by E. E. Holmes
I turned away from her to see Finn staring at me as well.
“Can I help you?” I snapped.
“I can’t start my casting until you’ve finished yours,” he said. “Are you finished?”
It took two more cracks at the Old English before I pronounced it correctly enough to open the circle properly. I felt the moment it buzzed to life, as did Finn, who immediately began his own work. Finally, we were ready to start. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind, reaching into the mental space around me, searching for a spirit who might be attempting to connect.
I searched. I searched some more. Nothing.
Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I opened my eyes and looked around the courtyard. Everyone was deep in communication now; everyone, that was, except for me. It was like being the last one picked in gym class, a social stigma I had quite a bit of experience with, since I was always the new kid. I closed my eyes again, pushed aside my middle school emotional trauma, and reached outward. The minutes ticked by. Nothing.
Disconcerted, I opened my eyes again and consulted my textbook. Had I missed a step? Was I doing something wrong? I couldn’t find anything obvious.
“Is there a problem here?” Keira, in her wanderings, had arrived beside me.
“No, I think I’ve done it right,” I said, as quietly as I could, not wanting to draw attention to myself. “I just haven’t gotten anything yet, and I’m not sure why.”
“Sometimes it takes a bit more time when you are starting out. When was your first Visitation?” Keira asked. “Last August,” I said, my heart thudding a confused rhythm of emotion at the memory. “Your gift is among the newest here,” Keira said. “How would you say you feel about Visitations?”
“How do I feel about them?”
“For instance, are you excited about the idea of a Visitation? Nervous? Frightened?” Keira prompted.
“Oh,” I said, and tried to find a tactful way to express myself. “The Visitations haven’t been a positive experience for me, generally, so I guess if I had to pick a feeling here, I’d have to go with unenthused.”
Keira actually smiled, which surprised me. “You did not have an ideal introduction to your gift, which is, of course, unfortunate. Try not to be discouraged. You will all improve with practice, and as impossible as it seems, you will get used to it.” She gestured around at the other Apprentices. “Many of the connections being made here today are very weak, lacking detail and clarity. Each and every one of you has plenty of work to do.”
“Okay,” I said. I closed my eyes again and repeated the exercise for another twenty minutes with no success. I was nearly ready to throw in the towel and accept defeat when Hannah spoke.
“Hey, isn’t that your Silent Child?” she whispered.
I opened my eyes and followed Hannah’s gaze. The Silent Child stood barely visible in the shadow of the North Tower. Her penetrating stare was turned on me with an intensity that ought to have burned a hole straight through me.
“Yes, that’s her,” I said, and quickly closed my eyes again, feeling out, searching for her, sure she must be trying, as she so often was, to communicate with me. I could find nothing. Then an idea struck me.
“Hannah, can you try to Call her?” I whispered.
Hannah frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t want her to attack you again.”
“It’s fine,” I said hitching a thumb over my shoulder at Finn, who was watching our whispered conversation with a storm cloud of an expression. “We’ve got a Caomhnóir ready to expel her, remember? Please? I really want to know why she’s been following me. Maybe this Casting will help her communicate.”
“Okay, if you want me to,” Hannah said, though she still looked wary. Her eyelids fluttered closed and I watched her now familiar routine of Calling. My eyes darted back and forth between Hannah and the Silent Child, who had not moved, nor made any indication that she sensed what Hannah was trying to do.
“That’s really strange,” Hannah said after a few minutes. “I can’t even sense her out there.” I gaped at her. “You’re kidding! Has that ever happened before?”
“Not with a ghost,” Hannah said firmly. She was looking at the Silent Child now with a fearful new fascination. “I know right where she should be, but when I reach out for her…something is in the way.”
“It’s not like last night, with the Elemental, is it?” I asked. “You couldn’t sense that thing, either.” I glanced back at the Silent Child, crouched and motionless, like a spooked cat.
“No, it’s not like that,” Hannah said, chewing thoughtfully on a stray piece of hair. “It’s hard to describe. I know she’s there, but something is preventing the connection. I can’t get the mental grip on her that I need to Call her; she’s behind some kind of wall.”
The booming tower bells made us jump. We’d gone over time. There were several scattered shrieks around the Courtyard as connections were broken accidentally. A gust of frightened energy blew across my back, ruffling my hair. Savvy started cursing loudly at Bertie, who had panicked and expelled whomever Savvy had been communicating with.
We looked back in the direction of the Silent Child, but the bells, like a knell to signal the departure of a soul from the world, had driven her away from us and back into obscurity. That night, I dreamed of her for the first time, standing before a wall of fire, her mouth open in a scream that no one could hear.
12
LEECHES
AS PREOCCUPIED AS I WAS ABOUT THE SILENT CHILD, I was far too busy trying to keep up with classwork and other responsibilities to dwell on her constantly. Two days and one more abysmal attempt at a communication circle, and I was still no nearer to making contact with her or, it seemed, any ghost at all.
