by E. E. Holmes
“So, you think the spirit is gone?” I asked.
Finn nodded. “I do. If that wasn’t the spirit leaving her, I’m not sure what it could have been.”
Seamus stumbled into the room, squinting dazedly around. “Everyone alright in here? What the bloody hell is going on?”
Finn launched into an explanation of what had happened. I was barely listening. I was staring at Catriona, whom I had never seen have a vulnerable moment since I’d met her. She was unfailingly in control, often bordering on apathetic, in every single interaction I’d ever had with her. Dramatic and emotional situations did not phase her. Devastation sometimes downright amused her. I had never even thought her capable of vulnerability, and so to see her there, huddled against Finn like a sleeping baby, was unnerving.
“I’ll check the integrity of all the Wards here,” Seamus said. “They must have been compromised, though how, I could not say.”
“Not necessarily,” I said, tearing my eyes from Catriona.
“Pardon?” Seamus asked. If he was trying to keep his disdain for me out of his voice, he was failing spectacularly.
“I just mean that, whatever spirit that was, it might have attached itself to her before she got to the office,” I said, trying to sound reasonable instead of snarky. “Isn’t it feasible that she and that spirit came into contact somewhere other than in this room?”
Seamus seemed too distracted to consider this properly. He acknowledged my words with a vague, “Mm-hmm,” while he began an investigation of the office, examining all of the markings that adorned the doorframes and windowsills.
The young Caomhnóir poked his head in the door, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Begging your pardon, Seamus,” he said, and there was a tremor barely detectable beneath the forced toughness of his voice. “Braxton is still unconscious, sir. He’s taken quite a knock to the head. I think he may need medical attention, sir.”
Seamus did not pull his eyes from his work, but waved a hand over his shoulder. “Catriona should go to the hospital ward as well. Arrange it, Charles, and swiftly. Alert the Council. This matter will not go uninvestigated. Hostile spirits are not meant to enter this castle, and so if one has managed to breach the defenses, it must be addressed at once.”
Charles clicked his heels together in a smart salute and bowed himself out. I stood awkwardly, unsure what I could do to help anyone in the room.
“Should I go and get help, too?” I asked.
Seamus shook his head. “Charles will take care of it. Stay here. The Council will no doubt have questions for you, and they cannot ask them if you are off traipsing about the castle.”
I opened my mouth to argue that I had never traipsed in my life, thank you very much, but Finn shot me a warning look and I changed my mind. It was no good stirring the pot with Seamus, especially given his previous knowledge of my relationship with Finn. For something to do, I pulled the tapestry further away from the still leaping flames in the fireplace and used the golden fire irons to sweep the scattered ashes back into the hearth.
It did not take long, though, for Celeste, Siobhán, Fiona, and several other Council members to arrive, along with Mrs. Mistlemoore, who ran the hospital ward. Behind them followed their assigned Caomhnóir, all on high alert like attack dogs that had scented something threatening in the air.
“What’s happened here?” Celeste asked, wringing her hands. “Charles said Catriona has been attacked?”
As Mrs. Mistlemoore hurried over to examine Catriona, Finn and I tried, as best we could, to explain what had happened. With each word, the Council members’ faces grew grimmer and grimmer. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mistlemoore was assessing Catriona. She pulled out all the things I would have expected to see in a medical bag; a blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope, and thermometer. But she also examined Catriona with a wide variety of Castings, encircling her head with a glossy black feather, then pressing an amethyst to various points on her body, and finally using a waxy pastel to mark her chest with a rune of protection.
“She’ll need to be taken to the ward,” Mrs. Mistlemoore announced, getting to her feet with some difficulty. “Something is Habitating inside her, that’s certain. I’ll need to perform further Castings to learn more, however.”
“It’s still in there?” I asked, surprised.
“That’s what I said,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said brusquely. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just… we thought the explosion was something leaving her,” I said. “What could that have been if it wasn’t a huge burst of spirit energy?”
Mrs. Mistlemoore sighed. “There’s no telling until I examine her further. But I will say that something still resides within her, and whatever it is has taken a very firm hold.” She nodded to the Caomhnóir by the door, and then slipped past them to examine Braxton, who still lay motionless where he had fallen.
The rest of us watched in silent horror as Catriona was carried out on a canvas stretcher by two of the Caomhnóir.
Celeste turned to me. “Jess, we will undoubtedly need to speak to you and Mr. Carey further, but I can’t say for sure when that will be. We will need to wait for Mrs. Mistlemoore to finish her examination, and for Seamus to finish his investigation here.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said, a tremor in my voice. “Whatever you need. I’ll be back in my room.”
Celeste nodded, then looked expectantly at Finn.
“I’ll report back to the barracks now. You can reach me there,” he said promptly.
“Very well,” Celeste said. “I’ll send for you both soon.”
Interpreting Celeste’s words as a dismissal, Finn and I exited the room. When we had put two floors safely between us and the chaos in the Tracker office, Finn reached out and gave my hand a quick squeeze.
