Page 9 of The Gods Time Forgot

Nine

The next morning Rua lay in bed going over the events of the day before. She didn’t know how it had been spun into something negative. Flossie had even smiled when Rua walked back with the Lord of Donore.

But the moment the lord asked Annette Fitzgerald to promenade on the lawn, Flossie had soured.

“Do you understand the position you’ve put us in, once again?” Flossie had screeched on the carriage ride back. “He took Annette Fitzgerald to the lawn for all to see. And where was he seen with you? The stables! You’re no better than a peasant.”

“A peasant? I ran into the lord and thought walking with him would do more for my reputation than a silly horse ride,” she protested.

“He obviously found you unpalatable, seeing as he whisked Annette away immediately upon return.”

At that point, Rua had stopped responding, and they hadn’t spoken since.

Dreading the day ahead, Rua flung off her sheets and climbed out of her bed, remembering her dream.

“You were exceptionally lethal today,” Rua said, wiping the blood from her spear.

“It is never without reason.” Badb paused, glancing down at the bloodied corpse beside her. “Well, almost never.” She ripped her spear from the dead man’s gut.

They both smiled.

“Ah, to be rid of them all, sweet sister.” Badb gazed longingly over the hillside.

“All the men in the world?” Rua laughed. “I should hope not.”

“It is men who have wrought chaos on these green fields,” Badb scoffed. “The ill-advised tyrants, waging war over cattle while their women suffer the consequences.”

On that Rua could not argue.

“But today it is one in particular that irks me so.” Badb turned to face Rua, eyes shining with the power of the sun. “If you knew there was one man that could destroy all of this, what would you do?”

“Destroy what?” Rua asked.

“Us,” Badb said impatiently. “The life we have made for ourselves. The life that lets us do as we please. Think of all the good we could do in this world.”

Rua wondered what her sister meant by good as they stood upon the hilltop looking down at the blood-soaked battlefield.

“The world demands balance, and I am determined to tip it in our favor. I will not allow a man to be our ruin.”

Who were these women? And was this a memory or purely fantasy? A trick of the imagination.

On her way to the washbasin, she tripped on the rug that had turned up. Annoyed, she saw that the corner of the carpet showed a crease, as though it had been lifted quite regularly. She bent down to see for herself.

Stunned, she took in the size of the symbol engraved into the floorboard hidden under the rug.

“Holy hell,” Rua whispered aloud as she ran her hand across the rough wood. The strokes were frenzied, the edges haphazard, but the symbol was there, plain as day. The same as the one on her ankle and at the hellmouth.

Emma Harrington had lost her mind. Anyone could have found this.

Unlike the rest of her wooden floor, this inlay was uneven. Rua pressed a little harder and found it loose.

She looked over her shoulder, making sure her door was closed, then wriggled the floorboard free. The space beneath it was filled with dusty trinkets and leather-bound books.

She took out the larger first, reading the title aloud: “ Ancient and Natural Evils: A Universal Study on Witchcraft and Demonology .”

The book was like new, the spine hardly cracked. She opened to the table of contents. It was an anthology on the occult. The red-ribboned bookmark had been left in the middle of the book. Rua turned to the page.

The triskele or triskelion is one of the oldest symbols known to mankind. The three-legged symbol has many interpretations but is most commonly understood to represent the three-in-one Holy Trinity. However, that meaning is misguided, for the spiritual symbol did not originate with the Good Lord. Rather, it is the work of the devil.

Rua rubbed anxiously at her temples, never lifting her eyes from the page. Beside the explanation was an image of the design branded on her leg.

Throughout time, the mark has been left at many sites of great and terrible atrocities, of murder and mayhem, spanning the world over. It belongs to the Irish triple goddess, the Morr í gan. The three sister goddesses are evil incarnate, changing their appearance at will: mother, maiden, and crone.

In every bodily form, the Morr í gan represent death and the ungodly. Natural-born deceivers, mistresses of the devil, they find their dwellings in caves under the soil, also known as hellmouths, a direct connection to the underworld. Linked and scattered across the world, hellmouths are typically found near bodies of water. The necrotic water is lethal to humans and will eat the soul from the inside out.

Rua’s heart raced as she thought of the man she had splashed the water on, the one who had died.

