Spirit Prophecy

by E. E. Holmes

  I shrugged. “Get started on this mountain of reading, I guess.”

  Later that evening, the Apprentices would be gathering in the courtyard to do their first crossings. As Hannah and I had already done ours back on Karen’s roof in Boston, Celeste told us that we were exempt from this particular ceremony, which Hannah seemed a little disappointed about, but I found to be a huge relief. I was already sick of ceremonies, and all the pomp and circumstance that went along with them. So even though the alternative was a staggering amount of work, I would take it cheerfully.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting out of this.” Savvy said.

  “We’re not getting out of it,” I said. “We’ve just already done it.”

  “I know, I know,” she groaned. “I’m just nervous as all hell.”

  “Me too,” Mackie admitted. “I haven’t eaten a thing all day. I think I’ve lost the ability to swallow.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said, patting Mackie on the back and recognizing, as I did so, the irony of the situation. Usually it was Mackie talking me down off the ledge as I freaked out about some new detail or other.

  We reached the door to our room, and Savvy, Mackie and Brenna followed us in, peppering us with questions about what it was like to do a crossing; apparently, they didn’t trust Siobhán’s descriptions of it in class or Keira’s step-by-step walk-through of the process that took up the entire double afternoon session the day before. Between the two of us, Hannah and I tried to put into words the thrumming buzz of connection as we joined hands, the sense that something inside us had opened, and the disconcerting feeling as life after unfamiliar life flashed through us. We were so caught up in our conversation that I didn’t even notice the girls standing in the doorway until Hannah said, “You can come in if you want.”

  They started and backed away from the door. I recognized one of them as the dark-haired girl from class, the one wearing the cross necklace.

  “I…sorry. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said hastily.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “Really, you can —”

  But they were gone, scurrying off down the hallway.

  “That was Róisín Lightfoot and her sister Riley,” Mackie said quietly. “Their mother Clara is one of the Council members, and she and Marion are very close. They wouldn’t want to be caught getting friendly with either of you. It would upset dear mummy, not to mention all of their other Council-family friends.”

  “That’s too bad for them, then,” Savvy said, and got up from one of the chairs. “I, for one, feel a bit better about what I’m getting into tonight. I’m sneaking out for a fag before we have to meet.”

  “By sneaking out, do you mean going to your room and cracking the window?” Brenna asked.

  “I do, indeed.” Savvy said with a theatrical bow. Brenna and Mackie followed her out.

  “You’ll all be fine!” I called after them as Mackie shut the door behind her with a resigned grimace. Then I turned to Hannah, who was wearing an expression eerily similar to Mackie’s, except she was looking down at our new book from Celeste.

  “Might as well get down to it,” I said, and we settled in for a long night of reading.

  Three hours later my head was pounding and I was seriously contemplating chucking my book into the cheerfully roaring fire in our grate. I tossed it onto the floor instead.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “I’m giving up for the night.”

  Hannah nodded absently, but kept reading. I went to my desk and shot off a quick email to Tia, asking if she’d made any progress on tracking down Annabelle or any of Pierce’s other team members. I briefly considered starting my own research into Neil Caddigan, but the thought of more work made me slightly nauseous. I would have liked to spy on the many Gateways which even now must be opening all over the courtyard, but our window did not afford a view of the ceremony. I grabbed my sketchpad instead, and started doodling, which eventually turned into a sketch of Hannah. At least, it was trying to be sketch of Hannah, but even with her right in front of me, something about her refused to be captured. It might have been the eyes, or maybe her mouth, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Frustrated, I crumpled it up and threw it into the waste basket. I flipped back through my finished sketches and stopped on the one from earlier in the week.

  The little girl in the flames. I hadn’t looked at it since the day I drew it.

