Immortal (15 page)

“She died,” I said idiotically. “She’s dead.”

But of course she was. Even if she had lived to be a hundred, she would have died long ago.

“She looks like you, Evie. I knew you reminded me of someone when I first met you.” Sarah frowned over the faded pages. “You could be sisters.”

“We don’t look that much alike,” I replied in a panic. “Just because we’ve both got red hair…”

Emily glared at us and said, “Have you two found what you’re looking for? I’m trying to concentrate.”

Sarah slipped the book under her shirt, and we headed for the marble stairs.

“We have to go see the nurse,” she said, “like we told Miss Schofield. Tell her that your head still hurts from being hit. If she lets you lie down for a couple of hours you can read the rest of this book and see if there’s anything useful in it.”

I let myself be told what to do. The nurse took my temperature, gave me an aspirin, and told me to rest on one of the beds in the infirmary. Helen was fast asleep at the far end of the room. I hid the blue book under my pillow. I didn’t need to look at it again to know that the girl I had seen and the girl in the painting were the same.

Lady Agnes.

If Sarah was right, I was being contacted by the spirit of a dead Victorian girl who looked so much like me we could be mistaken for sisters. And she was warning me to stay away from Sebastian.

Tweny-six

THE JOURNAL OF LADY AGNES, DECEMBER

21, 1882
S. returned from London nearly three weeks ago. I have made myself stay away from him all this time. I longed to see him but I did not want to repeat our quarrel. Then, yesterday, he called unexpectedly at the Abbey and asked me to walk on the moors with him. It was there that he told me his news, half-proud and half-defiant.

“How could you do this?” I stormed. “And why did you not tell me?”

“I did it because you wouldn’t help me. I had to find allies elsewhere. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react like this.”

I paced across the heather, hardly aware of where I went. The sun gleamed peacefully on the tops of the moors,
but between us all was turmoil and anger.

“
Stop! Agnes, wait! Let me explain.
”

He caught my hand and made me sit down on the sweet turf. The breeze blew his dark hair from his forehead, and I caught my breath at the sight of his face, as open and eager as in the old days. If only I could stop loving him! Then it would all be so much simpler.

“
So, what explanation can you give
?”

“I had no choice, Agnes,” he replied with a strange light in his eyes. “You know as well as I that the Book says that to become a Master of our craft I must have a coven of Sisters around me. You have made it quite clear that you will not serve me, so I had to look elsewhere. I have found what I need here in Wyldcliffe.”

“What? A few simple village girls flattered by your attentions? How will they help you achieve anything great or good?”

“I am teaching them. They are stronger than you think. And they are eager to learn, to please me.” His eyes lingered on me, and I blushed, hardly knowing why. Then he laughed cruelly. “Why, Agnes, I believe you are jealous of my new Sisters. But you cannot refuse to stand by my side and then complain if others choose to fill the place that you have left empty.”

“I would never have left that place had you not driven me away!”

“How? How have I driven you away?”

“By delving too deep and too dark,” I said. “I cannot follow you down the road you are set upon.”

He came and sat next to me, gentle for a moment, like a tamed hawk.

“Yes, you can, Agnes. It is not too late.” He took my hands in his. “If we join forces again, we can find the key to what I am seeking. I am so close, but I need you to help me. Think, Agnes, think! Eternal life—life without death, without failure, without sickness, without end. And it could be ours, if only you would agree. We would always be together, never to be parted. You have no need to fear my new servants. They are necessary to me, but they mean nothing; they are mere tools for me to use as I choose.”

I struggled to resist him. “You should not speak like that. They are each one of them a precious life—a precious soul. And you are not teaching them the true Mysteries. You are turning an ancient art into sickening witchcraft. We should use our powers to live well in the time given to us, not try to steal time that is not ours to take. Tell these girls to go home to their mothers and their spinning wheels. You do them no good.”

“They are grateful that I am leading them on the path to immortality.”

