The Sweet Far Thing (74 page)

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Gemma Doyle!” Father barks. “You will apologize.”

“I will not. He’s a monster, Father!”

Tom’s face reddens. He looks as if he could kill me. But Lord Denby only laughs. “This is what comes of empowering women, old chap. They become dangerous.”

I spirit Father away to the parlor and close the door. Father settles himself into a chair. From his pocket he removes the pipe I gave him for Christmas and a small pouch of tobacco. “I am very disappointed in you, Gemma.”

Disappointed.
That word, like a knife to the heart. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry, but it truly is urgent. It’s something you must know about me. About Mother.” My pulse quickens. The words catch in my throat and burn there. I could swallow them like a bitter pill as I have done so many times before. It would be easier. But I cannot. They come back up, and I choke on them as they do.

“What if I told you that Mother was not who she appeared to be? What if I told you that her true name was Mary Dowd, and that she was a member of a secret society of sorceresses?”

“I would say it was not a very good joke,” he says darkly, packing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

I shake my head. “It is not a joke. It’s true. Mother attended Spence years before me. She caused the fire that burned Spence’s East Wing. She was a member of a society of magical women called the Order. They trained at Spence. She could enter a world beyond this one called the realms. It is a beautiful place, Father. But also frightening at times. She was part of the magic there. And I have the same magic running through my veins. And that is why they want to kill me—to take my magic.”

Father’s smile fades. “Gemma, this tale is not amusing.”

I can’t stop. It is as if every truth I have ever held secret inside me must come out. “She wasn’t killed by accident. She knew that man in India, Amar. He was her protector. They died trying to protect me from a murderous sorceress named Circe.”

Father’s gaze is hard, and it frightens me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not now. “I saw her there, in the realms, after she died. I talked to her! She was worried about you. She said—”

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“That is quite enough!” Father’s words are quiet but coiled, a whip at the ready.

“But it’s true,” I say, choking back tears. “She did not visit charity wards in hospitals or tend to the sick!

She never did, Papa, and you know it.”

“It is how I wish to remember her.”

“But doesn’t it matter that it isn’t really how she was? Didn’t you ever wonder why you knew nothing of her past? Why she was so mysterious? Did you not ask?”

He rises and walks toward the door. “This conversation has come to an end. You will apologize to Lord Denby for your rudeness, Gemma.”

Like a child, I run to keep up with him. “Lord Denby is a part of this. He’s of the Rakshana and he means to recruit Tom in order to take my magic from me. He—”

“Gemma,” he warns.

“But, Papa,” I say, my voice strangled by the sob I dare not let out. “Isn’t it better to speak the truth, to know—”

“I do not want to know!” he bellows, and I am silenced.

He doesn’t want to know. About Mother or Tom or me. Or himself.

“Gemma, pet, let’s forget this nonsense and return to the party, shall we?” He coughs hard into his handkerchief. He can’t seem to draw a clear breath. But the spasm subsides; the red in his face fades like a sunset.

I cannot answer. It is as if a cold, hard weight has been placed upon my chest. Everyone thinks my father such a charming man. If only I wanted charm and nothing deeper, I should be a happy girl. I want to hate him for his easy charm. I want to but I can’t, because he is all I have. And if I have to, I will
make
him see.

“Father.”

Before he can object, I take hold of his arm and we are joined. His eyes widen. He tries to pull from my grasp. He can’t stay with me—not even for this one moment. And this small knowledge hits the deepest wound within me hard.

“You will see, Father. You’ll know the truth even if I have to force you to see it.”

The more he fights it, the more magic I have to employ. I show him everything, feeling him tremble in my grasp, hearing the small cries of denial. Soon I am aware of him as well. His secrets. His vanities. His fears. His life flits past my mind, a thick ribbon unspooling. And I am the one who should like to look away. But I can’t. There’s too much magic at work. I am no longer in control. We’re recklessly joined. I am aware of the small scrap of paper in his pocket, an address in East London where he will find the opium he craves. It has begun again. I feel his struggle turning to resolve. He will do it, and the cycle will begin again.

