by E. E. Holmes
“Remember what Catriona said,” I began. “If we’re on a mission, you’re on a mission. You agreed to that, remember?”
Milo crossed his arms and pouted. Everyone ignored him.
“There then, you’ve solved the problem for us,” Finn said smugly. “If you can send Milo out to communicate with us, then he can communicate with Catriona just as well. I’m staying. It’s not going to be that easy to get rid of me, Jess.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you! I just thought…”
“You just thought you’d have better luck here without me breathing down your neck, insisting you make safe choices,” Finn snarled, cutting me off before I could explain myself. “I’m not a fool, Jess. I know full well that you prefer doing things your own way, but until we understand exactly what that cloud-thing is, there’s no chance in hell I’m going leaving you and Hannah unprotected. Conversation closed.”
I didn’t even bother starting an argument—which was a new approach for me. I wasn’t trying to get rid of Finn, I really wasn’t. I was past the point of wanting to get rid of him. If anything, I wanted him around much more than was healthy for our strictly platonic relationship.
I took a deep breath to keep my voice calm and even. I kept my eyes focused on my hands, which were now folded in my lap. “Actually I’ve been thinking it might be smart to investigate from the inside and the outside at the same time. You and Iggy could stake out Whispering Seraph from the perimeter, using the team’s technology. You could blanket the place with satellites and camera-drones. Hannah and I could use that intel to inform our moves while we’re inside. To keep us safer.” I placed a delicate emphasis on this last word.
No one spoke. I looked up, expecting to see Finn glaring at me, or else building up to an explosion, but he was just staring at me with his mouth open. In fact, everyone was staring at me.
“What?” I asked, a bit defensively.
“That’s… actually a properly good idea,” Finn said.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” I said, scowling. “I’ve been known to have one or two of those.”
“That still doesn’t mean I’m willing to have the two of you in here without protection, though,” Finn said. “Perhaps Iggy could handle the surveillance while I stayed inside with you.”
Hannah shook her head. “It’s too big of a job for one person. There’s no way Iggy could set that much tech up by himself… and just going through all that footage would be a full-time job.” I knew Hannah was right; as a grad student, she’d spent whole weekends under mountains of case studies.
“Could you get the rest of the team down here?” asked Finn. “The Trackers can pay them. I’ll requisition the additional funding from Catriona.”
“I have a hard time imagining the team saying no to an all-expenses-paid trip to one of the most haunted cities in the country,” I said.
“Great. Let’s get Iggy in here, ask him what he thinks,” replied Finn.
“Wait!” cried Hannah. “We still need someone on the outside who can communicate with Milo. He can’t deliver messages to the team if they can’t even see him.”
“See if Annabelle can make it, too,” Finn suggested.
“We can’t ask her to do that, this is her busiest time of year,” I said. “Let’s ask Lu-Ann and Loretta to help instead. The team can set up tech command at their boarding house. That way one of the Lafayette twins will always be around to take messages from Milo.”
“Oh great, daily chats with the twins from The Shining. I can hardly wait.” Milo grumbled.
Hannah opened her door and waved Iggy into the car. He slid into the front passenger seat, exhaling loudly as the first gush of the car’s A/C blasted across him. I felt a pang of guilt from having kept him out in the heat.
We outlined our plan; Iggy was ecstatic, as I expected. “We’re going to throw everything we’ve got at it!” he cried. “I bet the guys can fly down tomorrow. We’ve got a hell of a lot of new long-range tech we’ve been raring to use… this place’ll be perfect.”
“Good. Well. That’s all sorted, then,” Finn said. “Let’s get this investigation properly underway.”
14
Night Swimming
HANNAH AND I CAREFULLY PLAYED OUR PARTS for the next few hours. It was utterly exhausting. We nodded and smiled as we signed about a hundred different waivers, agreements, and contracts—a veritable mountain of paperwork—while pretending we understood all the legalese. Finn and Iggy stood at attention the whole time, playing their roles as security perfectly. Then Hannah and I sat through a long and self-indulgent welcome video, narrated by Campbell himself, which explained the various elements that would make up our retreat. The only part of the video which really piqued our interest was the short section about Whispering Seraph itself.
