Gift of the Darkness (The Gateway Trackers Book 7)

by E. E. Holmes

  Based on everyone’s expressions, we all understood this to mean Leeching. Catriona, however, frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, though,” she said. “One can only use spirits who are Crossing for… that purpose.” She threw a cursory smile at Marguerite.

  “It is my understanding that the High Priestess siphons the energy she needs and then closes the Gateway, so that the spirits must remain behind in their depleted state. Is that correct, Marguerite?” Celeste replied, tacking on the last question in a casual, curious voice, as though merely hoping to clarify the point.

  Marguerite nodded. “In this way, the spirits can serve their High Priestess many times,” she said eagerly. “It is a great honor, to be in her service. They sustain her so that she can carry out the great responsibility of overseeing the balance between the spirit and living worlds.” She said the words like a mantra she had been taught, like a prayer.

  All around the room, the rest of us were trying to mask our absolute horror at what we had just learned. To Leech from a spirit once, as it Crossed, was despicable enough, but to do so many times, taking more and more of the spirit into yourself while denying them their right to ever Cross and attain the peace that awaited them beyond the Aether? I was quite literally nauseous at the thought. Hannah’s eyes, as she dropped them to the ground, were full of tears. And it was clear from Marguerite’s youthful, if fragile, appearance that she, too, had benefitted from the process many times, if only tangentially. I understood now, at least, why both women were so cold to the touch; they were sustained on such a large amount of spirit energy that they were barely human anymore.

  “Was… was that why I was drawn within the walls of the castle when I approached?” Milo asked, his tone casual but his voice a bit shaky. “Is there a Casting on the place to draw spirits in so that the High Priestess doesn’t run out of… supplies?”

  Marguerite nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Simone’s resources must never be in danger of running dry. She is too important to the spirit world.”

  Milo’s form actually paled at her words, so deep was his horror, but he managed a small smile. “Excellent. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  Catriona was the first to recuperate from this new revelation. “And once the spirits have… uh… served their mistress… they no longer have free will, is that right? They are vessels to her will instead, which means that they obey her orders exclusively?”

  “Well, they will also obey me, but not in defiance of Simone. At least, I do not think they will. I must admit, I have never given them an order that directly contradicts what my sister has demanded of them. Most of the orders I give them are on her say-so,” Marguerite said, looking quite frightened at the very thought of disrupting the chain of command.

  “But the spirits at the príosún,” Catriona pressed, turning back to Hannah, “they were little more than vessels for Necromancer commands, and you were still able to Call them.”

  “Yes, but not on my own. There were too many of them, and they were harder to reach, Habitating in Caomhnóir bodies. Lucida had to help me to… wait, where is Lucida?” Hannah asked, looking around at the sudden realization of Lucida’s absence.

  Catriona’s face turned ashen. The answer barely escaped her tightly closed lips. “Dead. Necromancers.”

  Hannah gasped and threw her hand up over her mouth. “Oh… I had no idea. I… I’m so… oh my God...”

  “The point,” Catriona said, talking over her in a trembling voice, “is that she is not here to help you. You’ll have to do it on your own.”

  Hannah dropped her hand, looking terrified. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

  “We may not have a choice,” I told her gently. “If we come across a spirit on our way to the Geatgrima, you’re going to have to try.”

  “What about our Caomhnóir?” Celeste asked, looking at Marguerite. “Do you think there’s any chance of you freeing them, like you did us?”

  Marguerite shook her head. “There I cannot help you. They have been detained not in the dungeons, but in the Caomhnóir barracks. I cannot possibly enter those quarters without drawing suspicion onto myself.”

  Celeste’s face fell. It was clear she was hoping to have the added protection of Seamus’ Guardian skills. Hannah gave a sniff and I squeezed her hand. I knew that she was worried about Kiernan.

  “Seamus and Kiernan can look out for themselves,” I reminded her. “They’ll be fine.” I could not promise this, and so I knew the words rang hollow, but I had to say something to dull the spark of fear that had kindled in her eyes.

