Prophecy of the Sisters (13 page)

“I suppose… I suppose I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Well, let us begin at the beginning then, shall we?” Her voice is sorrowful, and I know she does not want to begin at the
beginning any more than I.

But we must. We must begin somewhere. After all, one cannot reach the end of something without the beginning.

“Yes. Let us start there.”

She looks at me with silent expectation. Clearly, I am meant to divulge my secrets first. And what else is there to do? The
prophecy and my place in it swirl in a cloud of confusion. Without assistance, it will be impossible to go further.

So I tell her what I know, what I
believe
I know, repeating my conversations with Sonia, my interpretations of the book. When I am finished, she speaks.

“Miss Sorrensen is quite right. The prophecy has continued for all this time, all these years, all these lifetimes. We are
but one more link in the chain,” Aunt Virginia says.

“I thought…” My throat closes around the words, and I have to clear it to continue. “I thought I was the Guardian, at first.”

She looks away, into the fire. “Yes,” she murmurs. “I can see why you might.”

Her easy acceptance of my declaration sits so heavily on my chest I have trouble breathing. “Then it’s true.” It is not so
easy for me, though I came to the realization myself the moment I saw the drawing of the medallion.

Her nod is almost imperceptible, as if by making her acknowledgment slight it might somehow be less true, less painful.

I am surprised at the anger that fills me in the wake of Aunt Virginia’s confirmation. It pushes me to my feet, forcing me
to pace the length of the room for fear I will jump out of my own skin if I remain still. “But why? Why does it have to be
me?”

She sighs, a world of sadness in the soft breath that leaves her body. “Because you are the oldest, Lia. It is always the
oldest.”

I stop moving, stunned. That is it? The reason for my enslavement to the prophecy is something as simple, as random, as the
order in which I emerged from my mother’s womb?

“But I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. How can it be me if I don’t want it?”

She presses her lips with the tips of her fingers. “It is a mistake, I think.”

“What… what do you mean?” I sink back into the chair at Virginia’s side.

She leans forward, looking into my eyes. “Your mother had a very difficult confinement with you and Alice. She was forced
to her bed for most of it, and in the end…” She looks back to the fire, her eyes taking on a far-off look.

“In the end, what?”

“In the end, Alice was to be born first. Her head was down, ready to be born, while your feet were down instead, your head
pointed upward. It isn’t uncommon in twins, or so the doctor said. And any other time I suppose it would not have mattered.
But your mother… she could not birth Alice. Her labors went on and on, Lia, until I thought it would kill her.”

“But it didn’t.”

She shakes her head. “No, though I imagine not so very long ago the mother
would
have died in a birth such as yours. But your father was a very rich man who insisted on the very best for his wife and unborn
children. The doctor who saw your mother, who delivered you and Alice, was trained in techniques that were,
are,
considered dangerous, including cesarean birth.”

“What is that?”

Her eyes meet mine. “He cut her, Lia. He put her to sleep and he cut her. It was the only way to save her life, and perhaps
the lives of you and your sister. When he opened her, instead of pulling Alice out first, he grabbed you. Alice was nearer
to birth the other way, but as it turns out, you were nearer the incision made by the doctor. I don’t think it was supposed
to be you.”

“But how do you know? How do you know any of this?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t.
We
didn’t. When your mother awoke, we said a prayer of gratitude for her survival and for the survival of you and Alice, and
we never spoke of it again. It was only after I began to suspect that you might be the Gate, that I thought there might be
consequences to the doctor’s intervention in your birth.”

“But even so… how do you know it isn’t exactly the way it was supposed to be all along?”

“Because I see the look in Alice’s eyes, Lia. And when she looks at you, I’m afraid.” She looks around, as if someone might
have crept in on silent feet while we were sitting right there. “I see her anger, her desire, and her need. And in you…”

“In me what?”

She shrugs simply. “In you I see something else, something…
true
that has been present ever since you were a small child.”

The fire has burned low, its missing warmth making the room seem more than cold, making it seem hollow, dead. It is only after
a time that Aunt Virginia’s gaze drifts to my hand.

“May I see it?” she asks carefully, as if she is asking to see something far more private than my wrist.

I nod, holding it out for her. Her hands are warm and dry on the tender skin of my arm as she pushes up the sleeve of my nightdress.

“Oh!” Her voice is full of surprise. “It is… it is different.”

I look down at the mark. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen one like this.” She traces it gently with her finger. “The Gates… well, they always have the mark of the
Jorgumand. But I’ve never seen one with this
C.
”

Her mention of the mark makes me realize that I have not yet told her about Sonia and Luisa. “There is one other thing.…”

“What is it?”

“Sonia and Luisa have a mark as well, only it is exactly like the one you describe. Theirs does not bear the
C
as mine does. What do you think it means?”

She looks into my eyes. “I don’t know, but I wonder if it has something to do with the others.…”

Her words cause me to sit up straighter. “What others?”

“The other children with the mark. The ones your father was searching for. The ones he brought to New York.”

I feel as if her words stop my heart, a ripple of intuition rippling up my spine. “I think you’d better tell me what you mean.”

She nods. “It began after your mother’s death. Your father began spending hours and hours in the library.” Her eyes are bright
as she remembers. “He had always loved the library, of course, but then… well, then it became his refuge. We rarely saw him,
and soon he began getting strange letters, taking long trips.”

“What does this have to do with the others?”

