Rebel Angels

"She is dead. It is my inheritance."

"Does it have some meaning?" she asks.

"No," I lie."None that I am aware of."

Miss McCleethy stares at me till I have to look away."What was she like, your mother?"

I force a yawn."Forgive me, but I believe I am tired after all."

Miss McCleethy seems disappointed. "You should drink the milk while it's still warm. It will help you sleep. Rest is so very important."

"Yes, thank you," I say, holding the glass.

"Goon. Drink it."

There's no way around it. I force down a few mouthfuls of the chalky liquid. It tastes strangely sweet.

"Peppermint," Miss McCleethy announces, as if reading my mind. "It aids sleep. I'll take the glass back to Brigid. I don't think she much likes me, do you?"

"I am sure you are mistaken," I say, because it is the polite response.

"She looks at me as if I am the devil himself. Do you think I am the devil, Miss Doyle?"

"No," I croak."Of course not."

"I am glad we have decided to be friends. Sleep well, Miss Doyle. No more reading aloud tonight."

My body feels warm and heavy. Is it the warm milk? The peppermint? Or has Miss McCleethy poisoned me? Don't be ridiculous, Gemma. I open both windows, letting in the freezing air. Must stay awake. I move about the room in large paces. I bend at the waist and touch my toes. At last, I sit on the bed, singing Christmas carols to myself. It's to no avail. My song trails off, and I slide into twilight dreaming.

The crescent moon glows in my hand. My hand becomes a lotus blossom on a trail. Thick green vines push through cracks, their tiny buds blooming into magnificent roses. I see my face staring back at me, reflected in a wall of water. I push my hand through the wall until I'm falling through it entirely.

I fall deeper and am swallowed by the black cloak of dreamless sleep.

I do not know what time it is when I am startled awake by something. I listen for it, but there is nothing. The milk has left a thin coating on my tongue. It seems to grow in my mouth. Much as I wish I didn't, I have to go downstairs for a drink.

With a heavy sigh, I push back the blanket and light a candle, cupping the flame with my hand as I travel the darkened hall, which

seems a mile long. I'm the only soul who remains on this floor. The thought lends quickness to my steps.

When I'm near the stairs, the flame sputters and dies. No! I shall have to go back to light it. A sudden dizziness overtakes me. My knees buckle, and I manage to grip the top of the banister to steady myself. In the darkness, there's a faint, sharp scratching sound, like chalk pulled too hard across a slate.

I am no longer alone. There's someone here with me.

I barely manage a whisper."Hello? Brigid? Is that you?"

The scraping sound moves closer. In my hand, the candle flares to life, filling the hall with a tight sphere of light. There they are, shimmering about the edges. Not quite real, yet more solid than the vision I saw in the snow. Three girls, all in white. The pointed toes of their boots scrape against the wooden floor with the most awful sound as they float closer and closer. They move their mouths to speak. I cannot hear them. Their eyes are sad, and there are great dark circles beneath them. Don't scream, Gemma. It's only a vision. It can't hurt you. Can it?

They are so close I have to turn my head and close my eyes. I am near to vomiting with fright and the smell. What is it? The sea and something else. Decay.

There is that sound again, like the scratching of thousands of insect wings. They're speaking so softly it takes me a moment to make out the message, but when I do, it chills me to the bone.

"Help us."

I don't want to open my eyes, but I do. They are so close, these flickering bright things. One reaches out a hand. Please. Please don't touch me. I'm going to scream. I'm going to scream. I'm going to . . .

Her hand's like ice on my shoulder, but there is no time to scream because my body goes rigid as I'm pulled under. Images flood my mind. Three girls hop along craggy cliffs. The sea splashes up and over, leaving thin strands of foam across their feet. The clouds are darkening. A storm. A storm is coming. Wait, there's a fourth girl. She lags behind. Someone calls to them. A woman comes. She wears a green cloak.

The girls' syrupy voices slip into my ear."Look . . ."

The woman takes the hand of the fourth girl. And then comes the terror from the sea. The sky darkening. The girls screaming.

We're back in the incandescent hall. The girls fade, pulling back into the darkness. "She lies . . . ," the girls whisper. "Don't trust her. . . ."And then they are gone. The pain disappears. I'm on my knees on the cold, hard floor, alone. The candle hisses suddenly, spitting out a wayward spark.