“You’re alright, are you?” he asked in a low voice as he strode along.
“I guess so, yeah,” I said. “Kind of freaked out, but otherwise I’m okay.”
We turned a corner and saw Hannah running toward us with Milo floating along behind her.
“Jess! Jess, are you okay? What’s going on?” she gasped as she approached us.
“We’re fine!” I said. Then I braced myself as she barreled into me, nearly knocking me over in a violent hug. For a little thing, she sure could pack a punch. “How did you even know something happened?”
“I was on my way up to my meeting with Catriona, and we saw the Caomhnóir carrying her down to the hospital ward on a stretcher!” Her eyes were full of tears.
“We asked them what happened to her, and if anyone else was hurt, but they basically ignored us,” Milo said, rolling his eyes. “Sweet and accommodating, as usual.”
Finn and I relayed the story to our second horror-struck audience in less than ten minutes.
“Catriona looked awful!” Hannah said with a shiver. “And there was something… strange.”
“You think?” I muttered. “We’ve all seen a lot of spirit stuff, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Yes, you have!” Hannah said.
I turned to her. “What are you talking about? Did you listen to any of that story just now? When have we ever seen anything like that?”
Hannah was already shaking her head before I had stopped speaking. “No, no, no, I’m not talking about something we’ve seen, but something we’ve felt.”
I looked at Finn, and then at Milo. Their faces were just as blank as my memory. “Nope, nothing springs to mind here. Enlighten me.”
“Do you remember when we found Annabelle trapped in her flat by the Necromancers?” Hannah asked.
I nodded. Of course I remembered. I would never forget it. We had broken into the apparently empty apartment only to find Annabelle hidden in plain sight under a depraved Casting. The Necromancers had created a cage out of spirits they had ripped apart and woven back together like some ghostly Frankenstein’s monster. I still felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
“Well, I didn’t sense th
ose spirits at first, because they weren’t whole spirits. They were just… pieces, and so it took me longer to figure out what I was feeling,” Hannah said.
“Yeah? And?” I prompted. I was still missing something.
“I just felt it again.”
Finn and Milo and I gaped at her.
I swallowed back a hard lump of panic. “You…”
“I just felt it. The same sort of feeling. Again,” Hannah whispered.
“Are you saying that Catriona is the victim of a Necromancer Casting?” Finn asked, his voice crisp and cutting with his own barely contained fear.
Hannah’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know for sure, but I do know what I felt—what I sensed—when Catriona was carried past me. It felt very similar to what I felt when we discovered Annabelle.”
For a moment, we all just froze, horror-struck. Milo was the first to come to his senses.
“Well, let’s go then!” he shouted suddenly. “What are we waiting for?”
“Go where?’ Hannah asked.
“To the hospital wing! To the Council! To Finvarra’s office! To the top of the North Tower with a freaking megaphone, if we have to!” Milo cried. “We are not going to ignore a single hint that the Necromancers might be involved, and neither is anyone else.”
Hannah twisted the hem of her shirt nervously in her hands. “But what if I’m wrong?” she asked.
“What if you’re not?” Milo shot back. “We were right last time, and it nearly meant the end of the world. We’re not letting them ignore anything this time. I don’t care how far-fetched it sounds.”
“I agree,” Finn said. “We cannot afford to take any chances in situations such as this. If you’re wrong, Hannah, no harm done. But if you’re right, we may just avoid another catastrophe.”
Hannah looked at me for guidance and I nodded seriously at her. “I know you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, or to anything that drags up the Prophecy again, but we can’t keep this quiet.”
Hannah closed her eyes for a moment, like she was saying a short prayer. Then she opened them and took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Who should we tell?”
Finn considered this for a moment. “Let’s head to the hospital ward,” he said at last. “This information might be of the most use to Mrs. Mistlemoore in treating Catriona. From there, we can determine what to do next.”
We all agreed, and set off at once. We jogged along in the wake of Finn’s enormous strides, no one speaking, each of us focused on fending off the fear.
Eleanora: 18 June 1864
18 June 1864
Dearest Little Book,
Did you think I had forgotten all about you? I have been at Fairhaven Hall for nearly a month, and I have been so busy that I’ve had not a moment to write about it! Between the classes and the mountains of work I must complete, my most fervent desire in the evening is to topple onto my bed and let sweet sleep wash over me.
I have always dearly loved learning, and never has the topic of my learning been so utterly fascinating! Most fortunately, Mother has been instructing us in Gaelic and Old Britannic since we were very small, or I expect the Castings would be quite daunting to learn. The library here is magnificent, and the grounds are beautiful. But I must say, the best part of being here is the lack of secrecy. For all my life, I have had to hide what I am and what I can do. It has, at times, been draining and isolating. I have often felt that my gift has stood as an invisible barrier between myself and other people. But here, I never need to hide the appearance of a Visitation. I never have to wear that mask of normalcy that was such a crucial part of my life back in London. I feel free—liberated for the first time since I was a very small girl. I have made several dear friends and have already found more enjoyment in my time here than I ever thought possible when setting out.
