by Kristie Cook
If he’d slapped my face, it couldn’t have hurt worse.
A half-hour later, a Gnome enters after knocking briefly yet not waiting for my father to answer. She’s young, quite cute, with a small, pert nose and wide brown eyes and wearing clothes which could have come straight off a Paris runway. “Noel? You wanted to be reminded of your daughter’s appointment with Astrid?”
“Thank you, Hilda. How was your … your …” My father flounders for a moment, idly fiddling with his glasses.
She smoothes one of her long, white-blonde braids. “My meeting was fine, thank you. No new developments on any front you need to be bothered with.”
“Excellent,” he mutters, already back to his book.
“Would you like me to show you to the Seer?” Hilda asks me.
Grateful to finally escape my father’s office, I follow her out. Once the office door is shut behind us, Hilda says, “The Seer’s name is Astrid Lotus. Have you met her before?”
“I haven’t really met anyone,” I admit as we head to the stairs.
She briefly looks surprised. “Really? I would have thought that you, being the incumbent Creator, would know most of the Council already.”
I snort at the absurdity of her assumptions. “Don’t you know my father at all?”
“You father is a very great Intellectual,” she says defensively.
Perhaps so, I sigh to myself. But he’s also a really lousy dad. But Hilda doesn’t need to know this. She doesn’t need to know anything about how much my parents ignore me or find me lacking. “This Astrid,” I ask instead. “What’s she like?”
“She’s lead Seer, the best we have. She tends to work mostly with Council families, the upper echelons of Magical society.”
“Have you seen her before?”
“No,” she says. “As I’m in the lowest Council tier, I’m not in her sphere of influence.”
I nearly trip on a stair. “What does that mean?”
Hilda squints at me, confused. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Are there, I don’t know, social caste systems here? In Annar?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy.
“I know very little about Magical society except for the people living near me on the Human plane,” I say, keeping two steps below so I don’t tower over her. “I’m curious about what things will be like here for me, that’s all.”
She squares her shoulders. “Things will be fine for you here. As Creator, you will be first tier. Annar and the worlds will be oysters at your feet.”
I want to scream, because even this girl isn’t willing to really talk to me about the things I don’t know. “Look—”
“Your father would be upset if I we discussed things that aren’t my business,” she says curtly. “And, being an Intellectual, I work for him. Please understand I don’t want to cause trouble where trouble isn’t needed.”
Trouble? Talking to me will cause trouble?
It hurts, but I dig my heels in. “Will you at least tell me what tier this Astrid is in?”
“Astrid is second tier.” She pauses, then says, “Tiers one through three are considered upper class here in Annar. It’s not about money, though—not like back on our planes. Here, it’s all about power and how strong you are. Alliances are beneficial. Certain families—old, respected family lines—help, too, especially for those non-Council Magicals.”
“Do you know if Cora Carregreen got to see Astrid today?”
She stops in front of a door on the fourth floor. “I believe she saw somebody else. One of the lower-ranking Seers agreed to meet with her as a favor to your father.”
I say, probably more sarcastically than needed, “Let me guess. Cora is middle class here.”
“She isn’t Council bound,” Hilda says almost clinically. “But she is technically related to you.” And then, nodding her head once, she leaves.
chapter 13
Much to my surprise, Astrid Lotus is an Elf: beautiful, willowy, and pale. Her light-blonde hair is braided to the side and knotted under, her eyes a washed-out violet. She has a large number of chunky necklaces with various semi-precious stones around her neck, and both arms are stacked heavy with bangles.
“You do not want to be here,” is the first thing she says to me.
The little voice urges me to be honest with her. “I guess that’s true.”
“Why?”
I tell her, “Because this was my mother’s idea.”
“I see. You and your mother do not have a close relationship.”
One of my eyebrows quirks up. “Is that your guess, or your professional evaluation?”
“Both.” Her bracelets clink together as she shifts her arms. “I see that quite clearly in you. But, I can also hear it in your voice.”
I snort. “She thinks I need guidance.”
“Do you?”
I look down at my hands, folded in my lap. What I need is a mom who gives a damn. “Are you like a shrink? Do I tell you how I’m feeling? Stuff like that?”
“If you like,” she says. Her voice is incredibly soothing. “It helps to know, sort of like puzzle pieces that help me create a whole picture. What I normally do is read your paths, see what’s going on in your life. Have a peek at things that you’re meant to do. Then we’ll discuss these things, alongside your emotions, so you may make informed decisions on your future.”
“Are you telling me I have choices?”
“There are always some choices available to us, Chloe. Not as many as we may like, but they are there all the same. But much of your destiny, as you well know, is already mapped out. I’m merely a conduit for knowledge about that route.”
She holds out her hands, and after a brief pause, I reach out mine, too. And then we sit in silence for a really long time, maybe five, ten minutes, my hands in hers, her eyes closed, while she sees whatever it is she sees.
When her eyes open, she lets go of me. For the briefest of moments, confusion flickers across her face. Sadness.
