by E. E. Holmes
“What is it, Hannah?” I cried again.
She extended a violently trembling hand and pointed toward the corner furthest from the door. A single strangled word escaped her lips.
“Bertie.”
I heard Milo cry out behind me. A molten wave of dread roiled in my stomach as I turned to look where Hannah was indicating. There, on the floor, crumpled in a heap, lay Bertie. His head lay in the middle of a pool of blood, which spread around him like a halo. His eyes stared directly at me, glassy and unseeing. One arm was bent at a strange angle and tucked beneath him. The other lay outstretched toward us, as though he were beckoning—begging us to reach out and pull him back from the place that he had gone.
But we couldn’t. Where he had gone, we could not follow.
17
The Eyes on the Walls
IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING, I would have only vague memories of what happened next. Hannah, slumping down in a faint in the doorway. Savvy, her gaze falling on Bertie’s body for the first time. Ambrose, struggling to hold her back as she tried to crawl toward him, screaming his name over and over and over again.
Bertie.
It was all a blur. Sitting in the hallway, ignoring the stares of other hotel patrons who poked their heads out into the hallway to see what the commotion was all about. Waiting for the small army of Trackers and Caomhnóir to arrive, and watching as they swarmed over the room like efficient, stone-faced locusts. Watching Dolores disappear wide-eyed into her office, clutching enough bribery money to keep the police from being called. Riding to Fairhaven with Savvy in the back of a Caomhnóir SUV as she sobbed unrestrainedly into my shoulder. Pulling ourselves together just long enough to perform a hasty lunar Crossing as we waited for news of Phoebe’s condition.
By morning, many pieces of the horrifying puzzle had fallen into place. Phoebe had been the victim of another attack, just like the one that had left Flavia unresponsive and blinded in the hospital bed beside her. Just like Flavia, Phoebe’s eyes had turned a clouded silver color, and she seemed unable to recognize anyone, let alone communicate. Her Spirit Sight had been perversely twisted, so that she, too, was being forced to stare at her own soul trapped within the prison of her body. The attacker, whoever he or she may be, had either followed Phoebe to her hotel, or else lain there in wait for her to arrive. Unlike with Flavia, Phoebe had not been beaten, and the reason for this was soon discovered. A puncture mark from a needle indicated that the attacker had learned from previous mistakes, and drugged Phoebe with a powerful sedative rather than trying to force her cooperation. The attacker was still a mystery, as was the true purpose of the attack, which Bertie seemed to have interrupted. The Trackers and Scribes, try as they may, still had no idea what Castings had been used nor who had cast them. The Hotel Royal, due no doubt to its many illicit activities, didn’t have working security cameras or reliable witnesses who could help shed light on who the attacker might have been.
Savvy did what she could to answer their questions, but she was an emotional wreck. I’d never seen her so shaken.
“It’s my fault,” she kept saying between shuddering breaths. “It’s all my fault.”
“Savvy, that doesn’t even make sense,” I told her. “What in the world could you have done?”
“I was terrible to them both,” Savvy insisted, and each word sounded like a weapon she wanted to use on herself. “I was the one who kept suggesting a hotel every time Phoebe came out, instead of just letting her stay with me, like family’s supposed to do. And I should have picked her up, instead of making her take a cab. She hated cabs. She hated this whole bloody city. I should have gone to the country once in a while, but I was too bloody stubborn. And I never should have asked Bertie to go check on her. I knew something was wrong, and I never should have… he couldn’t handle…” She dissolved into inconsolable sobs again.
I tried to comfort her, but my words just bounced off the armor of guilt she’d hidden behind. Finally, I stopped talking and just let her cry it out. The armor would come down, eventually, and there was no use beating my fists against it in the meantime.
