by E. E. Holmes
Hannah nodded. “Yes, that’s true, I’m sure, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh,” I said, frowning. “What did you mean, then?”
Hannah hesitated, as though she wasn’t even sure she wanted to continue. “Well, he’s Bound to her. Their souls are connected. He can’t Cross as long as she’s alive.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But she’s dying. So…”
She didn’t need to finish the thought. The realization hit me and then dropped like an anchor into the pit of my stomach, making me feel instantly sick. It hadn’t even occurred to me what Finvarra’s death might mean for Carrick. Carrick’s soul and Finvarra’s soul were linked. When she died, and her soul Crossed over, Carrick would be able to Cross as well, no longer tied to the living world. Would he choose to go? I would never presume for a second that he should choose to stay because of us, and yet a startling array of emotions flew through my head, leaving me dizzy and confused.
On the night I had discovered that Carrick was our father, he told me he had Bound himself to Finvarra so that he could continue his search for our mother and, by extension, for us. He stayed behind for us, though we were not the ones he was Bound to. Was it so presumptuous to think he might choose to stay behind for us again? At the same time, it felt completely insane that he would make such a decision. He barely knew us. Our relationship was a mere product of circumstance, not any sort of deep or evolving state. We’d spoken only a handful of times since we’d discovered who he was. And now that our mother was gone, and the Prophecy had blown over at last, was the paper-thin bond between us enough to keep him here? I could not even begin to articulate any of this. It churned and roiled inside me.
“He’ll have a choice to make, I guess,” I said.
“No, Jess, I don’t think he will. I think he has to Cross with her,” Hannah said very quietly.
My pulse quickened with a touch of something that smacked of panic. “He does?”
“I think so,” Hannah said again. “I researched everything I could about being Bound, after Finvarra told us that Milo had Bound himself to me. I wanted to know every detail about what Milo had done, because I felt so guilty about it. Anyway, I read that the Bound spirit can stay in the living world as long as half of the Gateway he is Bound to is still alive, but when both the Key and the Passage have Crossed over, he must follow them. His soul must follow where they lead, even in death. The bond can only be broken in the Aether.”
My mind was refusing to absorb this information. “What are you telling me?” I asked.
“Finvarra’s sister died several years ago. When Finvarra dies, and it looks as though that day isn’t far away, Carrick will have no choice but to go with her,” Hannah said, her voice now a tremulous whisper.
Wow, the sucker punches to the face just kept on coming today, didn’t they? First, we had to see Finvarra, whose deterioration was a direct result of our actions. If we hadn’t exposed the rampant Leeching process in the Northern Clans, she could still be using it to keep herself healthy. And now, before we’d even considered whether we would try to get to know him, our father would likely be gone from this world, too.
“Jess?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to just tell you like that. I thought you realized…”
“I probably should have, but I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah whispered. “In retrospect, that was a lot to drop on you in one conversation.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I’d used the magic code word for “I don’t want to talk about this anymore”, and Hannah took it as such. She murmured “Good night,” and rolled over. I listened to the sounds of her breathing ease gradually into the steady patterns of sleep, which refused to rescue me from my own churning thoughts until nearly dawn.
Eleanora: 1 May 1864
1 May 1864
I open you tonight, Little Book, for the first time in nearly a month, but it is with great need of your solace. If I do not put these words down right now by the light of this sputtering candle, I fear I may drown in a tumultuous sea of their terrible and immutable truths. Forgive me if I sound quite melodramatic, but the events of this night have left me in a state of despair.
I have been seeing ghosts nearly all of my life. You might think, knowing what you do of my mother, that this would shock and distress her, but you would be mistaken in your suppositions. The truth of that matter is, my ability to see ghosts has been inherited directly from her. Her lineage has been a part of the Durupinen for centuries, and her own skill at communication with the dead is outmatched only by her ability to camouflage it from others. Indeed, I have never once, in all my nearly eighteen years, seen her flustered by the presence of a spirit. In this regard, there is much to be learned from her.
The Durupinen always emerge in pairs. When I was a small girl, my mother told me that, someday, I would have a companion in my Visitations, someone with whom to share the burden, and that would make it lighter and easier to bear. That day arrived today, or rather, in the dead of this night.
My heart is still racing from the screams that echoed through the house mere minutes ago, and tore everyone from their slumber. The screams were issuing from my sister Hattie’s room. As my own bedroom is closest to hers, I arrived first and I found her cowering under her bedclothes as the spirit of a housemaid apologized over and over for waking Hattie whilst she attended to her housekeeping duties.
We always knew there was a chance that Hattie would one day experience the Visitations. Even Hattie knew, though that knowledge could hardly prepare her for the ghastly reality of it. As a child, I longed for Hattie’s gift to awaken, wishing, quite selfishly, to no longer be alone in my abilities. But there in Hattie’s darkened room tonight, cradling her in my arms and wiping the tears from her cheeks, I felt nothing but sadness, and a fervent desire to save her from the frightening place her world has now become.
