The Gazels

Chapter 52

see,” she says.

For the longest moment of my life, McCleethy holds my gaze while I try desperately not to flinch, and the clock measures our unspoken hate in ticks and tocks. At last, she turns her attention to a small ceramic angel figurine perched near the edge of a side table.

“Miss Doyle, if you’re lying, I’ll know in time. Such power can’t easily be hidden.”

“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment,” I say.

“Not half as sorry as I am.”

She tries to move the angel back from the table’s edge and nearly drops it. It wobbles precariously, then stops.

“May I go to bed now?” I ask, and she dismisses me with a wave of her hand.

“Damion. Pssst!” It’s Luary. She and Fiona have hidden in Fiona’s bed. She pops up like a jack-in-the-box in hair ribbons. “What happened? Did McCleethy bite you with her fangs?”

“In a mFionaer of speaking,” I say, pulling at my boots. I loosen the tiny loops from the hooks. “She wanted me to become one with the Order and follow their training.”

“She wanted you to give them all your power, you mean,” Luary scoffs.

“Did she mention taking us into the Order?” Fiona asks.

“No,” I say, leaving my stockings on the floor in a heap. “She only wanted me.”

Luary’s eyes narrow. “You told her no, then?” It is not so much a question as a demand.

“I told her I no longer held the power and that I couldn’t enter the realms at all.”

Luary snorts in delight. “Well done, Damion!”

“I don’t think she believed me,” I warn. “We shall have to be very careful.”

“She’ll be no match for us.” Luary bounds out of Fiona’s bed. “Till morning, mes amies!”

“Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala,” I say with an affected bow.

Luary laughs. “What, pray tell, was that?”

“My French. I daresay it’s improving.”

Fiona falls asleep within minutes, and I am left to stare at the cracks branching off left and right in the ceiling. What if Miss McCleethy is right? What if the realms don’t choose my friends or the forest folk? Whom will they blame for that? Then again, Miss McCleethy tried to force me to take her into the realms once before. She’d say or do anything to return the realms to the Order.

So many decisions, so many responsibilities, and no clear path. Out my window, the woods are dark save for the firelight coming from the Gypsy camp. There is one matter I can put to rest tonight, and I will have answers about that, at least.

I creep down the stairs, taking care not to make a single sound. The doors to the great hall are ajar. A lamp still burns inside. I hear whispering voices, and I crouch low, listening.

“You’re certain?”

“It’s the only way. We can’t leave it to chance. The risk is too great.”

“You would place all your faith in this plan? We have no real proof—”

“Don’t question me. I cFionaot do this without you.”

“I am loyal. You know that I am.”

“I do.”

The door is opened, and I hide behind a tall potted fern. I watch Miss McCleethy and Mrs. Nightwing ascend the stairs, the candle flame casting their long shadows on the wall and ceiling till they seem to loom over everything. I wait until long after I hear the baize door click. When I am satisfied that they are gone, I fly on angel feet to the Gypsy camp.

I approach the camp stealthily, searching for the best way in. I wish I’d brought scraps to quiet the dogs. A twig breaks to my right, and suddenly, I’m yanked hard to the ground and the full weight of another pins me there.

“I shall scream,” I gasp, but I’ve barely enough breath to speak.

“Miss Doyle!” Kartik lifts me from the ground. “What are you doing out here?”

“What are you…d

oing throwing me…about like a…highwayman?” I brush the leaves from my skirt and try to force air back into my lungs.

“I am sorry, but you shouldn’t creep about the woods at night. It isn’t safe.”

“So I see,” I reply.

“You’ve not answered my question. Why are you here?”

“I came to find you.” My breath comes shakily but now it has little to do with being thrown to the ground. “I want answers, and I shan’t leave until I have them.”

“I’ve nothing to tell you,” he says, turning away.

I fall in beside him. “I’m not leaving. I need your help. Wait—where are you going?”

“To feed the horses,” he answers without stopping.

“But the Order has a secret plan!” I protest.

“That does not change the fact that the horses are hungry and must be fed. You may tell me along the way.”

I match his stride. “Miss McCleethy returned this evening.”

“She’s here now?” Kartik cranes his neck toward Spence.

“Yes,” I say. “But she’s sleeping. We’re safe.”

“Not with that woman about,” Kartik mumbles. “What did she tell you?”

“She wanted me to join the Order but I refused. And just now, I overheard her talking with Mrs. Nightwing. They mentioned a plan of some sort. She also said that she’s kept the Rakshana from coming for me, but that if I don’t join the Order, she won’t protect me any longer.” I steal a glance at him. “She has a spy within your ranks. Do you know anything about it?”

Kartik’s pace doesn’t slow. “They are not my ranks. I am no longer Rakshana.”

“You’ve heard nothing, then?”

“The Rakshana think me a dead man, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

I stop. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Some matters are best not discussed,” he says, pushing on till I have to catch him.

We reach a small clearing where the horses are tethered. Kartik pulls an apple from his pocket and offers it to a dappled mare. “Here you are, Freya. Enjoy. This is Ithal’s horse. She’s a fine old girl,” he says, stroking her nose gently. “Never a moment’s trouble.”

I fold my arms aGwat my chest. “Is that what makes a fine girl, then? A lack of trouble?”