by E. E. Holmes
Hannah smiled a little sadly and looked out the window. I did not share her reluctance to leave this place and everything it stood for. Because we were leaving. That was certain, even if nothing else was.
“What time is it?” I asked.
Hannah glanced at the delicate silver watch on her wrist. “Nearly time. Should we go down?”
“They should be coming up here,” Milo said from his perch on the corner of the fireplace mantle, where he had been lording over the packing process like a monarch delegating undesirable duties. “When I think that they have the nerve to summon you anywhere…”
He shook his head, apparently lost for words dire enough to express his opinion of them, and indeed, when Milo lacked the ability to bitch someone out, you knew the circumstances were extreme.
“They aren’t summoning us,” Hannah said patiently. “Not like that, anyway.”
“Yeah, well, I still say they should be groveling,” Milo grumbled.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said. I took a last look around the room. It really was beautiful, with its dark wood paneling, antique furniture, and lush draperies, like something out of an Austen novel; my own personal slice of Pemberley. But despite the fire crackling merrily away in the fireplace, all I felt when I looked at it was cold. I’d take the industrial cinderblocks and poster-plastered walls of my St. Matt’s dorm room any day.
As we walked down the hallway, some of the other girls stared unabashedly through the open doors of their own rooms. They weren’t exactly the same kinds of stares and whispers we’d attracted on our first day there; they had changed subtly. The hostility had diminished into a fearful sort of awe; the superiority had melted into wariness. We were no longer victims, but we were still outsiders, now more than ever.
The trip down to the Grand Council Room was much quieter and less eventful than walking through the halls of Fairhaven used to be. So many of the ghosts that used to haunt its halls were gone now, having faded away when their essences had Crossed through the open Geatgrima. I swallowed back a terrible guilt-ridden something that had risen in my throat; though Mary had seemed at peace, I would always wonder about that decision, to take the torch with me through the Gateway. Surely the spirits belonged there, and yet, they hadn’t made the choice for themselves. But, as Finn had reassured me afterward, it was a far better fate than what would have happened to them if the torch had been allowed to burn out on the cobblestones of the courtyard.
“Are you okay? You look troubled.” Hannah was watching me. Nearly a week had passed, but her features still maintained the transformative beauty that the power of the reversal had left upon them. It was unsettling to look at, so I kept my eyes on the hallway ahead as I answered.
“I’m just anxious to get out of here,” I lied. There was no point bringing up the spirit torch. If I was feeling guilty about it, it was nothing to how she must feel, seeing as she trapped them there in the first place.
Karen was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, a lone figure with a long tan trench coat thrown over her forearm and a black leather carry-on suitcase at her feet. She’d arrived back at Fairhaven in less than twelve hours after the ordeal had ended, and she’d been advocating and doing damage control ever since. She’d already met with the Council and was in true mama-bear mode as she’d marched in. I could hear her shouting before the doors had even properly shut behind her. She still had that protective gleam in her eye as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The entrance hall had been restored to its former glory, not only by the removal of all of the Necromancer paraphernalia, but by the meticulous removal of all traces of my Muse-created mural. As much as the image it had depicted had terrified me, it felt wrong to see it gone; as though the Durupinen were once again sweeping the unsavory details of their history under the rug.
“Ready?” Karen asked us, as we arrived beside her. She dropped her cell phone into her pocket.
“Yes,” I said, and then pointed to the spot where her phone had just vanished. “Any word from Annabelle?”
“Yes,” Karen said. “I’ve put her in touch with a friend of mine who is a real estate lawyer. The insurance situation is a bit of a mess, but I think she’ll be able to reopen her shop when it’s all cleared up. She’s very glad to hear you’ll be stateside again soon.”
Someone cleared his throat. A Caomhnóir stood waiting to bring us before the Council. He was tapping his foot impatiently.
“They’re waiting for you,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the Grand Council Room.
I took a deep breath. “Are we sure they’re not going to try to lock us in the dungeons again?”
“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Karen said with the shadow of a smile.
“Are we leaving soon?” Hannah asked her.
“Very soon. Our flight departs in three hours.” She too seemed to have a hard time looking Hannah in the eye, though I think it may just have been her resemblance to our mother, which was even more pronounced now. “So whatever they have to say to you, they’ll need to say it quickly. You aren’t bringing a lot of souvenirs home with you, are you? We’re going to need the extra room in the car for the ride home.”