What comfort can I offer her? What words of consolation? That she will grow accustomed to the unannounced guests? That there will come a day when the unexpected hiss of their voices in her ear will not curdle the blood in her veins? I cannot promise these things; the words are hollow and meaningless in the midst of this waking nightmare.
Our mother came at last to Hattie’s room, and after much effort, managed to calm Hattie’s fear enough so that she could fall asleep. But when she wakes again at last, it will be to stare into the unforgiving face of the same, immutable truth about herself and the dark and winding path along which we now must journey together.
The collar of my nightdress is damp and salty with Hattie’s tears, and I cannot help but add my own, drenching the lace which is now more handkerchief than nightdress. Even as I write, our mother is making arrangements for us to travel to Fairhaven Hall, the ancient castle seat of our clan, where Hattie and I will begin our formal training as Durupinen. We could leave as soon as a fortnight from now. I am at once filled with excitement and trepidation. I long to learn the secrets of our gift, and yet I feel as though I am turning the page on a terrifying new chapter in my life and, once turned, I cannot go back. From this day forward, the spirits who have always hovered on the outskirts of my life will become the center of my existence. It is both humbling and daunting to know what has been entrusted to us. I must swallow my fear, however; I must be strong for Hattie, who has so little strength herself.
Eleanora
30
Host
HANNAH WAS ALREADY AWAKE when I peeled myself out of bed the next morning. Milo was there too, perched on the edge of the fireplace like he was trying to warm himself. The firelight shimmered dully through him.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” he crowed at me.
I grunted acknowledgment of his existence, and noted that he was being much too nice to me, which meant that Hannah had already told him all about our conversation from t
he previous night. This didn’t exactly bother me; it was an unspoken rule that we had no real secrets from Milo. He was too deeply connected to our emotions and our thought patterns for much to get by him, so there was really no point in trying to exclude him. I suppose I should have been grateful that she’d already filled him in; that way I wouldn’t have to sit through the conversation all over again.
“Shouldn’t you get going?” Milo asked me.
“Get going where? Are you saying real words? Why are you even attempting to speak to me before coffee?” I groaned, rolling back over.
“You’ve got that meeting, don’t you?” he pressed.
“It sounds like English, and yet I cannot comprehend anything you are saying. Please leave a message at the beep,” I said from beneath the muffling weight of my pillow.
“You can sass me all you want, but I don’t think Catriona is going to accept ‘lack of caffeine’ as an excuse,” Milo said.
I shook some of the cobwebs of sleep from the corners of my brain. “Catriona?”
“Yes, sweetness. Your Tracker mentor. With whom you are supposed to meet in half an hour,” Milo said slowly.
I sat straight up. “Half an hour?” I repeated, mild panic zinging through me, rousing me.
“Yes, indeed,” Milo said. “You can always take the chance that being late won’t piss her off, but I don’t think you’re that delusional, even before coffee.”
I leapt from my bed. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” I cried.
“I forgot,” Hannah said.
“I didn’t,” Milo said. “I just like to watch you freak out.”
I tested the boundaries of my curse word vocabulary as I stumbled around the room, tossing off my pajamas and throwing on my jeans and a sweater, then attempting to brush my teeth and pull my boots on simultaneously. Fifteen minutes later I was jogging down the hallway, desperately hoping that, if I ran fast enough, I would have time to stop for sustenance in the dining room before I had to face Catriona.
One large, black, mouth-scalding cup of coffee later, I found Finn waiting in the entrance hall for me, standing at attention with his chest thrown out like he was patrolling the gates of Buckingham Palace. Several other Caomhnóir stood talking nearby, and so I dug into my memory, trying to remember how we used to speak when we both thought we loathed each other. This was not easy, since what I really wanted to do was throw my arms around him.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound indifferent at the sight of him.
He stopped short, his eyes wide. “Your hair.”
I pulled at a lock self-consciously. “What about it?”
“It’s… different.”
“I dyed it,” I said with a shrug. He just continued to stare so I said pointedly, “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, of course,” he said curtly.
“For me? Why?” I asked.
“You have your meeting in the Tracker office this morning with Catriona,” he replied.
I laughed. “Yeah, I know I do. That’s where I’m headed. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”
“Well, I would think that was fairly obvious. I’m coming with you,” he said.
I glanced at the other Caomhnóir in the corner. Was this an act for their benefit, or was he actually serious? “And why, exactly, would I need you to come with me?”
“For confirmation. No doubt she will be asking further questions regarding Whispering Seraph. I was also present, and can corroborate any answers that you provide to her,” Finn said swiftly, as though he had prepared the answer verbatim, and was merely waiting for the appropriate moment to give it.
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you’re wasting your time, Finn. I don’t need you there.”
He inclined his head, still unsmiling. “I would prefer to be present, and unneeded, than needed and not present,” he said.
