by Libba Bray
“You have to take us,” Felicity says.
“I’m not certain what we’ll find there. I’m not certain of anything, not anymore,” I answer.
Felicity holds out her hand. “I’m willing to risk it.”
I catch sight of a symbol I’ve never noticed before at the very bottom of a cave wall. It’s partially defaced, but some of it is still visible. A woman and a swan. At first glance, it seems as if she’s being attacked by the great white bird, but on closer inspection, it seems as if the woman and the swan are joined together as one. A great mythical creature. A woman prepared to fly, even if she has to lose her legs to do it.
I grab Felicity’s outstretched hand. Her fingers laced in mine are strong.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We light candles, place them in the center of our circle and crowd around their light, holding hands.
“What do we do now?” Felicity asks. The candlelight throws her shadow, tall and thin as a spire, on the wall.
“I’ve only been able to control it the one time, when I tried to get back tonight,” I say in warning. I don’t want to disappoint them. What if I’m unable to do it again and they think I’ve made up all of it?
Pippa is the first to be afraid. “Sounds a bit dodgy to me. Perhaps we shouldn’t attempt this.” No one answers her. “Don’t you agree, Ann?”
I’m ready for Ann to join Pippa but she doesn’t say a word.
“Oh, all right, then. But when it turns out to be some elaborate hoax, I shall say I told you so and not feel one bit of sympathy for you.”
“Pay her no attention,” Felicity says to me.
I can’t help paying her attention. I have the same fear.
“My mother said that I should concentrate on the image of a door . . . ,” I say, trying to gain control of my doubts.
“What kind of door?” Ann wants to know. “A red door, a wooden door, large, small . . . ?”
Pippa sighs. “Best tell her the kind, or she won’t be able to concentrate. You know she needs the rules before we start anything.”
“A door of light,” I say. This satisfies Ann. I take a deep breath. “Close your eyes.”
Should I say something to get under way? If so, what? In the past, I have slipped, fallen, been sucked down into this tunnel. But this time is different. How should I start? Instead of searching for the right words, I close my eyes and let the words find me.
“I choose this.”
Whispers grow in the corners of the cave. They swell into a hum. The next second, the world drops out from under me. Felicity is holding my hand tighter. Pippa gasps. They’re frightened. A tingling flows down my arms, connecting me to the others. I could stop now. Obey Kartik and reverse this. But the humming draws me in, and I have to know what’s on the other side of it, no matter what. The hum stops and bends into a shudder that flows through my body like a melody, and when I open my eyes there’s the glorious outline of a door of light, shimmering and beckoning as if it’s been there the whole time just waiting for me to find it.
Ann’s face is awed. “Criminy . . .”
“Do you see that . . . ?” Pippa asks in wonder.
Felicity tries to open it but her hand swipes clean through. The door is like a projection in a magic-lantern show. None of them can open it.
“Gemma, you try,” Felicity says.
In the incandescent light of the door, my hand seems like someone else’s—an angel’s limb exposed for a moment. The knob feels solid and warm under my fingers. Something’s bubbling up on the surface of the door. A shape. The outline glows stronger and now I can see the familiar markings of the crescent eye. My own necklace glows like the one on the door, as if they’re calling to each other. Suddenly, the knob turns easily in my hand.
“You did it,” Ann says.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” I’m smiling in spite of my fear.
The door opens, and we step through into a world drenched in such vivid colors, it hurts my eyes to look at it. When I adjust, I drink it up in small gulps. There are trees dripping leaves of green-gold and red-orange. The sky is a purplish blue on top of a horizon bathed in an orange glow, like a sunset that never fades. Tiny lavender blossoms float by on a warm breeze that smells faintly of my childhood—lilies and Father’s tobacco and curry in Sarita’s kitchen. A thick ribbon of river slices through, dividing our patch of dew-drenched grass from a bank on the other side.
Pippa touches a finger to a leaf. It curls in on itself, melts, re-forms as a butterfly and drifts heavenward. “Oh, it’s all so beautiful.”
“Extraordinary,” Ann says.
Blossoms rain down, melt into our hair like fat snowflakes. They make our hair shine. We sparkle.
Felicity twirls round and round, overcome by happiness. “It’s real! It’s all real!” She stops. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes,” I say, inhaling that comforting blend of childhood smells.
“Hot cross buns. We had them every Sunday. And sea air. I used to smell it on my father’s uniforms when he returned from a voyage. When he used to come home.” Her eyes glisten with tears.
Pippa’s puzzled. “No, you’re wrong. It’s lilac. Like the sprigs I kept in my room from our garden.”
The scent of rose water is strong in the air.
“What is it?” Pippa asks.
I catch a bit of song. One of my mother’s lullabies. It’s coming from a valley down below. I can just make out a silver arch and a path leading into a lush garden.
“Wait a minute, where are you going?” Pippa calls after me.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, picking up speed till I’m running toward Mother’s voice. I’m through the arch and inside tall hedges broken by trees that remind me of open umbrellas. She’s there in the center of it all in her blue dress, still and smiling. Waiting for me.
My voice breaks. “Mother?”
