When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. For an instant I thought I was back at home in the cottage, but as I groped to light a candle that stood on the desk, I remembered everything. The burden of unhappiness settled onto me again like a great weight. I sat staring at the dancing candle flame, and realized there was nothing I could do about the way I felt. I had to live like this now, with this pain. My hands shook and my eyes were sore and my guts ached, but I had to go on living. I had to eat and sleep and study and be with people. There was no alternative. I had read books and magazines about girls who “couldn’t live” without their perfect boyfriend, but I knew that it wasn’t like that. Even when you’re so unhappy that nothing is real, life doesn’t stop.
I looked around the little room crammed with Agnes’s possessions and wondered if I would ever come up here again. The jars of herbs and candles and secret ingredients hadn’t given me what I had been looking for. The Mystic Way had failed me, or perhaps I had failed the Mystic Way. I found a piece of bright silk on one of the shelves and wrapped the torn fragments of Agnes’s journal in it. I didn’t need it anymore. As I opened the drawer of the desk to hide the little bundle away, I remembered that we had hidden the Book there too. I hesitated, then picked up the heavy, leather-bound volume. The silver letters on the cover seemed to glow like slivers of moonlight. A way of healing and power…I needed healing so badly. I flicked through the pages and the Book fell open of its own accord. I saw an image of an angel, side by side with a hooded skeleton. The Gift of Death…
For one terrible instant, the memory of Harriet lying crumpled at the bottom of the marble steps flashed into my mind. I could choose to leap down to those mesmerizing black-and-white tiles, throwing myself away like a sacrificed pawn in a great game of chess. Then the pain would be over. I would never hurt again. I shut the Book roughly and thrust it into the drawer with Agnes’s journal.
No. I would never do that. That would not be the end of my story. I had to go on living, however much it hurt, just as Sebastian now had to face his fate. I glanced at my watch. I had slept through the day. It would be dark outside, the darkest night I had ever known. The new moon would rise like a silver promise. At midnight Sebastian would pass into the shadows forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. I stood up and slowly made my way downstairs, back to school. Back to reality.
Sarah and Helen were talking quietly by the fire in the entrance hall when I reached the bottom of the marble steps. They looked up anxiously and drew me over to the glowing hearth. “You’re so cold!” Sarah said. “We told the staff you’d gone to the nurse with a headache this morning. Hopefully they won’t check up on it. Oh, Evie, we’re so sorry—”
The great front door suddenly blew open, and a blast of wind and rain spattered across the threshold. A storm was brewing outside, and the trees were swaying in the driving wind.
“Close that door, Evie!” said Miss Hetherington, who was passing through the hall. “It’s going to be a wild night.” I shut the door as she told me, but not before I glimpsed the slender arc of the moon, riding high behind the scudding clouds.
We hung about aimlessly, then went to the library, hoping to find somewhere quiet to sit together before the bell rang for bedtime. I was thankful that the library was empty, and I remembered vaguely that there was a music recital being held in the school that evening. I guessed most of the students had gone there after dinner.
“You haven’t eaten all day, Evie. You’d better have some of this.”
Sarah passed me a bar of chocolate. I wasn’t hungry, but I tried to eat some to please her while Helen stared abstractedly into space. There was nothing to say, nothing to do, nowhere to go. It was like waiting for bad news at a hospital, or sitting by the telephone and dreading that it would ring. As each minute passed, a tiny voice in my head started to drone. Are you really just going to sit here? There’s still some time left. Time enough for a miracle. Time to do something.
There’s nothing I can do, I answered myself wearily, but the voice started up again in a never-ending circle. But are you really just going to sit here? There’s still time…time…time….
The clock in the library chimed nine. I woke from my reverie. I noticed that the sound of the wind outside had grown, until it was like an angry beast prowling around the school. There was a muffled crash. Sarah looked up. “Sounds like slates falling off the roof. It’s a really bad storm.”
The door of the library opened and a young girl came in, blinking and looking about her. I recognized her as a girl in Harriet’s form. “Um…are you Evie Johnson?”
