The Gateway Trackers Books 1 & 2

by E. E. Holmes

Celeste reached out and squeezed my shoulder in a motherly gesture. “And Hannah, there is something in particular I may need you to help with, if you are willing.”

  “I’m happy to help, too,” Hannah said warily. “Although you should know up front that I don’t think I’ll be able to Call the Shards. I wasn’t able to Call the spirit fragments in Annabelle’s apartment, either. I don’t think an incomplete spirit is compelled to answer a Call.”

  “Yes, the Scribes have told us as much,” Celeste said. “Did you understand what I said about the Naming?”

  “Yes, I think so. Using the spirit’s name gives us lots of power over it, right?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes. And in the case of a Shattered spirit, knowing its name could be crucial. If we have the name, and most of the Shards have been contained, there is a possibility that we—that is to say, you—could Call the rest of the Shards into the circle even if they have not yet found Hosts.”

  Hannah looked surprised, but nodded eagerly. “If that’s true, then I’ll help in any way I can. Of course I will try to Call them, if you think it might work.”

  “Excellent,” Celeste said. “We will likely ask you to try, when we discover the name. I will keep you posted. In the meantime, be sure to alert the Caomhnóir or a Council member if you sense any other Shards in the castle. Thank you both.”

  She turned back to the remaining Council members, which we took as the signal that we were dismissed. Finn was waiting by the doors for us, as were Savvy, Phoebe, and Bertie. Savvy was already in full rebellion mode about having to stay in the castle.

  “I’d rather be a Host than have you staring at me like a bloody pervert all night while I sleep,” she was shouting as we approached. “You can stay in the hallway or you can sod off.”

  Bertie stood there, spluttering something about “not a pervert…” as Savvy turned her back on him. “Food, yeah?” she said to me, and with a cock of her head, marched out the door, leaving Phoebe and Bertie with their mouths hanging open.

  Food. Yeah.

  §

  It was a long night. I barely slept, every tiny sound setting my teeth on edge and my pulse thundering through my veins. Was I about to be invaded? Was Hannah still okay? I rolled over so many times to check on her that I made myself dizzy. After about the hundredth time, Milo’s frustrated voice shot through the connection.

  “I am watching her like a hawk, Jess. Calm yourself before you roll right out of that bed.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Thanks, Milo,” I whispered.

  “Just doing my job,” he said.

  I settled with my gaze on the wall, but I still did not sleep. Perhaps the worst part was that I was desperate to speak to Finn alone, and the new safety protocols had made it completely impossible. We had managed a tiny snatch of conversation when the new Caomhnóir, a hulking middle aged man named Patrick, arrived to relieve Finn for the evening shift. Hannah and Milo stayed in the room to explain his Spirit Guide status to Patrick, while Finn and I went out into the hallway to set up the cot.

  “Are you alright?” he muttered so softly that I almost didn’t hear him.

  “I guess so. Scared,” I murmured back.

  “What did Marion—”

  “Don’t worry about Marion. I can handle her.”

  “But what did she want?”

  “She wanted to dissuade us from running for the Council seat,” I said.

  Silence. I looked up. Finn was staring at me. “But you don’t want the Council seat.”

  “I know that, but Marion doesn’t.”

  “How did she even find out about the nomination?” Finn hissed.

  “You know Marion. She’s got ears everywhere.”

  “I don’t like that she’s here. I don’t trust her any farther than I could throw her.”

  “I don’t trust her any farther than Hannah could throw her,” I countered. There was a pause as Finn unfolded an olive green wool blanket and spread it over the bed.

  “I miss you,” I whispered.

  “I miss you, too,” he whispered back. “A few more days and this will all be over, I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope so.” And he let his hand brush gently over mine as he handed me a pillow. Then he straightened up, arranged his face into the most businesslike of expressions, and walked away.

  I replayed this conversation over and over again in my head as I lay in the dark, not because of what I said, but because of what I didn’t say. True, there had been no time, but I almost felt like I had lied to him by not mentioning it.

