by E. E. Holmes
The silence hung for an instant, like that moment when you know the very first raindrop of a storm is about to hit the ground, and the world seems to slow to a standstill waiting for the tumult to break.
And then the tumult did indeed break.
Maybe the lesser clans had never heard words spoken in this room that so definitively included them, but the effect was instantaneous. The back two-thirds of the room rose to their feet, as did a scattered number of the front benches and even a few members of the Council, including Fiona, Celeste, and Siobhán. Beside me, Karen was barely remembering to clap as she stared around, open-mouthed, at the response. Any pretense of decorum forgotten, Savvy leapt up onto her chair, whooping loudly and whistling shrilly with two fingers shoved into her mouth. Behind her, Frankie, who had come along to witness the proceedings for the first time, was waving her hands wildly over her head, eyes sparkling with tears. Even Catriona’s permanently bored expression had slipped from her features, leaving her wide-eyed and clapping along with everyone else. Even those who were not clapping showed no hostility on their faces; their masks of shock left no room for animosity.
No one, however, looked nearly as shocked as Hannah, whose chalky white face was now bright crimson as she shrunk away from the initial burst of applause, as though the sounds were being hurled at her like projectiles. Then, as she realized that she was being applauded, she gathered up her pages, twitched her hand in an awkward little wave of acknowledgment, and scurried back to the bench behind her, face still glowing like an ember. All of the other nominees were applauding politely except for Diana, who shifted slightly away from Hannah as she sat, nostrils flared as though she had suddenly scented something unpleasant.
“Thank you to all of our nominees for your words today. You have given the electorate much to think about,” Celeste said, her voice quelling the end of the applause. “I encourage all of the clans to discuss with their fellow members the speeches you have heard here today. If there are any more pledges to be made, the deadline to do so is midnight tonight. Pledges may be delivered to the nominees directly, or to me. Nominees, I salute you all for the interest and commitment you have shown in your sisterhood by choosing to run for the Council. I wish you all much success in the vote ahead. A reminder to everyone to look over the formal platforms that have been submitted by each nominee. They have been posted outside of my office door, as well as in the case right outside the entrance to the dining room. Please review them to inform your votes. The Airechtas will reconvene tomorrow morning at 9AM with the hearing of requests for clan redistricting. I hereby dismiss the assembly. Go in peace to serve the spirit world.”
Hannah scuttled down off the platform and over to where we stood. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head about a dozen times, stuttering out words of congratulations between sobs and incredulous peals of laughter.
“Someone just hand this girl a tiara and a fancy robe or whatever, and be done with it!” Milo crowed over the scraping of chair legs against the stone floors. The elder clans around us were pulling themselves together and composing themselves into haughty, dignified silences as they rose to leave. Those nearest gave us a wide berth, looking anywhere except in our direction. Róisín reached over the back of my chair to squeeze Hannah’s shoulder and say, “Well done! Very inspiring speech!” before following Riley up the aisle with the crowd.
“Thank you, Róisín!” Hannah’s muffled voice sounded from somewhere near my armpit. “Milo, I don’t think tiaras are part of the job description. Jess, could you, uh, let me out of the headlock? It’s hard to breathe.”
I released her, and turned, still laughing and crying simultaneously, to look at Marion. She was sitting so still, so determinedly without expression, that she might have been carved from an exceptionally bitchy block of marble. The sight of her only made me laugh harder.
Hannah’s escape, meanwhile, had been brief. When I turned back to her, she was being strangled by Karen, whose praise for the speech was nearly unintelligible amidst her blubbering. Hannah got the gist of it, however.
“You were right, Karen,” she said, smiling a little more now that she wasn’t in the glare of the spotlight. “There really are a lot of Durupinen who feel they aren’t represented up there on those benches.”
“There always have been,” Karen said, nodding and wiping her eyes. “I’m very proud of you, Hannah. And if there’s one thing they’ve never seen up there before, it’s a clan who had it all, lost it all, and now wants to fight for them instead of for itself. It’s still a long shot, but you might just have a chance to mend our Council legacy yet.”
“Long shot? Seriously? Did you hear that applause? Can’t they just call it now, like on game shows?” Milo asked. “Is that a thing, a Durupinen applause-o-meter?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I gave one decent speech, Milo. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Oh, yes,” said a voice from behind me. Marion had finally vacated her seat and was sweeping up the aisle, Diana beside her. “There are still three days to go. An awful lot can happen in three days.”
“It certainly can,” Karen shot back, before Hannah, Milo, or I could open our mouths. “Just think, three days ago there were people in this assembly who still thought you had credibility.”
It seemed Marion had no retort for this. She continued up the aisle, ear inclined toward Diana as she murmured something to her.