As we watched, Campbell smiled serenely at us from the TV screen. “As a former real estate man, I’d like to be able to say that I found Whispering Seraph, but really, it was Whispering Seraph that found me. The property came to me in a dream, a vision bestowed on me by my angel. It was then I knew this was the place I needed to be,” he said, gesturing grandly as he stood at the end of the long, tree-lined drive with the house and grounds sprawling out behind him. “You can feel it in the air here; the connection with the spirit world is strong. This is a property with a great deal of history; its stories are walking around, unseen by the naked eye, but screaming loud as can be for those who have the courage to listen. And now you’ve brought your own story here too. We will reveal its mysteries together.”
Maya brought us a late lunch on a tray as we wrapped up the registration process. She apologized profusely for the mountain for forms. After lunch, she took the four of us—five of us really, with Milo in silent tow—on a tour of the grounds. It was almost unbearably hot, but we all stayed alert and watchful. Iggy, I knew, was focused on the property’s tech; I could see him taking mental notes of the security cameras, keypads, alarm systems, and the motion sensors. The rest of us we were on the watch for anything that might be Durupinen related in any way—a rune, traces of a spent Circle, anything. By the time we reached the front porch again—a full hour and a half later—we were drenched in sweat from head to toe; we hadn’t found a shred of Durupinen-related evidence.
A woman with a tray of drinks stood just inside the door, and we all gulped tall glasses of lemonade while Maya concluded her tour script.
“And now, I’ll show you up to your suite, where I hope you’ll find everything to your liking. If anything needs to be adjusted to suit your needs, please do let me know—we will take care of it at once,” she said. Then she turned to Finn and Iggy. “Gentlemen, you may follow so that you know where the ladies will be staying, and then Mr. Carey, sir, I’ll show you to the security quarters for your own accommodations.”
“Thank you,” Finn said stiffly, and I fought a bubble of laughter that was trying to escape me. Poor Finn—it was like we were flying first class while he was stuck in the cargo hold.
Our room was on the second floor, overlooking the expansive front lawn. When we first entered the house, I’d never been so happy to walk into an air-conditioned space in my entire life—and I was even happier when Maya said we didn’t have to leave our wonderfully cool room for dinner. The kitchen would prepare anything we wanted from an extensive room service menu.
“Not going to lie,” I said after Maya let herself out. “I could seriously get used to this Tracker gig.” I flopped onto the nearest bed and was almost swallowed by the goose-down duvet. “Do you think I could conduct the entire investigation from this bed right here?”
“Well, you could try, but I think you could kiss your Tracker status good-bye,” Milo said. “This place is off the hook, though. Massages and manicures on demand! Hey, I wonder if they have style consultants, too.”
“Hannah, could you Call a shitload of spirits to come and unpack our stuff?” I asked.
“Not funny,” came Hannah’s flat reply from the o
ther side of the room.
“It was a little funny,” I muttered. I sat up and saw Hannah crouching by the window.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What are we supposed to be doing right now? I’m Warding our room!” Hannah said impatiently. “Catriona said to do it right away—and I’m not taking any chances, especially now that we’ve seen that smoke-cloud angel thing. Do you want to wake up and find that thing hovering over you?” She shivered violently.
“Definitely not. I’ll help you. But then we’re ordering dinner. And remember, the Durupinen are paying, so let’s order something stuffed with lobster, okay?”
Spurred on by the thought of the unknown angel—and admittedly, by the lobster—we Warded our room in record time, and then spent the next couple of hours unpacking and eating an incredible dinner. Milo blinked out while we ate—he didn’t generally stick around during mealtimes. But by the time we’d finished, rather than wanting to fall into bed, I found myself getting antsy, almost agitated.