  The truth was, my conversation with Marion had lit a spark inside me that I never could have predicted. The moment that she had advised me not to run for the Council seat, I had experienced a sudden, burning desire to do the exact opposite. I dismissed it at the time; after all, I wasn’t exactly a pinnacle of rational responses when I lost my temper, and few people riled me quite like Marion could. But the feeling, though it had calmed considerably, had not gone away. I didn’t think that Marion wanted to keep me from the Council just out of spite. I mean, I knew she was spiteful, but I also knew that she didn’t let things like spite drive her decisions. Marion, first and foremost, was a strategist. She was nothing if not practical, and if she wanted me out of that Council seat, it had nothing to do with my personality, and everything to do with what I might do with that power. She feared me. She feared what my perspective would do to her precious system. She feared that I might shake things up, and start to influence the other members through regular conversation. Suddenly, that Council seat was looking less like a burden and more like an opportunity. It was almost exactly the same argument Hannah had already made in its favor, but it had taken Marion’s opposition to help me to see it that way.

  Taking the seat was not an option, I told myself, over and over again. I had a life in America. I had goals. I had a deeply-held disgust for Durupinen politics. And of course, there was my relationship with Finn. If we were back at Fairhaven for good, our relationship would be reduced to what it was now; an occasional stolen whisper and a permanent, aching sense of longing.

  Just as I had spoken none of this to Finn, I had confided none of it to Hannah. What good would it do to express these feelings if I couldn’t act on them? No, as usual, I could be counted on to make the mature choice for my own mental health: I stuffed the feelings down and buried them in other shit.

  Yeah, that always worked, and definitely never backfired on me.

  §

  Thankfully, Hannah and I both woke still fully in control of our bodies and minds, and made our way to the dining room. We’d only just sat down with our plates when Mackie shuffled over, looking tired and disgruntled.

  “Hey, Mackie,” I said.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said. “Everyone coping alright?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, we’re not currently housing any hostile spirits, so we can’t really complain. You?”

  Mackie groaned. “I’ve been on permanent damage control. Celeste has got me running interference for the Council, calming everyone down so they don’t start a panic and break the quarantine. People are losing their bloody minds, as I’m sure you saw from the meeting yesterday. Some of them honestly can’t understand why they should have to stay. They think everyone else should stay, of course, but…” She trailed off with a disgusted shake of her head.

  “They’re scared,” Hannah said. “I wish we could leave, too.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not actually trying to do it,” Mackie said. “That’s the difference. We’ve had to post Caomhnóir at the doors to make sure no one is sneaking off.”

  “I have zero interest in becoming the next temporary resident of an unwanted spirit,” I said. “But we’ll sort it out soon, I’m sure. From what Celeste said, this isn’t an unprecedented situation.”

  “Could you please share some of your common sense and rationality with the other, more skittish Durupinen among us? It would be much appreciated,” Mackie sighed.

  “Nah, we can’
t, Mack, sorry,” I said. “We can’t get a reputation for being calm and sensible. It will ruin our badass image.”

  “Well, never mind, then,” Mackie said, with a shadow of a grin. “I wouldn’t want you to compromise your badassery.”

  “Have there been any more Habitations overnight?” Hannah asked.

  Mackie nodded, her expression deadly serious yet again. “Three.”

  Hannah dropped her toast in alarm. “Three?!”

  “Yeah,” Mackie said. “Two Durupinen from one of the Irish clans and Jocelyn Lightfoot.”

  “Jocelyn Lightfoot? Riley and Róisín’s mom?” I asked, aghast.

  Mackie nodded, and then hitched a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the far corner. Róisín and Riley were sitting at a table there, huddled together with Keira, who was holding Riley’s hand. Instead of plates, piles of crumpled tissues lay on the table in front of them.

  “Wow. So, they’re all in the hospital wing now?” I asked.

