Thank you soooo much to all of you who review and most especially to those of you who favorited/alerted my story. I'm overjoyed by how well my fic is going over, and oddly enough, a bit humbled. I hope you enjoy this chapter - it's a bit longer than the others, and my favorite so far. I changed the rating from K+ to T because this is about to get darker and just a little less less suitable for younger viewers. Please continue to review - thanks to a recent visit to my inbox, I realized that you can reply to comments - so expect that from here on out. Okay... um, that's it. Enjoy the story!

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The next morning, I awake to a fresh note pinned to my headboard. How did he manage this one? I grumble in my head as I unfold it.

Miss Doyle,
Simon is most certainly a member
of the Rakshana. Do not, under
any circumstances, go near him
-Kartik

Wonderful. How am I to convince Grandmama that we cannot dine with the Middletons next week? Quick as lightning, it occurs to me – feign ill, you dolt. I fold the note confidently and tuck it away with the others. I wonder what Kartik would think if he knew that I hoard his notes, rather than tearing them to pieces as he would, no doubt, suggest.

There is a tap at the door, and I slam the drawer shut violently, catching my finger. With a hissed explicative, I cradle my poor finger in my other hand, blinking back the tears of pain.

"Come in," I gasp.

Emily is at the door. "Breakfast, miss."

"Thank you," I mutter, rubbing my crushed finger. "You may tell Mrs. Doyle that I will be down shortly." Emily bobs a quick curtsy and turns to go. "Oh, Emily – wait!" Using my uninjured hand, I snatch Pride and Prejudice from my bookshelf. "Here, this is for you. Mr. Kartik may not enjoy it, but I daresay Miss Austen is a sight more interesting than Homer."

Emily smiles sweetly, taking the book reverentially. "Thank you, miss!"

"Yes, of course."

Emily curtsies again, then makes her way back to wherever she goes. I join Father, Tom, and Grandmama for breakfast.

"There's my girl," Father smiles as I enter the breakfast parlor. Tom ignores me as he peruses various documents, from the asylum no doubt.

"Gemma," Grandmama says, trying to mask the delight in her voice. "The viscount and his wife have invited us to dine with them this coming Sunday." She waves the invitation, freshly delivered this morning by their footman. "Perhaps you might take Emily and find a new gown?"

I already know I will not be attending Sunday's little soiree, and I hardly think it fair to use our money on a gown that will never be seen. "Well, I thought that I might…" I trail off demurely. "Lady Denby did compliment my blue taffeta gown when we last saw her – I thought I might wear that one again."

Grandmama shakes her head sternly. "That will not do. We cannot have the Middletons think we cannot afford to clothe you properly." Grandmama chuckles to herself, "To wear the same gown, two dinners in a row? I think not, Gemma dear."

"Well, I do so love the rosewater silk – with all the buttons. It is quite my favorite gown. The Middletons have not seen that one, I would think," I try again.

Grandmama ponders the idea, but in the end, decides against it. "No, dear. You do need several new gowns, in any case. There will no doubt be many Christmas balls to attend and I won't have you wearing last season's gowns."

"They can easily be altered to fit the new fashions," I argue.

"Gemma, do not be so difficult! After luncheon I will accompany you to the dressmaker." Now I wish I hadn't argued with her at all. With Grandmama coming along, it will be most difficult.

"Do not trouble yourself, Grandmama" I say hastily. "I am quite able to manage."

"I will not have you traipsing about London with only a maid for a chaperone."

Thinking quickly, I say, "I thought I might go with Miss Worthington." Grandmama raises her eyebrows – ah , she is inspecting the bait. "Admiral Worthington's daughter," I add modestly. Grandmama smiles. And she takes it! Success!

"Miss Worthington is a most genteel girl, I am sure," Grandmama muses. "To be the daughter of such a noble man." Thoughts of Felicity's father make my stomach churn. I glance at my own father, who has been evaluating our exchange silently. When I meet his eyes, he gives me a small, hidden smile. I know what he means. Touché, daughter.

