Disclaimer: Tell me I'm Libba Bray, and I'll tell you're the Queen of England.

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!!!!!!1!!!!111!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!11!

I'm soooooooo sorry, everyone, for taking so long. But I'm finished now, so maybe you'll forgive me?

oOoOoOo

I walked down the empty street, fresh snow crunching under my boots. Fierce wind howled around me, threatened to rip off my very skin with icy fingers. But it didn't matter. I was already cold, everything about me was cold. Even my insides were cold.

That is, if I had any insides left.

Quite frankly, I was empty on the inside, I knew it. I was hollow. I felt nothing but the frosty bite of rejection. Ah, how it stung. But I didn't mind the pain, I barely noticed it. Nothing could touch me now, I was hollow.

Had I even a heart to pump the cold blood through my veins?

I trudged on, not paying any attention to where my feet were taking me. I thought of nothing, my mind was an empty shell. My eyes were downcast, but I saw nothing. I heard nothing but the wind. I didn't care, didn't care about anyone or anything. I had no one but the Rakshana, but then, I didn't feel much loyalty either toward them either. Look where the Rakshana got me. But I felt no anger. No remorse. Nothing mattered.

"The Eastern Star is hard to find," a frosty voice from behind me whispered.

I stopped, but did not turn. The voice sent chills down my back. Could I have dreamt it?

"The Eastern Star is hard to find," repeated the voice.

"But it shines brightly for those who seek it," I answered frigidly. I turned slowly, and faced a small man with clever eyes.

"You have an appointment, young one," said the man, his voice low but unwavering.

I nodded, faintly curious, but only a little. I felt no fear, only indifference. I couldn't care less if they had arranged for my funeral, I wasn't afraid of death or punishment. I wouldn't kill Gemma.

The small man took out a blindfold from his pocket, holding it up for me to see. "We must leave now, we mustn't be late…"

I nodded and closed my eyes, feeling him wrap the greasy cloth around my head. I knew I wasn't allowed to know where the Rakshana's current headquarters were located, but it made me feel small and unimportant. The Rakshana consisted of secrets and secrets only. So many secrets, secrets I had to keep, to be kept from.

oOoOoOo

My mind raced as I remembered Fowlson's words. My eyes were still covered, and Fowlson's oily drawl echoed through my eardrums as we walked.

Gemma was wrong. She was wrong all along. Miss McCleethy wasn't Circe, she never was. She was Sahirah Foster, member of the Order, friend of the Rakshana…

Everything made sense now. Gemma was wrong…

And yet, something was missing.

I puzzled over this new information, slowly going over every detail. The Order, the Rakshana, McCleethy, Circe, the Temple, Gemma…I stopped thinking. I felt a strange pull in my chest, recognizing the beat of my heart. So I did have a heart still, after all. Was that a relief, or a frustration?

I could feel the hand on my shoulder move down to my arm, clasping it tightly. My other arm experienced the same pressure, and I suddenly realized that there was more than one person leading me. My stomach tightened, and an unusual fear suddenly gripped me. Where are they taking me, and why?

Our footsteps echoed as we walked through what I assumed must be a tunnel of sorts. I could tell the ground was stone, possibly bricked. Are we underground? The dim light I could see through the cloth faded away, and I heard a loud thud as a heavy door was opened.

We entered and the two men stopped me from walking further, one removing my blindfold. I opened my eyes, blinking a little, adjusting to the darkness.

Once I could make out the shapes in the dim candlelight, one of the first things I realized was that I'd been there before, for one other meeting; when I was first told that my second task was to murder Gemma. But last time we hadn't entered through a tunnel, but through the other door next to me. And last time there were no loud, boisterous cries of drunken men from above us, and I realized that we were near the streets of London. And last time there was no Gemma lying before me, startlingly green eyes wide with fear, looking very vulnerable.

My current hatred for her was forgotten, the hurt she caused me, the stillness of my heartbeat, all forgotten. I only saw her.

"Gemma," I breathed.

"Kartik," was her answer. Her voice was cracked. "What are you doing here? Did they take you, too?"

