Part 24 (1/2)

”Hang on, Ro,” I cry, but I don't think she can hear me. Her eyes roll back in her head and I realize that my sister is about to faint. Lying flat on my stomach, Ireach down, clamp my hands under her elbows, and pull. But her weight pulls me forward and in horror I realize I am sliding slowly but inexorably across the slick marble floor. Then Gabriel is crouching by my side, his face still dripping blood. He locks his hands around my sister's arms and with one hard tug we pull her up and over the edge and then free of the chasm altogether. With a thunderclap the clock door slams shut. I close my eyes in the silence, my ears ringing with the sudden absence of all sound. Just when I think this could go on and on forever, I both hear and feel a steady ticking right above my heart.

Prying open my eyes, I stare at the unbroken blue domed ceiling above me, the constellations whole and s.h.i.+ning bright. I jackknife up, glance around. The floor is smooth and unmarred, the marble glinting. Lastly I turn my head and look at the clock. It has shrunk back to its normal size. Next to me Gabriel groans, pulling himself into a sitting position. The blood has dried on his face and one eye is swollen shut, but he reaches for my hand and gives it a rea.s.suring squeeze. I swallow, turn to my sister, and touch her face gently. Her eyelids flutter once, and then she is looking at me.

”Tamsin,” she whispers. Her arm is badly burned and her disheveled hair is matted with dust and plaster and rain. Her face is still pale and long scratches mar one side of her neck and shoulder, but her eyes are suddenly focused and clear. I don't think she's ever looked more beautiful.

”Ro? Are you ... are you you?” One pale eyebrow flexes upward in a look so effortless and elegant, a look that I used to practice for hours before a mirror when I was younger. I still can't do it the way she can.

”Who else would I be?” she asks. Then she tries to sit up, grimaces, and seems to think better of it.

”What happened?” she asks. A familiar trace of impatience is entering her tone, and I know her what happened is about three seconds away from turning into what have you done?Good question. And as if in response, the ticking above my heart grows still louder until it is echoing in perfect time with my heartbeat.

Fumbling at the collar of my s.h.i.+rt, I tug on the chain of the locket and press the tiny catch. Two things become apparent with a dash of ice-cold clarity. My docket is now working. And I have become the Keeper.

”Hi, Mom,” I say as we step through the kitchen door. My mother drops the teakettle she has presumably just filled and screams. The kettle smashes to the floor, the lid spinning off. Water sprays and arcs at our feet. I kind of wish I had prepared her.

”Rowena,” she gasps.

”Tamsin. Oh, girls, you're home” And then Rowena and I are smashed together as my mothertries to wrap her arms around us both, all the while still shrieking our names. Half blinded by my mother's hair, I turn my head to see my father, Lydia, and James burst through the door. My father moves toward me, Rowena manages to struggle free only to fling herself into James's arms, and Lydia approaches Gabriel with a smile that begins to lighten all the tired shadows under her eyes.

”How did you do it?” my mother keeps crying, and I hear Rowena murmuring to James, ”Yes, it's really me. It's really, really me” Everyone keeps talking over one another.

Lydia is dabbing Gabriel's head with a damp dishcloth, her fingers tenderly combing through his hair. My mother keeps grabbing first me and then Rowena, and my father grips my shoulder tightly while blotting his sleeve against his eyes.

And then Silda and Jerom and Gwyneth pile through the kitchen door and the tumult only grows louder. Finally, I manage to free myself from my mother's embrace long enough to ask, ”Is Grandmother ...” My mother gives a firm shake of her head, pushes her hair away from her face.

”Still... sleeping” She glances at Rowena.

”I can't-”

”What?” Rowena asks sharply. She glances at James as if for an answer, and then when he bites his lip, she asks, ”What's wrong with Grandmother?” One hand goes to her throat. But before anyone can speak, the kitchen door swings open for a third time and Aunt Beatrice totters uncertainly into the center of the room, followed by my grandmother.

”Look who's awake,” Aunt Beatrice crows and then skids on the spilled water from the teakettle, wobbles, and rights herself. My mother finally lets go of me and, stepping forward, says, ”Mother? What happened? How ... ?” She stares in bewilderment at Aunt Beatrice, then holds out her hands to my grandmother as if to check that she's really there.

”I unfroze her!” Aunt Beatrice says happily, looking from face to shocked face.

”Apparently,” my grandmother begins, her voice deep and smooth although she has been sleeping for a week, ”Beatrice froze me” She gives Aunt Beatrice a look of half-irritated amus.e.m.e.nt.

”But we all thought you weren't able to use your power anymore,” my mother cries, staring at Aunt Beatrice.

”I never said that! Did I?” Aunt Beatrice muses, scratching her chin.

”I thought I lost it,” she murmurs, gazing intently at the window, her eyes unfocused.

”I haven't ... used it for so long.”

”Why did you-?” Silda begins and then gives a little shriek as Uncle Morris pops into view, holding aloft a gla.s.s of red wine. With his free hand, he pats Silda's shoulder briskly. ”Sorry, my dear. Can't always see where I'm headed. Well, that's not going to come out,” he mutters, staring at the spreading crimson stain on her sleeve.

”Why did you freeze her?” Rowena asks.

”Well,” Beatrice says indignantly, turning her head with a whip like motion, ”that's a fine question for you to ask, Miss Rowena. If you had made her drink any more of that potion, you would have killed her. I couldn't stop you, but I could stop her” Beatrice takes a few steps forward, her bracelets clacking merrily.

”Oh, you were so angry with me!” She gives a gleeful hoot even as Rowena lowers her head onto James's shoulder.

”But before you could say anything, make me do anything, I ran away and hid. I hid all afternoon in my closet!” Before anyone can react to her words, Aunt Beatrice c.o.c.ks her wispy white head.

”Hmm ... if I could have frozen you while I was at it, why didn't I try that?” A small frown pushes the corners of her mouth in.

”I suppose I lost it again,” she murmurs, her steps slowing to a shuffle.

”Oh, well!” she adds, all gaiety returning as she spies the gla.s.s of wine in Uncle Morris's hand. And she claps her hands together, executes a little twirl. The hem of her long skirt trails through the water that is still spreading across the floor from the overturned teakettle. I put a steadying hand on her arm and she peers at me.

”Oh! I know you. I remember what you can do!” she says. ”Sorry about that,” I murmur.

”What is going on here?” my mother demands, and across the room Gabriel looks at me with his good eye and winks. I turn back to my grandmother and take one step forward. She touches my face with her gnarled fingers. Then she smiles, and for one second I can see the teenage girl that she was in 1939.

”I told everyone you would be a beacon,” she whispers.

EPILOGUE.

A GHOST-WHITE MOON sails through the clear sky and thousands of stars wink and glitter upon the loose circle we have formed. The altar is heaped with apples, their skins the color of wine, and the last of the white and purple asters.

Firelight flickers across everyone's face as the smoke from the bonfire twists up through the cold autumn air.

”Greetings,” my grandmother calls, her voice ringing out.

”Well met tonight as on all nights.”

”Well met,” I chorus back along with the rest of my family.

”Tonight is Samhain, the most magical night of the year,” she continues.