  How could I find out who she was and what she wanted if she couldn’t find a way to communicate with me? Was this drawing supposed to be a clue? I couldn’t have said where the flames came from — perhaps she had found a way to get the idea to me subconsciously? That had sort of been the case when I’d drawn the psychic sketch of Lydia Tenningsbrook; I hadn’t even been aware I’d been drawing it, but her face had come to me. I thought about showing it to Fiona, in the hopes that she might understand what it meant, but I cast off the idea at once. Fiona was one of the last people I would ask for help. I suppose I could have asked one of the other teachers, but something indefinable was holding me back. I looked down at the sketch again. It didn’t want to be shared, not yet anyway. So who could I ask for help?

  The idea came so suddenly and easily, it was like it had been waiting in the wings for its cue line. “Hannah, do you think you could call Milo for me? I need to ask him about something.”

  “Of course,” Hannah said, looking surprised. She lifted her face into the air and closed her eyes. “Hey, Milo!”

  “Call, and I shall answer!” he trilled, appearing above the fireplace mantle and looking, for a brief moment, as though I’d shot, taxidermied, and mounted him there. I wish.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Why, yes, Jess-Jess, I’d be glad to burn your wardrobe! Where are the matches? Oooh, can we do s’mores? I’ve always wanted to toast marshmallows over a fishnet fire,” he said, clapping gleefully.

  “Sorry, fresh out of marshmallows,” I replied, barely able to keep my face straight. Damn it, he really was funny sometimes, even if it was usually at my expense. “Actually, I was hoping you could find something out about one of the ghosts here.”

  “Ugh, très boring. The dead contingent here is not exactly riveting. I mean, most of them have been dead longer than America’s been a country.”

  “Have you met most of them?”

  “I’ve made the rounds, yes. I was hoping to find someone I could at least gossip with while you all are doing boring, living things, like sleep.”

  “And?”

  “Pickings are slim, although there is one former servant, Nancy, who likes to dish. Sadly, her idea of gasp-worthy news is some woman walking around with exposed ankles,” he said. “So, basically she thinks you’re all a bunch of whores.”

  “Have you seen a ghost of a little girl anywhere around?” I asked.

  Milo dropped the drama queen act and frowned a bit. “A few. You’ll need to be more specific.” Even he didn’t joke much where kid ghosts were concerned, probably because he practically was one himself.

  “Really skinny and grubby and wild-looking, with long hair. She wears a white dress, kind of like an old-fashioned nightgown.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding sadly. “Yeah, I’ve seen her.”

  “Do you know who she is? Has she said anything to you?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my eagerness. “No,” Milo said. “No one does. She doesn’t seem to be able to communicate with anyone.”

  “Oh,” I said, and slumped back again, disappointed. “Yeah, I noticed that, too. I thought maybe it might be different with other ghosts. Have you ever met a ghost like that? Who couldn’t speak?”

  Milo shrugged. “You get all types on my side, honey, especially in the places Hannah and I used to be. Ghosts who were drugged up in life, and still out of it in death. Crazy ones, shy ones, there’s all kinds of reasons why a ghost won’t talk to you.”

  “Yeah, but there’s something really weird about it,” I persisted. “She tried to talk to me. She t
ried to attack me, actually.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, she flew right at me the first day we were here, and she found me again after my first mentoring session. But something’s wrong. It’s like she’s in this bubble, like there’s a wall up between her and the rest of the world. She’s trying to communicate, but she can’t get past it. Like she’s trapped or something.”

  Milo folded his arms. “Huh. I’ve never heard of anything like that before. And honestly, I haven’t gotten close enough to her to notice it for myself. She keeps her distance from just about everyone.”

  “Would you mind just asking around a little bit? See if you can find out anything?”

  Milo heaved a long-suffering sigh, but nodded his head. “Fine, fine.”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks.”

  “Whatever,” he huffed. “I see how it is. You think I’m just your little afterlife messenger boy. You snap your unmanicured fingers and I do your bidding.”

  “Actually,” I said, waggling my right hand in his face, “I am totally manicured today. Savvy was practicing on me.” Milo gasped. “Be still my heart! And they aren’t even black! Girl, there’s hope for you yet!”