I rushed to get Gemma some water, and handed the dirty mug to her as she stood up shakily. "Are you all right? Here, have some water."

"I'm so very sorry about what I said that day," she said, looking up at me pleadingly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"It is forgotten. Are you certain you're all right?"

"You must help me," Gemma exclaimed, ignoring my question. "Fowlson and Miss McCleethy kidnapped me and brought me here. If she has his loyalty, then we cannot trust the Rakshana."

"Shhh, Gemma," I shushed her. "No one brought me here against my will. Miss McCleethy is part of the Order. She's working with the Rakshana to find the Temple and restore the Order to its full power. She's come to help you."

"Kartik, you know that Miss McCleethy is Circe."

"Fowlson says she's not."

"How does he know? And how do you know that he has not been corrupted as well? How do you know that you can trust him?"

I didn't know. "Miss McCleethy isn't who you think she is." That much was true, I was certain of it. "Her name is Sahirah Foster. She's been on the hunt for Circe. She took the name McCleethy as a decoy, in hopes of calling the attention of the real Circe, as that was the name she took whilst she was at Saint Victoria's."

Gemma sneered. "And you believe this story?"

"Fowlson believes it."

"I'm certain that Nell Hawkins could tell you differently. Don't you see? She is Circe!" Gemma's sneering expression transformed into a pleading one again. "She murdered all those girls, Kartik. She murdered my mother and your brother! I won't let her do the same to me."

My heart tugged at my ribcage again, and I felt a pang of doubt. Could it be possible that Gemma was right? What if Fowlson is lying? What if Gemma is right?

No, it couldn't be, not one of us, one of the brotherhood.

"Gemma, you are mistaken," I said.

She turned away from me, eyes lowered in disappointment. She didn't believe me. She didn't trust me anymore.

Suddenly, a woman wearing a green cloak entered the room, using the door I had used the first time I was brought here. She had a commanding air about her, and I realized at once that she was Miss McCleethy.

"This has taken entirely too long, Miss Doyle," McCleethy declared, frowning at Gemma. "You will take me into the realms and I shall help you find the Temple. Then we shall bind the magic and restore the Order."

"With access to the realms and the magic granted at last to the Rakshana," added a deep voice somewhere behind her.

"Yes, of course," assured McCleethy, waving her hand dismissively.

"I know all about you," cried Gemma suddenly, a defiant gleam in her eyes. "I wrote to Saint Victoria's. I know what you did to Nell Hawkins and the other girls before her."

"You know nothing, Miss Doyle," responded McCleethy callously. "You only think you do, and therein lies the problem."

"I know Mrs. Nightwing is your sister," announced Gemma proudly.

"Lillian is a dear friend," said McCleethy, surprised. "I have no sister."

"You're lying."

"Enough!" shouted another voice behind me. "It is time."

I clenched my hands into fists, watching as several masked men stepped out into the light.

"I won't take you in!" roared Gemma.

I moved forward involuntarily as Fowlson grabbed her arm forcefully from behind. I stopped myself, straining against my urge to protect her. They wouldn't hurt her, not yet.

"I've grown rather tired of your games, Miss Doyle," growled Fowlson threateningly. "They've cost us too much time already."

"You can't force me to do it."

"Can't I?"

McCleethy stepped forward, much to my relief. "Mr. Fowlson. Allow me a moment with the girl, if you please." She pulled Gemma away from Fowlson, whispering to her. Her voice was so low I could not hear her, and I wondered desperately what she was telling Gemma.

Gemma answered in an angry hiss, and Fowlson pushed me towards the door, signaling for his men to follow. We left the room but stood near the closed door, two masked men holding my arms again. I realized the situation was much more urgent that I had thought. They would hurt Gemma, if it got them what they wanted. They still needed her to open the realms for them, but obviously that wasn't happening, not if I knew Gemma. What would they do to her when she continued to refuse them? They were planning for me to murder her anyway, after the Temple was opened. These men would kill a woman- a woman that I loved- for their own selfish gain. They would make of me a murderer, a puppet. These were not my brothers.

