The Sweet Far Thing

“Not to worry, my dear.” Lord Denby’s mouth moves beneath his fox mask. “My carriage has been brought round. Your brother and I shall see him safely to London, where Dr. Hamilton will see to him at once.”

“Straight to bed.” Mrs. Nightwing tuts. There’s real worry in her eyes, and I wish I could tell her everything.

Fowlson takes hold of one side of me while Brigid takes the other, leading me toward the stairs. Lord Denby puts his arm around my brother like the father Tom has always wanted.

Run, Tom, I think, but the words die inside my head.

I drag my feet, so Fowlson carries me. Down below, I see the Poppy Warrior leading his lady fair out toward the woods. Brigid undresses me, puts me under the covers like a child. I’m given a glass of something that warms my insides and makes me drowsy. I cannot make words.

I stumble to the open window. The air is warm and fragrant with spring, and I breathe it in deeply as if it alone has the power to help me. I see more of those dark birds.

Something white flashes in the trees, and I think I see Pippa on the lawn, moving toward Spence as she did in life. She’s as pale as a sliver of moon, as elusive as truth. No, she’s not there. Please help me, I pray, even though I don’t believe in a white-bearded God who delivers justice to the unrighteous and mercy to the deserving. I have seen the wicked go unpunished, the suffering given more suffering to bear. And if such a God does exist, I do not believe that I shall merit his attention. But for just this one moment, as I see my dead friend floating across Spence’s lawn like a fallen star, I wish I could believe in such comforts, for I am frightened.

My head burns. I burrow into my covers and close my eyes tightly, listening to my heart beating a warning in my blood. I fight back the only way I can. I tell myself it’s not real.

You’re not real, Pippa Cross. I do not see you; therefore, you are not here. Yes. Good. Very good. If that is illusion, it will do for tonight.

Eyes still closed, I singsong, “I don’t see you….” This makes me giggle, and the giggle terrifies me anew. Stop, Gemma, before you go mad.

Or am I already there?

Sleep’s curtain is raised, and a pageant of dreams parades upon the stage. Wilhelmina Wyatt running her hands over the slate. My father laughing and happy and my father on the floor, his eyes accusing me. Philon’s people readying their weapons. The Temple burning. Kartik’s kiss. Pippa’s blue-white eyes. An army thundering over the black sand and bone of the Winterlands. I climb the stairs and stand before the portrait of Eugenia Spence. The vines of the Winterlands circle more tightly around the throats and bodies of those lost souls readied for sacrifice. Their faces are gray. And I see Circe marching through them toward the Tree of All Souls.

I wake to a sound. Something is in the room with me. The nymph glows in the corner. She has caught a mouse, which she gently swings from hand to hand, catching it each time.

“Troubled?” Her laughter is like the splintering of bones. “Everything is set in motion. You cannot stop it. The day of sacrifice comes.”

“Hush!”

Her whisper wraps around me in a spiral. She dangles the mouse by its tail. Its tiny claws splay out in fear. It tries to climb up itself. “So long, we’ve waited so long, so long. Now she will be free, and so will we all. For that was the bargain made long ago. One soul in exchange for the other.”

I cover my ears. “Stop!”

“As you wish,” she says. She opens her mouth and bites down hard on the mouse’s neck.

I wake with a start, my forehead damp. My nightgown clings to me as if I’ve broken a fever. I let my eyes adjust to the deep dark, and when my room takes shape, I know I’m really awake this time. The rain is splattering against my window, and my body aches. I’m as weak as a new kitten. I don’t hear Ann’s snoring.

“Ann?” I call. She’s not in her bed, and I know in my heart that she has gone into the realms with Felicity.

I have to go after them. I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen, heading for the lawn and the door. A sharp rap at the window makes me jump. It is too dark to see who is there, and in truth, I am afraid to look. The rapping comes again. The window has fogged. I put my hands to the pane and peer into the night. Ithal puts his face to the pane, startling me. Ithal! I run to open the kitchen door. He stands on the threshold in the pouring rain.

“Ithal! Where have you been?” He looks grim. “What is the matter?”

“It is Kartik. They have taken him. You must save him.”

“Who has taken him?”