MISTRESS OF SOULS
A PROPHECY OF THE SISTERS NOVELLA
MICHELLE ZINK
Little, Brown and Company
New York Boston
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Mistress of Souls
Alice Milthorpe sat on the floor of the Dark Room, trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at her stomach. She barely registered the pain in her knees, wrought from hours spent kneeling while willing her spirit to travel the Plane, but eating was an inconvenience she could not always ignore. It was one of the many challenges she had discovered in traveling while awake.
There had been a time when she had needed sleep to travel, when she had needed the haze of slumber to move from the physical world into the spirit realm of the Otherworlds.
But that time had passed many years ago.
Now, she was more accustomed to traveling the Plane than being in her world. More accustomed to kneeling on the floor of her dead mother’s chamber than walking Birchwood’s grounds, ground she had once known like the back of her hand. Hunger was the only thing that forced her from her reverie.
It had not always been that way. With Aunt Virginia in the house, escape had not been possible. Not really. Though Alice sought isolation, Aunt Virginia was always there.
Alice would wander the house aimlessly, roaming the halls of Birchwood, humming a tune she did not recognize and could not remember learning, running her fingers across the papered walls and the bric-a-brac on the hall tables as the Souls who had been her companion for as long as she could remember whispered ceaselessly in her head.
And there Aunt Virginia would be, inquiring after Alice’s health, encouraging her to take a long stroll up the hill. This despite the fact that it was January, the New York winter full upon them, the air so biting and cold even the countless fireboxes, blazing all day and all night in the great house, could not keep the frigid air at bay.
But even when Alice donned her cape, braving the cold and wind to escape Virginia’s watchful gaze, she would return to find her aunt looking at her with naked worry.
Alice had attempted to keep up appearances. She attended school at Wycliffe two days a week, though Henry’s death two months before had furthered the other students’ belief that the Milthorpes were cursed, soundly knocking Alice off the pedestal on which she had rested since she’d first begun attending the school at the age of thirteen. Gone were the whispered secrets, the invitations to join her peers at home for the holidays or attend balls given by their families. Now, she was simply Alice Milthorpe, orphan, sister to a dead brother and a twin who had abandoned New York to escape her. Everyone steered clear of her as they had once steered clear of her sister.
Still, Alice had tried. She came down to supper. Attempted conversation with Aunt Virginia. Forced a smile when she was able.
And in between, she escaped to the Otherworlds, her spirit-self traveling the Plane while her body lay in the physical world. She flew through the indigo sky with the Souls at her side, leading her to the Beast, Samael, the demon who would travel through Lia to rule the physical world—with Alice by his side—if only Lia would allow it. If only she would stop fighting the role that was hers by birth and fate, the role assigned her by the prophecy that had ruled their ancestors for centuries.
Eventually, it became too difficult to live each day as Alice Milthorpe, Guardian to her sister’s Gate. The world was too harsh, too cold. It expected too much of her: refusal when she wanted acquiescence, obedience when she wanted revolt, pain when she wanted pleasure.
She had spent more and more time in the Dark Room, sitting in the center of the circle she had carved with her mother’s dagger before Lia had taken it, a spell of protection cast to keep her safe while traveling the Plane, to keep Aunt Virginia and Edmund at a distance, both of whom would try to stop her if they could. Both of whom would try to keep her in this world, foisting the role of Guardian upon her when she would have been Gate if not for the hurried surgery that had resulted in the birth of Lia before her.
She could not allow it. Could not allow their interference. The Dark Room was her refuge. It was not simply that it had been her mother’s chamber, nor that it was the room in which her father had died, a terrified scream frozen on his face, less than a year before.
Here, she could feel her mother’s presence. Not the Adelaide Milthorpe who stared down at her from the oil painting over the fireplace in the parlor. No. That Adelaide was too much like Lia, too vulnerable, too kind.
It was another Adelaide who lurked in the shadows of the Dark Room. The Adelaide who had joyfully traveled the Plane, who preferred the Otherworlds to this one. It was a predilection Alice understood well.
Samael had told stories of her mother’s wild abandon on the Plane, of her desperate desire to give in to her role as Gate and let go of the physical world for the Otherworlds. As Alice sat in her spell circle—muttering words to summon the Lost Souls—it was as if she were conjuring her mother. As if she could see the free-spirited, wild-eyed Adelaide who had once done the very same thing, who had so wanted release from the struggle between this world and the others that she had thrown herself from the cliff overlooking the lake.
Alice found solace in her presence. Here, at last, was someone who understood her struggle, and Alice had spent as much time as possible in the Dark Room, fending off Aunt Virginia’s questions, ignoring her insistent rapping on the door until she finally gave up, leaving Alice to the Souls and the Plane.
But it could not last forever.
One day after Alice had missed three weeks of school, Miss Gray came to call. Alice heard her speaking to Aunt Virginia in the parlor.
