by E. E. Holmes
“What are you?” Frankie whispered.
“I’m the same as you. I’m a Durupinen,” Hannah said.
“No,” Frankie said. “No, I’m not.”
“You are. And it doesn’t have to mean the end of everything else,” Hannah said, a little more forcefully.
Frankie’s bottom lip trembled but she bit it fiercely to stop it. “Stop. I’m not listening to that. I have plans. I’m going to accomplish them. I will not accept anything standing in my way.”
She’s pushing too hard, I thought.
She’s pushing just right, Milo insisted.
“What’s happening, then?” Savvy asked me.
I relayed the conversation to Savvy in whispered installments. She shook her head. “She’s walking right into book-throwing territory now,” Savvy said. “Best tell her to get ready to duck and cover.”
“Do I need to get in there?” Finn asked sharply.
“Take it down a peg, Finn,” I replied. “She’s still in control of the situation. Now everyone shut up so Milo and I can concentrate.”
I focused back in on Hannah, who was still sitting, calm as could be, in the chair opposite Frankie, cigarette dangling casually from her hand. I’m not sure if I’d ever appreciated just how much of a casual badass she really was. I would never be that cool.
Girl, neither will I, Milo agreed, picking up on the thought.
“What is your plan?” Hannah was asking Frankie. “Tell me your plan. What do you want more than anything?”
Frankie did not answer at first. It was as though she was trying to decide if sharing this information was going to cost her something. She seemed to decide that it wouldn’t. “To be a cardiovascular surgeon.” There was a defiant note in her voice, as though daring Hannah to scoff.
Hannah, of course, did not. “That’s very admirable. Why do you want to do that?”
“Because it’s hard. Because it takes skill. Because so few people can accomplish it,” Frankie said, raising her chin.
“Is that all?” Hannah prompted.
Frankie shrugged. “I want to help people.”
Hannah smiled. “That’s really wonderful. How long have you worked toward that goal?”
“Practically my whole life,” Frankie said. “I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember.”
“So, why are you giving up on it?” Hannah asked.
Frankie glared at her. “Giving up? Who’s giving up? Haven’t you been listening? I’m fighting for it.”
Hannah shook her head. “Every day you keep yourself locked up in this room, avoiding reality, that dream is going to slip further and further away from you.”
Frankie’s eyes grew bright, but her voice was still angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I really do,” Hannah said. She took one last drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out on the bottom of her shoe. “I’m going to tell you something right now, and you aren’t going to like it at first, but hear me out. I spent years and years going back and forth. Some days I believed the spirits were real. Other days I took my meds and tried to ignore them, hoping against hope that they would go away if I just dulled my senses enough. Sometimes it almost worked, but never for long.”
Frankie sagged in her seat, as though Hannah’s words had deflated her.
“But not anymore,” Hannah said, and she rose from her seat and sat herself beside Frankie on the settee. Frankie did not move away from her, which I took to be a very good sign. “I’ve accepted what I am, and I’ve learned everything I can about it. I do what I’m supposed to do; lunar Crossings and helping spirits out when they really need me. But it doesn’t consume my life anymore. I can put protection up around any room I’m in, so that they can’t bother me when I really need some time to myself. I’ve learned to feel them coming before I see them, so that they rarely surprise me anymore. And best of all, I’m helping people. They might not be alive anymore, but they are still human souls in desperate need of help, and I am one of the very few who can truly give them what they need.”
Frankie began to sniffle. We were watching her resistance crumble as Hannah dismantled it, brick by stubborn brick.
Hannah pressed her advantage and continued. “I want to help people, too—kids who have been abused by the system, like I was. I’m doing it. I’m in school. I’m earning my master’s degree in social work. I might even go to law school. But being a Durupinen is not preventing me from pursuing any of those goals. It does… complicate things, on occasion. But learning how to deal with those occasions? It is a skill. It is a craft. It’s something that only a handful of people in the world can do. That’s something I think you can appreciate.”
Frankie’s sniffles had dissolved into great, heaving sobs now. Very slowly and carefully, Hannah scooted herself across the settee and wrapped her arms around Frankie. Frankie fell into them, sobbing still harder.
“Just imagine,” Hannah whispered. “Just imagine when you become that surgeon, because I know you will. And just imagine when you can save a patient’s life, and how incredible that will feel. And then realize that you will be able to help them whether you can save their lives or not.”
Frankie’s voice, muffled with tears against the sleeve of Hannah’s sweater, rose to answer her. “That w-would be p-pretty incredible,” she stammered.
“The teachers here will guide you every step of the way,” Hannah went on, planting a gentle kiss on the top of Frankie’s head. “There are hundreds of Durupinen here from all over the UK and other countries, too, and nearly every one of them has a job, and a family, and a life apart from her role as a Durupinen. Right now, you’ve given the control of your life over to the spirits. But they aren’t going away, so now it’s time to take it back.”
Frankie did not respond, though her crying quieted.
“Let me ask you this: are you a girl who things happen to, or are you a girl who makes things happen?” Hannah asked.
Frankie laughed—actually laughed—and looked up at Hannah with a red blotchy face. “I make things happen,” she said. “I always have.”
