Rebel Angels

by Libba Bray

  Ann is so terror-stricken she’s nearly in a trance.

  “It would be a blessing if we took you, hmmm? No more burning inside while the others have all they could ever want and more. No need to cut into your own flesh. No more keeping your mouth closed tight around the scream that explodes inside while they mock you.”

  Ann nods in agreement. Azreal leans in to her. "Yes, we can end it for you.”

  “Stop it!” Felicity spits out.

  Azreal moves to her, caresses her neck. “Such spirit, pet. How long would you last? If I broke and bled you? A week? Two?” He breaks into a slow grin. “Or . . . would you skitter away inside somewhere, as you did every time he touched you?”

  Felicity’s shame shows as a single tear coursing down her cheek. How does he know this about her?

  “You be quiet,” she whispers, her voice betraying her anguish.

  “All those nights in your room. Nowhere to go. No one to trust. No one to hear you. Not such spirit, then, pet.”

  “Stop,” Felicity whispers.

  He licks her cheek. “You took it. And deep down, you told yourself,‘This is my fault. I made this happen. . . .’ ”

  Felicity is so afraid. I can feel it in her. We all can. What was it he said? We smell your fear. It lets us in. Is there something about our fear that gives power to their magic?

  “Fee, don’t listen to him!” I shout.

  “Do you know something, pet? I think you rather enjoyed it. ’Tis better than being ignored altogether, isn’t it? That’s what you truly fear, hmmm? That you are so very unlovable after all?”

  Felicity’s sobbing, unable to answer.

  “You don’t want to live with this anymore, do you, poppet? The shame. The heartbreak. The stain on your soul. Why don’t you take this blade and do yourself in?”

  Felicity reaches out and takes the dagger he offers.

  “No!” I shout, but I’m restrained by one of the Warriors.

  He coos to her sweetly as a mother with a babe. “That’s it. Just end it. All that pain. Gone forever.”

  “Don’t let them in,” I say to Felicity. "They’re using your fear against you. You must be strong. Be strong!” Strong. Strength. I’m reminded of something Nell said. “Felicity, Nell said the Poppy Warriors would steal our strength. Fee, you are our strength! We need you!”

  I’m face to face with Azreal and his dead, kohled eyes. “What about your fear, poppet? Where should we begin? You can’t even help your own father.”

  “I’m not listening to you,” I say. I try to concentrate, abandon my fear. But it is so very hard.

  Azreal continues. "All that power, yet you cannot do the one thing that matters.”

  A moment ago, the amulet began to glow, to show me the way out. I clutch it in my hand, secretly angling it toward the last two tunnels. Which is the one?

  A hard slap stings my cheek. "Are you listening, poppet?”

  Keep concentrating, Gemma. Do I imagine it, or does the amulet glow? It does! It is faint but real. The tunnel directly behind Azreal is the one. I’ve found the way.

  “We visit your father from time to time,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I say. My concentration is gone. The glow disappears.

  “When he is under the drug’s spell, his mind is most receptive to us. Such games, such games. We told him about you. About your mother. But he’s getting weaker. And we’re losing all our fun.”

  “You leave him alone.”

  “Yes, yes. For now. Let’s play.”

  “Stop where you are!” Felicity stands poised on a rock, her bow drawn back, one eye squinting on the arrow that she aims in a sweeping arc, taking in the whole of the room. The Poppy Warriors caw at her. Her mouth curves into a hateful smile, a mimic of the bow’s string.

  “Put the bow down now, poppet.”

  Felicity trains the arrow on Azreal. "No.”

  His grin vanishes. "I’m going to eat you alive.”

  “I don’t bloody think so,” she says through tears.

  With a great caw, he charges for her. Felicity’s arrow flies hard and fast, piercing Azreal’s neck just above the protection of his chain mail. His eyes widen as he sinks to his knees and falls to the dusty floor, dead. There is a moment of stunned silence, followed by pandemonium. The Poppy Warriors shriek in anger and grief. There is no time to lose.

