by E. E. Holmes
Milo squealed. “This is . . . I can’t even tell you how much this means to me!”
“But we haven’t even told you the good part,” I said.
Milo laughed. “The good part? What could possibly be better than this?”
I looked over at Hannah, who was so excited that she had pulled her pajama shirt up over her mouth to muffle the little squealing noises she was making.
“I put in a call to the one and only celebrity I know, who just happens to owe me a huge favor. Once we’re up and running, and your first collection is done, she’s going to wear one of your pieces out to one of her movie events.”
Milo’s form went pale. “I . . . you don’t . . . you can’t possibly mean . . .”
“Oh yes, I can, and I do. The one and only Talia Simms has agreed to be photographed, in public, in a Milo Chang original.”
With a shiver and a pop, Milo vanished on the spot.
We all sat there for a moment, staring around for him.
“Milo? Are you okay?” Hannah called, a laugh in her voice.
“AM I OKAY? IF I HADN’T ALREADY DIED, I’D BE DEAD!” Milo shrieked through our connection, so that Hannah and I had to clamp our hands over our ears to stop them from ringing. “I don’t . . . I can’t even . . . I CAN’T REMEMBER HOW TO MANIFEST!”
I laughed aloud, despite the agonizing pain in my head. “Well, calm down and figure it out before you make my skull explode!”
“Sorry!” Milo sang. “This much fabulousness combined with this much excitement is just impossible to contain.”
“So, you like it?” Hannah asked, rocking backward and forward on her knees. “I wasn’t sure whether you would want to put your stuff out there. Aren’t you worried it’s going to be stressful, people critiquing your ideas?”
With what felt like a massive mental effort, Milo lifted himself out of the connection and wavered back into physical form. He was grinning from ear to ear, and his eyes were shining. “Sweetness, if anyone understands the phrase ‘life is too short,’ it is yours truly. I never thought I’d get the chance for anyone to critique my ideas. People just don’t get second chances like this. I’m not going to let a little fear stand in the way when I finally have the chance to get a taste of what I’ve always wanted.”
He caught my eye and I winked at him. “Neither will I.”
“Well, we’re awake,” Hannah said, shrugging. “Should we just exchange the rest of the presents?”
“Can my gift be more sleep?” Savvy moaned, flopping back over.
“Yeah, I’m too excited to go back to sleep now,” I said. “Grab those stockings, and let’s dig in.”
§
All in all, it was a much better Christmas than I would have thought possible while being stuck at Fairhaven Hall. We tore through all the gifts under the tree in less than an hour, gorged ourselves on Christmas cookies, and slept the rest of the morning away. Mackie shuffled in with coffee around nine o’clock, and Karen turned up an hour later with an excessive number of gifts, which we dutifully opened and squealed over. The dining room was set up with a lavish breakfast buffet so delicious that we trekked down twice before we pronounced ourselves too stuffed to eat ever again. Around two o’clock, Tia interrupted our Christmas movie marathon with a Skype session, during which she lamented our absence, but gushed profusely over the British-themed box of gifts I’d mailed to her.
“When are you coming home?” she asked.
“I’ll keep you posted,” was all I could say. Of course, we had no idea what the answer to that question would be. If Hannah actually managed to win the Council seat—a long shot, it was true, but still—we wouldn’t be coming home at all.
At four o’clock we somehow found ourselves hungry enough to stuff ourselves silly with a mouthwatering traditional English Christmas dinner. After several plates full of roast turkey and goose, goose-fat roasted potatoes, sage and onion stuffing, pigs-in-blankets, sprouts, Yorkshire pudding, mince pies, and Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, I thought Hannah was going to have to roll me up the stairs to our room.
“Wake me up for next year’s Christmas dinner,” I groaned, flopping onto my bed, which creaked more than usual.
