The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 178

The girls jump with excitement. Mae rips nightshade from the wall and tucks it behind her ear. A worm drops to the floor with a plop, and I cannot say whether it fell from the flower or her ear.

“Gemma?” Pip extends her hand. “Will you join our debut ball?”

Creostus’s death has cast a long shadow across my soul. For the first moment in a very long time, I do not care for a party. I do not want to forget my troubles or attempt to fill the holes deep inside us with fleeting illusions.

“I’m afraid I’m not in a festive mood. You’ll have to have your party without me.”

I expect an argument. Pouts and tears and begging for me to turn the castle into the Taj Mahal, our skirts into Parisian gowns. Instead, Pippa smiles brightly.

“Oh, Gemma, darling, you rest. I shall do it all.”

She closes her eyes and reaches her arms forcefully to the castle’s ancient rafters. An ecstatic smile spreads across her lips. Her body trembles, and the castle begins its transformation. The grime clears from the windows till they gleam. The vines recede, clearing enough floor for dancing. Mold vanishes from the walls and the ceiling, and in its place is a dark purple carpet of berries and belladonna.

Awestruck, Ann turns round, taking in the whole of the chapel. “How did you do that?”

“It seems the magic is changing. Gemma isn’t the only one with the power,” Pippa answers.

“That’s extraordinary,” Felicity says, and there’s a hint of sadness in her voice. “Can you gift it to others as Gemma can?”

Pippa reaches into a tangle of berries and selects the biggest, which she eats. “No. At least not yet. But when I am able, you can be certain I will share it without delay. Now, we must prepare for our debuts!”

“Pippa,” I say, more harshly than I mean to, “might I have a word with you?”

Pip gives the other girls a playful pout and rolls her eyes, and they laugh at my expense. “I shan’t be but a moment,” she says. “You might practice your curtsies while I’m away.”

Pip and I travel the winding staircase. A mouse has been caught in the spider’s web. It lies trapped in a shiny cocoon of silk, barely moving, knowing its fate. We reach the top of the stairs and I can feel the chill in the air. In the distance, the shadows of the Winterlands beckon. But I do not feel its siren song so strongly tonight. The sight of Creostus lying on the ground is fresh in my mind.

Pippa stands at the window. Silhouetted by the swirling gloom of the Winterlands, an enigmatic half smile on her lips, she is even more beautiful than usual.

“I must say, Gemma, you don’t seem very happy for me.”

“I’m only confused. How did this power come to you? It’s been days since I—”

“This has nothing to do with you,” she says, and I hear hatred in her voice. “The magic has taken root in me. I can’t explain why it is. But you might be happy. You should be. Now you’re not so alone.”

Should. That word, so like a corset, meant to bend us to the proper shape. Pippa leans out the window arch and stretches her arms wide, letting the wind howling off the Winterlands mountains hold her up.

“Oh, that is jolly!” She giggles.

“Pip, come in,” I say, worried.

Her eyes turn milky white. “Why? Nothing shall happen to me. I’m immortal.”

She steps away from the window. Her hair is a tangle of curls. “Gemma, I want you to know that while I do not approve of your consorting with Circe, I am prepared to forgive you.”

“You…forgive me?” I say slowly.

“Yes. For I’ve been reborn and I see everything so clearly. There will be changes made around here.” She smiles and kisses my cheek, and it makes my skin tingle.

“Pip, what are you saying?”

Those eyes of hers shimmer like a mirage—violet, blue-white, violet, blue-white—till I cannot be sure what is true and what is only a false hope in the desert.

“I’ve had a vision of my own. There will be a new day of empire within the realms. Those who are not with us are against us. And then there is the matter of those who, in truth, are not fit for our new day: the diseased and the poor. The ones who shall never really amount to anything.” Her face hardens. “Degenerates.”

Pippa slips her arm through mine, and I have the urge to shake it off and run. “I confess I don’t know what to do about poor Wendy,” she says with a sigh. “She’s become quite a burden.”

My voice is a whisper. “What do you mean?”