Sacred Stone, released from the temple,
Sliabh na Cailli’,
Portal to the Otherworlds.
Sisters of Chaos
Return to the belly of the Serpent
At the close of Nos Galon-Mai.
There, in the Circle of Fire
Lit by the Stone, bring together
Four Keys, marked by the Dragon
Angel of Chaos, mark and medallion
The Beast, banished only through
Sisterhood at Guardian’s door
With the rite of the Fallen.
Open your arms, Mistress of Chaos
To usher in the havoc of the ages
Or close them and
Deny His thirst for eternity.
Coming to the end of the page, I realize it is a page. There are no missing pages of the prophecy. Only one. But even as it is impossible to decipher its meaning here and now, I am sure it is all I need.
I do not have the luxury of taking the page with me. Not while one of the Souls may be waiting for me outside the crypt. So I read. I read until I am positive I have it memorized. Until I know I will be able to recite the words even when I am on my own deathbed, hopefully many years from now.
And then I hold both versions to one of the torches and watch them burn.
33
“Bonsoir. Puis-je vous aider à trouver quelque chose?” the priest asks.
Good evening. Can I help you find something?
I eye him warily as I approach him in the room leading to and from the crypt. I have just ascended the stairs, though he did not come upon me until I was well away from the entrance to the grotto. As I come closer, I glance at his neck, relieved to see that he bears no mark of the Guard.
“Non, Père. Je me promenais la cathédrale et suis devenu perdu.” I offer him a nervous smile and the excuse of being lost. Then, just to be safe, I assure him that I can find my own way out. “Je peux trouver ma voie en arrière d’ici, merci.”
The priest nods, eyeing my breeches with disdain. I had forgotten all about them and feel an inappropriate urge to laugh aloud. For a brief moment, I forget that I may still be in mortal danger, and I want nothing more than to share my amusement with Luisa and Sonia. The thought brings a smile to my lips, for I know they would also have to fight to contain their laughter.
I move past the priest toward the door. He stands in the center of the room, eyeing me as if I am a common criminal, though with my disheveled appearance and men’s attire, I suppose I cannot blame him.
Forced to make a move, I open the big door and look up and down the alley, cautiously at first and then more openly as I become surer that no one lingers outside. When I am as certain as possible that the path back to the cathedral is clear, I slide out of the door and hurry down the street. I reach the door of the church with a sigh of relief, but when I try to pull it open, I find that it is locked.
I try again, pulling as hard as I am able, but it does not budge. I am trying to slow the blood racing through my veins when I hear a sound behind me. Turning to see who is there, it is not what I expect. Not at first.
A large, white cat jumps from atop the stone wall that runs along the street. The animal makes its way toward me languidly, and though I would like to be relieved that it is only a cat, something about its manner makes me uneasy. I know what it is a moment later when the cat’s jewel-green eyes find mine just before he shimmers on the ground, becoming in seconds the fair-haired Guard. Changing form seems effortless, and he hardly slows in his movement toward me, a sinister smile taking root on his mouth. The unhurried manner with which he approaches does nothing to decrease my fear. His very leisure terrifies me, as if he is so sure of his eventual triumph that he need not even rush to make it so.
Sliding along the wall of the church, I inch my way toward the only entrance I know for certain will not be locked — the one at the front where I first entered the cathedral. I do not dare take my eyes from the man. I try to gauge whether I have a better chance of escape if I turn and run or continue playing the game of which he seems to be in charge.
I am still some distance away from the end of the small street when he picks up his pace, his footsteps coming more purposefully. The movement causes his collar to open ever so slightly, and I see the serpent, coiled around his neck like a choker. I feel the pull of it even as fear tightens my stomach.
I do not consciously make the decision to run. I simply do it, instinct screaming it is the only chance for escape from Samael’s Guard and my own dark affection for the snake that is his mark.
The stone is slippery underfoot, and I cannot run as fast as I would like for fear of falling. Even still, the footsteps hurry in their pace behind me. It is not far to the front of the church, though time seems to stretch and twist in the moment of my attempted escape. I think I have made it to safety as I round the corner toward the front of the cathedral. But I underestimate the slickness of the stone and fall hard, slamming into the ground with a force that makes my teeth rattle.
It only takes me seconds to get up and continue running, but it is not fast enough. The stumble has closed my lead, and as I race up the stairs to the church, the scent of the Guard’s tangy sweat drifts to me on the evening breeze.
Finally reaching the top of the stairs, I lunge for the handle of the great wooden door just as the man lunges for me. This time we both go down, the man holding tightly to my foot while I reach for the door to the church that is my only sanctuary. My bow and knapsack slip from my shoulder, landing some distance away.
“Give… me… the… pages.” His voice is a growl. It slithers toward me until I feel that his words themselves crawl across my skin.
“I don’t have them!” I scream at him in a desperate bid for freedom, hoping it is only the pages he desires and not simply my death as I fear. “Let me go! I don’t have them!”