Despair, shiny and jagged, rakes across me. I swallow hard and will myself not to feel. Not to care. But
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I can’t. I know that the magic can’t heal, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. I will take this longing from him, and then I will cure Tom of his attraction to the Rakshana, and we will be as happy as we were before.

Father gives another small cry, and suddenly, I feel nothing from him. My hand is cold where it touches his. I break the contact, and Father falls to the floor, unmoving. His eyes are open; his mouth is twisted.

His breathing is strangled.

“Father!” I shout, but he’s beyond me. What have I done?

I run for Mrs. Nightwing and Tom.

“It’s Father,” I blurt out. “He’s in the parlor.”

With me leading the way, we hurry back. Tom and my headmistress move Father to a chair. His breath is still raspy, and there is bloody spittle on his bottom lip. His eyes stare straight at me, accusing.

“What the devil happened?” Tom asks.

I can’t answer. I want to cry, but I’m too horrified. Lord Denby appears. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Stay away from my father!” I shout. The magic roars to life again, and it takes all my strength to silence it.

“Gemma!” Tom reprimands me.

“She’s overcome by grief. Perhaps we should help the young lady to her room,” Lord Denby suggests, reaching for my arm.

“No! Don’t touch me!”

“Miss Doyle…,” Mrs. Nightwing starts, but I don’t stay to hear the end of it. I run fast for the secret door, and as I stagger through the passageway, I could swear I see the Borderlands fairy there, but I can’t stop. Magic leaks from my pores. My legs shake, but I make it all the way up the mountain and to the well of eternity and Circe.

“Asha, have the forest folk come?”

“I have not seen them,” she answers. “Are you well, Lady Hope?”

No. I am not well. I am diseased with hate.
“Stand by. I may have need of you.”

“As you wish, Lady Hope.”

Face your fears. That’s what the well is for.
I’m ready. And after tonight, I’ll have nothing more to fear.

The room is warm. Close. And the floor is wet. Water trickles from tiny cracks in the well.

“Circe,” I call.

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“Hello, Gemma,” she answers, and my name echoes in the cave.

“I know you’ve made a pact with the Winterlands creatures. You were in league with them all along. But now I have the dagger, and I’ll set things right.”

It’s quiet save for the trickling of the water.

“Do you deny you wanted my power?”

“I’ve never denied that,” she says, and there is nothing of the careful whisper to her voice now. “You say you have the dagger?”

“I do, and I’ll return it to Eugenia, and all your plotting will be for nothing,” I say. “Wilhelmina Wyatt tried to warn me. The two of you were close—Brigid told me. And Wilhelmina told Dr. Van Ripple that her sister had betrayed her—‘A monster.’ I can think of no one that description fits more. She trusted you,” I say, fighting the magic inside me. “As my mother did. As I did for a time. But not anymore.”

“And what will you do now?”

“What I should have done already,” I say. “The forest folk are coming to make the alliance along with the Hajin. We will lay hands together at the well. I’ll return the magic and bind it. And you will die.”

A rippling sound, clear and strong, comes from the well. Movement. One of the stones pushes out of the well, and water splashes out in a stream. It is followed by another and another, and then, like some leviathan of the deep, Circe rises from the well, pink and alive.

“How—”

“I am part of this world now, Gemma. Like your friend Pippa.”

“But you were trapped….” I trail off.

“I had you give the magic to the well first, so that I could draw from it. I used it to loosen the stones. But really, the die was cast the first time you gifted me—when you gave it to me of your own will. That was all I required to be free.”

I tuck the dagger into the sheath at my waist, safely out of sight. “Then why didn’t you do this earlier?”

“I needed more magic,” she says, stepping over the broken wall. “And I am patient. It is a reward for having lived through a great deal of disappointment.”

I take a step back.

“I’d had higher hopes for you, Gemma. You’re in over your head. I shall see this Tree of All Souls for myself.”