  “If, by some miracle, we are able to reach the Geatgrima without being caught, how will we know what to do with the keys?” Annabelle asked. “And if we figure that out, if we somehow manage to get our hands on the counter-Casting, how will we know what we need to perform it?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no way to know the answer to these questions. We’re going to have to improvise.”

  “This is starting to sound like a suicide mission,” Catriona said bluntly.

  “What choice do we have?” I asked. “Either we attempt to secure the counter-Casting, or we give up. We concede the Necromancers have won and we relinquish our control to them.”

  “Those aren’t our only options,” Finn said. “We could try to escape with the keys and alert the other clans. If we amass our collected armies at the gates of Havre de Gardiennes…”

  “Then hundreds will die needlessly,” I said. “Finn, we’ll never get back in, let alone get anywhere near that Geatgrima, and you know it. We won’t get another chance like this.”

  I knew he didn’t want to admit it, but Finn couldn’t argue with me, not this time. I looked around the room. Every face wore the same grim expression of determination; every head was nodding. I didn’t even need to ask out loud. I knew we were all in, and fuck the consequences.

  I turned back to Marguerite. “I guess that’s settled then. Tell us what we need to do to reach the Geatgrima.”

  21

  Gift of the Darkness

  THE MOON WAS HIGH IN THE SKY. I glimpsed it when I dared take the tiniest of peeks out through the curtain from Marguerite’s window. It had been hours since Marguerite had agreed to lead us out to the Geatgrima, and without a clock, the wait had been disorienting. Only by occasional checks at the window could we mark the passage of time, first by the position of the sun and, now, by the slow ascension of the moon.

  We had agreed, grudgingly, that the best course of action was to wait until the middle of the night to make our way to the Geatgrima. It was agony to wait, but it made sense, strategically. In the first place, laying low would be the last thing anyone who was searching for us would expect; they would expect that we would try to get as far from the castle as we could as quickly as we could. This assumption seemed to be working in our favor. As the day wore on, we heard Caomhnóir running the halls, calling out orders and banging down doors. We saw groups of them fanning out over the grounds below, knowing damn well they were searching for us. And just as Marguerite had said, not a single one of the ghosts or Guardians scouring the castle for us even once disturbed the peace of her chambers. It was exactly as she said: no one could conceive of the idea that Marguerite de Chastenay, devoted shadow to her sister, would ever dream of rebellion. It was particularly satisfying to watch, even if it brought nothing but anxiety and doubt to Marguerite herself, whom we regularly reminded that she was rebelling for the good of her beloved sister, and for no other reason.

  The most nerve-wracking period of the day was when Marguerite had to leave to attend to her sister as she usually did. No one asked what these duties might be—it was sufficient to know that she was required to be by her sister’s side for hours at a time, and that she needed to meet that expectation or subject herself to scrutiny.

  “She’s ratting us out,” Catriona had whispered after nearly four hours of dwelling in the gaping emptiness of Marguerite’s absence. “The Caomhnóir are going to break that door down at any momen
t and arrest us all.”

  Celeste shook her head. “I don’t think so. The longer she observes her sister in the company of Necromancers, the more confident she will be that she’s doing the right thing.”

  “We’d better hope so,” Catriona replied. “But if you ask me, Marguerite is even more susceptible to suggestion than her sister. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Necromancers had her converted by tea time.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing no one did ask you, then, isn’t it?” I snapped at her, just barely managing to keep my tone hushed. I had enough fear and doubt about our decision without Catriona descending upon it like a proverbial rain cloud. Part of me regretted being short with her, remembering what she’d just been through, but not enough to take it back. We’d made our choice, and now we all needed to commit to it, and I wasn’t going to tolerate dissension in the ranks. Luckily, Catriona seemed to take my hint and kept her dark predictions to herself after that.

