The Seers

by Julianna Scott

  “You were where?” I asked, making a show of leaning in.

  “In school with you.”

  I put a hand to my ear dramatically. “I’m sorry, one more time…”

  “In Moon Area High School, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, attending your classes as Brian Connor,” he said, eyeing me exasperated. “Satisfied?”

  “Marginally,” I nodded. “Go on.”

  “The plan was to assess the situation, then come home and decide how to proceed, but it was about that time that Ciaran began to fall ill.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “He died while I was away. When I came home I was on my own. I didn’t know what to do or who I could trust, so did the only thing I could – I waited. Waited for a chance to share what I knew with the right people, while in the meantime make sure nothing bad happened that I could prevent. I hadn’t expected the opportunity to fall at my door the way it did, but when Steven told me what you said earlier, I knew this was what I had been waiting for.”

  When he stopped, I knew I should probably speak, but I didn’t know what to say. I just looked at him, one last time waiting for a flash of falsehood or some other sign that he was working me over, but yet again, all I found looking back at me was sincerity that was as irritating as it was genuine. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through the last two days?” I asked after a moment.

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t know! Don’t tell me you know! I have been going out of my mind! Do you realize I called my mother to have her try to look you up in my yearbook just so I could prove to myself and everyone else that I wasn’t crazy?”

  “I didn’t take a picture–”

  “I know!” I growled, taking a few deep breaths as I reined my anger back in. “What exactly do you want?”

  “I want to help,” he said. “I know things that can get you the answers you need.”

  “Why? What do you get out of it? And don’t say something stupid like, ‘it’ll be fun’ or ‘because I’m bored.’ This is a serious matter, and I want a serious answer.”

  He looked me right in the eye and didn’t flinch once. “I will be able to do what I can to make sure that Ciaran’s work isn’t used to cause more destruction or death than he believes it already has. He lived too much of his life in shame for what his visions brought to pass, and I won’t allow his work to fall into the hands of the one man he sought to keep it from.”

  I sat there as the desire to believe and the desire to keep hating him wrestled in me like two bears fighting over one cave. The real problem was that as I looked into his calm yet slightly tentative expression, I knew that one of those bears was right and the other one was just being stubborn and petty. Much as I may not have liked it, this man was serious and more than that, he just might have the answers we needed; in which case, there was only one way this could end. I stood up, looked hard at his still seated form one last time, then offered him my hand. Following me to his feet, he glanced down at my waiting palm and smiled, taking it into his own and shaking it.

  “I still don’t like you,” I grumbled, not willing to surrender totally.

  “You don’t have to. You just have to be willing to give me a chance. And who knows,” he grinned as that playfully cocky glint came back into his eye, “you may find I’m not so bad once you get to know me.”

  “Yeah, not likely,” I scoffed. “And just so you know, I’m not the only one who matters here. There are some other people we need to go talk to who may or may not kick you to the curb, so just keep that in mind.”

  “Well, I suppose there is no time like the present to find out. Shall we go and speak to them?” he asked, turning toward the door and offering me his arm.

  I eyed his outstretched arm with a cocked brow for a moment before passing it by and walking over to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “See,” he chuckled as he followed behind me, reaching around to open the door with a smirk I tried to ignore, “you’re warming up to me already.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “How were you able to enroll in school in the States without the help of your parents?” Jocelyn asked Bastian as the three of us plus Alex and Cormac sat in Jocelyn’s suite a short while later.

  “Ciaran was able to procure paperwork stating that he was my guardian and arranged everything via phone.”

  “And your parents knew nothing about it?”

  “No.”

  “But your academy in France shows you as enrolled that year, how is that possible?”

  “I was technically enrolled,” Bastian answered, not bothering to ask how Jocelyn would have known that. “I attended the first week of classes in France, after which I enrolled myself in an intensive study program that required students to live away from school with an academic sponsor. I had participated in the program before: once I lived in Germany with a professor for a semester, then the following year I was sponsored to Italy by an artist.”

  “And Ciaran registered as a sponsor and chose you for himself?” Jocelyn guessed, putting it together.

  “Yes. Both the school and my parents believed I was studying with a historical sociologist out of Greece, leaving me free to attend school in the US.”

  It had been going on like this for almost a half hour, and honestly, I wasn’t sure who I was more impressed with: Jocelyn for giving Bastian such a hard time, or Bastian for holding up like a trooper under the pressure.

  When I’d told Jocelyn that Bastian and I had talked and that he wanted to help us with the Ciaran issue, I thought for a minute that he might tear me a new one right there in the hall for once again telling someone outside our circle about what we were up to. However, once I had vouched for him and explained that Bastian had actually been the one to seek me out, he agreed to hear him out. The fact that I’d left out the whole “he saved me when I was spying-slash-taking matters into my own hands again like you told me not to” thing was neither here nor there.

