by E. E. Holmes
“You need to take your cues from your gift. If you have a single passing vision of an event, chances are your gift isn’t really forming a true prophecy. It’s just . . . plucking possibilities from the air, if you will,” Fiona explained. “But if a vision comes to you over and over again, even if the details change with each new drawing, that is your clue that you are experiencing something significant in nature, something that will come to pass in some form.”
“And what do I do if that happens?” I asked, a note of desperation in my voice.
“You come straight to me. We will take it from there,” Fiona said.
“But the Council—”
“The Council shouldn’t know anything about this. Not yet, anyway,” Fiona said sharply.
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because the Council is full of superstitious, biased fools,” Fiona spat. “Women who already harbor ill will toward your family. I cannot say for sure what they would make of the information that you are a Seer, and so for the time being, I’d rather not give them the chance to make anything of it at all.”
“Okay, but … worst-case scenario. Why could it be bad for them to know?” I tried to sound merely curious, in an academic sense, rather than terrified to the point of tears.
Fiona laughed, but it was a humorless and bitter sound. “The Council has always looked at every gift as a tool to be used for their own benefit. The more gifts the Northern Clans have, the more powerful we are, and the more influence we can yield among the other Councils around the world. Some tools are more useful and powerful than others, but a Seer?” She laughed again. “You would be the crown jewel in their collection. They would flaunt you and parade you about like a trophy. They would also pump you for information at every given opportunity, demanding answers you don’t have and details your gift has not yet provided you. I’m your mentor and I am telling you right here and now that I will not allow it.” She looked me right in the eye, and for maybe the first time ever, I saw a flash of real affection there. “Is that absolutely clear? I will not allow it.”
“Okay,” I said, taking heart from her fierce determination. “So, what do I do now, if I’m not going to tell the Council? What is this going to look like as a part of my life now?”
Fiona blew out a breath, and for first time I realized that she hadn’t been nearly as calm about the situation as she’d appeared on the surface. She looked frankly relieved that I was listening to reason. “You’re going to have to be very cognizant of your drawings. We will work together to catalogue them separately as spirit drawings and Seer drawings. Soon you will be able to tell the difference just by looking at them—but that will come with time. Then we will track patterns in any Seer drawings that seem related. If they come together in any meaningful way, and it seems like a prophecy that will have far-reaching consequences, then we’ll bring it to the Council, but only if we must, and only as a last resort.”
I took several slow, deep breaths. “Okay. And Annabelle?”
“Have you done any drawings of her since?” Fiona asked.
“No, but this was just last night,” I answered.
“So, we wait. I know how that sounds,” Fiona said, cutting me off with a raised hand. “It sounds as though we are allowing this image to come to pass. But the truth is that you’ve determined that your friend is fine, and you can continue to stay in contact with her. Find an excuse to stay in touch with her more closely. Hound her, if it makes you feel better. However, unless you produce further images related to this first one, I think your friend is safe. A prediction this serious—if it is still a possibility—will not leave you alone, I can promise you that.”
I tried to process this information in a way that made me feel even a tiny bit better, but I couldn’t really manage it. “I’ll figure something out so that I can keep tabs on Annabelle.”
“Good. Now, keep this between us, all right?” Fiona asked.
“Hannah and Milo already know,” I said. “And I wouldn’t keep it from them even if I could.”
Fiona nodded. “Fair enough. You’re too closely connected, and we know you can trust them. Most likely pointless to keep things from them anyway. And you ought to tell your Caomhnóir, too.”
“What about Karen?” I asked.
Fiona frowned, considering. Honestly, I was conflicted about it, too. On the one hand, Karen was a wonderful champion to have in our corner, and she’d never let us down, at least since she had been forced into telling us about our Durupinen heritage, and I’d long since forgiven her for the breaches of trust that came before that.
“She can fret quite a bit, your aunt,” Fiona said at last. “Best not give her anything to worry about until there’s some worrying that needs to be done.”
“Okay. What about the Council seat?” I asked. “If Hannah wins that seat, she’ll be obligated to inform the Council, won’t she?”
Fiona arched an eyebrow at me. “Are you daft, girl? I’m on the Council, and you don’t see me running to inform them, do you?”
I grinned sheepishly, relieved to find that I had it in me to smile. “Sorry, Fiona. You’re such a loose cannon that I forget sometimes that you’re part of the establishment.”
“Yeah, well, I spend most of my time trying to forget it as well. Sometimes, I’d just say to hell with it and give up the seat. It was a pity appointment anyway. They only voted me in as a way to make amends for the way my family was treated, and I only accepted it to appease my clan. But I cringe to think how much more damage that Council would wreak if all the sensible ones started jumping ship.”
I stifled a laugh at the idea that Fiona might be deemed the sensible one in any scenario, but in a backward sort of way, she had a point.
Fiona sighed. “But as far as your sister and the Council, let’s cross that bridge if we get to it. We’ve got enough to worry about as it is, and the odds of her landing that seat are not ones that I would fancy a flutter on.”
