The World of The Gateway Boxset

by E. E. Holmes

  “Bollocks. It doesn’t ‘happen.’ He got scared, plain and simple. The milksop.”

  “What are you talking about? What would Finn have to be afraid of? He already told me how he felt. Isn’t that supposed to be the scary part?”

  Savvy snorted as her cigarette dangled precariously from the corner of her mouth. “Naw, that’s just the first scary thing. It’s a never-ending parade of scary from there, I hate to tell you. There’s all those ‘firsts’ to contend with—first date, first shag, first fight. But forget all that for a moment, because that’s only the shit normal people have to deal with—and we don’t exactly hang out on the right side of normal, you get me?”

  I nodded. The spirit of a gardener had just trudged by, silently pushing a wheelbarrow over grass that his living feet had never trod upon. I didn’t need the reminder—our lives were far from normal.

  Savvy went on, “Think about how he grew up! He was born a Caomhnóir. Think about what the lot of ‘em drilled into his head from the time he could toddle! That women are evil, and Durupinen are temptresses! They’ll distract you from your duties with their Castings and magical tits! That’s a lot to get over, isn’t it?”

  I giggled. “Magical tits? Really Sav?”

  “Oh, sod off, you know what I mean,” Savvy said impatiently. “All that feminine mystique rubbish.”

  “That was definitely a hurdle at first,” I said, shaking my head, “but I think he got past that even before the Geatgrima opened. Once he got to know me, he got over all the evil temptress stuff. I mean, God knows I wasn’t trying to tempt him—I could barely tolerate him! No, I think he got spooked because he’s afraid of breaking the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “The rules that say a relationship between a Durupinen and a Caomhnóir is forbidden,” I replied.

  Savvy sent two streams of smoke shooting out of her nostrils. “Ah, no way! That’s a load of tosh! That rule was put into place because they were trying to stop the Prophecy. But the Prophecy’s happened. It’s over and done with. So there’s no reason for that rubbish rule to exist anymore.”

  “I know Sav, I know,” I sighed. I had made this point in my own head a million times, night after sleepless night, agonizing over why Finn and I weren’t together. I never actually said any of it out loud to Finn; I didn’t need to. I knew every single argument he’d make: He’d insist it would be too dangerous to mix love with duty; he’d claim that our relationship would distract him, impede him from making logical and rational decisions; he’d say that he couldn’t protect Hannah and me equally if he were only in love with one of us.

  “Have you thought about… saying something to the Council?”

  I snapped back into the conversation. “Have I what?”

  “Why don’t you tell the Council?” Savvy asked.

  I snorted. “Tell the Council of the Northern Clans that I have a crush on a boy? So they can rewrite their centuries-old laws? I can’t imagine how that might go wrong,” I said, before affecting a high-pitched preteen whine. “But Finvarra, I don’t just like him, I like like him!”

  “But the Prophecy…”

  “Forget the damn Prophecy, Savvy. They’ve got a list of petty reasons to forbid Durupinen-Caomhnóir relationships, and none of those have gone away.” I stood up. “And besides, the last thing I need is to draw attention to another rule I broke. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

  “Fair enough,” said Savvy. “I just thought… It can be brutal out there. With blokes, I mean. I haven’t been on a second date in two years, mostly because I don’t want to go through the trouble of covering all of this up.” She gestured broadly at the spirit-filled microcosm we were forced to inhabit. “Finding someone who isn’t an absolute wanker is hard enough, but knowing that someone is properly in love with you and not being able to do shit about it? That just sucks.”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding slowly. “Yes, it does, indeed, suck. In fact, it sucks so much that I’d rather not talk about it anymore. Let’s talk about something else… Like what’s wrong with Finvarra, for instance?”

  Savannah snorted. “Well, she’d probably be a right bit happier if you’d stop broadcasting our ancient secrets over the Internet.”

  “No, not that,” I said. “I mean why does she look so terrible?”