She holds out her arms, and I’m afraid I’ll end up chasing after a dream again. But it really is her arms around me this time. I can smell the rose water on her skin.
Everything goes blurry with my tears. “Oh, Mother, it’s you. It’s really you.”
“Yes, darling.”
“Why did you run from me for so long?”
“I’ve been here all the time. You’ve been the one running.”
I don’t understand what she means, but it doesn’t matter. There’s so much I want to say. So much I want to ask. “Mother, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” she says, smoothing my hair. “That’s all past. Come. Take a walk with me.”
She walks me down into a grotto, past a circle of tall crystals, delicate as glass. A deer scampers through. It stops to sniff at the berries cupped in my mother’s palm. The deer nibbles them, turns its sloe brown eyes to me. Unimpressed, it threads slowly through high, plush grass and lies under a tree with a wide, gnarled base. I have so many questions fighting for attention inside me that I don’t know what to ask first.
“What are the realms, exactly?” I ask. The grass feels so inviting that I lie on my side in it, cupping my head in my palm.
“A world between worlds. A place where all things are possible.” Mother takes a seat. She blows a dandelion. A blizzard of white fluff spreads out on the breeze. “It’s where the Order came to reflect, to hone their magic and themselves, to come through the fire and be made new. Everyone comes here from time to time—in dreams, when ideas are born.” She pauses. “In death.”
My heart sinks. “But you’re not . . .” Dead. I can’t bring myself to say it. “You’re here.”
“For now.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Mother turns away from me. She pets the deer’s nose with long, steady strokes. “I didn’t know anything at first. When you were five, a woman came to me. One of the Order. She told me everything. That you were special—the promised girl who could restore the magic of these realms and bring the Order back to power.” She stops.
“What is it?”
“She also told me that Circe would never stop looking for you, so that the power might be hers alone. I was afraid, Gemma. I wanted to protect you.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t bring me to London?”
“Yes.”
Magic. The Order. Me, the promised girl. My head can’t hold it all.
I swallow hard. “Mother, what happened that day, in the shop? What was that . . . thing?”
“One of Circe’s spies. Her tracker. Her assassin.”
I can’t look at her. I’m bending a blade of grass into an accordion of squares. “But why did you . . .”
“Kill myself?” I look up to see her giving me that penetrating gaze. “To keep it from claiming me. If it had taken me alive, I would be lost, a dark thing too.”
“What about Amar?”
Mother’s mouth goes tight. “He was my guardian. He gave his life for me. There was nothing I could do to save him.”
I shudder, thinking of what could have become of Kartik’s brother.
“Let’s not worry about that now, shall we?” Mother says, sweeping stray strands of hair from my face. “I’ll tell you what I can. As for the rest, you’ll have to seek out the others to rebuild the Order.”
I sit up. “There are others?”
“Oh, yes. When the realms were closed, they all went into hiding. Some have forgotten what they know. Others have turned their backs on it. But some are still faithful, waiting for the day the realms will open and the magic can be theirs again.”
Rippling blades of grass tickle the tips of my fingers. It seems so unreal—the sunset sky, the raining flowers, the warm breeze, and my mother, close enough to touch. I close my eyes and open them again. She is still there.
“What is it?” Mother asks me.
“I’m afraid this isn’t real. It is real, isn’t it?”
Mother turns her face toward the horizon. The glow softens the sharp lines of her profile into something muted, like the fraying paper edges of a well-loved book. “Reality is a state of mind. To the banker, the money in his ledger book is all very real, though he doesn’t actually see it or touch it. But to the Brahma, it simply doesn’t exist the way the air and the earth, pain and loss do. To him, the banker’s reality is folly. To the banker, the Brahma’s ideas are as inconsequential as dust.”
I shake my head. “I’m lost.”
“Does it seem real to you?”
The wind blows strands of hair against my lips, tickling them, and beneath my skirt, I can feel the dewy moisture of the grass. “Yes,” I say.
“Well, then.”
“If everyone comes here from time to time, why does no one speak of it?”
Mother picks dandelion fluff from her skirt. It floats up, sparkling like crushed jewels in the sun. “They don’t remember it, except as fragments of a dream that they can’t seem to gather into a whole no matter how they try. Only the women of the Order could walk through that door. And now you.”
“I brought my friends with me.”
Her eyes widen. “You were able to bring them over by yourself?”
“Yes,” I say, uncertain. I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong, but Mother breaks into a slow, rapturous grin.
“Your power is even greater than the Order had hoped, then.” She frowns suddenly. “Do you trust them?”
“Yes,” I say. For some reason, her doubt irritates me, makes me feel like a small child again. “Of course I trust them. They’re my friends.”
“Sarah and Mary were friends. And they betrayed each other.”
Far off in the distance, I can hear Felicity’s shouts of joy, Ann’s following after. They’re calling my name.
“What happened to Sarah and Mary? I see other spirits. Why am I not able to contact them?”
A caterpillar crawls over my knuckles. I jump. Mother gently removes it and it becomes a ruby-breasted robin, hopping about on frail legs.
“They no longer exist.”
“What do you mean? What happened to them?”