§
Anywhere we went through the castle for the rest of the afternoon, people stopped to wring Hannah’s hand and congratulate her on her speech. Others stopped her to plead with her about a particular grievance they had, or to ask her if she would meet with them to discuss an issue that concerned them.
“It’s like they think she’s already on the Council,” Milo whispered to me, after the fifth time it happened.
“They must think she has a real chance or they wouldn’t bother,” I said, watching Hannah as an elderly Durupinen spoke earnestly with her. The woman had reached out with her gnarled old hand, and Hannah had taken it and was patting it empathetically as she listened intently to the woman’s words.
“I bet no current Council member has ever given that poor lady the time of day,” I whispered back. “And just look at Hannah. She’s so approachable and gentle with everyone. And people can finally see that, now that the pall of the Prophecy isn’t overshadowing her anymore.”
When we returned to our room that night, there was another stack of pledges shoved under the door—at least twenty of them. Hannah went through them one by one, reading the notes and writing down the clan names on a list that Karen had insisted she keep. She held two of them up for me to see.
“Fiona,” she said, smiling. “And Celeste, too.”
We had just decided to settle down to bed when there was a knock on the door. I looked at the clock. It was five minutes before midnight.
Hannah slid off the bed and paused by the door, her hand resting on the handle. “Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s Marion.”
12
Worth a Thousand Words
HANNAH WHIPPED HER HEAD around to stare at me, her eyes full of animal terror. “What should I do?” she mouthed.
I jumped down off of my own bed and joined her, my heart pounding.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I simply wish to speak with Hannah,” came Marion’s bored reply.
“Let me go out there and tell her what she can do with her wishes,” Milo hissed through clenched teeth as he floated over to join us.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I told him through the connection, so that Marion could not possibly hear. “Go find Finn and bring him here.”
Milo scowled. “I don’t want to leave you two here with—”
“Please, Milo,” I urged. “Please. I don’t think she’s stupid enough to make any more obvious attacks on us, but I’d feel a lot better if she had to conduct whatever business she has here with Finn standing over
her shoulder.”
Milo made another impatient grimace, but then vanished on the spot.
I nodded to Hannah and then opened the door just a crack. I did not pull the chain.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
“Are we really going to converse on either side of a locked door?” Marion asked, pointing to the chain and raising an amused eyebrow.
“Yes,” I said. “And you don’t even deserve that. So get on with it, before we slam it in your face again.”
“First of all, I wish to apologize for my role in bringing Bernadette Ainsley to the Airechtas. While I did hope that her presence would encourage others to vote against you, I did not believe that she was a physical threat.”
I blinked. I’d never expected Marion to admit to her involvement with Bernadette, let alone apologize for it. I cleared my throat.
“Is that all?” I asked.
“No,” Marion said. “I wished to discuss the possibility of a pledge bargain.”
Again, Hannah and I stared at each other. Karen had told us a bit about pledge bargains. Clans could trade pledges for campaign promises. “Should we go get Karen?” Hannah mouthed.
I shook my head. “Let’s hear what she has to say first. If Karen shows up she might kill her.”
Hannah nodded, and then turned back to the door. “Fine, then. Let’s hear it,” Hannah said. Her hands were trembling, but her voice was steady.
“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, I am campaigning for Diana McLennon. She has years of committee experience and comes from one of our oldest, most respected clans. She will be able to do far more, with her connections and expertise, than you could ever hope to accomplish as someone barely acquainted with our ways.”
“You really suck at flattering people,” I interrupted. “Did you miss that day in charm school? If you want people to cooperate with you, telling them how inadequate they are isn’t really the best way to start out.”
Marion pursed her lips. Up close, the fine lines and wrinkles were visible beneath her expensive make-up, and her heavily applied foundation could not quite conceal the shadows under her eyes. The perfect façade was finally starting to crack under the stress and strain of watching her power slip away.
“Have you received pledges?” she asked bluntly.
“Yes,” Hannah said.
“How many?” Marion asked.
Hannah glanced at me, then said, “That’s not a piece of information I want you to have.”
Marion clicked her tongue. “I thought you might say that. I have come on behalf of Diana to make an offer to you, in exchange for your pledges.”
“Without even knowing how many I have?” Hannah asked.
“But she knows how many Diana doesn’t have,” I said, a satisfied smile spreading across my face. “They’re desperate, or she wouldn’t be here.”
“The vote is nearly upon us. Time is running out. Do you wish to hear my proposal or not?” Marion snapped.
“Fine,” Hannah said, crossing her arms. “Let’s hear it.”
“We wish to offer Clan Sassanaigh a full pardon, by official decree, for all events as they related to the Isherwood Prophecy,” Marion said.
