Mistress of Souls: A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella (4 page)

She landed gently, coming to rest on the sand, silky and cold beneath her feet. The sea was a gentle roar to her right, the waves moving violently in from the horizon. A boy sat on a rock in the distance, his head turned her way. He hopped off the rock and came toward her, and she began closing the gap between them.

As always, he was wearing the strange trousers and too-revealing shirt. They had not spoken about it—the boy had always seemed leery of her—but she thought he might be from another time. The Plane was like that, a repository for people from all places and times, past, present, and perhaps even future. It had existed since time immemorial and would exist long after the physical world passed into extinction.

“You again,” the boy said when he finally reached her.

“Yes,” Alice said. “Hello. I suppose you’ll be going now?”

The boy always left right when she arrived. Alice understood that he did not like the Souls, did not want them to be more aware of his presence than necessary, and he knew from experience that where Alice was on the Plane, surely the Souls would follow, and sometimes, to the boy’s horror, even Samael himself.

“I suppose so,” the boy said. “Wouldn’t want…Well, you know.”

Alice nodded, understanding the cryptic nature of his words, though she was not subject to the same danger when thinking about the icy prison of the Void. She could consider it with impunity, while travelers like the boy were forced to avoid all thought of it, lest the Souls imprison them there. In fact, she had explored the Void on several occasions, landing on its frigid surface under a pale blue sky, viewing with detached horror the people trapped under the ice, stretching as far as the eye could see.

There was more than one advantage to the fact that the Souls needed her to do their bidding. She was allowed a freedom on the Plane unheard of by most creatures, and she took full advantage, traveling all the worlds until she knew them as intimately as she had once known the grounds surrounding Birchwood.

She turned her attention back to the boy. “Have you seen my sister?”

The boy shook his head, and she wondered if it was her imagination that she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Not for a long time.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “I only saw her the one time, like I told you before.” He sounded defensive. It raised Alice’s hackles, made her wonder if he was defensive on his own account or because he was protective of Lia.

The ground rumbled beneath them, the sand beginning to shift at their feet.

“All right, then,” Alice said, relenting. She did not want the boy to think he could lie to her, but neither did she want him to be detained in the Void. He reminded her a little of Henry, if only her brother had been able to walk in his lifetime. “You must go if you don’t want them to see you.”

He nodded. “See you next time.”

He did not rise into the sky but instead dissolved before her eyes, another phenomenon she could not explain.

The rumbling got louder, the ground shaking, the sand shifting, closing in around her bare feet. She looked up, scanning the skies until her eyes landed on a black cloud in the distance. It was not affection but gratitude that made her heart lift as they approached. The Souls had become her family. With Lia and Aunt Virginia gone and Henry dead, there was no one else. No one to whom she could speak. No one who sought her company.

It was irrational, she knew. The Souls and Samael wanted her for only one purpose: to aid them in getting Lia to open the Gate.

And yet they were familiar to her. They sought her out on the Plane. Samael
needed
her. Believed in her as no one else had.

The sky cracked with lightning, thunder rumbling through it as the Souls came closer. Their powerful steeds, nearly double the size of horses in the physical world, panted and gasped as if returning from a long journey, their teeth bared in grimaces that were foils to the placid expressions, ones that belied the fury that ran through their veins, on the faces of the Souls. They approached as one, emerging from the sky like a swarm of locusts.

The ground shook as they landed before her. Members of his elite Guard, they were only a fraction of the Souls who did Samael’s bidding. The man at the front was always the same, raven-haired and flinty-eyed. He carried a mark on his neck like the one on the medallion—Lia’s medallion—save for one difference.

The serpent on his neck was more than a tattoolike mark. It was alive, writhing and hissing, its triangular head both evil and compelling as it twisted toward her.

“Mistress,” the Guard said, his voice a salve to her broken soul. “It is good you come. We receive word from our brothers that the Gate is growing in her power. You must keep watch.”

It was not the first time they had asked her to spy on their behalf, for the Souls could not see things that happened in the physical world. The two worlds existed on separate planes. It was impossible to see one while occupying another. It left the Souls at a disadvantage. While they could receive information from their dark brethren, the Souls who had made their way to the physical world through Lia and the Gates before her, such communication took time. It required the physically bound Souls to travel the Plane in the same way Alice did, to seek a place of privacy and comfort where they could allow their spirits to loosen from the bonds of the bodies they appropriated while in the physical world.

Alice shook her head. “I can see nothing. Lia has gone to London, remember?”

“There is a way,” the Guard said. “A spell.”

Alice flinched in surprise. She knew there were spells for such things. Knew there were ways around the edicts of travel enforced by the Sisterhood and the Grigori.

But those things were against the rules, and though she had been testing the limits of them for some time, this was another thing entirely. Should she be caught, she would be censured by the Grigori, quite possibly banned from the Plane that was her refuge, her salvation.

She looked into the Guard’s eyes, her voice a whisper. “It is forbidden.”

The Guard was silent for a moment. Then he began to laugh, the sound of it harsh and grating, like an out-of-tune piano. “You fear the Grigori? After all you have done?”

It should have been an accusation, an indictment. But coming from the Guard, it was not. She heard the admiration in his strange voice, saw respect in his eyes. It fortified her, and she lifted her chin.

“I have done what I must, but it is only good fortune that has allowed me to remain uncensured. It is through no actions of yours—or Samael’s—that I have avoided punishment by the Grigori. Further risking their wrath seems foolhardy when you need me accessible on the Plane and free to face my sister in our world.”

The Souls behind him began to mutter, their horses shuffling as if in protest to Alice’s words. The Guard in front cut them a look, and they grew still once again.

