At half past ten o’clock, Mrs. Nightwing announces that it is time for bed. Reluctantly, the girls soldier toward the staircase. I am nearly there when Miss McCleethy stops me.
“Miss Doyle, could you remain a moment?”
Felicity and Ann and I exchange furtive glances.
“Yes, Miss McCleethy.” I swallow the lump rising in my throat and watch my friends climb the stairs to safety while I wait behind with the enemy.
Miss McCleethy and I perch on the velvet settee in the small parlor used to receive guests, listening to the ormolu clock on the mantel tick off the excruciating silence in seconds. Miss McCleethy turns her dark eyes to me, and I begin to perspire.
“How nice it is to be at Spence once again,” she says.
“Yes. The gardens are lovely,” I answer. It is like a game of lawn tennis in which neither of us returns the same ball.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
“And you are excited to be having your season, I trust?”
“Yes, quite.”
Tick. Tock. Tick.
“There is that other matter we must discuss. The matter of the realms.”
Tock.
“Miss Doyle, I’ve begun the task of trying to find the last members of the Order. I do not know how many have survived or what powers remain, but it is my hope that soon we shall return the realms and our sisterhood to their former glory.”
Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock.
Miss McCleethy presses her lips into a semblance of a smile. “So you see, I’ve been trying to help you.”
“You’ve been helping yourself,” I correct.
“Is that so?” She turns that penetrating gaze on me. “You’ve had no trouble from the Rakshana, I trust?”
“No,” I say, surprised.
“And did you not wonder why?”
“I…”
“It is because of me, Miss Doyle. I have kept them at bay through my own means, but I cannot keep them from you forever.”
“How could you stop the Rakshana?”
“Do you think I would leave that to chance? We have our spies within their ranks, just as they have had theirs within ours,” she says pointedly, and my stomach tightens at the memory of Kartik’s last terrible mission for the Rakshana. The brotherhood ordered him to kill me. “I might remind you that your judgment has been hasty before.”
“What do you want from me?” I snap.
“Miss Doyle. Gemma. You don’t understand yet that I am your friend. I should like to help you—if you would allow it.”
She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I wish that small motherly gesture held no power over me, but it does. It is funny how you do not miss affection until it is given, but once it is, it can never be enough; you would drown in it if possible.
I blink against the sudden surprise of tears. “You told me not to make an enemy of you.”
“I spoke rashly. I was disappointed that you did not come to us.” Miss McCleethy takes my hands in hers. Her hands are bony and far too light and feel as if they are not accustomed to holding another’s. “You have been able to do what no one before you has. You were able to open the realms again. You defeated Circe for us.”
At Circe’s name, my heartbeat quickens. I stare at a big brown spot on the floor where the wood is warped. “And what about my friends? What of Felicity and Ann?”
Miss McCleethy slides her hands from mine. She walks around the room, her fingers clasped behind her back, like a priest in thought. “If the realms haven’t chosen them, there is nothing I can do about it. They are not destined for this life.”
“But they are my friends,” I say. “They’ve helped me. So have some of the tribes and creatures within the realms.”
Miss McCleethy brushes an invisible speck of dirt from the mantel. “They cannot be a part of us. I am sorry.”
“I can’t turn my back on them.”
“Your loyalty is commendable, Gemma. Truly it is. But it is misplaced. Do you suppose that if your roles were reversed and they were chosen for membership in the Order, the others would hesitate to abandon you?”
“They are my friends,” I repeat.
“They are your friends because you have power. And I have seen how power changes everything.” Miss McCleethy settles into the large wingback chair across from me. Her gaze bores into me. “Your mother fought bravely for our cause. You wouldn’t want to sully her memory, to disappoint her, would you?”
“You’ve no leave to speak of my mother.” My hair falls into my face. I push it furiously behind my ear but it will not stay.