There are those who wish to join the ranks of the Morr í gan, worshipping at the feet of false gods. Those in search of eternal damnation do so through the use of the hellmouths. On unholy feast days, when the veil is at its thinnest, the evil spirits waiting underground lure in the weak minded and devour their souls.

Lost are they to the Good Lord and the gates of Heaven closed to them forevermore.

Horrified and intrigued, Rua couldn’t read the words fast enough. Her eyes flew across the page as she tried to absorb their meaning. She wondered how that worked—to co-opt an ancient symbol, then claim the origins evil. Wherever this book came from, someone was trying to guide Emma away from the Morr í gan.

Rua set the heavy book down and reached for the other.

This one was much smaller, a journal, perhaps. She flipped through the pages, which were covered in handwritten symbols and words she couldn’t make sense of.

As she fanned the pages, one caught her eye. In the center of the page was a circle with a star at the center of it. Dates were scribbled within each section, the entire diagram resembling a pinwheel. Her heart started to race as she read Lúnasa—August 1 . Both the name and the date were circled multiple times. There were other dates with their respective names: Samhain—October 31 , Imbolg—February 1 , and Bealtaine—May 1 .

She looked back at the circled date, August 1. The same day she’d come through the hellmouth.

Shutting the book, she listened for any noise outside her bedroom door. Mara would be around to dress her at any moment. But she couldn’t just leave all this here.

If Flossie found these—well, she knew what would happen. Rua couldn’t live comfortably in this house knowing a maid could trip over the carpet and discover everything at any moment. Or maybe they already had and that’s why Emma—now Rua—was one misstep away from being sent to an asylum.

She ran to her desk and found a letter opener in the drawer. She would scrape the symbol from the wood until there was nothing left but straight edges. Anything, even a marred wood surface, was better than the triskele etched into her floor.

She scuffed and scratched, trying to blur out the ancient symbol. Her wrist ached. Wood shavings collected everywhere, and still it wasn’t enough.

Muffled voices sounded outside her door.

Rua looked at the mess around her, cursing repeatedly. There wasn’t time to put everything back.

“Emma, my dear, I’ve finally heard back from the modiste,” Flossie said from outside the doorway.

Shit , Rua mouthed, frozen on the floor.

“You would think she would have realized who we were a great deal sooner. I sent her the Daily News article for good measure.” Flossie’s voice grew louder as she entered the room. “At any rate, she will see you today.” There was a long pause. “Where are you?”

Rua was hidden from view on the opposite side of the platform bed. Out of time, she slipped the blanket off her bed, letting it fall over the plank of wood and the books, and flipped the carpet back in place.

“I’m right here.” She stood up slowly, careful not to put her foot where the gaping hole in her floor now was.

“What were you doing down there?”

Rua’s heart pounded. What answer could she give that would satisfy Mrs. Harrington?

Flossie took a step toward her. Rua dug her heels in. If she moved, she’d step in the hole and pull the rug down.

“Well?” Flossie’s tone was sharp. “And what of this mess?” She gestured to the blanket.

“I—I was praying … on my knees.”

“Praying?” Flossie eyed the space where Rua stood. “To whom?”

“God,” she blurted out, hoping Flossie would believe her.

“If I might interrupt?” Mara walked in behind Flossie.

Rua fluffed her skirts out over the rug.

“Miss Harrington and I have been praying together recently. I thought it might be good for her.”

“Oh, well.” Flossie touched her hand to her chest, appearing delighted, “I’m glad to hear it. If you’re done, perhaps you will get dressed and go to the seamstress? I’m having tea with Mrs. Fitzgerald, so I won’t be able to join you, but I would like you to leave sooner rather than later.”

It was the first time Flossie had asked Rua to do something rather than told her to do it.

Perhaps she should be caught praying more often.

Rua was being fitted for an entirely new wardrobe upon Flossie’s discovery that their latest step up the social ladder had granted them access to the most exclusive dressmaker in the city.

“Mara, come with me. I have a list I need taken care of before you leave,” Flossie said as she and Mara exited the bedroom, giving Rua a quick moment to return the books beneath the floorboard before the chambermaids came to dress her.

After what felt like an eternity, she was ready and alone once more. She peeked into the hallway and called Mara’s name.

No answer. She hurried back into her room, knowing she only had a few minutes.

