Whisper of Souls: A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella (7 page)

Tears trickled down her face, falling onto the paper as she folded it and placed it inside an envelope marked with Alice’s name. She would have to write to Lia as well, but her chest constricted painfully at the thought, her throat tight with the tears she tried to choke back.

She rose, crossing the room to the wardrobe and resolving to write the last letter later in the evening. There were other things that needed attending, important things.

She removed her day gown before choosing a new one, in beautiful lilac. She put it on, the gown falling to the floor in soft folds. She relished the brush of silk against her skin as she made her way to the looking glass over the bureau.

Gazing at her reflection, she was surprised that one could look the same, day after day, no matter the circumstance. She looked exactly as she had this morning, when she had believed there were still answers to be found, courses of action left to take.

She knew now that there were not, but her melancholy was tempered with something she did not want to admit was relief. At least she had found a resolution to the pain from which there seemed no escape, pain she visited upon those she loved most through her inability to renounce the Souls. Tonight would be difficult, but thereafter, she would have peace. That was something.

She traded the amber cuff for an elaborate silver bracelet encrusted with emeralds, making sure it covered the mark on her wrist before taking one last look at herself in the glass. She was glad she had chosen the lilac gown. The girls had always loved her in it, and it was important that they remember her well.

The night was only unusual in its normalcy. Thomas’s eyes had taken on a loving shine when she entered the dining room.

“You’re a vision,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.

For the first time in many months, she felt something warm and sensuous hum under her skin at the feel of his mouth against her hand. She smiled into his eyes.

They took supper—a fine roast goose with cherry sauce—in the dining room. Adelaide insisted that the children join them rather than taking dinner early, as they often did. Thomas was lively, recounting an incident in the stables with a filly and the determined if misguided stable hand trying to break her. They laughed as he painted a picture of the young man, cursing a blue streak with one boot stuck in the stirrups and the other leg flailing wildly about as he tried to sit astride the spirited horse.

The children laughed, too. Even Alice, usually somber and calculating. Only Ginny was quiet, her eyes full of sorrow that she tried to hide behind a forced smile.

Still, it was a lovely dinner, and Adelaide ate slowly, wanting the meal to go on and on.

When at last her glass was empty of wine, she bid the children good night, promising to look in on them later. Thomas had work to do in the library, but Adelaide could see that he was torn, wanting to take advantage of her good humor. She reached up, touching the soft hair at the back of his neck, looking into his eyes.

“I’ll look in on you later as well, my love,” she promised.

He grinned then, a boyish smile that gave her a flash of memory. Thomas showing up at the door of Birchwood Manor after their meeting on Altus, saying that he could not live without her, that same grin melting her heart as it had from the first moment she saw him.

Everyone was gone when Adelaide pulled her sister into an embrace, holding her for a long moment at the bottom of the stairs. Ginny’s body, the feel and scent of her, was as familiar to Adelaide as her own. Despite their occasional arguments, their competition for the affections of their parents, their roles in the prophecy, which should have made them enemies, they had been one since the very beginning. Even now, it was Ginny who would see to her final wishes. Ginny who would care for Adelaide’s children as if they were her own.

“Good night, Ginny,” Adelaide said. “Sleep well.”

Ginny pulled away, looking into her eyes. “Addy, I—”

“Don’t,” Adelaide said gently, shaking her head. “There comes a time when each of us must do what we think best. That time has come for me, though it has not been an easy realization. Please don’t make it more difficult. If you love me, simply smile and say good night and retire to your chamber as if this were any other night.”

Ginny hesitated, her eyes filling with tears. She finally nodded. “Good night, Addy.”

Adelaide smiled. “Good night, Ginny. I will see you soon.”

She squeezed her sister’s hand and turned, ascending the stairs.

Adelaide had water brought to her chamber for a bath. She added the last of her lavender oil, undressing and lowering herself into the steaming copper tub in front of the firebox. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempted to empty her mind.

The water was hot. It worked to loosen the knots in her neck and shoulders. The scent of lavender rose to fill her nose, and she breathed a sigh of contentment and sunk deeper into the bath, letting her mind drift.

She was floating through darkness, her worldly cares no longer a burden, no longer a thought. The air around her was soft and warm. It glided sensuously across her skin, enveloped her in a cocoon of pleasure and release. She allowed herself to let go, to release every vestige of worry. Something called her forward, a warm presence prompting her to stay. She continued drifting, the world of Thomas and the children and the prophecy growing further and further away.

Here, it seemed, everything would be all right.

Then, all at once, it was difficult to breathe. The air that had been close and comforting was now heavy and liquid, difficult to inhale. She gasped as she tried to get enough oxygen. Thrashing, her limbs hit against something hard and unforgiving, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the ceiling through a warped layer of water three inches above her head.

She grabbed on to the sides of the tub, pulling herself out of the bath, sputtering and coughing, instinctually trying to eliminate the water from her body. She began to shiver. Standing took great effort, and she grabbed the blanket from atop the chair, almost falling to the floor as she tried to step out of the copper bathtub. When at last she was free of the water, she lay on the floor, wrapped in the blanket, shaking from fear and shock. Her hair was splayed around her in wet ropes, water pooling under and around her naked body.

She had been traveling. Had been called to the Plane by Samael under the guise of escape.

Under the guise of relief.

He had used her own exhaustion, her own growing apathy, and she had nearly succumbed.

Rising from the floor, still clutching the blanket, she forced herself to a standing position, bracing herself against the chair while she got her footing. Then, remembering her promise to her husband, she crossed the room to the wardrobe.

She pulled out her most beautiful nightdress and dressing gown, purchased for her by Thomas on his last trip to Ireland. It had never been worn.

