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The woods are patrolled by one of Mr. Miller’s men. We see him with his pistol, walking back and forth. He’s as jumpy as a cat.
“How will we get to the door without being seen?” Ann asks.
I concentrate, and suddenly, there’s a haunt of a woman in the woods. The man quakes at the ghostly sight of her. “Wh-who’s there?” Shaking, he directs the pistol at her. She ducks behind a tree and comes out farther on.
“Y-you’ll answer to m-my foreman,” the man says. He follows at a careful distance as she leads him toward the graveyard, where she will disappear, leaving him scratching his head at the mystery of it all. But we’ll be inside the realms by then.
“Come on,” I say, dashing for the secret door.
Felicity lifts her skirts, grinning. “Oh, I do like this.”
The tall stone slabs with their watchful women greet us on the other side. But they can’t give me the answer I seek. Only one person can, much as I’m loath to admit it.
“You go on to the castle. I’ll join you shortly,” I say.
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Ann asks.
“I shall ask Asha if she has protections to offer us,” I explain, feeling awful for the lie.
“We’ll accompany you,” Felicity says.
“No! That is, you should prepare Pippa and the other girls. Gather everyone.”
Felicity nods. “Right. Hurry back.”
“I shall,” I say, and that, at least, is true.
I run through the dusty corridors of the Temple and head straight for the well of eternity. Circe is waiting, floating below the surface, a pale thing raised from the deep and forced into the light.
“Has the time of my demise come so soon?” she asks in a voice stronger than before.
I can barely control my anger. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Wilhelmina Wyatt?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You could have told me!”
“As I said, everything has its price.” She lets her breath out in a sigh.
“For all I know, you were the one who killed her,” I say, inching closer to the well.
“Is that why you’ve come back? To question me about an old school chum?”
“No,” I say. I hate myself for coming, but she’s been to the Winterlands before. My mother’s diary chronicles it. She’s the only one I can ask. “I need for you to tell me about the Winterlands.”
A note of wariness creeps into her voice. “Why?”
“We’re going in,” I say. “I want to see it for myself.”
She’s quiet for a long time. “You’re not ready for the Winterlands.”
“I am,” I declare.
“Have you searched your dark corners yet?”
I run my fingers along the polished stones of the well. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That is how you can be snared.”
