The Seers

by Julianna Scott

  “Exactly,” Bastian nodded, “draw from…” he gestured vaguely to my head, “whatever you have going on up there, and see what you come up with.”

  I still had a ton of questions, but as I knew that no one had any answers, I also knew that any further questioning was really just me trying to stall. Realizing it was now or never, I took a deep breath and leaned forward, focusing all my energy and attention onto the melon sized globe in front of me.

  I looked at it for a moment, then adjusted my eyes, relaxing them so that I was almost looking through it, focusing deep down on the center of the orb. As I stared, I got the feeling that maybe there was something to what Alex had said about sensing it. My ability still wasn’t picking anything up, but maybe I could get something if I treated the stone itself as an ability. I honed my power, directing it at the ball in my sights, channeling everything I had toward it, hoping to see a flicker, or a flash, or anything else that would let me know I was on the right track. I continued to push my ability outward, pouring it into the stone, feeding it, surrounding us both in power and energy until the air around me hummed. I pushed my eyes further into the stone, diving down into the heart of the rock itself, watching the way the curve of the crystal bent the light and warped the reflections and images of the room around us. With one final push, I fixed my gaze on the pinpoint in the center of the form that was untouched by the waves and curves of bent light surrounding it. I forced the last of my strength into the perfectly circular, perfectly clear spot and saw…

  Nothing.

  With an exhausted huff, I closed my eyes, retraced my ability, and collapsed backwards on the couch, out of breath and discouraged. But a glance around showed that drained as I felt, it was possible I hadn’t gotten the worst of it. Both Alex and Bastian were bent forward in their seats, their shoulders hunched as they gasped for air. Alex was rubbing his temples while Bastian had one hand on his forehead and the other braced against the coffee table like he’d been about to fall.

  “Holy Mother of God…” Bastian mumbled as he sat up slowly, his eyes far too wide.

  Alex looked over at him, and the two exchanged a glance. “You too?” Alex asked between breaths.

  “What happened?” I stuttered, my head flying back and forth between them. “Are you all right?”

  “We’re fine,” Alex assured me, though his hand was still shaking slightly.

  “Yes,” Bastian agreed quickly, “fine.”

  “Clearly you’re not fine, now what happened?” I asked again, panic that I’d hurt them bubbling up in my throat.

  “We’re OK, Becca, really,” Alex said, “it was just a bit… intense for a second there.”

  Suddenly, I realized what I had done and my heart clenched like a cramp. Why hadn’t I thought about what I was doing? I’d been so concerned about doing everything I could to see something in the stone, that I hadn’t considered that there were two other Holders in the room who could be affected by me filling the air around us with the full force of my ability.

  “You’re too powerful, you’re going to hurt people…” the shadow in my mind whispered, rearing up yet again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I gasped, my chest heaving now not for air, but from fear. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t think… I’m so sorry!”

  “Hey, hey,” Bastian said, smiling down at me, “calm down, no harm done.”

  “Everything’s fine,” Alex said, placing a hand on my back.

  I let the fear slowly subside as I looked up at the reassuring smiles on their faces, both of which seemed to be back to normal.

  “You’re sure?” I double checked, knowing that no matter what they said I was never going to do that again.

  “Absolutely,” Bastian winked.

  “What about you,” Alex asked. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “It took a lot out of me, but I’m better now.”

  “Good,” Alex breathed, the concern lifting from his eyes.

  “Yeah,” I huffed with a frown. “Too bad it didn’t get us anywhere. I did everything I could think of, and still there was nothing to see.”

  “All right, well at least we gave it a shot,” Bastian said, taking it far better than me.

  “A blind shot in the dark, maybe,” I mumbled, reaching forward and picking up the stone and holding it in my lap.

  “You said the Iris gives you more control, do you think having it would help?” Bastian asked.

  “I doubt it,” I answered, slowly turning the stone around in my hands and looking at the pattern on the stand. “If the stone had something to focus my ability on, then maybe, but there is nothing. Like I said, it is just a thing.”

  “All Holder artifacts are just things to anyone other than the person they are intended for,” Alex mused.

  “True,” Bastian said, “but maybe that’s the answer. Maybe we could find a way to trick the stone into thinking you’re Ciaran.”

  “The only way to even try to do that would be to have me assume his ability, and even if I were willing to go and rob what little energy is left from his grave – which I am not – there is no way there would be enough for me to work with. And even then, I would still have no idea what to do.”

  The boys continued to spitball, while I kept looking over the shew, seeing if there was anything we might have missed. But there was nothing. The only marks it had on it at all was a three digit number etched into the center of the underside of the stone. It was in the dead center of the circle made by the open middle of the stand, and was only visible when the entire thing was turned upside down, almost like a serial number or limited edition notation.

  “Hey,” I said, interrupting a conversation I’d not heard as an idea came to me. “We are supposed to find an origin, right? What if that means the origin of the shew itself?”

  “What do you mean?” Bastian asked.

  “It looks like there is a serial number on here: 812. Maybe if we can find out where this came from, the answer will be there?”

  “That’s a bit short for a serial number,” Alex pointed out.

