The Gateway Trackers Books 1 & 2

by E. E. Holmes

  “Thank you, Fiona,” Celeste said, nodding graciously to Fiona before continuing. “There is an additional challenge. The Casting used to reassemble the Shattered spirit includes a Naming.”

  Several people groaned. Others looked even more puzzled than before, including Savvy, who stood up and called out, “Can you explain what that is, for the newcomers, please?” There was a murmur of agreement, which Hannah and I joined.

  Celeste obliged. “Some Castings cannot be carried out without knowledge of the Spirit’s name. The name must be spoken, as part of the ritual, for the Casting to work. The healing of a Shattered spirit is one of these Castings. Unless we can discover who he or she is, we cannot heal or expel the spirit in question. By using the spirit’s name, we can force it to listen, to give us information, and to comply to demands. It cannot refuse us once its name has been spoken.”

  Keira stood up. “And the Shards themselves are too confused to identify who they are?”

  “That’s right,” Celeste said. “The Shattering leaves them so disoriented and incomplete that they do not have a full understanding of who they are. The more of them we gather, the better the chance that they will collectively remember, but we cannot guarantee it. And so, the Scribes are busy researching and questioning our resident spirits for any information, and the Trackers are retracing Catriona’s most recent moves, in the hopes that we can identify the spirit on our own. They have already—yes, the Council recognizes Jocelyn Lightfoot of the Clan Dílseacht.”

  “You said a few minutes ago, that we need all the Shards in the hospital wing together in order to proceed. Is there no way to find them? They are pieces of spirits, after all, and everyone here is sensitive,” Jocelyn said. She was instantly recognizable as Riley and Róisín’s mother. They all had the same jet-black hair and round cheeks. “Surely, with the entire castle on alert, we can track them all down.”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Celeste began, but then, to my utter shock, Hannah stood up and placed her hand in the air. Celeste spotted her at once and pointed to her, “The Council recognizes Hannah Ballard of the Clan Sassanaigh.”

  If the Durupinen seemed wary at my remarks, it was nothing compared to the tension that met Hannah’s turn to speak. She fought to ignore it, though she clenched and unclenched her hands. Suddenly, a soothing voice flowed through the connection, wrapping Hannah in its comfort.

  “Don’t you let them intimidate you, sweetness. You got something to say and they’re going to hear it. We don’t play their games,” Milo said. He materialized beside her, and I knew the shivery coolness of his presence was as good as a security blanket to her.

  “I have some experience in sensing fractured spirits,” Hannah said, an audible tremor in her voice. “Three years ago, I came across a Necromancer casting that used fractured spirits to hide someone. The spirit fragments were very, very difficult to sense. We were in the room with them for a long time before we even realized something was there, and I was the only one who noticed, probably because of my Caller abilities.”

  Celeste nodded. “Go on, please.”

  “When the Caomhnóir carried Catriona past me earlier today, I sensed it again. It was a similar energy. Again, it was very faint, and very difficult to decipher. If I hadn’t felt it before, I don’t think I would have picked up on it,” Hannah said.

  “So, it can be detected,” Marion said, pointing at Hannah with a triumphant gesture. “So, we send the Caller around the castle to track down the Shards.”

  I leapt up from my seat, plowing right over Celeste’s attempt to acknowledge me. “First of all, ‘the Caller’ has a name. Her name is Hannah Ballard, and you better use it if you are going to address her. Secondly, she is not some canary you are going to shove down this coal mine, to be sacrificed because you’re too scared to face the alternative. And lastly, even if Hannah were willing to scour the entire castle for these Shards, what good would it do? You heard Celeste: there is no way to trap them, no way to contain them. In all likelihood, Hannah would immediately become a Host to the first Shard she found, and then we’d be right back where we started.”

  Marion opened her mouth to retort, but Fiona cut her off. “Jessica is right. We cannot let our fear overrule our good sense, however little good sense some of us may have,” she said, and she glared at Marion.

  “Thank you, Fiona, but that is not constructive either,” Celeste said. “The fact is that there is only one course of action. During your wait in this room, our Scribes have been consulted, and every text about Shattered spirits in our extensive library has been reviewed. Fairhaven must be quarantined. No one is allowed to leave the premises. The Hosts will be gathered in the hospital wing, within the circle that, even now, the hospital staff are creating with the help of the Scribes. When all the Shards have been gathered together, the process to rejoin and expel them can begin.”

  “Quarantined?” Patricia shouted. “Why must we be quarantined if we have not been infected?”

  “Any one of us could be a Host at this moment, and simply be ignorant of the fact,” Celeste said. “The Shards do not announce themselves. They take over without warning. We cannot risk that anyone might leave this castle an unwitting Host. The instructions are clear, and we will all abide by them. Anyone who breaks the quarantine will face serious sanctions against her clan. Make no mistake about that.”

  No one spoke. No one argued. Everyone simply waited for what was next.

  Celeste took a long moment to let her threat sink in before she continued. “We cannot continue the Airechtas under these conditions. I move that all sessions be suspended until the Shattering is resolved.”