There were many unanswered questions, but Phoebe’s attack seemed to lay one mystery to rest. When Flavia was attacked, there seemed a very real possibility that her assailants were members of the Traveler Clans, carrying out their own twisted version of justice for her unforgivable betrayal. But now that Phoebe had also been targeted, that possibility had been ruled out. There were enough similarities between the two attacks that the Trackers concluded they had been carried out by the same perpetrator.
Someone was hunting down the Durupinen of London. And that someone most likely had a connection to the Necromancers.
I should have felt afraid; logically, I knew that. But every time I tried to access that fear, I was met by a solid wall of flaming anger. This attacker, whoever they were, was a spineless coward. Flavia and Phoebe had something in common; they were both outsiders, vulnerable and essentially alone in an unfamiliar place. They were both without protection, cut off from the vast network of Durupinen who might have been able to protect them. This, I knew, was likely the reason the attacker had chosen them. I also knew—and the knowledge filled me with guilt—that my own reliable protection was likely the reason Hannah and I hadn’t been targeted ourselves. Ambrose, as much as I detested him, was always, unflinchingly there.
“We’re also enmeshed in clan life,” Hannah pointed out, when I discussed my theory that night outside the hospital ward. Mrs. Mistlemoore had finally allowed Savvy in to visit Phoebe, and we decided to wait, to give her a bit of privacy.
“Enmeshed?” I asked.
“Well, yes, of course,” Hannah said, looking surprised. “I’m a Council member. I’m back and forth to Fairhaven at least a couple of times a week. And you’re still working as a Tracker. You’re in constant contact with Catriona and other high-ranking Durupinen as a part of your work.”
I considered this. I liked to think of myself as a rebel, bucking the Durupinen system and forging my own path. That perception was not exactly true—at least, not anymore. Somewhere along the line, I realized, we had gone from outcasts to insiders. I didn’t know how to feel about this, except for confused and a bit resentful. It’s not easy realizing you’re a sell-out.
“You know what I just realized,” Milo said with a grimace. “I mean, it’s hardly the most important thing right now, with everything that’s happening, but… well, Bertie was going to go to Seamus for you, right? With that information Finn passed to you.”
My heart, already like lead in my feet, seemed to sink even lower. I had completely forgotten about that. Without Bertie, who could I trust to talk to the Caomhnóir leadership for me? How could I pass along Finn’s concerns about Skye Príosún without incriminating both him and myself and getting us into even more trouble?
“Sorry to bring it up,” Milo said, and I looked up to see him watching my face anxiously. “I just thought of it, so…”
“No, it’s fine,” I told him. “I’ll just have to figure something else out.”
Silence spiraled between the three of us, and the absence of Bertie expanded even further—cut even deeper than it had a few moments before.
“Have you checked your phone lately?” Hannah asked me suddenly.
“What? No, why?” I asked. I reached for my back pocket, but the phone wasn’t there. “Damn it, I think I left it in the car.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got about fifteen missed calls from Karen,” she said with a grimace.
“What? Oh, great,” I groaned. “Who told her?”
Hannah shrugged. “You know Karen. She’s got connections. Something like this wasn’t going to fly under her radar for long.”
“This is true,” Milo said. “She’s practically psychic, when it comes to any trouble you two run into. Seriously, it’s starting to feel like a sixth sense… well, seventh sense, I guess, if you count the whole ghost thing.”
I groaned. This was literally the last thing we
needed right now: our Aunt Karen piling her pseudo-parent anxiety on top of an already nerve-wracking situation.
“The longer we wait, the worse it will be,” Hannah pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said. I held out a fist. “Best two out of three?”
She sighed. “Fine.”
We played rock, paper, scissors. She totally cheated.
“Hi, Karen,” I said two minutes later, when a frazzled Karen answered the phone.
“Jess, thank God! What took you so long? Are you all right? And Hannah? What the hell is going on over there?”
“Which of those questions do you want me to start with?” I asked, stifling a yawn. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and I felt like I could have fallen asleep standing up.
Karen took a deep breath. “Let’s start with the most important one. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Hannah’s fine. We’re both fine,” I assured her.
