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The wind howls, rattling my teacup on its saucer.
“Sahirah?” Mrs. Nightwing’s face has gone ashen.
Miss McCleethy will not let this fire catch among the girls; she’ll put it out, just as Eugenia tried to long ago. “Listen to me, Sally. You had a dream. That’s all. A very bad dream.”
The little girl shakes her head. “It was real! I saw them.”
“No, you didn’t,” Brigid says. “Dreams is funny that way.”
“I suppose it could be a dream,” the girl says. They’ve made her uncertain, and that’s how it’s done; that’s how we come to doubt what we know to be true.
“Tonight, you’ll have a nice glass of warm milk and there’ll be no dreams to trouble you,” Miss McCleethy assures her. “Now, Brigid’s got to see to her duties in the kitchen.”
Amidst the girls’ protests for just one more tale, Brigid hurries out of the great room.
“Gemma?” Ann asks, her voice tight with fear.
“I don’t think I’m wrong after all,” I whisper. “I believe the Winterlands creatures were here. I think they’re coming back.”
Mrs. Nightwing takes me aside. “I have always been loyal and followed my orders. But I fear you are right about the door, Miss Doyle. These are my girls, and I must take every precaution.” She dabs at her neck with her handkerchief. “We cannot let them in.”
“Have the Gypsies left yet?” I ask.
“They were packing to leave this morning,” my headmistress answers. “I don’t know if they’ve gone.”
“Send Kartik to their camp for Mother Elena,” I say. “She may know how to help.”
Moments later, Kartik helps a frail and frayed Mother Elena into the kitchen. “The mark must be made in blood,” she says. “We will work fast.”
“I’m not listening to this,” Fowlson growls.
“She’s trying to help us, Brother,” Kartik says.
Fowlson swaggers forward, sneering, and his old self is on display. “I’m not your brother. I’m a proper representative of the Rakshana—not a traitor.”
“A proper thug, you mean,” Kartik rejoins.
Fowlson steps forward till he and Kartik are nose to nose. “I should finish wot I started wif you.”
“Be my guest,” Kartik spits.
I step between them. “Gentlemen, if we survive this evening, there will be plenty of time for you to have your little boxing match. But as we’ve more important matters to attend to than your glaring at one another, we shall have to put aside our differences.”
They back down, but not before Fowlson gets off a parting shot. “I’m the man in charge ’ere.”
“Really, Hugo,” Miss McCleethy chides.
“Hugo?” I say, wide-eyed. I see a grin pulling at Kartik’s lips.
Fowlson’s face darkens. “Promised you wouldn’t call me that.”
“The dead come. They come, they come…,” Mother Elena mutters, bringing us back to the terrible task at hand.
“How do we keep them out?” I ask.
“Mark the windows and doors,” she says. “And still it may not be enough.”
“We can’t possibly mark every door and window,” I say.
