A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(96)

“Oh, not this again,” Ann snarls, leaning her head against the boulder.

Felicity is taunting me with the poem. She knows it reminds me of Miss Moore. Like a whirling dervish, she throws out her arms, spiraling faster into ecstasy.

“Or when the Moon was overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed.

‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said

The Lady of Shalott.”

Her hands fly out against the cave wall to stop her fall. She rolls her body against the craggy surface till she’s facing us again. Strands of hair, wet with perspiration, stick to her forehead and cheeks. She’s got a strange look on her face.

“Pip, darling, do you really want to see your knight?”

“More than anything!”

Felicity grabs Pip’s hand and runs toward the cave’s mouth.

“Wait for me,” Ann yells, following after.

They spill out into the night like Bedouins, with me trailing in their wake. The cold air is a shock to our damp skin.

“Felicity, what are you up to?” I ask.

“Something new,” she teases.

The sky, indifferent earlier, pulses with the light of a million stars. There’s an early-autumn moon, buttery golden, riding high over spun-thin wisps of cloud that tell us all it will soon be the time for harvest, the time when the farmers raise a pint to the legendary murder of John Barleycorn.

Felicity howls at the globe in the sky.

“Shhh,” Pippa says. “You’ll wake the entire school.”

“No one will hear us. Mrs. Nightwing had two sherries tonight. We couldn’t wake her if we placed her in the center of Trafalgar Square with a pigeon in each hand.” She lets loose with another howl.

“I want to see my knight.” Pippa pouts.

“And you will.”

“Not if Gemma won’t take us.”

“We all know there’s another way,” Felicity says. In the moonlight, her pale skin glows white as bone. A chill works its way up my spine.

“What do you mean?” Pippa asks.

Something stirs in the trees. There’s the sound of twigs breaking and movement, quick and furtive. We jump. A deer wanders closer to the clearing. It has its nose to the ground, sniffing for food.

“It’s only a deer.” Ann exhales in a whoosh.

“No,” Felicity says. “It’s our sacrifice.”

The moon dips behind clouds for an instant and our faces are mottled with light.

“You aren’t serious,” I say, coming out of my sullen stupor.

“Why not? We know they did it. But we’ll be smarter.” She’s like a carnival barker trying to entice a crowd into a sideshow tent.

“But they couldn’t control it—” I start. Felicity cuts me off.

“We’re stronger than they are. We won’t make the same mistakes. The huntress told me . . .”

The huntress offering me the berries, whispering to Felicity on their hunts. Something’s fighting to take shape in my mind, but it won’t come. Only the fear remains, bold and undeniable.

“What about the huntress?”

“She tells me things. Things you are not privy to. She’s the one who told me I could have the power if I offer her a token.”

“No . . . that’s not—”

“She told me you’d react this way. That you couldn’t be trusted because you want the power of the realms all to yourself.”

Pippa and Ann look from Felicity to me and back again, waiting.

“You can’t do this,” I say. “I won’t let you.”

Felicity creeps forward, knocks me backward into the dirt. “You. Can’t. Stop. Us.”

“Felicity . . .” Ann looks as if she doesn’t know whether to help me or run away.

“Don’t you see? Gemma wants the power all to herself! She wants power over us.”

“That’s not true!” I struggle to my feet and take a step backward, away from them.

Pippa comes up behind me. I can feel her breath on my neck. “Then why won’t you take us?”

I’m caught. “I can’t tell you.”

“She doesn’t trust us,” Felicity says. Suspicion spreads like a disease. She crosses her arms in triumph, lets the damage sink in.

The deer is just beyond us in the thicket. Pippa watches it. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I wouldn’t have to marry him. Would I?”

Felicity takes her hands. “We could change everything.”

“Everything,” Ann says, joining them.



I saw a fire start once in India. One second, it was only a spark lost from a beggar’s fire, caught on a high wind. Within minutes, everything in sight was ablaze, thatched roofs crackling like so much dry kindling, mothers scurrying into the streets, carrying crying children.

That is how fires start. With a spark. And I see the spark catching the wind.

“All right,” I say, desperate to keep them from going it alone. “All right, I’ll take you. Let’s go back to the cave and join hands.”

“That time has passed,” Felicity says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we are no longer content to ride on your coattails, Gemma. We’ll enter the realms by ourselves, thank you.”