Rebel Angels (8 page)

“Miss Doyle,” she calls, beckoning me with her hand, but Ann and Felicity are upon me.

“Come on, let’s dance,” they insist, pulling me to my feet and far away.

The evening passes like a happy dream. The excitement proves too much for many of the younger girls. Nestled against each other, they sleep by the fire, angel wings crushed under the limp, plump arms of their dear friends, sugarplum and holly crowns askew in the tangle of their hair. In a far corner sit Mrs. Nightwing and Miss McCleethy, heads bent in conference. Miss McCleethy speaks in an intent whisper, and Mrs. Nightwing shakes her head.

“No,” our headmistress says, her voice made louder by the sherry.
"I cannot.”

Miss McCleethy places her hands gently over Nightwing’s, murmuring things I can’t hear.

“But think of the cost,” Mrs. Nightwing answers. Her eyes catch mine for a moment, and I look quickly away. In a moment, she rises unsteadily to her feet, placing a hand on the back of her chair till she finds her footing.

Long after the lamps have been dimmed, the fires have fizzled out, and all are safely in bed, Ann and I meet Felicity down in the great hall. The last glowing embers in the enormous stone hearth cast an eerie glow over the cavernous room. The Christmas tree seems an ominous giant. In the center stand the marble columns decorated with fairies, centaurs, and nymphs. The sight gives me a shudder, for we know they are more than carvings. They are living things imprisoned there by the magic of the realms, the place we are ready to see and feel and touch once more—if we can.

“Don’t forget that you owe me a pound,” Ann tells Felicity. Her teeth are chattering.

“I shan’t,” Felicity answers.

“I’m afraid,” Ann says.

“So am I,” I say.

Even Felicity has lost her usual bluster. "Whatever happens, we do not leave without each other.” She doesn’t say the rest:
like you left Pip . . . left her to die.

“Agreed,” I say. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
"Give me your hands.”

We join hands and close our eyes. It has been so long since we’ve entered the realms. I’m afraid I shan’t be able to make the door of light appear. But soon, I feel the familiar tingle on my skin, the warmth of the light. I open one eye, then the other. There it is, shimmering before us: the glorious portal into the other world.

Felicity and Ann wear their awe on their faces.

“I don’t know what we’ll find there,” I say before we start.

“There is only one way to find out,” Felicity answers.

I open the door and we step through into the realms.

The trees rain flowers that tickle our noses. The grass is still the green of eternal summer. To our right lies the gurgling river. I can hear the faint song that floats up from its depths and forms silver rings on the surface. And the sky! Like the most gorgeous sunset on the happiest of days. My heart feels as if it shall burst. Oh, I have missed this place! How could I ever have thought of leaving it?

“Oh!” Felicity cries. Laughing, she twirls round and round, her palms out and open to the orange sky.
"It’s so beautiful!”

Ann steps to the river. She stoops and gazes at her reflection, smiling. “I’m so beautiful here.” And indeed she is. She is Ann as Ann would look with no cares, no fear or meekness, no need to fill her emptiness with cakes and scones.

Felicity runs her fingers over a willow tree that shifts, like water rippling, and becomes a fountain. “That’s extraordinary. We can do anything here. Anything!”

“Watch!” Ann calls. She cups a blade of grass in her palms, closes her eyes. When she opens her hands, a ruby pendant lies glittering there.
"Help me put it on!”

Felicity locks the clasp. The thing shines against Ann’s skin like a rajah’s treasure.

“Mother?” I call, wondering if she will walk out to greet me. There is nothing but the river’s song and my friends’ delighted laughter as they turn flowers to butterflies, rocks to jewels. I suppose I knew she was gone for good, but I could not help hoping.

Beyond the trees lies the silver arch leading into the heart of the garden. It was there that I fought with Circe’s assassin, one of the dark spirits from the Winterlands. It was there that I smashed the Runes of the Oracle, freeing my mother but also setting loose the magic. Yes, the magic is loose. That is why we’ve come. And yet, everything seems as it was. Nothing seems amiss.

“Follow me,” I say. We pass beneath the shiny arch and find ourselves in a familiar circle. Where the crystal runes once rose tall and powerful there are now only charred patches of earth and an odd assortment of tiny toadstools.

“Gracious,” Ann says. "Did you really do that, Gemma?”

“Yes.”

“But how?” Felicity asks. "How were you able to break something that stood for centuries?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Ugh,” Ann says. She’s stepped on one of the toadstools. It splits open, black and wet.

