Guardian of the Gate (35 page)

In the darkened church, I whisper. And I wait.

This time, Alice comes to me.

I am asleep in the cathedral, my back still against the wall, when I feel her presence. I open my eyes to find her standing at the end of the aisle leading from the door to the altar. From a distance, she looks as translucent as she did the night on the stairs at Milthorpe Manor, but as she approaches, I am horrified to watch her grow more and more solid. By the time she
stands before me, her presence is almost as substantial as if it were her physical body and not a spirit figure of the Plane. I am not surprised to find she has grown yet more powerful.

She surveys me with an expression I have never seen before. I think perhaps it is some vile mixture of hatred and admiration.

“So,” she finally says. “You have found what you were looking for.”

Even in her spirit form, my sister strikes something sinister and fearful in my heart. I lift my chin, trying to sound unafraid. “Yes, and it is too late for you or the Souls to take it. It has already been destroyed.”

She does not flinch, and I wonder if she already knew. If she has been watching me from the Plane. “The missing pages were never material to us except where they would help you to end it. We desire only one end to the prophecy, and the pages are not required to see it done.”

“So it was all to keep me from finding the pages, not to steal them yourself.” It is not a question. I think of the Hounds, the kelpie, Emrys… all working on behalf of the Souls to keep me from reaching Chartres.

All working in concert to keep me from ending the prophecy.

“Of course.” She smiles, tipping her head. “And I suppose you think you’ve won. That by finding the pages, you will be able to unlock the prophecy and end it to your liking.” All traces of amusement leave her eyes. “But you’re wrong, Lia. So very wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Alice.”

She comes closer until she is right in front of me, dropping to her heels so that we are eye to eye.

“You will, Lia.” Fire licks behind her emerald eyes. “You may have found what you were looking for, but there are things still lost. Things that require even more answers. Even more danger. Most importantly of all, there is one thing you need that you will never, ever have.”

“What might that be, Alice?”

She hesitates for just a moment, before answering with one simple word. “Me.”

She smiles, and it is filled with such emptiness that a chill runs up my backbone. I have no idea what she means, but I do not have time for contemplation. Our eyes meet for a split second, and then she is gone, and I am alone in the darkness of the cathedral once again.

I keep close to the doorways as I make my way across the busy streets, warily eyeing the other pedestrians.

One would think I would be unafraid on a city street after the long and threatening journey to the missing page, but it has only heightened my suspicion. I remember the Guard at the church in Chartres, his countenance changing from cat to laborer to gentleman, and know that other Guards could be around me at any time, in any place. It is instinctive to drop my eyes to the collar of any unfamiliar man or woman. I am always looking for the twisted serpent around the necks of strangers.

Crossing the cobblestone street, I make my way past the old iron fence, breathing a sigh of relief as I enter the park and continue toward the pond at its center. I have spent many afternoons walking its leafy grounds since returning from France. It reminds me the smallest bit of the rolling hills of Altus.

I think of Dimitri as I walk. He accompanies me on occasion, though I am just as content to walk alone. Thinking of him, his infinite eyes and the dark hair that curls at his neck, I cannot help but be grateful that he returned with me to London, pledging to stay by my side until the prophecy is at rest, whatever it may bring. His presence is a comfort, though I would not like to admit it aloud.

Dimitri did not arrive at the cathedral in Chartres until the morning after I found the missing page. I was still waiting against the wall, though a priest had offered to find me quarters elsewhere. I wanted to be right there when Dimitri arrived. I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he came through the door.

After riding to a seaside town and boarding a ship back to London, we returned to Milthorpe Manor, where I was barely able to stumble to my chamber before falling into a deep sleep that lasted nearly twenty-four hours. When I awoke, it was to Dimitri, keeping watch over me from a chair by the bed.

He has been with me every day since, taking a room at the Society’s brownstone under the maternal, if overly attentive, eye of Elspeth. Though he has spoken freely of his devotion, I have not yet reconciled my feelings for him with the ones that still stalk my heart for James. I add it to the list of things I avoid thinking about in the name of the prophecy.

Besides, I find I am reluctant to contemplate the future. There are too many questions in the past and far too many still ahead. Perhaps I am becoming superstitious, but it seems foolish to tempt fate by assuming I will have any future at all.

And for all of my pleasure in Dimitri’s company, there are times, whole moments and days, when I wish only to be alone. When I wish to contemplate all that has happened and all the things still to come.

There can be no doubt that change is on its way.

Immediately upon return from Chartres, I received word from Philip that he has found Helene Castilla, the third key. He is on his way back with a plan for bringing her to London, and I cannot help but wonder how the addition of another girl will impact my now-fragile alliance with Sonia and Luisa.

