by May Dawney
WAKING UP TO the sight of Alena with damp hair and a crooked smile was quickly becoming the best thing about Claire’s new life. She stretched, but then slipped her arms back under the blankets, where it was warm. “What time is it?”
Alena sat on the edge of the bed. “Nearly nine. We have a ten a.m. meeting.”
Claire took her in and realized her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She pushed up into a sitting position and pulled her legs up. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
Alena held her gaze, which made Claire drop hers. She plucked at the blankets. “Dunno. Just…you look worried. A bit. Maybe?”
“Hm.” Alena sighed and glanced at the door, which she’d left open. “Well, it might be nothing, but we are a bit worried, yeah. Wagner hired a seer to track down Ania and Noah. He’s not exactly hot on their trail yet, but he might be soon.”
Claire shook her head. She definitely wasn’t awake enough for so much input—not after getting maybe four hours of sleep. “Sorry, what?”
“Which part didn’t you get?” Alena arched a brow.
“All of it? No, um, I understood that the Inquisitio is hunting Ania and Noah, but Wagner was already doing that, right? Will she…will she find them?”
Alena hummed. “Not yet, but soon. According to Roos, they haven’t left the safehouse, and Noah isn’t picking up her phone. Since Wagner is still hunting them, and there is still a safehouse, not just an explosion crater, we assume they’re all right, but still. My father is concerned, and frankly, so am I. Wagner alone would have a hard time tracking them, but with a seer on their side…” She clenched her jaw.
“You’re angry?”
“Damn right, I’m angry! We all are. If Gigi finds out the seer is working with Inquisitio, we’ll have his hide.” She jumped up and started to pace. “He’s not Society, but there are rules even for unaligned mages—and why would you even consider helping The Inquisitio—hell, why would you even consider tracking a mage, period?”
Claire swallowed and pulled her legs tighter against her chest. “Maybe he thinks he’s helping?”
Alena snorted. “I bet he’s just getting paid really, really well. Unaligneds.” She faux-spit on the ground—at least Claire hoped she didn’t actually spit. The sentiment was clear, though.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Alena shook her hair out. “Okay, get up. Breakfast. Just be forewarned that everyone’s on edge and Ellen is—” She rolled her eyes. “Well, Ellen.” She took Claire in. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“N-No. I’d um…I’d like to shower.” Claire pulled the blanket up a little higher, suddenly worried that she smelled of a long day and sleep. She also realized she still had yesterday’s clothes on; she’d fallen asleep with Magus’s words in her hands.
If Alena had noticed, she didn’t show it. “Right, go do. How about we’ll catch up later, hm? If Noah doesn’t pick up her phone soon, we’ll undoubtedly have a meeting.”
Claire cringed. Right, more hosting. Not something to look forward to, other than that she would get a chance to try to stay present for the event. “Okay. I’ll um…I’ll be around.” She smiled.
“You’d better be.” Alena lessened the sting of her words with a wink and headed for the exit. “See you soon, Alice.” She pulled the door shut behind her before Claire could reply.
Because she was now expecting to be summoned every minute, Claire slipped out of bed right away, stripped, disposed of all her clothes in the hamper, and rushed through a shower.
Kate, or Kathrine, or whatever the name of the girl was who’d stayed here before her had left behind a half-finished flask of coconut scented shampoo and conditioner, and an orange peel body wash. Without an alternative, Claire conceded.
At least Alena had guessed her clothing sizes fairly well, and the high waisted skinny jeans and the thick white turtleneck sweater were both comfortable. She still fished her jacket out of her wardrobe to ward off the chill.
The kitchen was empty by the time Claire arrived, a fact she was incredibly grateful for. The hallways had been deserted as well. Was everyone out doing their daily chores—whatever those were—or were they all planning war?
The reminder sent a shiver down her spine. Claire accepted the fact that no one was going to tell her details about what was going on. They didn’t owe her anything, after all. She was here by luck of the draw, and along for the ride.