Hattie has had more difficulty in adjusting to our new lives, but she is managing, and I am doing all I can to assist her. The Visitations are still a new experience for her, and so she is often frightened and caught off-guard. She has not yet learned to recognize the subtle signs and changes that will warn her of the appearance of a spirit. Hattie has never been strong of will or of constitution—prone to illness and fainting. She has had several such fainting spells since we have been here, and I confess I sometimes fear that the strain of our gift is taking a toll on her health. However, there is no help for it: the Gateway resides inside us, and tame it we must, for it is our calling.
Mother, while pleased we are excelling in our training, has been insufferable on the subject of social obligations. She is unwilling to allow our responsibilities here at Fairhaven to interfere in any way with our participation in the season back in London. A long parade of balls, socials, galas, and events awaits us in the all-important aristocratic circles, and Mother will not hear of missing a single one. As a result, Hattie and I have already made three trips back to London just in the month we’ve been here. We’ve both begged her to allow us a respite from the social whirlwind, but she would not hear a word of our pleas. Our absence would be remarked upon, she insists, and only so many excuses can be made before rumors begin to fly.
I’ve stopped arguing with her. It isn’t worth the energy that might better be spent elsewhere, such as mastering the many new aspects of our gifts. There are many here at Fairhaven who have been identified as having additional classifications beyond that of Durupinen. Our teachers have identified that there are those among us who have unusual ways of relating to and communicating with the spirits around us, and so therefore, some of the Apprentices receive additional training. For example, it has been determined that Hattie is an Empath. This means that she experiences Visitations in a heightened emotional state—that is to say, she experiences the emotions of spirits in a much more visceral way than the rest of us do. She has a mentor now who is working with her to help her exercise some measure of control over how these emotions affect her. I do not seem to have any special aspects of my gift, much to my relief. Some may consider their additional titles of Empath or Muse or Visionary a badge of honor, but I think the responsibility of being a Durupinen is more than enough to cope with.
And, as I might have predicted, I am nodding off over your pages, Little Book. Thank you as always for listening. You are the only place where all of the aspects of my life can converge without worry or consequence, and I am ever so grateful for you.
Eleanora
32
Diagnosis
WHEN WE ARRIVED OUTSIDE of the hospital wing, Finn quickly grabbed the arm of a passing nurse, to ask if we could speak to Mrs. Mistlemoore.
The woman pursed her lips at us as though Finn were asking some enormous feat of her. “She’s quite busy right now. I’ll let her know, but I wouldn’t expect her right away. Perhaps you should sit and wait.”
“It’s about Catriona,” Finn said. “Hannah thinks she might—”
“Yes, yes, you can tell her when you see her,” the woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed inside.” And with one last, harried look, she pushed the door open with her hip, backed through it, and disappeared.
“Whatever happened to bedside manner?” Milo asked with an offended snort. “That woman had entirely too much attitude!”
“She was busy, Milo,” Hannah said quietly.
“And that gives her the right to be rude to people? Sweetness, I am an expert in the art of strategic sass, and I can guarantee you, her attitude had nothing to do with how busy she was. That woman is rude twenty-four seven, three sixty-five,” Milo said, crossing his arms.
“Well, we’ll just have to hope she’s rude and efficient,” Finn grumbled, peering through the windows at the top of the door.
“Can you see anything?” I asked him.
“Not as such, no. They’ve got Catriona at the other end of the ward, and there are screens up all around the bed. I can see people coming in and out.”
“It’s to
o bad we couldn’t just flag down—”
A horrific scream cut off my words. I leapt up just in time to watch through the window as several people dove out from behind the screen around Catriona’s bed, throwing their hands over their heads. Several lit candles flew through the air, smashed into the opposite wall, and extinguished.
“Tie her up, then,” came a frantic woman’s voice. “We’ve got to restrain her or we’ll never get these Castings done! And for God’s sake, move those candelabras back from the bedside before she kills us all!”
“What the bloody hell was that about?” Finn muttered.
“The fire again,” I said softly. “Remember how badly she flipped out when she saw the fire burning in the fireplace in her office? She must have done the same thing when she saw the flames on the candles.”
“We told them what happened with the fireplace,” Finn said through gritted teeth. “Why in blazes are they putting open flames by her bed? Did they listen to a bloody word we said?”
“Evidently not,” I said. “I don’t think we should hold our breath that Mrs. Mistlemoore is coming out anytime soon, not if Catriona is throwing flaming objects all over the place.”
“So, does this mean that the spirit that’s possessing her has a fear of fire?” Milo asked. “That’s got to be a clue, right?”
“We can’t say for sure yet that it is a spirit,” Finn said. “But that’s a fair guess, Milo. Certainly, whatever it is does not want to be anywhere near an open flame. Whether that is out of fear or some other motivation remains to be seen.” He peered back through the window, but all was quiet again. With a sigh of frustration, he shuffled back over to the bench and sat down. After another minute or so of fruitless spying through the window, I joined him.
