Rebel Angels

"We'll go tomorrow," I say, throwing Felicity a bone.

"I hate it when you're this way. Someday, I shall have my own power, and then I will enter the realms any time I please," Felicity huffs.

"Felicity, don't be mad," Ann pleads. "It's just one night. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll go into the realms again."

She walks away, dismissing us. "I miss Pip. She was always game."

After Felicity's rude departure, Ann and I make small talk and spend time playing with ribbons. Then, as if nothing's happened at all, Felicity bursts through the doors along with Franny, who carries the blue silk dress gently across her arms.

"Oh, let's have a look, shall we?" Felicity exclaims.

Ann steps into the pooled fabric, snakes her arms through. Franny loops the small pearl buttons at the back. It's lovely. Ann twirls in it as if she can't believe the girl in the mirror could be her own reflection.

"What do you think?" I say, holding Ann's hair off her neck for a grand effect.

She nods. "Yes. I like it. Thank you, Felicity."

"Don't thank me. It will be pleasure enough to watch my mother's face fall."

"What do you mean?" Ann asks. "I thought you said she wouldn't care."

"Did I?" Felicity says, feigning surprise.

I flash Felicity a warning look. She ignores me and pulls out a burgundy velvet gown from the pile on the bed. "Franny? You're such a brilliant seamstress, I'm sure it would be no trouble at all for you to make a tiny adjustment to this gown. Why, I'm certain you could do it within the hour."

Franny blushes. "Yes, miss?"

"It's just that the bodice on this dress is far too prim for a young lady going to such a grand party. Don't you agree?"

Franny examines the bodice. "I suppose I could lower it just a bit, miss."

"Oh, yes, please! Straightaway,'' Felicity says, pushing Franny out the door. She takes over my spot at the dressing table and breaks into a wicked grin. "This should be quite amusing."

"Why do you hate her so?" I say.

"I'm growing rather fond of Franny, actually."

"I meant your mother."

Felicity holds up a pair of garnet earbobs for inspection. "I don't care for her taste in gowns."

"If you don't wish to discuss it . . ."

"No, I don't," Felicity says.

Sometimes Felicity is as much a mystery to me as the location of the Temple. She is spiteful and childish one minute, lively and spirited in the next; a girl kind enough to bring Ann home for Christmas and small enough to think Kartik is her inferior.

"She seems quite nice to me," Ann says.

Felicity stares at the ceiling. "She has a lot invested in seeming nice--light and amusing. That's what's important to her. But don't make the mistake of going to her with anything that matters."

Something dark and hard flits across the surface of Felicity's face.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Nothing," she mutters. And the mystery that is Felicity Worthington deepens. For fun, I slip into one of Felicity's frocks, a deep green satin. Ann fastens the hooks and a shapely waist comes into view. It is startling to see myself this way--the half-moons of my pale br**sts peeking above the crush of silk and flowers. Is this the girl everyone else sees?

To Felicity and Ann, I'm a means into the realms.

To Grandmama, I am something to be molded into shape.

To Tom, I am a sister to be endured.

To Father, I am a good girl, always one step away from disappointing him.

To Simon, I'm a mystery.

To Kartik, I am a task he must master.

My reflection stares back at me, waiting for an introduction. Hello, girl in the mirror. You are Gemma Doyle. And I've no idea who you really are.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

EVERY LIGHT IS ABLAZE AT THE WORTHINGTONS' grand home on Park Lane. The house glows in the softly falling snow. Carriages arrive in a long black line. The footmen help the ladies step gracefully to the curb, where they take the arms of their gentlemen and promenade to the front door, heads held high, jewels and top hats on display.

Our new coachman, Mr. Jackson, watches as the foot-man helps Grandmama from the carriage. "Mind the puddle, mum," Jackson says, noting the dubious wet pond on the street.

"There's a good man, Jackson,''Tom says."It's very lucky that we have you, as Mr. Kartik seems to have vanished without a trace. I certainly won't speak to his character, should his future employer contact me."