Whisper of Souls

Book 0: Prophecy of the Sisters

by Michelle Zink

Genres: YA Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

Before Prophecy of the Sisters, before Alice and Lia became pawns in the curse that turned sister against sister, the burden of the prophecy belonged to their mother, Adelaide. This is her story. Adelaide Milthorpe is losing her grip on sanity. She is a Gate-a human portal to the Otherworlds, destined to bring forth Samael, the most powerful demon of all time, and his Lost Souls. Prowling the halls of Birchwood Manor, Adelaide is haunted by the whispers of the otherworldly Souls, who seek to use her for entry into the real world, where they would wreak havoc and rule beside their leader, Samael, in chaos. Their pleas plague her, torture her, tempt her. Samael calls to her, his promise of peace in the Otherworlds increasingly difficult to resist. And the stakes are high, for if Adelaide gives in to his urgings, her two daughters will inherit the same curse, forcing them to make the same impossible choice as they, too, are cast in the roles of Guardian and Gate. In this novella that delves further into the Prophecy, Adelaide's struggle to reconcile her two worlds as she descends into madness will captivate fans of the Prophecy of the Sisters series and new readers alike.

Release date: June 5, 2012

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 80

Sample

Adelaide prowled the house, trying to escape the whispering.


Her night wanderings did not make the voices stop. Not really. They simply distracted her enough to let them fade into the corners of her mind. As she made the effort to put one foot in front of the other, to step carefully on the floorboards lest they should squeak, the whispering became a backdrop to her movements instead of the all-consuming distraction—the all-consuming temptation—that it usually was.

She made her way down the hall, past the door to Thomas’s bedchamber, and stopped outside the closed door to the nursery.

She hesitated before turning the knob and stepping into the room. It was not that she didn’t wish to see the baby. She did. But she was filled with such pain, such regret, when she looked down at his tiny body, already broken though he was too young to have taken a single step.

Still, it was only in the dark of night that she could truly look at him. In repose, he could have been any other infant. One with full use of his legs. One who had not been ruined by the weakness and shortcomings of his mother.

It was a futile delusion, but one she had not yet managed to deny herself.

She continued into the room until she came to the crib. Then, setting her hands on the rail, careful not to wake the baby or the maid who slept in the adjoining room, she gazed down at her son.

He was beautiful, his downy dark hair already curling near his small ears. He slept with one hand at his side, the other balled into a little fist near his chest. His breath wasn’t audible, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her that he was breathing, his cheeks pink with life, his rosebud mouth slightly open.


Reaching down, her hands tentative, she touched his foot ever so softly. It was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand, and for a moment, she was so filled with guilt and shame that she almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Henry.”

The doctor had said she shouldn’t have another child. The birth of the twins had almost killed her, had almost killed them. Worse, their traumatic entry into this life had changed the order of things. Had irrevocably altered the future of the prophecy of which they were all a part.

Henry had paid for her foolishness, for her love of Thomas and her desire to give him a son. For that, she would never forgive herself.

She covered him with the blanket that had been kicked to the edge of the crib.

“Good night, little one,” she said softly.

She made her way from the room, closing the door behind her.

She continued down the hall to the girls’ shared chamber, pushing open the half-closed door. She stepped across the thick carpet, one of many brought back from Thomas’s endless journeys abroad. Stopping at the edge of the bed, she lowered herself to the mattress on Lia’s side. She told herself it was because Alice was such a light sleeper. Surely if Adelaide were to sit near her, the child would wake, fixing her mother with that strange, unblinking stare.

It was this, if Adelaide were truthful, that made her sit near Lia like a coward.

The girls lay next to each other, their chestnut curls mingling on the pillows, their breath moving softly into the night air of the room. They wore matching nightdresses, white with finely detailed embroidery and violet ribbons at the neck. They could have been any pair of sisters. Any twins.

But of course, they were not.

Adelaide surveyed her oldest daughter and her heart swelled with love. But not just love. Fear and worry crowded her heart as well. The way would not be easy for Lia. Not with her sister and the fateful confusion of their birth, the hurried surgery as Lia was pulled from Adelaide’s body first instead of Alice, as nature—and the prophecy—intended. If there was a way out of their dangerous circumstance, Adelaide didn’t know it.

And then there was the other thing. The thing Adelaide berated herself for day and night.

Lia and Alice were cursed with her as their mother, a coward who could not resist the call of the demonic Souls from the Otherworlds, let alone find a way to save her daughters.

Adelaide reached up, brushing a lock of hair from Lia’s brow. When she leaned back, preparing to leave, she saw that Alice’s eyes were open. She stared at her mother in silence, her gaze heavy with something knowing and dark.

Adelaide could not look away. She wanted to say something. To tell her daughter that she loved her, that she trusted her and believed in her ability to fulfill her role in the prophecy. The prophecy that had forced every generation of twin sisters before her to stand in opposition, Adelaide and her sister, Ginny, no exception.

But in the end, Adelaide could say none of it. It would be a lie. Already she saw the shine in Alice’s eyes when she happened upon her playing on the lawn or patio, speaking softly to someone who wasn’t there.

“It’s late, Alice,” she whispered instead. “You must go back to sleep.”

Alice looked at her a moment more before very deliberately turning her back.

Adelaide stood, leaving the room as quickly as her feet would carry her. She tried to ignore the goose bumps rising on her arms, the chill running down her. . .