“And I’m sure you’d tell me you were fine even if you weren’t,” Karen said with an exasperated sigh.
“Yes, you’re probably right.”
“I know you can take care of yourself, Jess, I promise, I do. But I just don’t understand why you don’t tell me when these things happen,” Karen said. “I shouldn’t have to hear about them two weeks after the fact from Celeste. You’re halfway around the world. I just want to be kept in the loop.”
“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I just know how you worry, and I don’t want to alarm you over nothing.”
“I think we can both agree this no longer qualifies as ‘nothing,’” Karen said.
“Yes, we can,” I said. “And I would have called you this time, I promise. But I probably would have slept first. And maybe waited until dawn in the US.”
“Fair enough,” Karen said. “I heard about Savannah’s Caomhnóir, too. Oh, it’s just terrible. How is she holding up?”
“She’s a mess,” I admitted. “She’s blaming herself.”
“What’s the prognosis for her cousin?” Karen asked hesitantly, as though she’d almost rather not know the answer.
“No one knows,” I said. “Without understanding what was done to her, they’re not sure if they’ll ever be able to reverse it, or what shape she’ll be in if they do. It… it made me think of…” I trailed off, not sure if I wanted to bring up something so painful for Karen, but her mind had already gone down the same dark path.
“My dad,” she finished for me. “I know. It’s the first thing I thought of as well, when Celeste explained the condition.”
“Do you think… is that what’s going to happen to Flavia and Phoebe? I mean, will they spend the rest of their lives tortured by the fact that they’re still alive?” I asked. I felt the tears in my voice, but I hoped that Karen couldn’t hear them. It was hard enough convincing her I was fine without getting emotional.
“Oh, Jess, I have no idea,” Karen said. “But there is one very important difference between my father and your friends, and that is the connection to the Gateway. It’s in our blood, and it’s meant to protect us from the pull and the lure of what lies beyond the Aether. We just have to hope that that protection is strong enough to help see them both through this Casting, whatever it may be.”
I thought for a moment of my time in the Aether, when my connection to my calling and to my sister was powerful enough to close that door behind me. I never looked back, because I knew where I belonged. “It’s got to be strong enough,” I said, as though saying the words aloud were enough to make it solidly, incontrovertibly true. “It’s just got to be. They’ll come through this.”
“I hope you’re right,” Karen said. “And in the meantime, while the Trackers figure out who’s behind these attacks, I want you to be careful. I know Ambrose is… well, not your favorite person to be around, but listen to him. Trust him. He has been trained to protect you, and you need to let him do that, even if you don’t think he’s as good at his job as Finn was.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said. It was the only answer I felt safe giving. Karen had no idea about the truth behind Finn’s reassignment, and I wasn’t about to clue her in.
“Please don’t go out alone in the city, all right? Especially at night. I know that you have a good head on your shoulders, and good instincts, but don’t make yourself a target, please,” Karen said fervently.
“Ambrose wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to, so don’t worry about that,” I told her. It was true. Ambrose was going to be stuck to us like a mouth-breathing shadow everywhere we went from now on. I cringed just thinking about it.
Karen paused, and I could tell she was deciding whether or not to say something. Finally, it burst out of her. “Do you want me to come over there? I’m just going to come over there. I’ll just reschedule some stuff and—”
“NO!” I barked at her. “You are not rearranging your life and your career so that you can hop a plane and hover over us for no good reason! We literally have a body guard 24/7. What can you do to protect us that he can’t?”
“Okay, yes, I know, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous now,” Karen said. “I’m starting to rethink my question about why you don’t call me when these things happen.”
“It’s fine, Karen,” I said. “I appreciate the impulse, really. But we’re good here. I’ll—I’ll call you more often, okay? Daily, if it will help keep you off a plane.”
Karen laughed, and I could hear a modicum of relief in her voice. “Okay, okay. And I’ll be grateful for the calls—and not just because I’m worried about you. I miss you girls, you know that.”