“I won’t let you,” I say, the magic building inside. “I’ve lost enough tonight.”

With everything I have in me, I call up the magic, and then Circe flies back, landing in a heap on the floor.

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She crawls to her feet, panting. “Nicely done.”

I wave my arm over the stones of the well and send them shooting toward her. She stops them inches from her face and they drop to the floor in shards.

“Your power is impressive, Gemma. How much I would have enjoyed a true friendship with you,” she says as we circle one another.

“You’re not capable of true friendship,” I snap. I reach for a shard, and it becomes a snake under Circe’s touch. I drop it fast.

“Don’t just react, Gemma. Think. The Order was right about that, at least.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I turn Circe’s snake into a whip that gashes her across the back.

She cries out in pain, and her eyes go steely. “I see you’ve searched those dark corners after all.”

“You should know. You put them there.”

“No, I only helped you to see them,” she says, but then I’m forcing her to her knees under the magic’s heel.

“Gemma.” I hear Kartik’s voice, and when I turn, he’s there on the floor. His face is bloodied.

Abandoning Circe, I run to him. “Did she do this? How did—”

He starts to laugh. “Careful.”

Before my eyes he vanishes, an illusion. I turn and Circe unleashes her power, pinning me to the wall.

“I’ve searched your dark corners, too, Gemma.”

I try to fight back, but when the magic comes, it is out of my control. It bends back on me, and I cannot see clearly. My father stands beside Circe, his eyes staring straight ahead, the laudanum bottle clutched in his hand. I see Felicity and Pippa and Ann dancing in a circle without me. Tom under Lord Denby’s sway. I close my eyes to clear the visions, but the night has been too much. My body shakes. I can’t even call out for Asha. I can do nothing but hang in Circe’s grip.

“This is not a battle you can win, Gemma. It belongs to me. I’m going to the Winterlands to finish what I started. But I will remember you to Eugenia Spence.”

“I’ll kill you,” I whisper. Once more I try to call the magic, and once more my head swims with visions.

Circe draws the dagger from its sheath, and for a moment, I know she will kill me with it. “Thank you for this,” she whispers.

Circe lets me go and I fall to the floor, shaking. She crouches beside me, and her eyes are warm, her smile sad. “There are times when I wish I could go back and change the course of my life. Make different choices. If I had, perhaps you and I would have met as wholly different people in another life.” She strokes my hair softly and I am unable to shy away from her touch. I cannot say whether it’s the magic or my need at work. “But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on. Do you remember that I told you that at Spence? It seems forever ago, doesn’t it?”

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In the corners of the cave, I still see my father and the others. They look on with disapproval. They break into bits that become a nest of snakes.

“I should be careful with the magic, if I were you, Gemma. For you and I have shared it. It has changed—the realms have changed—and there is no telling what you might conjure now.” Circe kisses me sweetly on the cheek. “Goodbye, dear Gemma. Don’t be foolish and come after me. It won’t end well.”

She waves her hand over me, and I’m plunged into cold darkness. I vaguely feel myself staggering past Asha and into the poppy fields, my body on fire and my mind not my own. Everything I see is like a pantomime shadow made upon a wall. Amar on his white horse, a line of wraiths behind him with their capes of screaming souls. I lurch away from that image only to fall into Simon’s arms. “Dance with me, Gemma,” he insists, and I’m twirled till I’m dizzy and desperate to be let go. I struggle free, and there is Pippa holding the dead rabbit in her hands, blood smeared on her mouth.

At the stones near the secret door, I watch in horror as every last one of those honored women disappears, and the empty monuments are overgrown with weeds. I return to the party, swaying into the masked revelers. I don’t feel right. There’s too much magic.

“I hear your thoughts,” I whisper to the guests, and their masks cannot hide their confusion, their disdain.

A crow flies through the open window, and as quick as a blink, it transforms into the tall mummer who entertained us on the lawn. I blink and see the kohled eyes and the flower-inked flesh of a Poppy Warrior. He grins at me, vanishing into the crowd.