Circle of Fire

  Helene’s voice is no longer distant. “It’s kind of you to try and make me comfortable. To offer your friendship. But I don’t want such a life. I don’t want to be a curiosity. To reside on the fringes. I want only to bring this to an end so that I can return to Spain and live a life of normalcy.”

  I remember when my aspirations were so simple. Before Dimitri. Before the role as Lady of Altus was bequeathed to me by Aunt Abigail and the laws of the island.

  Yet it doesn’t matter whether our dreams are simple or elaborate. Whether we wish to live quietly as wives or visibly as rulers of many. In the end, we all want the same thing: to live. To live on our own terms, without the prophecy as a millstone around our necks.

  10

  I have dressed carefully, though it shames me to admit, even to myself.

  Only Aunt Virginia and Edmund know what I mean to do. I cannot bear to tell Dimitri and see the worry carefully tucked away behind a mask of confidence.

  “Would you like me to accompany you?” Edmund asks as I step from the carriage in front of the Savoy Hotel.

  I shake my head. He wouldn’t give me a choice were he referring to anyone else, but even Edmund knows I have nothing to fear from James.

  I gaze up at the imposing facade of the hotel. “You can wait inside if you like.”

  I feel rather than see him shake his head. “I’ll be here with the carriage when you’re ready.”

  Pulling my eyes from the hotel, I turn to smile at him. “Thank you, Edmund. I won’t be long.”

  The streets are bustling with morning traffic, carriages and horses jostling for space among the men and women who crowd the streets of London. But it is all at the periphery of my mind. My stomach seems to fold in on itself the closer I get to the entrance of the grand hotel. The closer I get to James.

  I don’t have the number of his room, and it would be unseemly to meet him there anyway, however well we were acquainted in the past. Instead, I make my way through the richly appointed lobby to the front desk, stopping before a portly, dapper gentleman who favors me with a smile.

  “May I help you, Miss?”

  I swallow my nerves. “Yes, I’ve come to call on James Douglas, please.”

  The man raises his eyebrows. “And who may I tell him is calling?”

  “Amalia Milthorpe.” It is strange to say my given name aloud. I have not been referred to as Amalia since I left New York and the Wycliffe School for Young Ladies.

  He nods. “Very well.”

  I turn away to wait, surveying the lobby nervously for signs of Alice. She likely knows that I plan to speak with James, but it will be that much more difficult should she wish to insinuate herself in our conversation. Even still, I am not sure what feeds my nerves more, the prospect of seeing Alice or that of seeing James. How strange, I think, that they are both here in London. That they are so near and staying together in this very hotel in preparation for their wedding.

  “Lia?”

  I start at the sound of the voice behind me. I prepare myself to see him with my sister, but when I turn, it is James alone.

  I smile. “Good morning, James.”

  His face is different than I remember, and I realize with surprise that he has aged. It is not unpleasant, and an unbidden thrill runs through me at the knowledge that he is no longer a young man but a proper gentleman. His eyes, as blue as the sky under which we walked at Birchwood, ask every question I’m afraid to answer.

  “I’m happy you’ve come.” He says the words, but he does not smile.

  I nod, gazing around at the busy lobby. “Could we… ? Would you mind going for a stroll? It will be difficult to have a proper conversation here.”

  He does not hesitate. One moment we are standing in the lobby of the Savoy and the next he is placing my hand on his arm and making for the door. And then we are outside on the streets of London, as alone as we have been in the year since I left New York.

  We don’t speak as we make our way through the busy streets. The muscles of his arm are tight under my hand, and he leads with confidence, as if he knows exactly where he is taking me. I don’t feel the cold in the air, though I can see the breath leave my body in a cloud of vapor.

  Some time later we come to a park, hidden behind the branches of many trees and bushes. The sounds of the city fade as we pass through an iron fence into the sprawling refuge, and I feel some of the nervousness leave my body. I miss the peacefulness of Altus, of Birchwood Manor, though much of the time I am too busy, too worried, to notice the tension that creeps into my shoulders when I am in London for too long without respite.

  We make our way down a cobbled pathway, secluded from the rest of the park by far-reaching trees on either side. The sounds of the city dim to a hush. Without the crowds of people, the rattle of carriages, and the clatter of horses clopping through the streets, I am even more aware of James’s presence. I swallow hard against the memories that come flooding back with the feel of his body so near to mine.

  “You didn’t write.” His voice breaks the silence so suddenly that it takes me a moment to realize that he is, in fact, speaking to me.

  “No.” It is not enough, but there is nothing more I can say.

  We continue walking, rounding a bend in the pathway until I see a stretch of water up ahead.

  “Didn’t you… Didn’t you love me?” he finally asks.

  I stop, pulling his arm until he stops, too. Until I can look into his eyes. “That was not it, James. I promise you.”

  He shrugs. “Then what? How could you leave me with so little word? Why didn’t you write when all the while you’ve been perfectly well and living in London?”

  It’s not that way, I think. You’re making it sound all wrong.

  And yet, with the limited information he has, that is exactly how it must seem.

  I cannot look too long into his eyes, and so I pull his arm until we are walking once again. “I’ve been far from ‘perfectly fine,’ James, though I realize how it must seem to you.”