“I do,” I assured her. “And we miss you, too. And I promise that, when you have a break in your schedule later this summer, we’ll plan a real trip for you. We’ll go to Paris. We’ll see some shows. Savvy will take you pub-hopping in Hackney. It will be great.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Karen said. “I love you girls. Take care of yourselves, all right?”
“We love you, too,” I told her. “Talk soon.”
I was still staring down at the phone screen, blinking the end of the call, when the doors to the hospital ward opened and Savvy slumped out. She was sniffling, and her eyes were red and swollen.
“I can’t sit in there anymore,” she exclaimed. “I’m just staring at her twitching and moaning, and I feel like I’m going mad. I’m sorry if that makes me a shit person, but I can’t do it.”
I stood up and threw an arm around her shoulder. “It does not make you a shit person,” I told her. “It makes you a human with a heart and feelings who needs some rest.”
“Why don’t you go lie down, Sav?” Hannah suggested. “I’m sure they’ve gotten your room ready for you, just in case.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I’ll do that,” Savvy said, shrugging and looking around the hallway as though she had lost something important. “Don’t reckon I’ll do much sleeping, but it’s better than sitting in there.”
“Do you want us to stay?” I asked her. “We can stay the day with you, if you want some company.”
“No,” Savvy said, shaking her head vigorously. “That’s right nice of you, but I’m not just staying the day. I might stay here until—until Phoebe’s on the mend, you know?”
I nodded. If this was what she needed, to feel like she was helping or supporting Phoebe, then that was what she should do, no matter how long it took.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Hannah said, obviously thinking along the same lines.
“And I can spend some time with Frankie,” Savvy said, referring to her mentee, who was studying as a first-year Apprentice at Fairhaven. “Maybe I can be some use to her while I’m here.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said. “Did you happen to see Flavia while you were in there?”
“Yeah,” Savvy said dully. “No change. They still don’t know how to help her. And her friend—Jeta, was it? —she’s gone home, back to the Traveler camp.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “That’s odd, I thought
she was planning to stay.”
“Only until the full moon, remember?” Hannah reminded me. “Then she said she would need to get back, to perform her lunar Crossing.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I said, as the memory floated vaguely to the surface of my sleep-deprived brain. “Well, I guess there’s no reason for her to stay, now that we know the Travelers didn’t attack Flavia. Our Council will finally be able to let the Traveler Council know what’s going on. Maybe the Travelers will even want to help catch whoever did this.”
“The more help we have, the better,” Savvy said. “If I ever get my hands on whoever did that to Bertie…”
The memory of Bertie on that hotel room floor loomed over the rest of her thought, blotting it out, but there was no need to finish the sentence. I understood. It was same way I felt when Pierce was killed.
For some kinds of anger—the kind hollowed out by grief—there are no words, anyway.
§
It would have been easy to wallow in the anxiety and sadness left in the wake of the second attack, but luckily, preparing for the investigation at Pickwick’s Museum didn’t leave me much time for that. With only four days to prepare after returning from Fairhaven, I soon found myself too busy to dwell very much. While Savvy remained at Fairhaven, and the Trackers threw their full resources into apprehending Phoebe and Bertie’s attacker, I arranged every detail of the trip for Pierce’s team. By the time they arrived on a flight from Boston, I had their itinerary so jam-packed with haunted London locations that they’d hardly have time to eat—which was, of course, exactly how they liked it.
“Ghost Girl!” Iggy shouted as he jumped from the rental van in front of Pickwick’s on Friday afternoon. He bounded across the cobblestones and swung me into a hug that lifted me off the ground and left me winded.
I laughed, massaging my ribs. “Good to see you, Iggy! I see you’ve thoroughly investigated all the haunted souvenir shops.”
He was already wearing a t-shirt with a map of the London Underground on it, and a gap-toothed grin beneath an “I ♥ London” baseball cap.