  “Seconded,” Fiona called from the benches.

  “All in favor?” Celeste asked.

  Slowly every hand in the room rose into the air, including mine. Hannah’s was still shaking.

  “Motion carried,” Celeste said. “The Caomhnóir stationed outside of this room have secured the entrances to the castle and the borders of the grounds. We will gather here again at eight o’clock tomorrow morning for another update. Any encounters with a Shard must be reported swiftly. Caomhnóir will be stationed with their clans until further notice. The Caomhnóir reserves have been called, and will be assigned to each clan to provide a second shift of protection overnight. We will do all we can to keep everyone as safe as possible.”

  “Except for those of us being used as sacrificial lambs to this plague of the Shattered,” Marion called in a ringing voice.

  “No one is being sacrificed,” Celeste said with undisguised disgust in her voice. “We are working together to save our sisterhood. If everyone cooperates, this will all be over swiftly. But I will be sure to make note of your dissenting comments, and how unwilling you are to suffer an inconvenience to protect your fellow Durupinen.”

  “My, oh my, someone give her some aloe for that burn,” Milo crowed through our connection, startling me. I had nearly forgotten he was there amidst all the tension.

  “Unless anyone else would like to register their lack of cooperation, I hereby dismiss this session of the Airechtas, to be resumed at a later date to be determined,” Celeste said. “Dinner is ready to be served in the dining room within the next half hour. Caomhnóir, you may unblock the exits. Stay safe, sisters. Stay vigilant.”

  Eleanora: 12 July 1864

  12 July 1864

  Dearest Little Book,

  I need not fear prying eyes upon this page. My hands are shaking so badly that the words could surely not be legible to any eyes but my own. My hope is that, by writing about my experience, I can perhaps hold it at a distance and understand it better, for at this moment, Little Book, I am at a loss to comprehend what has happened to me tonight.

  Hattie and I attended Lord Kentwood’s ball as my mother insisted we should, despite a long and exhausting few days of training at Fairhaven Hall. I had resolved to play my part as the dutiful daughter. I even managed to convince myself, half out of desperation, I suppose, that I
was exaggerating Harry Milford’s less desirable qualities. I arrived at the ball determined to find some good in him, and therefore some hope for myself.

  All I managed to do was to prove that even the most dogged determination cannot grow roses from ashes.

  It was apparent from the moment he saw me that Harry Milford has quite made up his mind in regards to our union. He was much more forward than I would ever have expected from a gentleman of his standing. He positively leered at me over dinner; I could hardly swallow my food for blushing. At one point, he actually leaned in and remarked that there was a direct correlation between a woman’s appetite and whether her figure was pleasing to a man, and that therefore I should be encouraged to eat up! I could have thrown my glass of wine in his face right then and there, but for the sake of civility, I refrained. I kept hoping my mother would catch on to Harry’s behavior, but at this point I think he could have ravished me upon the dining table and she would have found an excuse for it.

  After dinner, the men retired to the library for cigars and brandy, and I at last thought I had escaped Harry clutches, but I was mistaken. I stepped out from the salon where the women had gathered so that I could take in some fresh air outside. Within a few moments I heard footsteps behind me and spun on the spot to find Harry grinning at me, brandy snifter still in hand.

  “I saw you through the window,” he said to me, still grinning stupidly.

  “I was just taking a breath of fresh air,” I said, trying not to let hostility creep into my voice, “I was feeling rather overheated. But I am better now. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Oh, come now,” he chided. “You can’t honestly think I believe that?”

  “Believe what?” I asked him.

  “This silly story about being overheated. You are terribly transparent, Miss Larkin. You walked right by the window, where you knew I must be able to glimpse you pass by. Am I to believe that you wanted to be out here alone, when you made such an invitation as that?”

  “I hardly think walking past a window constitutes an invitation,” I said, and I felt my pulse quicken with something that might have been fear. “However, I am happy for your company back in the house, if you would care to accompany me.”

  “Back in the house? That rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Harry said with a failed attempt at a wink. “If I craved the company of any other than yourself, I’d still be inside.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Milford, you know that our being alone together out here is not seemly,” I said, endeavoring to sound playfully chiding rather than terrified, as I was now starting to feel. “We wouldn’t want to give the others reason to gossip, would we?”

  “Wouldn’t we?” he countered, taking several steps closer to me, so that he closed the distance between us by half. He swigged what remained of the brandy in his glass and cast it aside in the grass. “Let’s be frank, Miss Larkin. The others are already gossiping. There are no secrets here in the upper circles of society. Our impending union is already being widely discussed. Your family, my family, all of our acquaintances—every one of them is talking of nothing else. Why pretend otherwise? We both know what awaits us. There is really no need for such formality—such distance—is there?”

  “If this is your idea of a proposal, Mr. Milford, I am sorry to say that you have been woefully misinformed about the practice,” I said lightly, while silently cursing the distance between me and the house. Why had I walked so far into the garden?

  “Practice be damned,” he scoffed, with what he must truly have thought to be a winning, roguish smile. “What is the point of all this practice—all this etiquette? We are not strangers. We are soon to be joined. We are soon to know all there is to know about each other. What does it matter if we obtain some of that knowledge a bit early?”