“Same,” Hannah sighed, collapsing into a chair by the fire. She was still wearing one of the tissue paper crowns that came inside the Christmas crackers Savvy gave us at the table. She had demanded that every single person wear their crown, and then forced us all to read the jokes aloud. She roared with laughter at every single one, whether it was funny or not.
“I must admit, I missed Christmas at Fairhaven,” Karen said, stifling a yawn. “It was always such a wonderful celebration, and I see it hasn’t changed.” She sunk into a chair and sighed, kicking off her shoes and rubbing one of her feet. “Well, I’m glad you girls have decided to stay for the rest of the Airechtas. I think that you’ll learn a lot, and I’m proud of you for sticking it out, in spite of how terribly it all went wrong in the beginning. But we’ll be done soon, and then you won’t have to be in that Council Room for another five years.” She smiled.
I looked at Hannah. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded. I didn’t need our connection to decode her answer to my unspoken question.
Yup. We have to tell her. It’s now or never.
“Karen,” I began, sliding off of my bed and coming to sit in the chair beside Hannah. “We need to talk to you.”
Karen’s expression was instantly wary. She dropped her aching foot and sat up straight. “I don’t like the sound of that. What is it?” she asked.
“We have something we want to tell you, but it would be great if you would let us tell you the whole thing before you started . . . freaking out,” I said.
“Jess, you can’t begin a conversation with a statement like that and expect me not to start freaking out,” Karen said exasperatedly.
“I’ll get to the point then,” I said. I looked at Hannah and she nodded encouragingly. “When we first got here for the Airechtas, Finvarra called us to her office. She said she had something important that she wanted to share with us.”
“Okay,” Karen said slowly. She was picking anxiously at a thread on the hem of her sweater. If she didn’t calm down, she was going to unravel the whole damn thing into a pile of cashmere.
“She started by apologizing to us—well, to our whole clan, really. She said it was her fault that we lost our Council seat, and that she had lots of regrets about the way she treated our family in the wake of Mom’s disappearance.”
“As well she should,” Karen said bitterly. “And she’s not the only one, either.”
“Finvarra told us that she wants to make it up to us by nominating our clan for the open Council seat,” I said.
Karen just continued looking at me as though I had not spoken.
“Karen? Did you hear what I said?”
Karen gave her head a little shake. “She told you what, I’m sorry?”
“The open seat on the Council. The one that they stripped from Marion. She is going to nominate our clan for it,” I repeated, a little more slowly.
Karen laughed incredulously. “And how exactly does that constitute an apology? It’s an empty gesture. She already knows that I will have nothing to do with this Council. What does she hope to prove, by nominating me for a seat that she knows I will never run for?”
“Yeah, she knows you won’t have anything to do with it. That’s why she told us instead of you. She was hoping that Hannah or I would make a run for it.”
Karen laughed again, louder this time. “Has she lost her mind?”
I looked at Hannah again. “Well, no, but Hannah and I might have.”
Karen stopped laughing abruptly. “What do you mean?”
Hannah cleared her throat. “We . . . well, actually . . . we decided that I’m going to run for the seat.”
Karen looked back and forth between the two of us with a strange half-smile on her face, looking to catch one of us in a lie. The smile slowly faded into a b
lank look of horror as she realized that there was no punchline.
“You cannot be serious!” she said weakly. “What in the world would possess you to do something like this?”
I jumped in because Hannah was already looking discouraged. “Well, before you jump to conclusions, you should know that no one else influenced this decision. We didn’t tell anyone or ask for anyone’s advice. We came to this decision totally on our own.”
“We also didn’t decide right away,” Hannah added. “We’ve been thinking very carefully about it for days.”
“Yes, but how you could be thinking carefully about it and yet still come to this decision is what alarms me!” Karen cried, and then immediately closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. “No. No, I am not going to flip out on you.” She looked up and caught my eye. “I can only assume that’s why you didn’t call me to tell me about it in the first place? You thought I’d go ballistic?”
“Something like that,” I said. “And then the Shattering happened, and suddenly the Council seat was the last thing on anyone’s mind.”