“Is … everything okay?” I ask.
But the serene face she’d shown me when I’d first come in is back. “Of course. Now, I see you are quite conflicted about being a Creator. You’re hesitant about that path.”
I let my eyes drop again. “It’s a lot of pressure,” I admit.
“It is,” she agrees. “You have one of the most challenging crafts of all. I would be worried, really, if you were completely at ease with everything.”
I look up, surprised.
“A lot will be asked of you in the coming years. Someday you may be required to do awful, destructive things. A person unbothered by such actions is someone I don’t think I’d like entrusting civilizations with.”
Something in me squeezes painfully. It’s almost alien to have somebody to talk to about this stuff who isn’t so judgmental. “I’ve always been told to just suck it up,” I say quietly. “Like there’s something wrong with me because I’m conflicted.”
Astrid is silent, her lips pursed tightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t mean to—”
She holds up a hand. “No. Don’t apologize. And don’t ‘suck it up,’ either. The Council doesn’t need a Creator who bottles everything up and suffers in silence over the course of her craft. What the Council needs, and deserves, is someone who understands the implications of her actions. Who has the mettle to think things out and not act like a mindless drone. You are first tier, Chloe. Magicals of your caliber should never suck it up.”
I’m stunned. This is a total one-eighty from what my mother claims.
“These worries, your doubts—they’re there for a reason,” she continues. “They, along with your conscience, will help guide you through your work. There will be many battles you face on the Council. There are always those out there who have agendas, who work in coalitions that may or may not have the planes’ best interests in their hearts. As a Creator, and first tier, you will need to make sure that you’re there f
or the billions of people we oversee, and not just Magical society. So please know that there is nothing wrong with you for feeling how you do about being a Creator. Embrace those worries. Cultivate those doubts. Let them guide you, allow you to be a moral compass when others might want to head in other directions.”
I’m speechless.
She tents her fingers together, her bracelets clacking together. “Your ties to your parents are very weak. This is troubling. Would you mind telling me what your life at home is like?”
“We, uh, don’t get along well. I mean—I suppose it’s civil, to a degree. But we don’t talk much.”
She frowns.
It’s hard to admit out loud. In fact, it’s downright humiliating. But the little voice urges me to continue with honesty. “They don’t have time for me. I … disappoint them. Embarrass them.” I stare down at my hands again. “I don’t know a lot about what it means to be a Magical. They won’t talk to me about it. I’m told I have expectations, which they are shamed I don’t live up to, but they won’t let me know what they are. This trip …” I clear my throat. “It’s the first time I’ve been to Annar. I don’t know even really know what the Council does.”
“Your father is an Intellectual,” Astrid says slowly. “He doesn’t talk to you about the Council?”
I shake my head. Has she met the guy before? Hello!
“Do none of the Magicals in your region talk to you?”
She’s got to be kidding, right? The Cousins are like me—latchkey kids with workaholic parents. This is why we’ve banded together as a family, why we really can only count on one another. “No. The other teenagers nearby and I have pretty much been left to fend for ourselves. We share what we learn with each other, though. And sometimes some of the Gnomes and Faeries living the woods nearby tell us stuff.”
“I am astonished.” She leans back in her chair, shaking her head. The bracelets clack against each other. “Not all Magical parents are like this, Chloe,” she says after a long, uncomfortable pause.
Lucky me, I guess. I feel worse than ever.
“Karl Graystone will be coming to guard you. I advise you to talk to him. Ask him questions. You need to come to Annar prepared, Chloe. The Council needs your wisdom, not your ignorance.”
I nod, wiping at my nose with my sleeve. I’m on the verge of tears.
“Now then,” she says gently. “Shall we talk about other things?”
I feel raw. Exposed. Like someone has been picking at my skin, peering underneath. All I want to do is run and hide. This Seer now knows what I am, of how I’m ignorant, scared. Unloved. But I tell her, “Sure,” anyway.
“Is there something you want to ask me?”
I look up at her, confused.
“There are relationship paths that some Magicals have, special ones. Ones that typically most people want to know about. I’m not sure if you are one of those people, though.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. Magical paths are always about crafts, right?
She bites her lip, glancing briefly at the ceiling, then back at me. “Tell me about your dreams, Chloe.”
“Dreams?”
“As a child. What kind of dreams did you have?”
I blink at her a few times, confused, until it hits me. She knows. Somehow or other, she knows. And because she’s been so kind, so nonjudgmental, I tell her. “I dreamed about someone. Since I was three or four. The same person, all my life, until last year.”
Her face is perfectly calm with the exception of one small muscle twitching by her mouth. “Do you mind telling me a little bit about that?”
I tuck my legs under me and pick at the frayed hem of my jeans. “We grew up together. I thought he was a figment of my imagination, someone who loved me when my parents didn’t. Someone who listened, who cared. I know it sounds crazy, but …”
“Not crazy,” Astrid interjects.
