Her voice reverberates in the temple. My love, love, love . . .
My throat tightens. “I don’t understand it. I can’t control any of it.”
“You will, in time. But you must use your power, work with it, else it will wither on the vine, die, and then there’s no getting it back. You have a great destiny, Gemma, if you choose it.”
The organ-grinder’s monkey appears. He sits on the Buddha’s rounded shoulder, turning his head this way and that, watching me.
“There are people who don’t want me to use what I have. I’ve been warned.”
Mother’s voice is calm, knowing. “The Rakshana. They’re afraid of you. They are afraid of what could happen if you fail, and more afraid of the power you’ll have should you succeed.”
“Succeed in what?”
“Bringing back the magic of the realms. You are the link to the Order. Their magic lives in you, my love. You are the sign they’ve been waiting for all these years. But there is also danger. She wants your power too, and she won’t stop looking till she finds you.”
“Who?”
“Circe.” Circe. Circe. Circe.
“Who is she? Where can I find her?”
“All in good time, Gemma. She is too powerful for you to face yet.”
“But . . .” Tears stop me. “She murdered you.”
“Do not lose yourself to revenge, Gemma. Circe has chosen her path. You must choose yours.”
“How do you know all of this?”
The edges of the lilies start to turn. They brown and curl under, leaves dropping to the stone floor.
“Our time is up. It’s no longer safe for you to stay. Go back now.”
“No, not yet!”
“You must concentrate on the place you’ve left behind. The door of light will appear. Then step through.”
“But when can I talk to you again?”
“You can find me in the garden. It is safe there.”
“But how—”
“Choose it and the door will take you there. I must move on.”
“Wait—don’t go!”
But her voice fades into an icy sheet of whispers that melts into ether.
Move on. Move on. Move on.
The light goes so bright, it blinds me. I have to cover my eyes with my arm. When I open them again, the temple is a barren ruin, the dirt floor littered with shriveled flowers. She is gone.
The mist is thick in the trees as I make my way back to where I left Sally Carny. I can barely see, but it’s not the fog. It’s the tears. More than anything, I want to stay behind in that lily-scented room with my mother. A dark figure looms on the path ahead, and for a moment, I forget everything except the terror in my veins, my mother’s warning that I am being hunted.
A tall, broad-shouldered man steps out. He wears the military uniform of Her Majesty’s guards—not an officer, but a foot soldier. He approaches me shyly, holding his hat in his hands. There’s a sweet boyishness to his face that’s familiar. Except for the unearthly pallor, he could be the neighbor across the way or the loved one from a family photograph.
“Begging your pardon, but are you the one that’s with my Polly tonight?”
“Polly?” I repeat. I am speaking to a ghost, so I can be forgiven any breach of manners. I am sure I’ve seen him before.
“Surely I saw you there with her—Miss Polly LeFarge?”
A man in a uniform. A faraway smile. A fading tintype on a tidy desk. Reginald, Mademoiselle LeFarge’s beloved fiancé, is dead and buried, nothing but a memory she can’t let go of.
“Do you mean Mademoiselle LeFarge? My teacher?” I ask quietly.
“Yes, miss. My Polly often talked of teaching, but I promised her I’d make a right good bit of money in the army and then I’d come home and take care of her proper, with a church wedding and a little cottage in Dover. She loves the sea, Polly does.”
“But you didn’t come home,” I say. It’s more of a question than a statement, as if I still hope that he might walk into her classroom someday.
“Influenza,” Reginald says. He looks down at his hat, twirls it round in his hands like a wheel of fortune at a country carnival. “Would you give Polly a message for me, miss? Could you tell her that Reggie will always love her, and I’ve still got that muffler she knit for me that Christmas before I left? It held up fine, it did.” He smiles at me, and though I can see the blue of his lips, it’s still a good smile, a true one. “Would you do that for me, miss?”
“Yes, I will,” I whisper.
“Much obliged to you for helping me cross over. And now, I think you should be getting back. They’ll be looking for you here if you stay.” He places his hat on his head and strolls back into the mist from whence he came, till he disappears entirely.
When I return to Madame Romanoff, otherwise known as Sally Carny, she’s singing old church hymns in a shaky voice. The dead have all gone, but she’s still holding on to that tree branch for dear life. She sees me and nearly jumps into my arms. “Please take me back!”
“Why should I take you back after the cavalier way you treat people who are grieving for their loved ones?”
“I never meant no harm, miss. I swear it! You can’t blame a girl fer makin’ a livin’, miss.”
I can’t, really. If she weren’t doing this, Sally Carny would be on the streets, having to pay her way through far more odious, soul-crushing means. “All right. I shall take you back. But only under two conditions.”
“Anything. You name it.”
“First, you shall never, ever, under any circumstances—and that includes public drunkenness—tell a single soul what has happened here tonight. Because if you do . . .” I trail off, not really sure what threats I can make, but it doesn’t matter. Sally’s got her hand across her heart.
“As God is my witness. Not a word!”
“I shall hold you to that. As for the second condition . . .” I’m thinking now of Mademoiselle’s kind face. “You will convey a message from the spirit world to someone in the audience tonight, a woman named Polly. You are to say that Reggie loves his Polly very much, that he still has the muffler she knit him at Christmas.” I add this next bit on my own. “And that he wishes her to move on and be happy. Do you have it?”
The hand goes to the heart again. “Every word.” Sally puts an arm about my shoulders. “But Miss . . . wot would you think a joinin’ up wif me and me boys? Wot wif your gifts and me promotion, we could make a fortune. Fink on it. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Fine, stay, then.”
“Forget I said anything!” Sally shrieks, and I feel reasonably sure I’ve scared her into keeping her mouth shut. Now, to get back. Mother said to think of the place left behind. But I’ve never tried it before, and I’m not sure I can do it. For all I know, Sally and I could be trapped here in the misty woods forever.
“You do know ’ow to get us back, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” I say, irritated. Dear God, please let this work. With Sally’s hand in mine, I concentrate hard on the lecture hall. Nothing happens. I open one eye and we’re still in the woods, Sally in a state of complete panic beside me.
“Holy Mother of God! You can’t do it, can you? Sweet Jesus, save me!”
“Will you be quiet?”
She settles into singing old hymns again. Beads of perspiration break out along my upper lip. I close my eyes, and think only of the lecture hall. My breathing grows louder and slower. There’s a pulling sensation. The edges of the forest fold into mist; the mist folds back into a great hole of light, and then we are once again on the lecture hall stage. It has worked! The ticking of the pocket watch is a comfort to my ears, as is the time: 9:49. Our whole excursion into the spirit world has taken only a minute, though Sally Carny’s face seems to have aged ten years in that brief time. I’ve been changed too.
“Madame Romanoff” is back, speaking in a shaky voice.
“I am receiving a communication now from another part of the spirit world for someone named Polly. Reggie wishes her to know he loves her with all his heart. . . .” She trails off.