The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 95

Yet they are not like those horrible trackers, those hideous wraiths that steal souls. But what are they? She need not fall. That was what Gorgon said. Is there a way around it? Do I want there to be? If I gave this power to McCleethy and the Order tonight, I’d not have to worry about it; it would be their decision to make, not mine. And they’d banish Pip to the Winterlands, for sure. No, the choice is mine to make. I’ve got to see this through.

“What are you brooding about now, Gemma?” Felicity asks.

I shake my head, clearing it of the night’s heaviness. “Nothing. Here, let me have a try.”

I take the mallet and knock it against the ball, and the ball rolls far out into the Winterlands fog.

Our visit over, we travel the now familiar path back to the secret door and step into the long, ill-lit corridor. It feels odd to me, though, as if someone else might be inside with us.

“Do you hear anything?” I whisper.

“No,” Felicity says.

It’s a faint rustling, like leaves. Or wings. We’ve gone no more than a few feet when I hear it again. I turn quickly and catch a slight glimmering like a firefly. It is there just long enough for me to make out wings, a tooth. And just like that it’s gone.

“I know you’re in here,” I say. “I saw you.”

Fee and Ann peer into the dark.

“I don’t see a thing,” Felicity says with a shrug.

“I saw something,” I say, whirling about. “I swear that I did.”

“Right! Show yourself!” Felicity demands. Only the dark answers. “Gemma, there’s nothing there, I tell you. Let’s move on.”

“Yes. All right,” I agree.

Felicity sings the bit of doggerel she learned from Pippa, and Ann joins in. “Oh, I’ve a love, a true, true love…”

I chance one last look behind me. Tucked away under a rafter is the fairy creature from the Borderlands, teeth bared in an ugly sneer. The creature gleams as brightly as a burning coal, then quickly fades to black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE EGYPTIAN HALL IN PICCADILLY IS A MAGNIFICENT building. From the front, it looks as if we are about to walk into an ancient tomb resurrected from the sands of the Nile itself. The entrance is adorned by giant statues of Isis and Osiris. A large placard above advertises the Wolfson brothers’ exhibit, at three and eight o’clock. There is another for the Dudley Gallery, where many an artist has exhibited his work.

Inside, it seems a perfect replica of those far-off temples. There is a great room supported by rows of columns fashioned in the Egyptian style, complete with hieroglyphs. I should not be surprised to see Cleopatra walking among us.

We’ve received our souvenir program for tonight’s spectacle. The Wolfson brothers appear on either side of the cover, and in the center are drawings of a strange metal box on three legs, a levitating table, a fearsome specter, and a skeleton kicking his bony head about. The first page promises an evening we’ll not soon forget.

The Wolfson Brothers Present:

THE RITES OF SPRING

A Phantasmagoria Conjuring Spirits Before Your Very Eyes!

“How exciting!” Mademoiselle LeFarge exclaims. “I’m so grateful Mrs. Nightwing allowed us to come. I hear it isn’t at all like looking at photographs. The pictures move as if they were real as you and I!”

“I should like to see that,” Ann says.

“Soon, we shall,” Miss McCleethy grumbles, fanning through her own program with little interest.

Felicity holds fast to my arm. “How shall we find Dr. Van Ripple with her here?” she asks irritably.

“I don’t know—yet,” I answer.

Several exhibitors have taken the opportunity to promote themselves within the hall. They have set up tables—some elaborate, some small—to show their wares. They call to us like barkers, and we are not certain where to look first.

“I’d have them all before the magistrate on Bow Street,” Inspector Kent mutters, mentioning London’s famous court.

“Oh, Mr. Kent,” Mademoiselle LeFarge chides.

“Mr. Kent, sir. I hear congratulations are in order.” A policeman offers his hand to the inspector, who introduces his soon-to-be wife. Now is the perfect time to slip away—if I can distract McCleethy. If I make use of the magic, will she truly know it? If I cast an illusion, will she see through it? Do I dare chance it?

“Gemma, what shall we do?” Felicity whispers.

“I’m thinking,” I whisper back.

McCleethy eyes us suspiciously. “What are you girls whispering about back there?”