"Yes, Miss Worthington is most congenial."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"And how has your holiday fared, thus far, dear Gemma?" We are playing propriety for the sake of Felicity's much beleaguered maid, Fanny. I feel distinctly uncomfortable around Fanny, knowing the trouble I've put her through at Felicity's prodding. I can't help but pity the girl, whom Felicity treats as little more than wall décor. Except this wall has ears and eyes, and of that Felicity is well-aware.

"Quite well, thank you. How are the Worthingtons finding this brisk weather?" I ask tediously, wondering when Fee is going to give Fanny the slip.

"Mother abhors it – she much prefers the sun and the warmth. But Father is delighted. Father, of course, loves anything he considers a challenge." There is a sudden hardness to her eyes, but it is gone in a blink, and I wonder if I didn't imagine it. We pass a shop filled with every imaginable candy and confection. "Shall we look in here?" she suggests mildly. "I do so love sweets."

Fanny is alert and suspicious. Felicity has been remarkably well-behaved, and the maid knows it's only a matter of time until she pulls out her bag of tricks.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps I could find a gift to thank Grandmama and Father for my new gowns."

We press into the shop and Fee whispers in my ear, "There is a side door that leads into the hat shop. When I send Fanny to fetch something, we make a dash for it."

I nod my compliance.

Fee sends Fanny for a ha'pence worth of spice drops. As soon as her back is turned, she takes me by the arm and drags me into the hat shop. Elderly matrons cluck disapprovingly as we shove through them and bolt out the door. Breathing heavily, I feel every stay and each individual bone in my corset, digging into my ribs. Still, Fee rushes on. Quickly, she whips me into a bookseller's and we rush to the back, where we can hide behind the shelves of rarely perused tomes.

By now Fanny will have noticed our disappearance. She will not find us though. After a few minute's fruitless searching, she will have to return home and be berated for her incompetence.

"This is terribly cruel to Fanny," I say guiltily.

"She's nothing but mother's little lackey."

"Your mother will know that you dodged her again."

"No, she won't. I didn't give her a pound note – I gave her a real note. She'll meet us at the confectioner's shop in an hour."

I shake my head at her chicanery, but I'm relieved. At least Fanny will not be punished for our misbehavior.

"When shall we go to the realms?" Fee asks in a whisper, fingering the spines of dusty books.

"I don't know."

"We could go now."

"No!" I object forcefully. Felicity hushes me with a sharp look. She peers nervously between the shelves to see if we've been heard.

"There's not a soul in here. For just a moment, we could visit the garden, then return with no one the wiser."

"Somebody could find us!"

"Nobody will find us, look here." She squeezes between two corner shelves, backed into the small triangle of space between the wall and shelves. Against my better judgment, I follow, looking around furtively as I press into the space. We sink to the floor, pressed against each other, and I envision the door of light.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The garden is not as I remembered. While it is just as beautiful as always, it seems wrong. The sunlight is harsh, making us squint in its too-bright glare. The breeze that once whispered sweetly through the tall grass is now like a sinister whisper, snaking wickedly through the grass. The fruit on the trees is poisonously bright, beckoning to be eaten. The grass is brown and dead around the crumbled remains of the shattered ruins.

"This is wrong," Felicity whispers. "It's… off."

"Perhaps we should leave," I say, taking Felicity's hand.

There is a shrill voice behind me. "Leaving already?"

Felicity and I whirl on the spot, face to face with Pippa. But not Pippa. This girl is a deranged thing, her beauty flawed by the dangerous hunger that radiates from her emaciated frame. Her violet eyes, once sweet with dreams of true love, are ringed round the iris with circles of blood red. Her lips are cracked and bleeding, and her once-shining ringlets are now lank and stringy, hanging about her pale, starving face in greasy ropes.

Fee gasps, taking a step back, clutching my hand so tightly it hurts. "Pippa!" she gasps.

"You've only just got here," she croons, her voice like broken glass and shrieking wind. Two voices issue from her mouth, melding together in a chilling harmony. "Certainly you wouldn't leave without visiting your dearest friend?"

"Pippa? What are you doing in the garden?" I ask, forcing strength into my voice.

