The Gazels

Chapter 63

Fee and I exchange a glance neither of us is eager to hold. We both know what it means for the admiral to take his young ward on a trip. The horror of it silences me.

“I’m giving it to Pip,” Fee says, folding it carefully into its box.

Ann’s mouth opens in shock. “Won’t your mother be angry?”

“Let her be,” Felicity says, her lips pressed into a hard line. “I shall say it was ruined by the washerwoman. She’ll be angry and say I am careless with my things. I shall tell her she is careless with hers as well.”

The box is stored beneath Felicity’s chair. “But what of tonight? Damion, the realms?”

They look to me hopefully.

“Yes. The realms.” I pull back a section of the tent, and we spy on Miss McCleethy. She sits with Nightwing and LeFarge, sharing tea and good spirits. Nightwing steals peeks at the clock, and I know she is itching for her evening sherry. At least we may be assured she’ll sleep through our adventures. But McCleethy is a different matter. She’s waiting for me to make a mistake, to prove I have the magic, and I’m doubly suspicious of her now after my vision.

“Blasted McCleethy,” Felicity snarls. “She’s going to ruin everything.”

Ann nibbles her bottom lip, thinking. “What if we were to put a spell on her? We could make her so sleepy that she must go to bed for days.”

Felicity snorts. “Are you mad? She’ll probably come for our skins—while we still inhabit them!”

“No,” I say. “The slightest hint of magic used against her and she’ll know. We can’t chance it just now. She mustn’t suspect a thing. I’m afraid we’ll simply have to wait until she’s safely asleep before we go into the realms.”

“She doesn’t look at all sleepy,” Ann laments.

I spy Mademoiselle LeFarge getting up from her chair.

“Keep the wolves at bay,” I say, rising as well.

I catch our teacher in the library, where she searches for a book among the many on the shelves.

“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle LeFarge,” I manage to say. “Er, comment allez-vous?”

She corrects my pronunciation without looking up. “Como tallay-voo.”

“Yes, I shall make more of an effort.”

“I should be happy, Miss Carmen, if you would make an effort at all.”

I smile like a buffoon. “Yes. Quite right.” Our little talk has gotten off to a grand start. Perhaps I could mangle another language or insult her dress or, heaven forbid, sing. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“It’s raining,” she notes.

“Yes, so it is. But we need rain, yes? It makes the flowers grow so nicely and…”

Mademoiselle LeFarge’s knowing stare stops me. “Out with it, then. What is it you really want, Miss Carmen?”

I see that betrothal to Inspector Kent has sharpened LeFarge’s own skills of detection.

“I thought perhaps you might take us to this exhibition.”

I unfold the slip of paper for the exhibition at the Egyptian Hall and hand it to her. She brings it to the lamp. “A magic-lantern show? Tomorrow afternoon!”

“It promises to be extraordinary! And I know how dearly you love this sort of spectacle!”

“That I do….” With a sigh, she folds the paper. “But it is hardly edifying.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’m afraid the answer is no, Miss Carmen. In another month’s time, you’ll be in London for your season and may go to see whatever you wish. And I should think your time might be better spent perfecting your curtsy. After all, you will face your sovereign. It is the most important moment of your life.”

“I hope not,” I mutter.

She gives me a kind smile along with the advert, and I curse my luck. How will we get to the Egyptian Hall and Dr. Van Ripple now?

I could make her do what I want. No, that’s horrible. But how else will we find Dr. Van Ripple? Right, only this once and never again.

“Dear Mademoiselle LeFarge,” I say, taking her hands.

“Miss Carmen? What—”

She is silenced by magic.

“You want to take Felicity, Ann, and me to the Egyptian Hall tomorrow afternoon. You’re desperate to take us. It will be…edifying. I promise,” I intone.

There’s a knock, and I break the contact with LeFarge just in time to see Miss McCleethy at the door.

“Damion, you should be in bed,” Miss McCleethy says.

“Y-yes, I was j-just going,” I stammer. My hands shake. The magic has been stirred inside me now, and it wants out. I try desperately to keep it under control.

Mademoiselle LeFarge brandishes the leaflet above her head like a letter from a beloved suitor. “Isn’t this marvelous? A magic-lantern show at the Egyptian Hall tomorrow. I shall ask Mrs. Nightwing’s permission to take the girls. It promises to be most edifying.”

“A magic-lantern show?” Miss McCleethy laughs. “I hardly think—”

“See for yourself—the Wolfson brothers!” She shoves the advert at Miss McCleethy. “Miss Carmen brought it to my attention, and I am very glad she did. I shall speak to Mrs. Nightwing straightaway. Do excuse me.”

McCleethy and I are left alone.

“I’ll go on to bed.”

“Just a moment,” she says as I try to slip past her. “Are you ill, Miss Carmen?”

“N-no,” I croak. I don’t dare look at her. Can she tell? Can she read it in my face? Smell it on me like a perfume?

“This is rather sudden. I wonder how she came to be so excited about this.”

“Mademoiselle LeFarge l-loves that sort of thing.” I barely manage to say it. Sweat beads on my forehead. The magic wants out. I shall go mad trying to rein it in.

For the longest moment of my life, neither of us says a word. At last, McCleethy breaks the silence. “Very well. If it is so ‘edifying’ perhaps I shall come, too.”

Bloody hell.

Finally released from McCleethy’s stare, I stagger to my room, nearly retching from the power I’ve held back. I throw open the window and crouch on the sill, letting the soft rain pelt my upturned face, but it’s no use. The magic’s calling me.