“Nevertheless, it must be done,” he said. “Samael has commanded it. The old woman is dying. Your sister will soon make her way to Altus for directions to the missing page. Our brothers in your world must beat her to it. Such action requires your skills as Spellcaster.”

“I do not know such a spell,” she hedged. “I don’t even know if I am powerful enough to cast it.”

“We will give you the words you need, as we have always done, Mistress. As we will always do. We will give you the words you need to see through the veil, to travel wholly, not just to these Otherworlds, but to places far and wide in your own. And when you return to your body, you will remember the things you have seen and heard and you will impart these things to us.”

His tone did not allow for argument. It was no matter. Alice would not have argued the point anyway. These were her people now, and this, her world. There was nothing else left.

She nodded. “I will do as you ask. Just remember: If I am prevented from traveling the Plane, I will not be able to act on your behalf with my sister. Not in these worlds.”

“We will see to the Grigori,” he said, lifting the reins of his steed. “Now go. Wait in the circle for the words, and they will come.”

The others followed his lead as he turned his horse. They galloped across the sand, picking up speed just before they launched into the sky. Alice watched them go, watched the hulking black mass fade into a faint cloud in the distance, the rumble of hooves soften to a murmur before disappearing completely.

She dropped onto a rock near the shore. The waves lapped at her feet, the ebb and flow of water the only sound. It was quiet and peaceful, and for a moment she wished she could stay long enough to sever the astral cord connecting her sprit-self to her body back at Birchwood. It would be so simple. Someone would find her body, cold and dead, on her mother’s bed in the Dark Room. They would bury her on the hill near Henry and Mother and Father. Perhaps they would even be sorry.

And she would be free. Free to roam the Otherworlds at will.

Except, of course, her freedom would be short-lived. She would be of no use to Samael and the Souls without the ability to navigate the physical world. They would be angry at her betrayal, her weakness. They would hunt her as she had heard they hunted her mother, detain her in the Void where she would be trapped for eternity with the others.

She stood to go, her soul heavy as she lifted into the sky. There would be no escape from the path she had chosen. She would do Samael’s bidding, as she always did.

As she always had.

She was drying her hair the next day after a bath when the sound of pounding made its way to her from the ground floor. She stopped moving, wondering if she’d imagined it. But no, there it was again: someone knocking on the door.

Still clutching the towel, she made her way out of the Dark Room. It was her chamber now. It had been many weeks since she had used her own room for anything. She continued down the stairs, the knocking growing louder and more insistent. By the time she reached the foyer, she was flustered and angry. She threw open the door.

“All right, all right! I’m com—” Shock and dismay cut off her words when she saw who was standing on the threshold. “James! Whatever are you doing here?”

He looked taken aback by her tone. “I’m sorry. I should not have come without an appointment.”

His eyes took in her attire, his cheeks flushing slightly, and she realized that she was still in a nightdress, though it was nearly two in the afternoon. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain a foothold on the rituals and customs of the physical world. Her life at Birchwood had a schedule all its own.

“I’ll come another time. When we have made an arrangement for a call.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to consider them.

He looked back at her.

“I could make us tea, if you would just give me a moment to change…?”

“Are you certain it isn’t an inconvenience?”

She smiled. “I would be grateful for the company, if the truth is told.”

His nod was slow. “All right, then. If you’re certain.”

She opened the door wider and he stepped into the foyer, looking around as if he’d never been there before. She led him down the hall and settled him in the library before making her way to the kitchen to put the water on to boil. Then she hurried upstairs to change.

She was embarrassed to realize how rarely she actually dressed. She had once paid close attention to her outward appearance, spending freely on the latest gowns from abroad and taking special care of her long, thick hair.

But since Virginia’s departure, she had grown accustomed to being alone in the house. There was little point in dressing for each day. Most of the time, she simply rose, bathed, and put on a fresh nightdress. Her time was spent in the Dark Room anyway, interrupted only by brief journeys to the kitchen when absolutely necessary.

Now she entered her chamber for the first time in weeks. She threw open the door to the wardrobe and stared at the gowns hanging there. There were greens, blues, pinks, and there, peeking out from behind her mourning gown, a flash of scarlet. She pushed the others aside and fingered the red silk, remembering the fuss it had caused with Lia, her shock when she had seen the brightly colored gown.

“But…you don’t mean to wear it to Wycliffe?” she’d said, her eyes wide.

Alice had flipped her hair, feigning nonchalance when, really, she quite enjoyed shocking her sister and always had. “Of course. Where else would I wear it in this ridiculously boring town?”

Lia had shaken her head, her green eyes shaded with thoughts Alice knew she would not speak. Lia never did speak her mind, and in her most private moments, Alice admitted to taking perverse pleasure in trying to force the words from her mouth using any means necessary.

“It is…Why, it is a scandalous color, Alice!” Lia had exclaimed. “Surely you know this.”

Alice had turned to the looking glass, pretending to study her face. “I hardly care what anyone here thinks of my gowns, Lia.” She had met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

Lia had said nothing, not even when Alice had worn the dress to Wycliffe the very next day, nor when some of the more staid of her peers stared at her, whispered behind their hands as if this prevented Alice from knowing they were talking about her. She had only worn the dress once. It had served its purpose and had been no use to her afterward.

But now she did not want to be scandalous. She wanted to be…acceptable. The realization gave her only brief pause. James was waiting. She did not have time to examine her motives. She was simply happy at the prospect of company, and she pulled a bundle of rose-colored silk from the wardrobe and dressed hurriedly, combing her hair quickly into submission and finishing it with an ivory ribbon.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, the tea kettle was whistling. She turned off the stove and prepared a tray with a teapot, two cups and matching saucers, and some of the cookies she had purchased from Mr. Owning.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said as she carried the tray into the library. “I’m afraid I’ve grown careless in Virginia’s absence.”