“Let’s not waste time discussing the past,” Mother says dismissively. She gives me a smile. “I just want to look at you. My goodness, you’re already becoming a lady.”
“I’m learning to waltz. I’m not terribly good at it, but I am trying, and I think I should have it down fairly well by our first tea dance.” I want to tell her everything. It’s all coming out in a rush. She’s listening to me with such attention that I never want this day to end.
A cluster of blackberries, plump and inviting, lies nestled in the ground. Before I can bring one to my mouth, Mother takes it from my hand. “You mustn’t eat those, Gemma. They’re not for the living.” Mother sees the confusion on my face. “Those who eat the berries become part of this world. They can’t go back.”
She gives them a toss and they land in front of the deer, which gobbles them down greedily. Mother glances at the little girl—the one from my visions. She’s hiding behind a tree.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“My helper,” Mother says.
“What is her name?”
“I don’t know.” Mother closes her eyes tightly, as if she’s fighting off pain.
“Mother, what is it?”
She opens them again, but seems pale. “Nothing. I’m a bit tired from all the excitement. It’s time for you to go now.”
I’m on my feet. “But there’s so much I still need to know.”
Mother rises, places her arms around my shoulders. “Your time has ended for today, love. The power of this place is very strong. It must be taken in small doses. Even the Order came here only when they needed to. Remember that your place is back there.”
My throat aches. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Her fingers give the lightest of touches on my cheeks, and I can’t stop the tears from coming. She kisses my forehead and bends to look me square in the face.
“I’ll never leave you, Gemma.”
She turns and walks up the hill, the child’s hand in hers. They walk toward the sunset till they merge with it and there’s nothing left but the deer and me and the lingering scent of roses on the wind.
When I find my friends again, they’re frolicking like happy lunatics.
“Watch this!” Felicity says. She blows gently on a tree and its bark changes from brown to blue to red and back again.
“Look!” Ann scoops water from the river and it turns to golden dust in her hands. “Did you see that?”
Pippa is stretched out in a hammock. “Wake me when it’s time to leave. On second thought, don’t wake me. This is too divine a dream.” She extends her arms overhead and dangles a leg over the side of the hammock, resting in her cocoon.
I am changed and spent. I want to go back to my room and sleep for a hundred years. And I want to run back down into that valley and stay here with my mother forever.
Felicity puts her arm around me. “We simply must come again tomorrow. Can you imagine if that prig Cecily could see us now? She’d be sorry she didn’t want to join up.”
Pippa drops an arm down to pick a handful of berries.
“Don’t!” I shout, slapping them out of her hands.
“Why not?”
“If you eat them, you have to stay here forever.”
“No wonder they look so tempting,” she says.
I hold out my hand. Reluctantly, she drops them in my palm, and I toss them into the river.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WE’RE SLEEPWALKING THROUGH THE DAY, RIDICULOUS smiles on our faces. The other girls rush past us in the halls like nettles blown across a lawn. We drift through them from class to class, going through the motions, absorbing nothing. We keep last night’s promise alive through furtive glances and little asides spoken in code that perplex our teachers and make us all smile.
We understand each other. We share a secret.
Not a terrible secret like the one that binds me to my family and to Kartik, but a deliciously forbidden secret that bands us together.
Anticipation races through our veins, stretching our skins tight to the point of bursting. It’s all we can do to get through the day and wait for night to come so that we can open that door of light into the realms again. We are as one. There will be no outsiders. No intruders on our experience.
During our music lesson, Mr. Grunewald drones on for the whole of the hour about the merits of a particular opera. Elizabeth, Cecily, and Martha listen like the good girls they are, taking perfect little notes, their heads bobbing up and down in unison. Listen, write, listen, write.
We don’t jot down a word of it. We’re elsewhere in a land where we can be anything we choose. Mr. Grunewald calls Cecily to the piano to play her Assembly Day piece for us. Her fingers plod out a careful, correct minuet.
“Ah, good, Miss Temple. Very precise.” Mr. Grunewald is pleased, but we know the feel of real music now, and it’s difficult to feign interest in the merely pretty.
After class, Cecily pretends her playing was awful. “Oh, I simply butchered it, didn’t I? Tell the truth.”
Martha and Elizabeth protest, tell her she was brilliant.
“What did you think, Fee?” It’s easy to see that she wants Felicity’s praise.
“Very nice” is all Felicity says.
“Just nice?” Cecily forces a laugh that’s meant to sound devil-may-care. “My, it must have been truly awful, then.”
“It was a lovely waltz,” Felicity says, getting it wrong. She can barely keep the smile from her face. I look away, trying not to break into the same ridiculous grin.
“It wasn’t a waltz. It was a minuet,” Cecily corrects. She’s pouting openly.
Elizabeth peers at us as if she doesn’t know who we are.
“Why are you looking at us that way, as if we’re specimens?” Pippa asks.
“I don’t quite know. There’s something different about you.”
We exchange quick glances.
“There is something different, isn’t there? Come now, if you’ve a secret you’d best share it.”
“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Felicity smirks. The light is shining through the hall window. It makes the dust dance in the air.
“Pippa, darling, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Elizabeth puts her arm around Pippa, who twirls away from her embrace.
