Gift of the Darkness (The Gateway Trackers Book 7)

by E. E. Holmes

  I, of course, knew Jeta much better than Annabelle would have. I first met her in the Traveler camp when I returned to testify at Irina’s trial. It was she who had drawn the intricate artwork upon my hands and arms the first time I Rifted. And then, after Flavia had been banished for choosing a career in the outside world rather than her prescribed role in the Traveler camp, Jeta had traveled to London monthly to complete their Crossings and I met her once again. This was when Flavia was kidnapped and held hostage by Charlie Parker, and so Jeta had spent most of that visit in deep emotional distress for the welfare of her cousin. After having consoled her through this extremely trying event in her life, I felt quite close to her, but of course, I couldn’t give that impression while occupying Annabelle’s body. Instead, I worked to keep a politely distant look on my face as I replied to her.

  “Yes, of course, I remember you. How are you, Jeta?”

  The girl shrugged, attempting a smile and looking, in my opinion, rather thinner and more drawn than the last time I’d seen her. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m… I’m okay, I guess. It’s really strange, not having my cousin here anymore. I’m… I’m not sure how much you know about her situation right now?”

  I decided on the spot that it would be reasonable for Annabelle to be in touch with Flavia. After all, they were both Traveler outcasts, in a way, and they had spent quite a bit of time together when we had all worked together to free Irina from the camp.

  “Yes, we’ve been in touch,” I said carefully. “Mostly by email. Why?”

  “Well, it’s just…” Jeta bit her lip and looked anxiously around the fire, as though worried someone would suspect the content of our conversation. “I’m not permitted to contact her, outside of our monthly Crossings, which are to be performed in the presence of witnesses. I can’t ask her how she’s getting along or… or how she’s coping…” Jeta’s voice grew thick with repressed tears. “I just wondered whether you knew if she was all right. I’m so worried about her, after what that Necromancer bastard did to her…” She gave a gasp and pressed her lips together, lest she succumb to very public—and very obvious—tears.

  It took me a moment to reign my own emotions in enough to give a controlled reply, but when I spoke, I was relieved to find that Annabelle’s voice was quite steady. “She’s fine. Truly. She’s been staying at Fairhaven, and they have given her the full measure of their protection. She has been given a post in their library, assisting the other Scribes. Physically, she has recovered. Mentally—well, she’s making great progress,” I said. I was determined not to lie to her.

  Jeta gave a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Thank God for that,” she whispered, then looked up at me curiously. “And she told you all that? She hasn’t even confided in me.”

  I chose my words carefully. “I think it’s comforting for her to confide in someone who also understands what it’s like to be an outsider around here.” I gestured around the fire. “I’m allowed to visit, of course, but I’ll never be one of you—not really. Flavia is just coming to grips with that feeling and having someone to talk to about it makes a difference. It’s not easy, being homesick for a home that doesn’t want you anymore.”

  “It’s not true that we don’t want her,” Jeta muttered fiercely under breath. “It’s the Council and the High Priestess. They’re so… so stubborn!”

  I thought of our own Council back at Fairhaven, hiding the truth about Savvy rather than seeking the help of the International High Council. “Yes, well, leadership is very often like that. Especially in a society that clings desperately to so many traditions.”

  Jeta looked like she half wanted to contradict me, but after a moment of internal struggle, she sighed and nodded instead. “It’s not easy, this life. So much pride. So much fear.”

  “You had to band together to survive for so many centuries. Loosening those bonds—even when they begin to feel like restraints—is never easy. Give things a little time.”

  Jeta nodded, though without much hope in her expression. “If you talk to her when you get back, tell her… tell her I miss her, will you?”

  “Of course, I will,” I promised.

  Jeta thanked me, and then slipped away through the crowd, which was growing raucous. Zina had launched into some story that had a large knot of people in stitches. Pretending to listen and laugh along, I tried to plan out my next move.

