A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(37)

“Do you suppose there was really such an order of women?”

Felicity snorts. “Don’t be daft, Pip. It’s a fairy tale.”

Pippa is hurt. “I only wondered, that’s all.”

I don’t want the spell of our evening to be broken so fast. “What if it were true?” The slim leather-bound diary is in my hands and out in the open before I can really think about it.

“What’s that?” Ann asks.

“The secret diary of Mary Dowd.”

Ann is afraid she has missed something. “Who’s Mary Dowd?”

I tell them what I know of Mary Dowd, her friend Sarah, and their participation in the Order. Felicity grabs the diary from me, and the pages turn faster and faster as they read, their mouths hanging open in astonishment.

“Have you found the part where she goes into the garden?” I ask.

“We’re past that,” Felicity says.

“Wait a minute! I haven’t even read past that! Where’ve you got to?” I say, sounding like a whining child.

“March fifteenth. Here, I’ll read aloud,” Felicity says.

“Sarah and I were quite naughty today and entered the realms again without the guidance of our sisters. At first, we feared we were lost as we found ourselves in a misty wood where many lost spirits, those poor, wandering, wretched souls, asked us for help, but there was naught we could do for them yet. Eugenia says—”

“Eugenia! Do you think she means Mrs. Spence?” Ann asks.

We all shush her, and Felicity continues.

“Eugenia says they cannot cross over until their soul’s work is done, whether on one plane or another, and only then can they take their rest. Some of these wanderers never find release, and they are corrupted, becoming dark spirits who can cause all manner of mischief. These are banished to the Winterlands, a realm of fire and ice and shadows. Only the strongest and wisest of our sisters is allowed there, for the dark ones of that realm can whisper a thousand longings to you. They will make you a slave for power if you do not know how to use and banish them as the elders do. To answer such a fallen spirit, to bind it to you, could change the balance of the realms forever.”

Felicity stops. “Oh, honestly, this is the worst attempt at a gothic novel I’ve ever read. All we’re missing are creaking castle floors and a heroine in danger of losing her virtue.”

Pippa sits up, giggling. “Let’s read on and find out if they do lose their virtue!”

“Today, we were once again in that garden of beauty where one’s greatest wishes can be made real . . .”

“This is more like it,” Felicity says. “Bound to be something carnal here.”

“Heather, sweet-smelling, the color of wine, swayed under an orange-gold sky. For hours, we lay in it, wanting for nothing, turning blades of grass into butterflies with just the touch of our fingers, whatever we imagined made real by our will and desire. The sisters showed us wondrous things we could do, ways of healing, incantations for beauty and love . . .”

“Ooooh, I want to know those!” Pippa shouts out. Felicity raises her voice, talking over her till she shuts up again.

“. . . for cloaking ourselves from the sight of others, for bending the minds of men to the will of the Order, influencing their thoughts and dreams till their destinies shake out before them like a pattern in the night stars. It was all written upon the Oracle of the Runes. Just to touch our hands to those crystals was to be a conduit, with the universe flowing through hard and fast as a river. Indeed, we could only stay for mere seconds, such was its greatness. But when we came away from it, we were changed inside. ‘You have been opened,’ our sisters said . . .”

Pippa giggles. “Perhaps they did lose their virtue after all.”

“Would you allow me to finish, please?” Felicity growls.

“. . . and we felt it, too. We carried our small bit of magic inside us, across the veil into this world. Our first attempt came at dinner. Sarah gazed at her measly soup and bread, closed her eyes and pronounced it pheasant. And so it appeared to be, and tasted of it too, every bite. So good was it that Sarah smiled heartily afterward and said, ‘I want more.’”

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize Felicity has stopped reading. It’s quiet except for the sound of water trickling down a wall. “Wherever did you find this?” She’s looking at me as if I were a criminal.

Why, a ghostly urchin led me to it in the night. Doesn’t that ever happen to you?

“The library,” I lie.

“And did you really think it was an actual account of the witching hour at Spence?” Felicity is looking at me in a bemused way.

“No, of course not,” I lie. “I was only having a bit of fun with you.”

“Oooh, the witching hour of the Order. Is that just before vespers or right after music?” Pippa is giggling so hard, she snorts like a horse. It is most unattractive, and I am just horrible enough to take great pleasure in this fact.

“Very clever—you’re quite a wit,” I say, trying to sound good-humored when I feel surly and humiliated.

Felicity holds the diary aloft in mock seriousness. “I have been opened, my sisters. From now on, this shall be our sacred tome. Let us begin every meeting with a reading from this compelling”—she glances my way—“and absolutely true diary.”