Prophecy of the Sisters (11 page)

“Sleep well, Lia.”

Aunt Virginia wheels him around, turning to me as she passes. She smiles in silent thanks.

“Good night, Aunt Virginia.”

I stand in the quiet room after they leave. Moving to the large window in the parlor, I stare at the black night as Alice
did, wondering what she saw in the emptiness beyond the conservatory windows. I look and look, the crackle of the fire the
only sound in the room behind me. But I do not see a thing. Not the beautiful sky of my night dreams nor the answers I need.

Only darkness.

Later, as I ascend the stairs to bed, I hear something coming from the library. It is the sound of shuffling, of things being
moved to and fro, and I turn on the carpeted steps and make my way toward the noise.

When I reach the library door, I see Alice, bent over and pulling books from the shelves. I watch for a minute, wondering
why I feel alarmed when the books in the library belong as much to Alice as to me. I suppose it is because she has never been
interested in Father’s collection, and he long ago gave up trying to share his passion for books with Alice.

She must feel me standing there, because she turns before I say a word. Bright spots of color rise to her cheeks. I cannot
remember the last time I’ve seen Alice blush.

“Oh! Lia! What are you doing here?” She straightens, smoothing her skirt and tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.

“I saw the door open. What are you looking for?”

A blanket of calm drops over her features. “Something to read before bed.” She waves at the shelves as if dismissing them.
“I’ve not been sleeping well of late.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” I tip a head to the shelves. “You need only ask if you’d like a recommendation.”

She looks at me, her face turning to stone. “I shall do that. If I cannot find something on my own, that is.”

We stand there, staring at each other. It is clear she doesn’t mean to leave, and I have no jurisdiction over the room.

“Good night, Alice.” It is not easy to turn, but I do it nonetheless, leaving her in the sanctity of the room I shared so
often with my father.

I make my way back to the stairs, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through my veins. I don’t know why I should want to
keep the book from Alice, but I am suddenly very, very glad it is hidden in the wardrobe in my chamber.

It is two days later when I watch from the large window in the parlor as the carriage rounds the bend in the drive. Despite
the unusual reason for my tea with Luisa and Sonia, I am excited at the prospect of their company. The child in me wants to
run down the stone steps and fling open the door of the carriage. Instead, I force myself to stand slowly, straightening the
folds in my skirt and walking with decorum to the foyer. Aunt Virginia looks up from her sewing by the fire and puts aside
her needle to join me as I make my way down the stone steps.

I have never had anyone to tea. Aunt Virginia was understandably surprised when I told her about my plans to host my two peers,
but she did not object. Birchwood is, after all, my home. I have not made a point of divulging my plans to Alice, though it
is difficult to believe she doesn’t know about them given the added activity in the house. Still, she has made herself scarce,
something for which I am grateful whether due to avoidance or ignorance.

Aunt Virginia and I gather in front of the walkway where the carriage stops with a crunch on the gravel. Edmund opens the
door, reaching in to provide assistance to its occupants. A gloved hand emerges first, and I know that it is Sonia’s. A hand
so childlike can only be hers. She steps from the carriage, her face full of uncertainty.

“Sonia! I’m so glad you could come!” I reach out to take her hand.

She smiles, looking from me to Aunt Virginia. “Thank you for inviting me.” Her face is unreadable, but I see the careful way
she chooses her words and realize she fears making a poor impression.

I look to Aunt Virginia and make the introduction. She smiles warmly. “I’m most pleased to see you again, Miss Sorrensen.”

Luisa ignores Edmund’s hand, bounding from the carriage in one swift motion, her smile casting a glow over us all. “Oh, thank
you ever so much for inviting me, Lia!” She wraps me in a quick embrace, her cheeks glowing like ripe apricots against her
dark skin. “I’ve never been invited to tea. Not once since I’ve been at Wycliffe! You should have seen the other girls’ faces
when the invitation arrived!”

She hardly stops to breathe, and I place a hand on her arm, if only to find a place to make introductions. “Aunt Virginia,
Luisa Torelli. Luisa, Virginia Spencer.”

“I’m most pleased to meet you, Miss Torelli.” Aunt Virginia’s green eyes sparkle.

“Oh yes! Most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss… er… Mrs. Spencer.” I stifle a smile as Luisa fumbles over my Aunt’s
marital status.

“You were quite right the first time, Miss Torelli. I’ve never married.”

“Oh, that is most bold of you, Miss Spencer,” Luisa breathes. “I do so admire the independent women of today!”

I know I must stop her or we shall still be standing on the gravel at suppertime, Luisa prattling away as if no time has passed
at all. “Shall we go in, then? The fire is warm, and the table is set.”

I loop one arm in Luisa’s and the other in Sonia’s. We will enjoy our tea. And then we will try to find the dark thread that
binds us together.

“I don’t believe it.” Luisa is nearly speechless. Nearly, but not quite. “And to think that all this time I thought I was
the only one.”

“So did I.” Sonia’s words are a whisper. “Well, and then Lia, after I found her.” She cannot take her eyes off our wrists,
thrust forward over the bales of hay on which we sit. The marks, all three of them, are proof that whatever is at work is
at work in us all.

I have brought them to the stables in search of privacy from the prying eyes and big ears of the house. It is late enough
that the stable boys have all gone home, and our only company is the soft nickering of the horses and the sweet smell of hay.