  We have reached the edge of a small pond that reflects the gray sky and laps rebelliously against the shore. It is colder by the water, but I note the chill with detachment even as my body begins to shiver.

  James turns to look at me, removing his overcoat and draping it around my shoulders, underneath my cloak. “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he says. “It’s far too cold.”

  The familiarity of his touch makes it seem as if no time has passed at all. As if we are standing, at this very moment, on the banks of the river behind Birchwood Manor, listening to Henry laughing with Edmund in the background.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for the coat.” I turn to the iron bench standing guard at the edge of the pond. “Shall we sit?”

  His thigh brushes mine as he lowers himself to the bench. I wonder if I should pull away, if I should distance myself from him out of regard for my relationship with Dimitri and James’s engagement to Alice. Yet, I find I cannot. I enjoy the solid feel of him next to me. Allowing myself so small a comfort can do no harm.

  Taking a deep breath, I begin as I must—at the beginning. “Do you remember the book? The one you found in Father’s library after his death?”

  His brow furrows in concentration. “I found many books in your father’s library while cataloguing them after his death, Lia.”

  It has not occurred to me that James might not remember. For him, the Book of Chaos was simply one of many interesting finds, even as it changed my life—and his—completely.

  “The one you found right after the funeral. The Book of Chaos? It was written in Latin?” I hope to jar his memory. It will be difficult enough for James to believe in the prophecy with the book as his guide. Without it, I imagine it will be next to impossible.

  He nods slowly. “I think I remember. It was only one page?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s right. You translated it for me, remember?”

  “Vaguely,” he says. “But, Lia, what does this have to do with
—”

  I raise a hand to stop him. “This is so difficult to explain, James. Could you just listen? Listen, and try to open your mind?”

  He nods.

  “The story in the book? The one about the sisters and the seven plagues?” I continue without waiting for an answer, struggling to find words that will not be too fantastical to believe. “It’s not just a story, as we first thought. It’s… It’s more of a legend. Except that it’s real.”

  He studies me, his face blank. “Go on.”

  I speak a little faster. “Thousands of years ago there was a legion of angels sent to watch over mankind, but they… they fell in love with mortal women and were banished from heaven.” I cannot read the expression on his face, and I continue before I lose my nerve. “Ever since, the descendants of those women, all twin sisters, have been part of a prophecy. A prophecy that claims them, one the Guardian, one the Gate, just as it said in the book.”

  “One the Guardian, one the Gate.” His voice is a murmur, and I wonder if he really remembers the words in the Book of Chaos or if he is just repeating mine.

  “Yes. My mother and Aunt Virginia are descendants of those women, James, as are Alice and I. My mother was designated as Gate, marked to usher Satan’s followers, the Lost Souls, to our world, where they wait for his return. As Guardian, it was Aunt Virginia’s task to keep my mother in check. To ensure she didn’t allow passage of the Souls, or at least to minimize the number that gained entrance through her. But Virginia couldn’t stop my mother from fulfilling her role.

  “It wasn’t what Mother wanted, but she couldn’t fight it, James. It ate away at her until she believed she had no choice except to sacrifice her life. But that just meant the prophecy passed to Alice and me.”

  “What has this to do with your leaving, Lia?” His voice is gentle but tinged with something I already fear is skepticism.

  “Alice is the Guardian, James, and I am the Gate.” I say it quickly. “Except I’m not just any Gate. I’m the Angel of the Gate, the one Gate with the power to allow passage to Samael himself. I’m… I’m trying to fight it. To find a way to bring it all to an end, but Alice rejects her role as Guardian and instead covets mine.

  “She has worked in concert with the Souls since she was a child, and even now works to bring about the end of the world as we know it.” I take his hand. “You cannot marry her, James. You cannot. You will be by her side when the world falls, and though you will be safe because of your allegiance to her, everyone you love, everything you value, will turn to dust.”

  I hold his gaze, staring deep into his eyes. I want him to believe that I speak the truth. I want him to feel it. To see it in my eyes.

  He returns my stare for a moment before standing and walking to the edge of the water. The silence stretches between us, long and fragile. I dare not speak.

  “You needn’t have done this.” His voice, cast out over the water, is so quiet I have to lean forward to make out the words.

  “What?” I ask. “I needn’t have done what?”

  “Concocted this… this… story.” He turns to look at me, and I want to weep at the anguish in his face. “I still love you, Lia. I’ve always loved you. Will always love you.” He crosses the space between us, dropping before me and taking my hands. “Are you saying that you still love me as well? Is that what this is about?”

  I study his face, his eyes, looking for something I might have missed. Some shred of belief in the prophecy. In me. But there is only the adoration, the love that would once have been enough.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  He blinks in confusion. “Lia, it doesn’t matter, don’t you see? You don’t need this story. I have only ever wanted you.”

  I cast about for something—anything—that will make him see. Make him believe.

  “I know it’s difficult to believe.” I reach down, rolling my sleeve as I speak, looking into his eyes with every ounce of truth inside me. I thrust my hand toward him. “But look at this, James. I bear the mark of the prophecy. Have you ever seen it on my hand before now?”