  There was a quick sharp knock on the door. Hannah looked up from her book, but I hopped up from the chair.

  “I’ve got it,” I told her. “Coming!” I added as the knock came again. I wrenched it open to reveal Celeste standing in the hallway looking uncharacteristically stern. Peyton stood just behind her, her arms crossed and a smug little smirk on her face. And I’d so been hoping some ghost would just drag her on through the Gateway and end our misery. Oh, well. Maybe next time.

  “Jessica, I need to inspect your room,” Celeste said.

  “Huh? What for?” I was inexplicably nervous, even though I couldn’t think of a single thing we had in our room that would get us in trouble.

  “Peyton has informed me that, as she was passing by here a few minutes ago on her way back from the First Crossing, she heard a male voice issuing from this room. As you and Hannah are well aware, we have very strict rules about interactions between Caomhnóir and Apprentices, and… ”

  I actually laughed out loud in relief. “And you thought we were harboring boys in our room?”

  “I definitely heard a male voice in here,” Peyton said, eyes narrowed at me.

  “Yeah, because the Caomhnóir are so very fond of us all, we just can’t get enough of each other,” I snorted. “Well, you can call off the dogs, Celeste, because it’s just Milo.”

  I pushed the door wide behind me to reveal Milo still lounging on the fireplace mantle. I watched with satisfaction as the smug expression dripped off Peyton’s face, but it was Celeste’s look of shock that prompted me to speak. “Celeste? What’s wrong?”

  “He…how did he get in here?” she gasped.

  “This time? Through the fireplace,” Milo said with a limp gesture to the stone behind him. “Doors are more traditional obviously, but they’re kind of unnecessary in my current state.”

  “But…but he can’t…there’s no possible way to…there are wards!”

  Celeste said, pointing to the eye carved into our door.

  “Oh yeah, Karen mentioned those,” I said with a shrug. “It keeps other ghosts out, but it doesn’t seem to affect Milo, I guess because he’s not hostile.”

  “Well, that’s true of the wards surrounding the boundaries to the grounds, but the ones on your bedroom doors should keep every ghost out, hostile or not!” Celeste said.

  “But I want him here,” Hannah said quickly, sliding off the bed and moving toward Milo, who sunk down through the mantle to stand next to her. “Can’t he stay, please?”

  “No! This is…I don’t even know how this is possible, unless…” Celeste’s voice trailed away as she looked back and forth between Hannah and Milo with dawning comprehension. She turned back over her shoulder. “Peyton, thank you for alerting me to your concerns, you may go now.”

  “But what’s going on? Is there something wrong with the wards?” Peyton asked, clearly fishing for information.

  “No, the wards are fine. I’ll handle things from here. Please return to your room. It is nearly curfew and you’ve had a big night tonight,”

  Celeste said.

  Peyton managed a shadow of a respectful smile and walked back down toward her room.

  “Milo, Hannah, I need you to come with me to Finvarra’s chambers,”

  Celeste said.

  “What? Now?” Hannah asked in a panicky voice. “Why?”

  “Because she will need to know about the fact that Milo can enter here. It may be a very significant fact, and I’m sure she will want to speak to you both about it,” Celeste said.

  “Well, if they’re going, so am I!” I insisted.

  Celeste seemed about to argue, but then changed her mind. She nodded solemnly. “Yes, I think you should, Jessica. This will affect you as well.”

  “What will affect me?”

  “Are we in some kind of trouble?” Milo asked.

  “No,” Celeste assured us. “No, you aren’t in trouble.”

  “So then why —”

  “Finvarra will be able to answer your questions far better than I will. Please come with me.” And she started briskly down the hallway without another word of explanation.