“He was working from a list. A list of names and places.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. What use could he have for such a list?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. But he brought two of them here.”

“Who? Who did he bring here?”

“The girls. Two of them. One from England, one from Italy. But he would never tell me why.”

There is a promise of understanding in her words, but one I am not yet ready to share. Aunt Virginia rises, trying to rekindle
the dying fire as I stare at the glowing ashes, attempting to make sense of everything that has been said. Even with all I’ve
learned, the mystery has only deepened.

But there is one puzzle that can be solved here and now.

“May I see, Aunt Virginia?”

She turns from the fire. In her eyes, I see that she knows just what I mean. She returns to the chair, sitting in it and holding
out her hand without a word. When I pull aside the cuff of her nightdress I see nothing but the smooth, pale skin of her slight
wrist. She bears no trace of the mark.

I nod. “I thought so.” My voice is wooden in the quiet room. It is a voice that doesn’t sound like mine at all.

“Lia. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to know.”

She
is
sorry. I can see it in the worry lines around her eyes, the tense set of her mouth. I try to smile for her, but it doesn’t
feel right on my face. “It’s all right, Aunt Virginia. I knew, I think. I knew it all along.”

And now, at least, I need not fear my aunt. I cannot bring myself to think the other thing. The thing about my mother and
her role as Gate. Instead, I focus on the things I can still change. “Where are the keys, Aunt Virginia?”

“What keys?”

I study her face, but there is no guile there. No secrets. “The keys mentioned in the prophecy. In the book. The keys to ending
the prophecy.”

She shakes her head. “I told you; your father was very secretive. I’m afraid I’ve never seen the book.”

“But how did you maintain your role as Guardian without knowledge of the prophecy?”

“I was trained by my Aunt Abigail, also a Guardian.” She drops her eyes to the hands clasped in her lap, before looking up
at me once again. “And now it is my task to train Alice in her role as Guardian. I should already be training her, if the
truth be told. But I must confess that I’ve done no such thing.”

I shake my head. “Why?”

“I would like to say I don’t know, but it would be a lie.” She sighs. “I have been hoping I was wrong — that you were the
Guardian and Alice the Gate, because I cannot imagine training Alice for such a role any more than I can imagine her fulfilling
it.”

“But… if you train her… if you teach her how to be a proper Guardian —”

She does not allow me to finish. “There is something you must understand, Lia; even among those of us who play a role in the
prophecy, there are varying degrees of strength. The Guardian’s ability lies both in her willingness to assume the role and
in her innate power. Most desire to fulfill the role that is theirs, but some do not. Then again, some are born with extraordinary
power and others… others with less. I’m afraid I must count myself one of the latter. Your mother was far stronger. She was
a Spellcaster, in fact, while I have little power beyond that required to travel the Plane.”

I am beginning to understand, though I don’t like where the knowledge leads. “So the Guardian has no guarantee of keeping
out the Souls?”

“Alice’s task would be great enough were she eager to assume it, but it will be impossible if she has no desire to play her
part. The Guardian is simply an overseer… a sentinel, if you will. It is the Guardian’s duty to keep watch over the sister
named as Gate, to use whatever power available to deny the Souls entrance to our world and to entreat the Gate to fight against
the role that is hers.

“But it is not foolproof. The Souls
have
made their way here, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times over the past centuries. No one can say for certain how many have
gathered to wait for Samael, but we do our best to limit their number. If the Doom of Gods
does
arrive, it is to our advantage to ensure that Samael fights with as few Souls as possible.” She shrugs. “It is all we can
do.”

I’m not sure what I expected. But not this. I suppose I hoped there was some sure answer… some information Aunt Virginia possessed
that would allow me to fight the Souls and find the keys.

But it will not be so easy. There will be no quick and simple end to the prophecy that steers my life in an ever darker direction.

My room is cold, the fire burned to a soft, orange glow. I have no idea the time; surely late enough that I should be ready
for sleep. But I cannot stop thinking, cannot stop the wheels from turning over all I have learned. I let my mind wander through
the darkness.

I am not the Guardian, but the Gate. Whether through fate or chance, it is something I must accept if I’m to find a way back
from its bleak promise.

If I am the Gate, Alice is the Guardian.

I shake my head into the empty room, for even alone I want to protest, to cry out,
It cannot be!

Yet I know it must.

And if I am the Gate, should I not fear finding the keys even more than Alice finding them? Perhaps it is I who might use
them for harm instead of good.

I push these thoughts aside. I know my own intentions, and while it is true that I have felt the strange affinity for traveling
the Plane, for the medallion that found its way to me, it is also true that I do not seek to do harm. This I know as sure
as I breathe.

With this certainty, I also know that Alice does not seek to do good, whatever the prophecy may call us. Whatever names it
may assign us.

My thoughts sound desperate, even to me, as if I seek to reassure myself with false truths and empty reassurances. But there
are far too many things I do not yet understand. The prophecy is too long, too winding, to begin with those things. I shall
continue instead with the ones I do.

My father began searching for something after my mother’s death, compiling a list of children. Bringing them here.

One from England, one from Italy.

Sonia and Luisa.

I do not have proof. I never asked the circumstances of Sonia’s coming to live with Mrs. Millburn. There has not been time.
But I will wager that Sonia is from England.

Why would Father bring them here? Why would he bring them to me, for that is what it feels like — as if he brought them all
this way for me, though for what purpose I cannot imagine.