“No souvenirs,” I said with a snort. “I looked everywhere, but they don’t sell ‘I SURVIVED THE SPIRIT APOCOLYPSE’ t-shirts.”
No one laughed.
“What, too soon?” I asked, widening my eyes innocently. “Aw, c’mon kids. If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry.” I nudged Hannah in the ribs, and she gave me a grudging, tight-lipped smile. I turned back to Karen. “What do we need the extra room in the car for?”
Karen really did smile this time. “Tia. Her flight gets in just after ours. We’re giving her a ride back to the city and she’s going to stay with us for a few days before you all head back to St. Matt’s.”
“Tia’s coming back?” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did!” said Karen, winking. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Tia’s great, you’re going to love her,” I told Hannah. “She likes her stuff almost as organized as you do.”
“And you don’t think she’ll mind living with me?” Hannah asked anxiously.
“Are you kidding? She spent half of her freshman year looking for you! Of course she won’t mind living with you! You, on the other hand,” I said, smiling at Milo, “are going to take some serious getting used to.”
Milo batted his eyelashes. “What are you talking about? I’m delightful.”
“We’ll talk more about all the college arrangements on the way to the airport. But for now,” Karen said, gesturing to the Grand Council Room doors, “after you girls.”
The scene was nearly identical to the day I had stood before them all and learned of the prophecy. There they all sat on their Council benches, silent and waiting. Finvarra was reinstated in her place of power, and Carrick stood at attention beside her. He caught my eye as we entered and nodded respectfully, but looked quickly away again. Hannah knew the truth about him now; he had a long talk with her after he’d recovered from the Elemental attack, but there was still so much that remained unsaid between the three of us. I could not see what kind of meaningful relationship we could have, with him Bound to someone who lived halfway across the world, but I was leaving that door open regardless, in case any of us wanted to walk through it one day. A few glaring differences reminded us all that much had changed since that last meeting. Marion was gone, voted out of the Council and, if the rumors were to be believed, facing an international committee of Durupinen leaders to answer for her attempted coup. Her Clan could even be stripped of its Gateway, Mackie had whispered to us, as we’d watched a very subdued Peyton pass us in the hallway the previous night. Those remaining of Marion’s inner circle sat stiffly, perhaps worried about their own continued status as Council members. The back wall was nearly rebuilt, but a few feet of grey morning sky peeked through where a window had yet to be replaced. The real difference was how I felt
facing them.
“Thank you for coming,” Finvarra said.
I just nodded. I hadn’t really felt that we’d had a choice. Perhaps Finvarra had felt differently.
“I thought it important that we meet with you before you go,” she went on. “Much has transpired.”
Milo laughed softly behind me. I could almost hear him through our connection, or perhaps we just knew each other really well now. Understatement of the century.
“I called all members of the community here, because I wanted to make things as clear as I can. The events of the past few weeks have been complicated in the extreme, and only time will bring to light the many layers and factors that brought us to this moment. But the important thing to know is that they cannot be reduced to black and white, or to right and wrong.”
It was so still, it felt like the collective group of us had stopped breathing. Hannah was trembling beside me. Karen was standing very stiffly, doing her very best not to fly off the handle. Her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides.
“Countless errors of judgement were made, some of them my own. In many ways, we, the leaders of the Northern Clans, brought about our own near-destruction. History, no doubt, will judge us for it, for we are surely leaving behind us a complicated and troubling legacy.”
Agitated stirring swept through the benches, like the fluttering wings of nervous birds.
“Hannah,” Finvarra said, and though she addressed her quite gently, Hannah jumped beside me. I reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I want to make it perfectly clear, to you and to the others assembled here, that you are not to blame for what has come to pass. It was the Necromancers alone, with their machinations and manipulations, which brought the prophecy to pass. If we had done more to protect you, to earn your trust, you would not have been left in such a vulnerable position.”
I couldn’t help but notice that many faces did not reflect this attitude. Indeed, there were as many disgruntled expressions as there were contented ones. The decision had obviously been far from a unanimous one. But Hannah only had eyes for Finvarra, at whom she was staring with pronounced relief splashed across her features. Finvarra, though, had turned now to face me.
“Jessica, we owe you a great debt of gratitude. You risked your very life to close the Geatgrima when it seemed that all would be lost. Our order survives because of you. I can promise you that, as long as I am High Priestess, we will not squander this second chance we have been granted by your actions.”
