Whisper of Souls

  Whisper of Souls

  A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella

  Michelle Zink

  Little, Brown and Company

  New York Boston

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  Whisper of Souls

  Adelaide prowled the house, trying to escape the whispering.

  Her night wanderings did not make the voices stop. Not really. They simply distracted her enough to let them fade into the corners of her mind. As she made the effort to put one foot in front of the other, to step carefully on the floorboards lest they should squeak, the whispering became a backdrop to her movements instead of the all-consuming distraction—the all-consuming temptation—that it usually was.

  She made her way down the hall, past the door to Thomas’s bedchamber, and stopped outside the closed door to the nursery.

  She hesitated before turning the knob and stepping into the room. It was not that she didn’t wish to see the baby. She did. But she was filled with such pain, such regret, when she looked down at his tiny body, already broken though he was too young to have taken a single step.

  Still, it was only in the dark of night that she could truly look at him. In repose, he could have been any other infant. One with full use of his legs. One who had not been ruined by the weakness and shortcomings of his mother.

  It was a futile delusion, but one she had not yet managed to deny herself.

  She continued into the room until she came to the crib. Then, setting her hands on the rail, careful not to wake the baby or the maid who slept in the adjoining room, she gazed down at her son.

  He was beautiful, his downy dark hair already curling near his small ears. He slept with one hand at his side, the other balled into a little fist near his chest. His breath wasn’t audible, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her that he was breathing, his cheeks pink with life, his rosebud mouth slightly open.

  Reaching down, her hands tentative, she touched his foot ever so softly. It was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand, and for a moment, she was so filled with guilt and shame that she almost couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Henry.”

  The doctor had said she shouldn’t have another child. The birth of the twins had almost killed her, had almost killed them. Worse, their traumatic entry into this life had changed the order of things. Had irrevocably altered the future of the prophecy of which they were all a part.

  Henry had paid for her foolishness, for her love of Thomas and her desire to give him a son. For that, she would never forgive herself.

  She covered him with the blanket that had been kicked to the edge of the crib.

  “Good night, little one,” she said softly.

  She made her way from the room, closing the door behind her.

  She continued down the hall to the girls’ shared chamber, pushing open the half-closed door. She stepped across the thick carpet, one of many brought back from Thomas’s endless journeys abroad. Stopping at the edge of the bed, she lowered herself to the mattress on Lia’s side. She told herself it was because Alice was such a light sleeper. Surely if Adelaide were to sit near her, the child would wake, fixing her mother with that strange, unblinking stare.

  It was this, if Adelaide were truthful, that made her sit near Lia like a coward.

  The girls lay next to each other, their chestnut curls mingling on the pillows, their breath moving softly into the night air of the room. They wore matching nightdresses, white with finely detailed embroidery and violet ribbons at the neck. They could have been any pair of sisters. Any twins.

  But of course, they were not.

  Adelaide surveyed her oldest daughter and her heart swelled with love. But not just love. Fear and worry crowded her heart as well. The way would not be easy for Lia. Not with her sister and the fateful confusion of their birth, the hurried surgery as Lia was pulled from Adelaide’s body first instead of Alice, as nature—and the prophecy—intended. If there was a way out of their dangerous circumstance, Adelaide didn’t know it.

  And then there was the other thing. The thing Adelaide berated herself for day and night.

  Lia and Alice were cursed with her as their mother, a coward who could not resist the call of the demonic Souls from the Otherworlds, let alone find a way to save her daughters.

  Adelaide reached up, brushing a lock of hair from Lia’s brow. When she leaned back, preparing to leave, she saw that Alice’s eyes were open. She stared at her mother in silence, her gaze heavy with something knowing and dark.

  Adelaide could not look away. She wanted to say something. To tell her daughter that she loved her, that she trusted her and believed in her ability to fulfill her role in the prophecy. The prophecy that had forced every generation of twin sisters before her to stand in opposition, Adelaide and her sister, Ginny, no exception.

  But in the end, Adelaide could say none of it. It would be a lie. Already she saw the shine in Alice’s eyes when she happened upon her playing on the lawn or patio, speaking softly to someone who wasn’t there.

  “It’s late, Alice,” she whispered instead. “You must go back to sleep.”

  Alice looked at her a moment more before very deliberately turning her back.

  Adelaide stood, leaving the room as quickly as her feet would carry her. She tried to ignore the goose bumps rising on her arms, the chill running down her spine, as she made her way to her bedchamber. She tried to tell herself that yes, she was afraid. Afraid of the future for her daughters—both of them. Afraid that they, like her, would be tempted by the call of the Souls.

  As she pulled the coverlet over her body, she told herself she was not afraid of her daughter. Certainly not Alice, the daughter destined by birth to be Guardian. Destined to guard the world against the return of the arch-demon Samael from the Otherworlds while Lia, as Gate, would be called upon to allow his passage.

