The Sweet Far Thing

Page 223

No, not yet. I can still stop it. There’s time.
“Mr. Fowlson,” I say, “we must fly to Spence at once. How quickly can you drive us there?”
He smirks. “Quick as you like.”
“Let’s be about it, then,” I say.
We race to the carriage, which is still there, thank goodness, and Mr. Fowlson speeds us toward the east, and Spence.
“Amar tried to warn me,” I say to Kartik.
“Gemma, he’s lost. There’s no need—”
“No, he did. ‘Beware the birth of May.’ It was a birthday. Wilhelmina tried to show me the headstone. Eugenia Spence was born May sixth. That’s tomorrow.”
Kartik looks out the carriage window toward the rising dawn. “That’s today.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
IT IS DAY BY THE TIME SPENCE COMES INTO VIEW, RISING from the deep green land like a mirage. A storm is moving in from the east. The wind’s a demon, whipping leaves off trees. Far in the distance, a dark shadow sits upon the sky like a cat on its haunches ready to pounce. The first splats of rain have begun to fall. They leave ugly wet marks on my dress.
I do not stop even to remove my gloves. I tear through the school, searching for Felicity and Ann. I tell them everything and ask them to wait for me. Then I go in search of Mrs. Nightwing. I find her in the kitchen, instructing Brigid on household matters.
“Miss Doyle! We didn’t expect you. How is your father—”
“Mrs. Nightwing, please, I must speak with you in the parlor. It’s rather urgent. I require audience with Miss McCleethy as well.”
The exigency of my tone has Mrs. Nightwing’s full attention. She does not even chide me for my lack of manners. Moments later, she enters the parlor with Miss McCleethy in tow. Miss McCleethy blanches at the sight of Fowlson.
“Mr. Fowlson. What a surprise.”
“Sahirah. You should have a listen,” he says.
“I know about the secret plan to rebuild the East Wing and enter the realms again. The plan Eugenia Spence left for you,” I say.
Miss McCleethy sits as if commanded. Her expression is one of shock.
“She told you that if you built the turret, you would be able to connect to that door and enter the realms again. But I have already opened the door.”
Miss McCleethy’s eyes widen. Mrs. Nightwing looks from McCleethy to me to Kartik and Fowlson, as if waiting for someone to provide her with an explanation.
“It doesn’t matter that I went in first—the plan was a lie. Eugenia betrayed you. ‘She is a deceiver’—that’s what Wilhelmina said. She tried to warn you but you thought her a liar,” I say, pacing before the fireplace. “Eugenia was in league with the creatures all along. Restoring the East Wing opened the seal between worlds, and my magic gave it power. She didn’t mean to give you a way into the realms; she meant to give those creatures a way into our world.”
Mrs. Nightwing gasps. “That’s not possible.”
“Wilhelmina tried to tell me. I had visions of her. Both she and Amar told me to beware the birth of May, and I thought it was the first of May, but she wanted me to beware someone born in May. She meant Eugenia Spence. Eugenia betrayed her. She’s betrayed us all. I know I sound a lunatic, but I’m telling the truth.”
Mrs. Nightwing looks as if she’s been slapped. Fear flits across her face.
“Do you mean to suggest that Eugenia Spence, one of the greatest priestesses the Order has ever known, betrayed her own sisters?” There is murder in Miss McCleethy’s eyes. I’ve taken away her god, and she could kill me for it.
“How could she have done so?” Mrs. Nightwing asks.
I take a steadying breath. “There is a place in the Winterlands—the Tree of All Souls. Have you heard of it?”
“I have heard of it, yes. It is a legend, a myth,” Miss McCleethy fumes. “The creatures have no source of power of their own. That is why they have tried to take the Temple’s magic—”
“Listen to me, please!” I beg. “You’re wrong. They—”
“Eugenia herself told us it wasn’t real!” Miss McCleethy insists.
“Because she feared it!” I shout. “That’s why she burned Wilhelmina’s drawings. Why she denied its existence. But I assure you it is very real indeed! I have seen it.”
“You’ve been to the Winterlands,” Mrs. Nightwing whispers. She’s as pale as cheese.
Miss McCleethy’s expression is one of pure fury. “You stupid, stupid girl!”