Knock, knock, knock!
“Come in,” Jocelyn called from behind his office door that evening.
I entered the office to find him sitting in his desk chair, though he didn’t appear to be doing any work. “Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know… sleeping or something?” I asked with a grin as I approached the desk.
“Now? It’s almost 7 o’clock. If I sleep I’ll be up all night.” I cocked an unamused eyebrow at him, but I could tell he was joking. “I’m fine,” he said with a small smile after a moment, “I took a nap earlier.”
That was good to hear, but I was still concerned. “And you’re… OK?”
I didn’t elaborate, but the slight softening of his eyes told me he knew what I meant. “Yes,” he nodded, glancing down, “I’m fine. Mild headache, but that will pass.”
“Good,” I said, sliding my hands into my pockets. A short silence followed, but happily it wasn’t awkward – perhaps the very mildest version of “almost” uncomfortable, but that was still a vast improvement for us – and I took a seat on the arm of one of the large wingback chairs across from his desk.
“And while we are on the subject of my predicament,” he said, looking up, “thank you for coming for me.”
What had he thought I was going to do?
“No problem,” I smiled.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” he added, trying to sound more severe though it didn’t stick, “but, thank you.”
“I pursed my lips with a wry squint. “I’m sorry, am I being thanked or reprimanded? I can’t quite tell.”
“Both,” he grinned, then paused, a shadow falling over his eyes. “I just wish there had been something I could have done for Steven. If only I could have…” but he stopped, letting his thought hang.
“You were a little preoccupied at the time. It’s not your fault.”
“I know that,” he admitted, “but I can’t help but feel bad. Not only was I unable to aid him when he needed it, but even now there is nothing I can do to help.”
“Actually, that was what I came to ask you about. Is there really nothing at all we can do for him?”
“I’m afraid not,” he answered as though he hated the feel of the words on his tongue. “Memories once lost, are lost forever. I do plan to look into the matter as extensively as we can, but in all honesty, I don’t hold out much hope.”
“So what do we do until then?”
“We care for him here until we can either find help for him or find definitive proof that is there no help, in which case we will go from there. Unless of course his parents would rather he be returned home, but from what I can see, I don’t think Bastian is going to present them with the option.”
“Good,” I mumbled to the floor.
“Though on the subject of Steven, there is one new development you should know; Chloe will be joining with the Order.”
“Wait what? Since when?”
“Earlier this afternoon, actually. She came to ask me about it, and I couldn’t turn her down, not now.”
“I thought she wasn’t powerful enough?”
“She’s not, but with you able to use and strengthen abilities the way you can, she could turn out to be a worthwhile help. In truth, she already has been; just look at what you were able to accomplish at Adare with her help. Besides, with Steven the way he is now, she just wants to do something, to feel like she’s of use to him in some way, and I couldn’t deny her that.”
I nodded, happy that Chloe would at least have something to put her mind on other than Steven’s condition. That was bound to do her good.
“And Bastian?” I asked. “I assume he’ll be staying too.”
“Yes, and he is welcome to join us for as long as he’s here, or even longer if he chooses. He is a powerful asset, and has more than proven himself as far as I’m concerned.”
We lapsed into silence again, but then I remembered something. “Here,” I said reaching into my pocket and pulling out the small scrap of Ciaran’s journal that I’d run back for at Cuniff. “It’s from the journal.”
“Yes,” he said, taking it from my outstretched hand, “I’d meant to ask about that. Going back for it like that may have been the most foolish thing you have ever done.”
“Yeah, I know.” I shrugged. “Though in my defense, I wasn’t really thinking clearly at the time, and it did work out in the end, so…”
“It didn’t work out so well for your hair,” he said, nodding toward the headband I was wearing in a lame attempt to flatten it enough to be seen in public. “But,” he added begrudgingly, “we did make it out, and you’re right, having this will help us a great deal. All we need is for Min to make up a call charm with it and Ciaran’s journal will be at our fingertips. Let’s just hope we can get to it before Darragh realizes we can.”
I meant to let it go, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Even if he did, I’m not so sure he would stop us.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated, thinking back to the moments before we ported away and the odd feeling I’d gotten that I realized only now hadn’t fully gone away. “He saw us, you know. Darragh saw us as we were about to get away and he didn’t do anything. Why didn’t he stop us? It would have been easy enough to do with all the abilities he has, so why didn’t he?”
Jocelyn pondered for a moment, appearing to taking the question seriously. “I don’t know,” said finally. “Perhaps it had something to do with the fortress charm, or maybe there was truly nothing he could do. But whatever the reason, we are all home, and I am willing to be happy enough with that for the time being if you are.”
