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“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.”
“I’m tired of your riddles,” I snap. “Either you will tell me about the Winterlands or you won’t.”
“Very well,” she says after a moment. “Approach.”
Once again, I put my hand to the well, where I can feel the power still lingering in the stones, and then I place it on her heart. Somehow it’s easier to do this time; my need to know about the Winterlands and my desire to find out about the Tree of All Souls are stronger than my apprehension. For a few seconds, she glows with the power. A hint of a smile touches her pinkening lips. With this second gift, she’s become even lovelier and more vibrant—more like the teacher I loved, Miss Moore. Seeing that face startles me. I wipe my wet hand on my nightgown as if I could rid it of all traces of her.
“Now, I’ve given you the magic you asked for. The Winterlands, please.”
Circe’s voice whispers in the cave. “At the gate, you will be asked questions. You must answer them truthfully, or you’ll not enter.”
“What sort of questions? Are they difficult?”
“For some,” she answers. “Once inside, follow the river. Make no bargains, no promises. You cannot always trust what you see and hear, for it is a land of both enchantment and deceit, and you will need to discern which is which.”
“Is there anything else?” I ask, for it’s not much to go on.
“Yes,” she says. “Don’t go. You’re not prepared for it.”
“I’ll not make the same mistakes you did; that’s for certain,” I snap. “Tell me one thing more: Does the Tree of All Souls exist?”
“I hope you will return and tell me,” she says at last.
A rippling sound comes from the well, like the smallest of movements. But that’s impossible—she’s trapped. I look back, and Circe is as still as death.
“Gemma?” Circe calls.
“Yes?”
“Why does Wilhelmina want you to go into the Winterlands?”
“Because,” I say, and stop, for I’ve not asked myself that question until now, and it fills me with doubt.
There it is again—a slight rustling in the water. The walls of the cave trickle with moisture and I think that must be the sound I hear.
“Do be careful, Gemma.”
Pippa and the others wait for me in the blue forest. The berries have ripened on the trees. Half-filled baskets of them are everywhere. The front of Pip’s dress, stained with juice, looks like a butcher’s apron.