“Yeah.”
“Then this is for you.” She handed me a folded note, then scurried out again. An almighty crash of thunder rattled the building, and the lights flickered and went out. We could hear the sounds of startled screams and shouts in the corridors and distant rooms as the school was plunged into complete blackness.
“It’s a power outage,” said Helen. “Hang on.” She rummaged in her bag and found her little flashlight and switched it on. “That’s better. I guess the staff will organize candles and stuff until the power comes back on.”
“Should we go and see if they need any help with the young kids?” asked Sarah. “Some of them might be scared.”
“Wait, let me read this note first.” I held it under Helen’s flashlight and scanned the scribbled words.
Dear Evie,
After what you said this morning I can’t go on. The voices in my head are getting worse. I don’t know how to go on living. Do you remember I said I wanted to go out into the hills and fall asleep in the snow and never wake up? The snow has gone but it is still cold by Agnes’s grave. I have a knife. They say you only have to make a tiny cut and it is enough; then you wait for the end to come. Good-bye. I will not bother you again. I’m sorry I let you down.
Harriet Templeton
“Oh, God…” I could hardly believe it. I felt faint as I read the note again, trying to make sense of it all. Harriet couldn’t go on…. Now I bitterly regretted the harsh words I had spoken to her. But how could I have known she would get so desperate? “Oh, my God…we’ve got to do something. I’ve got to help her.”
“Should we call the police?” asked Helen, her eyes round and anxious in the torchlight. “Or a doctor or someone?”
“The phone lines will be down with the power outage,” said Sarah. “What about the staff, one of the mistresses—”
“No!” I said. “There’s no one we can trust. They don’t care about the girls, anyway, and explaining it to them will only cause more delay. We’ll have to go ourselves. If Harriet has only just left we might be able to stop her before she does anything stupid. We can get her back to school before anyone knows anything about it, what with all this confusion in the storm. Then we’ll get in touch with her mother somehow. That’s who she really needs.”
Suddenly, I needed my mother too. Please help me, I prayed silently, as we hurried down the unlit corridors to one of the many side entrances. We passed a cloakroom and grabbed some coats at random from the pegs, then plunged outside. The rain lashed into my face, and the icy wind took my breath away. The storm was raging all around us as we raced toward the long drive that led to the wrought-iron gates and the village beyond, where the grave of Lady Agnes lay under the yew trees in the churchyard. All the brave messengers of spring that had been announcing themselves in the last few days—the tiny green shoots, the first trembling new leaves—would be torn to pieces that night. Please let us be there in time, I begged. I hadn’t been able to save Sebastian, but perhaps I could at least reach Harriet, poor sad Harriet with her sick and fevered mind.
As soon as we were out of sight of the school, Helen enfolded us in her powers, and a moment later we arrived at the lonely churchyard. The black trees swayed in the wild wind, and the little cottages in the village beyond were wrapped in darkness.
“Harriet? Harriet!”
The only answer was the sobbing of the wind and the gro
aning of the trees.
Passing the rows of slanting tombstones, we hurried to where a single grave was set slightly apart from the others. It was an old-fashioned tomb of stone, surmounted by a statue of an angel. The angel’s face had worn away over the years, and now it looked down with a blank expression, holding a scroll carved with a simple inscription:
LADY AGNES TEMPLETON,
BELOVED OF THE LORD
Harriet was standing in the rain with her back to us, staring at the angel. And slumped at the foot of the statue like a dying man, looking up at her in horror, was Sebastian.
Forty-four
Sebastian?”
He raised his haggard white face to mine. I didn’t know what to think or feel or do, and for a moment I stood paralyzed. Then Sebastian raised his hand and pointed to Harriet, gasping. “No…no…no…”
“Harriet, what’s happening?” I cried. “What are you doing?” Harriet turned to me with a peculiar smile on her face. She was clutching Sebastian’s silver dagger in her hand, and she passed it lightly over her wrist.
