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For hours we play, allowing the magic to flower fully within us till we feel that time itself is ours to hold. The hope that has been dormant in each of us blooms again, and we are giddy with the happiness that possibility brings. Felicity lazes in a swing she has fashioned from soft, leafy vines. She lets it cradle her and she drags her toes across the velvety grass.
“If only we could show the world the depth of our power…” Felicity trails off, smiling.
Ann picks a dandelion puff from the tall grass. “I should stand on the stage beside Lily Trimble.”
I correct her. “Lily Trimble should beg to stand beside you!”
Ann brings her hands dramatically to her bosom. “‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair!’”
“Bravo!” Felicity and I applaud.
“Oh, and I should be very, very beautiful. And wealthy! And I should marry an earl and have ten children!” Ann closes her eyes in a wish and blows hard on her dandelion, but the wind carries only part of the fluff away.
“What would you wish for, Gemma? What do you want?” Felicity asks.
What do I want? Why is that simple question—four little words—so impossible to answer? I would wish for things that cannot be: my mother alive again, my father well. Would I wish to be shorter, fairer, more lovable, less complicated? The answer, I fear, is yes. I would wish to be a child again, safe and warm, and yet I would also wish for something far more dangerous: a kiss from a certain Indian boy whom I have not seen since Christmas. I am a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. It seems that I am always in a state of wishing and rarely in a state of contentment.
They are waiting for my answer. “I should wish to perfect my curtsy so that I might not scandalize myself before Her Majesty.”
“That will take magic,” Ann says dryly.
“Thank you for your confidence. I do so appreciate it.”
“I should bring Pip back,” Felicity says.
Ann bites her lip. “Do you suppose she really is lost to the Winterlands, Gemma?”
I look out over the endless meadow. The flowers sway in a gentle breeze. “I don’t know.”
“She isn’t,” Felicity says, her cheeks reddening.
“That is where she was headed,” I remind her gently.
The last time we saw our dear friend, she was already turning, becoming one of them. She wanted me to use the magic to bring her back to our world, but I couldn’t. The creatures cannot come back. It is a rule I couldn’t break, and Pippa hated me for it. Sometimes I believe Fee hates me for it too.
“I know Pip, I tell you. She would never leave me like that.”
“Perhaps we’ll see her soon,” I say. But I’m not looking forward to it. If Pippa has truly become a Winterlands creature, she is no longer our friend. She is our enemy.
Felicity grabs her sword and sets off for the trees.
“Where are you going?” I shout.
“To find Pip. You may come or not.”
We go, of course. Once Fee has set her mind on something, there’s no talking sense into her. And I want to know the truth, though I hope we’ll not see Pip. For her sake and ours, I hope she’s already crossed over the river.
Felicity leads us through a flower-laden meadow. It smells of hyacinth and my father’s pipe tobacco, fresh dosa, and my mother’s skin-warmed rose water. I turn around, half expecting to see my mother behind me. But she isn’t. She’s gone, dead nearly a full year now. Sometimes I miss her so deeply it is as if I cannot breathe without feeling an ache lodged in my ribs. Other times I find that I’ve forgotten small things about her—the shape of her mouth or the sound of her laugh. I cannot conjure her memory. When that happens, I’m nearly in a panic to remember. I am afraid that if I cannot hold on to these memories exactly, I’ll lose her forever.
We come to the poppy fields below the Caves of Sighs. The bright red flowers show us their dark hearts. Felicity picks one and places it behind her ear. High above us, the cliffs rise. The char pots belch their rainbow of smoke, hiding the very top, where the Untouchables guard the Temple and the well of eternity. It is the last place I saw Circe.
She’s dead, Gemma. You killed her.
Yet I heard her voice in a dream, telling me she was still alive. I saw her face, ghostly white, in the well’s depths.
“Gemma, what is the matter?” Ann asks.
I shake my head as if I can clear it of Circe’s memory forever. “Nothing.”