Right, tea.
Finding her way around the kitchen was a bit like being on vacation. She had to open all the cupboards to find a mug, and then went through all the tins and boxes to find a teabag. After a minute of fruitless searching, she gave up on trying to locate the sugar and sipped the hot liquid without sweetener.
It was good to have something hot in her hands.
She sat down at the table and soaked in the quiet for a while. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was home, just without the morning sunlight streaming through her curtains and the comforting sounds of traffic to remind her that there was an entire world outside the door.
Maybe it wasn’t like home here after all.
What worked against the fantasy the most was the unrest in her mind. Alena’s words, as well as those of her father, kept running through her head. A war between the Society and the Inquisitio, a wild mage, and a Veil between worlds that kept magic out.
She groaned and let her head fall back in mock surrender. “Not your concern.” The reminder didn’t help. “Not your concern at all.”
As daunting as all the terms and mechanics that she was acquiring insight into were, she knew she’d only scratched the surface, especially when it came to her own special brain.
She’d fallen asleep somewhere near the end of Magus’s second book, but it hadn’t brought her much clarity yet. Was she just supposed to pray for the best? And what if she upset some mechanism that pulled her back into her body when Madame Stravinsky was done with it? Or did Madame Stravinsky actively pull her back in? Would being conscious for the experience interfere with either of those mechanisms?
Alena would probably know, but was this something Claire could ask? Would she be mad that Claire was even thinking about trying to manipulate her possessions? She didn’t mean to fight against them or anything, she just wanted to understand. There was a difference. She was going to be a chemical engineer in a few years; trying to understand things was going to be her job.
She pulled her legs up on the chair she’d claimed and tipped it onto its back legs, shins against the table’s edge. Maybe she shouldn’t ask Alena. It would just be another way for her to fuck up.
Claire sighed and brought the mug to her lips. Was she ever going to relax into all of this? How had the other hosts managed? Maybe, before she left, she should write the next girl a letter with everything she’d learned over the months.
Rapid footfalls in the hallway brought her out of her reverie. She would have startled, but she recognized the walk.
A few seconds later, Alena poked her head in. “There you are. Come on. Stravinsky Ouija’d in, she wants a meeting.”
Claire frowned. “Now? I haven’t eaten.” She dropped her chair back onto four legs and got up.
“Sorry, you can eat afterwards.” Alena sent her a smile and a shrug.
“Can I bring my tea?”
Alena chuckled. “Yes, Alice, you can bring your tea. Enjoy it while it’s hot.” She wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders when Claire exited the kitchen and pulled her against her.
Suddenly, Claire didn’t mind the upcoming possession quite so much.
* * *
The tension hit her like a tidal wave when she entered the small library that doubled as a meeting room. On and Mei weren’t there, but everyone else looked up as they entered.
Claire came to a dead halt under the scrutiny.
“Sorry we’re late.” Alena’s hand slid from her shoulder to her lower back and urged her forward.
>
After a moment of inertia, Claire all but toppled forward, but managed to keep her tea contained inside her mug and her feet under her. “S-Sorry.” She mumbled the word and kept her head down all the way to her uncomfortable chair. The springs creaked loudly under her weight, which made her cheeks sting even worse.
Could the earth please swallow her now?
“Now we’re all here.” Mr. Senna drew the last word out, as if to make even more of a point of her tardiness. “We can get started. I’m sure Petrovna will join us at her leisure.”
So far, Claire didn’t feel another episode coming, but she kept her feelers out. She sipped her tea, then put the mug down as quietly as she could. It wouldn’t do her any good to dump tea all over herself once Madame Stravinsky took over.
“Roos, any new information?”
“I will check.”
That drew Claire’s attention and she dared to look up through the curtain of her hair.
Roos sat up and closed her eyes. After several seconds, and a deep in- and exhale, she opened them again.
Claire gasped.
