Felicity holds out her hand. “I’m willing to risk it.”
I catch sight of a symbol I’ve never noticed before at the very bottom of a cave wall. It’s partially defaced, but some of it is still visible. A woman and a swan. At first glance, it seems as if she’s being attacked by the great white bird, but on closer inspection, it seems as if the woman and the swan are joined together as one. A great mythical creature. A woman prepared to fly, even if she has to lose her legs to do it.
I grab Felicity’s outstretched hand. Her fingers laced in mine are strong.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We light candles, place them in the center of our circle and crowd around their light, holding hands.
“What do we do now?” Felicity asks. The candlelight throws her shadow, tall and thin as a spire, on the wall.
“I’ve only been able to control it the one time, when I tried to get back tonight,” I say in warning. I don’t want to disappoint them. What if I’m unable to do it again and they think I’ve made up all of it?
Pippa is the first to be afraid. “Sounds a bit dodgy to me. Perhaps we shouldn’t attempt this.” No one answers her. “Don’t you agree, Ann?”
I’m ready for Ann to join Pippa but she doesn’t say a word.
“Oh, all right, then. But when it turns out to be some elaborate hoax, I shall say I told you so and not feel one bit of sympathy for you.”
“Pay her no attention,” Felicity says to me.
I can’t help paying her attention. I have the same fear.
“My mother said that I should concentrate on the image of a door . . . ,” I say, trying to gain control of my doubts.
“What kind of door?” Ann wants to know. “A red door, a wooden door, large, small . . . ?”
Pippa sighs. “Best tell her the kind, or she won’t be able to concentrate. You know she needs the rules before we start anything.”
“A door of light,” I say. This satisfies Ann. I take a deep breath. “Close your eyes.”
Should I say something to get under way? If so, what? In the past, I have slipped, fallen, been sucked down into this tunnel. But this time is different. How should I start? Instead of searching for the right words, I close my eyes and let the words find me.
“I choose this.”
Whispers grow in the corners of the cave. They swell into a hum. The next second, the world drops out from under me. Felicity is holding my hand tighter. Pippa gasps. They’re frightened. A tingling flows down my arms, connecting me to the others. I could stop now. Obey Kartik and reverse this. But the humming draws me in, and I have to know what’s on the other side of it, no matter what. The hum stops and bends into a shudder that flows through my body like a melody, and when I open my eyes there’s the glorious outline of a door of light, shimmering and beckoning as if it’s been there the whole time just waiting for me to find it.
Ann’s face is awed. “Criminy . . .”
“Do you see that . . . ?” Pippa asks in wonder.
Felicity tries to open it but her hand swipes clean through. The door is like a projection in a magic-lantern show. None of them can open it.
“Gemma, you try,” Felicity says.
In the incandescent light of the door, my hand seems like someone else’s—an angel’s limb exposed for a moment. The knob feels solid and warm under my fingers. Something’s bubbling up on the surface of the door. A shape. The outline glows stronger and now I can see the familiar markings of the crescent eye. My own necklace glows like the one on the door, as if they’re calling to each other. Suddenly, the knob turns easily in my hand.
“You did it,” Ann says.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” I’m smiling in spite of my fear.
The door opens, and we step through into a world drenched in such vivid colors, it hurts my eyes to look at it. When I adjust, I drink it up in small gulps. There are trees dripping leaves of green-gold and red-orange. The sky is a purplish blue on top of a horizon bathed in an orange glow, like a sunset that never fades. Tiny lavender blossoms float by on a warm breeze that smells faintly of my childhood—lilies and Father’s tobacco and curry in Sarita’s kitchen. A thick ribbon of river slices through, dividing our patch of dew-drenched grass from a bank on the other side.
Pippa touches a finger to a leaf. It curls in on itself, melts, re-forms as a butterfly and drifts heavenward. “Oh, it’s all so beautiful.”
“Extraordinary,” Ann says.
Blossoms rain down, melt into our hair like fat snowflakes. They make our hair shine. We sparkle.
Felicity twirls round and round, overcome by happiness. “It’s real! It’s all real!” She stops. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes,” I say, inhaling that comforting blend of childhood smells.
“Hot cross buns. We had them every Sunday. And sea air. I used to smell it on my father’s uniforms when he returned from a voyage. When he used to come home.” Her eyes glisten with tears.
Pippa’s puzzled. “No, you’re wrong. It’s lilac. Like the sprigs I kept in my room from our garden.”
The scent of rose water is strong in the air.
“What is it?” Pippa asks.
I catch a bit of song. One of my mother’s lullabies. It’s coming from a valley down below. I can just make out a silver arch and a path leading into a lush garden.
“Wait a minute, where are you going?” Pippa calls after me.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, picking up speed till I’m running toward Mother’s voice. I’m through the arch and inside tall hedges broken by trees that remind me of open umbrellas. She’s there in the center of it all in her blue dress, still and smiling. Waiting for me.
My voice breaks. “Mother?”
She holds out her arms, and I’m afraid I’ll end up chasing after a dream again. But it really is her arms around me this time. I can smell the rose water on her skin.
Everything goes blurry with my tears. “Oh, Mother, it’s you. It’s really you.”
“Yes, darling.”
“Why did you run from me for so long?”
“I’ve been here all the time. You’ve been the one running.”
I don’t understand what she means, but it doesn’t matter. There’s so much I want to say. So much I want to ask. “Mother, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” she says, smoothing my hair. “That’s all past. Come. Take a walk with me.”
She walks me down into a grotto, past a circle of tall crystals, delicate as glass. A deer scampers through. It stops to sniff at the berries cupped in my mother’s palm. The deer nibbles them, turns its sloe brown eyes to me. Unimpressed, it threads slowly through high, plush grass and lies under a tree with a wide, gnarled base. I have so many questions fighting for attention inside me that I don’t know what to ask first.
“What are the realms, exactly?” I ask. The grass feels so inviting that I lie on my side in it, cupping my head in my palm.
“A world between worlds. A place where all things are possible.” Mother takes a seat. She blows a dandelion. A blizzard of white fluff spreads out on the breeze. “It’s where the Order came to reflect, to hone their magic and themselves, to come through the fire and be made new. Everyone comes here from time to time—in dreams, when ideas are born.” She pauses. “In death.”
My heart sinks. “But you’re not . . .” Dead. I can’t bring myself to say it. “You’re here.”
“For now.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Mother turns away from me. She pets the deer’s nose with long, steady strokes. “I didn’t know anything at first. When you were five, a woman came to me. One of the Order. She told me everything. That you were special—the promised girl who could restore the magic of these realms and bring the Order back to power.” She stops.
“What is it?”
“She also told me that Circe would never stop looking for you, so that the power might be hers alone. I was afraid, Gemma. I wanted to protect you.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t bring me to London?”
“Yes.”
Magic. The Order. Me, the promised girl. My head can’t hold it all.
I swallow hard. “Mother, what happened that day, in the shop? What was that . . . thing?”