  “Yeah, inside the circle that the staff set up. Celeste said they’re all behaving in identical manners—terrified of fire, confused, and anxious. They’re talking occasionally, too, but it’s all just vague nonsense. The staff is trying to figure out what it means, but they don’t think they’ll be able to make sense of it until all the Shards of the spirit are within the circle,” Mackie said.

  “This is terrible,” Hannah whispered, looking down at her food as though the sight of it suddenly made her sick. “What if they can’t find all the Shards? What if they can’t cure the Hosts?”

  “Oh, come off it, you can’t think like that!” Mackie said. “They’ve had Shattered spirits at Fairhaven before, and it turned out alright. We just need to be patient and have faith. It’ll be resolved in no time.” She spoke with complete confidence and not, as many I had heard, with the false confidence that one puts on to convince one’s self as well as others. Mackie believed in the system, bless her. I wasn’t nearly as confident.

  “So, seeing as all the sessions are canceled for the day, and you clearly aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, I thought you might want to come see the Léarscáil with me,” Mackie said. “I did promise to take you after all, and it would be a great way to hide from Celeste for a bit.”

  Hannah perked up at once. “Really? That would be so cool! I’m in! Jess?”

  I gazed longingly at my waffle. “Can it wait until after I finish breakfast?”

  Mackie shrugged with a smirk. “I suppose. Are you sure you want to be seen eating waffles? I’m not sure that’s a breakfast choice that entirely lives up to your ‘badass’ image.”

  I shoved a huge forkful in my mouth. “I’ll risk it.”

  Despite my sass, Mackie let me finish my breakfast before leading us up the South Tower. No one would ever have guessed how crowded the castle was; though all of the sleeping quarters in the building were occupied, the halls were nearly deserted. Those who did venture out did so in a constant hush, not unlike the quiet of hospital wards, or school corridors when classes were in session. Everyone seemed afraid of disturbing whatever malevolent force had nested in the castle, afraid to draw attention to themselves as possible targets. And so, when there was a sudden loud wailing sound, all three of us jumped.

  We had nearly reached the base of the South Tower. Across from the spiral staircase that would lead up to the Léarscáil, was the door to the hospital ward. It was from beyond this door that the wailing had begun.

  Mackie threw us an anxious look, then cocked her head toward the door, beckoning us forward.

  “No, Mackie, we can’t go in there!” Hannah cried, her voice shrill and sharp in the deserted hallway.

  “I don’t want to go in. I’m not daft,” Mackie said. “I just want to have a look.”

  We crept forward until we could all press our faces against the row of little glass-plated windows set along the top of the door.

  All five of the plague’s victims thus far were sitting on the ends of their beds in the same peculiar posture: legs tucked up in front of them, night dresses pulled taut across their kneecaps, and their right hands traveling rapidly back and forth, back and forth, across their knees.

  “What in the world…” Mackie’s voice trailed off in a kind of horrified wonder.

  “What are they doing?” Hannah whispered.

  “They’re writing,” I said. “Or at least, they think they are.”

  It was true. Each hand seemed to grip an imaginary writing utensil. Each set of eyes was watching a string of invisible, yet meticulously formed letters and words. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it appeared that they were all doing it in perfect unison.

  “Blimey, I think you’re right. That is… not normal,” Mackie said weakly.

  Mrs. Mistlemoore and several other Durupinen were circulating amongst the patients, tucking blankets around them and checking their temperatures. Each of them wore a heavy sweater or coat, as well as gloves and scarves. I was about to comment on this odd choice of wardrobe when one of them shifted away from the furthest bed, and I saw that the fire in the massive stone fireplace was not lit.

  “The fire’s gone out!” said Hannah, who had noticed it, too. “Are they insane, leaving the fire out like that? They’ll all freeze in there! This place is way too drafty not to have the fires lit!”