  “Not to mention impossible,” Bastian said, leaning over to see for himself. “That stone was custom made for Ciaran hundreds of years ago, long before the creation of the serial number.” He took the stone from me and held it up for a closer look, confusion wrinkling his forehead when he saw what was there.

  “I know,” I said, annoyed at how literally they were taking me. “I don’t mean like a serial number from a factory, I’m just saying that the number might be able to tell us where it came from, or maybe who made it, I don’t know.”

  “The number,” Bastian said, looking hard at me as though for confirmation.

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “812?”

  “Yes,” I stressed, getting annoyed.

  He looked over at Alex, tipping the bottom of the stone toward him so that he could see. Alex stared at it for a moment, then he and Bastian exchanged yet another private glance, this one far more serious.

  “Where is the number again?” Alex asked as they both turned to me.

  “Right there,” I pointed to each digit, “8, 1, 2” but I stopped when I realized they were looking at me strangely. “You…” I glanced between them, “you don’t see it?”

  The chilling silence was all the answer I needed. I looked back down at the stone and the three numerals etched onto its surface – numerals that I could see plain as day – and knew this had to be it.

  “Well,” Bastian sighed, apparently drawing the same conclusion I had, “it seems as though we’ve found our ‘origin in the shew.’”

  “But, how is that an origin?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the idea. “It’s just a number, how are we supposed to figure out what it means?”

  Bastian folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “A number that’s an origin? Sound to me like it would be a date.”

  “A date! Yes,” I said, growing excited, “812… 8-12! August twelfth! What happened on A
ugust twelfth? Something with Ciaran maybe?” But I stopped speculating when I saw Bastian shake his head.

  “812 would only be August twelfth in the US. Here, the day comes before the month.”

  Everything in me ground to a halt as his words rang through me. “Day first…” I whispered as my stomach rolled.

  “Right, so it wouldn’t be August twelfth, it would be – “

  “December eighth,” I finished, staring down at the tell-tale etching in the stone. “My birthday.”

  “It is a cloaking charm,” Min’s voice called through the speaker phone in Jocelyn’s room. “I would wager anything on it. And if the prophecy is as you have read it to me, then it is more than likely that the charm on the shew that is keeping the date hidden, is the same charm that is on Ciaran’s notebook keeping the writing hidden.”

  As soon as Alex, Bastian and I had realized what the number on the shew meant, we went straight down to Jocelyn’s room, where he and Cormac had just returned from their investigation. Once we told them what had happened and what we’d found, he’d called Min for an explanation.

  “But hang on,” I said, not loving where this was going, “if I can see the number on the shew and it’s the same charm, wouldn’t that mean that I would also be able to read Ciaran’s notebook?”

  “That is exactly what it would mean,” Min said. “You are clearly the person Ciaran intended to leave his prophecies and visions to.”

  I wanted to ask “why me?”, but as I knew the answer, I didn’t bother. Though, after everything that had happened so far that week, I was seriously considering getting the question printed on a T-shirt.

  “Thank you, Min,” Jocelyn said, walking over to the phone. “I’ll call you later with any updates, and to discuss the other matter.”

  Other matter? What else could possibly be going on?

  “Very well,” Min answered. “Good evening everyone.”

  After a collective goodbye, Jocelyn hung up the phone and turned back to us, leaning back against the desk with his arms crossed. The room was quiet for a second, but no way was I going to let that last.

  “So the way I see it, we’re done,” I said, trying to hide the mild hysteria in my voice. “I mean think about it, if I am the only one who can read that notebook, all I have to do is never read it. Darragh will never get whatever he wants from it, all his minions,” I gestured toward the hall, “will keep searching aimlessly, and we can all go home.”

  “I understand how you feel, dear,” Cormac said gently, “but I do not believe that it is quite that simple.”

  “He’s right,” Alex said, his tone not nearly so calm. “What if they find out that you can read it? They will come after you.”

  “They don’t know it’s me,” I said. “They don’t even have a way to figure it out. We only did it a few minutes ago. All we have to do is destroy the shew, and we’re good.”

  “That may not be enough,” Bastian said. “After all, we have no idea what they already know. Cleen and Barra knew that you all had gone out to the cemetery, we heard them discussing it,” he glanced at me, while I prayed Jocelyn wouldn’t question the revelation. “McGary and Ryan followed us out to the cottage, Cleen and McGary searched this very room.” He paused, shaking his head. “Clearly they know something, and just because we don’t know what that is, doesn’t mean we can make the assumption that they won’t eventually find a way to put the pieces together.”

  “Bastian’s right,” Jocelyn agreed, corking my next argument. “It’s true, they may never have the means to figure any of this out, but we can’t take the risk. We need to find out exactly what they know, and how much of it they have relayed back to Darragh. Only then will we know for certain how safe we are.”

  “You mean by finding the Mentalist?” Alex presumed.

  “I do,” Jocelyn said, “and I suspect I may know who it is: a man named Niall Molony.”

  “Is it?” Bastian asked, sounding both annoyed and vindicated. “He was one of the ones I suspected, but it’s so hard to get hold of him, I was never able to be sure.”

