The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens Page A

the air. And I believe you have something for me.”
    The Countess made Kate and Emma wait with the Secretary while Michael helped her on with a black silk wrap. Kate watched the Secretary for any sign his attention was wandering, anything that would give her a chance to seize the book. She’d already whispered to Emma to be ready with the photograph.
    But mostly, she wished her hands would stop trembling. She’d balled them into fists and, when that didn’t work, shoved them in her pockets so Emma wouldn’t see. She didn’t want her sister to know how terrified and truly hopeless she was.
    The Secretary muttered something to the tiny bird on his shoulder and hugged the book even closer.
    Suddenly, Kate felt Emma’s hand in her pocket, prying her fingers apart, sliding her small hand into hers. She looked over and saw her sister’s face turned upward, her dark eyes full of trust and love.
    In a voice only Kate could hear, Emma said, “It’s gonna be okay.”
    Kate thought her heart might burst. She’d always known her sister was strong, but she was still three years younger, and at this moment, when everything seemed so bleak, for Emma to be the one offering her strength …
    “Come along,” the Countess said, sweeping past them toward the door.
    She led them to a stone patio off the back of the house. The night was warm, the air heavy and sweet with the smell of blooming flowers. Glass dragons of every color were strung overhead, candle flames dancing in their open mouths. A porcelain jug stood on a table at the center of the patio and, beside the jug, a crystal carafe filled with dark liquid.
    “Please,” the Countess said, gesturing to the chairs. “I do love sitting outside on a summer’s evening. Perhaps it’s my Russian blood reminding me that winter is never far off. Do you care for lemonade? I promise it isn’t poisoned.”
    Without waiting for an answer, the Secretary began pouring, slopping a fair amount onto the table.
    Scared and worried as she was, Kate couldn’t help thinking how familiar everything seemed. The house, the stables. This was the place where they lived. And yet they were such a long, long way from home. She stole another glance at the book under the Secretary’s arm. Somehow they had to get it back.
    Suddenly, the night was rent by a scream. Kate felt Emma’s hand grip hers more tightly. The scream was far off, from somewhere deep in the woods. But there was no mistaking the source.
    The Countess was pouring herself a glass of whatever was in the carafe. It was a deep ruby color and oddly thick.
    “Now and then women from the town attempt to reach the house. No doubt wanting to see their brats. You’d think they’d learn. They have no hope of getting past my guards.” The Countess swirled the liquid around her tiny glass. “They are amazing creatures, the morum cadi . They never grow tired. They know neither pain nor fear nor compassion. They are possessed solely by a hatred for every living thing.” She lifted the glass to her lips and drained it off.
    “What did you call them?” Kate asked, cursing the tremor she heard in her voice.
    “ Morum cadi , the deathless warriors,” the Countess said. “Though I admit Screecher is a fitting name. They were men, hundreds of years ago. But they traded their souls for power and eternal life. Which they were granted, of a sort.”
    “They’re not so bad,” Emma said. “Mostly smelly is all.”
    The Countess smiled indulgently. “Aren’t you a brave little liar?” She poured herself another glass. “They say the scream of a morum cadi is the cry of a soul being torn asunder, over and over, for eternity. One is awful enough, but a thousand together on a battlefield? I’ve watched whole armies turn and flee.” She raised the red liquid to her lips. “It really is quite a sight.”
    Kate imagined someone’s mother running through the forest, her legs growing heavy, the screams drawing closer.
    “Ow,” Emma