"Didn't I tell you, Gemma? There is a way. I needn't cross-over, ever. I may stay forever in the garden. I told you. I told you, but you wouldn't believe me."

This is not right at all. Mother told me that spirits need to cross over, or else they become dark, twisted things and are banished to the Winterlands. How has Pippa managed to evade the Winterlands? Darkness very nearly drips from her, chilling my bones to merely look in her eyes.

"How did you do it?" I ask, knowing full well that she wants to explain – to detail how wrong I was and spit in my face for my abandonment.

"I was given power from her. Now I may do as I please, coming and going just as you do, Gemma, dear." Her voices slither over my name with a taunting caress. "I was given a spirit to command, so that I might use its powers for my own devices." She smiles garishly, revealing yellow, pointed teeth.

"How can you leave the Realms?" I ask, astonished. "Your body is –" I stop abruptly. When I last saw Pippa, she had not taken so well to her death. Reminding her now is likely a terrible mistake.

Pippa hisses, the sound like a pit of cobras. "That is where my powers come in, darling Gemma. I do not need a fragile, mortal body any more. I may occupy any I see fit."

Fee's clutch on my hand has made my fingers go numb. A small sob escapes her, drawing Pippa's power-maddened eyes to her. Her expression softens, and I can almost see the girl I used to know in her wounded eyes. When she speaks, I hear Pippa, with only the faint whisper of another voice. "I visited you, Fee. Did you know? That night your mother came to your room…"

Felicity chokes back another sob, nodding and stepping forward. "Why didn't you say it was you? You left right away!"

"I can't stay for too long," Pippa admits, her gaze hardening at this confession. She adds, sharing her voice again, "But I will gain power with time. Soon, I will rival you," she spits at me. "And your shiny baubles will mean nothing!" My hand flies immediately to the crescent eye necklace, stroking it reassuringly.

I swallow past my fear and force myself to meet Pippa's hateful gaze. "Who is the woman who gave you these powers?"

A smug smile spreads over her sallow face, stretching her lips until old cracks reopen and fresh blood speckles her mouth like dew. "The one you thought you defeated. Circe played your foolish game, and now she has set to putting the realms as they ought to be. She knows your wicked soul, Gemma Doyle. She sees your selfish desire and she will defeat you! You want to rule the Realms as your own, but she will not bow to you! She has raised an army, fueled by all the spirits you have wronged by banishing to that godforsaken wasteland! You will know the meaning of fear when you stand alone, your back to an empty void, facing the legions that will not be imprisoned any longer!"

With an inhuman shriek, she rushes at us. Felicity clutches my hand again and I take us to the white door.

But Pippa has been brought with us. I throw my hands up over my face as she lunges for me, her clawed hands reaching for my throat. I see only her red-ringed eyes, wide with fury and then a convulsing shiver of the darkest cold envelops me.

She has passed straight through me. I gasp in astonishment, and my breath escapes in a puff of white steam. Felicity's eyes are wide as she stares at me.

"Gemma – your lips… are blue." She touches my mouth gingerly, and draws away with a shiver. At her touch, warmth floods my body, ridding me of the bone-snapping cold. "Normal again," she sighs. But she's wrong. The tips of my fingers and toes tingle numbly, as if I've had them pressed against ice for several minutes. I shake my hands, hoping it will fade.

Pippa snarls, crouched on the ground, her lip pulled back in a feral grimace. But she is not as fearsome as she was before. Traces of humanity have returned to her features. Her cheeks are not so hollow, and her hands are those of a young girl again – not the jagged claws of a gnarled hag. Her lips, no longer cracked, are berry bright and her yellowed teeth have lost their jagged edges.

"Why, Gemma," she croons in her doubled voice. "You taste delicious." She leaps for me again, but I wrench open the door of light, shoving Felicity through and whipping it shut behind me.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We ride in silence back home. I rub my hands nervously, unable to shake the icy numbness. Fanny regards the two of us suspiciously, but says nothing. When we pull up to my home I bid Felicity a hollow goodbye and depart her carriage.

I go immediately to my room and pull out a fresh sheet of stationary.

Kartik,
The Rakshana may be the
least of our worries.
-Gemma

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