“No—wait!” Sarah shouted. But Harriet let the blade cut her skin. A single drop of blood fell from her wrist onto Agnes’s grave. Harriet’s face began to convulse, her eyes rolling in her head. A strangled noise came from deep inside her. “I…am…not…Harriet….” Her breath curled and thickened in the wind like smoke. “I…am…Celia…Hartle.”
The smoke grew into a billowing shape full of flickering fire. Harriet screamed and fell back unconscious, and Mrs. Hartle emerged from the thick fumes, dreadfully thin and scarred, but terrifyingly real. She clicked her fingers and the silver dagger flew from Harriet’s hand to her own.
“So. Here we are again,” she said silkily. “The High Mistress and her devoted students.”
We stumbled backward, stunned and horrified. I feverishly called out in my mind to Agnes, trying to summon her fire to attack our enemy, but the High Mistress laughed as though she could read my thoughts. She flashed the dagger, making swift patterns in the air, and ropes flew from its point and bound our hands behind our backs. We fell to our knees before her, and a fog seemed to choke my mind and will. Both fire and water were beyond my reach, and I was helpless before Mrs. Hartle’s hypnotic gaze.
“Dear Evie,” she crooned. “So kind, so considerate, trying to save poor little Harriet—while all the time she was my creature, not your friend. Oh, you weakened me last term, I admit that. It was well done, most impressive.” She spoke lightly, but I sensed the anger inside her, like a snake, as she stroked the scar on her face. “But even though you had weakened me, I was able to linger in Wyldcliffe’s secret places until you returned, bringing this pathetic girl with you. It was easy to enter her feeble mind and body and bend her will to do my bidding. She fed me, sacrificing animals that I used in ancient rituals, drinking their blood until I was fully restored. And dear Harriet was a most useful spy. She found out where you had hidden this.”
Mrs. Hartle cut the air with her knife, and the next moment the Talisman hung from the blade, glinting in the fitful moonlight.
“Harriet would have killed you if I had told her to, while I inhabited her mind. But I wanted to keep your death for this moment.” The High Mistress laughed exultantly. “Let me tell you how I have outwitted you at every turn, Miss Johnson. Last night I followed you to Fairfax Hall and you led me to Sebastian. I had searched long for him, but his only defense—his nauseating love for you—had repelled me. But once he turned his back on you, those defenses were destroyed and it was easy to take him. He is no longer my master. I rule over him now, not the other way around. Next, I worked through Harriet to destroy the papers Agnes left you—yes, I know all about them. I knew that this would anger you beyond any other thing and turn you against your poor, weak friend. Then I drove her to write that suicide note, knowing equally well that good, kind, noble Evie would not be able to resist its cry for help. Quite the little martyred heroine, aren’t you? Always trying to save others. And now you need saving yourself.”
She seemed to tower over me, and I shrank back, dreading her touch. But with a quick, deft movement she turned to Sebastian and slipped the Talisman over his head, laughing as he writhed with the pain of it. “Sebastian won’t lift a finger to help you now, Evie. He will never return to your clinging embrace. He will destroy you, awaken the Talisman, and deliver me and my Sisters from death forever.”
“No…no…no…” Sebastian groaned. Mrs. Hartle ignored him and walked up to Helen.
“Ah, my daughter, so we meet again, here at the Traitor’s grave,” she taunted. “Why do you not greet your mother?”
Helen jerked her head away. “You’re not my mother! You’ve never been a mother to me. My mother is the air and the wind and the stars. I despise you.”
Mrs. Hartle’s face grew thunderous. “By the end of this night you will acknowledge me as both your mother and your mistress, to be obeyed and feared. I have everything I need. The only thing missing is my circle of Dark Sisters—I wish them to see and share this moment. You will all come with me to where my Sisters are waiting.” She looked around crazily and called out to the wind, “I come, my Sisters, I come!”
At that moment Sebastian raised his head and murmured, “My brothers…my brothers…”
He looked straight at me, and I saw that his eyes were clear and blue and brimming with an ocean of regret. And then he smiled, and his smile was no longer bitter or mocking, but clear and calm like a summer’s day.
