Guardian of the Gate (4 page)

The destruction of the letter lets loose a shaking in my body, and I cross my arms over my chest, trying to force myself still. I tell myself that I am free of the past whether I wish it or not. Henry is dead. James is no longer mine. Alice and I are destined to meet as enemies.

Now it is just the keys, the prophecy, and me.

I do not know how long I have been asleep, but the fire has burned low in the grate. As I scan the darkened room for the source of the sound that awoke me, I see a figure, as ethereal as a ghost, disappear around the corner of my door in a wisp of white fabric.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet do not reach the ground, but I scoot to the edge and drop to the floor. The lush carpets are soft but cool underfoot as I make my way across the room and out the door.

The hall is deserted and silent, the doors to the other chambers closed. I allow my eyes a moment to become used to the dim light from the wall sconces. When I am able to make out the shapes and shadows of the furniture lining the long hallway, I continue toward the staircase.

The figure, clad in a white nightdress, is descending the stairs. It can only be one of the housemaids who would be up this time of night, and I call out softly, trying not to wake anyone.

“Excuse me, is everything all right?”

Stopping near the bottom of the stairs, the figure turns slowly to meet my voice. It is only then that I gasp aloud into the silent house. Only when I see the face of my sister.

As in my travel, a small smile touches the corners of her mouth. It is a smile both soft and sly. A smile only Alice can manage.

“Alice?” Her name is both familiar and frightening on my tongue. Familiar, because she is my sister. My twin. Frightening, because I know that it cannot really be her, not in the flesh. Her figure is dimly lit, and I see now that her physical body is not here at all.

It cannot be
, I think.
It cannot be.
No mortal traveling the Plane can cross the barrier of the physical world. Not visibly. It is one of the oldest edicts of the ancient order of the Grigori, who still set and enforce the rules of the prophecy, of the Plane, of the Otherworlds.

I am still puzzling over Alice’s forbidden appearance when she begins to fade, her figure growing more and more
transparent. In the moment before she disappears, her eyes turn steely. And then she is gone.

I grab hold of the banister for support, the room below wavering as the gravity of the sighting hits me. True, Alice is a formidable Spellcaster, dreadfully competent even before my escape to London. But her presence across the miles can only mean that she has grown stronger still in my absence.

Of course, I should never have deluded myself that it would be otherwise. Though I am still discovering the gifts that are mine, I have grown stronger with each passing day. It would only stand to reason that Alice has done the same.

Yet her breaking of the barrier set by the Grigori can only mean one thing: the Souls may have been quiet all these months, but only because they still have my sister working on their behalf.

Only because whatever they have planned, whatever is coming, will more than make up for their long silence.

“Lia. Good morning.”

Philip strides into the room, exuding confidence and authority. The fine lines about his eyes are more noticeable than before,
and I wonder if it is because he is tired from his travels or simply because he is nearly old enough to be my father.

“Good morning. Please, sit.” I settle myself on the sofa as Philip sits on the chair near the firebox. “How was your trip?”

We avoid by tacit understanding certain words, certain phrases, that would make it easy for someone to understand our conversation.

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t her. I had high hopes this time, but…” He shakes his head in frustration, leaning back against
the chair, exhaustion settling more resolutely over his
features. “I sometimes despair that we will ever find the girl, to
say nothing of the last, unnamed party.”

I suppress my disappointment. Philip Randall has worked ceaselessly to find the two remaining keys. That we have not yet done
so is no fault of his. We have only one name — Helene Castilla — from the list Henry so zealously guarded, and we have been
unable to locate someone with that name who also bears the mark. The prophecy dictates only that the remaining keys, like
Sonia and Luisa, be marked with the Jorgumand and be born near Avebury at midnight on November 1, 1874. Nearly seventeen years
have passed since the birth of the keys, and the spotty nature of birth records in the villages of England has done nothing
to help our cause.

Helene could reside anywhere in the world by now. She might even be dead.

I try to ease Philip’s frustration. “Perhaps we should be grateful. If it were simple, someone else might find them before
us.” He smiles with something like gratitude as I continue. “I’ve no doubt we will be back on track in short order.”

He sighs, nodding. “There is never a shortage of leads, though once found, they are often endowed with nothing more than a
birthmark or scar from a long-forgotten injury or burn. I suppose I’ll take a few days to review the newest reports and prioritize
them before planning my next trip.” His eyes drift to the door of the library before returning to mine. “And you? Have you
heard anything new?”

My mood darkens with the question. It is impossible to believe that Aunt Abigail and the Grigori are unaware of Alice’s
movements
on the Plane and the forbidden use of her power. It is only a matter of time before I am summoned to Altus to retrieve the
pages before Alice grows even stronger.

I shake my head in answer. “But I may soon be departing on a journey of my own.”

He sits up straighter. “A journey? Surely you don’t mean to travel alone?”

“I’m afraid so. Well, Sonia will likely accompany me, and I imagine we will need a guide, but other than that, I suppose I
will be quite alone.”

