by Libba Bray
“Good evening, Lady Denby,” Mrs. Worthington says, her smile radiant.
Lady Denby does not offer her hand but opens her fan instead. "Good evening, Mrs. Worthington.”
Felicity gives a dazzling smile. If I didn’t know her better I wouldn’t recognize the ice in it. “Oh, dear. Ann, you seem to have lost your bracelet!”
“What bracelet?” Ann asks.
“The one the duke sent from Saint Petersburg. Perhaps you lost it in the dressing room. We must look for it. Gemma, would you mind awfully?”
“No, of course not,” I say.
“Be quick about it. The opera is about to begin,” Grandmama warns.
We escape to the dressing room. A few ladies preen at the mirrors, adjusting shawls and jewels.
“Ann, when I say you’ve lost your bracelet, play along,” Felicity chides.
“Sorry,” Ann says.
“I do loathe Lady Denby. She’s a horrid woman,” Felicity mutters.
“She isn’t,” I argue.
“You wouldn’t say that if you weren’t so besotted with her son.”
“I am not besotted. He simply invited my family to the opera.”
Felicity’s raised eyebrow says she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Perhaps you’d like to know that I’ve discovered something about my amulet,” I say, changing the subject.
“What is it?” Ann asks, removing her gloves in order to tend to her hair.
“The crescent eye is some sort of compass. That’s what Nell Hawkins was trying to tell me. I think it may lead us to the Temple.”
Felicity’s eyes gleam. "A compass! We must try it tonight.”
“Tonight?” I squeak. “Here? With all these people about?” With Simon, I almost say. "We couldn’t possibly.”
“Of course we can,” Felicity whispers. “Just before intermission, tell your grandmother that you must be excused for the dressing room. Ann and I shall do the same. We’ll meet in the hall and find a place where we can enter the realms from there.”
“It isn’t that simple,” I say. "She won’t let me go, not alone.”
“Find a way,” Felicity insists.
“But it wouldn’t be proper!”
“Afraid of what Simon will think? It isn’t as if you’re betrothed!” Felicity tut-tuts.
The comment lands like a blow. “I never said anything of the sort.”
Felicity smiles. She knows she’s won. “So we are agreed. Just before intermission. Do not delay.”
The plan in place, we turn our attention to the mirrors, positioning combs and smoothing dresses.
“Has he tried to kiss you?” Felicity asks in an offhand manner.
“No, of course not,” I say, embarrassed. I hope no one has overheard her.
“I should be careful,” Felicity says. “Simon has a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
“He’s been the perfect gentleman with me,” I protest.
“Hmmm,” Felicity says, her eyes on her reflection, which is fetching, as always.
Ann’s pinching her cheeks in vain, hoping to raise color there. “I hope I shall meet someone tonight. Someone kind and noble. The sort who likes to help others. Someone like Tom.”
Two angry red welts crisscross near her wrist bone. The marks are new, perhaps a few hours old. She’s cut herself again. Ann sees me looking and her freshly pinched cheeks pale. Quickly, she pulls her gloves on, covering the scars.
Felicity leads the way out, greeting a friend of her mother’s near the door. I grab Ann’s wrist and she winces.
“You promised me you’d stop doing that,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“You know very well what I mean,” I warn.
Her eyes find mine. She wears a sad little smile. "Better that I hurt myself than be hurt by them. It stings less.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s different for you and Fee,” Ann says, nearly crying. “Don’t you see? I have no future. There’s nothing for me. I’ll never be a great lady or marry someone like Tom. I can only pretend. It’s horrible, Gemma.”
“You don’t know what will be,” I say, trying to soothe. “No one knows.”
Felicity’s noticed we’re not beside her and comes back for us. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” I say brightly. “We’re coming.” I take Ann’s hand. “Things can change. Repeat it.”
“Things can change,” she parrots quietly.
“Do you believe that?”
She shakes her head. Silent tears trickle down her round cheeks.
“We’ll find a way. I promise. But first, you must promise me you’ll stop. Please?”
