The Sweet Far Thing

“I needed to show him—”



“The realms belong to us, not him!” Felicity insists. “Only yesterday you said we shouldn’t go into the realms without one another. Now you’ve done it!”



“Yes, and I’m sorry, but this was another matter,” I argue, though even I can hear how weak it is.



“You lied!” Felicity shouts.



“Listen to me, please! Will you listen to me for one moment? I’ve asked Gorgon to gather the Hajin and the forest folk at the Temple so that we might share the magic with them. We must go tonight. Don’t you see?”



“I see that you don’t care what your friends think. What they want.” In her costume, Felicity is every bit the warrior maiden. Her eyes sparkle with hurt. “Pip warned me this might happen.”



“What do you mean? What did she say?” I ask.



“Why should I tell you? Perhaps you can ask Kartik. You share more confidences with him than you do with your friends.”



“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” I say, my anger sparking.



“She said you wouldn’t like sharing the magic. That you never meant to, not the way she would,” Felicity says.



“That isn’t true.” But I cannot deny how much I have relished having something others did not.



Felicity takes Ann’s hand. “It’s no matter,” Felicity says, pulling Ann toward the door. “You forget that we may do as we please. We may enter the realms when we wish. With or without you.”



I pass through the rooms as if in a fever. The ballroom blooms with merry dancers. But I am not in the mood for dancing. In my mind, I see those horrid creatures, Amar leading the dead to sacrifice. I see the pain in Kartik’s eyes. I wonder where he has gone and when he will come back. If he will come back.



People crowd the floor for a dance with intricate steps, but they follow them without mishap, and I am envious. For there are no steps for me to follow on this journey; I must find my own way. I cannot be part of this gaudy convocation of princesses and fairies, jesters and imps, specters and illusions. I am so very tired of illusions. I need someone to listen, to help me.



Father. I could tell him everything. The time has come for truth. I hurry through room after room, searching for him. Fowlson lurks in a corner. He sneers at me. “Joan of Arc. She came to a bad end, didn’t she?”



“You could come to a bad end now,” I whisper fiercely, and press on. At last, I see my father holding court with Mrs. Nightwing, Tom…and Lord Denby. I march straight up to the snake.



“What are you doing here?” I demand.



“Gemma Doyle!” Father barks. “You will apologize.”



“I will not. He’s a monster, Father!”



Tom’s face reddens. He looks as if he could kill me. But Lord Denby only laughs. “This is what comes of empowering women, old chap. They become dangerous.”



I spirit Father away to the parlor and close the door. Father settles himself into a chair. From his pocket he removes the pipe I gave him for Christmas and a small pouch of tobacco. “I am very disappointed in you, Gemma.”



Disappointed. That word, like a knife to the heart. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry, but it truly is urgent. It’s something you must know about me. About Mother.” My pulse quickens. The words catch in my throat and burn there. I could swallow them like a bitter pill as I have done so many times before. It would be easier. But I cannot. They come back up, and I choke on them as they do.



“What if I told you that Mother was not who she appeared to be? What if I told you that her true name was Mary Dowd, and that she was a member of a secret society of sorceresses?”



“I would say it was not a very good joke,” he says darkly, packing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.



I shake my head. “It is not a joke. It’s true. Mother attended Spence years before me. She caused the fire that burned Spence’s East Wing. She was a member of a society of magical women called the Order. They trained at Spence. She could enter a world beyond this one called the realms. It is a beautiful place, Father. But also frightening at times. She was part of the magic there. And I have the same magic running through my veins. And that is why they want to kill me—to take my magic.”



Father’s smile fades. “Gemma, this tale is not amusing.”



I can’t stop. It is as if every truth I have ever held secret inside me must come out. “She wasn’t killed by accident. She knew that man in India, Amar. He was her protector. They died trying to protect me from a murderous sorceress named Circe.”