  Savannah gawped at me. “You’re joking! You mean you don’t know? Blimey, I thought everyone knew about her,” she said, shaking her head and looking uncharacteristically serious. “She’s dying.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? Seriously?”

  “Right serious, mate. Cancer, sorry to say. I guess she’s had it a long time, but it hadn’t progressed in ages.”

  “Why not?”

  “Leeching, mate,” Savvy said flatly. “She was using it to keep the illness at bay, so she could keep running things. Can’t do that anymore, of course, now that the Joint Councils have cracked down on it.”

  My shock gave way to a squirming sense of guilt: I hated Leeching, but even after everything we’d been through with Finvarra, I didn’t want her to be ill. Hannah and I were a big part of the reason that Leeching was now strictly prohibited. Many members of the Northern Clans had been using Leeching—the siphoning energy from spirits who were Crossing through the Gateway—as a sort of paranormal anti-aging and full-service beauty regimen. Spirit energy could be used for any number of things, but the Northern Clans had mostly used it to enhance their looks—many Leeched so often that eventually they looked more like flawless Barbie dolls than real women.

  Leeching—technically called using an Aura Flow—was only supposed to be employed in the most dire situations, like if a Durupinen were injured during a Crossing, because Leeching had a potentially devastating effect on the spirits. If a Durupinen sapped too much energy from a spirit, that spirit could become trapped in the Aether—the realm immediately beyond the Gateway—lacking the energy needed to complete its journey to the far side. This was a horrible fate for any spirit, but it also left that spirit vulnerable to being brought back to our realm if a Gateway were ever breached by dark Castings. When a spirit was brought back from the Aether, it lost all of its humanity and became a mindless Wraith. If the Prophecy had come to pass, the Necromancers would’ve used these Wraiths—controlling them with even more dark Castings—as their personal army. The Northern Clan’s abuse of Leeching meant there were thousands, perhaps millions, of Wraiths who could be turned against them. Their “beauty regimens” had nearly cost us everything.

  “That’s… is she getting any other sort of treatment or anything?” I asked. “It’s not like Leeching is the only thing that has an effect on cancer.”

  Savannah shrugged. “Dunno, but if she is, I don’t think it’s working properly at all. I mean, look at her.”

  I said nothing, choosing instead to push the unpleasantness away. I didn’t need to add crippling guilt to the list of torturous emotions I was currently grappling with.

  “So have you decided what you’re going to do?” Savvy asked.

  I looked up at Savvy, startled by the question. “What can I do? It’s not my fault she’s sick.”

  Savvy shook her head. “Of course it isn’t! That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, have you decided yet what you’re going to do about the Council’s ultimatum?”

  “They haven’t given me much of a choice, have they?” I said, turning to look over my shoulder at the castle in the distance. It seemed to bear down on me, leaning in to catch my answer. “Hannah and I will have to talk about it, but I think it’s safe to say you’re looking at the newest Trackers.”

  10

  Target Acquired

  I CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND ME AND HEAVED A HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF. It was done. I’d informed the Council that Hannah and I had accepted their offer. I’d never seen so many of them look so relieved by something that came out of my mouth. Hannah hadn’t wanted to come in the Council Room with me; she’d been waiting on a bench in the entrance hall. When she saw the relief on
my own face, she broke into a smile.

  “Well, at least that part’s done,” she said, allowing me to put my arm around her as I sat down.

  “Yeah, for the moment,” I replied. “Karen just texted me. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Her connection got delayed, so she’ll be in an extra fierce mood for the Council—she’s going to speak to them as soon as she arrives. After that, we’ll see what’s next.” I looked around. “Hey, where’s Milo?” I asked.

  “He’s off somewhere. There are so many new spirits here now, he said he wanted to get a feel for things ‘afterlife style.’” Hannah put these last two words in air quotes, adopting Milo’s voice as she did so. “But really, I think he felt guilty—I know he was spying on me in the central courtyard, even though I asked him for some alone time.”

