When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) (21 page)

“Purgatory certainly took long enough to propose the idea of witch burnings to Pope Gilford,” Sash says.

“Be grateful he proposed at all, Sasha,” Gisbelle says. “Plans like this take time, my darling tactician. Perhaps if you were better at planning, you could have come up with something. Or perhaps if you were thinking about Claire less.”

Sash opens his mouth to say something, but Asch silences him, leaving the boy with a bright flush in his face. “Gisbelle, remember that Sash got the information from Purgatory in the first place. How could we go about easily obtaining witches without effort? What have you done?”

Gisbelle shrinks, her face hidden in shadows. “I--”

Sash smirks. “Besides whoring yourself out to the rest of the alliance?”

Gisbelle turns on him. “You know what kind of magic I can do, Sasha. Don’t test me.” She turns to Asch and presses herself against him, trying to show everyone that her affections seem to lie with him. “How is that Amelia girl doing?”

My muscles tense, pinning me to the ground.

“I haven’t seen her. As far as I know, Purgatory has been keeping an exceptionally good eye on her,” Asch says. “I still don’t understand Purgatory’s fascination with her. I’d say kill her because she’d be an asset to us, but he wants her to live. Maybe she’ll set him free, or something.”

Gisbelle looks over her shoulder. She’s striking. Her eyes are a golden brown, her hair the color of the sun, and her face is soft and warm looking. She turns back around and seductively moves against Asch. “Now I know we didn’t leave the witch burning to come over here and make trifle talk.” Her voice is flirtatious, like she expects something more from Asch neither Sash nor I want to bear witness to.

Asch closes his eyes and stops her advances. “There is a rogue Shadowman among us. She means to help those who are not us. Her name is Colette, and she must be stopped. She has to be killed because she knows vital information no one else should know.”

Gisbelle crosses her arms. “And how have you found this out?”

“She has been taking nightly jaunts when she should have been carrying out her mission to find more witches for our ranks. And no one has been able to find her. Purgatory claims he saw her briefly, but she was gone before he could take action.”

“And so you assume she’s with the other side?” Sash asks.

Asch nods and says nothing more.

I fall back on my heels, and have to dig my teeth into my knuckles to keep from making a sound. I am not surprised Colette is a Shadowman. I am not surprised she wouldn’t help him. But I am horrified that she is in danger and that they could potentially kill her. Here I am spying in on their conversation when I really should find Colette and warn her, though I don’t even know where to start or who to go to.

Oliver doesn’t want me involved in any of this, but when my best friend is involved, I have to find a way to save her, even if that means getting myself killed. She sacrificed herself for me. That sacrifice will not be in vain.

Colette may be a Shadowman, and dear Deus only knows how much this could have changed her, but now that I, for once, have a chance to protect her, I cannot waste this opportunity to do so.

Chapter Twenty

I hasten down the main road, uncertain of where I’m going, even more uncertain of why the world remains still. Then I begin to think that maybe this is Colette’s doing, her power as a Shadowman. Maybe she was the one who sent me that vision on the train, and maybe that was her on the train. Her greatest strength in life was her intelligence, so perhaps she is in Malva, giving me the chance to help her.

Even though Malva is stationery, I still feel so vulnerable being out in the open, surrounded by Gothic houses and shops that crowd in around me, houses and shops that could be hiding Shadowmen just waiting to spring out and kill me. At any time they
could disobey Purgatory and drag me away, into darkness.

I wonder what Purgatory’s fascination is with me, and what Asch means by my being able to free him. They keep talking as if I know the man, though I have never seen him, not in visions, dreams, or anything supernatural of that sort.

As I near Parson Hill, I hear the sound of footsteps coming in an indiscernible direction. I scan the main road, look in between allies filled with shadows, but find nothing. Then I spy a Shadowman darting across the road, taking deliberate steps toward me.

I turn on my heel and run in the other direction, toward the ocean.