  “Alice is Guardian.” Adelaide whispered this into the darkened room, as if saying it aloud would make it more true. “She is Guardian, not Gate.”

  But even as she closed her eyes, even as she could no longer resist the call of the Souls, she knew that Guardian or not, it was Alice who must be watched. Alice who had already forged a bond with the Souls, as Adelaide had done when she was a girl not much older than her daughter was now. Alice to whom the Souls had whispered even in the cradle.

  Then, everything faded away as their call rose in her, a fevered whisper beckoning her to the violet sky of the Otherworlds. To a place of warmth and peace where she was not torn between duty and release.

  She had grown used to the feel of her body releasing her soul. The lift in her heart as she rose from her sleeping form, still and quiet under the coverlet of the massive tester bed in her chamber. It was complete and utter liberation, every particle of her being weightless and free as she left her body behind and drifted toward the walls. She passed straight through them as if they were nothing but a figment of her imagination.

  In many ways, they were. They were less real to her than the astral plane on which she traveled every night now, and sometimes during the day, if she could manage it without arousing too much suspicion.

  She still remembered the first time she had traveled. She had been a girl of o
nly eight years old, had thought she was dreaming as her body lifted toward the ceiling of her childhood chamber. She had not seen the Souls on that first journey, though she knew someone was out there, watching and waiting.

  It did not take her long to realize that her night travels were not dreams at all. The Souls had gradually come to her, appearing first as children like her, then as comforting adults. By the time she knew who they were—who they really and truly were—it was too late. She was so enamored with the freedom of being on the Plane, and if the truth were told, too enamored with the Souls who protected her there, who whispered in her ear that there was no shame in her affinity for it, her desire for the liberation it offered her.

  And so it was that she was not surprised when she finally discovered her place in the prophecy. She was the Gate through which Samael might pass into this world, through which his Lost Souls could pass to await his arrival.

  That her sister was Guardian did not surprise Adelaide. With her easy smile and transparent demeanor, Ginny had always been the good one.

  Now Adelaide traveled the night sky of the Otherworlds, passing over the fields that surrounded Birchwood. Soon she was over the thick forest that bordered the property on three sides.

  It was then that she felt the Lost Souls.

  She always felt their presence before she saw them. It was more than the vibration of their Otherworldly horses galloping across the astral sky. It was their very being, their very existence that seemed to hum through her body and soul, their hearts marking time with hers, their breath rising and falling with her own.

  And she was not afraid. Had never been afraid of them. They were there to protect her from harm on the Plane. There to offer her solace from the demands of the physical world to which she was enslaved.

  The rumbling started in the air around her, growing until the sky itself seemed to warp and quake. Her heart quickened as the sound grew, and she continued her flight through the astral sky, watching for their appearance.

  She had just passed over the town when she saw them, a dark shadow on the horizon. She knew that they came from the direction of the sea, and she flew toward them as fast as her spirit body could manage it.

  They spread out as they came closer, surrounding her on all sides until they formed a protective circle around her. Her heartbeat slowed with their proximity. The stress of maintaining her public facade melted away.

  Here, in the shadow of their hulking bodies, in the beat of their downy black wings, she need only be Adelaide. It did not matter that she was Gate. That she was the one fate had called to bring forth the Souls.

  The Souls did not speak as they flew next to her, but she felt their silken wings stroke her cheek. She heard their murmurs in her mind, comforting her, telling her it was all right. That she was not bad for fulfilling her desire for the Plane, for allowing them to pass through her as she traveled as they did with all other Gates before her. She was simply being true to her own nature, as any living creature must.

  She flew over the sea, the Souls’ whispered reassurances winding like smoke through her mind. The water below was dark and mysterious. She could see large shapes moving beneath its surface, glimmering faintly in the light of the Otherworlds moon.

  She was far from land—so far she could no longer see the sliver of it in the distance—when she felt Samael. She could not see him, for the Souls rose far above her on every side, aided by the tremendous height of the steeds on which they rode.

  But Samael was there. And closer than last time.

  It had been happening with more and more frequency. She would travel the Plane, lost in exhilaration and freedom, comforted by the Souls who watched over her. Then she would feel Samael’s presence in the distance. Hear the beat of his heart. Feel it pump in time with her own.

  His presence roused a strange mixture of fear and excitement and, yes, longing in her bones. She wanted to be with him. Wanted to lose herself in his arms and the great wings that beat for her.

  But she always stopped short of going to him. Of joining him.

  Some part of her knew that once she crossed that invisible boundary, she would be lost forever. Not just her body. The body was but a temporary vessel for the soul, and it was that soul for which she worried. There were fates worse than death, and though she longed to be with Samael, longed to let go of the restraints and expectations of her world, doing so would not bring about her temporary death.