“But… where will you go? How long will you be gone?”

It is not often that I must keep something of importance from Philip. Hired by my father before his death, Philip knows more
about the prophecy than any other person outside of it save our old coachman Edmund. But even still, I have guarded closely
many details in the interest of Philip’s safety and mine. The Souls are forbidding, their power immeasurable. It is not impossible
to believe they could find a way to use Philip for their own gain.

I smile. “Let us simply say that it is a journey necessary to the prophecy and that I shall return as quickly as possible.”

He stands suddenly, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture of boyish frustration. It makes him look young, and I
realize with a start that he may not be as old as I believed, despite the quiet confidence and wisdom that so reminds me of
Father.

“It is dangerous enough for you here in London; you cannot possibly consider such a journey.” All at once he straightens.
“I will escort you myself.”

I cross the room, taking his hands in mine. It does not feel at all improper, though I have not touched another man since
leaving James behind in New York.

“Dear Philip. That is impossible. I don’t know how long I will be gone, and it makes far more sense for you to continue searching
for the keys while I see to this other bit of business. Besides, this part of the prophecy must be shouldered only by me,
though I heartily wish it were not so.” I lean in and brush his cool cheek with the back of my hand. It is an unexpected impulse,
though when his eyes darken I see that my surprise is no match for his. “It
is
kind of you to offer your company. I know well that you would join me if I would allow it.”

He lifts his hand to his cheek, and I have the strangest feeling that everything said after my brief touch is forgotten. He
does not mention my journey again.

That night I travel to Birchwood. I no longer will myself into the Otherworlds, but I do not wish myself back from them either.
I know Sonia would be worried to find me traveling without escort, but I am too curious about my sister to relinquish a possible
glimpse into her life.

And perhaps a glimpse of James
. It is a whisper in my heart.

The sky is inky and endless, with only a sliver of moon to light the tall, swaying grass in the fields. The wind rushes through
the leaves in the trees, and I recognize the vacuous calm before a storm, the almost visible crackle of impending lightning
and thunder. But for now, at least, it is eerily quiet.

Birchwood Manor is dark and imposing, the steep stone walls rising into the night sky like a fortress. It feels deserted,
even from a distance. The lanterns that were once lit near the front door are extinguished, the leaded windows in the library
black, though it has long been a habit to keep the lamp on Father’s desk aglow through the night.

And then I am in the entry, the marble icy under my bare feet. Though I feel the cold seep into my skin, I am removed from
it in a way that I have come to expect while traveling the Plane. The grandfather clock in the foyer ticks quietly as I make
my way up the stairs. Even in my travel, I instinctively avoid the fourth creaky step.

Like so many things in my life, the house has become strange. I recognize its outward appearance — the worn, antique carpets,
the carved mahogany banister — but something about its chemistry has changed, as if it is no longer made up of the familiar
stone and wood and mortar that housed me since birth.

The Dark Room, of course, is still at the end of the hall. It does not surprise me to see the door open, light seeping from
its interior.

I make my way toward it. I am not afraid, only curious, for I rarely find myself on the Plane without purpose. The door to
my chambers, my old childhood room, is closed, as are Henry’s and Father’s. I suppose it is only Alice now who matters to
Alice. I suppose it is easier for her to forget that we were once a family if all the doors remain tightly shut.

And it is just as well, for I carry reminders of my past, my family, not in the darkest rooms of my heart as one might
imagine,
but in its brightly lit corners where I can see them for all they were.

I do not hesitate to step through the door to the Dark Room. The laws of the Grigori prevent me from being seen, even if I
did wish it to be different. Even if I did wish to gain control over the forbidden powers Alice seems to have harnessed.

And I do not.

The first thing I see when I enter the room is my sister. She sits on the floor in the center of her circle, the same circle
in which I found her all those months before, the one carved into the wooden floor and once hidden under the old carpet. Though
my experience as a Spellcaster does not come close to matching that of my sister’s, I know enough to recognize the circle
as one that strengthens the spell and protects the Caster within it. The site of it causes me to shiver, even in my traveling
form.

Alice wears one of her white nightdresses. Trimmed in matching lavender ribbon and once made by the armful, I remember them
well. I no longer wear mine, for they are part of another life. But Alice wears hers now, looking strangely innocent and lovely
as she rests on her heels, eyes closed and lips moving in an almost-silent whisper.

I remain in place for some time, watching the fine planes of her face fade in and out with the flicker of the candles lighting
her circle. Her soft, unnamable words lull me into a strange state of apathy. I find myself almost drowsy, though I am already
physically asleep back in London. It is only when Alice opens her eyes that I am forced to alertness.

At first, I think she will gaze into the empty room, but her eyes find mine calmly across the shadows as if she knew I was
there all along. She doesn’t need to speak the words for me to know they are true, but she speaks anyway, looking right into
my soul as only she has ever been able to do.

“I see you,” she says. “I see you, Lia. And I know you’re there.”