Hitching my dress, I muster all my leg strength and push my feet against the rough cobblestones, which have already worn down my fur-lined boots. I stay to the left side of the road and breathe through my nose to keep from attracting the attention of the other Shadowmen, who are still in the alley. The farther I get from Parson Hill, however, the louder the footsteps behind me grow.

I turn into an alley, round a house shuttered with splintered wood, and sprint down one of the narrower streets that contains smaller apartments crammed against one another, no alleys in between. Trash and spoiled food litter the gutters in the street, and a fetid odor lingers in the unchanging air. There are clotheslines above my head, garments stationary in the still breeze. There’s a cat on top of a trashcan, its smashed-in face frozen in a hiss.

I turn down another street, this one even narrower and more poverty laden. The houses are mere shacks, their frameworks worn from neglect. Broken windows festoon many of the shacks, with moth-eaten curtains having to shield the inhabitants from Malva’s cold weather. Through some of the windows, I can make out heaps of trash lying in the corners of salons and parlors. There is no room in the street for waste.

I dash down the street and come across an open door. I throw myself inside the crammed quarters that open up into a small space. There’s a small bed, a wood stove, and a tiny armoire. Someone lives here because there’s a recent gossip column on the bed. I wiggle underneath, pull the sheets to cover the space, and let the shadows take me.

I hold my breath.

The sounds of footsteps have disappeared, and the only sound present is the sound of nothingness. Not even my slow, steady breathing makes a
noise.

Then I see, through a slant of light that peeks into the room, a shadowy pair of legs that stops at the doorway. I pull myself more under the bed, purse my lips, suck in as much air as possible through my nose, and hold my breath in waiting.

The legs draw nearer to my bed, and fingers the color of calla lilies curl around the bed sheet. My eyes widen as the fingers pull up the sheet.

“Amelia?”

I expel my breath as though I’m getting rid of poison. “Colette?”

I pull myself out from under the bed and fall on to it, gripping the sheets as I do. Colette indeed stands before me. She looks so different. Her hair is black, as are her eyes, and her skin is white, just like the rest of the Shadowmen. I want to embrace her and dance around and cry because I feel like it has been forever since I’ve seen her. I have spent so long worrying about her, thinking I killed her, doing more worrying, that I should be overjoyed. I hold my arms out to embrace her, but pull back. Considering the dire circumstances, I cannot give in to sentimentality.

“What are--what are you doing here?” I ask. “Don’t you realize you’re in danger? The Shadowmen are after you.”

Colette looks around. “I don’t have much time.”

“Why?”

“I froze everything.” She keeps looking around, her shoulders hitched to her ears. She locks her eyes on me when she seems to register my confusion. “It’s my power as a Shadowman. I can show things that people need to know, through visions.” The tension ebbs from her body as her shoulders lower. “You’ve been talking to Oliver about all this, haven’t you? He claimed he’ll help you too, I’m certain.”

“He wasn’t claiming anything, Colette. He said he would.”

Colette shakes her head. “He doesn’t intend to help you, Amelia.”

I loosen my grip on the sheets, the tension moving to my back and bringing forth painful knots that feel like little rocks beneath my skin. “What do you mean he doesn’t intend to help?”

She shakes her head again. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about him. Well, I want to, but this is more important. I can’t hold my magic for much longer. There is only so long I can hold on before I exhaust my energy.”

“Why?”

“You have to listen to me. The Shadowmen are going to strike in mass numbers in a few days. Assume within the week. I overheard them detailing all their plans. There are more witches here than you can imagine.”

The world around me becomes gritty and dark, and all light washes out, almost ceasing to exist. “What?”

“You’re not the only one who has run from home with the idea that she can repent for being born a sin by becoming a nun, or being a pastor for one of the small chapels, or giving out alms, or being in Malva period.” She pauses, her breathing jagged. “People come to Malva all the time hoping to repent because it is the most religious city on Warbele. This is why the Shadowmen are starting with Warbele.”

