Rebel Angels (33 page)

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,” Felicity 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.”

“And what will you do if she comes for you?”

I stare at the mist swirling into little funnels. "I’ll make certain she never harms anyone ever again.”

Miss Moore takes my hand. "I’m frightened for you, Gemma.”

So am I.

It’s growing warmer. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and plasters moist strands of hair to my forehead.

“This heat,” Felicity says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

“It’s horrid.” Pippa lifts her hair, keeping it from touching her neck. But as there is no breeze to cool her, she lets go.

Miss Moore trains her eyes on the river, taking in every sight, every sound. Watching the water flow under and away from us, I wonder what has become of Mae and Bessie Timmons and the rest of the factory girls. Have they been swallowed up and enslaved by the dark spirits of the Winterlands? Did it happen quickly or did they have time to realize the full horror of what was happening to them?

I close my eyes against these thoughts and let the movement of the boat lull me.

“We’re nearing the shallows,” the gorgon says.

The river’s begun to change color. I can see to the bottom. It’s lined with phosphorescent stones and shoals that make our hands look green and blue. The barge comes to a stop.

“I cannot go farther,” the gorgon says.

“We’re on foot from here,” I say. “Gorgon, may we take the nets with us?”

The gorgon nods her giant head. The others scramble to release them. The gorgon calls me to her. “Be careful you are not caught in a net, Most High,” she says.

“I shall,” I say, feeling uneasy.

But the gorgon shakes her head. The snakes hiss and writhe. “Some nets are difficult to see until you are thoroughly ensnared.”

“Gemma!” Felicity calls in a loud whisper. I run to join the others. Felicity’s got her arrows; Pip and Miss Moore have the nets and a rope. We step from the barge into ankle-deep water and onto land obscured by a cloud bank. The ground below us is hard and unforgiving. We have to hold hands to steady ourselves. The mist clears a bit, and I can see the desolate landscape of black, rocky hills. Small, steaming ponds lie here and there, carved into the rock. The mist rises from them in green, sulfurous whorls.

On hands and knees, we climb to the top of a jagged rock. Stretched out below is a deep, wide lagoon. The phosphorescent stones at the bottom of the lagoon give it a blue-green glow that leaks into the mist coming off the surface.

“I see her!” Felicity says.

“Where?” Miss Moore asks, surveying the horizon.

Felicity points to a flat rock at the far edge of the lagoon. Stripped to her chemise, Ann has been tied to the rock as if she is the figurehead on the bow of a ship. She stares straight ahead as if in a trance.

They will take the song, pin her to the rock. Do not let the song die.

“Do not let the song die,” I say. “Ann is the song. That’s what Nell was trying to say.”

“Let’s go,” Felicity says, starting her descent.

“Wait,” I say, pulling her back.

The water nymphs emerge from the depths, their shiny heads like polished stones in the glow of the water. They sing sweetly to Ann. The pull of their voices begins to work on me.

“They are like the sirens of old. Don’t listen. Cover your ears,” Miss Moore orders. We do except for Pippa. She is not susceptible to their lures, and I am reminded once again that she is no longer the Pippa we knew, no matter how much we’d all like to pretend otherwise.

Below, the water nymphs move some sort of sea sponge through Ann’s tangled mop of hair, turning the strands a pearly green-gold. They stroke their webbed fingers across her arms and legs. She’s covered in the light sheen of the sparkling scales they’ve left behind. They stroke the sponge over Ann’s skin, making her shiver. Her skin turns the same shiny green-gold.

The nymphs have stopped singing.

“What are they doing?” I whisper.

Miss Moore’s expression is grim. “If the legends are accurate, they are preparing Miss Bradshaw.”

“Preparing her for what?” Felicity says.

Miss Moore pauses. “They’re getting ready to take her skin.”

We gasp in horror.

“That’s what makes the water so beautiful and warm,” Miss Moore explains. “Human skin.”

Far across the lagoon, the mist grows brighter, taking form. One girl emerges, then another and another, till all three of the ghostly forms are present. The three in white. For a moment, they look in our direction with a curious smile, yet they do not betray us.

“Get down,” I say, pulling at Miss Moore’s skirt. She lies flat against the rock. “Those are very dark spirits. You don’t wish to be seen by them.”

The girls call to the nymphs in a tongue I do not know. When I peek over the rock, I see the girls leading the nymphs around a jetty and out of sight.

“Now,” I say.

As quickly as we can, we scramble down the rocky cliff and out onto the near shore.

“Who shall go?” Pippa asks anxiously.

“I shall go,” Miss Moore says.

“No,” I say. “I shall. She is my responsibility.”

Miss Moore nods. “As you wish.”

She ties the rope around her middle. "If things should prove difficult, tug on the rope and we shall pull you to safety.”

I take the other end and swim toward Ann on the rock. The water is surprisingly comfortable, but I shudder to think why it is so beautiful. As I get farther out, I find I have to close my eyes to keep going. At last I reach Ann.