by E. E. Holmes
Feeling hopeless, Hannah murmured she may as well go see how Karen was getting on with the research, and Milo agreed to go with her. I shuffled back to our room, feeling like I’d aged a hundred years in a single day and longing to talk to only one person about it.
Curled up on the floor by the light of the crackling fire in our fireplace, I paused for a moment, and then put the tip of my pen to the paper.
Dear Finn,
Apologies in advance for a letter that is probably not going to make very much sense. I’m going to ramble. I’m going to rage. I’m going to say all the things that I would never allow myself to say, not out loud, not even to you if you were standing right in front of me. And all of it will probably be a big mess, but I don’t care, and I know you won’t either. I just need the mess to be on the outside of me, before it swallows me up.
Everything is falling apart without you, and I don’t know what to do. I miss you. I used to think I understood what missing someone meant, but it’s clear now that I really had no idea. I’ve missed other people badly—my mom, Pierce, Evan. I’ve missed them, but I missed them knowing that they were gone. I missed them with the knowledge that no matter where I went, or what I did, I wasn’t going to have to wonder what they were doing, where they were going, or what they were thinking at any given goddamn moment. I didn’t have to wonder those things. I didn’t have to torture myself with those things, because those things were not the reality. I missed those people because those people were gone. There was nothing I could do to change that, and that was how I eventually made my peace with missing them.
But I don’t have that peace now. Not when I’m missing you.
Missing you is like walking around with a huge, gaping hole inside me, a hole made deeper by every question I don’t have an answer to. The wondering and the wishing has eaten its way clean through me, and I can’t fill it. There’s nothing to fill it with because every day there are just more questions. Every day of missing you feels like losing you all over again.
There’s a particular kind of cruelty to your physical absence, because I know that you’re present somewhere else. You’re walking around, and talking, and eating, and sleeping, furrowing your brow when you consider something carefully, and you’re doing all these things somewhere far away from me. Sometimes I wonder, if I do something stupid or reckless or dangerous enough, if you might actually come bursting into the room to stop me. But I don’t do those things, because I know how angry you’d be that I wasn’t protecting myself when you weren’t here to protect me.
I’m so angry. God, it feels like I’m just so angry all the time, and I don’t even know which way to focus the anger. And so, it just balls up inside me and lights me on fire. Sometimes, I’m angry that we got involved with each other in the first place. And then I’m angry that we didn’t do a better job of covering it up. Then I’m angry that we didn’t just leave everything behind and run away together before they could keep us apart. And then I’m angry at everyone and everything that would’ve forced us to make a choice like that, and then I’m right back where we started. It was impossible. It was always going to be impossible, but I can’t pass up an opportunity to torture myself by wanting impossible things. It makes me wonder if I loved you more because I hate myself. Did I fall in love with you just to punish me? It feels like it.
I know that you can take care of yourself, and that you’re smart and brave and careful. But none of that stops me from being terrified that something is going to happen to you inside the walls of that príosún. I’m afraid that what you’ve uncovered is so much bigger than us, so much more insidious than we even realize. And I’m scared you’re going to try to take it on by yourself. Because I know you. I know that you won’t leave it alone. I know that you’ll keep tugging at all the strings , until the curtain falls away and reveals exactly what it is that’s going on. It’s one of the things I love about you, but it’s also one of the things that makes me most afraid. Because for all the things that you’re good at, protecting yourself isn’t one of them. I honestly don’t know if you would do it for me, even if I begged you. And I can’t decide whether that’s admirable or stupid. I just know that it scares me. You’re reckless—at least, when it comes to yourself . I guess I am, too. Everything about this—about us—has been reckless from the start, hasn’t it?
I feel like I process everything in my life through the filter of how you would respond to it if you were here, which is really weird, because it almost feels like I’m experiencing my own life secondhand. I wonder if you know about what happened to Bertie. I wonder what you would’ve done differently, what advice you might’ve given him or us, so that he might still be here. I wonder if you know about Charlie Wright, and everything that he’s done. I hope not, because if you do and he’s in that príosún, you’ve probably killed him by now. At the very least, you’ll be beating the hell out of yourself for not being there to protect me from him. I hope no one’s told you. I hope you’re not torturing yourself worrying about me.
I wonder what you’d tell me to do about these prophetic drawings. I’m sure you’d tell me just to protect myself, but then, your sense of duty is so strong. Surely you’d be trying to find a way to let the Caomhnóir know what’s going on, to alert the Council to the situation so that we could stop it before it came to pass. But how would you do that? How can I do that? Would you tell me that I’m being selfish, keeping the fact that I’m a Seer from the rest of the Council? No, of course you wouldn’t. But you should. Someone should.
I want to laugh and scream at the same time when I look at what I’ve turned into. I’m that girl. That girl I rolled my eyes at in every book and movie and television show when she just sits there all lovesick and helpless, pining and unable to figure out what to do. I hate that girl. I hate that girl and I am that girl. Seriously, I’d like to Walk out of this body just to get away from her. And I know that if I’m ever not this girl again, I won’t be able to roll my eyes at her anymore. Because I’ll recognize a little bit of myself in her, and that just makes me want to light shit on fire.