  He took another step toward me, and there was a menace in that step, an intent that sent my heart into my throat and my brain into a panic.

  “Don’t come any closer!” I cried out without thinking.

  He threw his head back and laughed, and it was a joyless, mean-spirited sound. “My dear Eleanora, I do hope this isn’t a glimpse into our future together as man and wife! I will be a very lonely man, indeed.”

  “Please,” I said, and I did my best to smile, but I cannot say what expression actually appeared upon my face. “Please. It is late and you have had a good deal to drink. Let us walk in together arm in arm and rejoin the party. I do not want to begin our life together under the haze of gossip, and I am sure you do not want aspersions cast upon your new wife’s character. Please. Please let’s go inside.” And little though I wanted to do it, I reached a hand out toward him.

  And God help me, I thought it had worked. Harry’s head sagged on his neck and he sighed. “You are right,” he said. “Decorum above all else.” And he stepped forward, offering me his arm.

  I was so relieved at this show of acquiescence at last that I did not hesitate to traverse the last few steps between us and take his arm. Had I taken my time, had I moved more warily, I would surely have seen the gleam in his eye, the cruel smirk on his face. But I did not.

  As soon as my arm was within the crook of his, Harry dropped his elbow, pinioning me to his side. Then with a rough gesture he grabbed the hair upon the back of my head and pulled me against him into a kiss. His breath reeked of brandy and his lips were greedy and forceful upon mine. I struggled. I pushed and shoved. I tried to cry out, but my cries were smothered against his lips. At last all I could do was cry inside my head, in desperation, a silent plea: Help me! Oh, dear God please, someone come and help me!

  Nearly the instant the thought exploded in my head an icy blast of wind descended upon us, driving between Harry and me like a wall, knocking us apart. Then a second gust thrust us to the ground in opposite directions, so that we landed several feet from each other.

  Harry sat up, shaking his head and staring wildly around for an explanation as to what had just happened. His eyes found me, and he seemed to conclude that I had somehow managed the feat on my own. Anger etched all over his features, his lips pulled back in a snarl, he began to crawl toward me. But I could barely concentrate upon him, for there was something standing between us that he could not see.

  Lined up like a defending battalion, shoulder to shoulder, were seven spirits. Their faces were blank; as though each slept with his eyes open, and each was facing Harry as he came toward me again. They made no motion that they would stop him, no sign that they even knew he was there.

  A strange, heady feeling came over me. I do not know how I knew it, but suddenly it was clear to me: these spirits were here to answer my cry for help. And they would do my bidding.

  “Stop him,” I whispered.

  As one, they flew at him, and the force of their energy blasted him backward again, right off of the ground and into the air, twisting and flailing, until he landed with a thump and a shout in a flower bed twenty paces away.

  He clambered to his feet, cursing and shrieking, staring at me as though I were an apparition myself. Then he turned and pelted for the house. I remained on the ground, motionless in abject terror, as the spirits floated back to me and waited, seemingly for me to give them further instruction.

  “Go,” I told them. “Just go.”

  And they went, vanishing on the spot, but lingering behind my eyelids like the imprint of a candle after you blow it out in the darkness.

  Before I could think, before I could master my gasping breath, our Caomhnóir sprinted around the side of the house from where he had been waiting with our coach. Without a solitary word to me, without inquiring if I was hurt or what had happened, he took me by the arm and dragged me to our waiting carriage. He did not stop to find my mother or my sister, or to tell anyone where we were going. As soon as he had deposited me onto the seat, we took off at breakneck speed.

  We are barreling through the night as I write this to you in the unsteady light of the wildly sputtering oil lamp. He will not answer any of my questions, nor exp
lain where we are going, though my knowledge of the route has led me to the conclusion that we are headed for Fairhaven Hall.

  Little Book, I am so frightened. What has happened to me? Why did those spirits attack? Did my cries for help summon them? Why did they only act upon my spoken command? And how in the world can we possibly repair the damage they have caused to our secrecy and our reputation? I can only pray that the Council will be able to answer these questions that are burning inside me.

  Eleanora

  37

  The Léarscáil

  A DEAFENING SCRAPING of chair legs signaled the mass exodus from the room, but Hannah and I had barely risen to our feet when Celeste called our names over the commotion. I looked up to see her beckoning us forward. Milo followed us up the aisle to the edge of the platform.

  “Thank you both for your input,” Celeste said. “I know it was not easy for either of you to speak in such a hostile assembly.”

  “I didn’t think we really had a choice,” I said, shrugging. “This isn’t the moment to think about that stuff.”

  “And yet few in this room chose to master their fear. I applaud you for it,” Celeste said.

  I didn’t really know how to accept the compliment, so I said nothing.

  “I would appreciate your help, both of you, as we continue to investigate this matter,” Celeste said. “Jess, you are the only person to have witnessed both Habitations, and so I hope you will not mind making yourself available to answer questions.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “Anything I can do, just let me know.”