  He glances reluctantly at the mark on my wrist, as if he does not want to lay eyes on anything that will give credence to my story. His gaze remains there for only a second before returning to mine.

  “I’ve never noticed it before, Lia. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.”

  I let my hand fall into my lap and turn away from the fever in his eyes. It is not the fever of love but of denial.

  “This is why I didn’t tell you.” My voice is heavy with bitterness. “I knew then you wouldn’t believe me. I’ve carried the guilt of leaving you all these months, when I was right all along.”

  He shakes his head, looking wounded as he scrambles for words. “I will believe you, Lia. If that is what it takes to get you back, to prove my love, I’ll believe anything.”

  My throat hurts as I swallow the knowledge that Alice was right. James will not believe me. Despite his words, there is not a shred of doubt in his face. Not a glimmer of possibility. Only a desperate willingness to tell me what I want to hear.

  “It’s not that simple, James. Not anymore.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

  I pull my hands from his, pushing past him to stand by the water as a strange sensation builds inside me. It is nothing I expect. Not sadness for all we have lost or fear for James’s safety.

  It is anger at the regret that has consumed me since leaving New York. Since leaving James. Anger at the hours spent agonizing over my inability to tell him the truth all those months ago.

  I turn, removing his coat from my shoulders as I walk back to where he stands. “I’m sorry, James. This was a mistake.” I hold the coat out to him, my voice catching in my throat. “It was wonderful to see you again. I wish you well.”

  Turning away, I hurry up the path, his voice following me every step of the way.

  “Lia! Lia?”

  I try to ignore it, to hurry ahead without looking back. But he catches up to me in no time at all, stopping me with a hand on my arm.

  “I don’t understand. I love you. That was once all that mattered. If my believing you means the difference between our being together or not, I’ll believe.”

  His face is earnest, and I wonder that he can look so sincere while proposing that we base our renewed relationship on a falsehood. I think of Dimitri, of his utter willingness to accept all the darkest and most dangerous parts of me.

  “It would be a lie,” I say.

  His jaw tightens as he looks away, considering. A moment later he turns back to meet my gaze. “I don’t care.”

  His words free me, and all at once it is not so difficult to let go.

  “But that’s just the thing, James.” I touch my hand to his cold cheek. “I do.”

  I turn to leave. And this time, he does not give chase.

  The letter is waiting when I arrive back at Milthorpe Manor. Seeing the sender’s name, I tear open the envelope with eager hands, not even bothering to remove my cape. My heart beats wildly as I read the words written on thick parchment, and seconds later I am back out the door and calling to Edmund.

  I stare out the window as we make our way through the streets of London, daring to hope that we are finally moving toward the prophecy’s end. When the Society’s building finally comes into view, I step from the carriage before Edmund has time to come around and open the door.

  “I’ll be back in just a moment!” I call out as I hurry up the steps to ring the bell.

  The butler smiles when he sees me standing on the doorstep. “Good morning, Miss. He’s in the library.”

  “Thank you.” I return his smile, edging past him as I have more times than I care to remember.

  But this time is different. This time I come bearing answers.

  Dimitri looks up as I enter the library. “Lia! What is it? Is something wrong?”

  I am not surprised to find him at the reading table near the window, bo
oks spread out in every direction. I cross the room until I am standing right above him.

  “No. Nothing is wrong.” I wave the parchment. “In fact, I’d say that, finally, something is right.”

  He plucks the paper from my hand, his eyes scanning the words until he looks up to meet my gaze. “But this means…”

  I nod, smiling. “That we’re going to Ireland?”

  He meets my grin with one of his own. And suddenly, nothing is impossible.

  11

  Because I haven’t told anyone about my planned attire, I am prepared for their reaction. Even so, my cheeks become hot as I make my way down the steps toward the waiting horses.

  Aunt Virginia watches with open shock as I approach, recovering only after I come to a stop before her. “You are wearing breeches?”

  She does not mention the man’s hat under which my hair is hidden or the fact that I have done all I can to disguise the fact that I am a woman at all. Apparently, these infractions pale in comparison to the shock of my breeches.

  I look down at them and smile before raising my eyes to hers. “It must seem strange to see me dressed in such a way. But I’ve been wearing them riding for ages, and it is difficult to move quickly with a skirt about my legs.” I do not tell her that I must move quickly. That the adder stone grows cooler by the day and that all our lives depend on my ability to find the Stone and close the Gate as soon as possible. She knows it all too well.

  She hesitates before nodding slowly. “The fate of the world is entrusted to you, dear niece.” She leans forward, wrapping me in an embrace. “I think you’re capable of choosing your own attire in any situation, and most certainly in this one.”

  Taking a deep breath, I allow myself to sink into her embrace for just a moment. In the absence of my mother, Aunt Virginia has offered me endless wisdom and support. I will miss her presence now more than ever, but someone must stay and look after the other girls while Dimitri and I make our way to the ancient stone caverns at Loughcrew, Ireland. That Victor found an ancient mention of Loughcrew in connection with an unusual turn of phrase may be only coincidence, but in the absence of other possibilities, we would be foolish to ignore it.