I warned you that this letter was going to be a rambling disaster. But I know you’d ignore me and keep reading, so I guess I’ll just keep writing until I run out of things to say or at least, the words to say them.
I want you to know that I’m trying. I haven’t given up, and I haven’t given in. Fiona’s trying to help me. We’re trying to figure out how what you witnessed and what I’ve drawn are connected to each other. I’m going to find a way to get you out of there. Because if there’s one thing I’m not willing to risk in all of this, it’s you. And there’s that selfishness again, but I just don’t fucking care. If I can just be sure that the two of us will come out on the other side of this together, I would let this whole Durupinen world come crashing down. You probably wouldn’t. You would find a way to save it all, wouldn’t you? You might even be doing it right now. You’re probably coming up with a plan. Action steps. A concrete map to victory. You wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of your room smearing the words you write with your own damn tears, and wasting your time pouring your heart out into the letter that you know you’re never even going to be able to send.
Or maybe you would. Maybe that’s what all your poems are, really. Love letters that you never send.
I hope you’re still writing them. I hope you can find the inspiration, even in that place. I’ve barely drawn a thing since you’ve been gone.
So, I’m here. I’m here, and I think about you all the time, and I hope you know that. I hope it’s not one of those things you have to wonder about. I doubt a lot of things. I doubt that we may see each other again. I doubt that even if we do, we’ll be able to ride this thing out together. I doubt that the laws will change. But I don’t doubt the way I feel about you. It’s the one feeling I’ve never been able to bury. It’s the one feeling that I’ve always known I’m doing right. Thank you for being the person who could make me feel so sure about something. I’ve waited a
long time to feel that way.
I love you, Finn.
I put the pen down, having said absolutely everything that I could think to say, everything that I needed to say, but couldn’t bear to say out loud to anyone else but him. I looked down at the words I’d written. I watched my handwriting, which had started out so measured and neat at the top of the page, gradually unravel into a barely legible scrawl down at the bottom of the page. It was the perfect metaphor for the way it felt to open the door a crack, just to let a few of the feelings out, and then watch the feelings break the door down and tumble over each other in their desperation to escape. I looked through the letter one last time, though I couldn’t say why. Maybe I just thought that I owed myself the courtesy of making sure that somebody—some pair of eyes—read it completely from beginning to end before it no longer existed.
Sighing, I folded it up carefully and tucked it inside a stiff white envelope. I sealed it carefully, and then flipped it over and wrote Finn’s name on the front. I looked at it, imagining it carried away on a breeze and fluttering down through his open window somewhere hundreds of miles away.
There, I told myself. He knows. Somehow, some way, this was not an exercise in insanity or futility. You’ve put it out there into the universe, and somehow, now he knows it.
I ran my fingers over the front of the envelope, tracing the letters of his name, and then I reached over and dropped the letter into the heart of the fire. I watched it blacken, and curl, and crumble to ash.
There was a soft knock on my door. Hastily, I scrambled to my feet and hurried over to answer it, but stopped myself from opening it too soon. I took a deep, calming breath and watched my right hand on the door handle, waiting for it to stop shaking. When I had mastered myself, I pulled the door open, just wide enough to see who had knocked.
The face I saw looking back at me sent my heart right back into overdrive.
“Celeste!” I gasped, dropping all pretense of calm and collected. “I… what are you doing here?” I probably should have addressed her in some more polite or deferential way—after all, she was the High Priestess. But my surprise at seeing her standing there left no room for inventing pleasantries.
Celeste did not seem to mind being addressed so informally, however. “Hello, Jess,” she said, smiling politely at me. “May I have a word?”
My shock at seeing her was such that my usual feelings of boiling, uncontrollable anger had not yet had a chance to find their way to the surface. As they awakened, I forced them down in the interest of finding out what it was she wanted from me. After all, it was not customary for the High Priestess of the Northern Clans to make her way down to the clan dormitories and knock on somebody’s door for a little chat. I knew that this had to be something a bit more serious.
“Of– of course you can,” I stammered. “Would you… do you want to come in? Sorry, it’s kind of messy.” I gestured apologetically behind me. Clothes were strewn upon the floor where I had stepped out of them, and Hannah’s Council notes were spread in piles across the floor, littered with highlighters and sticky notes.
“No, thank you,” Celeste said, raising a deferential hand. “I rather hoped that you would talk with me while we walk.”
“Sure, but… where are we going?” I asked. I felt jittery, and I could not help it as my eyes darted back to the crackling fire.
“I am obligated to have… well, a difficult conversation,” said Celeste, choosing her words carefully. “I think the conversation might be just a bit easier if you are present. I would appreciate your assistance, if you will consent to give it.”
For the most fleeting moment, I considered slamming the door in her face, right after telling her that I would help her when hell froze over. My curiosity got the better of me, though, and instead of shouting her down, I nodded my head rather meekly, and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind us.