“Right. Yes. Okay,” Karen said, and she still gave the impression of someone fighting every natural impulse to lose her cool. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you decided to do this. What was your logic? I want to understand.”
“I was the first one to consider it,” Hannah said, falling on her sword as though she hoped to salvage my dignity. “I saw it as an opportunity to help shape Durupinen policies rather than being victimized by them all the time. Jess wanted nothing to do with it—wouldn’t even entertain the idea, but then . . . she began to change her mind.”
“I see,” Karen said, her voice calm but her nostrils flaring. “And what was it that caused you to change your mind, Jess?”
“It was a lot of things, I think, but mostly it was the Shattered spirit, Eleanora. She was a Caller, and her Council destroyed her. No one was there to speak for her, or to protect her from the same fear-driven policies that followed us when we got here. She died because they thought she and her sister might be us. We can’t change that, but we decided we couldn’t ignore it, either.”
Karen froze. Her eyes widened. All of the anger and exasperation drained from her face, and she suddenly looked less like a cutthroat lawyer and more like a lost little girl.
“From what you and Finvarra told us about our grandmother, it doesn’t really sound like our family used our power or influence for good when we had it before,” Hannah said.
Karen allowed herself a sardonic smile. “No. My mother saw power as little more than currency to barter for what she wanted. It would not have occurred to her to use it to help anyone but herself.”
“A lot of the Council seems to feel that way,” Hannah continued. “And most of those clans have been in power for a long time. In fact, most of those same clans held those seats when they sentenced Eleanora to imprisonment, including ours. We just thought . . . maybe it’s time for some fresh blood and a different perspective up there in the benches.”
Karen’s eyes were bright. Her defensive posture sagged. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “And I couldn’t be prouder of you for wanting to make a difference, but—”
“You’re worried that the rest of the clans are going to object?” I finished for her.
“That is an understatement. Objections we can weather. I feel like I’d be watching you throw yourselves to the wolves. I need hardly tell you what most of the Durupinen think of you and our clan. Just look at the way you’ve been treated in the past week.”
“I know,” Hannah said. “And I think that’s why we have to do it.”
“Look, it’s a long shot,” I said. “And we might really regret it. Marion has already promised to give us hell if we run—”
Karen gasped. “Marion knows about the seat? You didn’t tell me she—ah,” she sighed ruefully as the realization hit her. “Of course. That’s why she’s here, isn’t it? She wants to stop you from taking the seat.”
“Bingo,” I said. “And, to be honest, it probably won’t be hard to do. From the looks of it, the entirety of the Northern Clans will be lining up behind her for the chance to slam the door in our faces.”
“But you want to do it anyway,” Karen said.
“Yes,” Hannah and I said together.
Karen took her glasses off, massaged the bridge of her nose, and replaced them. When she looked at us again, her expression was hard to read. “I’m not foolish enough to try to persuade you one way or the other. I know that you’ve both considered all of the factors at play here. You are clearly well aware of the animosity you will meet. You are also aware of the upheaval it will cause in your lives if you manage to secure the seat. I suppose all I can do is support you through this process.”
“But what do you think, Karen?” Hannah asked. “We do value your opinion, even if we’ve made our own decision.”
“I’m torn,” Karen said with a helpless shrug. “I want to protect you. I want to shield you from an ugly and bitter struggle. I know you are adults, and I know it’s not my job, but I just can’t help it. Your mother and I grew up surrounded by Durupinen politics— we watched it spread its poison through our family. That’s why I’ve refused to get involved with it again. At the same time, I want to support you, because I know that you are exactly what this broken, antiquated system needs. I know that you will do wonderful things, if someone will just give you the chance.”
“Well, Finvarra’s given us the chance, so we’re going to take it,” I said. “So, what do you say? Can you stand by us with this? We’re going to need you, Karen. And after all, this is your clan, too, and it’s going to affect you if we pull off the impossible and actually manage to win this seat.”
