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“She’s in the tower,” Mae says. “Fer safekeepin’.”
“Pip,” Ann pleads, “you have to let her go. The Winterlands creatures are coming.”
“Not you too, Ann.” Pippa tuts.
“Pip…,” Ann starts.
“All I need do is offer a sacrifice. I tried with Wendy, but she made for a poor sacrifice, being blind. And then you came back, and I knew…. I knew it was fate; don’t you see?
Miss McCleethy steps in front of me. “You can’t have her. Take me instead.”
“What are you doing?” I say.
“Gemma,” Miss McCleethy whispers, “whatever may happen, you must put aside your fear and safeguard the magic.”
Whatever may happen. I do not like the sound of it.
“Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good,” she says. “Promise me you’ll keep the magic safe.”
“I promise,” I say, but I don’t like it.
Pippa hums to herself. “A willing sacrifice. That’s very powerful magic indeed. I accept.”
The factory girls drag Miss McCleethy toward Pip.
“Unhand me, you little hooligans!” she snarls, not so willing after all. She slaps Mae hard across the face, and Bessie responds with a blow of her own. Miss McCleethy falls to the ground, her ear bleeding, and the other girls join in with kicks and punches.
“Stop it!” I start for them, but Miss McCleethy holds out a bloody hand.
“Gemma, don’t!” she warns.
“Yes, that is enough,” Pippa says, as if she were waving away a second helping of soup. “Bring her to me.”
They half drag Miss McCleethy to the altar and tie her hands behind her back. Her lips bleed, and I see fear in her eyes, the dawning realization that she has sorely misjudged these girls.
“Will we suffer unbelievers?” Pip calls.
The girls answer with a clamor of nos. In their faces, I see such hate. It chills me to the bone. They no longer see us as human; we are the other, the threat that must be killed.
Pippa turns to Miss McCleethy with a sigh. “I’m afraid there is only one punishment for those who will not follow us.”
Bessie produces a shining sword. Its edge gleams in the light. The girls whoop and screech. Their primitive cries make a deafening clamor. Miss McCleethy struggles.
“No!” she shouts, kicking and trying to get away. But Mae and Mercy hold her fast, forcing her over the altar so that her head hangs free. My heart hammers against my ribs.
“Pippa, what are you doing?” I say, running for her.
Pippa blows me back with the force of her magic. Caught off guard, I fall to the floor in pain. The girls push Miss McCleethy’s head forward and expose the flesh of her neck.
“No!” I stagger to my feet, and before I can call the magic, Pippa unleashes hers. This time, I clatter to the ground like a toy. Miss McCleethy closes her eyes tightly; her mouth is set in a determined line. The blade is raised.
“Protect the mag—” she shouts just as the sword comes down with lightning swiftness.
o;Keep movin’.”
The castle is as neglected as the forest. The vines crawl up the walls unhindered and drape across balustrades, hanging down in claws of green. Snakes thread through their mossy abundance.
“Where’s Felicity?” I ask again.
