Mistress of Souls: A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella (7 page)

She continued on to Henry’s burial place, bracing herself for an onslaught of emotion. The grave was small and still fresh, green shoots standing an inch above the dirt. Wildflowers, Alice knew, that would fill in to a lush purple carpet the way they did in the fields surrounding Birchwood.

Henry. How to reconcile what she had done to him?

That day at the river—that terrible, rainy, horrific day—had blurred around the edges. The details were no longer vivid. But still, she knew what she had done. Knew she had pushed Henry into the river in order to keep the list of keys from Lia, the list that would have given her a chance of closing the Gate to Samael forever.

And in the end, Henry had not even had it. The paper he had been clutching had been a ruse to throw her offtrack. This she had learned later, when it was too late. At the time, it had not even been a possibility in her mind. The Souls had been there, whispering, vying for space inside her head, pushing her to get the list, to destroy it and Henry, too, if necessary.

Anything to keep Lia from getting hold of it.

Their voices had urged Alice forward, made her feel confused and disoriented. She’d known she needed to think, to decide the best course of action, but she could not formulate a single thought with the Souls clamoring in her head. In the end, it had only taken a push. One little push to send Henry careening into the river in his chair, the heavy iron sinking beneath him almost as soon as it hit the water.

But the worst thing of all, the thing she could tell no one, is that she had felt nothing. Her very being had been numb until Lia went in after him. It was only her twin’s peril that had shaken Alice from her stupor, prompting her to race along the bank, the rain plastering her wet gown to her legs as she tried to keep up with Lia’s body as it was submerged again and again, each time the fear that she would not surface a fresh terror in Alice’s mind.

It was only when they had pulled Henry’s body from the river that she had felt true remorse. Only when she saw his small body, his face so white it was nearly blue, that she felt a hole rip open inside her.

But then it was too late. Too late for anyone to show her compassion, least of all Lia. And of course, Alice would not have asked for it. Not after what she had done.

At first she had hoped Lia would accuse her. Hoped she would tell Virginia and James and anyone who would listen that Henry hadn’t fallen into the river. That Alice had pushed him. Maybe then, in the atonement for her sin, she would be clean again. She would be good again.

To Alice’s shock, Lia said nothing. She was a shadow of herself, her face drawn, the purple smudges under her eyes making her look as dead as Henry had been when they lifted him from the water. She could barely move, could barely get out of bed, could not walk to the cemetery on the hill for Henry’s burial without Edmund on one side and James on the other.

Accusing Alice seemed to require energy Lia did not have.

A few days later, she was gone, and Alice was left to her guilt and horror and still,
still
, the need to please the Souls, to do their bidding so that someone, anyone, might love her.

Her heart grew heavy with the reminiscence, a dull ache returning that she had not felt since those dark days after Henry’s death. She turned her back on the marker and left the cemetery without a backward glance. It was the only way. She could not afford to look back. The past was too full of questions, too full of guilt and accusations, of mistakes that could not be undone however much she might wish it. Forward was the only path to survival.

The sun was beginning to drop in the west, the air colder as she reached the rise above the lake. She stepped forward, close to the edge, remembering how she had teased Lia when they were young, standing too close to the edge until Lia had begged her to come back. She had anticipated, of course, Lia’s fear: that Alice would step over the edge, her body crashing to the rocks below.

Like their mother.

Alice had enjoyed Lia’s fear. Had enjoyed the knowledge that she was the one to incite it. It was the only power she had.

Now, she looked down, imagining her mother standing in the very same place. Imagined her letting go, choosing freedom over conflict, the peace of the Otherworlds over the struggle of this one. She wondered if her mother had thought of them in her final moments. Had she loved them? Had she cared that she was leaving them to face alone the prophecy’s workings? And what would she say if she were still alive? Would she still be imprisoned, as Alice was, by the whisper of the Souls, by their promise of acceptance? Or would she encourage Alice to embrace her role as Guardian? To aid Lia in closing the Gate to Samael? To be good again?

And was it possible that she could find a way to be good even without her mother?

She tried to imagine it, tried to see herself going to London, appearing at Milthorpe Manor, embracing Lia and offering her fealty. She saw them, sisters, twins, gazing at each other across the threshold, trying to find their way back to each other.

Then she imagined Lia’s eyes, critical and unforgiving, the litany of Alice’s sins reflected back at her as they always had been. As they always would be.

Lia would never forgive her. Not for Henry. Not for anything.

It was too late to change, for either of them. And there was a strange kind of balance in it. Two sisters, one the Guardian, one the Gate, just as the prophecy dictated. It’s how it was meant to be.

She took one last look over the edge of the cliff, the waves a ripple on the lake below. Some of the dirt broke loose, sending a flurry of tiny rocks through the air. She watched them fall and took a step backward, inching away from the precipice.

She would not choose weakness over courage. Would not choose the rocky shore below over her duty to Samael and the Souls. It was time to cease looking back. Time to cease apologizing for who she was, who she was born to be.

Lia had made her choice as sister of light.

Alice would make hers as mistress of the dark.

As Mistress of Souls.

Michelle Zink lives in New York with her four children.
Prophecy of the Sisters
was her first novel, and was chosen as one of
Booklist
’s Top Ten Debut Novels of 2009 and as one of the Chicago Public Library’s Best Books for Young Readers. It has also been listed on the New York Public Library’s Stuff for the Teen Age and the Lone Star Reading List. Michelle invites you to visit her on Facebook and Twitter, and to listen to the Prophecy of the Sisters score by Kenneth Zink. Her newest novel,
A Temptation of Angels
, is out now.

Prophecy of the Sisters

Guardian of the Gate

Circle of Fire

Whisper of Souls

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Zink

Cover design by Alison Impey. Cover copyright © 2012 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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First e-book edition: June 2012

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ISBN 978-0-316-22768-1