  I knew where Ileana’s tent was, of course. Finding my way to it would be simple enough. Avoiding attention and awkward questions along the way was more of a problem. As an outsider, I couldn’t possibly have been more of a spectacle, and everyone I passed would remember seeing me, since visitors were so few and far between in a Traveler camp. And finally, there was the problem of finding my way into the tent. I couldn’t just stroll in, of course. Ileana’s tent was heavily guarded, and I was the last person in the camp they’d allow inside for a quick word. I also couldn’t just hang around the place, hoping to catch her on her way out. My presence would be missed around the fire, and instantly questioned in proximity to Ileana’s tent. No, I would have to make a formal request for an audience and hope it was honored, though goodness only knew how long Ileana would make me wait. We had agreed that I would remain in the camp as long as it took to deliver Agnes’ message, but I didn’t want to leave Annabelle stranded in the woods trapped in my body for days, nor did I fancy occupying her body any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  I stood up, picked up Annabelle’s bag, and flung it over my shoulder. My best bet was to pretend to turn in for the night, and then make my way down to Ileana’s tent to request an audience. Then I had no choice but to wait and hope she was feeling generous with her time. I snorted. Fat chance.

  “Auntie? Auntie Zina?” I called out. Zina turned from her captive, roaring audience at the sound of her name. “I’m going to turn in, I think. I had a long flight and a long drive, too.”

  Zina bustled over to me, kissed me twice on each cheek, and gave my face a little pat. “You crazy Settlers and your airplanes. It’s not natural, you know. If God meant for us to soar through the air, he would have given us wings.”

  I nodded but did not reply, though as someone who absolutely hated flying, I completely agreed with her.

  “You know where you’re staying, yes? Everything you need is all ready for you.”

  “Yes, I know. Thanks, Auntie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sleep well, Annabelle. And thank you for the photographs. We have so few.”

  I set off down the path to the south of the fire, toward the section of the camp where the Boswell wagons were set up in a semi-circle around a single cooking fire and set of picnic tables—the Traveler version of a little family neighborhood. Just behind the first row of wagons, a smaller wagon was parked under a tree. If the clans were on the move, it was used to house the family’s outdoor trappings—laundry lines and benches and chairs and cookery and tents and such. But while the clans were camped out for a long stretch, it became a sort of bunkhouse for additional sleeping space. Because of my arrival, the children who usually escaped to the bunkhouse for bedtime would bunk up in the main wagons with the rest of their families, leaving the Dormant to sleep on her own. It was an arrangement that conveyed both hospitality and a certain wariness for outsiders. It also earned me a few dirty looks from a couple of the Boswell children who were playing by the fire. I shrugged an apology at them and stepped up into the wagon to ditch my things. The interior of the wagon was almost entirely taken up by bunk beds, two on each side and one on the far end, which had been crammed with bundles of clothing and baskets of dishes and cutlery. I slid Annabelle’s bag into one of the lower bunks and pulled out my phone. A quick look at the screen confirmed what I suspected would be the case: I had no service in this God-forsaken wilderness. It looked like Hannah, Milo, and Finn would have to wait to get an update, which was just as well, given all I’d accomplished so far was getting over the border, tripping a lot, and providing a hiding
spot for a mischievous seven-year-old.

  A knock sounded on the outside of the wagon, and I quickly pocketed my phone. I poked my head out of the door to see a Caomhnóir standing there, looking grim—which, to be fair, was a standard Caomhnóir facial expression. Still, it was with trepidation that I asked him, “Can I help you?”

  “The High Priestess has requested that you meet with her in her chambers at once,” the young man said, looking not at me, but straight ahead, like a soldier at attention.

  “Are you serious?” I blurted out.

  The Caomhnóir frowned at the question. “Yes. Quite serious. I am to accompany you. Would you come with me, please?”

  “But why does the High Priestess want to see me?” I croaked.

  I finally aggravated the Caomhnóir into looking directly at me. “The High Priestess does not share such information with Guardians. The reason should not matter. You have been summoned. That is all you need to know. Now, I say to you again, come with me, please.”