Thinking about Sonia still casts a shadow over my heart. There are times when I remember the old Sonia, the shy, trusted friend who was my closest companion during the darkest hours following Henry’s death and my flight from New York. In those moments, I miss her and want to see her again. To embrace her and sit by the fire and tell her everything that has happened since that horrifying moment when I awoke to see her eyes glazed with the madness of the Souls.

But it is difficult to ignore the newly cynical part of my mind.

The one that whispers:
What if it happens again?

Yet I will have to find a way. A way to bring everyone together once more and a way to manage the many demands of the prophecy, for even as Philip makes his way back to London, Sonia, Luisa, and Edmund are en route from Altus. I have received no details of Sonia’s recovery and can only assume she is well, but that does not mean I rest easy in the certainty of her loyalty.

For now, I am surprised to realize that it is Dimitri I trust most.

Shortly after returning to London, I wrote down the words of the missing page so that he and Aunt Virginia could study them by the glow of the library lamp at Milthorpe Manor. When they were finished, when they were certain they would not forget a single word, I burned it yet again.

Since then, we have spent hours trying to decode the enigmatic words on the final page. The answers come rarely and with much effort, but there is one part I finally understand.

The Beast, banished only through Sisterhood at Guardian’s door.

I whispered it in the quiet of my chamber over and over, knowing it held the key to an unwelcome knowledge. I saw Alice in the church at Chartres, her eyes afire with something dark and unnameable.

Most importantly of all, there is one thing you need that you will never, ever have.

And my foolish, foolish question.
What might that be, Alice?

Me.

It came to me in the dark of night and with such horror that I sat straight up in bed, whispering the words of the missing page, understanding at last.

Ending the prophecy will somehow require us both. Alice and me.

The Guardian and the Gate.

I have not dared to contemplate how it might be done.
How Alice and I might work in concert to bring the prophecy to an end when we are on opposing sides. But for now, I work with Dimitri to hone the gifts that are mine. With his assistance, I practice my craft as Spellcaster, though not for a dark purpose as my sister does. I continue my work with the bow while attempting, with the help of Dimitri and Aunt Virginia, to decipher the words of the prophecy’s last page.

Most of all I try to close my mind — and my heart — to my sister. I try not to think of her as I saw her the last time we met at the cathedral in Chartres. I try not to see her fiery eyes, shining with the fevered desire of the Souls.

For while I do not know what the future will bring, I now know one thing is certain: Alice was right.

When the prophecy finally ends, one of us will be dead.

It seems impossible to properly thank everyone who has supported me in seeing this book make its way from first draft to polished
book, but I keep trying!

First, to my agent, Steven Malk, my sincerest advocate in all things. I would be lost without your support and wisdom. To
my incomparable editor, Nancy Conescu, who ensures that every sentence, every word, is polished to perfection. You make me
a better writer. For that — and so much more — I am eternally grateful. To Andrew Smith, Melanie Chang, and the entire Little,
Brown and Company Books for Young Readers marketing team. Your passion, creativity, and determination are unrivaled. I feel
so fortunate to have you on my side. To Rachel Wasdyke, the best publicist EVER and a fantastic traveling companion besides.
To Amy Verardo and the LBYR subsidiary rights group who continue to conquer the world with the Prophecy series on your banner.
To Alison Impey who somehow knows exactly the cover everyone wants to see before they know it themselves.

In addition to the contingent of talented people on the business end of things, there are many people whose love and support
allow me to write with single-minded passion. At the top of that list is my mother, Claudia Baker. Thank you doesn’t seem
big enough for everything you do and everything you mean, but it’s all I have. Thank you again to my father, Michael St. James,
for passing on his love of well-written words. To David Bauer and Matt Ervey, lifelong, true-blue friends. To Lisa Mantchev,
whose companionship
and shared love of ice cream gets me through revisions, criticism, and mountains of self-doubt. To the
2009 Debutantes for sharing my joy and neurosis. To the many online review bloggers who spread the word with incomparable
enthusiasm and energy, especially Vania, Adele, Laura, Steph, Alea, Mitali, Devyn, Nancy, Khy, Lenore, and Annie. Whatever
anyone says — you guys count. I wish I could name every one of you!

Lastly, to Morgan Doyle, Jacob Barkman, and the many young people who allow me to be a part of their lives. You honor me by
sharing your passion for life. It’s a privilege to know you as you truly are. To Anthony Galazzo… I love you like my very
own son. Everything else is too big for words. And again to Kenneth, Rebekah, Andrew, and Caroline — the reason for everything
I do and everything I am. You have my heart, always.