by E. E. Holmes
“Okay, I get that,” I said, trying to be reasonable. “And we haven’t shirked that responsibility. We perform lunar cycle Crossings monthly, and we’ve dropped everything, many times, to help a spirit Cross. Hannah walked out of a final at St. Matt’s to help a spirit who just couldn’t wait another minute. She nearly failed the class!”
I looked at Hannah for support. She nodded solemnly, but was still unable to find her voice in front of the Council. She looked even smaller than usual, collapsing in on herself as if she were trying to will herself into vanishing.
I reached over and squeezed her hand quickly before continuing. “We’ve kept our word, and committed ourselves to our Gateway—but that doesn’t mean we have to stand by and watch people being exploited. Because you’re right: People have been grieving for as long as we’ve existed. Yet in all that time, we’ve never found a way to make loss any easier—not really. Even with all those things you talked about—doctors and therapists and all of that—losing someone we love is still the most painful thing we experience as human beings, and everyone knows it.
“But then these scumbags come along, and they use other people’s pain for their own profit. They hone in on the gaping hole left behind by the dead, and they fill it with lies and false promises! They bleed desperate people dry. There were people at that show who’d emptied their bank accounts to be there! They sold valuable possessions and God knows what else, just for the chance that Freeman might give them a message from the other side.”
“I understand all of that,” Finvarra said, taking the opportunity to interject while I calmed myself with a long deep breath through my nostrils. “This is not a foreign concept to us, Jessica, the concept of loss. In fact, I would argue that we are much more intimately acquainted with it than others in this world.”
“Yes, but that’s what protects us from the worst of it,” Hannah said, finally finding the courage to speak. Her voice, as quiet as it was, landed with the force of an explosion. The atmosphere in the Council room changed dramatically; all eyes were now on Hannah, and many of them were wary.
After a moment, Hannah went on. “We know there’s something more, don’t we? We know the spirit goes on after the body dies, but the rest of the world doesn’t have that knowledge—not for sure. All that they have is faith. That’s it. Faith is powerful, but it’s not the same as knowledge. When we lose someone, we may be sad—maybe even devastated—but we have a knowledge that sees us through.”
“Exactly,” I said, and, having drawn strength from Hannah, my voice was calmer and surer now. “People like Freeman can’t be allowed to exploit that! They need to be exposed for what they are, and who better to do it than us?
“That is enough!” Finvarra said, with a shadow of her old authority and strength in her voice. “Your concern is admirable, but you have allowed it to cloud your judgment. You have risked exposing our order. We cannot permit this to continue.”
Finn’s hackles rose reflexively at Finvarra’s pronouncement. Whether I liked it or not, Finn would protect us from anyone, even the High Priestess. Hell, he’d done it before, and in this very room.
I swallowed hard. Beside me, Hannah had clammed up again. In the tense silence of that moment, I began wondering what the Council could do to us. What could the consequences be? I mean, we were stuck being Durupinen, weren’t we? They couldn’t somehow… take that away?
In the moment those questions formed in my head, I was gripped with a fear so powerful that it took my breath away. It clamped around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I felt faint. Never would I have thought that I’d feel anything but relief at the idea of being free from the Durupinen gift—a gift I still frequently referred to as a curse. Any sane person would choose a spirit-free life, wouldn’t they? Who would want spirits interfering with her life on a daily basis? And what did it say about me, being so suddenly terrified of losing my gift? I thrust my hands into my pockets to hide them; they were now trembling violently.
After a calculated pause, Finvarra continued. “We have decided we will give you a choice,” she declared. “The first option is probation. We will lay out the stipulations under which you will be allowed to return to your life in America, the first of which is that you will be accompanied by two Caomhnóir, in addition to Mr. Carey. Regrettably, it seems Mr. Carey cannot persuade you away from these risky activities—despite performing his duties admirably. The additional Caomhnóir will police your activities and determine if you are following the terms of our arrangement. They will report only to me.”
My mouth dropped open in horror. It almost didn’t matter what the second choice was: I would never agree to live my life like this. I looked at Hannah. She looked almost equally horrified, but her horror was tempered with resignation—between foster care and mental health facilities, she’d spent most of her life trapped “in the system;” I knew she didn’t have a lot of fight left in her against this sort of thing.
Why the hell hadn’t I listened to my sister when she told me we had to be more careful? Because I never listened to anyone, that’s why. Wasn’t that what Finn had said? I chanced a glance at him, too. He was still at attention, and although I could tell he was trying to maintain an impassive expression, I also knew that he’d begun silently grinding his teeth.
“Your second option,” Finvarra said, and I snapped my gaze back to her, “is to work for the Northern Clans as a Tracker.”
§
My jaw dropped. “Work… for you? As a Tracker?” We’d spent the last three years rallying against Fairhaven and all it stood for. We’d all but told off the Council. We’d just exposed the Durupinen’s secrets. And now Finvarra was welcoming us back into her fold?
Unsure of what to do next, I turned to Hannah for help; her mouth, too, was hanging open in shock.