  No. If she gave in to Samael on the Plane, she would not return to her physical body. Samael would detain her, severing the astral chord that bound her to her body. Thomas or one of the maids would find her sleeping form, dead and cold, in the morning. There would be no eventual reunion with her husband, her daughters, her tiny son. Her soul would be trapped in the Otherworlds, forced to remain with Samael or be banished to the icy Void for all eternity.

  She could not consign herself to such a fate. Not yet.

  For now, Samael seemed content to observe her from a distance, to whisper her name, coaxing her to come closer. She didn’t know why he hadn’t simply taken her. Surely he had that power and more, and she had tempted the fates more than once by remaining on the Plane long enough for him to do so. Longer with each passing day, in fact. With each nightly journey into the Otherworlds.

  Yet so far Samael had not taken her spirit while she flew.

  She flew awhile longer, allowing her spirit form to dip toward the sea, so close she felt the spray of waves on her face. It was only when the Otherworldly sun began to light the sky in the distance that she turned toward shore.

  Samael’s summons grew more urgent, his offers of acceptance and peace more tempting.

  But then she thought of her children. Her sleeping daughters. Her tiny, helpless son. She thought of Thomas, still her beloved though the prophecy had put distance between them.

  She thought of them all and she flew, relieved and surprised when she saw the town rise up before her, when Samael and his Souls faded into the background without trying to snatch her spirit from the sky.

  She traveled over fields and streams and dense woods. The familiar stone house rose in the distance, becoming larger and more imposing as she neared. Soon, she was upon it. She traveled up the side of it, drifting effortlessly through the walls of her chamber on the second floor.

  Her body lay in repose under the coverlet. She floated above it for a moment, observing this person who both was and was not Adelaide Milthorpe. Her face was so peaceful in sleep, the haunted eyes closed to the worries of the prophecy and her doomed place in it.

  If only it were truly that way. If only she could find such peace within the skin and bones of the body that was hers rather than the astral plane that was her most cherished refuge and most shameful secret.

  But it was not. This she knew with all her heart, and she dropped wearily into her body as the first rays of sun lit the sky.

  The morning rose damp and gray. Adelaide removed the medallion from her wrist, placing it in the very back of her night-table drawer. She dressed quickly and washed in the basin of water brought to her by Margery, the maid who saw to her needs and filled the firebox with wood.

  Drying her face with a soft linen towel, Adelaide gazed at her reflection in the looking glass above the bureau. Her eyes were always more green after she traveled, though that was the only indication that she had done anything during the night but sleep soundly in her bed.

  She tied back her thick auburn hair, telling herself that Thomas would not know. That Ginny would not gaze upon her and see the guilt in her eyes.

  Most important, she prayed that neither of them would see the residual pleasure there, because that is what she felt when she was her truest self, traveling the Plane of the Otherworlds. It was only then, the Lost Souls surrounding her, protecting her in the womb of their velvet wings, that she was free.

  She knew, of course, that it was traitorous, for each time she traveled she awoke with the medallion on her wrist, the medallion that allowed more
of the demonic Souls to pass into the world as she traveled. And each Soul that crossed over from the Otherworlds was one more Soul to unite with Samael should he ever find a way to make the journey.

  And one more Soul to be fought, quite possibly by her own daughter, in an effort to keep the world safe from the evil that would reign in their hands.

  It didn’t matter that she tried not to wear the medallion. That she placed it in the farthest reaches of her bureau drawer, and had once even buried it outside. It always found its way back to her. Back to her wrist and the mark that corresponded exactly to the one on the medallion.

  She leaned back from the mirror, straightening her gown. She pulled a bronze cuff encrusted with amber from the bejeweled box on the bureau. The bracelet went nicely with her dark brown walking gown, and she was preparing to wrap the cuff around her left wrist when she heard a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” she called.

  The door opened and her husband stepped into the room. He came toward her, a weary smile on a face creased with worry. He looked smart and handsome in trousers and a waistcoat cut to suit his still-trim figure.

  He stopped in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders and bending to kiss her tenderly on the cheek. She inhaled his scent—shaving cream, wool, and tooth powder. He smelled clean and fresh while she felt tired and dirty, soiled by the night’s travel.

  “Good morning, my love,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

  She looked down at the bracelet, away from his probing eyes. Her jittery fingers toyed with the clasp as she focused on the weight of it in her hands.

  “Fine, thank you. And you?”

  He nodded, gently plucking the cuff from her hands. “Very well, thank you.” He lifted her hand, kissing the mark that branded the translucent skin on the inside of her wrist. “Though I would have slept better in the company of my wife.”

  He wrapped the bracelet around her wrist, covering the mark and clasping the cuff carefully so as not to pinch her skin.