All this time I have been bearing the guilt of being a witch alone. All this time I have been surrounded by others who are just as fearful as I am, who are tired of bearing the burden of secrecy, who have wanted to reach out and cling to something just like them for so long. Could Mother Aurelia be a witch? How many of the Professed in general could be witches?

“Do you know who all the witches are?”

Colette leans against the doorframe, her weight sagging against the splintered wood. She looks so exhausted. “Unfortunately no, but I have no doubt within the coming days that Asch and his team will invade Malva soon. I wouldn’t worry about who else could be a witch.” She takes in a deep breath and continues. “They can coerce Shadowmen into doing things they never would have done as humans. That is why I ran as soon as I turned. They found me and tried to break me, but they couldn’t because I gave them visions of terrible things.”

I feel like slumping to the floor. I can barely support myself in a sitting position. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Colette’s brow twitches, and she presses a hand to her temple. “Because you’re close to Oliver, Amelia. If anything, I think you can get to him and make him stop this. He loves you, that much I’m certain of. You have a power over him that you don’t even realize.”

Colette’s words serve to further muddle my thoughts. “I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say about Olly?”

She lets out a yelp.

I grab her wrists. “What’s wrong?”

She looks me full in the face. “We’ll need to speak of this later, Amelia.” She looks around. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?” I look around with her, but don’t see anything.

“My magic--” Colette lets out another yelp.

I feel it: a breeze tickles the back of my neck.

“You have to get back to them!” she says. “Get back to them because I can’t hold this any longer.”

“But what about Oliver?”

She closes her eyes, inhaling sharply. “I can’t explain much right now Amelia, and I am telling this for your own good, but Oliver means to kill you. Not now, but he will. He has to. I don’t think he wants to, but you need to be wary of him.” She opens her eyes wide. “Tomorrow night, meet me in the horse barn on the grounds of Cathedral Reims. Now go!”

I leave Colette, bolt down the road, through the alleys, and back onto the main road. The breeze picks up, and I see flames wavering in the distance. Above, the clouds slowly start to float across the sky.

Just as the crowd starts to move, I throw myself among them, and scrabble back into place, just as the Professed Order empty baskets of calla lilies into the flames. As their white perfection burns, something inside of me burns along with them.

Chapter Twenty-One

I decide to leave early for the barn with the assumption that there must be a way for me to control my fire. I will not let myself be some helpless girl when the Shadowmen strike. I will fight to protect Malva because Cathedral Reims is my home. And I will fight to protect those who have suffered because of sin.

I make my way along the backstreets so that I can enter Cathedral Reims through the graveyard without having to climb over speared finials or sneak through the front entrance. There is no gate around the back because the Professed Order assume people would find it too inconvenient to break into the cathedral that way. They would have to pick their way among headstones to even breach the grounds. The Professed Order is convinced the general populace of Warbele believes in nonsensical superstitions about ghosts and curses being associated with anything dead. So if they stepped on consecrated ground without paying respects to the dead, they would forever find themselves haunted by spirits still chained to the earth. Of course, with the existence of the Shadowmen Alliance, one has to re-think those things too. If dead witches walk the earth, what else does?

I come across the graveyard and don’t hesitate to make my way through. Most of the stones are covered in at least a foot of snow, making many of the inscriptions unreadable. As I walk my way toward the plum orchard, I begin to think about those witches murdered at the burning yesterday. Oliver told me witches take their bodies with them when they turn to Shadowmen, but what happens if they don’t have bodies? Colette wasn’t burned to ashes, so obviously they’re going to come back as Shadowmen because of what Asch said, but how? Will they form new bodies, or will they come back virtually unrecognizable because they were burned? Or does fire purify them? Colette had no burns.  I don’t know, but I didn’t watch the burning. I looked at Nathaniel the entire time, who kept his head buried against my ribcage.