“Um, okay,” I say, surprised yet again. “Well, he was my friend. My best friend.” I pause. “I fell in love with him, which was totally bonkers, considering he was in my dreams … but it was like I didn’t have a choice.”
She smiles faintly.
Keep going, the little voice urges.
“And now, he’s at my school,” I whisper. “Since Friday.”
Now her eyebrows lift up. “What?”
“The guy in my dreams. He disappeared a year ago, but on Friday, he showed up in my math class. There were some shifts—”
Astrid says quickly, “Those were yours?”
I let go of the frayed ends, embarrassed. “You felt them here in Annar?”
“I wasn’t in Annar,” she admits after a brief pause. “I live on your plane, as we Elves can blend in if we wish to. And those shifts were particularly … strong; I believe much of States felt them.”
Fantastic. As if I wasn’t already embarrassed enough.
She prods softly, “Please continue.”
I take a breath. “And then, it turns out he has a brother. A twin.”
Astrid nods, her lips thinning.
“And … I don’t even know how to say this. Explain it. But something happened with him—”
“The one from your dreams, or the twin?”
“The twin,” I say, resuming the destruction of my jeans’ hem. “Yesterday. Then, when I got home, my Cousin Cora told me that … that the twins are Magicals. And that she surged with the one from my dreams and saw that he … he …” I close my eyes, trying so hard not to cry. And Astrid waits for me. Her bracelets don’t even clack. “He’s real,” I finally whisper. “The guy I’ve been in love with my entire life is real. And he’s come for me, and now I’m so confused, because it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything. But something happened with his brother, and I don’t know what to do anymore. Because that felt so real, too. I don’t … I don’t know what it means. I don’t know how it’s possible. I mean, I dreamed about him. That’s crazy, right? Dreams aren’t real.”
“Well, dreams are sometimes real.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “In fact, there are Dreamers who work all over the different planes.”
Why don’t I know this stuff? Why couldn’t my parents bother to tell me things like this?
“Remember how I said that Magicals sometimes have paths, relationship paths?” I nod and she continues. “It’s very rare, but some Magicals are linked together in a way that allows them to meet early on through their dreams. It appears this has happened to you.”
I go still.
“Everything that happened with him over the years, it’s all real, Chloe. It wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you.”
Sweet validation.
“You have a very strong, very distinctive relationship path. One that is …” She shakes her head, taps her lips with a finger. “Your path is very important but also very … conflicted.”
“Conflicted?”
She shakes her head again and stares out the windows. “I have to tread a very fine line here, Chloe. There are a lot of factors that need to be taken into consideration, things that people like me have no business intruding in whether we want to or not.”
Huh?
“You are loved very much. But sometimes love isn’t always …” The bracelets clack again as she shifts. “Gods. I’m doing this badly. I’m sorry, Chloe. I know you want answers. You deserve them. But I don’t think I’m the best person to help you.”
“I … I don’t understand …”
“I know,” she says sympathetically. She taps her lip again. “Love can be very complicated. And I’m afraid that this is the case for you.”
“Because I met this guy in my dreams?”
She sighs. “I can’t talk about it anymore, Chloe. I’m sorry. I’m not the person who can help you with this.”
“But … you’re a Seer, the lead Seer. If not you, then who … ?”
She stands up and comes close, laying a soft hand against my cheek. “You are a dear girl, one I have much hope for. I wish you the
best, darling. I truly do. All I can do is urge you to be careful—careful with your heart and of those you love.”
“But—”
“Think about what I’ve said,” she says, helping me off the couch. “I have faith that you will be a good Creator for us.”
“But—”
“As for the other thing, go to your regional Seer, someone who isn’t connected to the Council. Someone who would be there for you, and you alone. Someone who isn’t invested in the outcome, who …” Astrid looks away. “The path you’re on, it’s … well, you should ask questions. But the outcome is something only you and those involved can determine.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I know,” she says, walking me to the door. “And I’m truly sorry about that.” She blinks, her eyes glassy.
She has tears in her eyes.
And then she hugs me tightly. She’s warm and smells good, like honey. She feels exactly what I want a mother to feel like. “You are a good girl. A smart girl. No one could ask for someone better, not really. I’m so glad for that. Truly.”
When she lets go, I’m left with more questions than I had before seeing her.
chapter 14
I really should be enjoying the party more—there are hundreds of people, all seemingly having a great time as they mingle, but the room feels empty to me. Lonely even.
I watch my parents at a distance. As always, my mother is cool. Aloof. This is how I’d always assumed all Magicals to be, but at this party, I see differently.
It’s just my mother. She, herself, is dispassionate.
I think about Astrid and how, even when she was confusing and pulling away, she was still caring enough to hug me. Tell me I mattered. That she believed in me.
What I wouldn’t give to have my own mother act like that.
“Wanna talk about it yet?” Cora asks, tugging on my sleeve.
I didn’t tell her about Astrid, other than saying it was a tough interview. I blow out a long breath. “And say what?”
“Start with how you’re feeling about things and we’ll go from there.”
She’s trying, the little voice says. Cut her some slack.
