“Better, I believe. She slept fitfully for the first part of the night, but now she’s been resting peacefully for several hours.”
Wister leaned over the bed and pressed her fingers against Clem’s forehead, then against her wrist. “Her temperature hasreturned to normal.” She stepped back and then gingerly took a seat in the rocking chair. “I think she’ll be fine. The first journey is always the hardest.”
I looked at her, but she had guarded her thoughts, and I could see only a muffled cloud. “You travel often to the realm,” I said.
She smiled. “Yes.”
“But you’re not interested in acquiring a thew.”
She leaned back in the chair with a ruminative look. “Not in the least. The rapacious acquisition of thews for greater power in the living realm is an obsession that has overtaken the practice of enchantment in places like Boston, but it is just that—an obsession, and a bizarre one. Enchantment can take many forms, and there are other reasons for traveling to the spirit realm. For many years now, I’ve gone there simply as an explorer—to learn from the spirits.”
“Is that what all the members of the Sor Juana Alliance do?” Wister looked at me sharply, and I added, “I was watching when you mentioned the alliance to Clementine.”
Wister nodded. “Yes. The Sor Juana Alliance was created centuries ago, not by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz herself, but by others who practiced with her and wished to honor her memory. She was a great enchanter—albeit prohibited from the practice, of course. The alliance that emerged, entirely in secret, has always pursued knowledge for its own sake rather than for material gain or worldly power. At first it was open only to women, since we were excluded from legal practice, but now any who takes the oath may join. Exploring the realm is one of the things we do: travel there, commune with spirits, and learn from the dead.”
“Where did you learn of the alliance?”
“It has chapters everywhere, though its leadership is in the Caribbean. I first encountered it in Trinidad.”
“If the alliance is dedicated to opposing the Cisneros Society, why…Forgive me, but you are not succeeding in the effort.”
Wister sighed. “I’m well aware. They are entrenched in Boston, and in several other cities. But, believe it or not, we do make progress. We seized the Providence portal three years ago, and we have prevented several catastrophes even greater than the stoning deaths.”
“You already knew of those murders,” I said, surprised.
“Of course. We have agents—an agent—investigating the matter.” She glanced at Clementine and then at me, changing the subject. “I’ve learned a great deal about the realm during my travels. I’ve learned about the Weer and the wall, the Oarings that travel overhead, and the scree. But all the spirits who inhabit the outer ring between the wall and the first isle know almost nothing of what exists beyond the first isle. It’s rumored that there are seven isles, each larger than the last, and that there is, at the very heart of the realm, a passage that returns the spirit to the living world as a being reborn.” She glanced at me again. “Have you ever heard such rumors?”
“I have. But only rumors, for no spirit who leaves the first isle returns to it.”
Wister nodded. “Yes, it is a mystery we may never unravel.”
We fell into silence. Dawn was lightening the world beyond the window, and Clementine shifted in her sleep, slowly emerging from her restorative slumber.
“There’s only one residue in this room,” Wister said quietly. “Behind you, a woman knocks on the wall to send messages to someone in the adjoining room. She’s the most benign apparition in the house, but the sight of her is still disturbing to the uninitiated.” She got to her feet. “Constable Maxwell will be arriving early. I’ll ensure that we are ready.”
Wister left the room. As Clementine gradually emerged from sleep, the house around us also began to wake. I could hear the sound of pans clanging in the kitchen and footsteps gently thudding overhead. Clem’s thoughts appeared as her conscious mind woke. Her first thought was of Rosetta—but not of Rosetta’s death. She pictured her sister at a grand estate, someplace I’d never seen, holding hands with Walter Ainsley. Then, suddenly, her thoughts returned to the cold, stony vista of the realm. Her eyes opened, and her thoughts were abruptly shrouded. She looked at me without rising. “You’ve been here all night?”
“I have. How do you feel?”
Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Tired.”
I reached for her hand instinctively, and then I realized that the touch of a cold, clammy spirit would hardly be consoling. But she did not recoil; she left her hand listlessly in mine. “I know, Clem.”
“I’ll stay here a little longer.”
I looked at her, worried. It was unnerving to see my indomitable Clementine so entirely drained of her usual fortitude. Her expression was as listless as her limp hand. But I didn’t say so. I said to myself that she had every right to be tired, and to her I said, “Of course. Rest a little longer before Maxwell comes.”
An hour later, Wister knocked on the door of the lilac bedroom. But though her eyes were open, Clem said nothing. It was I who said, “Come in.”
Wister put her head through the door. “Constable Maxwell is here.”
“Come, Clem,” I said. “Let me help you up.”
She turned to look at the wall. “You can go without me, Sam. I’ll stay here.”
I exchanged a worried glance with Wister.
“It’s good for her to rest,” Wister said to me. “You can apprise her of the conversation.”
