A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(55)

“Nothing serious,” I say, swallowing hard. “May I go in now?” I move to lift the flap but his hand grips my wrist.

“Do not do this again,” he warns, pushing me inside the tent while he walks off toward the forest to become the night’s eyes, always watching me.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


“THERE YOU ARE,” FELICITY CALLS TO ME FROM A SMALL table where she and Ann are sitting with the old Gypsy. “Mother Elena was just telling us the most interesting story about Ann becoming a great beauty.”

“She told me I’m going to have many admirers,” Ann interrupts, excited.

Mother Elena crooks a finger. “Come closer, child. Mother Elena will tell you your fortune.”

I make my way through a tent strewn with piles of books, colorful scarves, and bottles of herbs and tinctures of all kinds. A lantern hangs from a hook behind the old woman. The light is harsh and I can see how creased and brown her face is. Her ears are pierced, and she wears rings on every finger. She offers me a small basket with a few shillings in the bottom.

Felicity clears her throat, whispers. “Give her a few pence.”

“But then I’ll have nothing till my family’s visit on Assembly Day,” I whisper back.

“Give. Her. The pence,” she says through smiling teeth.

With a heavy sigh, I drop my last few coppers into the basket. Mother Elena shakes it. Satisfied with their jingling sound, she empties the basket into her coin purse.

“Now, what will it be? The cards? The palm?”

“Mother Elena, I think our friend would be very interested in the story you were telling us—about the two girls from Spence?”

“Yes, yes, yes. But not with Carolina in the room. Carolina, fetch some water now.” There’s no one else in the room. I’m starting to feel uneasy. Mother Elena’s hands pat her cards. She tilts her head as if she’s listening to something she has forgotten—a bit of song or a voice from the past. And when she looks up at me, it’s as if we’re old friends reunited.

“Ah, Mary, what a nice surpise. What is it Mother Elena can do for you today? I’ve got lovely honey cakes, sweet as can be. Come now.”

Her hands place imaginary cakes on an imaginary tray. We all exchange curious looks. Is it an act, or is the poor old thing really as mad as a hatter? She offers the pretend tray to me.

“Mary, dear, don’t be shy. Have a sweet. You’re wearing your hair differently. It suits you.”

Felicity nods, urges me to play along.

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Now, where is our lively Sarah today?”

“Our Sarah?” I falter.

Felicity jumps in. “She’s off practicing the magic you taught her.”

Mother frowns. “That I taught? Mother doesn’t dabble in such things. Only the herbs and the charms for love and protection. You mean them.”

“Them?” I repeat.

Mother whispers. “The women who come to the woods. Teaching you their craft. The Order. No good can come of it, Mary, you mark my words.”

We’re building a house of cards. One wrong question can send the whole tower tumbling before we reach the top.

“How do you know what sorts of things they teach us?” I ask.

The old woman taps the side of her head with a gnarled finger. “Mother knows. Mother sees. They see the future and the past. They shape it.” She leans toward me. “They see the spirit world.”

The whole room spins out of focus and comes back. Though the night is cold, sweat trickles down my neck, dampening my collar. “Do you mean the realms?”

Mother nods.

“Can you enter the realms, then, Mother?” I ask. The question reverberates in my ears. My mouth is dry.

“Oh, no. Only glimpse it. But you and Sarah have gone, Mary. My Carolina has told me you brought her sweet heather and myrtle from that garden.” Mother’s smile fades. “But there are other places. The Winterlands. Oh, Mary, I’m afraid of what lives there . . . afraid for Sarah and you . . .”

“Yes, what about Sarah . . . ,” Felicity says.

Mother frowns again. “Sarah is a hungry one. She wants more than knowledge. She wants power, that one. We must keep her from the wrong path, Mary. Keep her from the Winterlands and the dark things that live there. I fear she will call them, bind one to her. And it will corrupt her mind.”

She pats my hand. Her skin is dry and cracked against my knuckles. I feel I might faint. It’s a struggle to get the next part out.

“What . . . dark things?”

“Wounded spirits of such rage and hate. They want to come back to this world. They will find your weakness and exploit it.”

Felicity doesn’t believe a word of this part. Behind Mother’s back, she makes an ogre face. But I’ve seen the dark move and shriek.

“How could she call such a thing to her?” Despite the chill, I’m sweating and woozy.

“A sacrifice is what it wants, and then the power is hers,” Mother whispers. “But she’ll be forever bound to the dark.”

“What sort of sacrifice?” I barely croak. Mother Elena’s eyes glaze over. She’s fighting something in her memory. I say it again, stronger. “What sort of sacrifice?”