  My thoughts were buzzing so loudly, I could hardly calm myself down enough to remember how to put one of Annabelle’s feet in front of the other to follow the man. All at once, my heart was in my throat. I should have felt thrilled that the opportunity I was hoping for had just fallen right into my lap, but I didn’t. I felt dizzy with fear. This was not a coincidence. There was no way in hell I was this lucky. Something was wrong.

  She knows, I told myself. Somehow, someway, she knows.

  The Caomhnóir took a very circuitous route to Ileana’s tent—it seemed he was as eager to avoid prying eyes and awkward questions as I was. This was fine with me, as it gave me more time to try to figure out what the hell I was going to do, what in the world I was going to say. At what point should I reveal that I was actually Jess Ballard, if at all? Was it safer to allow her to think that Annabelle was delivering the message? Should I perhaps pretend to be Annabelle, but claim that Jess had given me the message to pass along? Should I just blurt it out the moment I saw her, or should I wait and see why she wanted to see me? Play along? Observe the niceties? Every new possibility exploded in my head like a firecracker, disorienting me, confusing me, so that, when we arrived at Ileana’s tent, I barely knew how to stand up straight, let alone what I was going to say to her if I managed to get inside without falling over.

  The Caomhnóir pulled back the tent flap, stood aside, and barked, “Dormant of the Boswell Clan, Annabelle Rabinski, requests permission to enter.”

  “Permission granted,” came a familiar croaky voice.

  Out of options and out of time, I entered the tent, legs shaking like mad.

  The last time I set eyes upon Ileana, she was flushed with victory, having just used her influence and sway to separate Finn and me, seemingly forever. As I had watched her walk away from me that evening into the Fairhaven twilight, I could not conceive of hating any human being more. Now that hatred was playing second fiddle to my fear, which was raging out of control in my chest, nearly choking me.

  Ileana was perched upon her elaborately carved throne, the star attraction in the center ring of her very own big top tent. All around her, rich silks and velvets hung in luxurious swaths. Gorgeous antique furniture and priceless heirlooms of her clans occupied every corner, every shelf, and thick Persian rugs had been laid out on the ground beneath her bare feet. A massive black raven, lamplight glinting off his glossy feathers, stood beside her on a golden perch, eyeing me reproachfully as I came before them.

  “High Priestess,” I mumbled, forcing Annabelle’s body into a kind of awkward bow. “You asked to see me.”

  “Yes, I certainly did,” Ileana said, cocking her head to one side as she looked at me, much in the way her bird did. “How was your journey, Dormant?”

  I swallowed back resentment at the fact that she did not use Annabelle’s name, and instead, forced a smile as best I could. “It was long but uneventful, High Priestess. I am glad to have arrived at last.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are,” Ileana replied. She reached out, picked a nut out of the bowl at her side, and crushed it with her hand before extending the pieces to her bird, which pecked fitfully at it for a moment or two before turning up its beak at the offering.

  “It… it is very kind of you to inquire after my trip,” I said when Ileana did not continue. “I did not think the High Priestess would deign to trouble herself with the comings and goings of a Dormant.”

  “On the contrary, I find your comings and goings to be most fascinating,” Ileana said, brushing her hands together so that the remnants of the nut fluttered to the floor at her feet. “Most fascinating indeed. Please remind me, what was the purpose of this trip?”

  “I… I wanted to pass along some old photographs I found amongst my grandmother’s possessions,” I said, deciding, for the moment, to stick to the official story, at least until I understood what Ileana was up to.

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Zina brought us your request. Strange, I thought, to come so far just to deliver a few scraps of paper.”

  “Zina is working on a clan history of the Boswells,” I explained. “The photographs included many of her relatives, and even some of Zina herself when she was very young. I thought they would be a good addition to her project. After all, I have no use for them.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure Zina will appreciate them,” Ileana said, waving her hand dismissively. “And when you’ve finished cozying up to your relatives? What do you intend to do then?”