Roos’s eyes had gone blank. White orbs stared blankly off in the distance. She licked her lips. “They’re searching. They are in an alleyway, heading away from Ania’s house. They are talking.”
“Do they know where to go? Do they have a purpose?”
“I do not think so, no. They’re standing. Gigi is showing her the past, I assume.” She placed her hands over her ears like headphones.
That seemed to mean something to everyone; Mr. Senna leaned back, Ndulu nodded and folded his arms across his chest.
Ellen clenched her jaw and shook her head. “Bastard. I’ll wring his neck if I ev—”
“That’s enough, Ellen.” Even without raising his voice, Ms. Senna’s message rang out loud and clear.
Ellen shot him a glare but folded her arms and leaned back.
Claire sent Alena a question-filled glance.
“Later.” Alena formed the word with her lips but didn’t vocalize it.
She nodded to indicate she understood.
“All right, so we have time.” Mr. Senna checked on her. “Anything yet, Claire?”
She shook her head. The second she did, icy spikes traversed her spine and the familiar fog covered her brain. Mr. Senna’s next words warped, and then lost all meaning as the darkness sucked her away from the room.
She fought to stay present. If she could just hold on to the meeting room, to the fact that she had a body, to Alena…
Of course, that was the hook she’d sought: Alena. The second her focus settled on deep brown eyes, full lips, and the feeling of her arm wrapped around Claire’s shoulders, she wasn’t Alice plummeting down the rabbit hole anymore. She was surrounded by blackness, yes, but she was there. She didn’t wake up in the meeting room, dazed and shrouded in the stench of cigars. Instead, she was was…somewhere. Somewhere in the black.
She floated along a few moments as she wrapped her head around this plot twist. She’d assumed she’d end up in the back of her own head, not….
Where was she?
Simon Magus had mentioned this, hadn’t he? The darkness beyond the Veil?
She shuddered without having a body to shudder with. It was an odd sensation, like jiggling her insides. It was also odd to try to spin herself about to look. Nothing as obvious as a shimmering veil of energy slipped into her field of vision; it was just dark.
So, it could be done. She could stay present during her possession. That was good! Less good was that she was stuck out here until Madame Stravinsky left. That would get boring quickly. And if she was being honest, she was also a little scared. What if she wouldn’t be sucked back in? What if she had to stay here forever—severed from her body like the dead boy in Magus’s tale?
The thought caused a lapse in focus and she slipped further away. It was a directionless slip, but she could feel the tether between her body and her mind thinning.
A tether.
She felt for it and grabbed on with her mind. It was, indeed, there—a connection as thin as spider silk that she could never-the-less perceive. Question was, could she manipulate it?
How did one manipulate anything beyond the Veil?
Again, Magus’s lessons came to good use: Beyond the Veil, you made things happen simply by making them happen. What she wanted to happen was to be closer to her body—not back inside it, just…closer. She didn’t know where her body was, or how the world around her worked. She didn’t even know if what she wanted was possible, but she wanted to be closer to her body.
She closed her eyes—or maybe not; the darkness didn’t change—and envisioned having hands, and a butt that was currently being tormented by springs. Lungs, that by now probably burned with cigar smoke.
Something like an echo came back to her; a distant memory, a drop falling down into a deep well. It was vague, and impossible to pin down, but it was there. Her body existed, but she was a million miles away from it, blanketed, shrouded…veiled.
She tried to grab a hold of the ghost of her body. Magus hadn’t said how he’d done it, but there was an instinct to it; her spirit belonged inside that shell, and even though she’d been ousted by Madame Stravinsky, there was a connection that seemed impossible to break. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. The thread was there.
It took hours, or maybe just minutes, to move an inch. She wasn’t sure she was moving, but the connection strengthened. She was making progress.
Then, a siren song.
It was distorted and the words incomprehensible, but the voice was unmistakable: Alena. She’d recognize her voice everywhere.
The voice spurred her on, faster and onward, toward whatever direction would bring her closer to it.
