by E. E. Holmes
“What if it all just vanishes?” Hannah whispered, speaking aloud the real question at the heart of her terror. “What if we do what Agnes wants us to do, and restore the Gateways to the Geatgrimas and then we’re just… empty? What if we have no purpose?”
“But we did have a purpose, even before we took the Gateways into our bloodlines,” I told her. “Don’t you remember what Agnes told me? The Durupinen already existed as a sisterhood. We could see and communicate with spirits. It was our role to guide them to the Gateways, and to watch over the Geatgrimas. We were already sensitive.”
“But what if we lose that, somehow? What if we restore the Gateways, and suddenly we can’t see spirits anymore? What if… what if I lose you, Milo?”
Milo’s face twitched as he fought to bring something huge and awful under control. After what seemed like a Herculean effort, miraculously, he managed a smile. “Sweetness, you need to understand something. There is nothing in this world or the next that can take me from you. Not in life, not in the afterlife, not ever.”
“But how do you know?” Hannah whispered desperately.
“Because I just do. We are Bound. I understand it and feel it in ways you can’t imagine because your body gets in the way, but you just have to trust me on this. This,” and he gestured to the space between them, to the invisible connection of the Binding, “doesn’t bend. It doesn’t break. It only deepens. When two souls are linked like us, let the universe do its worst, sweetness. We got this. You and me.”
Hannah gave him a watery smile before bursting back into tears. I let Milo comfort her now, extricating myself gently from Hannah’s embrace and sliding away across the couch before laying my head back and closing my eyes.
She was right of course. She always was. I was charging ahead with this mission recklessly, as was my general approach to life, and I hadn’t really stopped to think about what the fallout might be—not really. And there was probably a reason for that. If I stopped for too long, thought too much, considered too much, then I’d probably talk myself out of it. It was as though Agnes had handed me a lantern and pushed me out onto one of those foggy moors that roll through the English countryside. I could only see a few feet in front of me, could only take a few steps at a time. She set me on the path, but now I had to trust that the rest of the journey would become clear as I went, that I would know what to do when I came to a fork or, perhaps, even lost the path altogether. That lantern would not allow me to see the final destination—only the next step that would lead me there. I had to trust—in myself, in Agnes, and maybe even in a greater reason that I’d never been confident had existed at all.
The more I thought about it, lying there next to Hannah, the more I wished I could just go back to plunging recklessly though things.
At last Hannah unburied herself from Milo’s shivery comfort and turned to me again. I was relieved to see that some of the animal panic had left her eyes, and when she smiled, her face fell easily into the familiar lines of the expression.
“Okay,” she said, with a deep breath. “I’m… I’m okay now. I won’t freak out on you again, I promise. I just… I guess I just needed to get that out.”
“I’m glad you told me,” I said. “It’s important for us to be on the same page. I can’t do any of this without you.”
“You won’t have to,” she said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I trust you, and I’m with you.”
“Me, too,” Milo said.
“Well then, I guess I’d better get going,” I said, hoping my smile looked more confident than it felt. “I’ll hop into the connection when we get there, and I’ll stay in touch as long as I can. Once I’m Walking, though, all bets are off.”
“I would still feel better if Milo went with you,” Hannah said, biting her lip. “Then he could stay in touch with me so I know what’s happening.”
“We’ve already talked about this,” Milo told her in a soothing voice. “I can’t go—it’s too risky. The Travelers already know me, and they know who I’m Bound to. Seeing me will just alert them to the fact that something’s up.”
Hannah pouted. “I know. Just being selfish again.”
“For the last time, you are not selfish,” I yelled. “And I will let you know what’s going on the second I reconnect with my body, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” she muttered. “Just, please, be careful, okay?”
“Always,” I said as I stood up and slung my backpack onto my shoulder.
8
Body Swap
I’D ONLY MADE IT TO THE END of the corridor before Milo caught up with me.
“Mind if I walk you down?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said, “although I kind of figured Hannah might need a bit more time snuggled up to her best little coping mechanism.”
“She decided to go down and have lunch with Kiernan instead,” Milo said. “He just sent her a text that he’s between shifts.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So, something seems to be happening there, doesn’t it?” I said.
Milo nodded with a little smirk. “It’s healthy for her to have a pair of live arms to run to when she’s upset.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I asked, eyeing him shrewdly.
He looked up, surprise all over his face. “Of course, I am! Hey, I know what this is. I have no interest in holding her back from human experiences just because I’m not going to get to experience them myself. Seeing her happy makes me happy. Always has. I don’t care if I’m the one making her happy.”
“That’s sweet Milo, but it’s got the potential to leave you waiting in the wings an awful lot,” I said softly.
He snorted. “Honey, please. Milo finds his light regardless of the stage. I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry about that. Anyway, thanks to Milo’s Closet, I’ve got more attention than even I can handle.”
It was my turn to snort. “Please. We all know that level of attention does not exist.”
Milo chuckled, then changed the subject. “How is Finn coping with all of this?” He gestured to the bag slung over my shoulder, and I knew he was referring to my journey to the Traveler camp.