“Mind your step,” Felicity warns.

“Where do we look for this temple?” Ann asks.

I sigh. “I’ve no idea. Kartik said there’s no map. I only know that it is somewhere inside the realms.”

“We don’t know how large this place is,” Ann says. “Or how many realms there could be.”

“You’ve nothing to go on?” Felicity asks.

“No. We know it can’t be here in the garden or else we’d have seen it already. I suppose we should pick a direction and . . . What is it?”

Felicity’s face has gone white. Ann’s too. Whatever it is, it’s behind me. Every muscle taut, I turn slowly to face my doom.

She steps out from behind a grove of olive trees, a garland of flowers wound into her dark hair. The same violet eyes. The same pale skin and dazzling beauty.

“Hello,” Pippa says. "I was hoping you’d come back.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FELICITY RUNS TO HER.

“Wait!” I yell, but there’s no holding her back. She runs to Pippa and embraces her tightly. Pippa kisses Felicity’s cheeks.

“It’s you!” Felicity says. She’s laughing and crying at the same time.
"Pip, Pip, darling Pip, you’re here!”

“Yes! I’m here. Ann! Gemma! Oh, please don’t stand staring so.”

“Pippa!” Ann cries, running to her. I can scarcely believe it. Pip, our Pip, is here, as lovely as ever. Something in me gives way. I fall to the grass, sobbing, my tears bringing up small lotus blossoms where they fall.

“Oh, Gemma, darling, don’t cry,” Pippa says. Swift as a deer, she’s by my side. The cold hands I’ve seen in my dreams are brushing through my hair, and they are as warm as summer rain.
"Don’t cry.”

I look up at her. She gives me a smile. “If you could see your face, Gemma. Really, so serious!”

This makes me laugh. And cry a bit more. Soon, we’re all laughing through tears, our arms around each other. It feels like coming home after a long, dusty journey.

“Let me look at you,” Pippa says. “Oh, I have missed you so. You must tell me everything. How is Mrs. Nightwing? Are Cecily and Martha still the most unbearable snobs?”

“Positively hideous,” Ann says, giggling.

“Gemma spilled jam on Cecily’s dress just the other morning to keep her quiet,” Felicity says.

Pippa’s mouth opens. "You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid I did,” I admit, feeling foolish for my bad behavior.

“Gemma!” she cries, smiling brightly. "You are my hero!”

We fall back in the grass laughing. There is so much to say. We tell her everything—about Spence, the girls, her funeral.

“Did everyone cry awfully much?” Pippa asks.

Ann nods. “Terribly.”

She blows at a dandelion. The fluff spreads out on the wind, where it becomes a swarm of fireflies. “I am glad to hear it. I’d hate to think of people sitting stony-eyed round my casket. Were the flowers lovely? There were flowers, weren’t there?”

“The loveliest, most elaborate cascade of flowers,” Felicity says. “They must have cost a fortune.”

Pippa nods, smiling. "I am so glad to have had such a nice funeral. Oh, do tell me more stories of home! Do they talk about me in the great hall? Do they all miss me awfully?”

“Oh, yes,” Ann says in earnest. "We all do.”

“Now you do not have to miss me at all,” Pip says, squeezing her hand.

I don’t want to ask, but I must. “Pippa, I thought that you were . . .” Dead. I cannot bring myself to say it. “I thought that you’d crossed over the river. To the other world beyond the realms. When I left, you and your knight . . .”

Ann sits up. "Where is your knight?”

“Oh, him. I had to let him go.” Pippa yawns. “He always did whatever I asked. Frightfully dull.”

“He was certainly handsome.” Ann swoons.

“Yes, he was rather, wasn’t he?” Pippa giggles.

“I am sorry,” I say, afraid to disrupt our happiness. “But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you cross over?”

Pippa shrugs. "My lord, the knight, told me that I didn’t have to cross after all. There are many tribes here, creatures who’ve lived in the realms forever. They are part of this world.” She leans back on straight arms, bends her knees, and lets them sway gently against each other.

“So you just came back?” I prompt.

“Yes. And then I stopped to pick wildflowers to make a crown. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes,” Ann says.

“I shall make you one, then.”

“And for me,” Felicity adds.

“Of course,” Pip says. "We shall all have one.”

