by E. E. Holmes
Our aunt had arrived a couple of days ago, after all the chaos of the Shattering had ended. Since she had stepped off the plane, she had subjected us to an almost uninterrupted stream of apologies for asking us to come to the Airechtas in her place. No matter how many times we told her that we didn’t mind, and that we’d forgiven her, and that it wasn’t her fault, she remained wracked with guilt. Unsurprisingly, she was now venting her guilt with her credit card. I used to give her a hard time about gifts, but now I knew it would be easiest to just accept whatever she bought me with a smile. She was never able to have any kids of her own, and she had missed out on eighteen years of spoiling us. Besides, she was still seething about how the Council had treated Hannah during the Shattering, so her ire was easily stoked right now. I was pretty sure I could still hear the distant echoes of the tempestuous tirade she had unleashed on the Council on her arrival—and barely a Council member had looked us in the eye since.
“Did you tell her about the movie night?” Hannah asked.
“She said she’ll be up as soon as she finishes wrapping, but not to wait for her,” Milo said. “And I warned her in advance of the foliage,” he added, pointing to the tree.
“Good idea,” Hannah said. “I still think we’re going to get in trouble for having a tree in here. And I’m positive we’re not supposed to be using that either.” She pointed to the massive urn Savvy had found to stand the tree up in.
“Ah, no one’s going to miss that old thing,” Savvy said dismissively. “It was just gathering dust.”
Mackie took a good look at the urn for the first time and her eyes widened. “Is . . . is that from the Grand Council Room?” she asked weakly.
“Yep,” Savvy said. “Swiped it from beside the flag pole and told the Caomhnóir on duty I was taking it for Christmas polishing.”
Mackie dropped her head into her hands. “Sav, that urn is from the 1500s. It’s quite literally priceless.”
“They’ve got another one just like it on the other side of the throne!” Savvy said, as though that solved the problem. “How priceless can it be if they’ve got a spare lying around? Besides, we haven’t smashed it to bits, have we? We’ll put it back on Boxing Day, good as new.”
“Here Mack, have a cookie,” I said quickly, shoving a fistful of sugar cookies into her hand before she had a chance to argue further. “It will all be fine. Holiday magic, okay?”
“Luckily for both of you, I’m more interested in eating this cookie than I am in that urn,” Mackie said through an impressively large bite.
“Excellent,” I said, and looked around me with a sigh of satisfaction. I had successfully conjured nearly all of my favorite traditions in one way or another. My room was a tacky glittering Christmas-fest. My favorite music was playing, and the scents of gingerbread and balsam sap were thick in the air. I’d gathered some of my favorite people around me, and it was going to be a lovely night. The Durupinen might have turned my world upside down, but I had managed, for this one night, to right it again. I crammed an entire sugar cookie into my mouth. It tasted like victory.
2
Wounds and Scars
THE CASTLE WAS PITCH BLACK and eerily silent. The only light and movement came from the occasional drifting form of one of the resident spirits, who took as little notice of me as I did of them as I crept down the staircase and through the corridor toward the hospital ward.
I knew that Finn would be relieved of his shift guarding Lucida in the hospital ward right at midnight, and that he would head back to the barracks when he had finished to get some sleep before his shift in the morning. If I was going to see Finn on Christmas, and actually have a real conversation with him, this might be my only chance. I’d left everyone else sleeping in a Christmas cookie-induced torpor and snuck out without disturbing them.
I hovered in the stairwell at the end of the hallway, listening as the Caomhnóir conferred with each other in low voices. Then I waited with building anticipation as I heard Finn’s footsteps come closer. I could tell they were his footsteps; he had a habit of landing a bit more heavily on his right foot, giving his strides a lopsided sound. Yes, I knew the sound of his walk. Pathetic, I know.
Finn rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of me. I lifted a finger quickly to my lips, and he stifled whatever sound of surprise he was going to make. He followed me down a flight of stairs to a deserted landing two floors below where I finally felt it was safe to stop and talk.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
“What are you doing here?” he asked by way of greeting.
“I . . . wanted to say merry Christmas to you, and I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance later,” I said.
“Oh. I see. Yes, happy Christmas,” Finn said stiffly.
What had I expected? We’d barely had two minutes to speak to each other since we’d gotten into a terrible disagreement. After a passionate tryst in a deserted hut in the woods, I had accidentally suggested that he quit being a Caomhnóir so that we could be together. I’d never seen him so angry, not at me, anyway. The distance between us had been palpable ever since.
I looked up into his gaze and felt like I could see it there—that distance—like a curtain shutting out the warmth in his eyes. Instantly, I felt embarrassed and angry with myself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. It was stupid. I just . . . have a good night. Merry Christmas.”
“No, don’t go,” Finn said quickly. “I . . . I apologize. I’m tired. It has been a long shift.”
“You’re not just tired,” I murmured. “You’re still mad at me.”
Finn’s jaw tightened. “I’m not mad.”
I laughed. “You’re doing a really good impression of it.”
