The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 41

“It is not the way of things,” she says.

“It wasn’t the way of things. Everything is changing, and now that I have this power, I intend to make changes of my own,” I snap.

Gorgon searches my face for what seems an eternity. At last, she closes her eyes, shutting me out. “Do what you will.”

I have insulted her. I shall have to tend to that wound later. For now, I must help Pippa. She is sobbing, stretched out upon the shore, blades of grass strangled tight in her closed fists. She sits up with ferocity. “You’ll go on, all of you. To dances and parties, marriage and children. You’ll find happiness, and I shall be here forever, with no one but those horrid girls from the factory who’ve never even been to a tea.”

She falls in on herself, rocking like a small child. I cannot bear her pain or my guilt for having brought her to the realms in the first place—and for not being able to help her now. I would do anything, say anything, to take this from her.

“Pip,” I say, “shhh. Give me your hands.”

“Wh-why?” she hiccups.

“Trust me.”

Her hands are cold and wet but I hold fast. I feel the magic leave me in a fierce pull, as always. A few seconds of us joined. Her memories and emotions become mine to see, traveling as fast as scenery viewed from train windows. Young Pip at the piano, learning her scales dutifully. Pippa submitting to her mother’s harsh brushing, her hair gleaming beneath each endured stroke. Pippa at Spence, looking to Felicity for guidance, to know when to laugh at a jest or cut someone deliberately. Her whole life she has done what was asked, without questioning. Her only rebellion was to eat that handful of berries, and it has stranded her here in a foreign, unpredictable world. I feel her joy, sadness, fear, pride, longing. Fee’s face flashes, the light turning her golden. I feel Pip’s aching fondness for our friend. Pippa wears a rapturous smile. She is changing before me, bathed in sparkles of white light.

“I remember…Oh, it’s wonderful, this power! I shall change!”

She shuts her eyes tight and presses her lips together in furious determination. Slowly, her cheeks turn pink and her thick black ringlets return. Her smile is restored to its former glory. Only her eyes will not change. They waver between violet and that unsettling blue-white.

“How do I look?” she asks.

“Beautiful.”

Pippa throws her arms about my neck, pulling me down. She’s so like a child at times. But I suppose it is what we love about her.

“Oh, Gemma. You are a true friend. Thank you,” she murmurs into my hair. “Dear me, I shall have to do something about this dress!” She laughs. Same old Pippa. And for once, I am glad of it.

“Did you ever imagine you’d be so very powerful, Gemma? Isn’t it marvelous? Think, you can do whatever you wish.”

“I suppose,” I say, softening.

“It’s your destiny! You were born for greatness!”

I should like to say that this statement brings a blush to my cheek and I quickly dismiss it as rubbish. But secretly, I treasure it. I am coming to realize that I should like to feel special. That I should like to make my mark upon the world. And that I don’t want to have to apologize for it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PIPPA AND I PART IN THE POPPY FIELDS. “I SHALL SEE YOU soon, dear friend. And don’t worry—I shall keep our secret. I’ll say that this change in me has happened of its own accord. A miracle.”

“A miracle,” I second, trying to push aside my misgivings. I can’t gift Pippa forever.

She waves to me and blows a kiss before running back toward the Borderlands.

“Gemma…”

“Who said that?” I whirl around, but there is no one about.

I hear it again, like a faint cry on the wind. “Gemma…”

I crane my neck up toward the Caves of Sighs, where the Temple and the well of eternity lie. I have to know.

The climb to the top of the mountain is longer than I remembered. Dust clings to my legs. When I pass through the rainbow of colorful smoke, Asha, the Untouchables’ leader, is there, waiting for me as if she knew I would come. A breeze blows aside her deep red sari, revealing her misshapen, blistered legs. I try not to stare at her or at any of the other Untouchables, the Hajin, as they are also known, but it is difficult. They have all been disfigured by disease. For this, they have been reviled within the realms and thought of as less than slaves.

Asha greets me as she always has: with a small bow, her palms pressed together as if in prayer. “Welcome, Lady Hope.”