Adelaide dried off and pulled the dressing gown over her head, allowing the ivory silk to drape across her body. The gown was fine indeed, trimmed in green satin and delicate Irish lace.

She touched a hand to it, regretful that she had not worn it sooner. That she had not cherished every possible moment with Thomas when she was still coherent enough to savor it.

She shook her head, banishing the thought.

She made her way to the looking glass and brushed her hair. Then she reached into the top drawer of the bureau and pulled out the medallion. She fastened it around her wrist in a vain attempt to take it with her, to keep it from her daughter, though deep down, she knew there was no point.

The medallion would find its Gate, as it always had. As it always would.

Still, she would try.

There was one more thing that must be done before she went to Thomas, and she sat down at the writing table and picked up the quill.

She was already in Thomas’s bed when he entered his chamber. Despite her earlier promise, his eyes lit with surprise when he saw her. That her presence in his chamber should be so unexpected made Adelaide’s heart hurt for all he had sacrificed on her behalf.

She smiled as he shut the door behind him.

“You’ve come,” he said, crossing the room.

“Of course. I said I would.”

He nodded, and she watched him undress, his body still fine and strong, lit by the flames flickering in the firebox. He laid his clothing carefully across the settee and made his way to the bed.

“Good evening, my beautiful wife,” he whispered, taking her in his arms.

She smiled against his chest, running her hands along his muscled back. “Good evening, my handsome husband.”

He pulled back, studying her face.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, embarrassed.

“You,” he whispered.

“Me? Whatever for?”

He ran his fingers through her hair, his hands traveling to her brow, down the rise of her cheek.

“Because you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was gruff.

She playfully pushed him. “Stop, now. You’re embarrassing me with this talk.”

He moved closer, his body pressed against hers beneath the coverlet, his face only inches away. Her pulse quickened, the heat traveling from his body to hers until she felt her face flush with it.

Then his lips were on hers.

At first, his kiss was gentle, but it was not long before his mouth became more urgent, his body tight with passion.

She gave herself over to him. His hands explored her body, hot fingers branding her skin, as if he was rediscovering every inch of her. She let the passion build between them, letting go of everything but the feel of him next to her, the perfect rightness of it, both a reunion and a goodbye.

Later, she lay with him while he slept. She stroked his hair, silky under her fingertips as if he were still a boy. She studied his face, memorizing the impossibly dark eyelashes, the curve of his jaw. She closed her eyes, believing just for a moment that his strong arms around her were enough.

Then she rose from the bed, careful not to wake him, and put on her nightdress. She did not allow herself to look back as she crossed the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

The girls were asleep when she entered their room. Lia’s arms rested neatly over the coverlet, while Alice’s were flung about, her hair a tangle of curls.

A sad smile touched Adelaide’s lips. How like them both. Lia, calm and reasoned, even in sleep. Alice, impetuous and passionate.

Adelaide moved across the room, sitting on the end of the bed. She studied her daughters. They were beautiful, and she wondered what life would bring them. Not simply the prophecy, but life itself. Would they find men as strong and loving as Thomas? Someone who would love them in spite of their place in the prophecy? Would they find their way to Altus, to the legacy that was theirs? Would they, too, watch their daughters in the dark of night, worrying about their futures? Or would one of them accomplish that which had eluded the Sisters for centuries and close the Gate once and for all?

There was no way to know, but Adelaide would watch from afar. She would watch and offer her assistance—to both her daughters—should it be required. She would send her love across space and time and hope they would feel it in their darkest hours.

Rising, she moved to the head of the bed. She wanted to touch her daughters, to feel their smooth, porcelain skin under her fingertips one last time, but she didn’t want to wake them. She fingered a lock of Lia’s hair before bending to kiss her forehead.

“Good night, my sweet,” she whispered.

She straightened and moved to the other side of the bed. Her heart hurt for Alice. Though she knew Lia would struggle in her role, it was Alice with whom she could most empathize, for while Lia seemed oblivious to the presence of the Souls, Adelaide could almost feel the bond they had forged with Alice. Perhaps they even whispered to her while she slept, as they had to Adelaide for as long as she could remember.

And yet now, as she slept next to her sister, Alice looked as innocent as any child. Bending toward her, Adelaide kissed Alice’s cheek and wished for that innocence to remain as long as possible. She was rising when she felt the small arms work their way around her neck, squeezing her in an embrace.

Adelaide pulled back, studying her daughter. “It’s very late. You must go back to sleep, my darling.”

Alice put her small hand to her mother’s cheek, her expression earnest. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

There was no sarcasm, no hidden meaning in the words. It was as if, for this one moment, Alice was a woman. As if she knew exactly what her mother had suffered and exactly what she would suffer still.

Adelaide swallowed the tears that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry, too. But I will always love you, Alice. And I will always be with you.”

Kissing her daughter one last time, Adelaide left the room as quickly as her feet would carry her. There was no time for second thoughts. She had searched and searched for another answer. There wasn’t one.

That it was painful was of no matter.

Adelaide stopped outside the girls’ chamber. Tiny flames flickered in the sconces that lined the hall, left alight for the maid who attended to Henry in the night.

Adelaide could not take her eyes off the closed door across the hall. A moment later, she stepped toward it and turned the knob.

The chamber was spare save for the crib in the center of the room. She walked slowly toward it, her heart thudding in her chest, her breathing shallow. She stopped at the rail and peered over the side.

Henry lay on his back, his tiny legs splayed out in front of him, his mouth partially open. He had again kicked off his blanket. Adelaide reached down to pull it over him. He stirred, his small head moving back and forth in the moment before he opened his eyes. They were blue, she noticed. A deep and beautiful blue, as clear as the lake reflecting the sky in summer. She’d been too exhausted to take note immediately after his birth, too full of sorrow when they’d brought him to her a week later.