I thought for a moment before nodding with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess.” I agreed. For now…
“And who knows,” Jocelyn added, looking down at the scrap of paper, “maybe Ciaran’s journal will have something we can use to help Steven.”
“We can only hope.”
A short while later, I was on my way up to the room where Jocelyn had said Steven was being housed. The location was a bit out of the way, but that was undoubtedly by design so that it would be far enough away from students who wondered the more open parts of Lorcan for classes during the day, thus sparing everyone the worry of a random chance encounter with someone who wouldn’t understand.
As I turned down the hall leading to the room, I ran into Bastian who looked as pale and haggard as I’d ever seen him.
“Bastian,” I greeted him, trying to smile.
“Becca, oh good, I’ve been meaning to come see you. How are you? I heard you had some trouble, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Still a little tired,” I added for honesty’s sake, “but otherwise good.”
“Dear God, your hair,” he said stepping to the side to get a better look.
I ran my hand over it a bit self-consciously. “Yeah… Got it caught on a pole. No biggie though. I’ll get it cleaned up at a salon and it’ll be fine.” I said it as casually as I could, unwilling to let the man who’d just lost his brother waste pity on what was little more than a bad haircut.
“Well I’m glad to see you are all right – the parts of you that wouldn’t grow back anyway,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “And who knows, short hair can be fun. You may even end up liking it.”
“Maybe,” I said, but quickly moved on to another subject. “So, how are you doing?”
His eyes glazed over as he did his best to answer. “I… I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not even sure if I’ve fully realized yet… I just wish there was… but I know there is nothing…”
“I know,” I said, hating the hopelessness in his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean we are going to give up. In fact, Jocelyn’s wondering if there may be something in Ciaran’s journal that could help him.” The minute the words were out of my mouth I realized that I probably shouldn’t have said them. Much as I wanted to help Bastian’s pain, the idea of giving him false hope was even worse than seeing him suffer.
Though luckily, he didn�
��t seem overly excited at my news, instead giving me a small smile. “Hopefully. And thanks to you, we will be able to find out.”
I wasn’t crazy about the credit, but I didn’t argue. “Have you told your parents yet?”
Something flared in his eyes and I almost regretted asking. “No,” he shook his head, “and I don’t plan to. I have no idea what they would do with the information if they got it, but the prospects make me too angry to even consider. From now on, Steven is done with them – we both are.”
Odd how one statement could make you sad and proud all at the same time. But as it was obvious the subject needed changing once again, I didn’t belabor it, instead turning to an observation. “You look like you need some sleep. Why don’t you go back to your room for a while and let me sit with Steven?” I offered, assuming he would rather Steven not be alone just yet.
“I do need a rest, and was on my way to bed now as it happened, though Chloe is back with Steven, so you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t think she is going anywhere soon,” he said, but his tone had become more sympathetic than sad. “Thank you for the offer though. It really does mean a lot. Actually, I’m not really used to this, but it’s… really nice.”
“What is?” I asked, not following.
He hesitated but didn’t look away, his eyes very sincere. “Having a friend.”
I smiled as he walked off, glad that he’d come back with us and was finally going to be able to have the life he deserved – though admittedly the circumstances could have been infinitely better. And speaking of friends, there was one I hadn’t yet seen who I was very much worried about.
I continued down the hall, taking the turn where Jocelyn had said to, and the moment I rounded the corner I was met by the heartbreaking sight of poor Chloe. She was sitting on the floor against the wall a short ways down the hall, with her legs hugged to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the open door across the hall from her. My stomach felt as though it sunk a bit lower with every step I took in her direction. What would I say? I wasn’t sure. What could I say? That was easy: nothing. But even so, I was still determined to try.
She didn’t look up as I arrived next to her and slid down the wall at her side. Scooting as close to her as I could, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, and at least felt a bit of relief as she leaned toward me, resting her head against me with a small sniffle. We sat quietly for a long while, looking to the room opposite us where I could see Steven seated on the bed and staring unblinking and unseeing at the wall.
“Don’t you want to go in?” I asked her gently, not sure why she was sitting on the floor in the hall when there were open chairs in the room that would have been closer to him and far more comfortable.
“They don’t want us to go in until they’ve finished checking him,” she rasped, her voice almost nonexistent. “Said it might not be safe.”
I wasn’t sure who “they” were or who it might not be safe for, but I didn’t question. “You know we’re going to do everything we can for him, right?” I asked as I tilted my head toward her, leaning my cheek against her hair.