“Fair enough. One catastrophe at a time, right?”
Fiona almost smiled. “Consider that our new philosophy.”
14
Duty Calls
WHEN I WOKE THE MORNING after the revelations in the Archive, I lay with my eyes on the ceiling for a full five minutes, frozen with fear and unwilling even to twitch my gaze in the direction of the wall. I was terrified of what I might see there—convinced that another image of Annabelle’s demise would be leaping in graphic detail from the paper hung there. I frantically assessed my right hand, testing for any tiny hint of the stiffness or muscle fatigue that typically accompanied a spirit-induced drawing. I felt nothing. I turned my head away from the wall and let my eyes fall upon the bedside table. The charcoal pencil I had placed there was still upright in its mason jar, still sharpened to a perfect point. I took in a long, deep breath, held it, and turned to face the wall.
No Annabelle. No drawing at all. Just blessedly blank, white paper.
I laughed giddily with relief and sat up to find Hannah staring at me with wary eyes.
“How are you this morning, Jess? Are you okay?”
Unable to sleep because of all the excitement of the nominations, Hannah had been sitting up waiting for me when I’d arrived back to our room from my meeting with Fiona. The entire walk back, I told myself that I would not burden her with the news that I was a Seer—not yet, not until this election was over and that terrible pressure was lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t deserve more worry piled on top of the worry she already carried, I lectured myself firmly, stiffening my resolve with every corridor, every staircase. Then I’d opened the door, taken one look at her stricken face, and dropped it all on her like a bombshell.
Luckily, my sister was basically indestructible. I really should have remembered that—I rarely gave her credit for what a powerhouse she was because she appeared so tiny and fragile. She held me curled in her lap for an hour, stroking my hair and taming every fear I had like a snake charmer. And by the end of our conversation—thoug
h I was by no means happy about the prospect of being a Seer—I was at least ready to face it rather than run screaming from it.
“After all,” she’d said, and there was steel behind the gentle timbre of her voice, “if I could face being the Caller destined to bring about the apocalypse, you can handle drawing a few sketches of predictions that may or may not come true.”
I’d gasped and tried to sound offended, but ruined the affect by laughing. “May or may not come true? How do you know? How do you know I’m not the Seer that brings about the next apocalyptic prophecy?”
Hannah had snorted. “No way. You’re not that cool.”
Now, in the light of morning, she examined my face anxiously, trying to assess if the talk from the night before had really helped me, or if I was back in panic mode. I tried to smile and found, to my relief, that the muscles in my face were willing to cooperate.
I tried to look confident and unconcerned, though fully aware she’d just watched my bizarre new morning ritual. “Yeah. I’m okay. No drawings last night. That’s a good sign. How about you?”
Hannah shrugged. “No pitchforks or torches outside our window last night. That’s a good sign, too, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I was so distracted by the Seer news that I let you take care of me last night when we should have been taking care of each other,” I said. “I feel really guilty about it.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetness,” Milo said, sailing gracefully through the wall behind me and coming to rest on the chair between our beds, fluttering down as though he were a feather composed entirely of sass. “I was here with her all night, too. We had a good long talk while we were waiting for you to get back, and our girl is more than up to whatever desperate ploys Marion may have left up her devious sleeves. I gave you two your space last night so that you could talk, but now the Spirit Guide needs the dish. Let’s have it. Spill.”
Milo took the news that I was a Seer better than I thought he would, quickly tempering his initial shock with a nonchalant air. “Well, you know, I don’t play Spirit Guide to just any old Durupinen. It is widely known among the floaters that I only associate myself with the very best—exceptional guidance needs exceptional guide-ees, after all. We already knew Hannah was exceptional. You were just a late bloomer, that’s all.”
“Excuse me? I’m a Muse and a Walker! I foiled the Prophecy! What more do you want from me?” I asked.
Milo shrugged and winked at me. “Drawing and floating are pretty tame, Jess, let’s be honest. But predicting the future? Your stock just went way up, sweetness.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, you are such a stage parent.”
“Well, in that case, we just went from community theatre to Broadway, baby!” Milo sang. “Stop moping around and show a little pride! We are putting the ‘sass’ back in Clan Sassanaigh, and the rest of the clans best be ready for it!”
“It’s amazing how often I want to slap you and hug you almost simultaneously,” I told him.
“You are not the first person to tell me that, sweetness, and you won’t be the last,” Milo said. He took his finger and drew a little halo around his head and immediately followed it up with a pair of devil horns.
“Well, since there are no new prophecies to deal with this morning, I’m going to deliver these down to the Council office so Celeste can record them along with the others,” Hannah said, picking up the stack of pledges off her bedside table and waving them at me. “And then I have to sign my final platform changes before the session starts today, so that Siobhán can read it along with the others before the vote tonight. Do you want to come with me, or should I meet you down at breakfast?”
“Platform changes?” I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. “Oh, no. I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” Hannah asked, frowning.