  “I bet it’s because of the way Catriona reacted to the fire in the Tracker office,” I said slowly. “She absolutely lost her mind when she spotted it. We thought at first she was going to throw herself into it or something, but then she ripped down the drapes and tried to smother the flames instead. And of course, Siobhán went mental when she saw that candelabra. Mrs. Mistlemoore can’t risk a roomful of patients hurling themselves at the fireplace any time there’s a spark. It’s safer to keep the fire out.”

  “They’ve got space heaters, look,” Mackie said, pointing into the nearest corner. Sure enough, a small rectangular box was plugged into the wall there. I scanned the room and counted at least half a dozen more.

  “They’ll need every one of them to keep that room above freezing,” I said with a shiver. Just the thought of it made me want to crawl into my bed and never move. There was nothing as cold as a medieval castle in winter. The chill crept right into your bones and nested there.

  “What about that writing, though?” I asked shaking my thoughts away from the temperature for a moment. “Don’t you think that’s worth investigating?”

  Mackie tore her eyes from the windows to frown at me. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, they’re trying to find out everything they can about that Shattered spirit, right? So why not give every one of those hosts a pencil and some paper? It might just be gibberish of course, but what if it’s not?”

  Mackie blinked. “That’s a really good idea.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a really obvious one,” I said.

  “Obvious to you,” Hannah said. “You’re a Muse. You know more about spirit-induced writing and drawing than almost anyone in the castle, aside from Fiona.”

  “I’m going to go tell them they should give them something to write with,” I said, placing a hand on the doorknob. Mackie knocked my hand away.

  “Mate, you can’t go in there! You might get infected!” she cried.

  “Mackie, those Shards already have Hosts! I doubt they’re going to abandon the bodies they already Habitated in just because I showed up.”

  “Do you really want to risk it? I don’t think you should tempt them by giving them the chance!” Mackie said.

  “But how else are we supposed to—”

  “We’ll tell Celeste when we get back downstairs. The medical staff is giving regular reports on the Hosts to the Council. She’ll pass it along, I promise.” Mackie practically begged. “Come on, mate, don’t give that thing a reason to attack you, okay? I can feel them through the door, and believe me, you do not want to have those feelings inside you, mate.”

  I blinked. I’d forgotten. Mackie was an Empath; it was he
r unique ability, similar to my gifts as a Muse. When spirits were trying to communicate with Mackie, she experienced their feelings on a level that none of the rest of us could comprehend. If the spirit was in pain, she felt every bit of that pain. If the spirit was grieving, Mackie could not separate herself from that grief. The intensity of it all could be crippling for her. Anything I might experience when opening that door would be magnified a hundredfold for someone like Mackie. How could I see that look of sheer terror on her face and still turn that doorknob?

  “Okay, fine, fine!” I grumbled. “I don’t know why you think we’re any safer out here than in there.”

  “We don’t know if any spirit Shards are out here right now, but we know five of them are in that room,” Mackie said. “I like my odds in the hallway, thanks. Come on, then.”

  We couldn’t talk further on the matter because we had to use every ounce of our strength and breath to survive the climb to the top of the South Tower. It took several minutes after we finally staggered onto the top landing to sufficiently recover before we could knock on the door.

  “State your name and your business,” came a sharp, echoing voice.

  “It’s Mackie, Moira. I’ve brought two more Durupinen to see the Léarscáil,” Mackie said, with exaggerated patience.

  “Enter slowly and carefully, and be sure to close the door securely behind you,” the voice snapped. It was both a tiny voice and a voice I wouldn’t want to trifle with.

  Mackie pushed the door open according to our instructions, very slowly and deliberately. I stepped confidently through it, but Mackie grabbed onto the back of my sweater and yanked me backward.

  “You’re going to want to tread carefully, mate. There’s a steep drop through that door,” she said.

  “What?”

  She eased the door the rest of the way open and I saw, with a start of surprise, what she meant. The floor of the room was about ten feet below us, reached by a narrow set of wooden steps that hugged the inner curve of the tower walls. Had I plowed ahead, I would surely have plummeted right past the narrow tread that was the only place to step upon entering the room.