He does not answer. His utter silence terrifies me more than anything he could say. As he pulls on my leg, drawing me nearer to him, the snake coiled around his neck seems to slither, reaching toward me until I believe I can hear it hiss.
I scan the front of the church for Dimitri or anyone who might help. But this time there will be no salvation. Not from Dimitri. Not from the Sisters. Not from my Otherworldly gifts.
And then I see my knapsack. My arrows stick halfway out of the bag, but it is not this that gives me cause to hope. No. It is Mother’s dagger lying a couple of feet from the bag that stems my despair. It is a reminder that my salvation is up to me.
Me and the strength and will I have gained in this world.
I swing my free leg, landing a ferocious kick to the Guard’s face. It sends him sprawling backward, though he takes me with him a few inches even as his grip loosens on my other leg. I reach for my knapsack, using my arms to pull me closer to it and dragging the man along with me in the moment before he regains his wits and grabs more tightly onto my leg. This time, as he pulls me back toward him once again, he lets out a guttural howl.
It is primal and pained, and it connects with some lost part of me that remembers my place in the prophecy and my role in fighting the Souls. I kick again, this time with all my might, and my free foot connects once again with the man’s face. The force of it shakes my body to its very core, and I can’t help but feel that I have Aunt Abigail and her adder stone to thank for the slight loosening of the Guard’s hands on my leg. A loosening that allows me to stretch just enough for my fingers to close around the dagger’s hilt.
I cannot say for sure if the heat of the stone imbues me with added strength, or if perhaps it simply makes me feel less alone. As if Aunt Abigail and all her power and wisdom are with me. I suppose it doesn’t matter, for I swing the dagger in an arc toward the Guard’s face, hitting his neck with such force that he lets go of my foot entirely.
Surprise registers in his eyes in the moment before the blood rushes in a spreading stain across his white shirt. The snake around his neck writhes as if alive, licking angrily bu
t ineffectively toward me in the moment before the man’s face morphs into that of the cat in the alleyway, a laborer, a gentleman, and finally, back to his own frighteningly beautiful countenance. I register dimly that they are all of the forms he has assumed since crossing into my world through some former Gate.
This time, I do not crawl. I run. I scramble to my feet and bolt for the door, barely feeling the weight of it under my hand as I heave it open. Slamming it behind me, I do not stop to catch my breath. I walk backward toward the interior of the church, putting some distance between me and the door without taking my eyes off it. For a long while, I watch, half-expecting the man to come bursting through. Half-expecting him to submit to death in order to follow me into this place that is held sacred from the Souls.
I don’t know how long it takes to be certain he isn’t coming, but after a while I sink to the floor in relief, my back against a wall, my eyes still on the door.
Dimitri will come. I don’t know when, but I know as sure as the sun rises and sets that he will come. I wrap my arms around my knees, whispering the words of the lost page and further committing them to memory.
In the darkened church, I whisper. And I wait.
This time, Alice comes to me.
I am asleep in the cathedral, my back still against the wall, when I feel her presence. I open my eyes to find her standing at the end of the aisle leading from the door to the altar. From a distance, she looks as translucent as she did the night on the stairs at Milthorpe Manor, but as she approaches, I am horrified to watch her grow more and more solid. By the time she stands before me, her presence is almost as substantial as if it were her physical body and not a spirit figure of the Plane. I am not surprised to find she has grown yet more powerful.
She surveys me with an expression I have never seen before. I think perhaps it is some vile mixture of hatred and admiration.
“So,” she finally says. “You have found what you were looking for.”
Even in her spirit form, my sister strikes something sinister and fearful in my heart. I lift my chin, trying to sound unafraid. “Yes, and it is too late for you or the Souls to take it. It has already been destroyed.”
She does not flinch, and I wonder if she already knew. If she has been watching me from the Plane. “The missing pages were never material to us except where they would help you to end it. We desire only one end to the prophecy, and the pages are not required to see it done.”
“So it was all to keep me from finding the pages, not to steal them yourself.” It is not a question. I think of the Hounds, the kelpie, Emrys… all working on behalf of the Souls to keep me from reaching Chartres.
All working in concert to keep me from ending the prophecy.
“Of course.” She smiles, tipping her head. “And I suppose you think you’ve won. That by finding the pages, you will be able to unlock the prophecy and end it to your liking.” All traces of amusement leave her eyes. “But you’re wrong, Lia. So very wrong.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Alice.”
She comes closer until she is right in front of me, dropping to her heels so that we are eye to eye.
“You will, Lia.” Fire licks behind her emerald eyes. “You may have found what you were looking for, but there are things still lost. Things that require even more answers. Even more danger. Most importantly of all, there is one thing you need that you will never, ever have.”
“What might that be, Alice?”
She hesitates for just a moment, before answering with one simple word. “Me.”
She smiles, and it is filled with such emptiness that a chill runs up my backbone. I have no idea what she means, but I do not have time for contemplation. Our eyes meet for a split second, and then she is gone, and I am alone in the darkness of the cathedral once again.