Hannah smiled down at her. “That’s what I thought.”
She is going to be the best social worker ever. Milo’s pride came thrumming across the surface of my brain.
Yeah, she sure as hell is, I said, my own pride in my sister glowing brightly.
I turned to Savvy who had her ear pressed to the door, her long curtain of red hair draped across her face.
“You’re in luck, Sav. She did it.”
Savvy didn’t answer. She seemed very intent on continuing to listen at the door.
“Sav, seriously, it’s okay,” I assured her. “Honestly, I don’t think you need to worry anymore. The moment for throwing projectiles has passed.”
Savvy still did not answer. Her hand, pressed against the wood of the door, was tensely white-knuckled.
“Savvy?” I asked again. Still, Savvy did not move, did not answer. I reached out and touched her shoulder. No response. My heart began to hammer.
“Finn?” I said, and I was surprised at how steady my voice sounded even in my mounting panic. “Finn, something is wrong with Savvy.”
“What are you on about?” Finn asked.
But at that moment, through the connection, I watched Hannah stop stroking Frankie’s head. She looked up suddenly, staring around the room as though she had just heard a strange sound and wanted to find the source of it. Then she stood abruptly.
“Jess? There’s one here!” she cried out. “A Shard! I just felt it! It’s really close!”
“Hannah?” Frankie said tentatively “Who are you talking to?”
But I didn’t hear Hannah’s reply. I was reaching a shaking hand out toward Savvy’s mane of hair, pulling it back from her face.
Eyes stared back at me, deep and dark as caverns—eyes that had never before looked out of Savannah Todd’s face.
“Savvy?” I breathed.
“Who’s Savvy?�
�� she whispered back.
39
Tryst and Trust
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I can’t believe that just happened,” Milo whispered.
“She was right next to me. One moment she was Savvy, and the next…”
I shuddered. Milo, Frankie, Hannah, and I sat together in a half circle around Frankie’s fireplace. A hollow, numb disbelief hung over us like a fog.
“We were focused on the connection,” Milo said, sounding as though he’d like to take his own words and beat himself with them out of guilt. “Finn and Savvy both had all their attention on trying to hear what was happening through the door. Oh, sorry,” Milo added, realizing what he had said and addressing Frankie. “We didn’t want to spy on you or anything. We just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to start throwing shit at Hannah.”
“It’s okay,” Frankie said, more loudly than she needed to. “I’ve been known to do that lately.” She was examining Milo with a half-fearful, half-fascinated expression. Now that she’d accepted what she was seeing, she’d been staring openly at Milo since he’d entered the room.
“You don’t need to yell, sweetness. I’m dead, not deaf,” Milo said, causing Frankie to flush pink.
“Sorry,” she said softly, and then turned to Hannah. “So, what exactly happened to Savannah? I didn’t really understand what that man was saying when he opened the door.
As Hannah patiently explained about the Shards to Frankie, I continued to dwell on what had just happened. The moment I’d seen that stranger staring back at me from Savvy’s face, Finn had leapt into action. As he pulled Savvy tightly into a restraining hold, she hadn’t even resisted him. Maybe it was because there was no fire visible in the hallway, or perhaps because the Shard itself hadn’t yet acclimated to the new body it now possessed, but there was no struggle and no screaming, like we’d seen with the other Hosts. Savvy submitted quietly to the hands that grasped her. It wasn’t until Finn and Bertie were rounding the corner with her at the end of the hallway that she began to moan and cry pitifully, like a wounded animal.
“But… I’ve kept my Gateway closed on purpose. Did… did I cause this? Did that spirit try to… to use me, but couldn’t get through?” Frankie asked, eyes wide in alarm.
“No, no,” Hannah said in a soothing voice. “The Shattering originated with Catriona’s Gateway, which also happens to be sealed at the moment. You had nothing to do with it, although, it’s a good reason to keep the whole Gateway system open and working like it should.”
“So, one of those things could infect any one of us, at any time?” Frankie asked. “Is this what it’s going to be like now? I thought you said I’d be able to move on with my life!”
Hannah put a consoling hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “No, this is not how life is going to be. This is a very rare phenomenon that’s happening right now. Most of the Durupinen here have never even heard of a Shattered spirit before.”
“Once you get your training, you can put this place in your rearview mirror and rarely look back,” I told Frankie.
“You finished your training. Why are you back here?” Frankie asked.
“Glutton for punishment,” I replied.
“I need another cigarette,” Frankie muttered, and went to find herself one.
“I never would have imagined Savvy falling victim like that,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “Honestly, I’d have thought any spirit who tried to get in there would have had one look around and think it wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Milo laughed, a sharp short bark immediately swallowed by a sob. “I feel like such shit for not realizing it was happening.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“And me. Too little, too late,” Hannah said.
We sat for a few more minutes in a numb sort of silence, until Frankie broke it with a polite little cough.
“Excuse me, Hannah? Do you think you could show me where I could find Celeste? I need to talk to her about… about deciding that I’m ready to start learning.”
Hannah looked up and managed a smile. “Of course. I can help you find her.”