She lifted the floorboard to remove the books, then returned it and covered everything with the carpet. Rising to her feet, she tucked the incriminating books among her skirts and exited her room.

Rua waddled to the library with the larger of the books shoved between her thighs and the smaller one tucked under her arm, pausing to look at the paintings anytime a servant passed by. They already thought she was mad, so they didn’t pay too much attention to her gushing over the portraits of late Harrington family members.

The tome detailing the Morr í gan’s wicked immorality was so heavy that by the time she reached the library, she was sweating. She shut the door behind her, and the books fell to the floor.

Before lifting the large text, she flipped through the opening pages and read the note from the author: “Be gone, ye terrible things.”

She shut the anthology, then took it and the little journal and shoved them on the bottom shelf behind the encyclopedias gathering dust. Nobody needed to find these. Ever. And at least, if they were out of the bedroom, she could deny she knew anything about them. Though she doubted anyone would believe her.

Rua would have preferred to walk to the dress shop, but Flossie said only servants and beggars would be caught dead walking all the way downtown and promptly put Rua and Mara into the Harringtons’ carriage.

Distracted by the passing buildings, Rua wasn’t aware of the words coming out of her mouth until she’d already spoken them. “I wonder if we’ll bump into the Lord of Donore.”

Mara snorted as she glanced out the carriage window. “And why would we do that?”

“It’s an exercise of his, monitoring my whereabouts. I find it quite frustrating.” And she did find it frustrating, but also a small part of her didn’t. He was meddling in her business far more than he ought to be, and she wanted to know why.

“I’m sure you do.” Mara smiled and pointed to the corner of Twenty-Third Street. “The shop’s just down that street.”

The carriage rolled to a stop on Broadway between Twenty-Third and Twenty-Second Streets, pulling in behind a number of other carriages dropping off their well-to-do women.

Flossie thought this would be an excellent opportunity for Rua to be seen and not heard. Nothing like a stroll down Broadway’s Ladies’ Mile to show off one’s personal wealth.

Rua was just hoping that the somewhat fresh air would clear her mind and help her think.

The street was lined with elegant storefronts, Italianate banks and brownstones, and dozens of restaurants.

Street vendors were selling papers, vegetables, flowers, and anything else you could think of. They shouted and haggled over prices while the more refined-looking customers window-shopped. Broadway was every bit the bustling oasis.

She descended the carriage, not realizing people would be watching her. Women passing by craned their necks, while others blatantly stopped. They pointed and whispered, making her feel like it might have been a mistake to leave the house.

“Emma, is that you? Emma Harrington?” Rua was only out of the carriage when a young woman wearing a bonnet over her blonde hair waved at them.

Rua looked at the stranger but was too busy adjusting her gloves to realize she was speaking to her.

Mara nudged her.

“Emma?”

“Oh, yes, hello,” Rua answered with a hesitant smile.

“Goodness me, you look so … healthy. I almost didn’t recognize you.” The young woman’s words were sweet but laced with poison.

Rua pursed her lips, not appreciating the jab. “Tell me, how is it that you think I looked before?” She glanced in the window of a department store displaying a wide array of hats, thinking she’d like to find one to hide her face behind.

The woman’s cheeks reddened.

“Forward as ever, I see! And too good to acknowledge me now that she’s mingling with the Fitzgeralds.”

Little did this woman know, Rua hadn’t a clue who she was. Emma might’ve recognized her, but Rua didn’t, and it was a situation that was likely to keep happening.

Rua took a noncommittal step toward her, and the woman stepped back, bringing her hand up to her neck.

“I must say, the sight of you at the Fitzgeralds’ party caught me off guard. I almost alerted the hostess, thinking you came uninvited. Silly me.” The woman giggled, then offered a smile so chock full of condescension it spilled over onto the sidewalk. “Oh, but it is so delightful for you and your family to finally be moving up after all these years, even after your little stunt this summer.”

The blood in Rua’s veins was slowly beginning to boil. Either this was one of the nasty women who had been in the dressing room last night or this was what everyone in the city thought of the Harringtons. She was inclined to think it was both.

“I’m sorry, but could you remind me of your name?” Rua asked.

“My name?” The woman’s pretty face scrunched in confusion. “We were the only two New Yorkers boarding at Devonshire before your expulsion.”