I stood up. “Okay, as nice as it would be to drift off into a food coma right now, we’ve got work to do. I’m going exploring.”
Hannah looked startled. “Really? Why? We just got a tour. I mean, are we even allowed to?”
I shrugged. “We’re guests here now, remember? Campbell told us to make ourselves at home. I think that means we’re allowed to check the place out.”
Hannah bit her lip. “Oh, um… I don’t… should we?”
I threw my hands up impatiently and marched toward the door. “Forget it, I’ll go by myself.”
“No, I… I just want to… I can come with you, if you want.” Hannah said it earnestly, but I could hear a tiny tremor in her voice that begged, by its very presence, for me not to ask this of her. I was perplexed for a moment—this wasn’t a prison after all—but then I suddenly realized why she was so scared.
“Hannah,” I began gently. “This isn’t like New Beginnings, or any of those other places. We chose to come here. We can leave anytime. No meds. No doctors. This is our choice, remember that.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands, which were twisting agitatedly in her lap. “I know that, Jess. But, um… thanks for the reminder.”
“Good. And if anything about this place is too much, just say the word and we’re out of here,” I said, placing one hand on the doorknob. “And the Durupinen can stick this Tracker gig right up their collective ass if they don’t like it. Whatever happens, I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re back in one of those places, you understand?”
Although Hannah’s gaze remained on her own hands, her mouth twitched into the merest suggestion of a smile. “Yeah, I understand.” Then a tiny giggle bubbled up out of her throat.
“What?” I asked. Everything I’d said was sincere; I didn’t see what was funny.
“What’s a collective ass?” Another giggle escaped her.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, feigning annoyance but feeling nothing but gladness at the sound of her laugh. “Call Milo if you need him, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I’ll see you in a bit,” I said, and walked out the door; I pulled it shut behind me quickly, before Hannah could convince herself to change her mind. I needed some time to think; being by myself was for the best right now.
I set off down the hallway and toward the grand staircase, but I soon stopped paying attention to where I was going; my mind just couldn’t make sense of this situation. Jeremiah Campbell had some special abilities, there was no denying that. As much as I wanted to believe he was just another scam artist, I had to accept that this wasn’t true. I didn’t have the faintest idea how Campbell was connecting with spirits, but nonetheless he did have a legitimate spirit connection. But what the hell was that angel thing?
Before Catriona had dumped us with the Lafayette twins, she’d received solid confirmation from the Trackers: Campbell had no traceable Durupinen or Caomhnóir blood in his ancestry. So how had he wound up on an old Durupinen property? Had his “angel” really led him to this place?
I began to wonder: Was it so impossible that someone completely unconnected to the Durupinen could communicate with the spirit world? Could refusing to believe that others might have abilities like ours be yet another example of the Durupinen’s willful arrogance? That arrogance had nearly destroyed us all three years ago—the Council’s refusal to acknowledge the resurfacing of the Necromancers had led to the fulfillment of the Prophecy. Why did we have to have a monopoly on spirit communication? Why couldn’t there be others who had spirit connections as powerful and meaningful as our own?
I stopped dead as a wall of warm, heavy air seemed to smack me right in the face. I had walked out onto the front porch without even paying attention to where my feet had been taking me; someone had left the door to the porch wide open. The sweeping lawn sprawled out before me, smooth and velvety beneath the canopy of massive trees and their trailings of Spanish moss. I took a deep breath, but the air, heavy with moisture, felt sluggish in my lungs, as though the humidity had smothered the oxygen. I looked at my watch; it was nearly 11:00 PM, but the temperature had fallen only slightly—it had to be at least seventy-five degrees still.
