The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 91

Lights blink in the trees, and a fairy creature appears. “Such power,” she says, marveling.

My head is light; I’m swollen with magic. Suddenly, I want only to get rid of it. “Here,” I say, laying my hand upon her head. It’s as cold as snow where we touch, and I glimpse a vast darkness before I pull away.

The creature turns loops, trailing sparkles. “Ahhh, I know you now,” she purrs, and trails a finger across my heart.

I shake my head. “No one knows me.”

The creature circles me slowly till I feel dizzy. “There is a place where you will be known. Loved.” Her cold breath whispers in my ear. “Wanted. You need only to follow.”

She flies deep into the fog banks that obscure the Winterlands, and I give chase, letting the mist swallow me till my friends’ laughter is a faint memory of sound. I’m farther in than I’ve ever been. Slimy vines slither across my bare feet like serpents come aground; I hold still, calming my breath.

The fairy creature hovers near my shoulder. Her eyes are black jewels. “Listen,” she whispers.

Close in my ear, I hear a voice from the Winterlands, as soft as a mother’s goodnight kiss: “Tell us your fears and your desires….”

Something deep inside me wants to answer. Such longing, as if I’ve found a piece of myself I never knew was missing till now.

The voice comes again: “This is where you belong, where your destiny lies. There is nothing to fear….”

The fairy’s lips turn up in a smile. “Do you hear it?”

I nod, but I can’t speak. The pull is strong. I want only to go, to join with whatever waits on the other side.

“I could show you the way to the Tree of All Souls,” the thing with the bright golden wings says. “And then you would know true power. You’d never be lonely again.”

The vines caress my ankles; one slithers up my leg. The mist parts; the gate to the Winterlands beckons. I take a step toward it.

The little creature shoos me on with her spindly fingers. “That’s it. Go on.”

“Gemma!” My name drifts through the mist, and I take a step back.

“Don’t listen! Go on!” the fairy hisses, but my friends call out again, and this time I hear something else—horses riding hard and fast.

I turn away from the Winterlands and the fairy creature, running till the fog thins and I’m back near the castle. The girls spill out of the maze. “What is it? What’s happening?” Ann shouts. She’s got Wendy by the arm.

“Over there!” Felicity shouts, and we run to the bramble wall.

Coming quickly up the path is a band of centaurs, Creostus in the lead. They slow at the sight of us.

Creostus points to me. “Priestess! You’re coming with me.”

“She isn’t going anywhere with the likes of you,” Felicity says, standing to my right like a soldier.

The centaur paces on his strong legs. “She is called by Philon. She must account for herself.”

“We shall accompany you, Gemma,” Ann vows.

“But we were having such fun.” Pippa pouts.

“Shall we come?” Felicity asks, but she doesn’t let go of Pip’s hand.

I think of the two of them whispering behind my back, sharing secrets, leaving me out. Well, perhaps I’d like a secret of my own.

“No. I’ll go alone,” I say, and duck through the brambles to the other side.

“Yes, Gemma will sort it all out, won’t you?” Pippa says, dragging Felicity toward the maze again.

Creostus eyes Wendy hungrily. “I should like to take you with me and make you my queen. Have you ever ridden on a centaur’s back?”

Mae pulls Wendy away. “’Ave a care, sir. We are ladies.”

“Yes, I know. Ladies. My favorite sort.”

“Creostus, if you’ve done with your suit of Miss Wendy, I shall accompany you to Philon,” I interrupt, wondering what is so urgent that Philon has sent for me.

Creostus’s booming laugh leaves gooseflesh upon my arms. He paces close to me. “Jealous, Priestess? Do you wish to compete for my affections? I should like to see that.”

“I’m sure you would. But you will die first and so let us journey to Philon, if you please.”

“She worships me,” he says with a wink, and I have the urge to put a bonnet on his head and paint him dancing to the pipes to hang on a fashionable lady’s wall.

“Creostus, do we ride or not?”

He brushes my body with his. “Desperate to be alone with me, are you?”