“I don’t understand!” I cried, shoving my pouch and book back into my bag at the end of the next lesson. “Why can’t I do this? There are ghosts everywhere here! Literally, there goes one right now!” I pointed across the garden where a pearly figure of a chamber maid was hovering on the front steps, shaking out the specter of a dishrag, sodden with the dust of ages past. “I see them all day long, I’ve spoken to them in the halls. I have one in my room that I can almost never get rid of! But as soon as I enter that circle, nothing! It’s like a black hole of spirit activity as soon as I get in there!”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Mackie said bracingly. “I’m still really only getting vague emotional impressions.”
“At least you’ve got something to start with, though,” I said. “Your spirit journal isn’t completely blank, is it?”
“Well, no, but we’ve all got a lot of work to do!” Mackie said. “Keira doesn’t seem concerned, so I don’t think you should be.”
Savvy swaggered over to join us, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Alright?”
“Savvy, did you get much in communication today?” Mackie asked.
Savvy opened her purple spirit journal with a flourish and read dramatically, “Ghost was a bloke with angry energy and possibly a white shirt. The only two words I got in answer to any of my questions were unclear, but sounded like ‘battle axe’.” She closed it with a snap. “Well, that was definitely worth thirty minutes of my life. I knew I should have stayed in bed today, but after last night, I thought skipping class might be pushing my luck.”
“What are they making you do this time?” I asked.
“Kitchen duty,” Savvy said. She’d been caught in the entrance hall in the wee small hours of the morning, sneaking back to her room after a crazy night at a house party. “That Marion is a right pain in the ass. You’d think I murdered someone, the way she was going on at me. Think I’ll spit in her food.”
“Fine by me. Just don’t spit in mine, mate,” Mackie said. “Are you all going to go to the courtyard for the Crossing tonight?”
“Yes, we’re going to come,” Hannah said.
“It might be better if you don’t bring me, Hannah,” I said, starting back for the castle. “The spirits will probably take one look at m
e and head for another Gateway.”
“That’s not how it works and you know it,” Hannah said. “Stop being so dramatic. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. And besides, all this negative energy you’re creating isn’t going to help you establish communication.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, but I knew she was right. I was starting to psych myself out about the entire communication circle process, and I would need to get out of my own way if I was going to improve.
That morning Agnes had informed us all that there would be teachers on hand in the courtyard at ten o’clock if anyone wanted continued guidance or supervision for their next Crossing. Hannah and I hadn’t performed one since the very first on Karen’s rooftop back home, though we had practiced the steps and incantations many times now for Siobhán’s class. Crossings, we had learned, were divided into two categories; Crossings by necessity and Crossings by lunar cycle. Crossings by necessity were performed at the request (or in some cases, desperate demand) of spirits who sought out the Durupinen for help. Our first Crossing was the ultimate example of a Crossing by necessity, as the backlog of trapped spirits had become highly dangerous and volatile by the time we were able to perform it. Crossings by lunar cycle were also sometimes called maintenance Crossings, and were performed at regular intervals to provide a periodic opportunity for spirits to decide to cross. The lunar cycle, according to generations of Durupinen, was the most constant and reliable method of ensuring that these Crossings happened on a regular basis. The full moon could already be seen, pale and swollen, in the summer sky, which meant the time for the lunar cycle Crossing had arrived.
I was not nearly as nervous about this Crossing as I’d been about the first, mostly because I did not anticipate seeing any ghosts with whom I was emotionally involved. But I felt even calmer about it when I learned that the Caomhnóir, otherwise engaged with a training exercise, would not be present, which meant that I wouldn’t have to perform with Finn Carey scowling over me.
We went back to our room, where Hannah dumped out her bag and repacked it with some different books and a faded, musty quilt from the chest at the end of her bed.
“I told Milo I’d meet him on the grounds. Do you want to join us?” she asked.
“Sure, I just need to check my email first,” I said.
“Okay, see you down there. We’ll be over by the fountain with the statues of those three dancing girls.”
“Great,” I said, waving absently over my shoulder. My email was already open and the first thing I saw was a message from Tia, with the subject line, “URGENT!”
Heart in my throat, I clicked on it and began to read.
Hi Jess,
I really hope that everything there is getting better, and that you and Hannah are doing okay. I attached an article from the local newspaper that I think you need to see. I think this whole situation might be much more dangerous than we thought. Sam and I have backed off of it, like you asked, but it sounds like the police are getting involved.
Love and miss you,
Tia
I clicked on the link and began to read the article, which was dated two days prior.
LOCAL STORE FIRE RULED ARSON, OWNER DECLARED MISSING
Police have confirmed today that last month’s devastating fire in the downtown shopping district on Elm Street has indeed been ruled arson. The fire completely destroyed one shop, The Gypsy Tearoom, which sold books, herbs, and other novelty items used in alternative medicine and occult practices such as fortune telling. The fire also caused mild to moderate smoke damage and water damage to neighboring businesses.
In a new twist, the owner of the shop, Annabelle Rabinski, 35, has been reported missing by her family. It seems that Ms. Rabinski has not been seen since the evening of the fire, and all attempts to contact her have been unsuccessful. A routine visit to her residence revealed that the apartment had been broken into and many items were missing or stolen. Police are asking anyone with information about Ms. Rabinski’s whereabouts to please come forward.