“Miss Milthorpe, I do understand the difficult time Alice has had. And with Amalia gone…”
“Please,” Aunt Virginia had said, and Alice had heard the impatience in her voice, could picture the look of barely disguised distaste on her aunt’s face, “say what you’ve come to say about Alice’s status at Wycliffe.”
“Certainly. As you know, Wycliffe is a prestigious school.”
Alice had almost laughed aloud from the stairs where she was eavesdropping. The only place Wycliffe was considered prestigious was in town, a town so small there were no other alternatives for affluent young ladies. In fact, her father had schooled his children at home, not trusting Wycliffe to do a proper job with Lia and Alice, both of whom were more likely to learn how to set a tea table than to read and analyze Aristotle, as their father made them do. Wycliffe had been a form of socializing, a way to ensure that the girls explored life and society, if only two days a week, beyond the stately walls of Birchwood.
“While we would like to maintain Alice’s position,” Miss Gray had continued, “we do have other candidates on the waiting list, and—”
“I understand,” Aunt Virginia interrupted amid a rustle of skirts that could only mean she had risen. “You may remove Alice from your roster immediately. We will see to her schooling here.”
“Oh! But…are you certain…?” Surprise was evident in Miss Gray’s voice, though Alice could not see her face.
“Quite,” her aunt said. “Now, while I appreciate that you took the time to call, I imagine you have quite a busy schedule.”
That had been the end of
the matter. Aunt Virginia had informed Alice that she would resume the curriculum Father had arranged before his death, and Alice made an effort to do so, at least for a while.
But without the structure of school, she found it increasingly difficult to maintain the appearance of normalcy. She began skipping supper, locking herself in the Dark Room and refusing to answer, even when Aunt Virginia’s knocking managed to break through the barrier of her Spellcasting. When she forced herself to walk the grounds, as once had been her pleasure, she was not fully there. Her body was numb in this world, her soul already half gone. Sometimes she stayed out too long, so unaware of her surroundings that her fingers and toes were numb from cold by the time she made her way indoors.
Even the weather seemed to change. Though it was winter and already cold, the sky seemed darker, the storm clouds more threatening, as Alice sat in her circle, losing herself to the Otherworlds and the Souls. It was just such a night that Alice emerged from the Dark Room—her legs stiff from kneeling, her mind still half in the Otherworlds—to find Aunt Virginia standing in the hall. Waiting for her.
“It is time we had a frank discussion.” Aunt Virginia had stood near the firebox, one hand on the mantel, while Alice sat on the sofa.
“Fine.” Alice waved a hand absently in the air. She was beyond pretending to care what Virginia thought. “Say what you must.”
“Your…activities are bringing great darkness to this house.” Virginia’s green eyes had been bright, brighter than Alice remembered them being, and she wondered if it was due to anger. It was possible that her unflappable aunt had finally summoned an emotion other than the efficient earnestness with which she approached all tasks relating to her dead sister’s household and family.
For a moment, Alice had almost refuted the accusation. Denying her proclivity for the Plane was habit. But then a newfound rage rose within her, and she met her aunt’s eyes with an unwavering stare.
“Well, it is, after all, my house,” Alice reminded her.
Aunt Virginia’s cheeks had turned crimson, her mouth flattening into a straight line. “That may well be, but I have been designated as your legal guardian.”
“My legal guardian?” A bitter laugh escaped Alice’s throat. “You were appointed another kind of Guardian to my mother’s Gate, were you not? And we both know how that turned out.”
She had expected anger, but after a moment’s hesitation, Aunt Virginia simply sighed, crossing the room to sit next to Alice on the tufted sofa. She was surprised when her aunt took her hands. It had been many months, perhaps even years, since Virginia had touched her, since she had looked at Alice with anything other than the strange knowing gaze shrouded with worry.
“Alice,” her aunt began, “I understand the battle you are fighting within yourself, the struggle to assume your place as Guardian when you were meant to be Gate.”
A flash of white-hot anger illuminated the darkness that seemed always to shroud Alice’s heart. That is how it had become; the blackness lit only by fury or the euphoric release of her travels on the Plane, the affection shown her by the Souls.
“You understand?” she had asked angrily, pulling her hands away. “You, who were born to be Guardian and who have not had a single moment’s doubt about your suitability to the role? You, who have never felt the companionship of the Souls, who have never had the desire to walk side by side with Samael? You have no knowledge of my battle.”
Virginia sighed. “It is true that I have not suffered the same struggle. But I have seen it, Alice.” She started intently into Alice’s eyes. “I watched your mother battle it, watched him take her little by little, until what was left was a shell of the gay and laughing Addy of my childhood. And your mother was born to be Gate, born to bring Samael into this world. Your struggle must be that much greater for the confusion of your birth.”
“Yes, because I was meant to be Gate like my mother,” Alice had hissed, the indignation of it, the unfairness, making her face hot.
“But you are not,” Virginia said firmly. “The doctor pulled Lia from your mother’s womb first, ensuring her position as Gate and yours as Guardian.”