“Oh, please don’t take offense,” Rua said. “It’s exactly as you said: I’ve been meeting so many new and important people that it’s hard to keep track of the ones who don’t mean as much.”

She heard Mara curse under her breath at the same moment the woman’s jaw hit the floor. Her face recovered almost instantly, her smile pristine. “Send your family my best.”

“If I could remember your name, I would,” Rua said, and the woman stomped past them.

“Oh, what have you done? Your mother is going to flay you. Not even a wardrobe from Madame Malvina will make up for this. Do you know who that was?”

“No, but I thought Flossie was going to make sure no one was going to find out about what happened this summer,” Rua said to Mara, pulling her under a storefront’s green canopy, away from the busy shoppers.

“She stopped it from being printed in all the papers.”

“But Annette and all of her friends know,” Rua groaned, looking at everyone that passed them by, wondering if they’d heard about what happened this summer too.

“The upper class doesn’t welcome new money. They’re looking for reasons to cast your family out. It’s not going to go away, especially not with that man dying.”

Rua grimaced, not having realized Mara knew about that, and they resumed walking. This time, Rua kept their arms linked. “How can that be put on me? I overheard Annette tell all her friends about it at the ball.”

“Well, it was you,” Mara said, keeping her voice low, “but it wasn’t your fault. The water should have scalded you the moment you touched it.”

They walked north to Twenty-Third Street, keeping pace with the carriages, which were stuck in a long line of traffic. This is why walking is better , Rua thought. She winced, watching people weave between the transports trying to cross the road. The scene was chaotic, but Mara seemed unfazed by it. Standard fare in Manhattan.

Rua thought back to the words she’d read in the anthology. The water was lethal to human flesh. She glanced down at her hands. Did that mean she wasn’t human? She pushed the thought away, embarrassed for thinking it. No, it had to be something else.

“It was your protection,” Mara assured her. “The Morr í gan blessed you as thanks for our devotion. You crawled into the hellmouth and returned stronger for it. I’m sure the water wouldn’t have burned me either had I touched it.”

Rua detected a touch of jealousy in her voice.

“Why didn’t you crawl into it, then?” Rua asked.

“She didn’t ask me to,” Mara said.

“Who didn’t ask?” Rua stopped again, bringing Mara to a halt with her. She was alarmed to hear there was a third party involved.

“The Morr í gan. I thought we went over this?” Mara’s brows furrowed. “L ú nasa was your idea. You said you were ready.”

“Right, of course,” Rua said, remembering the word she had read in the journal and the date, August 1. “Can I confess something to you?” She knew she could trust whatever relationship Mara had with Emma. It seemed they were friends. At the very least, they were coconspirators, and neither one of them was going to implicate the other in whatever this was.

“Anything.” Mara nodded.

Rua looked around her to make sure no one was listening. Noise from the street was overpowering, and as far as she could tell, no one was trying to eavesdrop, though the dirty looks were bountiful.

“I don’t remember anything.” She was taking a leap by giving this information to Mara.

“Yes, you told me you didn’t remember crawling out of the hellmouth,” Mara said, looking confused.

“I know, but the truth is, I don’t remember anything at all. It’s like the power of the hellmouth wiped my mind clean. Perhaps the enormity of what I witnessed was too great for my feeble mind.” Rua was laying it on thick, but Mara was eating it up. Surmising that Mara revered the Morr í gan to the point of being fanatical, and that she expected, or at least hoped, that Emma would share in her reverie, Rua guessed this was exactly the kind of thing Mara might like to hear.

“Perhaps it will come back to you in time?” Mara squeezed Rua’s arm excitedly, proving her correct. “I cannot wait to learn what you saw. It must have been truly wondrous. When the timing is right, all will come back. I’m sure of it.”

Rua watched Mara’s face as she pieced it all together. “That’s why you fought with your mother and the doctor? Why you argued that your name wasn’t Emma?”

Rua nodded.

“I have wondered about your behavior,” Mara said, searching Rua’s face for the truth. “Do you still believe that to be true? That you are not Emma?”

“Of course not!” Rua lied. “Coming out of the hellmouth was disorienting.” That part was true.

“And for good reason,” Mara agreed. “You met the Mother. You must have. What else could have altered your memories like this? We’ll sort this out.” She patted Rua’s hand.

