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“But…,” Felicity starts.

“Fee,” Pippa scolds playfully.

“Oh, very well.” Felicity turns on her heel, and Pip and I are alone in the grand room. An ornate marble altar sits at one end, and I surmise that this must have been the castle’s chapel. It seems a strange place for a private conversation. The emptiness of the room and its tall, arched ceilings make our words loop and echo. Pip sits upon the altar, her heels knocking gently against the moldy engravings there. Her smile vanishes, and in its place is an expression of utter anguish.

“Gemma, I can’t bear this anymore. I want you to help me cross over.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t this. “Pip, I’ve never actually helped anyone cross before—”

“Then I shall be the first.”

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking of Felicity and Ann. “Perhaps we should discuss it—”

“I’ve given it thought. Please,” she begs.

I know she should cross. And yet a part of me wants to hold on. “You’re certain you’re…ready to go?”

She nods. Only the two of us are in this room neglected by time and magic. It is as hopeless a place as one could find.

“Shall I get the others?” I ask.

“No!” she cries so sharply I fear that the chapel’s old stones will break. “They’ll try to stop me. Especially Felicity and Bessie. You can tell them goodbye for me. It was nice that we could be together one last time.”

“Yes, it was.” I swallow hard. My throat aches.

“Come back tomorrow alone. I’ll meet you just beyond the bramble wall.”

“If I help you cross now, Felicity will never forgive me,” I say.

“She need never know. It will be our secret.” Pip’s eyes fill with new tears. “Please, Gemma. I’m ready. Won’t you help me?”

She takes my hands, and though hers are as cold and white as chalk, they are still Pip’s. “Yes,” I say. “I’ll help you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE TROUBLE WITH MORNING IS THAT IT COMES WELL before noon.

Oh, to luxuriate in my bed for another hour. I’ve slept no more than two, and whilst I did, a family of squirrels must have taken up residence in my mouth, for I am sure there is a coating of fur upon my tongue. My tongue tastes of squirrel, if squirrel has a taste somewhere between days-old porridge and foul cheese.

“Gemma!” Ann pushes me. She’s smartly turned out in her proper Spence uniform of white blouse, white skirt, and boots. How did she manage that? “You’re late!”

I lie on my back. The morning light hurts my eyes, so I close them again. “Does your mouth taste of squirrel?”

She makes a face. “Squirrel? No, of course not.”

“Woodchuck, then?”

“Will you get up?”

I rub my eyes and will my feet to the cold, unwelcoming floor. Even it is not ready to wake. I moan in protest.

“I’ve laid out your clothing for you.” And so she has, just like a clever, good little girl. My skirt and blouse are stacked neatly across the foot of my bed. “I thought you’d rather find your stockings for yourself.” She blushes as she says this. Poor Ann. How is it she can enjoy bloodthirsty tales of all manner of carnage yet nearly faint at the notion of bare shins? I step behind the dressing screen for modesty’s sake—Ann’s, that is—and dress quickly.

“Gemma, wasn’t it so marvelous to be in the realms once again, to feel the magic?”

The night comes back to me—the discovery of the door, the joy of being there again, the magic. Yet my conversation with Gorgon about the alliance and my duties there has left a shroud upon my soul. So much is expected of me and so quickly. And I cannot shake the apprehension I feel about helping Pippa. I’ve not helped a soul, let alone a friend, cross the river before. And if I fail, I dare not guess at the outcome.

“Yes, marvelous,” I say, fastening buttons.

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