“You are leading them into danger and despair! There are worse things than death. To live forever is to be less than human. Let them go! Release them from your service.”

“I have a better plan,” he said. “My Sisters need a leader to guide them. They need you, Agnes. You would be the High Mistress of my coven, and I would be its Master. You and me—isn’t that what you want?”

“No, not like this; it is wrong.” I looked up at him, suddenly clear and calm. “Besides, there is another girl, far away. I have seen her with you. It is she whom you love, not me. You will put her in danger if you continue, you will put us all in danger
—”

“What nonsense, Agnes.” He laughed. “We will never know danger, only power and glory. And it’s you that I care for. You know that.” His eyes pierced me like a splinter of glass and I shuddered, helpless under his gaze. “Oh, Agnes,” he breathed, “our life could be so beautiful. Don’t you love me at all?”

He kissed my hair, my face, and my eyes. I felt the force of his will beating against me. I swayed dizzily, and
he caught me in his embrace.

“Yes,” I confessed. “I love you. I love you.”

He kissed me, and I kissed him back again and again, until I was trembling with fever. Then he said: “We could have this moment forever. This and more, going on and on, and never growing weary of it. I have already traveled part of the way down that road. I have all that I need, except for one thing: One touch from your mind and will, Agnes, that is all I ask, one spark of the Fire. Heal me once and for all, I beg you. But if you refuse, you become my enemy forever.”

I drew back. This was the moment to which everything else had been leading. And at that very moment I knew that I could not give him what he desired.

“I’m sorry. I cannot do as you ask.”

“You can, Agnes; you must,” he urged. “Share your power with me. Marry me so that we can have no more secrets, and we’ll live in bliss for all eternity.”

He began to kiss me again and I tried to push him away.

“
I can’t,” I sobbed. “I will not! Leave me! Let me go, I beg you….
”

But he wouldn’t. He gripped me cruelly, almost crushing me in his arms. “I need your powers. I will have them
!”

In desperation I closed my eyes and saw the Sacred Circle in my mind, blazing with white fire in the darkest night. I repeated the incantations. Bursts of red and blue and orange exploded behind my eyes, and I spoke a word of Power.

The blast threw him across to the other side of the heather. A trickle of blood was on his face. I ran to him and laid his head on my lap, trying to soothe his pain. Over and over again I murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry….
”

At last he opened his eyes and staggered to his feet, wiping the blood on his sleeve.

“So, that is your answer. You will not join me. You are sorry.”

“That is my answer.”

The silence hung heavy between us. A lark swooped and soared overhead.

“Look, Agnes,” he said. “It is so beautiful.” He turned to me and paused. “So beautiful—and so out of reach.”

Then he set off, walking down into the valley until he was out of sight.

I have not seen him for many days. I do not know whether I will ever see him again.

Twenty-seven

I

didn’t know whether I would ever see Sebastian again, but I dreaded seeing any more visions. As I lay in the infirmary for two—or was it three?—days, a fire burned in my head, bringing confused thoughts and rambling dreams. The nurse called in Dr. Harrison, who raised his eyebrows at seeing me again. He said something about my having a virus and needing plenty of rest and hot drinks. I did what they told me to do, but I wasn’t really there. I was reliving everything that had happened, going over every scrap of memory, trying to make sense of it all.

The girl. The warnings. Sebastian.
But she’s dead
, I kept saying to myself,
she’s dead. I don’t believe in ghosts…. I don’t believe…I don’t…

Yet it had happened. I had seen her, heard her voice. However much I tried to fight it, there was something in me that knew she was real. She was somehow part of me.

That was it, I rationalized. The girl with the red hair was part of my subconscious, a version of me, a hidden part of my mind that was trying to tell me to be cautious about the relationship with Sebastian. His refusal to let me meet his family had spooked me, and this girl and her message were simply some kind of psychological reaction.