“I’ll try,” she says, brushing a gloved hand against her damp face and forcing a smile.
“Here is trouble,” Felicity says as we rejoin the throng in the lobby. I see what she means. It’s Cecily Temple. She stands beside her mother, craning her neck, looking this way and that in hopes that she will see someone of interest.
Ann’s in a panic. "I’ll be found out! Ruined! It will be the end for me.”
“Stop it,” Felicity snaps. But she’s right, of course. Cecily can bring Ann’s story of Russian nobility and distant peerage down like a house of cards.
“We’ll avoid her,” Felicity says. “Come with me. We shall take the opposite stairs. Gemma, just before intermission. Don’t forget.”
“For the third time, I shan’t,” I say testily.
The house lights flicker in warning that the opera is to begin.
“There you are!” Simon says. He has waited for me. My stomach quivers. "Did you find Miss Bradshaw’s bracelet?”
“No. She remembered that she’d left it in her jewelry box after all,” I lie.
Simon’s family has a private box quite high up that makes me feel as if I am the Queen herself, lording over all my subjects. We take our seats and pretend to read our programs, though no one’s really paying any attention to The Mikado. Opera glasses are used to spy covertly on lovers and friends, to see who is wearing what, who has arrived with whom. There is more potential scandal and drama in the audience than there could possibly be onstage. At last, the lights are dimmed, and the curtain rises on a small Japanese village. A trio of sopranos in Oriental dress and black lacquered wigs sings of being three little maids at school. It is my first opera, and I find it delightful. At one point, I catch Simon watching me. Rather than look away, he gives me the most radiant smile, and I can scarcely imagine how I will tear myself away to enter the realms, for this too is magic, and I cannot help feeling resentful that my duty calls me.
Just before intermission, I spy Felicity through my opera glasses. She’s looking at me impatiently. I whisper in Grandmama’s ear that I must excuse myself to the dressing room. Before she can protest, I slip out the curtains that lead to the hall, where I greet Felicity and Ann.
“There is an unused box upstairs,” Felicity says, taking my hand. A wistful aria floats through the opera house as we make our way silently upstairs. Ducking low, we push aside the heavy curtains and sit on the floor just inside. I reach for their hands. Eyes shut, we concentrate, and the door of light appears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE SWEET SMELL OF LILAC GREETS US IN THE GARDEN, but things look different. The trees and grass are a bit wilder, as if they’ve gone to seed. More toadstools have popped up. They cast long shadows across our faces.
“Why, you look lovely!” Pippa shouts to us from her perch by the river. She races to us, her tattered hem flying in the breeze. The flowers in her crown have gone dry and brittle. “How beautiful! Where have you been in your finery?”
“The opera,” Ann says, twirling in her fancy dress. “The Mikado is still playing. We stole away!”
“The opera,” Pippa says with a sigh. "Is it madly elegant? You must tell me simply everything!”
“It is dazzling, Pip. The women drip with jewels. A man winked at me.”
“When?” Felicity sa
ys, disbelieving.
“He did! On the way up the staircase. Oh, and Gemma has come with Simon Middleton and his family. She’s sitting in their box,” Ann relates breathlessly.
“Oh, Gemma! I am so very happy for you!” Pippa says, giving me a kiss. Whatever misgivings I had about her have just melted.
“Thank you,” I say, returning her kiss.
“Oh, it all sounds heavenly. Tell me more.” Pippa leans against a tree.
“Do you like my dress?” Ann asks, twirling again for her inspection.
Pippa takes Ann’s hands in hers, dancing with her. "It’s beautiful! You are beautiful!”
Pippa stops twirling. She looks as if she shall cry. “I’ve never been to the opera, and now I never shall, I suppose. How I wish I could go with you.”
“You would be the most beautiful of all, if you were there,” Felicity says, making Pip smile again.
Ann runs to me. "Gemma, try the amulet.”
“What’s this?” Pippa asks.
“Gemma thinks her amulet is a sort of compass,” Felicity says.