“I’ll come, too,” Milo said, rising from the chair. “I need some distraction. Jess?”
I stood up as well. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to the hospital ward to see how Savvy is. I’ll check in with you both afterward.”
“Do you think you should go by yourself?” Hannah asked anxiously.
“Hannah, do you really think it matters? Savvy was infected while two Caomhnóir stood within two feet of her,” I said. “If I get infected on the way, I’m only two corridors from the hospital ward. I’ll just show myself in.”
“That’s not funny,” Hannah said, scowling.
“I know.” I said. “For once, I wasn’t trying to be cute.”
§
When I arrived outside the hospital wing, I found I was not alone in waiting for news. Róisín and Riley Lightfoot were both occupying the bench outside the ward, faces pale and drawn.
“We saw them carry Savannah Todd past,” Róisín said as I walked over to them. “Your Caomhnóir was with her.”
“Yeah, we were all with her when… it happened,” I said with a shiver. “I heard about your mom, too. I’m sorry.”
Róisín nodded her appreciation. Riley kept her eyes locked on the floor.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, taking a seat on the opposite bench.
“Since breakfast. They told us there was no point, but…” Róisín shrugged helplessly.
“I saw Patricia O’Toole being brought up here as well. Do you know… has anyone else been infected today?” I asked.
Róisín shook her head. “No, not that I know of.”
“Have… are Finn and Bertie still in there?” I asked.
“Yes,” Róisín said. “I tried to follow them inside when they arrived, but the matron kicked me out.” She bit her lip. “They won’t tell us anything, but I can’t convince myself to leave.”
“Hey,” I said, my voice gentle and thick with emotion. “You don’t need to leave. Even if they tell you to go, you stay, if that’s what makes you feel better. I’d be sitting right where you are, if that was my mom in there. Keep demanding answers. Be loud. Be persistent. You have every right to be here.”
Róisín smiled at me. I’d like to think she was going to thank me, but she never got the chance. The ward door opened at that moment and Finn stepped out, followed by Bertie and Mrs. Mistlemoore.
“Hey,” I said, standing up at once. “This might be a stupid question, but I’m going to ask it anyway. How is Savvy?”
“She’s a Host,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said. “So, for the moment, she is indistinguishable from the other Hosts in the ward.” She sounded utterly exhausted, and perhaps she realized it was dulling her bedside manner, because she shook her head and added. “I apologize. It’s been a very long couple of days.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “We’re just grateful you’re here to help them.”
“I don’t know how much help I’m being, to be honest,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said.
“I was just telling Mrs. Mistlemoore that you had a suggestion,” Finn jumped in.
“I did?” I asked, confused.
“Yes,” Finn said pointedly. “About the Hosts’ tendency toward writing?”
“Oh, yeah!” I said. “We haven’t even had a chance to tell anyone yet. When we came by here earlier today, we saw that the Hosts were writing—or at least, pretending to write. Is that still true?”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said, a bit wearily. I could tell she was already skeptical of whatever it was I had to say, and I couldn’t really blame her. I’m sure she was getting all kinds of unsolicited advice.
“Look, I have some experience with spirit-induced drawing,” I said. “As a Muse, it happens to me all the time. Sometimes it happens without warning, when I can’t control it, like in a trance or when I’m sleeping. I always keep paper taped to the walls aroun
d my bed and a stack of pencils on my bedside table, so I’m ready when it happens.”
“What’s your point?” Mrs. Mistlemoore asked, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing her eyes. It was as though she were hardly listening. I took a deep breath and tried to swallow my frustration. It did not go down easy.
“I just thought I’d suggest giving the Hosts a piece of paper and something to write with,” I said, and I was pleased to hear that my voice sounded calm. “It’s a very real possibility that the Shards are trying to communicate through drawing or writing. If they have the tools they need, they might actually give you a clue about who they are, and what they want.”
Mrs. Mistlemoore blinked. She stared at me for a moment like I was crazy, and I prepared a defensive reply, but then she nodded. “I’ll consult the Scribes, to see if there is any precedent for this behavior amongst Shards, but that is an excellent suggestion, Miss Ballard. Thank you very much for sharing it with me.”
I sighed with relief. “Sure. It might come to nothing, of course, but anything is worth a shot at this point, right?”
“Right, indeed,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been short with you. It’s not only the Hosts that I’m concerned about, though they would be enough to exhaust anyone’s capacity for worry. The High Priestess has taken another turn for the worse.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Really?”
Mrs. Mistlemoore shook her head, looking defeated. “I think she was holding on for the Airechtas. I think she wanted to oversee one last meeting, to ensure that all of the appropriate policies were in place and changes were made before she succumbed to this illness. But now that the Airechtas has been suspended indefinitely, her strength is fading fast. I’m just not sure how much longer she’ll be able to hold on, and I know she does not want to leave Fairhaven and her clans in such a state.”
“Everyone in the castle is on the alert,” I said, trying to sound confident. “This Shattering might be scary, but it’s also moving very quickly. I’m sure we’ll be on the other side of it in a few days, and everything can proceed like it was supposed to.”