“He’s nervous. He really wanted to send a Caomhnóir with me, but I talked him out of it. It would have been way too much of a giveaway, seeing a Northern Clan Caomhnóir assigned to protect a Traveler Dormant. Ileana would have been tipped off at once that something wasn’t right. Besides, he can’t reassign a Caomhnóir to me now, not with the Caomhnóir leadership on high alert and the Council in a panic over Savvy and the Geatgrima. The last thing we want to do is draw attention to a trip I’m probably not even supposed to be taking.”
“Do you think you’re going to get in trouble once they find out where you’ve gone?” Milo asked.
I turned a sardonic smile on him. “Does it matter?”
He smiled back. “I guess not. We’re all in trouble if you don’t go.”
“Hey, listen, thank you for talking Hannah down back there,” I said.
Milo shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“I know, but sometimes it’s got to be harder than others,” I said gently, trying to catch his eye. “Especially when you’re freaking out a little yourself.”
Milo looked up and smiled sadly. “Was it that obvious?”
“Not to her,” I said. “She was too distraught.”
Milo nodded. “That’s good. I really didn’t want her to know.”
“You’re allowed to be scared too, Milo,” I told him. “It’s not only Durupinen lives that are going to change around here.”
Milo’s whole form trembled. “If I lost her, Jess…”
“I know.”
He looked up at me, his eyes asking for a promise I couldn’t make. Then he looked away again. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he said in barely more than a whisper.
It was my turn to swallow back my fear, to push it deep down and hold myself together just long enough to get out those two words he and I both needed to be true.
“You won’t. As a wise Spirit Guide once said about five minutes ago, you just have to trust me on this.”
§
Down on the grounds, Finn met us by the border behind the barracks. His face was so rigid with stress that he looked like he’d been carved of stone.
“I’ve altered the Casting by your exit point so no one will be alerted to your leaving, but it’s just a temporary interference that will wear off soon, so you’d best head along quickly.”
“Wow. I guess being part of the Caomhnóir leadership does have its perks,” I said, turning to Milo with a grin. “Remember all those times we had to get cozy just to get over the border?”
“Vividly,” Milo replied.
“Is everyone briefed on the cover story?” Finn asked, clearly plowing on with his mental checklist.
“Yes,” I assured him. “Flavia, Kiernan, and Hannah all know that if anyone asks for me, I’ve gone to London to meet with another potential sublet for our flat in Notting Hill.”
“Have you heard from Annabelle?” Finn asked.
“Yes, she texted me. She’s already arrived. She’ll be waiting for me at the turnoff to the private road,” I told him.
“You’ll keep me posted?” he nearly barked.
“Of course,” I said, ignoring his curt tone, which I knew had nothing to do with me and everything to do with all of the protective impulses he was repressing. I took a step forward, raised myself onto my tiptoes, and planted a long, tender kiss on his lips. I felt his entire body shudder, and then relax. “I will protect myself the way you would want me to. And I will be back just as soon as I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” he whispered, running a long finger along the curve of my jaw.
“Piece of cake,” I replied, pecking him on the lips once more before turning and heading down the slope.
I tossed my backpack over the top of the low stone wall and then climbed awkwardly over it. As I did so, I felt a shiver of energy pass over me, like a breeze, but charged, and I knew that I was now over the boundary line of the grounds and beyond the reach of the Castings. I expelled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, scooped up my bag, and set off. I jogged along the curve of the dirt road to where it disappeared around the corner of a hedgerow. I rounded the bend and found Annabelle’s car pulled over on the shoulder of the road, half in the grass, the engine running. She stood in the road beside it, pacing and fidgeting anxiously with the collection of bangles on her wrists.
“Annabelle!” I called.
She jumped, startled, pressing a hand to her heart. “Jess. Thank God. I was starting to worry.”
I glanced at my watch. “I’m only five minutes late.”
Annabelle scoffed. “Five minutes is a lifetime on a dirt road by yourself.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said, but she was already waving away my apology and gesturing for me to get in the car. I obliged as quickly as I could, and we set off down the road, the tiny rental car bumping and groaning with every pothole and rut.
Annabelle didn’t speak until we reached the motorway—it was as though she thought someone would somehow catch us making our getaway if we dared utter a sound inside our own car. She checked the rearview and sideview mirrors obsessively, clearly convinced a pursuing vehicle would be revealed at any moment.
“No one’s going to follow us, Annabelle,” I tried to reassure her. “I’m not technically breaking any rules here. I’m at perfect liberty to leave the grounds whenever I want. I’d just rather not call unnecessary attention to it, that’s all.”
Annabelle scoffed again. “Not breaking any rules yet,” she corrected me. “In a few hours’ time we’ll be breaking nearly every Traveler rule currently in existence and maybe even spur the creation of some new ones.”
“Fair point,” I said with a sigh. “Well, the Travelers already think I’m a manipulative traitor, so I may as well play the part fully, right?”
