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“Patience, patience.” Pippa hums while lining up goblets of berries along the altar.
Bessie sneers as she appraises Miss McCleethy. “’Oo’s she? Yer mum?”
“I am Miss McCleethy, a teacher at Spence Academy,” McCleethy answers.
Pip claps, giggling. “Miss McCleethy. You’re the one giving Gemma such trouble. You shall not give me any trouble at all.”
“I shall give you a great deal of trouble if you do not tell us where to find Miss Worthington at once,” Miss McCleethy insists.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“She needs a firm hand,” she whispers.
“She’s beyond that now,” Ann urges quietly.
“Shush!” Pippa says. “This is my castle. I am queen here. I make the rules.”
Mae reaches for a cluster of berries and Pippa shakes her head. “Mae, you know that is for the ritual. They must be consecrated first.”
“Yes, miss.” Mae smiles, seemingly happy to have been upbraided by her god.
“Felicity!” I shout. “Fee!”
The castle’s walls creak and groan as if they shall fall in on us. A vine tightens across my boot and I yank my foot free.
“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.”