Hannah’s eyes widened. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“I mean,” Marion said, and she smiled now, knowing she had gotten our attention, “that your entire family—your grandmother, your aunt, your mother, and even the two of you—would be officially absolved of any responsibility. It would be put in writing, signed by the entire Council, and proclaimed to the entirety of the Northern Clans. It would be filed with the International Council as well. No more tarnish upon the memories of your mother and grandmother. All responsibility, all blame, all culpability would be lifted permanently from your shoulders.”
Hannah and I looked at each other, speechless. I don’t know what I had been expecting Marion to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. The idea that she would permanently relinquish the only weapon she held over our heads was absurd, and yet here she was, relinquishing it.
Playing for time, I asked, “If we did decide to entertain your offer, how do we know that you would keep your word?”
“All pledge bargains are made in writing and signed by the participating clans,” Marion said quickly. She could not hide her eagerness, now that we had not slammed the door in her face. She pulled a thick parchment envelope out of her handbag. “We have already drafted a copy. Then the signed bargain would be made public record with the Council. I could not break the promise even if I wanted to.”
Hannah bit her lip. I could tell that she was tempted. She’d spent years trying to crawl out from under the crushing burden of her guilt, and here was Marion, offering to cast it away for good.
“Give us a moment, please,” Hannah muttered, and shut the door. She turned to me, and her eyes were glistening with tears. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think a piece of paper is going to change anything in there,” I said, tapping a finger gently on Hannah’s chest.
“Do you think it would matter to the rest of the clans? Do you think it would really change the way they see us?” Hannah asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe. They do love their traditions. I bet a lot of them would accept our innocence, if the Council proclaimed it officially, but . . .” I hesitated.
“But what?” Hannah urged me.
“Look at that stack of pledges,” I said. “Look at the response to your speech. The other clans are already starting to see that we aren’t the enemy. And, more importantly, look at the way you’ve been walking around this castle since you spoke to Lucida. Do you really need Marion or the Council to tell you that the time for blaming yourself is passed?”
“The pledges might not be enough. What if I lose? What if I can’t repair our clan’s legacy by getting back on the Council?”
“What if you can?”
Hannah stalled, biting at her thumbnail. Then she lifted her face and asked a question I never thought I’d hear her ask ever in our lives.
“What would Mom do?”
It was difficult to speak, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I couldn’t get the words past the spasm of emotion in my throat. Finally, I choked out, “Honestly? She’d tell Marion to fuck off.”
The corner of Hannah’s mouth trembled with the suggestion of a smile. She reached out and gave me a fierce hug and planted a kiss on my cheek. Then she walked back to the door, pulled the chain, and opened it wide just in time to see Finn striding down the hallway, looking tense, and Milo floating in his wake.
“Is everything all right here?” Finn asked.
“Everything is great,” Hannah told him, and then turned to Marion.
“Fuck off,” she announced, and promptly slammed the door in Marion’s face.
§
The pain in my hand woke me from my sleep. It was radiating up my arm in dull, aching waves. I opened and closed my hand to dispel the sensation, and realized that I was holding the stump of a charcoal pencil.
“Oh, great,” I moaned. “Just what I need. Who is it this time?”
I fumbled around in the dark until I found the switch that turned on my reading light, and then squinted like a nocturnal creature in the brightness for a few moments until my eyes adjusted. I glanced at the clock. It was just after 4AM. I’d been so hyped up by our encounter with Marion that it had taken me until nearly 2AM to fall asleep. I dropped the charcoal pencil into the jar I kept on the bedside table—the jar from which I had plucked it in my sleep to produce whatever sketch was now waiting for me on the wall.
I rubbed at my eyes, still blurry with sleep, and focused my exhausted gaze. What was I looking at?
Two figures. Women. One standing, looking down over the other.
No, one figure. Because the woman standing and the woman lying on the ground were the same woman. She was looking down upon herself.
Wait, was that right? I examined them more closely. Yes, the same hawkish profile. The sa
me wild, tousled hair.
Oh, my God.
“Oh, my God!” I whispered. I knew her. I knew that face, and that hair, and that defiant, singularly stubborn expression.
“Annabelle.”
My brain was trying desperately to catch up to my eyes, but then, as it did, a numb horror started to set in, and suddenly I wanted to unsee it, to unknow it, to tear it from the wall and deny its very existence.
In the sketch, Annabelle lay on the ground, her body sprawled in grass, her mouth slightly open and her wild hair fanned out around her like the rays of a sun. But Annabelle also stood above herself, staring down into her own face with a shocked and disbelieving expression.
“No,” I murmured, my voice rising to a frantic pitch. “No, no, no, no, no!”
I stumbled out of my bed and across the room to the desk, where I knew my phone lay plugged into its charger. The bangs and scrapings of my frantic movements woke Hannah from her sleep. She sat bolt upright, staring wildly around for the source of the sudden commotion until she spotted me fumbling to disconnect the phone from its charger.