  “This way!” I shout, running for the tunnel the amulet has shown me. Felicity and Ann are on my heels, but so are the Poppy Warriors. We hadn’t the chance to grab a torch. The tunnel is dark as pitch as we barrel through it, bumping into one another, feeling the rats tickle over our feet, hearing one another’s desperate gasps and ragged breathing. And just behind us, there is the hideous cawing of those shape-shifting knights.

  “Where is it?” Felicity cries. "Where is the way out?”

  It is still too dark to see my hand. "I don’t know!”

  “Gemma!” Ann yelps. They are in the tunnel with us. I can hear them closing fast.

  “Keep moving!” I shout.

  The tunnel takes a sharp turn. Suddenly, I see it up ahead—an opening, and beyond that, the gray haze of fog. With an urgent burst of speed, we rush out into the thick air, breathing in deep gulps. We’re on the shore.

  “There’s the boat,” Felicity screams. It’s sitting where we left it. Ann scrambles in and picks up the oars as Felicity and I push the boat away from the shore, wading into the murky water as we do. With effort, we climb in.

  The birds come in a great black swarm of screeching.

  Ann and I paddle against the current while Felicity takes aim against those terrible winged things. I close my eyes and row for all I am worth, hearing the sound of that awful cawing and Felicity’s arrows slicing the air.

  Something bumps the boat.

  “What was that?” Ann asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, opening my eyes. I look around but see nothing.

  “Keep rowing!” Felicity instructs, letting fly. Birds fall from the sky. They change into men and sink below the water.

  “They’re going back!” Felicity screams. "They’re leaving!”

  We give a cheer. Ann’s oar is yanked from her hand. The boat is bumped so hard that we shake upon the water.

  “What’s happening?” Ann says, terrified.

  With a great push, the rowboat goes over and we are pitched into the murky moat. I come up sputtering, wiping the water from my eyes with my fingers.

  “Felicity! Ann!” I shout. There is no answer. I call out louder. "Felicity!”

  “Here!” She pops up, sputtering beside me. "Where is Ann?”

  “Ann!” I scream her name again. "Ann!”

  Her blue hair ribbon floats upon the water, abandoned. Ann is gone, and all we see is the oily sheen of the water nymphs.

  “Ann!”

  We scream until we’re hoarse.

  Felicity dives under, comes up again. "They’ve got her.” Wet and shaking, we stumble onto dry land. In the distance, the hollow windows of the cathedral wink at me. The magical glamour cast off, it has reverted to its true self, a grand ruin. I put my head on my knees, coughing.

  Felicity’s crying. “Fee,” I say, putting my hand on her back. “We’re going to find her. I promise. It won’t be like ...” It won’t be like Pippa.

  “He shouldn’t have said those things to me,” she says in great hiccupping cries. "He shouldn’t have said them.”

  It takes me a moment to realize that she is talking about Azreal and what happened in the catacombs. I think of her standing on that rock, piercing our tormentor with her arrow. “You mustn’t be sorry for what you did.”

  She looks into my face, her sobs subsiding to a cold, tearless fury. She hoists the nearly empty quiver onto her shoulder.

  “I’m not.”

  The walk back to the garden is long and hard. Soon I recognize the jungle growth of the place where we met the girls from the factory fire.

  “We’re close,” I say. I can
hear the factory girls talking.

  “Where are we going?” one of the girls asks.

  “With Bessie’s friends. They know a place where we can be whole again,” the other answers.

  I pull Felicity down. We’re crouched low behind a large fern. Now I see them. The three girls in white, the ones from my vision—they’re leading the girls away from this spot in the jungle toward a direction we haven’t yet been. They will lead you astray with false promises. . . .

  Nell was right. Whoever these girls once were, they are dark spirits now, in league with Circe.

  “Where are they going?” Felicity whispers.

  “The Winterlands, I fear,” I say.

  “Should we stop them?” Felicity asks.

  I shake my head. “We have to let them go. We have to save Ann, if possible.”