His nostrils flared. “I am doing my best to keep up the façade that we both agreed was crucial to our cover while here.”
“Finn, I’m not an idiot. There is no one else in this stairwell. We are totally alone. There’s no reason for the façade right now. Just admit it. You’re still angry with me.”
He didn’t reply.
“I’m really sorry about what I said, Finn. I don’t think my role as a Durupinen is more important than yours as a Caomhnóir. Honestly, I don’t. How could I? How many times have you saved my life now? No one appreciates how important Caomhnóir are more than I do. I was just upset and frustrated because our callings are standing in the way of . . . us.”
Finn’s expression softened just a bit. “Apology accepted. I share your frustration.”
“Do you, though?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t follow,” Finn said.
“Well, it just feels like you’re content to leave things the way they are.”
“I still don’t follow.”
I sighed. “As it stands, this is the only way we can be together.” I gestured around us. “Secretly. Stolen moments. Constantly pretending for the benefit of others that we can barely tolerate each other’s company. It’s exhausting and demoralizing, and yet you seem to feel no real motivation to change it.”
“Jess, that’s not fair. Of course, I wish that things were different. But there are certain realities of our relationship that must be faced. We cannot wish them away, and dwelling on them will only spoil what time we do have together. We knew what we were getting into when we started this.”
“I know. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
“So, would you rather we broke it off?” he asked bluntly.
“What? No! That’s not what I’m saying! But nothing is going to change if we don’t try to change it.”
His expression morphed from truculent to wary. “Change it how?”
“The Airechtas is almost over. If we’re ever going to speak up—”
Finn put up a hand. “Stop. I know what you’re going to say. We can’t, and you know it.”
“But this might be the only chance we get to—”
“To what?” Finn hissed. “To ensure we are discovered? To watch Seamus stand up before the Co
uncil and reveal what he knows? To say goodbye before the Council reassigns me and we never see each other again?”
“We don’t know that will happen,” I said in a tiny voice.
“You might not. I do,” Finn said. “I want the freedom to be together as badly as you do, Jess, but we’re not going to get it like this. It’s too risky. I won’t lose you in a foolish gamble against such odds.”
I looked at him, but couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. I was too confused, too frustrated. This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go.
“It’s Christmas. I don’t want to do this right now,” I finally said.
“No,” Finn said. He dropped his arms and with them, his combative tone. “Nor do I. Look, we’re both under a lot of pressure here. In just a week or so, the Airechtas will be over. It will be much easier to be rational when we are finally well away from this bloody castle. We will have more time and space to talk. We’ll figure it out.”
I almost told him about the Council seat. This was the moment to do it. If I didn’t do it now, it was tantamount to a lie. But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t say them. I couldn’t bear to further damage this tiny, fragile snatch of time we had together. It was foolish, but I couldn’t do it.
“Yeah. We’ll figure it out,” I said instead. “You’d better get going. They’ll be wondering at the barracks what’s keeping you.”
I turned to go, but he stopped me. “What is that?”
I turned back to see him pointing at the parcel tucked under my arm.
“Nothing. It’s just something I was going to give you.”
“And now you’re not going to give it to me?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure that you’d want it.”
He extended a hand. “May I see it?”
Reluctantly, I pulled it out from under my arm and placed it on his outstretched palm. “It isn’t anything big.”
He didn’t reply, but quietly undid the string and wrapping paper, revealing a small book.
“It’s for your poetry,” I muttered. “For you to write in.”
“Oh, I see,” Finn said, turning it over in his hand. “Well, thank you very much.”
“You have to open it.”
“Pardon?”
“You have to open it. It’s not just a plain book. I . . . just open it,” I said.
Looking puzzled, Finn began flipping through the book. His eyes grew wide. “Jess, this is . . . wonderful.”
I had filled the pages of the book with hand-drawn borders and accent sketches, a sort of canvas of my art on which he could record his own.
“I know you love a good blank page. I mean, I do, too,” I said. “But I thought this might . . . inspire you.”
Even as he looked at the drawings, his face fell back into lines of misery. “I haven’t anything to give you. I didn’t think we would be here for Christmas, and I wasn’t sure if we . . .”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “I don’t need you to give me anything. I’ve just been working on this for a while, and so I thought Christmas was as good a time as any to give it to you.”
“Well, thank you. I look very much forward to writing in it,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said. We stood awkwardly, and every second that he didn’t reach for me and kiss me expanded into an ocean between us.
“I should go,” I said, and left without saying another word.
I made it to the bottom of the stairs before the tears started, and halfway down the next hallway before they really started blinding me. By the time I reached the entrance hall, I could barely stifle the sobs. On the final landing of the grand staircase, I sank to the floor, dropped my face into my hands, and let the pain just wash over me.
“Jess? Are you okay? What are you doing?”
I looked up to see Milo hovering just a few feet from me at the base of the stairs. His face was twisted with sympathy.
“Sleepwalking,” I replied, willing the tears out of my voice and keeping my face carefully hidden. “What are you doing down here?”