I relax my arm, pulling it back toward me. “We cannot deny it. Not now. Whatever it means, we shall have to figure it out
together.”

Sonia shakes her head. “But how? I’ve told you all I know, Lia. There isn’t a thing I’ve left out.”

“What? What do you know?” Luisa narrows her eyes at us.

I sigh, making my way to a soft leather bag hanging from a peg on the stable wall. Dipping my hand into the bag, I pull out
a fistful of dry, crumbly oats and make my way to the first stall.

“Sonia told me about a story, a legend really, involving twin sisters and angels who —”

Luisa makes her way to the feedbag. “The story of Maari and Katla? Of the Watchers?” She asks the question as if it is the
most obvious in the world.

In my surprise, I ignore the black horse in front of me. He nudges my shoulder with his nose, and I open my palm absently.
“You’ve heard it?”

She shrugs. “My grandmother used to tell it to me when I was small. But what does it have to do with us? With the mark?” She
walks to the stall ahead of me, sticking her hand through the opening without hesitation.

I brush my hands against my skirt, reaching into the drawstring bag and pulling the book from it as Luisa watches with interest.
Sonia has made no move toward the horses, remaining on the bale of hay as if there is no question of her feeding the large,
shuffling animals. I sit next to her, placing the book in my lap and folding my arms over it. It is not yet time. First we
must begin from the same place.

I turn to Luisa. “Tell us what you know about the sisters.”

Her eyes meet mine with unspoken questions. And then she speaks. At first, her words are halting, but she warms to the details
as she recalls the story from the soft, blurred edges of childhood. When she is finished, we are silent.

I run my fingers along the cover of the book, Luisa’s words still sounding in my ears. Words that are the same as Sonia’s
on the hill over the lake. The same as those translated by James from the book.

Sonia shakes her head. “I thought it was only people like me — spiritualists and gypsies and such — who knew of the prophecy.”

Luisa shrugs, giving us a rueful smile as she brushes her gloved hands together to dust off the remaining oats. “My mother
was English. There were rumors that she came from a long line of heathens. All nonsense, I’m sure, but I suppose Grandmother’s
story comes from them.”

Sonia eyes the book with hunger. “Are you going to tell us what that is, Lia?”

“My father was a collector of sorts. A collector of rare books.” I hold the book out toward them. “After his death, this was
found hidden behind a secret panel in the library.”

Luisa closes the distance between us in a few quick steps, taking the book and dropping next to us on the hay. She opens it,
turning the pages carefully but quickly before closing it with a snap. “I cannot read a thing, Lia. It’s in Latin! I can barely
speak my native tongue of Italian after all these years! How do we know this has anything to do with the mark if we cannot
even read it?”

Sonia takes the book before I can answer. She gives it a more thorough inspection, but her time inside it is short as well,
and she closes it much as Luisa did, shrugging and looking at me over the cover.

“I’m afraid I don’t read Latin, either, Lia.”

I pull James’s folded notes from the silken fabric of my bag. “My grasp of it is no better, but I happen to be acquainted
with someone who knows it quite well.”

I pass them the translation, giving them a moment to read, to pass it to one another, to ponder the words written in James’s
careful handwriting.

When she is finished reading, Sonia lowers the paper to her lap, her expression blank. Luisa chews her full lower lip before
pulling a piece of straw from the bale. She stands and paces the floor, her footsteps ringing through the empty stable as
she begins to speak.

“All right, then. Let’s think this through, shall we? If the legend is true and if the mark has something to do with it and
if you and Alice are the sisters —”

“That is a lot of ifs, Luisa.” I don’t mean to contradict her. She doesn’t say anything I have not thought myself. Still,
it seems important to give voice to reason even as it spins out of my reach.

Luisa nods. “Perhaps. But if we put together the book and the legend and you and Alice and the mark… Well, the most important
similarity between the prophecy and the three of us is you and Alice, Lia. You are twins. That cannot be sheer coincidence.”
She stops walking and shrugs. “Well, it could, but let us assume for the moment that it isn’t, all right? Let’s see where
that train of thought takes us.”

I nod, relieved that someone else is willing to shoulder the burden of the prophecy for the moment.

“All right, then.” She resumes pacing. “You are the Guardian, your sister the Gate. It makes sense. Your mark is different,
and you’ve already said that Alice doesn’t have one at all. Besides, let us be honest, it is difficult to imagine her as guardian
of anything save her own best interests.” She flashes me a rueful smile. “No offense.”

Once, I would have taken offense. I would have sided with my sister. But I cannot refute Luisa’s perception of Alice, and
deciphering the prophecy and my place in it is suddenly more important than loyalty to a sister I am becoming more and more
certain I hardly know.

I shake my head. “No offense taken.”

Luisa smiles kindly. “Good. So it must be you, then. You must be the Guardian. And if you are the Guardian, then Alice is
the Gate.”

I nod, surprised and grateful that it is that simple to her. That Luisa believes so easily the thing logic has tried to deny
me time and again. “Yes. At least, I believe so. But how are we to figure the rest of it?”

“‘Cast from the heavens, the Souls were lost until the Gates

summon forth their return or the Angel brings the keys to the abyss.’”
Sonia’s voice drifts across the darkening stable. “That’s the next piece of the prophecy. The piece after the sisters. Maybe
that is our next clue.”