I’m terribly confused. My mother told me that souls had to cross over or become corrupted. But here is our Pippa, happy and shining, eyes the color of fresh violets, the girl we’ve always known.

“How long have I been here?” Pippa asks.

“Two months,” I say.

“Really? Sometimes it seems like yesterday; other times, it’s as if I’ve been here forever. Two months . . . that would make it nearly Christmas. I do think I shall miss Christmas morning.”

None of us knows what to say to this.

Ann sits up. “Perhaps she hasn’t completed her soul’s task. Perhaps that is why she is still here.”

“Perhaps she is supposed to help us find the Temple!” Felicity exclaims.

“What temple?” Pippa asks.

“When I shattered the runes, I released the Order’s power into the realms,” I explain. “The Temple is the source of that magic. Whoever finds the Temple and binds the magic there controls it.”

Pippa’s eyes widen. "How marvelous!”

Ann chimes in. “But everyone’s looking for it, including Circe’s spies.”

Pippa links her arm through mine. “Then we must find it first. I shall do everything I can to help you. We can ask the creatures for help.”

I shake my head. “Kartik said we shouldn’t trust anything from the realms, not with the magic loose.”
Trust no one. Trust
nothing
. But surely that doesn’t mean Pippa.

“Kartik?” Pippa says, as if trying to remember something from long ago. “The Indian boy? The Rakshana?”

“Yes.”

She lowers her voice. "You ought to be careful with him. The Rakshana have their spies here too. They cannot be trusted.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told that the Rakshana and the Order are not friends at all. The Rakshana only pretend to be their protectors. What they’re really after is the Order’s power—control of the magic and the realms.”

“Who told you such a thing?”

Pippa shrugs. "It is well known here. Ask anyone.”

“I’ve never heard that,” I say. “Surely my mother would have warned me if that were true.”

“Perhaps she never got the chance,” Pippa says. “Or perhaps she didn’t know everything. We know from the diary that she was only a novice when the fire happened.” I start to object, but Pippa stops me. “Poor Gemma. Are you cross that I know more about it than you do now?”

“No, of course not,” I say, though it is true. "I simply think we should be careful.”

“Hush, Gemma. I want to hear all the secrets of the realms,” Felicity chides, turning her back on me. Pippa breaks into a gloat of a grin, and I think of what she told me in the ballroom at Spence months ago when I replaced her as Felicity’s favorite:
Be careful. It’s a long way to fall.

Pippa pulls us into one giant embrace and kisses our cheeks with fervor. Her smile is so genuine. “Oh, I have missed you!” A tear trickles over the roses of her cheeks.

I am a horrid friend. I have dearly missed Pip too. Here she is, and I’m spoiling the moment with my moodiness. “I am sorry, Pip. Please, do tell us what you know.”

“If you insist!” Her smile is dazzling, and we’re all laughing as if we’ve never been apart. The trees rain leaves that float gently down, covering our skirts in the most radiant colors.

“The realms are vast. They seem to have no end. I hear there are wonders such as you cannot imagine. A forest of light-filled trees that glow eternally. Golden mists and winged creatures like fairies. And a ship with the head of a gorgon.”

“A gorgon!” Ann says, horrified.

“Oh, yes! I’ve seen her at night, gliding past in the mist. Such an enormous ship and such a fearsome face,” Pippa says.

“How fearsome?” Ann asks, chewing her lip.

“You could die of fright to look in her eyes,” Pippa says. Ann looks terrified. Pippa kisses her cheek.
"Don’t worry, Ann, darling. I shall be your protector.”

“I don’t wish to meet this gorgon.”

“They say she was cursed by the Order and bound by their power never to rest and always to tell truth,” Pippa says.

“Cursed? Why?” Felicity asks.

“I don’t know. It is one of the legends.”

“If she must tell truth, then perhaps she can tell us where to find the Temple,” I say.

“I shall find her for you,” Pippa says quickly.

“Must we?” Ann says.

“Here, Ann, watch this.” Pippa takes up a handful of grass, presses it between her palms. When she opens them, a tiny black kitten sits blinking at us.

“Oh!” Ann nuzzles the kitten to her cheek.

“There’s such fun we shall have now that we are all together again!”

A thorn of concern pricks at my insides. My mother insisted that spirits had to cross over. But what if she was wrong?

I saw her die; I saw her buried. I saw her in my dreams.

“I’ve been having the most atrocious dreams about you,” I say, testing.

Pippa strokes the kitten, turning her orange, then red. “Really? What were they?”