“Do you think it will show us the way to the Temple?” Pippa asks.
“We’re going to find out,” I say. I take the amulet from my handbag, turn it over. At first, there is nothing but the cold hard metal surface reflecting a distorted image of my face. But then, something changes. The surface grows cloudy. I move slowly in a circle. When I am facing two straight rows of olive trees, the crescent eye glows bright, illuminating a faint but obvious path.
“Stick to the path,” I mutter, remembering Nell’s words. “I think we’ve found the way to the Temple.”
“Oh, let me see!” Pippa takes the amulet in her hands, watches it glow in the direction of the olive trees. "How splendid!”
“Have you been that way?” I ask.
Pippa shakes her head. A breeze whistles down the trail between the olive trees, carrying with it a handful of leaves and the scent of lilac. Using the amulet’s shimmering glow as a guide, we duck into the cover of the trees, walking for what seems a mile, past strange totems with the heads of elephants, snakes, and birds. We reach an earthen passageway. The amulet flares.
“Through here?” Ann says, panting.
“I’m afraid so,” I answer.
It is tight and not terribly tall. Even Ann, the shortest of us, has to stoop to pass through. The softness of the trail gives way to rockier ground. We come through the opening onto a path bordered on both sides by fields of tall reddish orange flowers that sway hypnotically. As we pass, the breeze bends them forward so that they brush gently across our faces and shoulders. They smell of fresh summer fruits. Pippa picks a bloom and tucks it into her fading crown.
Something flits past on my right.
“What was that?” Ann asks, standing close.
“I don’t know,” I answer. I can see nothing but the flowers rippling in the wind.
“Let’s go on,” Pippa advises.
We follow the amulet’s bright glow till the path ends abruptly at an enormous wall of rock. It is tall as a mountain and seems to go on forever so that there is no way around it.
“What do we do now?” Felicity asks.
“There must be some way through,” I say, though I haven’t the vaguest idea how. "Look for a passage.”
We press against the rocks till we are exhausted with the effort.
“It’s no use,” Pippa says, panting. "It’s solid rock.”
We can’t have come all this way for nothing. There must be a way in. I walk along the wall, moving the amulet back and forth. It flares briefly.
“What’s this?” I say.
I turn it again gently and it shimmers in my hand. When I look at the rock, there is the faint outline of a door.
“Do you see that?” I ask, hoping that I am not imagining it.
“Yes!” Felicity cries. "It’s a door!”
I reach out a hand and feel the cold steel of a handle in the rock. With a deep breath, I pull on it. It’s as if a great, dark hole has opened in the earth. The amulet’s shine is strong.
“This would seem to be the way,” I announce, though truthfully, I have no desire to step into that deep black well.
Felicity licks her lips nervously. "Go on, then. We’ll follow.”
“I’m not comforted by that,” I say. Heart racing, half expecting to be swallowed whole by the rock, I step inside and wait for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. It’s dank and smells of a freshly tilled garden. Paper lanterns of gold and rose hang from the stone walls, casting a weak light on the mud floors. It is difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, but I can feel that we’re climbing, going up and around. Soon, our breathing is labored. My legs tremble from the effort. At last we come to another door. I turn the handle and we emerge to purple and red smoke billowing about us like clouds. A breeze pushes the colorful smoke away, and the scene opens up. We are high above the river. Far below us, the gorgon ship cuts silently through the blue water.
“How did we get so high up?” Felicity asks, trying to catch her breath.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Ann cranes her neck. “Gracious!” She stares openmouthed at the sensual goddesses carved into the cliff ’s side, at the curves of their hips and mouths, their dimpled knees, and the lush softness of their rounded chins. These stone women look down at us from so high, noticing but not bothering with us.
“I remember this,” I say. “This is near the Caves of Sighs, isn’t it?”
Pippa stops. “We shouldn’t be here. The Untouchables live here. It’s forbidden.”
“Let’s go back,” Ann says.
But when we turn around, the door fades into rock. There is no going back that way.