“Oh, snap,” gasped Milo under his breath. While his quip was perhaps not the most original reaction, Milo had summed up our feelings perfectly.
I struggled to find my own voice; it sounded a bit strangled as I squeaked out, “What do you mean?”
“We want you both to work as members of our elite squad of Trackers,” Finvarra repeated. “Your activities, while reckless at times, have proven effective. They have also presented an intriguing possibility that—I must admit—we had not previously considered.”
“How so?” I asked.
“We do not generally associate with paranormal scientists and so-called ghost hunters. In light of our own abilities, we have no need for their gadgets and theories and séances. However, for the average person, there’s no denying this spirit exploration can be both convincing and comforting. And ghost hunters can be transparent in their attempts, whereas we must always operate in secrecy for our own protection.”
I blinked. This didn’t add up. We’d been basically kidnapped in the middle of the night, hauled across the ocean, then chastised for doing the very same thing that Finvarra was now telling us that she wanted us to do. When would my life start making sense?
“I guess I don’t understand exactly what you’re asking us to do,” I replied, after a long, stunned moment. “I thought you wanted us to stop.”
“We want you to stop being reckless,” said Finvarra. “However, your agenda—and your team in America—could potentially be more helpful to our cause than you, or indeed we, might have realized.”
Apparently, my expression was still broadcasting my confusion, for Finvarra again looked to Siobhán for assistance. Siobhán nodded and stood up.
“We’ve often enough had to deal with the kinds of people you’ve targeted in your work,” she began. “Although we don’t want people exploiting the spirit world and its mysteries, we can’t step in every time it happens, for our own safety. You’re both well aware, I’m sure, of the danger we’d be in if the rest of the world discovered us.”
I nodded. On this point, at least, I could agree with everything being said. I’d seen firsthand the desperate lengths people would go to just to connect with
a deceased loved one. There’d be no rest, no peace, for the Durupinen if we were known to the world. We’d be exploited and used, perhaps even experimented on in the name of science and knowledge. As devastating as our conflict with the Necromancers had been, it somehow nearly paled in comparison to what surely awaited us if the general population knew of our abilities.
“Most of the time,” Siobhán continued, “these people are simply frauds like this Freeman fellow. This is regrettable, yes, but not our responsibility to police. Once in a while, however, one of these scam artists manages to stumble upon something related to our world, and is able to pull their abilities from that.”
“Something related to our world?” I asked, frowning. “Like what?”
“Any number of things. A rune left on a wall somewhere; a spirit we tried but failed to Cross, a gemstone or candle used in one of our Castings. We are generally very careful to leave no trace of ourselves, although some of us,” and here Siobhán arched her eyebrow at me, “are more careful than others. Our abilities, and the tools we use, ripple out through the spirit world. They leave traces when they’re used. It’s almost always possible for our Trackers, with the use of certain Castings, to identify when Durupinen are involved in a spirit event. We keep an eye out for these ripples—and we follow up on them to ensure our secrecy.”
Passing over the nearly ungraspable idea of “magical” ripples, I asked, “But if the Trackers are already doing that, what would you need us for?”
“The victims involved in these events, desperate as they are, often need empirical evidence to convince them of fraud. Often, we cannot provide this without revealing ourselves. But you could take a different approach. You would have the dual resources of modern technology as well as your Durupinen gifts. Taken together, these could make you valuable members of the Tracker team, uniquely suited for certain assignments.”
The Council was staring at us—and, in turn, Hannah, Finn, and Milo were staring at me. I had no idea what to say. I was still reeling at the idea of being offered a Durupinen job—never mind all this ripples-and-technology stuff.
Hannah spoke up, giving me an opportunity to recover. “If we do decide to become Trackers—and I’m not promising we will—what would that mean for our lives back at home? What about my classes?”
Siobhán glanced quickly at Finvarra, who roused herself from a half-torpor and sat up a bit straighter in her seat. When Finvarra spoke again, her tone was brighter, her words spilled out a bit faster.
“You may stay where you are, and maintain your jobs and other activities, if you so desire. We will not dispatch further Caomhnóir assistance unless you deem it necessary for one of your assignments. You would be given cases that require your particular set of skills and resources.”
“What about the paranormal investigation team we work with?” I asked. “Annabelle has been here at Fairhaven, but what about the rest of the guys? Can they really assist on these cases while remaining in the dark?”
“If the proper care is taken, there will be no need for them to know who they will be working for. I understand they undertake this work on a volunteer basis?”
“Yes,” I said. “We all do.” In truth, working with the team was the part of my life that made the rest of the Durupinen bullshit feel worth it, the one perk to a damned difficult job I could never quit.
“Very well, then. They will be volunteering for the Durupinen cause. Given their passion, I am sure they will not disapprove, even if you are unable to reveal how you find your cases.”
“And what if one of them stumbles across the truth—or part of it—like Pierce did?” I asked, endeavoring to keep my voice steady even as the thought of Pierce flooded my chest with sadness. “I won’t stand by and watch their lives be ruined while you use them for your own purposes.”