  When Marguerite arrived at her room again well after nightfall, she looked pale and anxious. “They know you’re gone. The Caomhnóir have searched the castle and are now concentrating on the grounds and fanning out into the surrounding mountains. I’ve never seen Simone so angry.” She shuddered and gave a loud sniff. “She hasn’t yet discovered that the keys are missing, however. It hasn’t occurred to her that anyone could open the safe. Her concern at this point is that you will be alerting the other clans to the fact that Necromancers have infiltrated Havre de Gardiennes. She is desperate to track you all down before you are able to do so.”

  Ileana cackled softly to herself. Celeste gave her a warning look before replying to Marguerite. “And you are quite sure they have no suspicions as to your role in our escape?”

  Marguerite shook her head. “Not one. Simone has… has barely spoken to me all day. She is deep in conference with the Necromancer.”

  “Have you been able to glean any more information about what the Necromancers might be planning?” Finn asked. His tone was gentle, but I could hear the intensity behind it.

  Marguerite shrugged, looking tearful. “I have caught only snatches of their conversation as Simone has ordered me in and out. But from what I have gathered, he is planning to concentrate his attack upon Fairhaven. That is the Gateway he wants to bring under Necromancer control. He said something about… about how Neil would have wanted it that way.”

  She gazed at me curiously, looking, perhaps, for an explanation, but I was too angry to reply. Just the idea of Neil Caddigan’s havoc still being wreaked in this world, when he himself had left it, was enough to make my blood boil, and I wasn’t the only one. The atmosphere all around the room had shifted tangibly at the mention of his name. There was not a single person there who didn’t know exactly what chaos he had wrought, and who hadn’t been personally affected by it.

  “One thing did occur to me that will help us, I think,” Marguerite said when it was clear I had no intentions of elaborating on the nightmare that was Neil Caddigan. “She asked me to order the ghosts in the servants quarters to fan out and search the lower passages. We need to use one of those passages to reach the Geatgrima, so I made sure, when I gave them their orders, to steer them clear of the area.”

  Finn perked up at this. “That’s excellent news. Well done, Marguerite.”

  “It does not guarantee us safe passage,” Marguerite said cautiously, though she allowed herself a small smile. “But it does put one possibility of discovery to rest.”

  We agreed to set out at 2:00 AM. This, Marguerite said, was when the Caomhnóir would enact a shift change, meaning many passages would be briefly unpatrolled as reports were given and new Guardians were updated by the previous shift. With a little bit of luck, Marguerite said, we might be able to reach the courtyard in which the Geatgrima stood. Once we arrived though, all bets were off.

  I knew I ought to try to get just an hour or two of sleep, but my body and brain refused to settle. Visions of Necromancer attacks, of charging Caomhnóir, of Charlie Parker’s leering face, of Lucida lying lifeless on the forest floor, chased each other behind my eyelids until I gave up trying to keep them closed. Instead, I sat up with Hannah curled against my side dozing fitfully, Milo pressing his cooling, calming presence against her on the other side whenever her sleep seemed to dive down into nightmares. We looked at each other over the top of her curls.

  “Does any of this make you wonder if the Necromancers are right?” I asked him suddenly, unaware that the question was going to come out of my mouth.

  Milo frowned at me. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

  “No, I’m serious. I mean, I always thought of the Necromancers as the bad guys, you know? It was all so black-and-white in my brain. They were the villains. We were the good guys. Now it all just seems so… gray.”

  “Life’s always more complicated than good guys and bad guys,” Milo pointed out.

  “I know. It sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s just… they were right, weren’t they? We shouldn’t have been controlling the Gateways. All along, I had never doubted they were wrong until now.”

  “Okay, so the Durupinen fucked up,” Milo said with a sigh. “They got greedy. But the original intention was good—all you’ve ever wanted to do was protect the Gateways—protect the spirits. And yeah, some lost that along the way, but you never have. Most of you never have. And now you’re setting things right. The Necromancers have only ever wanted the Gateways for themselves.”

  “I guess. This is all just so messed up. I still don’t know how we’re going to get out of this. And I’ve dragged you all into it.”