  I swallowed. I should’ve known Hannah would’ve felt Milo nearby. “Naw, that was my fault. I sent him to check on you. Because… well… you know.”

  Hannah looked at me sternly for a moment before her expression softened. “Yeah, I guess I do know.” Then she drew herself up a bit and said more brightly, “Come on, let’s go to the dining hall. I need a snack.”

  A snack sounded like the best idea I’d heard all day. I didn’t relish the possibility of having to mingle with anyone, but Hannah and I were pretty good at keeping to ourselves. Hell, half the time we didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  As we turned the last corner to the dining hall, I jumped back with a yelp of fright—I backed right into Hannah and nearly knocked her over. Carrick had appeared so suddenly in front of us that I had nearly walked straight through him.

  “Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” he said, floating backward a few feet so there was a more comfortable distance between us. “I merely… I was hoping to speak with you both while you are visiting us.”

  “Were you hoping to scare the crap out of us, too?” I cried, my heart still pounding. “Because mission accomplished.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking almost sheepish. The expression looked strange on his face, as if he’d rarely worn it before.

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said, recovering. I’d been too harsh—now I felt a bit sheepish myself.

  “I wanted to… say hello.” said Carrick. His words hung in the air for a moment, before he added, somewhat formally, “And welcome you back to Fairhaven.”

  “Oh, okay. Hi,” I replied. The words that came out of my mouth were stilted, far more so than was polite. I couldn’t help it.

  The awkwardness was so thick you could’ve cut it with a chainsaw. What the hell were you supposed to say to the ghost of the father you’d never known? There was no social protocol for this.

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at Hannah, hoping she’d rescue me. She cleared her throat and said, “Hello, Carrick.”

  Carrick seemed to be at a similar loss. Now that he was actually in front of us, all of his eagerness to speak seemed to have shriveled up, along with everything he’d wanted to say.

  “It… has been a long time,” he said, a bit curtly in his nervousness. “I’m sorry I haven’t… I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. Finvarra has kept me up to date on your news.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. As far as I knew there was no Durupinen etiquette booklet on how to talk to your dead father. Plus, we hadn’t kept in any kind of contact with Carrick since we’d last seen him—spirits weren’t exactly able to keep up via typical forms of correspondence, and neither of us had made any effort to connect with him using our abilities. Our relationship with our father had been less of a relationship and more of an uncomfortable awareness of the other’s existence, interspersed occasionally with bouts of wondering what the other might be up to. It was strange to think that Carrick had been keeping tabs on us without our knowing it. I also felt a little guilty about his assuming we wouldn’t want to hear from him… and even more guilty as I realized that he was probably right in his assumption.

  “Right. Well, yeah, then you know that we’ve been… fine,” I said at last, to break the silence. It was the most generic of statements, but it was all I could muster.

  Hannah jumped in, trying to salvage the conversation. “How have you been, Carrick?”

  “Well enough, I suppose,” he replied, although a frown creased his brow as he said it. “It’s been a trying time, these last few months.”

  “Uh, yeah, we were sorry to hear that Finvarra is sick. But, I’m sure she’ll be alright. She’s tough,” I said.

  Carrick gave a tiny nod, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “Yes, well. Let us hope so.”

  A few more moments of silence crept by.

  “Well, we should probably go,” Hannah said. “We need a bite to eat before we see Karen. She’s probably in with the Council by now.”

  Karen’s name seemed to shake Carrick out of his inarticulate state. “Yes, of course. But before you go, I… that is to say… I wanted to congratulate you on taking the Tracker positions.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Congratulations? Really?”

  “Yes,” Carrick said. “You ought to know that the Council didn’t offer the positions lightly. They must have a very high opinion of your skills—and your courage—to extend such an offer. I realize they gave you quite another impression all together in Council Room, but it’s true nonetheless.”

