"Close your mind to them and they'll stop soon enough."
"And if I can't?"
Without a sound, he reaches out quickly and clamps a hand around the delicate bones of my wrist, squeezing tightly. "You will." Down the center aisle, a mouse makes a bold run for it, rushing across to the other side of the church, where it's only a scratching sound again. I'm bending under the pressure on my wrist. He lets go, a satisfied smirk on his face. I pull my arm close and rub at the sting on my skin.
"We'll be watching you, Miss Doyle."
There's a clattering sound at the chapel's heavy oak doors. I can hear Reverend Waite's drunken singing as he fumbles to lift the bolt, cursing as it falls back into place with a thud. I don't know whether to be thankful or terrified that he'll find me here. In the instant I turned to look, my tormentor has vanished. He's simply gone. The door is unguarded. I have a way out. And then I see it. The decanter of communion wine sitting full and ready in its cubbyhole.
The wooden bolt slides free. He's almost in. But tonight Reverend Waite will be denied his wine. It's cradled in my arm as I bound through the side door and stop at the top of a dark stairwell. What if he's waiting for me down those shadowy stairs?
Reverend Waite calls out, half-drunk. "Is anyone there?"
I'm down the stairwell and out behind the chapel as if I've been shot from a cannon. Not till I've stumbled my way down the hill and have the imposing bricks of Spence in sight do I stop for breath. A crow caws, making me jump. I feel eyes on me everywhere.
We'll be watching you.
What did he mean by that? Who is "we"? And why would anyone want to keep an eye on a girl who wasn't clever enough to outwit a quartet of boarding school pranksters? What does he know about my mother?
Just keep looking at the school, Gemma. You'll be all right . I keep my eyes on the rows of windows ahead. They bob up and down with each step. You will not bring on any more visions .
It's ridiculous. Galling, in fact. As if I have any control over them. As if I could just shut my eyes, like this, right now, and will myself into one. The sound of my breath slows, grows louder. My whole body has gone warm and relaxed, as if I'm floating in the most delicious bath of sweet rose water. At the smell of roses, I snap my eyes open. The little girl from the alley stands in front of me, shimmering. She beckons me with her hand. "This way."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Where are we going?"
She doesn't answer, just darts into a thicket of trees, her brightness leading the way in the night, like a flame under glass.
"Wait," I say. "Not so fast."
"We've got to hurry."
She flits ahead on the path. What am I doing? I've gone and done the one thing I've been asked not to dobring on more visions. But how could I know that I could do it at will? We're in a clearing of some kind. There's a dark mound just before us. I'm terrified that these shadows will come alive and I'll hear that ghastly voice from the alley, but the little girl doesn't seem afraid. The mound is hollowed out inside, a sort of makeshift cave. She leads me down into the dank-smelling darkness. Her light fills the cave but even so, I can barely make out anything beyond a bit of rock, a spot of shiny moss.
"Behind that rock." Her hand, incandescent and tiny, points to the near wall of the cave, where a large rock sits just at the base. "She says you've got to look behind it."
"Who is she?"
"Mary, of course."
"I've told youI don't know any Mary." I'm arguing with a vision, a spirit. Next I know, I'll be calling myself the queen of Romania and wandering down the lane wearing my bed linens for a cape.
"She knows you , miss."
Mary. It's only the most common name for a girl in all of England. What if this is all a trick, a way of testing me? He said I was in danger. What if this otherworldly little girl is a malevolent spirit who means to do me harm? What if the bedtime stories used to keep children at heeltales of ghosts and goblins and witches ready to trick you into giving up your soulare true? And now I'm trapped here in a dark cave with some sinister force who only seems like a lost urchin?
I swallow hard but the lump in my throat stays. "Suppose I don't want to look."
"She says you must, miss. It's the only way to understand what's happening to you. To understand the power."
I have no idea what she's talking about. I only know I don't particularly fancy turning my back on her.
"Why don't you get it, then?"