“Thank you, Mara.” Rua smiled.

“We’d better get a move on. You have an appointment.”

Rua turned her attention back to the city and the task Flossie had sent them on. As they turned down Twenty-Third, Rua noticed a line of women forming in front of a shop.

Mdme. Malvina Webster was painted in small gold block letters on the front door. There was no need to advertise. According to Flossie, Malvina Webster’s luxurious boutique was only for the most dignified and worthwhile women. Her clients were the wives of politicians and foreign dignitaries. If you weren’t dressed by Malvina, you needn’t bother showing up to the ball.

Flossie had somehow managed to gloss over the fact that she didn’t own a single piece made by Madame Malvina.

The line was so long outside the shop’s front door, it blocked the view of the elegantly fitted mannequins in the flower-painted windows. Rua’s stomach gave a nervous flutter. She hadn’t been expecting so many people.

“Did your mother tell you what I had to do to get this appointment? It was mortifying.” Mara grimaced. “She sent me down here with newspaper clippings to prove that your father was in business with Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Rua groaned as the door swung open. “Miss Harrington! Madame Malvina’s been expecting you,” said a smiling young woman.

The ladies tattled to their mothers as Rua jumped the queue.

“Please, come in.” The woman ushered her and Mara inside. The shop was filled with women and girls, each one attended to by her own personal seamstress. “This way.”

Rua followed the woman to the back of the shop into a private room.

Malvina Webster rose from her seat behind her desk. She was every bit as sophisticated as Rua had imagined the owner of such an establishment would be. Her sky-blue gown, while undeniably functional, warmed her dark-brown skin in such a way that even the most handsome of evening gowns could not compete.

“Good morning, Miss Harrington.” She smiled and guided Rua to the mirror while Mara waited by the door.

“Morning,” Rua said, still admiring her.

Malvina appraised Rua while her assistant took her measurements.

“This dress was not made for you,” Malvina said after they were finished.

“What do you mean?” Rua asked. How could she possibly know? How could she see the difference? She and Emma Harrington were exact replicas of each other. Even Flossie couldn’t tell.

“The fit, the color, all of it—wrong. They do not suit you, Miss Harrington.”

Rua met Mara’s worried eyes in the reflection for a fleeting moment before she looked away. Rua shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly the waist was too tight, the neckline too high, the air too thick. She felt wrong. Suffocated.

“You will be outfitted with a new wardrobe entirely.”

The number of gowns she would need—morning dresses, walking dresses, tea dresses, evening gowns. And the cost. Would she be around long enough to wear them all?

“Yes, it will be quite extensive,” Madame Malvina said, knowing what Rua was calculating. “Miss Harrington, from sunup to sundown, my shop is full of women and their maids. You can imagine the gossip one overhears under such conditions.”

Rua grimaced. Malvina grinned.

“There has been only one name discussed in my shop this week. Can you guess whose name that might be?”

“Mine,” Rua said with a sigh.

“Yours.” Malvina smiled. “Everyone will be looking at you in the coming months, and I have some designs I need someone bold enough to wear.” She lifted a burnished green fabric to Rua’s skin. “Let’s make it impossible for them to turn away, hmm? And perhaps even find a love match along the way?”

Rua’s cheeks reddened, hating that the Lord of Donore crossed her mind as soon as Malvina said the words love match .

Malvina gave her a knowing smile. “I heard about your dance with the lord this morning.”

Rua shook her head to deny it, but there was no point. It was as though Madame Malvina had peered inside Rua’s soul and caught hold of her innermost desires. Her aptitude for dressmaking lent her to being an expert in understanding women.

Rua did not care what anyone in this city thought of her, but if she was going to endure this life of falsehoods, she should, at the very least, look better than everyone. And if she could bring the Lord of Donore to his knees in the process, so be it.

Her hands grazed green taffeta fabric. The shade was divine, like it was made for her.

“I suppose if they’re going to stare anyway,” Rua said with a grin, pointing to a dark-burgundy roll of fabric. She turned back to the mirror, imagining herself in a stunning gown made only for her. She would be unstoppable.

“Excellent,” Malvina said, noting her selection.

After more measurements were taken and Rua’s taste in dresses had been discussed, they left the dressmaker’s.

The carriage was waiting right outside, the driver ready for them with the door opened. She and Mara climbed inside.