“Sebastian!” I tried to reach him, but the High Mistress screamed and flashed her knife in the air, and we were dragged away from the churchyard into a terrifying vortex of noise and speed and black, whirling stars.
Forty-five
We were thrown out of the whirlwind onto a barren hilltop. A hostile, storm-racked landscape stretched around us. Through the pain and shock I recognized the place. It had once been a fort, built hundreds of years ago by the people of the valley as a stronghold against their enemies. And before that it had been a pagan temple, as near to the heavens as the ancient worshipers could get. Here I had once sat with Sebastian under the deep midnight sky, and here, it seemed, the High Mistress would play out her moment of triumph.
The wind tore across the hills and parted the clouds and the high, pure arc of the new moon shone down. A crowd of cloaked and hooded figures stood around us, chanting in a circle like a gathering swarm. They didn’t seem to be able to see us. We were hidden by Mrs. Hartle’s paralyzing will, still unable to speak or move or think clearly. As she stood shrouded in mist, watching her Sisters, everything swam in front of my eyes like a haunted dream.
“This is the hour,” one of the women intoned. It was Miss Raglan. She stepped forward from the ranks of the coven and raised her arms to the moon. “Our moment of destiny is upon us.”
“Only the High Mistress can lead the coven to its destiny,” replied a cool, dry voice, and I recognized Miss Scratton under the veil of her cloak.
“No doubt you want that honor for yourself!” snapped Miss Raglan angrily. “But our Sisters have seen through your plots. You will never lead this coven. Here and now, by the light of the moon, surrounded by the wild elements, I shall become the new High Mistress and achieve our long quest!”
The crowd behind her began to roar their approval, and a frenzied chanting began, but Miss Scratton shouted, “Fool! Do you not know that this coven still has a High Mistress? And that she is here among you?”
The chanting faltered, and there was another tremendous crack of lightning. It seemed to tear away the veil that had hidden us from the women’s sight. They cried out as they saw Mrs. Hartle standing cold and proud and terrible in the night.
“It is I,” said the High Mistress. “I have returned at last.” There was a moment of confusion as exclamations ran through the crowd. “The High Mistress! She has returned!”
“Why do you not bow before me? Is there no loyalty among you? Did it take such a short time for you to forget your true mis
tress?”
“Welcome, welcome, we have longed for this moment,” gushed one of the women, and I recognized the sycophantic voice of Miss Dalrymple, quick to abandon her former ally and throw herself at Mrs. Hartle’s feet.
“I…We…” gabbled Miss Raglan, as the Dark Sisters made deep bows to her rival. “We thought you were dead!”
The High Mistress laughed wildly as lightning cracked across the sky and rain lashed the earth. “Celia Hartle will never taste death! After our defeat in the crypt, I confess that I was wounded. The elemental powers that were turned against me stripped me of my strength. So I hid, choosing not to show myself in my weakened state. But I have not studied the secret rites all these years for nothing. And now here I am, back to claim my triumph.” Mrs. Hartle moved closer to Miss Raglan, and her voice became a honeyed river of menace. “It will not be you who brings our labors to fulfillment. Oh, I watched you. I saw your lack of faith in me. For loyalty I bring rewards; for betrayal—curses.” She clicked her fingers and Miss Raglan staggered back and whimpered, as though reeling from a savage blow.
Mrs. Hartle turned to Miss Scratton. “You have done better. I am pleasantly surprised. Your reward will be of another sort.” Miss Scratton didn’t move, except to bow her head and lower her eyes.
“But all judgments can wait,” Mrs. Hartle went on. “The night draws deep. At midnight all will be fulfilled. The foolish girls who dared to rise against me are prisoners at my feet. And I bring you another prize—our former master. He is ready to do our bidding.” She kicked Sebastian viciously, then forced him to his knees. The Talisman swung heavily around his neck, like a great burden. “Prepare the girl.”
Betrayal Page 19