I leaned away from the computer, as though it was my proximity to this disturbing new information that made it true. First Pierce, and now Annabelle. What the hell was going on? Filled with an aching desire to do something, I went back to my inbox and looked for a reply from Neil, but he still hadn’t answered me. I knew three days was not an excessively long time to wait for a reply, but the news about Annabelle had left me shaken, and I decided to cast another line. I pulled up the original article where I’d first come across Neil’s name; it had appeared in a Cambridge-based newspaper. I hopped on the paper’s website and emailed the reporter who’d written it, asking for any contact information he might have for Neil. I sat staring at the computer for another ten minutes, wracking my brain for another lead I might pursue, but could think of nothing. I grabbed my bag and went to meet Hannah and Milo.
We spent most of the afternoon out on the grounds, slogging through a pile of homework for History and Lore. It was my favorite kind of summer day; sunny and breezy, without a trace of humidity in the air. We didn’t even go back in the castle for dinner, opting instead to eat on Hannah’s quilt, soaking in the last of the warmth before the English countryside absorbed it along with the setting sun. The work was a good distraction, but terrible what-ifs kept popping up in my head like weeds in a garden, unbidden and damn near impossible to get rid of.
Finally, as twilight fell, we gathered in the central courtyard for the Crossing. I hadn’t been here since the welcoming ceremony, except to cut through on my way to Keira’s class in the garden-side courtyard. The central stone archway loomed in the center, exuding its strange, seductive energy. I averted my eyes from it; the pull felt dangerous, somehow. A reverent hush hovered over everyone as they silently created their circles and lit their candles, and we joined in the quiet ritual together.
Finally, when it seemed that all the circles had been cast, Finvarra herself, accompanied by Celeste, Siobhán, and Keira, swept into the courtyard, Carrick marching soundlessly along behind her. They weaved amongst the Apprentices, examining our work, suggesting an adjustment here and there, and then took their places at the center, fanning out along the base of the archway.
“I have been told,” Finvarra said, addressing us with arms flung wide open, “that you all did very well in your first Crossings. I am sorry that my responsibilities as High Priestess had me otherwise engaged on that evening. I look forward to watching tonight as you continue to embrace your calling and honor your heritage. Please begin.”
I fumbled to extract my copy of the Book of Téigh Anonn from my back pocket. I took a deep breath.
“Ready?” I asked Hannah.
“Ready,” she said.
Hannah took her place beside the green candle, while I stood beside the yellow one. A quiet murmuring of voices began as soon as we took our assigned places. I had been expecting this, so it did not startle me as it had the first time. It was also a much gentler hum than on that first night, as we were no longer opening the Gateway to nearly two decades worth of trapped souls.
We said the incantation together, speaking slowly and carefully:
“We call upon the powers endowed us of old.
We call upon the connection that binds us together.
With the joining of hands and the joining of blood,
The Gateway we open, the spirits we summon.”
Hannah lit the white Spirit candle in the center of the circle, and then we grasped right hands. I felt the Gateway flow through us, ready to burst open, and began to chant.
“Téigh Anonn. Téigh Anonn. Téigh Anonn.”
Flash.
A hot and smoky kitchen with stone walls and a dirt floor. A baby screaming in a wooden cradle nearby. Running through a sea of wild grain, sunlight gleaming in my golden hair. The smell of livestock as I struggle with a pail of fresh steaming milk. The sounds of sobbing as I lift a scabbed and oozing hand in front of my face.
Flash.
Light shattering i
nto a rainbow across a tiny, dimpled hand. The smell of a freshly starched shirt sliding over my braids. Sobbing over a torn and bloody hole in my new stockings. Climbing out over a peeling white windowsill to the boy below, waiting on his red bicycle.
Flash.
One by one, the memories flooded through me, at once foreign and familiar. The sensation was disorienting, and beneath the current of the others’ thoughts, I found myself worrying that I would lose my balance and break the connection.
Flash.
Astride a galloping horse, the wind filling my lungs with the heady scent of lilacs. Clinging for dear life to a bedpost as a grim-faced maid tugs mercilessly at the strings of my corset. Lying beneath a barrel-chested man in a down-feathered bed, my eyes clenched shut, tears streaming down my face.
Flash.
A butterfly trapped beneath a glass jar, beating its wings with frantic taps against the walls of its prison. Running along beside a train waving and crying, waving and crying at the man in the uniform. Crawling through the sucking mud as explosions rain down overhead. Dragging the terrible dead weight of a friend across a wasteland of barbed wire and mangled corpses, sobbing my curses to the leaden sky.
Flash.
I lost track of how many lives passed through us, but before I could even process the flood of emotions, it was over, much more quickly than I’d expected. I felt the Gateway close tightly inside me, and I opened my eyes to stare around, my own consciousness flooding back through me. Even full of my own thoughts and memories, I felt weirdly empty. I brushed someone else’s tears from my cheeks.
Hannah her right hand still grasped tightly in mine, was pale and trembling. I watched as her sense of where and who she was flickered back into her eyes. Then she seemed to see me again, and smiled gently.
“That wasn’t as bad as last time,” she said quietly.