“Can you believe it?” Mara gaped. “ The Malvina Webster is going to make all your dresses! She’s only the most sought-after seamstress in New York. Your mother will be beside herself. She dresses Mrs. Fitzgerald and all her important friends. Everyone that matters, really.”

“Is it true what she said?” Rua asked, her mind elsewhere.

“About what?”

“That these dresses don’t suit me?”

“They fit you well enough, but now that I look at you, Madame Malvina is right. They don’t look like they were made for you.” Mara frowned. “Which is silly, of course, because they’re yours,” she added.

If she only knew.

“Tell the driver to take us to the library.”

“The library? Now?” Mara appeared just as excited as she was concerned by this request.

“Yes,” Rua said.

“Which library? Your mother was expecting us home right after.”

“A big one.” One that would have the kind of information Rua was looking for. One that wasn’t limited to the Harringtons’ personal taste.

“While I’m delighted you haven’t forgotten your love of books, surely the one in your home is big enough?”

“It’s not.” Rua smiled, knowing she was wearing Mara down. “How could Flossie possibly object to us visiting a library?”

“You’d be surprised,” Mara muttered, but told the driver where to go.

After about thirty minutes, they exited the carriage on Lafayette Street. As Rua was unfamiliar with the city, she had no clue how far they were from the house. It was a handsome building, three stories tall, with arched windows that took up the block. There was a small limestone wall that separated the library from the sidewalk.

“Astor Library.” Rua read the name aloud as they walked up the front steps.

They entered a marbled vestibule and walked to the front desk. Beyond it she could see the atrium, open and bright. The upper floors looked down to the main floor by way of a thick marble balustrade. There were rows and rows of shelves and large tables open for reading. It was intimate but impressive.

“Good afternoon,” the woman behind the desk said. “Can I help you?”

Rua pursed her lips. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for. “I’m looking for anything you have on Ireland and their lords. If you could just point me in the direction I can begin my research?”

Mara gave her a funny look.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that here.” The librarian tipped her head forward, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh?”

“We pull from the catalogs, and you sit at a table and read. And you can’t take them home either.”

“Very well,” Rua said, though she would have preferred to do her searching alone.

“Abigail, this woman is looking for anything we have on Ireland,” the librarian said to the elderly woman who was also behind the desk.

“Follow me,” Abigail said, guiding them up to the second floor. Scattered about the library were men and women sitting at tables, quietly reading.

She sat Rua and Mara at a table by the window and disappeared behind the glass where the books were housed. She came back with five books of varying sizes and genres: Memoirs of Captain Rock , The Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland During the Middle Ages: Vol. 1 , A Tale of a Tub , A Guide to The County of Wicklow , and Reliques of Irish Poetry . None of which were remotely helpful.

“Is this it?” Rua asked.

“We close in twenty minutes,” Abigail replied with a curt grin. “I’ll be back in fifteen to collect these.”

“What are you looking for?” Mara asked, opening the smallest of the books.

“I was looking for something on the Lord of Donore.” It wasn’t the only thing Rua was looking for, but she didn’t want Mara to know. She had confided in her the depths of her memory loss, but she didn’t want to give Mara an advantage over her. She wanted to learn about the Morr í gan and the hellmouths on her own terms, unsullied by Mara’s motives, whatever they might be.

“The Lord of Donore?” Mara’s eyes widened. “In these books?”

Rua opened the largest text. “I’m looking for anything that mentions his lineage.”

“Why would that interest you?”

“Because I’m not sure he is who he says he is,” Rua said, as if that were good enough reason.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.” Rua looked up, “But I’m curious. I find his superiority irksome. And I don’t like that he’s keeping tabs on me. I think it only right I return the favor. Do you know what county he’s from?” She could’ve sworn she’d heard Flossie mention Meath at some point or another.

“Are you really the one to be digging into someone’s background?” Mara asked.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She didn’t like the implication that she was doing something wrong. It was so frustrating being blamed for Emma’s choices and having to live with those consequences.

“You know exactly what it means.” Mara looked around, lowering her voice further. “What you and I believe, it’s heresy. You’re under enough scrutiny as it is, and that’s based on gossip alone. Don’t give anyone a reason to go looking into you.”

“What more could they possibly find?” Rua asked. “They already think I’m a devil worshipper.”