  Milo, Hannah and I looked warily at each other, and then followed her out in anxious silence. Whatever Celeste said to the contrary, it certainly felt like we were in trouble. I had a visceral flashback to St. Matt’s, when Professor Marshall had ordered me out of her classroom and straight to Dean Finndale’s office. I’d felt just the same way I felt now: nervous and completely wrong-footed. I glanced sideways at Hannah. Her face was utterly drained of color, and her fingers were searching the air next to her for the cold comfort of Milo’s. However much I couldn’t stand Milo, I was grateful for the calming effect he had on Hannah. They’d been through so much together, and I cringed at the thought of Hannah trying to cope at Fairhaven Hall without him.

  We followed Celeste up the tightly winding staircase of the North Tower, the loaded silence broken only by our ragged breathing and echoing footsteps. Just as I thought I couldn’t trudge up another step, we reached a small circular landing facing an arched wooden door which was covered from top to bottom in beautifully carved and painted runes. I just had time to recognize the same eye symbol that adorned our door before Celeste grasped the brass knocker and sent three loud knocks resounding through the tower.

  Before the echoes had even faded, the ghost of a man floated through the door and planted himself firmly before it. I knew at once he had been one of the Caomhnóir in life; he appeared in the same uniform as the sworn members, the dark coat and pointed leather boots obvious even in his transient state. He glared at Celeste, arms crossed, but his expression melted into one of surprise when his eyes fell on us.

  “What can I do for you? Finvarra is occupied with correspondence,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to disturb her, Carrick, but there is a situation here I think she needs to be made aware of,” Celeste said, gesturing to us. I tried to calm my panting as Carrick looked us over. I recognized him right away as the ghost that had been with Finvarra during her welcome speech on our very first night. He had been tall and imposing in life, with a prominent nose and long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He was staring at me with such intensity that I had to look away.

  “These are the Ballard girls, aren’t they? What’s going on, then? What kind of situation?” Carrick’s voice, still professional in tone, betrayed a hint of something else; was it alarm? He shifted his weight slightly, blocking the door from our sight more completely.

  “It is not so much a situation with the girls, as it is a situation between Hannah and this ghost. This is Milo, and he arrived with them a few days ago. It seems that Hannah and Milo might be…Bound,” Celeste said.

  Carrick’s sternly crossed arms fell to his sides. “Oh, I see. Well, that’s…Celest
e, come inside and explain to her. I think you’re right, I think she will want to see them to be sure.”

  Celeste stepped forward, yanked forcefully on the heavy wooden door and disappeared behind it. We stood awkwardly in the hallway under Carrick’s piercing gaze as the seconds ticked by. I could just make out the cadences of conversation on the other side of the door.

  “What are you…that is to say, how are you both?” Carrick asked. He looked uncomfortable, like most of the Caomhnóir when they spoke directly to one of us.

  “Nervous,” I said, shifting from foot to foot. “I don’t suppose you can tell us what’s going on? Or at least if we’re about to get thrown out of here?”

  “Why would you be thrown out?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Celeste won’t tell us anything.” I said, a bit louder than I’d intended.

  “What did she mean, when she said Milo and I are bound?” Hannah asked, a plea in her voice.

  Carrick fixed her with a look that I knew well. It was full of sadness and pity, a look that clearly said he knew all about Hannah’s history. “I am very sorry, but is not my place,” he said. “Finvarra will explain, if it really is true.”

  My eyes darted anxiously around and fell on the door to the office again, where the same rune that adorned our door had been carved amidst an intricate design of other runes and symbols.

  “Wait, she’s got that rune on her door, too!” I said, pointing. “

  Finvarra’s office is protected by many runes. Which do you refer to?” Carrick asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “The one that stands for the ward, that creepy one with the eye that’s supposed to keep ghosts out.”

  Carrick nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes.”

  “But you just came through that door,” I said.

  Carrick nodded again.

  “Well, it obviously doesn’t do what Celeste thinks it does, if Milo can get through our door and you can get through that one!” I said.

  “It isn’t quite as simple as that,” Carrick said, and smiled at us. The expression looked strange on his face, as though his muscles didn’t quite know what to do. It was the first time I’d seen any of the Caomhnóir smile. “Just be patient. I’m sure they will be right with you, and then all will be made clear.”