We began walking, side-by-side, but had only gone a few steps when I blurted out, “What is this conversation you need to have? I mean, if I’m allowed to ask?”
Celeste did not look at me, but continued to keep her eyes trained out in front of us toward the end of the corridor. “If memory serves, you are rather close with Ms. Todd, are you not?”
I frowned, taken aback once again. This was definitely not the direction I thought the conversation was headed. “You mean Savannah?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” Celeste said. “I’ve seen you together frequently. Am I correct in my assumption that you two are close?”
“Yes,” I said. “We’ve become pretty good friends.”
Celeste smiled just a bit, the corners of her mouth curving gently upward for a moment. “I am not surprised to hear this. It is common for newcomers—that is to say, outsiders—to gravitate toward each other inside these castle walls.” She looked up at me, her eyes sad. “I do not mean to offend you,” she said quickly, “by calling you an outsider. It is far less true now than it was when you arrived.”
I shrugged. “That’s okay,” I said. “We were outsiders. If I remember correctly, you had to personally scrub the words ‘Go home, traitors’ off our bedroom door on our first day here. It doesn’t get much more ‘outsider’ than that.”
“Quite so,” Celeste said, frowning as though the memory pained her. “Naturally, Savannah was an outsider as well, being the very first Gateway in her clan. And of course, there were… other factors as well, that kept her on the outskirts of things a bit.”
I smirked in spite of myself. “You mean her habit of skipping important ceremonies to go partying with her friends in London?” I suggested.
Celeste laughed. It was a nice sound, but odd somehow, as though she were out of practice these days. “That example does spring to mind, yes. I think she might’ve done well to stay awake once in while in her classes on occasion, too. But enough of that,” Celeste added, her face growing serious again. “I’m not here to disparage your friend. She found her way, in the end.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “She did. So, is Savannah the one you want to talk to?”
“Yes,” Celeste said. “And her cousin Phoebe as well. It is not going to be an easy conversation, and I thought that it might help her to have a friendly face in the room beside her. Are you willing to be that friendly face?”
My heart sped up, and my mind frantically raced, wondering what the content of this conversation could possibly be. “Of course,” I said quickly. “I’m always willing to be there for Savvy, whenever she needs me. But… why does she need me?”
Celeste pressed her lips together, and for one frightening moment, it looked as though she might cry. But her face shivered back into lines of composure almost instantly, and I was left wondering if I had imagined that momentary sparkle in her eye. “You will see soon enough,” she said. “Just make sure that you are there for her in these days ahead. She is going to need your friendship, and your guidance. This is not the only capacity in which I want to have you present, however.”
Her tone became much more businesslike. The shift was jarring.
“I understand that Catriona has asked you to help take the lead on the investigation into Charlie Wright.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right,” I said.
“The information I am going to pass along to Savannah and her cousin has relevance to your case. It will need to be explained and passed along to the Trackers as well. In the interest of expedience, I would like you there so that we need only meet once to discuss it.”
“Oh… right,” I said, momentarily forgetting that I had anything like an official capacity. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I… I don’t have my case file with me, or anything.”
“That’s just fine,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively. “Mrs. Mistlemoore has written up a full report that should explain everything for you. I want you to be able to focus on your friend, to offer her support.”
“But why is Savvy going to need sup—”
“Here we are, just up her
e,” Celeste interjected, and I looked around to see that we’d reached the entrance hall without my having noticed it. “We are going to meet in this room here, the small chamber right off the Grand Council Room.”
My throat felt constricted as I stared at the door that was now in front of us. The last time I had been in this room had been on one of the worst days of my life. On the other side of that door, Celeste had stood calmly, waiting for her coronation as High Priestess, and informed me that Finn had been reassigned, and that I would never see him again. Ileana, the High Priestess of the Traveler Clans, had been present as well, and it had been on her evidence that Celeste had decided that Finn’s and my relationship had crossed a line into illicit territory. Ileana’s gloating smile still haunted me as I thought of that moment—the moment when my heart shattered more thoroughly than any spirit could ever manage. I’d brought Ileana’s wrath down upon me because I had committed an unforgiveable transgression against the Traveler Clans: I had undermined their Council’s prescribed justice and freed a woman who had been tormented for too long. But even as my heart ached with the absence of Finn, I couldn’t regret what I’d done for Irina. And I knew that, hundreds of miles away, Finn did not regret it either. It was one of the many reasons why I loved him. For Finn, justice was always the only choice.
For just a moment, I let myself wonder if Celeste had brought me here on purpose, to torture me. But the thought died out as soon as it had sparked. Even in my anger at her, my nearly unrelenting anger, I could not believe that of her. As much as I did not want to admit it, I knew that Celeste was not a vindictive person. Ileana on the other hand… well, let’s just say that I still hoped one day to be able to tell her exactly what I thought of her.
My instinct was to turn and run from that room and all the pain it held for me, but as Celeste opened the door, I saw the top of Savvy’s ginger head just above the back of her chair. I knew that she needed me to cross that threshold and support her through whatever was about to happen.