I sighed. “With everything going on, I forgot to talk to you. I was supposed to do it before you finished your platform. I promised Finn that I would.”
I saw Milo stiffen as he realized what I must be talking about. But Hannah continued to frown. “What is it, Jess?”
I felt the color rush to my face. I dropped my eyes to my hands now twisting uncomfortably in my lap. “I . . . I have something I have to tell you. Something kind of big.”
“Something else? You can’t be serious!” Hannah said with an incredulous note of laughter. “What else can you possibly have to tell me that will top the news that you can see the future?”
I dropped my face into my hands, speaking into the darkness inside them. “It’s about me and Finn.”
Silence.
I let it build unbearably for several seconds before I could find the nerve to steal a glance at Hannah and Milo. When I finally did, it was to see them desperately trying to control their features as repressed laughter twisted and contorted them.
“What are you laughing for?” I asked indignantly, dropping my hands.
A giggle slipped from between Hannah’s tightly pressed lips. She quickly arranged her face into a serious, thoughtful look. “What about you and Finn?”
I pointed an accusatory finger at Milo. “You told her, didn’t you? You told me you weren’t going to.”
“Oh, honey,” Milo sighed. “I didn’t need to. She already knew. We both already knew. Bless your heart, but the two of you aren’t exactly the masters of mystery you fancy yourselves to be.”
I looked back at Hannah, who shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, but it’s true. You two basically get those cartoon eyes that turn into hearts when you see each other.”
“You could have said something!” I cried, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
“So could you,” Hannah pointed out. “But you didn’t, and I took my cues from you. I wasn’t going to out you if you weren’t ready to talk about it.”
“I thought you were catching on to something, but I guess I thought we were more careful than cartoon heart eyes,” I said, sighing. “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you, are you?”
Hannah smiled. “Of course not. It’s your business. I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”
“I’m mad at you,” Milo said. “But mostly for being predictable. I mean, really, Jess? Your bodyguard? Ugh. How chick flick of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Milo. Next time I’ll consider your need for plot twists before falling for someone in my actual life.”
“I appreciate that, thank you,” Milo said in a lofty, dignified voice.
“There is one part of all this that makes a Milo-worthy plot twist, though,” Hannah said, her smile slipping. “The relationship ban. What are you going to do?”
I felt my smile vanish, too. “There isn’t really anything that we can do. At least, not without giving ourselves away. Seamus would expose us instantly, and Finn would be on the next plane to the middle of nowhere, reassigned to some outpost where I’d be guaranteed never to see him again. So that’s why I wanted to talk to you about the platform.”
Hannah smiled gently at me. “You don’t need to talk to me about it.”
“I don’t?”
Still smiling, she came to sit down beside me, pointing down at the bottom of the page. “Here. The last item on my campaign platform. Read it.”
I looked where she was pointing and read aloud. “I promise to revisit laws governing the interactions between Durupinen and Caomhnóir, in the interest of improving relationships between the groups and creating guidelines that reflect our modern-day circumstances.” I looked up at her. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“Of course,” she said. “I couldn’t come right out and say it, for obvious reasons, but if I get elected, this will be the first thing I tackle.”
“Hannah, this is amazing!” I said, pulling her into a hug. “You know this won’t be popular. A lot of people won’t like this kind of a shake-up.”
“Gee, being unpopular in the Council Room,” Hannah said gazing up dreamily. “I wonder what that feels like.” She looked back at me and wink
ed. “It will be worth it. No one can deny the whole system needs improving. It’s outdated and absurdly polarizing. Everyone admits it, even if they don’t want to change it. It will benefit everyone, not just you, even if you are the reason I want to tackle it.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Honestly, Hannah. You’re going to take a lot of shit for this, so I’m sorry in advance but . . . just . . . thank you.”
Hannah smiled. “You’re welcome. And about the cartoon heart eyes: don’t panic. You are doing a really good job of hiding it in public. I just . . . know you better.”
§
The dining room was a sea of staring eyes. I panicked for a full ten seconds—convinced that somehow everyone had found out I was a Seer—before I remembered that Hannah had just emerged as the unexpected favorite in the race for the Council seat. These were just the usual stares. These I could handle.
“Oi!” Savvy cried, flagging us down from across the room. She was sitting with Frankie over in our traditional corner of misfits. We filled our plates and rushed to join her.
“You cheeky little bugger!” she roared, slapping Hannah on the back. “You make like you’re all quiet and shy, and then you get up there and you turn into Winston bloody Churchill! Why didn’t you give me a sneak peek, eh?”
“We . . . uh . . . wanted to keep the speech under wraps,” Hannah said hesitantly.
When Savvy looked puzzled, I added, “Sav, we love you, but you’ve got a big mouth.”
Savvy looked almost offended. “I have not!” Then looked sheepishly around as she realized she was shouting. “I can keep a secret when I need to.”
“We know that, Savvy. We trust you, I promise. I was just really nervous about giving the speech. Karen was the only one who heard the whole thing before the meeting, and that’s because she helped me write it,” Hannah explained.