The Sweet Far Thing
Page 179

Pip purses her berry-stained lips. “She hears screaming when there is nothing at all to hear. None of us hears a thing. I’ve told her to stop. I even slapped her for it.”
“You hit Wendy?”
There’s a hard determination in Pippa’s voice. “She frightens the other girls, and then no one wants to play. There is no screaming; she’s only being contrary.”
“Just because you don’t hear it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
Pip’s face eases into one of her childlike smiles. “Oh, Gemma. When will you go with me into the Winterlands again? Isn’t it such fun? To travel the gorge on the ship. To run up the heath and let the Tree of All Souls whisper to us of who we really are, what we could truly become.”
“You sound as if you have been going without us.”
That strange half smile is back. “Of course not. I wouldn’t go without you.”
A chilly gust howls through the tower’s windows. A terrible thought crawls its way into my mind.
“What happened to Mr. Darcy?” I ask in a whisper, and am surprised by how fast and fluttery my heartbeat is.
Pip holds my gaze for a long moment. “He was only a rabbit. Not to be missed.”
Merry laughter floats up the stairs from the floor below. Someone shouts, “Come on, Pip!” and Pippa grins.
“My subjects await.”
She starts down the stairs, only turning back when she doesn’t hear me just behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t feel much like dancing.”
Pip’s eyes turn the color of the Winterlands. “Pity.”
When I leave the tower, they are in the chapel. Felicity and Pip sit upon the thrones like royalty. Pippa holds a stick like a scepter in one hand, and she’s wearing the cape Felicity gave her a few weeks ago. It seems like years since that happy time. Ann secures Mercy’s train. Mae pulls on her long gloves; Bessie snaps her ivory fan shut. Only Wendy is alone, clutching Mr. Darcy’s empty cage.
“Now you’ll finally have your chance to become true ladies, and no one will tell you you’re not equal to the finest of them,” Pippa calls.
The girls’ eyes shine. Pip wears her ostrich feathers proudly, like the debutante she will not get to be in our world.
“Miss Bessie Timmons!” Fee calls, and the walls groan. Under the illusion, the vines continue their creeping assault.
One by one, the girls glide solemnly toward Pip. They curtsy low before her, and she nods sternly and bids them rise. As they back away, their faces are bright, exultant. They believe with all their hearts that they have become ladies.
And in Pip’s disquieting eyes, I see that she believes without reservation that she is queen.
I run through the dusty corridors of the Temple, brushing past a startled Asha, and head straight for the well of eternity. Circe floats there as she has every time I’ve been.
Every time. I’ve not realized how much I’ve come.
“Creostus the centaur has been murdered,” I say. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
“How could I manage it from in here?” she says, and it doesn’t soothe me.
“I need to know what is happening,” I say, a little out of breath. The air is damp and warm. It makes my lungs ache. “You promised me answers.”
“No. I promised to help you understand your power in exchange for magic.”
“Yes, the magic! Why do you want it? How do I know you haven’t been using it to orchestrate trouble? You could have left the well, for all I know. You could have murdered Creostus. You could be in league with the Winterlands creatures.”
The full force of what I have done rises inside me. With a grunt, I kick the side of the well and a small bit of stone crumbles under my boot.
Circe’s voice is steely. “You needn’t torture the well. It hasn’t done anything to you. What’s the trouble? Is it Eugenia?”
“N-no,” I stammer. I’ll not tell her anything else about Mrs. Spence. That was a mistake. I palm the bit of rock and turn it between my fingers. “It’s Pip. She has magic of her own. I haven’t gifted her for days now but perhaps there are remnants of it—”
“Stop lying to yourself. You know how she has it. She’s made a pact in the Winterlands.”
The truth sinks into me by degrees. “There was a pet rabbit one of the girls had,” I say softly. “Pip said it went missing.”
“Next time it will not be a bunny,” Circe warns. “But what of our illustrious Eugenia? The Tree of All Souls? Have you found the dagger yet?”