“What do we do now?” Ann asks.
“I wish I’d brought my arrows,” Felicity murmurs.
Someone is approaching. A figure appears in the thick smoke, a small woman with weathered skin the color of a wine cask. Her hands and face are painted in elaborate designs. But her arms and legs! The most hideous sores mark them. One leg is so swollen it is the size of a tree trunk. We turn away in disgust, unable to look at her.
“Welcome,” she says. "I am Asha. Follow me.”
“We were just leaving,” Felicity says.
Asha laughs. “Where did you mean to go? This is the only way out. Forward.”
As we can’t leave by the way we’ve come, we follow. The path is crowded with others. They too are misshapen, bent, scarred.
“Don’t stare,” I admonish Ann quietly. "Just watch your feet.”
Asha leads us around the cliff, through arched tunnels supported by pillars. The walls are painted with scenes of fantastic battles—the severing of a gorgon’s head, the driving back of snakes, knights dressed in tunics painted with red poppies. I see the Forest of Lights, a centaur playing pipes, the water nymphs, the Runes of the Oracle. It is like a tapestry, with so many scenes I cannot count them all.
The tunnel opens out to another magnificent vista. We are quite high on the mountain. Pots of incense line the narrow path. Curls of magenta, turquoise, and yellow smoke tickle my nose, make my eyes sting.
Asha stops at the mouth of a cave. A crude carving of a chain of snakes marks the entrance. It looks less like a carving and more like something that has risen from the earth itself. “The Caves of Sighs.”
“I thought you said this was the way out,” I query.
“So it is.” Asha steps into the cave and folds into the darkness. Behind us on the road, the others have formed a cluster five deep and ten across. There is no retreat.
“I don’t like this,” Pippa says.
“Nor do I, but what choice do we have now?” I say, ducking into the cave.
The moment I’m through, I understand why these caves have gotten this name. It is as if the walls themselves sigh with the bliss of a hundred thousand kisses.
“So beautiful.” It’s Ann. She’s standing before a bas-relief of a face with a long flat nose and large,
full lips. Her hands trace the curve of the upper lip, and I think immediately of Kartik. Pippa joins her, enjoying the feel of the stone.
“I beg your pardon, but we were following a path and it seems to have disappeared. Can you tell us the way back, please? We’re in a dreadful hurry,” Felicity demands sweetly.
“You seek the Temple?” Asha asks.
She has our attention now. “Yes,” I say. “Do you know where it is?”
“What do you offer?” Asha asks, hands outstretched.
Am I to offer a gift? I’ve nothing to give. I couldn’t possibly part with Simon’s necklace or my amulet.
“I’m sorry,” I say. "I’ve brought nothing with me.”
Asha’s eyes betray her disappointment. But she smiles anyway. “Sometimes we seek that which we are not yet ready to find. The true path is a difficult one. To see it, you must be willing to shed this skin like a snake. You must be willing to let go of that which is precious to you.” She glances at Pippa when she says this.
“We should go,” Pippa says.
I think she may be right. “Thank you for your trouble, but we must be getting back now.”
Asha gives a bow. “As you wish. I can put you on the path. But you will need our help.”
A woman whose face is painted a bright red with stripes of deep green pours a clay mixture into a long tube with a hole at the end.
“What is that for?” Felicity asks.
“To paint you,” Asha says.
“Paint us?” Ann nearly shrieks.
“It offers protection,” Asha explains.
“Protection from what?” I ask warily.
“Protection from whatever comes looking for you in these realms. It hides what must be hidden and reveals what must be seen.” Again, she gives that curious look to Pippa.
“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” Pippa says.
“Nor do I,” Ann agrees.
“What if this is a trap?” Felicity whispers. “What if that paint is poison?”
The red-faced woman bids us sit and place our hands upon a large rock.
“Why should we trust you?” I ask.
“There are many choices to make. You are free to refuse,” Asha answers.
The woman with the paint waits patiently. Should I trust Asha, an Untouchable, or take my chances in the realms unprotected?