  I tried to look politely puzzled, but my fear was peaking and, honestly, Annabelle’s face could have been spastically twitching at that point and I would have been powerless to stop it.

  “You must think me a fool.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, High Priestess,” I replied, after several long moments of trying to find my voice.

  “Don’t you?” Ileana asked. She did not look at me, but stared thoughtfully at her own gnarled forefinger, stroking the glossy black breast of the raven upon the perch.

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted, for I truly did not.

  “Even behind the disguise of Traveler form, a true Traveler can always sniff out the stench of an outsider.”

  My borrowed heart was racing now as my mental terror flooded through the connections to my physical form. “Is that so?” I hedged, determined not to give up the disguise until it was absolutely too late.

  “Oh, yes,” Ileana said, still lazily stroking the bird who seemed, for the moment at least, to be tolerating her attentions. “Not the young ones, of course. They have no proper pride, no appreciation for the ancient arts. But for those of us who truly understand what is owed to our blood and our gifts—those of us who never let our guard down, never sleep upon the surety of our safety and our secrecy—we always know.”

  I did not reply. My mind was racing, struggling to think ahead to my next move, my next gambit, but it was like sitting in front of a chessboard blindfolded. I didn’t know where any of the pieces were. “And what is it you know, exactly?” I finally managed to ask, not quite able to control the tremor in my voice.

  Ileana looked up, stared me straight in the eyes, and it was as though I were standing before her, utterly bare. “I know you have betrayed us. I know that you claim loyalty to our blood while continuing to consort and traffic with one of our enemies.”

  I said nothing because this answer didn’t make sense. Claimed loyalty to their blood? When had I ever done that? And what enemy was she talking about? Was it possible she didn’t know who I really was after all? Maybe I had misunderstood her.

  Ileana glared at me while I worked through these frantic thoughts, but when I still did not reply, she plowed on. “Now, as I said, you might think me a fool, but I know you to be one. For only a fool would dare to set foot again within our sacred bounds once she had betrayed us. Did you really think I would harbor no suspicions that you were involved in the Walker Irina’s escape? After all, you were one of two outsiders in the camp that day, and I knew you to be a fr
iend of Jessica Ballard. I could not prove your involvement, but I vowed to keep a very watchful eye on you after that.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?” I asked, trying to sound indignant rather than relieved that she thought I really was Annabelle. Her Walker secret was safe, at least for the moment.

  “I’ve been protecting my people,” Ileana said, crossing her arms, which jangled like mad tambourines under her clanking clutter of jewelry. “And it is clear that I was right to do so, for tonight, you have betrayed us once again, Dormant.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but at that moment, Ileana turned a triumphant gaze on the tent opening behind me. The scuffling noise of a struggle sounded behind me and I whirled around to see my own body, bound and gagged, being dragged into the tent.

  I looked into those terrified eyes, and I could see Annabelle staring back out at me, pleading silently for me to help her, to tell her what to do.

  “Jessica Ballard is a traitor and a criminal according to our Traveler laws. She has been banished from our borders, and yet you have traveled here with her, knowing what she has done. You’ve delivered her right to my doorstep. I really ought to thank you.”

  I tore my eyes from Annabelle and turned back to face Ileana. “Thank me? Why thank me?”

  Ileana’s face stretched into a wide, grotesque smile, revealing the many gaping spaces where her teeth had once been. “I could not deal with Miss Ballard as I would have liked, once she had left our boundaries and entered under the protection of the Northern Clans. I exacted what little revenge I could, breaking up her little romance, but true justice could not be served. The scales could not be tipped once again into balance. But now that she has crossed illegally into our domain, she has forfeited her protections. I can deal with her as I choose.”

  “What do you mean, crossed into your domain?” I shouted. “She didn’t set foot in your camp. Your Caomhnóir dragged her in!”

  Ileana’s grin widened even further, making her look like an ancient caricature. She shrugged. “That’s not how I remember it. As I recall, she was apprehended within our borders. I imagine my Caomhnóir will testify to the same, won’t you, Dragos?”