I snorted with laughter and set off down the hallway. His heavy clunking steps fell in behind mine. We walked along several long hallways, not speaking to each other. The further we got from the entrance hall, the fewer people we passed, until we reached a narrow staircase and found ourselves completely alone.
I sighed as though I’d been holding my breath since the moment I’d seen him. “I really hate this,” I said.
“Hate what?” he asked.
“This!” I said, and I gestured to what felt like the gaping space between us, standing two steps apart from each other. “And I hate talking to you like that.”
“That’s how all Durupinen talk to their Caomhnóir,” Finn pointed out.
“I know, and it just reminds me how royally screwed up the entire dynamic is. Two people who have to work so closely together for so many years should not be interacting with each other like that. I mean, how can they possibly function with such ingrained disrespect in every interaction?”
Finn shrugged. “It’s just the way it’s always been done. I, for one, never questioned it for a moment, until I met you.”
“It just doesn’t feel right, especially now.”
“Just keep reminding yourself that it’s vital for our cover. Honestly, you do it very well. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost swear you despise and resent me,” Finn said, and he smirked at me.
“I know! That’s why I hate it!” I said. “I don’t even like to pretend those things! It makes me feel terrible.”
“I know something that will make you feel better about it,” he said.
“Oh really? And what’s that?” I grumbled, crossing my arms.
“This.” And he reached out and grasped my arms, pulling me down onto his step and kissing me fiercely. I gasped in surprise but recovered, throwing myself into the kiss gratefully. My heart beat hard and fast against the inside of my chest, as though it were trying to break free of my ribs and shoot straight between his, nestling in there next to the heart whose call it longed to answer. When we broke apart a few moments later, we were both short of breath.
“What’s gotten into you?” I panted.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’re breaking our rules. You know, the ones that you insisted we abide by to make sure our relationship stays a secret,” I said. “Not that I’m complaining, believe me.”
“You started it,” he shot back.
“Excuse me? You kissed me! How did I start it?” I said with a hint of a laugh.
“Look at you. A stunning new hairstyle and you just sprung it on me with no warning! You have no business looking that beautiful on a Monday morning. How is a man supposed to control himself?”
I laughed outright. “You’re delusional. I’ve only been awake for twenty minutes. I haven’t even unpacked my make-up. I look like absolute hell.”
He reached down, took my hand, and lifted it to his mouth, planting a kiss on the smooth underside of my wrist. “Hell,” he said softly, “is utterly lovely.”
I smiled, but it faded as quickly as it had come. It was hard to revel in a moment that I knew we had stolen, like criminals, from the hours of feigned indifference and disdain we would have to endure while we were here. It was starting to wear me down, and Finn knew it.
“As much as I love hiding in a darkened stairwell with you, we should probably get going,” I said. “It wouldn’t be smart to keep Catriona waiting.”
Finn squeezed my hand once, and then dropped it. “You’re right, of course. Onward and upward, then.”
The Tracker office was located on the fifth floor. I had been there twice before, once when it belonged to Marion, for a disciplinary meeting with Savvy, and the other to meet with Catriona to learn the details of our first ever Tracker case. I was no less nervous on this occasion than I was on the other two, and so I felt a distinct sense of resentment the moment I turned the corner and spotted the door.
Catriona had asked to meet with Hannah and me separately. It was an intimidation tactic and we both knew it. She wanted to make sure that both our accounts of the events at Whispering Ser
aph matched up. Finn said that it was standard operating procedure among the Trackers, and the Caomhnóir, too, but it still felt like Catriona was taking a bit more pleasure in it than was strictly necessary. Hannah’s meeting would take place immediately following mine, so that there would be no chance to confer with each other in between. This made me feel like a criminal rather than one of Catriona’s own mentees, not least because there were a few details of our mission we had decided to keep to ourselves. First, we agreed there would be no mention of my allowing Talia and Grayson to share their goodbye. The Durupinen were obsessive about secrecy, and so I was pretty sure I’d be raked over the coals for using a Melding casting to help the two of them.
The second secret was my own; well, mine and Milo’s, as he was the only one present at the time. When Catriona had refused to allow Irina to Cross, and instead had Caged her so that she could await official Durupinen justice, I had made a promise to Irina that I would find a way to set her free. Milo and I had both seen the utter horror her life had been in the Traveler camp, chained and guarded like a dangerous beast, all for the crime of wishing to Walk rather than remain trapped in her body. Whatever crimes she had committed at Sanctity House, the Durupinen had driven her to it, and I would not stand by and watch her punished for it. I had no idea yet how I would make good on that promise, of course, but I at least knew I needed to keep my mouth shut about it.
Finn took his position outside the door, at attention, his eyes scanning the surrounding hallway for signs of… I’m not really sure what. Danger, I guess? I snorted.
“If I get too rowdy in there, are you going to bounce me?” I asked in a murmur.
The corners of his mouth twitched, but otherwise he gave no indication that he had heard me.