The blood was rushing to my face. I had no idea what to say to any of this.
“That is why our first order of business is to invite your family to rejoin our Council.”
A ringing silence met her words.
“What are you saying?” I asked when I found my voice at last.
“Marion’s position on the Council is now open, a position that was held by your Clan for many years. Your family has rendered a great service to the Durupinen, and so it seems only fitting to offer the Council seat to you. Your input and opinions would be greatly valued here.”
“You want us on the Council?” I asked blankly.
“Yes, indeed. What do you say? Shall the Clan Sassanaigh sit amongst the ruling Clans once more?” Finvarra asked, her arms raised as though in welcome.
Karen turned to us, her mouth open, and yet empty of words to respond. My eyes sought Hannah’s though, and in what was perhaps our first nearly telepathic twin moment, we said not a word but understood each other perfectly.
“No,” I said. The cavernous hall added an emphatic echo.
Finvarra dropped her arms, and her warm expression. “No?”
“No, thank you,” I repeated, with an attempt at politeness.
“But this is a great honor,” she said, as the Council began to buzz like a hive with reactions to our refusal. “Surely you must see that. This is your chance to establish your Clan’s position once again. I don’t think you understand what you’re walking away from.”
Perhaps it was Celeste’s approving nod or Fiona’s amused cackle. Perhaps it was Savvy’s voice somewhere to my left whispering what sounded suspiciously like, “Oh, snap!” Or perhaps it was simply Finvarra’s casual use of the word “walking,” which would surely never hold the same meaning for me again. But I drew myself up with more confidence than I’d ever felt in that room before.
“We understand exactly what we are walking away from.”
§
Finn was waiting by the car, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and something very like a smile on his face. He was coming with us, of course; where the Gateway went, its protector must follow. Once upon a time I would have felt guilty about that, but now…
“Well, they let you leave without burning the place down. That’s a good start,” he said as we loaded our luggage.
“Was that a joke?” I asked. “Like, an actual joke?”
“I guess so, yes,” he said with a shrug.
“There’s hope for you yet, Carey,” I said, punching him playfully on the arm. “Are you sure you’re ready for this move?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Are you sure you can handle it? I’m all kinds of trouble, you know.”
“I know.”
Karen snatched the keys from the waiting Caomhnóir and slid into the driver’s seat. “We’ll drive ourselves, thank you.”
We piled into the back seat, Finn on one side of me, Hannah on the other, Milo stretched luxuriously in the front seat after crowing “Shotgun!” at the top of his lungs.
A small black book was peeking out of Finn’s pocket. I grabbed it and tucked it into my own.
“Hey, what are you pickpocketing me for?” he asked, scowling at me.
“I need something to read on the plane. I’ve heard it’s pretty great. You don’t mind, do you?”
He tried to maintain the frown, but couldn’t. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
The car hummed to life and crunched along the gravel drive through the castle gates and out onto the open road. I turned and watched Fairhaven Hall shrinking into the heavy English morning mist, watched the cradling arms of its valley enfold it. I told myself I would never see it again, if I could help it.
I was wrong, of course. But that, as they say, is another story entirely.
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Acknowledgments
To my readers, no words can express my gratitude to you, not only for taking a chance on this series and reading the first page, but for buckling in and journeying with Jess and the crew until the end. I will forever be grateful to every one of you for making this childhood dream come true. I’ve always been a writer, but you’ve made me an author, for a story without an audience is like a ship without sails. Thank you for every minute you’ve spent with the characters I love so much.
To my ridiculously talented cover designer, James Egan at Bookfly, thank you for the stunning design for this third and final installment in the trilogy. Your talent and vision has sold many a book by its cover.
To Norman Gautreau and Susan Reynolds, for your valued opinion, friendship, and advice on all things literary, and to Becca Flint for your keen editing eye and our mutual love for Milo.
To my two wonderful children, thank you for putting up with mama staring at her computer so much. You make me laugh every day, even if you also exhaust me beyond the ability to write coherently on many a night.
And to my incredible husband, without whose love, support, and relentlessly masterful marketing work, this series would never have seen the light of day. We are, and have always been, a fanta
stic team. Thanks for putting up with me.
About the Author
E.E. Holmes is a writer, teacher, and actor living near Boston, MA with her husband, two children, and a small, but surprisingly loud dog. When not writing, she enjoys performing, watching unhealthy amounts of British television, and reading with her children.
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