I crossed the massive porch and continued down the steps and out across the grounds. There was an eerie beauty to the Louisiana night, a tranquility that even the sounds of the night couldn’t quite seem to penetrate. The stars shone brightly, and although the moon wasn’t quite full, a halo enveloped it. Here and there between the trees, the dull glow of a spirit flickered past; much like at Fairhaven, the spirits didn’t seem out of place here, they simply belonged to the landscape. The lines blurred so easily here, an overlapping of realms as natural as the meeting of the ocean and the shore. What was it about places like this that made them havens for the dead in the world of the living? Was it because of the place itself, like a geographic anomaly, or was it further confirmation that Campbell was exactly what he claimed to be?
A loud splashing sound halted me in my tracks. Once again, my thoughts had carried me further than my feet had realized; I was now only a yard or two from the pond, standing in tall, un-manicured grass. The stillness that had stolen over me evaporated; an electric crackling of fear now replaced it. What had made that splash? I was in Louisiana now—weren’t the waters here teeming with alligators?
I spun around frantically, hopping from one foot to the other in a terrified, spastic version of an Irish jig. I was sure I was about to be devoured, but all was still again. I scanned the surface of the pond and the tall grass around me. I laughed out loud: Three minutes alone in the Louisiana night and I’d nearly given myself a heart attack. I was such a city girl.
Praying no one in the compound had witnessed my freak-out, I started to turn back to the house, but I tripped and tumbled to the ground. I threw my hands out in front of me to break the fall, but landed hard enough. Still envisioning massive jaws poised to swallow me whole, I scrambled into a sitting position and looked frantically around for what had caused me to trip.
A pile of clothes lay abandoned in the grass. My attacker was nothing more than the strap of a gold sandal twisted around my ankle. I laughed at my own panic and bent down to free myself. I noted the white cottony maxi dress and the heavy, studded leather belt that lay curled on top of it like a couture snake.
Something else lay glimmering among fabric; it was a long, gold chain with a glittering ring attached to it. I picked it up.
“Find her. Find her. She’s out there.” The voice shot into my head as clearly as my own thoughts.
I dropped the ring as though it had burned me. I spun around looking for the owner of the voice, but I couldn’t see anyone, spirit or human.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Is someone there? I can hear you. Do you need my help?”
“No. Help her. She needs your help.”
“Who?” I asked. “Help who?”
My eyes, in their frantic search for the owner of the voice, had fallen on t
he surface of the pond. There, a long, dark shape floated in moon’s shining trail of light. I squinted, focusing hard. What looked like long hair billowed around the shape’s head.
A woman. A perfectly still—possibly dead—woman.
I didn’t stop to think. I sprang to my feet, pelted for the water’s edge, and flung myself into the shallow, weedy pond. I half-swam, half-waded out toward the woman. As I pushed off against the pond’s slimy bottom, its muck sucked away both of my shoes. I splashed and flailed in my desperation to reach the woman, who remained utterly motionless.
I fought past tangles of weeds, cursing the weight of my soaked clothes. As the pond’s bottom fell away, I dove forward and swam the last few yards. I reached out a violently shaking hand and grabbed the woman’s wrist, yanking her toward me. She flailed as I grabbed her—she was, thankfully, alive. Flipping her over revealed a face I knew well, although I’d only seen it in photographs.
It was Talia Simms.
I began tugging her back toward the shore, but even as I did so, she started coughing and sputtering. Since she was obviously breathing, some of my blind panic started to dissipate—only to be replaced by the very specific panic that we’d be eaten by an alligator before we could reach the shore. I waded through the remaining shallows, and Talia, wrestling her arm from my grip, did the same, until we both lay, panting and coughing, on the grass.
“What… the hell… are you doing!” Talia sputtered, before retching out a mouthful of pond water.
“What?” I asked, with my voice barely audible over my own wheezing.
“Were you trying to kill me?” she gasped.
I scrambled into a sitting position so that I could see Talia properly. She lay on her side with her sopping hair stuck all over her face, dressed only in a tank top and underwear. Mascara ran down her face in dark trails, like lines on a roadmap.
“What? Of course not! I saw you in the water, and… I was trying to save you!” I cried.