She nodded again with another sniffle.
The need to find words that would somehow help her or ease her pain was like a virus eating at my heart. But I knew those words didn’t exist, so I gave up, and resigned myself to simply sitting with her as long as she needed me, holding her in a comforting arm as she stared in at the man she loved but couldn’t save.
I would do it though. I would find a way to help Steven, no matter what I had to do. I would make sure he got to have the life with Chloe that he was so pointlessly robbed of, and no matter how many times they told me there was no way, I wasn’t going to give up. I was the most powerful Holder there’d ever been, damn it, and I was going to find a way. These people were my friends, my family. And no one hurts my family.
It seemed almost impossible, but I had everything I needed: I had Alex. I had Jocelyn and Ryland. I had the Order. And no matter what was coming our way, what battles may be looming in the future, or how long it took me, I was going to make sure that, come hell or high water, we all made it through.
Together.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: THE SEERS
If you want to know what writing a book is really like, I’ll give you a tip: don’t ask a writer. Sure, one could give you an idea of the process, and tell you more than you ever wanted to know about publishing, but that isn’t the real story. For the real story, you need behind the scenes footage, and you can only get that, not from the writers, but from the people who surround them. For instance, the writer’s friends who have learned never to ask “How’s the book coming?” when there is a deadline looming. Or maybe their spouse, who could tell you when it is and isn’t okay to ask the writer a question without automatically adding a preemptive, “I know you’re writing, but…”
Family, friends; these are the people that have the information you really want. They are the ones on the front lines, supporting us as writers on an often daily basis, making it possible for us to do what we do. They are the people we couldn’t make it without, and I for one want to make sure that each and every member of my own front line knows how much I love them and appreciate all that they have done for me. This one is for you guys because I am the luckiest writer in the world. (And because if any of you decide to publish How to Write a Book: Behind the Scenes, I am so totally screwed.)
It always seems that the quietest people have the loudest roar, and I don’t think that could be any truer of my amazing agent, Carly Watters of PS Literary. She is as adorable and sweet as can be, but when it comes to her clients she is a tiger, which makes her exactly the sort of person you want fighting in your corner. I am beyond lucky to have her, and can’t thank her enough for her endless support of me and my writing.
I’m not sure what I can say about the team at Strange Chemistry other than they are the best people an author could ever hope to work with, and undoubtedly some of the hardest working folks in the industry. They have always had my back, and the understanding and support they have given me this past year means the world to me. And to my fabulous editor, Amanda Rutter, thank you so much for everything you have done for and tolerated from me this year. It continues to be an honor and a privilege to count myself as one of your authors.
This might just be me, but I have found over the years that my fingers have a mind of their own. They edit, tweak, and often completely change the words I am trying to get out, usually without even bothering to run it by me first. Yet, for some reason there are still people out there who agree to read through my work before it has been edited and remains in all its typo-ridden and auto(un)corrected glory. These folks deserve far more than I could ever give them, and I can only hope they know how much I appreciate their help. To Cathy Pleskovich and Mary Smith, you keep the world from knowing just how horrible my spelling really is. To Elizabeth Shaw, whether reading my stuff or not, you are always one of my biggest supporters. To Sean Lusk, your notes are nothing short of amazing, and you are nothing short of inspiring. To Liz, Shannon, Vera, Beth, Patti, Julie, and Yelena, you guys give me the encouragement, laughs, and nights out that I need. Love you all! And to Trisha Wolfe and Angela Cook, no one reads like a writer. Thank you so much for your thoughts, your support, and your time.
Finally, to my incredible husband, you make everything I do possible just by giving me a reason to do it. I couldn’t ask for a better man or a better friend. All my love.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julianna was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and spent the majority of her educational career convinced she would be a musician. However, after receiving her music degree from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania, she realized that she’d been born in the wrong era for her dreams of singing jazz to adoring fans clad in zoot-suits and flapper dresses to come true, and began to wonder if her true calling might be elsewhere.
While Julianna had always excelled in writing throughout school, she’d never con
sidered it a career possibility until about three years ago, when she’d gotten her first story idea and decided to go for it. She grabbed her laptop, started typing away, and has never looked back.
www.juliannascott.com
twitter.com/Julianna__Scott
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Strange Chemistry #24
A Strange Chemistry paperback original 2014
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Copyright © Julianna Scott 2014
Julianna Scott asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
ISBN UK: 978 1 90884 445 3
ISBN US: 978 1 90884 446 0
Ebook ISBN: 978 1 90884 447 7
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
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The Seers Page 37