Alice looked away, defeat slamming into her with Aunt Virginia’s words. “It isn’t fair. Neither of us wants the role we have.”
She felt Virginia’s hand on hers. “And yet…perhaps that is the very purpose of this confusion. Don’t you see, Alice? Perhaps it has all been wrought by fate because it is time to end the prophecy once and for all. Perhaps, in the ambivalence of your assigned roles, there will be resolution, and the world will not forever hang in the balance between two sisters with opposing desires.”
Alice had looked away, her mind turning over the possibilities still left to her. She could refute the Souls, refuse to travel with them on the Plane, turn away from Samael. Aid Lia in closing the Gate as surely Lia wanted her to do. Perhaps together they had a chance.
Lia, the sister destined to bring forth the Beast who would rule the world in chaos, though she wanted nothing but to refuse him.
Alice, assigned to prevent her sister from opening the Gate, though she wanted nothing more than to see Samael pass through it. To persuade Lia to allow him passage so that Alice might finally, finally, have a place of leadership at his side.
To end their stalemate, one of them would have to relent.
There was a time when Alice had believed that Lia would be easy to sway. But that was before. Before Lia seemed to find a sense of purpose in their oddly twisted roles. Before her despair over Henry’s death.
Now, Alice was not so sure.
But if she could overcome her weakness, if she could fight it, she could stand at Lia’s side and together they could close the Gate.
And yet, she could not imagine living in a world without the Souls. A world in which they did not whisper to her in the dark of night, calling her to the Plane, conspiring with her to force Lia to open the Gate. A world in which Samael, a fearsome creature who ruled the Otherworlds, who banished to the icy Void anyone who dared defy him, did not wait for her on the Plane, looking at her as if she were his only hope. A world in which she was truly alone.
It had been different for Lia. She had had their father, their two heads always bowed together in the library, Father’s laugh never as heartfelt than when it was brought forth by his oldest daughter. And Lia had had Henry, too. He had followed her around, his eyes shining when he looked upon her as if she were his sun and moon, his face aglow when she read to him. Even Aunt Virginia’s worried countenance softened around Lia, a gentle smile forming on her lips as she spoke quietly to Lia about a book they’d both read or something funny Henry had said.
Lia had never truly been alone. She didn’t need the Souls, not like Alice did. Alice would be alone if not for them, her life without purpose.
All of which made Alice the weakest link, no matter her bravado to the contrary.
She had pulled her hands away from Aunt Virginia and stood, walking to the window and pulling back the heavy velvet draperies. The ground was covered in snow. It blanketed the surrounding fields and hills, made the branches of the trees near the river hang heavy with its weight. She thought of Henry, his body broken by fate and bruised by the river in which he had drowned, buried in the family cemetery on the hill next to their mother and father. The fact that she was responsible for his death haunted her. He moved, hollow-eyed, through her nightmares in the chair that had been his prison, the creak of the wheels following her through the darkened halls of Birchwood.
“I don’t think much of fate, if the truth is told,” she had finally said. The window fogged with her breath, and she noted with detachment the chill in her words, the distance with which she viewed Virginia and the fire-warmed parlor. As if she were already moving away from it. As if she had already stepped through the veil between worlds, leaving this one behind for the Otherworlds, though she could not truly do so until she was alone. “It has not been kind to me. I cannot find a place in my heart to care for its
whims.” She turned to face her aunt. “No, I will rule my life, my world. And I will do it with no interference from you, from anyone.”
Aunt Virginia stood, and Alice saw that her hands were shaking, her eyes shaded with something new. Something that was not worry or pity or sadness.
Something that was closer to fear.
“If you continue along this path, Alice, if you refuse to cease this dark magic, I will have to leave this place,” she said. “I will have to leave you alone, though I am loath to do it.”
Alice had nodded. “I understand. Consider yourself free of the promise you made to my mother. I absolve you of your commitment to watch over me.”
She did not expect what came next. Did not expect Virginia to stalk toward her, to see her eyes grow wild as she raised a hand as if to slap Alice’s face. She stopped short, her breath coming so fast and heavy that her bosom heaved beneath the neckline of her gown.
“You…you presumptuous creature. It is not for you to absolve me of a promise made to my sister before her death.” She lowered her hand. Smoothing her gown, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “You think yourself wise? Believe you can harness the power with which you play when so many before you could not? You know nothing. The game you play will be your undoing, Alice, and, quite possibly, the undoing of the world itself.” She turned to go, striding from the room with purpose, as if she had somewhere to be.
But Alice knew it was not true.
Virginia wasn’t running toward something. She was running away. From her.
Less than a month later, Virginia was gone, and Edmund with her. She left lengthy instructions for Alice as to the care of the house, the compensation of the servants, handled through the trust left by her father. Alice fired them all, though she gave them generous allowances to see them through while they sought new employment. Money was nothing to her. Less than nothing. She had had it her whole life. It had never brought her an ounce of happiness, had not eased the emptiness in her heart even a little.