“…means nothing…for now…become…”
“…wild mage. If things get out of…”
“…won’t get to…will arrive…”
“…you should…”
Bits and pieces filtered in, like a radio station drifting in and out of range. Alena, Mr. Senna, a deep voice she didn’t recognize.
Cigar smoke; she could taste it on her lips and tongue. Springs poked her. Both were ghosts of the actual experience, as if they were happening to someone else but she was linked into their experiences.
It was still dark.
“I’m not sending anyone out, Petrovna. Not even you. Your new host is not ready for a road trip.” Mr. Senna’s tone was dismissive, his words clipped and curt.
“Is that what you think this is? A road trip? It’s war, Gregorios! If I choose to take her, I will.” The unfamiliar voice had a heavy accent, something Russian or Ukrainian, maybe? “She doesn’t get a say in the matter, and neither do you. She is only here to be a vessel, and you do not run the Society, I do.”
A cold hand wrapped itself around Claire’s throat and squeezed. The heavy voice was her own, just mangled by cigar smoke and unfamiliar speech patterns. She was listening to Madame Stravinsky speak through her and about her.
Claire quieted herself. If she could hear Madame Stravinsky, then maybe Madame Stravinsky could hear her as well.
“On paper, Petrovna. Don’t forget you’re dead. I have run the day-to-day for thirty plus years now. What I say goes, even if you don’t agree. You can look at me as angrily as you want, but it has very little influence on my decision, and even less impact because you chose a seventeen-year-old stick figure as a host. You’re staying here, end of story. We’ll keep calling Otieno. We’ll get her to pick up. Even if you got on a plane to Kraków right now, it wouldn’t matter. If we don’t reach her, you won’t be in time to protect them. No need to expose ourselves more than we already have. And don’t even think about trying to sneak her out—I know about everything that happens within these walls. I’ll stop you myself, if I have to.”
Claire would have held her breath if she’d had control over her lungs. Instead, she waited as seconds ticked away in silence.
“For now, I will abide by your ju
dgement, but mark this moment, Gregorios. If it backfires, I’m holding you personally responsible, and you will not like what I will do to you then.”
Mr. Senna barked out a laugh that was entirely void of humor. “I think it’s time you left the table. We’ll reconvene when there is news.”
Moment of truth. Once Madame Stravinsky left her body, Claire would either be sucked into her shell, or she’d be stuck. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Claire waited for her body to become vacant once more. Was she supposed to do something? Dive into it?
Nope. For a moment, her spirit was in freefall, then it slipped inside her body. A sense of horrible claustrophobia befell her, then the warmth of her shell wrapped around her and her consciousness spread through it. A crushing heaviness weighted on her and she groaned as she adjusted to gravity. Her mind blurred and nausea settled heavily in her gut.
It was less severe than usual.
It still sucked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The boy’s spirit is of no help. His mind it gone, his energy fading. Whatever brought him to combustion, it’s passed. If that kind of power requires dying, I might stay out of heaven for now. It is too limiting a place anyway. I have access to the worlds beyond the Veil now, and I plan to reap my rewards.
The boy is gone, but his death inadvertently brought me new life. I have buried his body in my yard today, and planted flowers on top. Rest easy, boy. You have earned it, and your sacrifice won’t be forgotten.
– Simon Magus, “In Search of Heaven; Treaties of the Veil”
SHE CAME TO to the sound of raised voices. Her head throbbed. Every joint in her body seemed to crack and pop when she moved. Her ass was numb.
Alena’s hand lay on her thigh and rubbed gently. “Are you okay?”
“I… I think so?” Claire looked around.
No one was paying attention to her at all. They were all too busy talking amongst themselves. Mr. Senna’s face had gone red.
“You will do no such thing!” He slammed his hand down on the table. “We are going to stay here. We are going to call Otieno. We will do that until she picks up. No one is going to leave the Den. Do I make myself clear?”
