A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(21)

Against the cool marble of the altar, my hands tremble, unsure whether they’ll have to put up a fight. “Go on.”

“You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

“No.” The lie turns my breath shallow and fast.

“You’re lying.”

“N-no . . . I . . .”

Fast as a snake, he’s up on the altar, crouched before me, the lantern inches from my face. He could easily burn me or snap my neck. “For the last time, what did you see?”

My mouth has gone completely dry with the sort of fear that will say anything. “I . . . I saw her killed. I saw them both killed.”

His jaw clenches tight. “Go on.”

There’s a sob riding hard on my ragged breath. I push it down. “I . . . I tried to call out to her, but she couldn’t hear me. And then . . .”

“What?”

The weight in my chest is unbearable, making each word a struggle. “I don’t know. It was as if the shadows started to move . . . I’ve never seen anything like it . . . some hideous creature.” For some reason, it feels good to pour out to a complete stranger what I’ve been holding in from everyone else.

“Your mother took her own life, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” I whisper, astonished that he knows this.

“She was lucky.”

“How dare you—”

“Trust me, she was lucky not to be taken by that thing. As for my brother, he was not so fortunate.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing you can fight.”

“I saw it again. On the carriage ride here. I had another . . . vision.”

He’s alarmed. I can see the fear in him, and now I’m sorry I’ve told him anything. In one move, he’s off the altar and in front of me. “Listen to me well, Miss Doyle. You are not to speak about what you’ve seen to anyone. Do you understand?”

Moonlight pokes through the stained glass in weak slices. “Why not?”

“Because it will put you in danger.”

“What was that thing I saw?”

“It was a warning. And if you don’t want other, terrible things to happen, you will not bring on any more visions.”

The night, the pranks, the fear and exhaustion—they all collide in a sneering laugh I can’t seem to stop. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that? It’s not as if I asked for it in the first place.”

“Close your mind to them and they’ll stop soon enough.”

“And if I can’t?”

Without a sound, he reaches out quickly and clamps a hand around the delicate bones of my wrist, squeezing tightly. “You will.” Down the center aisle, a mouse makes a bold run for it, rushing across to the other side of the church, where it’s only a scratching sound again. I’m bending under the pressure on my wrist. He lets go, a satisfied smirk on his face. I pull my arm close and rub at the sting on my skin.

“We’ll be watching you, Miss Doyle.”

There’s a clattering sound at the chapel’s heavy oak doors. I can hear Reverend Waite’s drunken singing as he fumbles to lift the bolt, cursing as it falls back into place with a thud. I don’t know whether to be thankful or terrified that he’ll find me here. In the instant I turned to look, my tormentor has vanished. He’s simply gone. The door is unguarded. I have a way out. And then I see it. The decanter of communion wine sitting full and ready in its cubbyhole.

The wooden bolt slides free. He’s almost in. But tonight Reverend Waite will be denied his wine. It’s cradled in my arm as I bound through the side door and stop at the top of a dark stairwell. What if he’s waiting for me down those shadowy stairs?

Reverend Waite calls out, half-drunk. “Is anyone there?”

I’m down the stairwell and out behind the chapel as if I’ve been shot from a cannon. Not till I’ve stumbled my way down the hill and have the imposing bricks of Spence in sight do I stop for breath. A crow caws, making me jump. I feel eyes on me everywhere.

We’ll be watching you.

What did he mean by that? Who is “we”? And why would anyone want to keep an eye on a girl who wasn’t clever enough to outwit a quartet of boarding school pranksters? What does he know about my mother?

Just keep looking at the school, Gemma. You’ll be all right. I keep my eyes on the rows of windows ahead. They bob up and down with each step. You will not bring on any more visions.

It’s ridiculous. Galling, in fact. As if I have any control over them. As if I could just shut my eyes, like this, right now, and will myself into one. The sound of my breath slows, grows louder. My whole body has gone warm and relaxed, as if I’m floating in the most delicious bath of sweet rose water. At the smell of roses, I snap my eyes open.

The little girl from the alley stands in front of me, shimmering. She beckons me with her hand. “This way.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”

She doesn’t answer, just darts into a thicket of trees, her brightness leading the way in the night, like a flame under glass.

“Wait,” I say. “Not so fast.”

“We’ve got to hurry.”

She flits ahead on the path. What am I doing? I’ve gone and done the one thing I’ve been asked not to do—bring on more visions. But how could I know that I could do it at will? We’re in a clearing of some kind. There’s a dark mound just before us. I’m terrified that these shadows will come alive and I’ll hear that ghastly voice from the alley, but the little girl doesn’t seem afraid. The mound is hollowed out inside, a sort of makeshift cave. She leads me down into the dank-smelling darkness. Her light fills the cave but even so, I can barely make out anything beyond a bit of rock, a spot of shiny moss.