  Jocelyn, Cormac, Alex and I had gone straight to Jocelyn’s room where Bastian was waiting, and the second the door closed behind us the explanation-turned-interrogation began. Bastian opened by relating his story to the three men while I listened carefully to make sure that what he told them was exactly the same thing he’d told me – which of course it was. The only differences I noticed that he left out were the more personal parts of the tale involving Steven, but as those bits were private and not exactly pertinent to the investigation into Ciaran, I let it go. The fact that he’d felt comfortable enough to tell me the entire story was enough for the time being, and to be honest, almost flattering.

  Almost.

  When Bastian had finished, Jocelyn’s questions began and hadn’t stopped for what was closing in on forty-five minutes. He grilled him like a pro, going over every aspect of Bastian’s story with a microscope, covering all potential gaps or loopholes, and thoroughly examining all his motivations and reasoning. Had I not been there to see it first hand, I wouldn’t have thought the old boy had it in him, but Jocelyn worked Bastian over like a seasoned interrogator, leaving no corner of his story unexamined.

  Finally, he seemed to reach the end of his string of questions and stepped back, crossing his arms as he studied Bastian carefully. “You understand,” he said, “that this is not a situation what we have found ourselves in before.”

  “I realize that,” Bastian nodded respectfully, “and I also realize that you may find it difficult to trust me given that I have admitted to keeping things from you. But I hope you believe me when I say that I was only withholding information because I had no way to know who could be trusted. Once I realized that one of your own men was disloyal, I thought that no one was above suspicion, which made any effort to contact you too high a risk. If I attempted to send a message and it was intercepted, my involvement could have been exposed, and given that mine is not the only welfare resting on my precarious position amongst the Bhunaidh, it was not a risk I could afford.” Jocelyn considered his words carefully, and while it was clear that h
e still wasn’t thrilled, I could also see that he understood. “If,” Bastian added, after a pause, “you believe that examining me further would make you all feel more comfortable, I am more than willing to offer you my mind for confirmation of what I have told you. I assure you I have nothing to hide, and am at your disposal if you wish.”

  Wow. Offering up his mind for a reading? Obviously he was serious about all this, and I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. Of course there was always a chance he was bluffing – misdirection was something of an art form to this guy – but to brazenly manipulate the principles of one of the most powerful Holders in history? No way he had balls that big…

  Jocelyn considered him for a long moment before finally shaking his head. “No. If you are going to work with us we have to trust you because we believe you are worthy of our trust, not because we can’t prove otherwise. If in fact you were on close terms with Ciaran through the later years of his life, then I do believe that you may have information that could greatly benefit us in our investigation, so provided there are no other concerns…” He paused, glancing to the rest of us who shook our heads – or rather, Cormac and I shook our heads while Alex stood silently, “then we would be grateful for your help.”

  “I am happy to be of use,” he smiled, then looked wary. “My only fear is that the information I have will not be what you wish to hear.”

  “Anything is more than nothing, lad,” Cormac said. “We will work with whatever you can give us, and who’s to know, perhaps your knowledge combined with what we have been able to gather for ourselves will lead us toward the answers we need.”

  “I hope so,” Bastian said.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Jocelyn said, turning the chair from the desk around and having a seat. “What can you tell us about Taron? How did you find out that he was betraying us?”

  “I first realized it several years ago when he attended a meeting with Darragh’s other spies within the Bhunaidh.”

  “And just how many spies are we talking about here?” Ciaran asked.

  “Four that I can name; McGary, Barra, Ryan, and Cleen.”

  “Not Barra!” Cormac said, appearing to know the person fairly well.

  “Yes,” Bastian said, “I’ve seen him several times.” Cormac sighed, shaking his head, and Bastian continued. “There is one more, but I am not certain who it is, though I suspect it may be some type of Mentalist. Whoever it is, they keep themselves at a distance from the rest, and may even have their ability disguised, I’m not sure.”

  “The holes…” Jocelyn mumbled to himself.

  Bastian paused looking at him, but Jocelyn waved his hand cueing him to go on. “Over the past several months,” Bastian continued, shifting back to topic, “Taron was contacting the four of them more often than was usual in an effort to help with their work on Ciaran’s notebook.”

  “So they are after the notebook?” Cormac said.

  “Do you have any idea what Darragh wants from it?” Jocelyn asked. “The prophecies naturally, but which specific one?”

  “I don’t know,” Bastian replied, “but it would have to be something Ciaran saw in the years after his and Darragh’s separation. Anything before that Darragh would already know.”

  “So something new?” Alex said.

  “Or perhaps a continuation or completion of an older prophecy. Seers do not always receive their visions all at once.”

  “Whatever it is, over the past few months Darragh has become desperate for it,” Bastian said.

  “The past few months?” I mused aloud. “So this sudden desperation would coincide with Ry and I coming to St Brigid’s…”

  “It would seem that way,” Jocelyn said.

  “What’s the connection?” Alex asked.

  “There is no way to know until we find the notebook. Bastian, do you have any idea where it might be?”

  “I know exactly where it is,” he replied. “It is with Darragh.”

