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"This remnant in your bodice. Bit torn. Ugh, and muddy. If you need a proper handkerchief, you only have to ask. I've got scads of them." She puts the scrap in my open palm. It's blue silk, torn and soiled around the edges, as if it might have been ripped by a branch. My legs shake so that I have to lean against the first tree I see.
Felicity looks puzzled. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I say, my voice whispery tight. "It's as if you've seen a ghost."
I might have.
The muddy blue silk is a promise in my hands. My mother was here. I'd choose her . It's what I said before I fell asleep. Somehow, I've changed things. I've brought her back with this strange power of mine. For the first time, I want to know everything about it. If Kartik won't tell me, I'll find out on my own. I'll hunt down Mary Dowd and get her to tell me what I need to know. They can't stop me.
Felicity gives my hand a pull. "Don't be so slow."
"I'm coming," I say, quickening my pace till I'm clear of the trees and into the warm sun again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After dinner, I pretend I've got a headache and Mrs. Nightwing sends me straight to bed with a hot-water bottle. It means passing up an invitation to Felicity's suddenly open sanctuary in the great hallthanks to my newfound status as the keeper of her secretsbut there's only one thought in my mind: There has to be a way to control my visions rather than have them control me.
I'm in the hallway when a small thump stops me. Shadows flit across the floor and wall. Someone is in my room. Heart racing, spine flat against the wall, I creep toward my room and peek in. Kartik is at my desk, no doubt leaving me another cryptic warning. Right. Not this time. Fast as I can, I streak to the open window where he's come in and latch it tight. He whips around, ready for a fight.
"There's only one way out now," I say, breathless.
His eyes narrow. "Step aside."
"Not until you answer a few questions."
I've blocked off his only means of escape. If I make a sound, scream, he'll be caught. For the moment, he's trapped. He folds his arms across his chest and glares, waiting for me to talk.
"What are you doing in my room?"
"Nothing," he says, crumpling the paper in his fist tightly enough for me to hear it.
"Leaving another message?"
He shrugs. We're going nowhere fast.
"Why did you help me today in the woods?"
"You needed it."
My temper flares. "I most certainly did not."
He scoffs, and it makes him look less menacing. He's all of seventeen again. "As you wish."
"My plan worked, didn't it?"
The arms unfold. His eyes widen. "Your plan worked because I talked Ithal into leaving. What do you think would have happened if I hadn't?"
The truth is that I don't know. I can't think of anything to say.
"Right. I'll tell you. That stubborn Gypsy would have stayed and your little friend who likes to play with fire would have been very badly burnedexpelled, ruined socially, whispered about for the rest of her life." He mimics the high, prim voice of a society matron." 'Oh, did you hear about her? Oh, my dear, yes, caught in the woods with a heathen.' Tell your friend to stick to her own kind and stop toying with Ithal."
"She's not my friend," I say.
He arches an eyebrow. "Who are your friends, then?"
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
He smirks. "May I go now?"