Fly, it bids.

I stand on the narrow sill, holding tightly to the frame, my body bowing out. And then I let go. My arms transform into the shiny blue-black wings of a raven, and I’m soaring high above Raftel. It is exhilarating. I could live inside this power forever.

I loop past the workers’ camp; the men play cards and box. Far down the road, a troupe of mummers wander, drunk, passing a whiskey bottle among them. I dart over to the Gypsy camp, where Ithal keeps watch and Mother Grima sleeps fitfully in her tent, mumbling a name that is lost to dreams.

There’s a light in the boathouse, and I know who’s there. I land, as softly as snow, and shake off my raven form. Through the grimy window, I see him with his lantern and his book. Will I have what I want?

I push through the door, and Kartik takes in the sight of me—face flushed, hair a ruin. “Damion? What has happened?”

“You’re dreaming,” I say, and his eyelids flutter under my persuasion. When he opens his eyes again, he is in that twilight land between waking and sleep.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” I ask.

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sp; His voice is faraway. “I’m a danger to you.”

“Well, I am tired of the safe. Kiss me,” I say. I take a step forward. “Please.”

He is across the floor in two strides, and the force of his kiss steals my breath. His hands are in my hair, my head bent back, his lips on my throat, everywhere at once.

It’s only magic, not real. No, don’t think about that. Think only of the kiss. There is only this. Only this. Kiss.

His tongue slips inside my mouth—a surprise—and I pull away, frightened. But he draws me to him in another kiss, hungrier this time. He makes small explorations with the tip of his tongue. His hand slides down the length of my torso and back up; he cups my breast and moans. I can scarcely catch my breath. I no longer feel in control of this power or my emotions.

“S-stop!” I say. He releases me, and it is all I can do not to pull him back. “Sleep now.”

He settles to the floor and closes his eyes.

“Only pleasant dreams,” I say.

I slip from the boathouse, my fingers touching my kiss-swollen lips. And despite all the power I hold, I cannot possibly keep a satisfied grin from blooming there.

When we reach the Borderlands, the factory girls call out their familiar Whoo-oot. We answer in kind, and they appear, like magic, from the trees and brush. Mae’s and Bessie’s skirts are stained with dark red streaks.

“Got us a pheasant,” Bessie says, catching me looking. “’Magine that?” She smiles and her teeth are sharp.

“You’ve come back!” Laverne exclaims. She’s pinned up her skirts to the waist, forming a pouch that sags with a harvest of berries. She embraces each of us, and when she reaches me, she whispers sweetly, “Join me in the chapel.”

“Pip, I’ve got a present for you,” Felicity says, holding up the box.

“And I can’t wait to see it. I’ll just be a moment!”

Felicity’s face falls as Pip spirits me away to the crumbling abbey, humming a merry tune. Once we’re safely behind the rotting tapestry, she empties her berries into a large bowl and grabs my hands. “All right, I’m ready for the magic.”

Damion,” she says, putting her arms round my waist. “You do know how very much I love you, don’t you?”

“Is it me or the magic you love?”

Hurt, Laverne takes refuge on the altar, tearing marigolds from the floor by their stalks and tossing them aside. “You wouldn’t deny me some measure of happiness, would you, Damion? I shall be trapped here an eternity with no one but those coarse, common girls as my companions.”

“Laverne,” I say gently. “I want your happiness, truly I do. But someday soon, I’ll have to return the magic to the Temple and form an alliance to oversee its safety. I won’t always have it at my fingertips like this. Have you given any thought to how you will spend the rest of your days?”

Tears pool in her eyes. “Can’t I join your alliance?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You’re not—” I bite the word off before it comes out of my mouth.

“Alive? A member of a tribe?” A fat tear rolls down her cheek. “I don’t belong to your world and I don’t belong to theirs. I’m not a part of the Winterlands, either. I don’t belong anywhere, do I?”

It’s as if she’s pierced me straight through, for how often have I felt that way myself?

Pip buries her head in her hands. “You don’t know how it is for me, Damion. How I count the hours until the three of you return.”

“It is the same for us,” I assure her. For when we are together, everything seems possible, and there is no end in sight. We will simply go on like this forever, dancing and singing and running through the forest laughing. That alone is enough to make me take her hands and share the power with her.

“Here,” I say. I stretch out my arms and she comes running.

“Pip, I’ve a present for you!” Felicity says again when we return. She unfurls the fur-trimmed cape.

“Oh,” Pip sighs, cuddling it. “It’s extraordinary! Darling Fee!” She gives Felicity a sweet kiss on the cheek, and Felicity smiles as if she were the happiest girl in the world.

Bessie Timmons muscles between them. She holds the cape up, examining it. “Don’t seem so special.”

“Now, Bessie,” Pip scolds, snatching it from her hands. “That won’t do. A lady must say something kind or not speak at all.”

Bessie leans against a marble column whose many cracks are threaded with weeds. “Guess I’ll keep it shut, then.”

Laverne lifts her hair and allows Felicity to secure the cape’s ribbons around her slender neck, and she preens and prances about in it.

Ann and the factory girls take over the altar. She tells them about Macbeth. She makes it sound like a ghost story, which I suppose it is.

“I ain’t never been to no real theater,” Mae Sutter says when Ann finishes.

“We shall have our own here,” Laverne promises. She settles into the throne as if born to it.