  The room was suddenly so silent it was like a switch had been flipped. “Wait,” I said, blinking quickly, “it’s what?”

  “I’m sorry,” Bastian said, his eyes hopping from face to face, worried at our reaction. “I should have been more clear; Darragh and his men are not looking for the notebook, they are already in possession of it. As I told Becca, I was in the States when Ciaran passed and was unable to get the journal to safety before Darragh’s men took it.”

  “So that’s why your parents could never find it to burn?” I asked, remembering what Steven had told me.

  “Yes,” Bastian nodded my way, “one of Darragh’s men – I’m not sure who – was able to get hold of it before it was destroyed and Darragh has had it ever since, so the problem isn’t finding it… the problem is reading it.”

  “Reading it?” Jocelyn said.

  “It appears that Ciaran had the foresight to have a charm placed on his journal before passing that keeps it from being read. That is what Darragh has had all his people working on: a way to read the prophecies the journal contains.”

  “What did the charm do?” Alex asked, suddenly more interested.

  “Did it code the writing, or something to that effect?” Cormac said

  “The writing is gone,” Bastian said.

  “Gone?” several of us said in unison.

  Bastian nodded. “The pages are completely blank.”

  “Maybe the journal was switched out for another one…” I suggested.

  “Doesn’t seem so,” Bastian replied. “From what I understand, an Alchemist has been able to confirm that a cloaking charm was placed on the pages of the journal themselves, and given all that I know they have tried thus far, it appears that the charm was designed to be unbreakable.”

  “Can’t we just find the person who cast the charm?” I asked.

  “Darragh’s men have searched extensively, but haven’t been able to come up with anything,” Bastian said. “The person is either someone that Ciaran had no formal ties to or someone who died a long time ago, but if the charm is in fact unbreakable, then it makes little difference.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “An unbreakable charm,” Jocelyn explained, “is just that – unbreakable. Even the Alchemists who cast it are unable to reverse or change its effects. That is why they are so seldom used.”

  “But why the charm?” Alex asked. “Why not just destroy the journal and be done with it?”

  “Exactly,” Bastian said. “If Ciaran wanted to make sure his work was entirely unreadable that is what he would have done, which is why I believe that the journal contains something potentially damaging to Darragh. If Ciaran had received a vision or prophecy that somehow revealed say, Darragh’s ultimate downfall, or maybe a weakness somewhere in his operation, that would explain the charm.”

  “It wasn’t just anyone he was trying to keep from reading, it was Darragh,” Jocelyn completed the thought.

  “Hold on, what?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t the only one not understanding.

  “If Ciaran had seen something damaging to Darragh, he would have wanted to keep it hidden from Darragh, but still make it available to someone who might be able to use it against him. That is likely what the charm was meant to do – prevent the information falling into the wrong hands, and keep it safe for the right hands.”

  “I get that,” I said, “but if there is no way to break the charm, then how is anyone, good or bad, supposed to see what it says?”

  “If the charm was created only to keep some people out, then we don’t have to break it,” Jocelyn said. “We only have to find a way around it.”

  “And that is what Darragh has been trying to do?”

  “Yes,” Bastian said.

  Suddenly, Jocelyn’s words from the reading at the cemetery flashed in my mind. “…can pierce the shroud of my sight,” I quoted. “What if that’s it?”

  “What?’ Bastian asked, though I could see the others’ eyes light up as they had the same thought I did.

  “‘
Pierce the shroud’,” I said. “Like, see though the cover, and ‘sight,’ you know, like foresight. Maybe his last prophecy was actually telling us how to read the journal!”

  “Could be,” Cormac said, “but we’ll need the rest to be sure.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bastian said, his eyes wide as they jumped from person to person looking for an explanation, finally landing on me. “I’m a bit lost.”

  “Jocelyn did a reading at Ciaran’s grave today,” I told him, “but the only thing he could get was a portion of Ciaran’s last prophecy: ‘…can pierce the shroud of my sight.’”

  “We weren’t sure what to make of it,” Cormac told him, “but this may well be it. However, we only have the last bit of the full prophecy and we will need it all to be able to make any sense of it.”

  “Is there any way to find out what the first portion was?” Bastian asked.

  Jocelyn crossed his arms. “We have a Time Walker coming to see if we can look back and see the rest of the message, but in order to do that we need to find out where Ciaran was staying when he passed away.”

  “He was at one of my parents’ summer cottages,” Bastian said.

  All three of our collective heads popped up while Cormac leaned in expectantly. “He was?”

  “Yes, the whole of the final two months of his life.”

  “And you’re certain about this?” Jocelyn asked, seeming to be hesitantly hopeful himself.

  “Positive.” Bastian nodded once. “His doctors ordered him to check into hospital when his heart condition became dire, but he flatly refused, likely because of his ever growing, though not unfounded paranoia. Rather than allow him to stay in his small home all on his own, my parents finally convinced him to move into their large holiday cottage where there was a house keeper and cook always on staff, and where they could arrange for a trusted live-in nurse to look after him as his condition worsened.”