Michelle Zink - Circle of Fire (Prophecy of the Sisters, Book 3)

Copyright 2011 by Michelle Zink

Hand-lettering and interior ornamentation by Leah Palmer Preiss

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: August 2011

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-13390-6

To my father, Michael St. James, for all the lovely darkness

The gowns are heavy in my arms as I leave my chamber. There are no windows to gather light, and I make my way carefully down the richly papered hallway by the light of the sconces flickering along the wall. Milthorpe Manor has been in my family for generations, but it is still not as familiar as Birchwood, the home in New York where I was born and raised.

Even still, this house does not harbor the ghosts of the past. Here, I do not have to remember my younger brother, Henry, as he was before his death. I do not have to wonder if I will hear my twin sister, Alice, whispering from the Dark Room as she conjures frightful, forbidden things. If I will see her, prowling the halls, at any hour of the day or night.

Not in the flesh, in any case.

It is Aunt Virginias idea that I should seek advice from Sonia and Luisa regarding which gown to wear to tonights Masquerade. I know my aunt is trying to help, but it is a testament to the changed nature of my friendship with both girls that I now must brace myself to be in their presence. Or, more accurately, in the presence of Sonia. Although she and Luisa returned from Altus weeks ago, the tension felt in the early days of their return has not abated. In fact, it seems to grow with each passing day. I have tried to forgive Sonia her betrayal in the wood leading to Altus. Am still trying to forgive it. But every time I look into the chill blue of her eyes, I remember.

I remember waking, Sonias kind face above me, her warm hands pressing the hated medallion to the soft skin at the underside of my wrist. I remember her voice, familiar from many months of shared confidences, feverishly whispering the words of the Souls who would use me as their Gate to bring forth Samael.

I remember it all and feel my heart harden just a little more.

The Societys Masquerade is one of the years most celebrated events. Sonia, Luisa, and I have been anticipating the event since they returned from Altus, but while they quickly settled on costumes, I have remained indecisive.

My mask, chosen and created long ago, was not difficult. I knew immediately what it would look like, though I have never attended a Masquerade and make no claim of creativity in matters of fashion. Nevertheless, it came to me as easily and clearly as if I had seen it in a store window. I commissioned it shortly thereafter by describing it to the seamstress and watching her sketch it on a thin piece of parchment until it looked just as I imagined it.

But while I set upon the idea for a mask quite easily, my indecisiveness forced me to give up the possibility of having a gown made. Instead, I chose two from those already hanging in my wardrobe. As Aunt Virginia suggested, I will ask Sonia and Luisa for assistance in deciding, but while it was once a ritual of friendship I would have relished, now I only dread it. Now I will have to look into Sonias eyes.

And I will have to lie and lie and lie.

Arriving at the door of Luisas room, I lift my hand to knock but hesitate when I hear the raised voices coming from within. I place one of them as Sonias and hear my name spoken in frustration. Leaning in, I do not even pretend that Im not going to listen.

There is nothing more I can do. I have apologized over and over. I have submitted without complaint to the rites of the Sisters on Altus. Lia will not forgive me, whatever I do. And Im beginning to believe that she never will, Sonia says.

The rustle of fabric is followed by the thud of wardrobe doors before I hear Luisa respond. Nonsense. Perhaps you might try to spend time alone with her. Have you asked her to ride with you at Whitney Grove?

More than once, but she always has an excuse. We havent been since before you arrived from New York. Before Altus. Before everything.

I cannot tell if Sonia is angry or only sad, and I feel a moments guilt as I think of the many times she has asked me to Whitney Grove. I have denied her even as I have gone alone to practice with my bow.

You simply must give her time, thats all. Luisa is matter-of-fact. She bears the weight of the medallion nowin addition to the burden of decoding the final page of the prophecy.

I look down at my wrist, peeking out from the yards of silk and lace. The strip of black velvet taunts me from beneath the sleeve of my gown. It is Sonias fault that I must bear the medallion alone. Her fault that I must worry it will make its way to the mark of the Jorgumand, the snake eating its own tail with a C in its center, on my other wrist.

No matter how many excuses Luisa makes for Sonia, these things will always be true.

My inability to forgive brings with it a powerful blend of resentment and despair.

Well, Im getting tired of pandering to her better nature. We are partners in the prophecy. All of us. She is not the only one who feels its burden. The indignation in Sonias voice stokes the fire of my anger. As if she has any right to feel indignant. As if forgiving her should be that easy.

Luisa sighs so loudly that I hear it from the hall. Lets try to enjoy the Masquerade, shall we? Helene will arrive in two days. This is our last night to be friends as we once were.

I am not the problem, Sonia mutters from within the room. A rush of blood heats my cheeks, and I attempt to check my temper before raising my hand to knock on the large wooden door.

Its me, I call, trying to smooth the tremor in my voice.

The door swings open and Luisa stands in its frame, her dark hair lit with burgundy from the lamplight and fire in the room.

There you are! Her cheerfulness sounds forced, and I imagine her trying to push aside the conversation she has just had with Sonia. For one irrational moment, I feel that she is complicit in Sonias betrayal. Then I remember Luisas loyalty and the pain she must feel standing between Sonia and me. My petulance dissipates, and all at once I am surprised to find that it is not so difficult to smile.

Here I am. And Ive brought two gowns for inspection.

Luisas eyes drop to the armful of fabric in my hands. I can already see why you cannot make up your mind. Theyre both beautiful! Come. She steps back, allowing me entrance.