cecily, who both try to lead. They steer straight into Pippa and me. We collide into Ann and Felicity and the lot of us fall to the floor in a heap.
The music stops abruptly. “If you dance with so little grace, your season will be over before it begins. May I remind you, ladies, that this is not a game? The London season is very serious business. It is your chance to prove yourselves worthy of the duties that will be imposed upon you as wives and mothers. And more importantly, your conduct is a reflection upon the very soul of Spence.” There’s a knock at the door and Mrs. Nightwing excuses herself, while we struggle to our feet. No one helps Ann. I offer her a hand up. She takes it shyly, not meeting my eyes, still embarrassed over last night’s honesty.
“Spence has a soul?” I say, attempting a joke to put us at ease.
“It’s not funny,” Pippa says hotly. “Some of us want to better ourselves. I’ve heard you’re silently graded from the
moment you walk in the door of your first ball. I don’t want to be gossiped about as that girl who can’t dance.”
“Do relax, Pippa,” Felicity says, straightening her skirt. “You will do just fine. You’re not going to be left a spinster. Surely Mr. Bumble will see to that.”
Pippa is aware that all eyes are on her. “I don’t believe I said I would be marrying Mr. Bumble, did I? After all, I might meet someone very special at a ball.”
“Like a duke or a lord,” Elizabeth says dreamily. “That’s what I’d want.”
“Exactly.” Pippa gives Felicity a superior little smile.
Something hard glints in Felicity’s eyes. “Dear Pip, you’re not starting in on that fantasy again, are you?”
Pippa is holding fast to her debutante smile. “What fantasy?”
“The one currently floating through your head on gossamer wings. The one where your true love is a prince looking for his princess and you just happen to have the dress in your wardrobe, neatly pressed.”
Pippa’s trying hard to maintain her composure. “Well, a woman should always set her sights higher.”
“That’s high talk from a merchant’s daughter.” Felicity folds her arms across her chest. The air is alive. The room, charged.
Pippa’s cheeks flush. “You’re not exactly in the position to be giving advice, are you? With your family history?”
“What are you implying?” Felicity says with an icy coolness.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact. For whatever else my parents may be, at least my mother isn’t . . .” She stops cold.
“Isn’t what?” Felicity growls.
“I think I hear Mrs. Nightwing coming,” Ann says nervously.
“Yes, could we please stop all this bickering?” Cecily says. She tries to pull Felicity away, with no luck.
Felicity moves closer to Pippa. “No, if Pippa has something to say about my character, I, for one, would like to hear it. At least your mother isn’t a what?”
Pippa squares her shoulders. “At least my mother isn’t a whore.”
Felicity’s slap echoes in the room like a gunshot. We jump at the sudden violence of it. Pippa’s mouth is an O, her violet eyes tearing up from the sting.