“It was only the last dream I can recall. You came to me and said, ‘Careful, Gemma. They’re all coming for you.’ ”

Pippa frowns. "Who’s coming for you?”

“I don’t know. I thought perhaps you were sending me a message.”

“Me?” She shakes her head. “I haven’t done anything of the sort. Now come with me,” she cries like the Pied Piper of merriment.
"I want to make a Christmas tree.”

We stay for what feels like hours. It could be hours, for all we know. No one wants to be the first to say goodbye, and so we keep inventing reasons to stay—more magic tinsel for the tree, another game of hide-and-seek, more searching for the gorgon, who never appears. At last, it is time. We must go.

“Can you come back tomorrow?” Pippa pleads with a pout.

“I’m leaving for London,” Felicity says sadly. “And you two had best not come without me!”

“I leave the day after,” I say.

Ann is quiet.

“Ann?” Pippa asks.

“I shall stay at Spence and spend Christmas with the servants, as always.”

“How long till you’re together again?” Pippa asks.

“A fortnight,” I answer. I hadn’t thought about this. How shall we look for the Temple if we are separated for so long?

“That won’t do at all,” Pip says. “What shall I do for two whole weeks? I shall be so bored without you.” Same old Pip.

“Felicity and I will see each other,” I say. "But Ann . . .” Ann looks as if she could cry.

“You shall simply have to come home with me,” Felicity says. “I’ll send a telegram to Mama first thing tomorrow morning and tell her to expect us. And I shall spend the evening thinking of a very good story as to why.”

Ann’s beaming. "I should like that. The holiday and the story.”

“Soon as we can—two days’ time—we’ll be back,” I assure Pippa.

“I shall be waiting.”

“See what you can discover on your own,” I say. “Find the gorgon.”

Pippa nods. "Must you go so soon? I don’t think I can bear to say goodbye.”

“Two days’ time,” Felicity assures her.

She walks with us through the place where the runes once stood.

“Watch out,” Felicity calls.

Where the toadstool split open, the grass has turned to ash. A wet black snake slithers back and forth.

“Ugh,” Ann says, sidestepping it.

Pippa grabs a sharp rock and drops it on the thing.

“That is that,” she says, rubbing the bit of rock chalk from her hands.

“How I loathe snakes,” Felicity says with a shiver.

It’s surprising that Felicity is unnerved by anything. But more surprising is this: Pippa is staring at the rock she dropped with a strange smile. I cannot name the expression she wears, but it unnerves me.

With one last kiss, we make the door of light appear and are back in the great hall.

“Look!” Ann cries.

Around her neck, the ruby still shines and dazzles.

“You’ve brought the magic back with you,” I say, touching the stone.

“I didn’t try to,” Ann says, as if she’s in trouble for it. “It just happened.”

“There’s no seal on it,” I say. "I suppose that’s it.”

“Let me try,” Felicity says. She closes her eyes, and in an instant she’s floating high above us.

“Felicity! Come down!” I whisper urgently.

“Not on your life! Why don’t you come up?”

With a squeal, Ann rises to meet Felicity. They clasp hands midair and twirl far above the floor like ghosts.

“Wait for me!” I say, rising to meet them. My arms outstretched, my legs dangling high above the tops of chairs and the fireplace mantel, I am filled with a giddy joy, the pleasure of weightlessness.

“How splendid,” Ann says, giggling. She reaches down and repositions the angel ornament at the top of the tree so that it stands tall and straight.
" There.”

“What are you about?” I ask Felicity, who has her eyes closed. She rubs her right palm over her left. When she pulls her hands apart, there is a dazzling diamond ring. She slips it on her third finger and holds it out for us to see.

“This is the most marvelous Christmas present ever,” Felicity says, staring at her ring. “Think of the fun we shall have in London with the magic at our disposal.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” I say. “We’re to bind the magic. That is our purpose.”

Felicity purses her lips. “I shan’t do anything horrible with it.”

This is not an argument I wish to start now. "Let’s fly again,” I say, changing the subject.

At long last, even Felicity is tired. We sneak off to our rooms, speaking with joy the name of the girl we’ve mourned for two months: Pippa. Perhaps tonight, I will sleep peacefully. No terrible dreams to leave me exhausted by morning.

It is only after an hour has passed and I am safe in my own bed that I can give a name to the look on Pippa’s face as she stared at the thing she’d killed.

Hunger.