  Felicity nods. It seems a terrible choice, but it is made. And so we watch them go, some of them holding hands, some singing, all on their way to certain doom.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  BY THE TIME WE REACH THE FAMILIAR ORANGE sunset of the garden, the silent, miserable walk in our soggy boots has worn blisters on our heels. They pinch and bite with each step. But I can’t think about that now. We’ve got to save Ann—if she is still alive.

  “Gracious, what happened to you?” It’s Pippa. The blood has been washed from her cheeks. She no longer looks frightful but calm and beautiful.

  “We’ve no time to explain,” I say. “The water nymphs have Ann. We’ve got to find them.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t leave Ann,” Pippa mutters. I let it go. “I told you not to come to me for help.”

  “Pip!” Felicity barks. “I swear to you that if you fail us now, I will never come back to see you as long as I live.”

  Pippa’s startled by Felicity’s sudden fury. “You would do that?”

  “I would.”

  “Very well,” Pippa says. “How do you propose we fight them? There are only three of us.”

  “Pip’s right. We need help,” I concede.

  “What about the gorgon?” Pip asks. “She helped us once before.”

  I shake my head. “We don’t know that she can be trusted just now. In fact, we do not know if any creature of the realms can be trusted.”

  “Who can be?” Pippa asks.

  I take a deep breath. “I shall have to go back for help.”

  Felicity’s eyes narrow to angry slits. “You said we wouldn’t leave Ann behind. That it wouldn’t be like . . . like last time.”

  Pippa looks away.

  “I’m thinking of Miss Moore,” I say.

  Pippa’s incredulous. “Miss Moore? What can she possibly do?”

  “I don’t know!” I snap, rubbing at the sides of my aching head. “I can’t go to any of our families and tell them. I’d be locked away forever! She’s the only person I can think of who would listen.”

  “Very well, then,” Felicity says. “Bring her in.”

  It takes magic and concentration to make the door of light appear and to make my way fast and undetected through the London streets. I’m taking a terrible risk to do so, using a power that is unpredictable, but I’ve never been more desperate. The magic does nothing to shield me from the London rain, though. By the time I reach Miss Moore’s flat, I am dripping wet. Fortunately, Mrs. Porter is out, and it is my former teacher herself who answers.

  “M-Miss M-Moore,” I chatter, chilled to the bone.

  “Miss Doyle! What ever is the matter! You’re soaked. For heaven’s sake, come in.”

  She leads me upstairs and into her rooms, putting me before the fire to warm myself. “I am sorry for this, but I must tell you something. It’s urgent.”

  “Yes, all right,” she says, hearing the fear in my voice.

  “We need your help. Those stories we’ve told you about the Order? We haven’t been completely honest. It’s real. All of it. The realms, the Order, Pippa, the magic. We’ve been there. We’ve seen it. We’ve lived it. Every bit of it. And now the water nymphs have Ann. They have her, and we’ve got to get her back. Please. You must help us.”

  My words come out in a torrent to match the rain rattling the windows of Miss Moore’s flat. When I finish, Miss Moore studies me for a moment.

  “Gemma, I know you have been under quite a bit of strain, losing both your mother and your friend . . .” She places a hand on my knee.

  I want to cry. She doesn’t believe me.

  “No! I am not telling tales for sympathy! It’s true!” I wail. Two sneezes escape me. My throat is raw and swollen.

  “I want to believe you, but . . .” She paces before the fireplace. “Can you prove it to me?”

  I nod.

  “Very well, then. If you can prove it to me here and now, I shall believe you. If not, I shall take you home immediately and speak with your grandmother.”

  “Agreed.” I nod. “Hester . . .”

  I waste no time. Grabbing her hand, I use the meager power I have left to make the door appear. When I open my eyes, it is there, the bright light illuminating the look of complete astonishment on Miss Moore’s face. She closes her eyes and opens them again, but the door is still there.

  “Come with me,” I say.

  Her hand in mine, I pull her through. It is an effort. I am growing weaker. I can barely feel the whoosh of blood in her veins fueling the heart that is even now accepting that logic is yet another illusion we create.