I glanced at the heavy door, and again at the strong hands holding my arms to my sides. There was no chance for escape. Not for me, or for Gemma.

"Fowlson!" I heard the abrupt shout through the door, and I stiffened. The men lead me back into the room, following Fowlson as he opened the door for us.

I looked at Gemma. She seemed unharmed, but her face was pained. Her eyes were angry and accusing, and they stared at me.

Oh, no. Oh, God, no…

"Kartik." She spat the name like a curse. "What was your task from the Rakshana? Not the one about finding the Temple." My heart stopped. Oh, God... "The other one."

"The…other one?" I repeated stupidly. My knees shook under me, and I had trouble keeping my feet planted firmly on the ground. She wasn't supposed to know!

"Yes," she affirmed, expression hard. "Once I'd found the Temple. What was you task then?"
I trembled under her condemning glare. I'd never seen her so angry before, so hurt. I was charged with the task to murder her, but I wouldn't do it! I couldn't do it! I couldn't say anything, my voice was gone. I looked up.

"Careful now, brother," whispered Fowlson to me.

I struggled to regain my voice. "It was to help you find the Temple. There was no other." I did not look at her when I said this, and I knew she wouldn't believe my feeble words.

"Liar," snarled Gemma, and the word ripped through my chest. I looked at her quickly, then, unable to meet her glare, looked away. "I'm ready." Ready? Ready for what?

"Very well," I heard McCleethy say.

Gemma took McCleethy's hands in hers, expression obstinate. She wouldn't take McCleethy into the realms…would she? Her eyes closed, and I watched her chest rise and fall in a steady pattern, deep breaths, preparing…Gemma moaned, and fell to the ground with a soft thud. I moved forward again, towards Gemma, worried. A large man in a mask held me back, I fighting against his strong arms uselessly.

Fowlson sighed. "What now?"

"She is masquerading," proclaimed McCleethy, giving Gemma a sharp kick. Gemma did not stir. "I tell you, it's a deceit."

"Get her up!" It was a command for me, and I willingly obeyed. Carefully, I hooked Gemma's arms under mine, and pressing her weight against my chest I carried her to the door.

"Fetch the salts," I heard Fowlson bark.

"She is bluffing," snapped McCleethy. "Don't trust her for a moment."

I couldn't tell if Gemma had truly fainted or not. Her breath was so steady, and mine fell in time with the beat. But suddenly, I felt her breath quicken, and she pushed me away, pulling out the totem blade I had given her. Surprise gripped me as she threatened everyone with the blade. What was she thinking? She was more than outnumbered, and the knife was barely longer than my own finger!

"You won't get away," Fowlson informed her. "You don't know which door leads out."

Gemma's eyes shifted back and forth, searching for escape, and her mussed hair gave me the impression of a trapped animal.

I took a step towards her.

"No more of this foolishness, Miss Doyle," said McCleethy impatiently. "I am not your enemy."

I took another step. Gemma's wide eyes locked on mine, and I knew what she was looking for. A way out.

I stared at her, trying to decide. It was only her in front of me, everything else faded away into darkness. She was all I saw. But I remembered Amar, too. He was so completely loyal to the Rakshana, loyal to these dogs, these fiends who would use Gemma for their own selfish purpose. Amar was gone now, but Gemma was here. And if I let them use her like they were using me, then she would be gone, too.

I let my eyes travel to the door, escape. I nodded to her, and I knew she understood.

"Wha' are you on abou' over there, boy?"

Gemma pushed through the door and I followed, shoving it closed behind us.

"Gemma!" I shouted to her. "The blade-hurry! Through the latch there!"

Gemma obediently wedged the blade through the iron latch, blocking it. Fowlson and his goons banged on the door, yelling as they tried to push through. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it gave us a head start.

"This way," I said, grabbing Gemma's arm firmly. I lead her out onto the street, snowflakes mingling with the foggy darkness of London. We walked quickly, almost at a run. The streets were noisy, teeming with drunken laughs and the cries of children. But my ears heard little, only searching for one sound. Very soon, I found it. Gemma turned in alarm, looking over my shoulder. She had heard them, too.