Karen stood up, crossed to the sofa where Hannah and I sat, and squeezed herself in between us, throwing an arm around each of our shoulders. “Of course, I will stand by you. Try to stop me. I can’t say I’m happy about it, but that’s just my worry getting in the way of my courage. It’s about time Clan Sassanaigh took charge of this place again, and I’m going to help you do it if I can. Just because I walked away from this part of our family legacy, doesn’t mean that you can’t take up the mantle.”
“Thanks, Karen,” Hannah said.
“No, thank you, girls. Here I am thinking I’m being the mature and level-headed one by staying away from the politics, but you’ve reminded me what real maturity looks like. Hiding our heads in the sand and cultivating our anger will not change the things that so desperately need to be changed. Only jumping back into the fray can do that. I’ve been too afraid of the fray.”
“For good reason,” I said darkly. “This may turn out to be a huge mistake. But it’s a mistake we’re going to make.”
“Well, I’m not going to let you make it blindly,” Karen said, and she jumped back up and started pacing with slow, thoughtful, deliberate steps. Hannah and I turned and grinned at each other—we both recognized Karen’s lawyer prowl.
“The most important thing to do is to fend Marion off. She will do anything she can to prevent this seat being taken back by our clan,” she said.
“Does it really matter who takes it? I mean, I know she hates us and all that, but any clan that takes the seat will essentially be stealing it from her. Won’t she try to stop anyone who makes a bid for it?”
“Yes and no,” Karen said. “The animosity between our clans goes back decades. Marion’s family has been clawing their way up the ladder for several generations, and our family, in particular my mother, wanted nothing more than to kick them right back down to the bottom rung.”
“Why?” I asked.
Karen grimaced. “My mother didn’t need a reason. All upwardly mobile clans were a threat to be crushed, but Clan Gonachd was particularly manipulative. My mother didn’t want to have to compete with anyone who played the game as well as they did—she preferred a stacked deck at all times.”
“So, this isn’t just about Mom,” I said.
&
nbsp; “Oh, no. It goes back much further than that,” Karen said. “Marion would rather see that seat go to just about anyone, although she’ll have her own handpicked candidate she’ll be throwing her considerable weight behind. So, the first challenge will be to get you through the nomination process without her interference.”
“What kind of interference?” I asked warily. “I assumed she would make trouble if we ran, but before?”
“Do not underestimate this woman,” Karen said sharply. “She will not miss an opportunity to thwart you at any point in this process. Count on it.”
“Okay,” Hannah said. “How do we combat that?”
“Put her off her guard,” Karen said, pressing the tips of her fingers to her chin and resuming her pacing. “Give her a false sense of security. We want her to think you aren’t going to accept the nomination.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well, I’ve already screwed up that angle. I told her we weren’t sure what we were going to do. At the time I was just trying to piss her off, but I’ve probably set us up for something, haven’t I?”
“It’s probably not too late to convince her that the nomination won’t move forward,” Karen said. “There’s a new factor in the equation now.”
Hannah looked quizzically at me. “What factor is that?”
A slow smile bloomed over Karen’s face. “Me,” she said.
“You’ve got your evil plan face on,” I said, pointing at her. “Explain.”
“I can stage something—a loud argument, maybe—and make sure that news of it gets back to her. I’ll make sure one of her Council friends is around to witness it.”
“An argument about what? With who?” I prompted, still confused.
“Celeste, maybe? Or Siobhán? Someone close to Finvarra. I’ll corner someone publicly or near the Council room and let loose a tirade. Goodness knows I’ve got a reputation for them now,” she said with a wry smirk.
“What will you shout about?” Hannah asked.
“Well, I’ll start by proclaiming that I only just now found out about the intended nomination and demanding to know why I’d been left out of the loop on it. That part, at least, won’t be an exaggeration. I’m still mad at the two of you, by the way, even if I’ve agreed to help you,” she said severely, scowling at us.