He shrugged. “It gets très dull while all you breathers are sleeping. I was just entertaining some floaters out on the grounds and killing time until I could wake you all up for gifts.”
I nodded.
“So, you didn’t answer my first question,” Milo said, floating up the steps and coming to rest beside me on the rug.
“What question?”
“I asked if you were okay,” Milo prompted quietly.
“I’m swell,” I insisted.
“Would this ‘swellness’ have anything to do with why I just saw Finn storming out across the grounds?” Milo asked.
“He was storming?” I asked. Even to me, my voice sounded small.
“I think storming is an accurate description, yes,” Milo said. “There was cursing, and kicking, and a pretty steady tirade of angry muttering under his breath. He didn’t even acknowledge me when I said hello.”
“Yeah. We’re both swell,” I said.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Milo asked quietly.
I kept my palms pressed to my closed eyes. The pressure seemed to relieve some of the aching. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Come on, Jess,” Milo said, and for once there was no laugh in his voice, no sarcastic edge. “I’m not an idiot. I might be closer to your sister, but you and I— we’re Bound, sweetness. We share an actual psychic connection. Sure, you’ve never told me outright that you two are together, but those feelings don’t just shut off. They trickle through the connection. They color everything you say about him, every time he walks into the room.”
Feeling colored me at that moment too, as I felt my cheeks burn with the shame of being so transparent. “Color? Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Milo said. “Your thoughts come through all rosy and gold as soon as Finn is involved. It’s like that old French song. You talk about him, and suddenly it’s ‘La Vie en Rose’ inside my brain. But psychic connection aside, you are not nearly as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are.”
“Is that so?” I said, keeping my now scarlet face safely behind my hands.
“Yes, that’s so,” Milo said. “You think I don’t know what it looks like when someone has to hide their feelings for someone they love? Honey, that was the basis of my entire existence from the moment I hit puberty.”
I didn’t respond; I was trying too hard to push back the tears that were determinedly leaking from my eyes.
“You are tough as nails when you know you’re being watched,” Milo went on. “But it’s those other moments—the ones when you think you’re alone—that’s when your shields come down, and at that point, sweetness, you might as well tattoo his name on your forehead.”
“I didn’t realize I was being so obvious,” I said.
Milo chuckled, but the sound was hollow and sad. “Just be thankful that he loves you back. Okay, story time.” I felt him move closer to me, felt his chill as the distance between us closed by a few more inches. “Back when I had a pulse, I was madly in love with a boy in my high school. He was your typical testosterone-fueled three-season jock, a vision of perfection in his musky game day jerseys. I was convinced I was flying completely under the radar. I had just transferred from another school, fresh out of one of my dad’s ‘scared straight’ boot camps. After six weeks of learning how to be a man’s man, I was sure no one would ever guess I was as gay as a Broadway kick line.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, what a sweet, deluded little creature I was. He saw right through me, and for some reason, he loved what he saw. He absolutely loved that I was in love with him. No one is easier to fuck with than the queer boy who is not-so-secretly in love with you. I’m not really sure why he did it. Maybe he was secretly gay, full of self-loathing. Maybe he was just a narcissist with sociopathic tendencies. Maybe a little bit of both. Anyway, he made me think he was interested in me. He wasn’t subtle about it either,
let’s just leave it at that. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. I was supposed to meet him outside the door to the locker room late one night. I went, my heart pounding like a jack-hammer inside my chest. He was there; I couldn’t believe it. He’d brought a six pack of beer—not that I drank that swill, but he’d already opened one for me, so I took it. He told me he was going to run inside for a minute to see if the coast was clear. Then, he said, he had something really special he wanted to show me. Tingling with the anticipation of what that ‘something’ might be, I waited, and while I waited, because I had nothing better to do, I drank. I remember thinking, all of a sudden, that I felt really sleepy, and I sat down on the bench. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up, four hours later, practically hypothermic and with the word ‘faggot’ scrawled all over my face in permanent marker.”
I kept my face hidden behind my hands, perhaps because I thought that if I looked at him in that moment, I would lose what little control I had left over the tears. “Jesus, Milo. I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”
He sighed ruefully. “Whatever, I’m over it. That’s one of the few perks to so much mandatory therapy; you get to work through shit like that. I’m not telling you because I need your sympathy, Jess. I’m telling you because I want you to know that I get it. I get how hard it is to fight against the feelings, and convince yourself you don’t feel them. I know what it is to finally let someone in only to get annihilated. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, really, but I especially wouldn’t wish it on you.”
“And why especially me?” I asked.
“Because I’m finally admitting to myself how alike we are, and that’s probably why we create a lot of friction. We both have dealt with a lot of bullshit in our lives which has jaded us. We didn’t have any real reason to trust anyone anymore, and so we built our walls of sarcasm and we piled on our armor of attitude and we hid behind them. And every once in a while, when someone would breach the defenses, they’d prove to us, all over again, that we were right to put up the walls in the first place. But those are the moments that betray us, you know. The cracks in the wall that let the love in are the same ones that let it shine through when we try to hide it.”