"I'll hold them off until you can get away," I muttered to her hastily.

"Wait! Kartik! You can't go back!" She looked sad. "You can't ever go back."

I hesitated. She was right. They would never forgive. But would she? I looked at her, and then looked behind me. The Rakshana, my only family…what would Amar say?

My thoughts were interrupted when I spotted Fowlson and Jackson, his lackey, rush out onto the sidewalk, searching for us. Their wild eyes soon met my own, and I saw McCleethy trailing behind them. I tried to move my feet, but they seemed to be stuck to the ground.

"Come on," said Gemma, looping her arm through mine. "We're going for a walk."

She yanked me along, dodging and swerving through the crowd. I tried my best to act normally, but in truth I was far beyond panic. What if they found us? What would they do to me? What would they do to Gemma? Where would she go now; they knew how to find her. Would I ever see her again?

I desperately hoped so.

"I wouldn't have done it," I told her, my voice slightly strangled.

Her face was blank. "Just walk, please."

"I would have let you get away," I insisted.

I heard Fowlson whistling behind us. He was close. Gemma glanced at them, and then turned to face forward. She drew in a sharp breath, dropping my arm and turning back.

"What are you doing?" I asked her, incredulous. My arm felt empty.

"It's Simon," wailed Gemma. "I can't be found out."

"Well, we certainly can't go that way!"

While Gemma looked torn between facing certain death, and facing Simon Middleton, I spotted a cab. A man was just reaching for the handle for his female companion when I swatted his hand out of the way, opening the door for Gemma.

"Duchess of Kent," I explained, grinning like a manic at the fuming couple. "She's needed at once at Saint James's Palace."

The man, sputtered at me, shouting curses while Gemma ducked into the hansom.

"I must protest, madam!" exclaimed the outraged man to Gemma. "It was rightfully ours!"

I saw Fowlson striding toward us, still whistling a merry tune.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Gemma's eyes widened. It must be Simon's father, Lord Denby.

"This young woman has taken our cab," exclaimed the man. "And this Indian boy claims she's the Duchess of Kent."

"I say, Father, isn't that Mr. Doyle's former coachman?" asked Simon, inspecting me. "Why, it is!"

"Here, now, boy!" Lord Denby addressed me. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Shall we call for a constable?"

"If you please, miss," said the man haughtily, offering his hand to Gemma, who edged away from it. "You've had your fun. I'll thank you to leave our cab at once."

"Come now, miss," called the driver. "Let's not 'ave all this trouble on such a raw nigh'."

Fowlson was getting closer, pushing through the throng of spectators. I thought quickly. I needed to get Gemma out; that was all that mattered.

I took a deep breath, and launched myself into the air. Bouncing and hopping around the sidewalk, I bellowed a song. I swung my arms about me like a monkey, and leaped around like a madman.

My audience stared at me, stunned.

"Is he drunk or mad?"

I suddenly leaned into the cab window; my face very near Gemma's shocked one. I smelled jasmine. "You know where to find me."

I threw my hands in the air, as if dancing, and brought one down hard on the horse's thigh. The horse threw its head back, whinnying loudly, and then galloped into the street, the driver yelling as he tried to control the animal.

I watched as the cab faded away into darkness, wondering if I would ever see Gemma again, smell Gemma again, feel Gemma again, kiss Gemma again…

Then, suddenly aware that a horde of people were gazing at me in astonishment, I continued to dance and sing, waiting for the perfect time to flee. A constable was arriving, blowing his whistle. Fowlson and Jackson pulled back, though still trapped in the multitude of bodies. It was now or never.

I abruptly stopped acting like a fool, and sprinted across the street, narrowly dodging a carriage. I heard the constable's whistle, but I knew he wasn't following me. I looked back over my shoulder. Neither were Fowlson or Jackson.

I was safe. I was free.

oOoOoOo

A/N: This isn't the last chapter; there's one more. I'll post it right now.

Soooo, was it worth the wait? Or am I just embarrassing myself?