I had seen her on the very first day, though, I reminded myself, long before I had begun to have a relationship with Sebastian. A relationship. Such a clumsy, ugly word for something that was impossible to pin down, an intricate dance between two people, like the pull and tug of the waves.

I’m not very good with relationships.

Sebastian had said that. Was it his fault this time, or mine? It didn’t really matter. Our relationship, whatever it had been, would be over now. I had walked out on him, and his pride wouldn’t tolerate that. Why had I lost my temper so stupidly? I was already regretting it. Yet he had said that he would be waiting for me.

It was late Sunday evening. I was feeling better, at least physically. A cool drink stood on the bedside table. I sipped at it eagerly. There was no one else there. Helen had gone back to class, healed of whatever had brought her here. When I had been awake she had slept, or faked sleep, so I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her. It didn’t matter, though. I had nothing to say to Helen Black.

Slowly I got out of bed and walked to the little bathroom. I ran the tap and splashed my face with cold water. As I glanced at myself in the mirror, my skin looked paler than ever, as pale as a Victorian girl in an old painting.

The painting. That wasn’t just some psychological manifestation. It was a portrait of Lady Agnes Templeton. Plain, solid fact. The painting looked like the girl I had seen. And it looked like me. Was all that just a coincidence?

“Evie!”

I jumped. The nurse was calling from the other side of the door. I dried my face and let myself out of the bathroom. She was holding a thermometer in her hand. “I’ve just come to check your temperature. Are you feeling any better?”

I wasn’t ill, only heavy-limbed and tired. I climbed back into bed.

“Yes, I think so. What time is it?”

“Nearly nine o’clock. The girls have had supper.” She took my temperature efficiently. “Quite normal. You’ll be able to get up and join your classmates tomorrow. Speaking of which, your friend is dying to see you. She’s waiting outside now. Shall I let her come in?”

I nodded. The nurse went out and talked to someone in her little office. I waited fearfully, half expecting the redheaded girl to come in, trailing her long white skirt behind her. But it was Sarah, cheerful and real.

“Sarah! I gasped in relief.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “I brought you this.”

It was a delicate bit of greenery in a little pot, with flowers of palest blue.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not from me. Helen found it growing wild near the ruins. She asked me to give it to you and say she’s sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“Telling Miss Scratton that you were out of bed that night. Helen wants you to know that she did it to stop you from getting into worse trouble. She said she hopes you’ll understand.”

“I don’t understand anything. I certainly don’t understand Helen.”

“Helen is…different,” said Sarah. “She’s had a difficult life so far, from what I can make out. I’ve heard that before she came to Wyldcliffe she was in some kind of children’s home.”

“You mean, like an orphanage?” I couldn’t imagine having no family at all.

“I guess so. She won’t talk about it.”

“Do you ever, you know, sense stuff about her?” I asked curiously.

“It doesn’t take any special gift to tell that she’s unhappy. But no, to be truthful, I can’t make out anything more than that. It’s as though she’s wrapped herself in a swirling wind, protecting herself from any outsiders. She’s always been a bit of a loner. Some of the other girls give her a hard time.”

I knew she meant Celeste. “Did Helen…Was she friends with Laura?”

“Not really. Laura was totally influenced by Celeste in everything she did. She wouldn’t have bothered to try to get to know Helen. Not many people do.”

I felt uncomfortable. I had been quick enough to give up on Helen myself. Sarah went to make sure that the door was closed, then turned to me and asked, “Evie, have you thought any more about what you saw?”

“I’ve not thought about anything else. And I’ve been wondering whether the whole thing with Lady Agnes isn’t some kind of message from my own feelings, telling me to slow down with Sebastian.” I stumbled over the name. He had been my secret, and it seemed wrong to speak so casually of him.

“But you said that the girl you saw was just like Lady Agnes in the painting, and you’d never seen the painting before I showed you the book. So the first time you saw her—in the classroom—you couldn’t just have been projecting her image from your subconscious or whatever.”