Siobhán looked at Finvarra in concern, but Finvarra waved her away for the moment and continued. “We can make allowances, if need be. We will not knowingly endanger or take advantage of the team—you have our word. If any them find out more than they should, we will make the same allowances as we would for other Durupinen friends and family… as long as they comply with our codes of secrecy, of course. However, you must try to avoid that, if at all possible. We will consider it a last resort.”
“What about my job? I’m just getting settled. Am I going to be expected to drop everything and be at your beck and call?” I asked.
Siobhán answered, giving Finvarra a chance to recover—even a few words had caused her to begin fading again. “You can keep your job if you want, but your employer will need to be flexible, as will Hannah’s professors. Being a Tracker will likely involve travel, perhaps for weeks at a time.”
I snorted. “Do the Durupinen know how things work in the real world? I can’t just go to my boss and say, ‘Hey I know I’m just a peon, but can I have three weeks off?’ I’d be fired on the spot! And how am I supposed to afford my rent and, y’know, food if I can’t even…”
“You will be compensated for your expenses and your time,” Siobhán said flatly. “Generously.”
“Oh. Right.” My mind was swimming. I looked over at Hannah, who still looked as dazed as I felt. “And… you don’t expect us to answer right now, do you? I… we… need a little time to think about it.”
Finvarra stood up again; it looked like more work than it ought to have been. Carrick hovered a bit closer to her, his face pinched with concern. “We will adjourn the Council for now. Will meet again once you have made your decision—you have until tomorrow night to make your choice. Siobhán will be on hand to answer any questions you may have.”
I nodded, and we turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said. “There is one last essential detail.”
We turned back to face Finvarra. “You should know that you will not be working entirely on your own. You will need a mentor, someone who understands the methods and rules of Tracking, and who can guide you while you find your footing.”
Awesome. Another Durupinen babysitter. Maybe this wouldn’t be a better option than probation after all.
“Okay. Who is it?”
A slim blonde figure toward the back of the benches stood up. Her expression was grim, and her voice sour. “Me,” she answered. That one word contained more distain than I’d ever heard in a single syllable.
But that shouldn’t have surprised me, considering that the speaker was Catriona.
9
Taboos and Tattoos
THE GROUNDS WERE ENVELOPED IN A RAW MIST. It was the kind of damp that seemed to somehow come up through your pores and chill you from the inside. Yet somehow, the sight of the mist blanketing the trees and hills was comforting—the green looked contented, nestled in its cool, dewy blanket. I breathed deeply; being out here felt like freedom in my lungs after the oppressive atmosphere of the Council Room.
“They can’t be serious,” I said after I’d taken my first cleansing breath.
“About which part? It all seems pretty unbelievable to me,” said Hannah as she walked along beside me.
“I mean the part where they expect us to work with Catriona,” I replied.
Hannah looked surprised. “Really? Why not?”
I stopped walking and stared at her. “Why not? Do I need to refresh your memory about a certain mentor of yours who faked her own death, aided and abetted in your kidnapping, and nearly caused us to destroy the entire Gateway system as we know it?”
Hannah scowled at me. “No, you don’t.”
Her face was so fierce that I instantly felt ashamed of myself. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m just… this is all really stressful.”
“Yes, it is. For everyone, myself included. Do you think I like being back here, seeing all these people?”
“No, of course not. Sorry,” I said again.
Hannah nodded. “That’s okay. So what’s your point about Catriona? She wasn’t working with the Necromancers.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But if he
r bond with Lucida is anything like my bond with you, I can’t imagine she’d be very happy to even see us, let alone work with us.”
Hannah didn’t respond. She couldn’t seem to parry my reply—which I took as less of a sign of my own debating ability, and more of an indicator that the circumstances spoke for themselves.
“What do you think we should do, then?” she asked. “It might not be so bad, undertaking these missions with permission, instead of being constantly afraid of the Council. Plus, I don’t want more Caomhnóir following us around wherever we go.”
“Neither do I,” I agreed. “It’s bad enough having one overprotective watchdog.”
We both looked over at Finn, who had followed us outside but had stopped to speak to a Caomhnóir stationed by the castle’s door. Now Finn was striding toward us, with his face in its usual stoic mask of determination. He put a hand up as though he were about to call out to us to stop, but the voice that reached our ears was most decidedly not his.
“What the hell kind of trouble have you gotten into now, eh?”
I turned away from Finn’s advancing form to see Savannah Todd grinning at us from the shadows of the cloisters, holding a cigarette halfway between the crumpled packet in her other hand and her always-smart mouth.
Tia was my best friend, but Savvy undoubtedly was my best mate. She and her cousin Phoebe were the only other “outsider” Apprentices when Hannah and I had first arrived at Fairhaven, but our bond was much stronger than that. Savvy had helped me and Hannah to Uncage the Silent Child; she had ensured our escape from the Council on the night of the fire; and she’d even followed me into hiding in the Traveler camp before helping to free Hannah from the Necromancers. On top of all that, she’d taken all this in stride—as if risking her life on a near-daily basis was a perfectly normal and reasonable part of friendship.