  “It is very hard to get a hold of him, you’re right. From what I understand, he is rarely seen, and even when he attends functions like these, he stays away from the crowds and only makes the occasional appearance.”

  “He’s also incredibly paranoid, and suspicious to a fault. Keeps everyone at a distance, no matter their standing or position.”

  “Sounds like a man with something to hide,” Cormac said.

  “Is that what you were doing just now, while we were with the shew?” I asked. “Were you trying to read him?”

  “No, I only wanted to see him for myself. I wouldn’t dare chance reading him.”

  “Why not?” Alex and I asked together.

  “Because he would know. A Mentalist can almost always feel when their mind is being accessed or tampered with, and if he were to realize I’d attempted to read him, he would likely panic and leave, not only taking anything he may know with him, but also alerting the other informants that I was on to him.”

  “I agree,” Bastian said. “When it comes to Molony, spooking him is the last thing we want.”

  “But if you can’t read him, how are we going to find out if he’s the Mentalist we are looking for? And even if he is, how will we learn what he knows?”

  “Once we can verify that he is in fact the one we want, there are… measures I can take to garner information from him, but first I have to know for certain that he is the one extracting memories.” His tone made me want to know what sort of “measures” he was talking about, but at the same time it made me too afraid to ask.

  “I’d hoped to be able to read him myself this evening,” Cormac said, “but, as you know, I need to make contact in order to determine his ability, and I was never able to get near enough to even consider it.”

  Bastian drummed his fingers looking thoughtful. “No, that won’t work either. He has to know you are a Reader; were you to touch him, he would realize immediately what you’d done. It has to be something more subtle,” he mused, pacing slowly, “something he wouldn’t think to expect. Not to mention quick, as in past years he has left immediately after the Founders’ Banquet.” He stopped and looked up at Jocelyn. “You didn’t by chance receive an invitation for it, did you?”

  “The banquet, no,” Jocelyn told him, “but I didn’t expect to, as I was given to understand it is only for direct descendants of founding members.”

  “It is,” he sighed. “Molony will be there I’m sure, he always is, but even if I could get you invited, that wouldn’t do a lot of good.”

  “Besides that, it would be highly suspicious,” Cormac pointed out, “particularly if Molony and his counterparts already believe we are up to something.”

  “Also true,” Bastian frowned.

  But then something sparked in him, causing his eyes to open a little wider and his pacing stop. I watched as the spark grew, quickly building into a full-fledged idea, and a slow grin began to play at his mouth.

  “How would you feel,” Bastian said with sly edge to his tone, “about partaking in a ruse involving my parents?”

  “I suppose,” Jocelyn said tentatively, “if it’s necessary.”

  “How about you?” Bastian asked.

  “Who, me?” I asked when I realized he was looking at me. He nodded. “I guess, what did you have in mind?”

  “We get engaged.”

  “What?” I asked, not sure if I should laugh or not.

  “Hear me out,” Bastian said, raising his hands. “If we become engaged, or at least allow everyone to believe we have, you would automatically be expected to attend the Banquet with me. Unlike Cormac, you only need to be in his general proximity to be able to determine his ability, and best of all, no one will suspect a thing. Everyone expects us to become engaged as it is, we’ll simply be playing into their hands.”

  Much as I hated to admit it, it wasn’t a bad plan. We could get what we needed without turning an
y heads, and I rather liked the cloak and dagger feel of it all. “What happens when it’s over?” I asked.

  “Engagements end all the time, even around here. I’ll tell my parents that we decided against marriage, for some reason or another. My mother will of course be disappointed, but she’ll get over it, no harm done.”

  “What do you think, Jocelyn?” Cormac asked, as he had yet to offer his opinion.

  “It does make sense,” Jocelyn admitted, then looked at me, “so long as you are sure you can handle it. A matter like this is more than simply telling everyone and being done with it, you will have to be able to play the part of someone who intends to join Bhunaidh society.”

  “I think I can handle it,” I told him confidently. “Besides,” I glanced at Bastian, “I know a pretty good coach.”

  Jocelyn stood quietly for a while I waited to hear his decision, hoping he would see that he could trust me with this. Eventually he looked over to Cormac who was waiting patiently with the rest of us. “What do you think?”

  “I think it is our best bet,” Cormac said.

  “Alex?” Jocelyn said, moving his gaze to him.

  Alex hesitated a second before answering. “It makes sense.”

  “Very well then,” Jocelyn nodded, coming back to look at me. “If you are sure you are up for it, then that is what we will do.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “Morning lovebird,” I sang to a still sleeping Chloe the next morning, “time to get up.”

  “No,” she groaned, rolling over and burrowing into the comforter.

  “Yes,” I laughed, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. “You have been asleep for almost twenty hours,” I told her, pulling the blanket down so I could see her face. “You’re not a bear, you need to eat.”

  “Twenty hours?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “Yep, but a sleeping draft will do that.”

  “What did I miss?” she asked.

  “Oh, not much,” I told her with a nonchalant wave. “I learned to port, found a hidden number in the shew, realized that I am the only one who can read Ciaran’s journal, and Bastian and I got engaged.”