“Proof that you are.”

“What proof?” Rua asked, uneasy.

Mara’s eyes darted around the room, and she leaned closer. “The real reason you were expelled from Devonshire. I can’t believe you don’t remember that.”

Rua swallowed the lump in her throat.

“They caught you in the midst of your blood sacrifice. You had made an altar in the woods, and a professor followed you. Apparently, they had been wary of your behavior for months. They couldn’t stand to see a meek young woman grow into someone assured, no longer afraid.”

Rua’s mind was racing. Had Emma sacrificed some poor little animal as a form of worship? And been foolish enough to get caught?

“Look at your palms. Haven’t you wondered where you got those scars?” Mara nodded toward her hands.

Rua turned her hands over, finding nothing. She balled them into fists and tucked them back under the table, hoping Mara didn’t notice that there weren’t any scars on Rua’s palms.

“How has no one found out about this?” Rua asked.

“Money and the fact that it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep it quiet. It would damage the school’s reputation if word got out about you. They helped to keep it quiet.”

Rua let out a deep breath. It was a lot to take in. If the gossip about her and what happened in Conleth Falls was enough to label her a pariah, the truth of her expulsion would certainly be enough to have her condemned.

What Rua didn’t understand was why she hadn’t been sent away to an asylum then. Why bring her home at all? Perhaps it had all happened around the time the Harringtons were getting into business with the Fitzgeralds and Flossie was afraid of the optics.

“Well.” Rua frowned. “These aren’t going to have what I need anyway.” She piled the books one on top of the other.

“I know you’re adjusting,” Mara said, leaning in closer. “The move back to the city was quicker than we expected, but there are more hellmouths. We are never far from the Mother. We can help you get your memories back.”

“There’s more of them?” Rua leaned across the table, closer to Mara. She’d felt off kilter leaving the hellmouth in Conleth Falls, as if it held more than her answers. But if the hellmouths were all interconnected, like the book she’d found in Emma’s room claimed they were, then this could be the solution she’d been hoping for.

“There’s one quite close,” Mara said. “In the northern corner of the park, there is a stone chamber. It only serves its purpose if you know what you’re looking for.”

Chills covered Rua’s arm. The woods in Central Park; the buzzing she’d heard. She must have been near the hellmouth.

“So, the feast days, then.” Rua paused, recalling the dates she’d read in Emma’s book. She’d assumed they were some sort of calendar of holy days. “That’s when the hellmouths work?”

Mara nodded. “I know you’re eager, but I think it best you don’t visit. You must be on your best behavior. If your mother catches you leaving the house unaccompanied …” Mara trailed off. “Well, I’d prefer not to think on it.”

“But if we tell her I’m promenading in the park?” Rua offered.

“And let word get back to her that we were seen well beyond where it’s acceptable to travel?”

Like where the Lord of Donore had already caught her.

“I suppose you’re right,” Rua conceded. It was clear that Mara cared very much for Emma’s well-being. She wondered how long they’d been friends. “So, will you go and enter the stone chamber for me? Perhaps you can speak to the Mother and find out how I can get my memories back?”

“And risk ending up somewhere else?” Mara shook her head. “No, I won’t go in it, but I might visit. And it doesn’t work like that. You must pray to the Mother, earn her respect.”

“End up somewhere else? What do you mean?”

“Lore tells it that depending on the day and the time, you can enter in one place and exit from another hellmouth entirely,” Mara said.

Rua nodded. The caves were connected. She knew in her gut that this was exactly what had happened to her and Emma. The question remained: Where had Emma ended up?

“What would I do without you?” Rua smiled. “Best to steer clear of it all then, hmm?”

“At least for now,” Mara said.

Footsteps sounded on the floor before Abigail approached their table. “The library is closing,” she said.

Rua rose from the table, and Mara handed all the books to the librarian. “Thank you.”

Abigail muttered something under her breath and shuffled away.

As Rua and Mara walked back to the carriage, she couldn’t help but wonder about Emma Harrington. Was she living in some other place right now, hoping to get back to her family, or was she finally free?

She’d hate to think she was dragging her back to a place she’d escaped from, but Rua wasn’t going to sacrifice her own happiness for some woman she’d never met. This was Emma Harrington’s life, and Rua was not going to keep it.