34
I keep close to the doorways as I make my way across the busy streets, warily eyeing the other pedestrians.
One would think I would be unafraid on a city street after the long and threatening journey to the missing page, but it has only heightened my suspicion. I remember the Guard at the church in Chartres, his countenance changing from cat to laborer to gentleman, and know that other Guards could be around me at any time, in any place. It is instinctive to drop my eyes to the collar of any unfamiliar man or woman. I am always looking for the twisted serpent around the necks of strangers.
Crossing the cobblestone street, I make my way past the old iron fence, breathing a sigh of relief as I enter the park and continue toward the pond at its center. I have spent many afternoons walking its leafy grounds since returning from France. It reminds me the smallest bit of the rolling hills of Altus.
I think of Dimitri as I walk. He accompanies me on occasion, though I am just as content to walk alone. Thinking of him, his infinite eyes and the dark hair that curls at his neck, I cannot help but be grateful that he returned with me to London, pledging to stay by my side until the prophecy is at rest, whatever it may bring. His presence is a comfort, though I would not like to admit it aloud.
Dimitri did not arrive at the cathedral in Chartres until the morning after I found the missing page. I was still waiting against the wall, though a priest had offered to find me quarters elsewhere. I wanted to be right there when Dimitri arrived. I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he came through the door.
After riding to a seaside town and boarding a ship back to London, we returned to Milthorpe Manor, where I was barely able to stumble to my chamber before falling into a deep sleep that lasted nearly twenty-four hours. When I awoke, it was to Dimitri, keeping watch over me from a chair by the bed.
He has been with me every day since, taking a room at the Society’s brownstone under the maternal, if overly attentive, eye of Elspeth. Though he has spoken freely of his devotion, I have not yet reconciled my feelings for him with the ones that still stalk my heart for James. I add it to the list of things I avoid thinking about in the name of the prophecy.
Besides, I find I am reluctant to contemplate the future. There are too many questions in the past and far too many still ahead. Perhaps I am becoming superstitious, but it seems foolish to tempt fate by assuming I will have any future at all.
And for all of my pleasure in Dimitri’s company, there are times, whole moments and days, when I wish only to be alone. When I wish to contemplate all that has happened and all the things still to come.
There can be no doubt that change is on its way.
Immediately upon return from Chartres, I received word from Philip that he has found Helene Castilla, the third key. He is on his way back with a plan for bringing her to London, and I cannot help but wonder how the addition of another girl will impact my now-fragile alliance with Sonia and Luisa.
Thinking about Sonia still casts a shadow over my heart. There are times when I remember the old Sonia, the shy, trusted friend who was my closest companion during the darkest hours following Henry’s death and my flight from New York. In those moments, I miss her and want to see her again. To embrace her and sit by the fire and tell her everything that has happened since that horrifying moment when I awoke to see her eyes glazed with the madness of the Souls.
But it is difficult to ignore the newly cynical part of my mind.
The one that whispers: What if it happens again?
Yet I will have to find a way. A way to bring everyone together once more and a way to manage the many demands of the prophecy, for even as Philip makes his way back to London, Sonia, Luisa, and Edmund are en route from Altus. I have received no details of Sonia’s recovery and can only assume she is well, but that does not mean I rest easy in the certainty of her loyalty.
For now, I am surprised to realize that it is Dimitri I trust most.
Shortly after returning to London, I wrote down the words of the missing page so that he and Aunt Virginia could study them by the glow of the library lamp at Milthorpe Manor. When they were finished, when they were certain they would not forget a single word, I burn
ed it yet again.
Since then, we have spent hours trying to decode the enigmatic words on the final page. The answers come rarely and with much effort, but there is one part I finally understand.
The Beast, banished only through Sisterhood at Guardian’s door.
I whispered it in the quiet of my chamber over and over, knowing it held the key to an unwelcome knowledge. I saw Alice in the church at Chartres, her eyes afire with something dark and unnameable.
Most importantly of all, there is one thing you need that you will never, ever have.
And my foolish, foolish question. What might that be, Alice?
Me.
It came to me in the dark of night and with such horror that I sat straight up in bed, whispering the words of the missing page, understanding at last.
Ending the prophecy will somehow require us both. Alice and me.
The Guardian and the Gate.
I have not dared to contemplate how it might be done. How Alice and I might work in concert to bring the prophecy to an end when we are on opposing sides. But for now, I work with Dimitri to hone the gifts that are mine. With his assistance, I practice my craft as Spellcaster, though not for a dark purpose as my sister does. I continue my work with the bow while attempting, with the help of Dimitri and Aunt Virginia, to decipher the words of the prophecy’s last page.
Most of all I try to close my mind — and my heart — to my sister. I try not to think of her as I saw her the last time we met at the cathedral in Chartres. I try not to see her fiery eyes, shining with the fevered desire of the Souls.
For while I do not know what the future will bring, I now know one thing is certain: Alice was right.
When the prophecy finally ends, one of us will be dead.
Guardian of the Gate Page 25
