Eyes closed, Emma heard Sylvie call her name.
Sylvie, wrapped in an aluminum blanket. She wore her wedding dress; it was singed at the hem and her feet were bare. “Emma,” said Sylvie.
“They’re inside!” said Emma.
Sylvie began coughing, deep and rattling coughs.
“They’re inside!” Emma screamed.
“How do we get in?” said Cleo, at her side.
“My boys. My boys—my boys—they’re inside!”
“I know a way,” said Sylvie.
“Show me,” said Cleo. Her authority calmed Emma as it had done since they were small. They passed Mac and Louisa. Mac sat in his wheelchair, staring at the massive fire. Louisa was surrounded by tapestries and works of art she had dragged from the castle. They seemed in shock, unable to do anything but witness the end of all they had known. They would later learn that Simon had followed an ambulance to the local hospital, where Penelope and Donna were being treated for smoke inhalation.
Sylvie, still hacking, led her sisters to the ivy-covered hidden doorway. It opened, but the passageway was ominous. “This leads to a staircase,” said Sylvie. “But it might be locked at the top. We could get trapped.” She started to panic. “It was hot,” she said, starting to cough again. “I thought I was going to die,” she said.
“My boys,” said Emma.
They looked into the deep space, a path that could lead to Guinness and Jameson and Rich. “You can’t go in there,” said Sylvie.
“Try and stop me,” said Cleo. Before they could, she was gone, forcing herself into the narrow space that led into what was left of the castle. Emma went into the entrance after Cleo. And as always, Sylvie followed her sisters.
4
Sylvie
Just hours before, Sylvie had been full of expectation, making her way down this same low tunnel toward Simon. Now, the smoke was thick and Sylvie couldn’t breathe. She felt her way along, her fingers touching stone and then an indentation. Simon had told her of rooms hidden deep within the castle where persecuted priests or castle owners could hide.
Sylvie tried to shut her brain off, to just move forward. But this was clearly a bad idea; this was such a bad idea. Sylvie felt nauseous and faint. And where was Simon?
Terror had followed joy, as she had known it would.
As her body had known it would.
But Sylvie inched along anyway, not brave exactly, but understanding that there were only two choices: Stay still or take one step forward, steel yourself, then step again.
5
Cleo
There was fresh air in the tight circular staircase. Did this mean it was locked at the top? If it were open, there would not be air.
“We can’t go up,” said Sylvie.
“Cleo,” pleaded Emma.
“I’ll go. You wait here,” said Cleo.
“You’re not going without me,” said Emma, and the determination in her face was so familiar, Cleo felt as if she were ten years old again.
“Right, OK,” said Sylvie, pressing her lips together and nodding.
Cleo went first.
6