  I looked at Hannah, who looked as surprised as I felt.

  “Thanks,” she said to Carrick.

  “Also, please permit me to say that I know you will perform your new duties admirably,” he said stiffly, keeping his eyes trained carefully on the ground. There was the faintest trace of something paternal etched in his voice. Was Carrick trying to say he was proud of us? Did he even have the right to be proud of us after being absent from our lives for two decades?

  I knew Hannah was asking the same questions, and I also knew that she—like me—had decided to push those questions deep down for the moment.

  “Thank you,” Hannah and I both mumbled in unison. Hannah, ever more polite than I, added, “Nice of you to check in.”

  Carrick cleared his throat. “Right. Well, you must be getting along, and so must I. Do give my best to your aunt. Good luck with your Tracking, and… and in the future.”

  We mumbled our thanks again, and parted ways. I heard him pop out behind us; whether it was right or not, I felt nothing but sheer relief at his absence.

  §

  “And I marched right in there while they were in closed session!” Karen cried. “Braxton tried to block me, but I looked right at him and said, ‘Do you really want to find out what’ll happen to you if you so much as lay a hand on me?’”

  “Alright Karen!” I laughed, extending a fist-bump to her. She didn’t notice it, though; she was too busy pacing at breakneck speed around the room, with her arms crossed in an angry knot across her chest.

  The office we were now waiting in had once belonged to Marion, Finn’s aunt, the Council member who had attempted to throw Hannah and me in the dungeons while engineering a coup to place herself on the High Priestess’ throne. For her crimes, the Joint Councils had stripped Marion of her Council position at Fairhaven, and had exiled her from the British Isles. When last I asked about her, she was living with her family somewhere in Paris; Marion would be allowed to return to Fairhaven for clan business only by special dispensation from the High Priestess. If you asked me, I’d say Marion had gotten off far too lightly, but she had powerful political ties within the Durupinen system—the punishment the Joint Councils meted out was never intended to fit the crime.

  This office—which we’d been waiting in for at least thirty minutes—now belonged to Catriona; we were waiting for our first meeting with her as official Trackers. Knowing Catriona, I could only assume she was keeping us waiting on purpose, flaunting whatever little power she had.

  Karen was still raving. “I threatened them with everything I could think of. I told them they were in violation of the Clan Codes. I
invoked my rights as your elder, which require that I be present for any meeting that alters your status within the Durupinen system. And I made sure they knew that I’d be appealing to the Joint Councils to report this atrocious breach.”

  Yep, that was Karen. There was a reason she was a damn good lawyer. She’d be up for partner at her firm soon—and if the shriveled old men who ran that office didn’t promote her, they were surely going to lose her to the headhunters who were constantly scouting her.

  “Do you think that’ll change anything?” I asked.

  “Probably not, but it made me feel a little better,” Karen said, throwing her hands up dejectedly. “They couldn’t have actually enforced that probation, you know. They used it to scare you. There’s no official probation, per say, in Durupinen law. They could’ve sent additional Caomhnóir to follow you around, sure, but they would’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass. They would’ve watched you like a hawk, but they wouldn’t have authority over any of your actions, just as Finn has no authority over your actions now.”

  Finn, who was hovering in the corner, snorted loudly and contracted his eyebrows into a ‘V’—a sure sign that he was teeming with anger. I ignored him.

  “Right, but the thought of being tailed everywhere we go?” I began. “Even if they couldn’t enforce anything, the mere idea of extra Guardian presence is intolerable—and the Council knows it. Because when it comes down to it, we’re Durupinen no matter what rules we break—the Council’s stuck with us, so they’ll wield as much power as they can to grind us into submission!”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Karen said. “But I just want to make sure, before you commit, that you both understand there might be other options. I know you already told them you’d do it, but no one can hold you to that. You’ve signed nothing. And there’s a chance we could get this ultimatum thrown out if we take it high enough.”