  The garden shimmers into focus. There is the ground littered with purple flowers. Here is a tree whose bark curls into rose petals. There are the tall weeds and strange toadstools. For a moment, I am afraid the shock has proved too much for Miss Moore. She raises a trembling hand to her mouth and puts the other to the tree. She pulls away a handful of petals and lets them drop from her fingers while she wanders in a daze through the emerald green grass.

  She sits on a rock. “I am dreaming. This is a delusion. It must be.”

  “I told you,” I say.

  “So you did.” She touches one of the purple flowers. It becomes a garden snake that slithers up the tree out of sight. “Oh!”

  Miss Moore’s eyes grow wide. “Pippa!” Pippa and Felicity rush to meet us. Miss Moore reaches out a tentative hand to touch the silk of Pippa’s hair. “It is you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Miss Moore. It is,” she answers.

  Miss Moore puts a hand on her stomach, as if trying to steady herself. “I’m really here, aren’t I? I’m not dreaming?”

  “No, you’re not dreaming,” I assure her.

  Miss Moore stumbles through the garden, taking in everything. I’m reminded of my first journey here, how astonished I felt. We follow her under the tarnished silver arch and into the place where the runes once stood. She stares at the scorched earth there.

  “That is where Gemma smashed the Runes of the Oracle, the binding on the magic,” Pippa says.

  “Oh,” Miss Moore says, as if she is a thousand miles away.

  “That is why you were looking for your temple?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Still looking.”

  “You haven’t found it, then?”

  “No. We were trying to find it when we were led astray by some dark spirits. And then the water nymphs took Ann,” I say.

  “We’ve got to save her, Miss Moore,” Felicity cries.

  Miss Moore straightens. “Yes, of course we do. Where do we find these creatures?”

  “They live in the river,” I say.

  “Is that their home?” Miss Moore asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Pippa speaks up. “The gorgon knows where they live.”

  Miss Moore’s eyes widen. “There is a gorgon?”

  “Yes,” I answer. "But I am not certain she can be trusted just now. She was bound by the Order’s magic to tell only truth and do no harm. But the magic is no longer as it was.”

  “I see,” Miss Moore says. “Is there another way?”

  “None that would be faster,” Felicit
y argues. “We’ve no time. We have to trust the gorgon.”

  I do not like placing my faith in a creature of the realms, but Felicity is right. We must find Ann as quickly as possible.

  The gorgon sits patiently on the river. When we approach, she swivels her hideous, writhing head in our direction. Miss Moore balks at the sight.

  The gorgon’s disturbing yellow eyes blink. “I see you have brought a new friend.”

  “An old friend,” Felicity says. “Gorgon, may I present Miss Hester Moore.”

  “Miss Moore . . . ,” the green, slithery head hisses.

  “Yes. Hester Moore,” Miss Moore replies. "How do you do?”

  “As I have always done,” the gorgon says.

  The plank lowers, and Miss Moore walks onto the barge as if she expects the whole thing to evaporate at any moment.

  “Gorgon,” I say. “The day we visited the Forest of Lights, the water nymphs swam away in that direction.” I point down the river. “Do you know where they live?”

  “Yessss,” the gorgon says, the snakelike eyes opening and closing slowly. “The lagoon is their home. But it is surrounded by black rock. I can only take you as far as that rock. From there, you must go on foot.”

  “That will be sufficient,” Pippa says.

  “Their song is great,” the gorgon warns. "Can you resist the lure of it?”

  “We shall have to try,” I say.

  We climb aboard, and the great barge turns for the journey down the river. I take my amulet into my hands.

  “The crescent eye . . . ,” Miss Moore says. “May I?”

  I give it to her.

  “It is a compass. Hold it like this.”

  She rocks it in her hands, but the amulet gives me no glow to guide us. We are off the path for certain now and completely on our own. The boat moves from the sunset of the garden into a green mist that makes it hard to see much of anything.

  “How did you discover this place?” Miss Moore asks, looking around in pure wonder.

  “My mother,” I say. “She was a member of the Order. She was Mary Dowd.”

  “The woman from the diary?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “And you think your Miss McCleethy is the one who killed her?”

  “Yes. I believe she’s been traveling from school to school looking for me.”