“Go big or go home,” Annabelle agreed. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, so let’s review the plan. I have no interest in winging any of this operation.”
Entrance into the camp could only be made by formal request. Any unannounced arrivals at the boundary of the camp would be treated with suspicion and additional scrutiny, and that was the last thing we needed. Annabelle had sent her formal request to visit under the guise of passing along some of her grandmother’s old letters and photographs to her relatives in the camp. The request was approved by the Traveler Council without incident, and the arrangements were made that Annabelle would meet a Traveler Caomhnóir on the northern boundary of the camp to be escorted within grounds. To maintain secrecy and protect their camp, the Travelers insisted that visitors arrive under cover of darkness when possible. Annabelle readily agreed to this stipulation—the darker it was, the harder it would be for any of the Travelers to spot anything odd about Annabelle’s appearance or demeanor—or rather, my appearance and demeanor, since I would be the one occupying Annabelle’s body and attempting to impersonate her.
Over the past two weeks, I had diligently studied and memorized the pages and pages of information Annabelle deemed important for me to know if I were to escape detection. I learned the names and appearances of a dozen of her relatives from a set of flashcards she made for me, including photographs, names, and how each person was related to everyone else. I practiced a list of basic Romany phrases until I could pronounce them perfectly. Annabelle taught me how to fluidly slip them into conversations so that I would appear comfortable switching back and forth between the languages. She drilled me on proper etiquette—how to show deference to Council members, the appropriate ways to greet people and show affection. She drew me a map, which I committed to memory, that showed the layout of the camp, including the wagon where she typically stayed, as well as which wagons belonged to her Traveler family members.
“But what’s the point of memorizing this if things have been moved around since the last relocation?” I asked her.
“Then it’s all the better for you to have this information. If you expect things to be in the previous location, your confusion only reinforces the idea that you’re me and that you’ve been there before,” Annabelle insisted.
By the time we had reached the turnoff that would lead us to the edge of the wood where the Traveler camp was ensconced, we had reviewed ad nauseam every single scenario we could conceive of that might occur before I had a chance to see Ileana, and how I might navigate it. All of this was really just to distract us from the fact that we had absolutely no control over what happened once I entered the camp, and that we had no way to predict what other people might do or say. In other words, we were staving off the panic with distraction—but no amount of distraction could keep us calm as we killed the engine, stepped out of the car, and concealed ourselves behind a nearby clump of bushes.
“This is it, then,” I said. “Are you ready?”
Annabelle gave me a smile, though it twitched nervously at the corners. “Our chances won’t get any better. Let’s do it.”
I pulled two Soul Catchers from my pocket and we took turns tying them onto each others’ wrists. Flavia had made them for me, desperate for some way to help, given that she couldn’t get me into the camp. She had done some research and imbued them with a secondary, somewhat experimental Casting that was meant to ease the disorientation that resulted from inhabiting an unfamiliar body.
Annabelle and I settled ourselves down in the grass side by side and pulled out the Swiss Army knives Finn had procured for me from the Caomhnóir barracks. Annabelle turned her face toward me, nestled in her magnificent nest of auburn hair. She nodded, her face set and determined.
“Together,” she whispered.
A moment before, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to coax the words of the Casting from my lips, but knowing that another person was about to slip the same physical bonds and occupy the same spiritual space eased my nerves. Our voices in perfect synchronicity, we recited the Casting
that would allow us to leave our bodies behind us:
“Símin uaim thar dhorasmo choirp
Ach an eochair coinním fós,
Bheith ag Siúl tráth i measc na marbh
Agus filleadh ansin athuair.”[1]
Instant, unparalleled freedom. I felt myself soar away, leaving every physical impulse far below me in the grass. It took me a few moments to adjust how I related to the world—how to see without eyes, to hear without ears, to feel without physical sensation, but when I did, I heard a whoop of joy and saw Annabelle sailing through the air beside me, her Walker form iridescent as a rainbow reflection on rippling water.
“Be careful,” I warned her, even as I fought the impulse to whoop myself. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.”
“Right,” Annabelle replied, still breathless and giddy. “It’s just… I almost forgot what this feels like. I think I was too nervous last time to really appreciate it.”
“I think that’s part of what protects us,” I said, allowing myself a low swoop through the air, but being careful to keep myself below the canopy of leaves above us. “The fact that we can forget. Irina couldn’t stop obsessing about this feeling, and it’s what ultimately destroyed her.”
Annabelle’s smile slipped, and she floated to a stop. “Yeah, good point. Don’t want to enjoy it too much,” she whispered to herself in admonishment.
Together we drifted down toward the bodies we’d left in the grass. They looked strange, the way bodies in caskets look more like objects than real people. Our faces were utterly still, though they still bore the expressions of stress and anxiety they’d borne when we’d inhabited them. I knew that within that body, a heart was still beating rapidly, muscles were balled up with tension, a brain was waiting to torture itself with vague intangibles. It was not a pleasant thought, subjecting myself to that environment again just moments after freeing myself from it, but there was no time to indulge my preferences, not when so much hung in the balance.