  “You didn’t drag us. We jumped in the backseat of this wild ride with a road trip playlist and a bag of snacks. We’re here because we want to be, sweetness.”

  “I know, but… what if something…” My voice trailed away, and I looked helplessly down at Hannah.

  “I won’t let anything happen to her tonight,” he whispered.

  “I know,” I said, taking a deep breath. “And neither will I.”

  “I know.”

  I smiled gratefully at him. “Whatever happens, Milo, I want you to know something.”

  A shiver passed over his face. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “You’ll always be the most annoying ghost I’ve ever met.”

  He grinned. “Well, if we’re trading heartfelt sentiments, I’ve got one for you, too.”

  “Lay it on me, Spirit Guide.”

  “If all this Reckoning shit goes down and we’re… like… un-Bound, or whatever… I will always find a way to let you know when you’re being an emo fashion disaster.”

  I snorted so loudly that Hannah stirred in her sleep. “I’m counting on it,” I told him.

  “It must be nearly time,” Celeste said, standing up from where she and Ileana had been talking quietly by the fireplace. “We’d best prepare to go.”

  Annabelle, looking drowsy, shook her head and rubbed her eyes as she jumped to her feet. Catriona, who had been unable to settle to anything but pacing, made her way across the room to stand beside Celeste. Finn, who had been checking the window every few minutes for the last hour, set his face in an expression of grim determination and strode over to the door, where he stood at near-attention. Marguerite rose from her bed, where she had been sitting and staring at the painting of her and her sister. Her complexion was pale with fear, but her lips were set in a thin line and she seemed resolved. She fished a locket on a fine golden chain out of her bodice and clicked the little door open, consulting the watch face that lay concealed within.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will gather what I can from the scene below, and we will make our way out to the Geatgrima.”

  She strode over to the window and pulled back the curtain just as I had done, to gaze out upon the many turrets, towers, bridges, courtyards, and gardens that comprised the view within the walls of Havre de Gardiennes. As we watched her, her eyes probed around anxiously and then fixed suddenly on a sin
gle point. Her body went stiff, her expression rigid. Her hand, upon the fold of silk curtain, tightened so that her knuckles went white.

  I stood up, my heart in my throat. “Marguerite? What is it? What do you see?”

  Marguerite did not reply. She gave no indication at all that she had heard me.

  I flashed a panicked look at Finn, who stepped forward. “Marguerite? What’s wrong?”

  Marguerite remained motionless, unresponsive, bleached to a ghostly pallor in the strip of moonlight revealed through the curtain.

  “What’s happening?” Annabelle asked, her voice sharp.

  Catriona was not waiting to be told. She walked straight up to Marguerite and stood right beside her, leaning in to examine her face. Then she raised a hand and waved it slowly back and forth in front of Marguerite’s eyes. The woman remained frozen.

  “She’s gone into some kind of fit,” Catriona said. “A trance, or… or something.”

  I hurried across the room to stand on Marguerite’s other side. Catriona reached out as though to shake the woman by the shoulders, but I knocked her hand away. “Don’t touch her,” I ordered, and Catriona quickly dropped her hand to her side.

  I turned, following the direction of Marguerite’s gaze and my eyes fell upon a distant courtyard and there, just visible above the walls that enclosed it, was the unmistakable curve of a stone archway…

  “This can’t be happening,” I whispered. “Oh my God. Not now.”

  “What is it?” Catriona hissed. “What’s happened?”

  But before I could answer, Marguerite’s body became animated with a manic energy. Utterly oblivious to the more than half dozen people now staring at her in alarm, she turned on her heel and flew to the trunk at the base of her bed. She flung it open, rummaged around for a moment, and then pulled a magnificent fur-lined cloak from the trunk and draped it around her shoulders, fastening the gold clasp under her chin and tugging the hood up over her head. Then she slammed the trunk shut, snatched a small oil lamp from her bedside table, and hurried toward her door.