Heart of the Rebellion

by E. E. Holmes

  Neither Hannah nor I could respond to the question, which Milo immediately seemed to regret asking. Trying to cover the awkward moment, I yawned widely and rubbed my face with the back of my hand, which was an interesting bluish black color. For a moment, I thought it was a bruise, but then I realized that it was the smudged remnants of several stamps that had been inked onto my hand at the various stops along our epic pub crawl.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I guess I better get myself cleaned up.” I stood up and found myself to be steadier on my feet than I expected. Thank goodness for small blessings.

  “Do you want me to run down to the dining room for you?” Hannah asked helpfully. “I could bring you up some toast. Or some coffee.”

  “Maybe just the coffee,” I told her. “I’m not sure if I can handle the toast. Thanks, Hannah.”

  Hannah nodded, and slid off the bed. “Milo, you want to come with me?”

  “Yeah, we’ll give you some privacy,” Milo told me. “We can fill you in on the rest of the shenanigans when we get back.”

  I didn’t think I wanted to know anything else about any alleged shenanigans, so I waved them both out the door and peeled off the previous night’s ensemble. I was tempted to drop it directly into the trash can but tossed it into the corner of the bathroom instead. Then I washed the worst of my hangover away in a very long, very hot shower. When I finally coaxed myself out, the bathroom looked like a sauna, and there was a steaming mug of black coffee waiting for me by my bed. Hannah and Milo had left it and gone back down to breakfast.

  By the time I had finished drinking it, I was starting to feel almost like a human being again. I even felt a faint pang of hunger, and Hannah, because she was basically a saint, had anticipated this. Though I had told her I didn’t need the toast, she had brought it anyway, slathered in butter and jelly and wrapped in a napkin. I nibbled on the toast while I dug through my drawers to find clothes that were both appropriate for a meeting with my pseudo-boss, but also as comfortable as I could possibly get away with. When I had finished dressing, I sat back down on my bed, opened the drawer to my nightstand, and pulled out the file folder that contained my interview notes.

  I settled back on my pillows and flipped the folder open. Though my chat with Flavia had not been a formal interrogation, I had been able to get at least partial answers to most of the questions that Catriona had provided for me. I knew that I would need to fill in the blanks, but I didn’t want to stress Flavia out too badly, not when she was finally making some progress on her recovery. I anticipated that Catriona would give me a fair amount of shit for the blank spaces that remained in the questionnaire, but I was willing to take it if it meant sparing Flavia a little bit of pain, at least for the present. Besides, she had answered what I considered to be all of the really important stuff: the details that might help the Trackers locate any of Charlie’s associates who may have been involved in his plans. I had yet to question Phoebe, but given the sledgehammer of news that she had just been hit with, I was in no rush to do so. If Catriona was so desperate for answers that she couldn’t wait another day, she could damn well question Phoebe herself. I would not be the one responsible for causing more distress than she was already experiencing right now. As much as Savvy was struggling with the loss of the connection to their Gateway, Phoebe’s pain and devastation must surely be compounded by the guilt of knowing that she was the source of the broken connection. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. Logically, she must know that. Nevertheless, guilt doesn’t often obey a mistress such as logic. I sighed and closed the folder again, resigned to the fact that I was probably going to be told off for the amount of work I still had not accomplished. Well, I already had a pounding headache. What was a little more shouting, right?

  §

  The Trackers office was busier than I had ever seen it. Typically, there might be one or two Trackers hanging around, usually just breezing in and out to drop off a report, or pick up a file. Today, there were no less than six Trackers crowded into the room, and all of them looked frantically busy. I watched the flurry of activity for a few bewildered moments before Catriona looked up from the filing cabinet, and saw me standing there.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, a gilded invitation? Come in already, and close the door behind you,” she snapped.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, still staring around. The Tracker nearest me, a young woman with closely cropped blonde hair and a long scar across her left cheek, was flipping rapidly through a stack of photographs that were either head shots or mugshots. Each face that flashed past was that of a young man in his twenties. Behind her, a second Tracker, whose name I thought might be Elin, was holding slides up to the light and squinting at them.

  “What do you mean, what’s going on?” Catriona shot at me. “What kind of bloody question is that? We’re in the middle of an investigation, remember?”

  “Yeah, but… we’re always in the middle of an investigation,” I pointed out. “Usually more than one. I meant, has there been a development that’s got everyone so… frantic?”

  “Yes, well we’ve had a possible lead on a second Necromancer, and we’re attempting to identify him and nail down his whereabouts at the time of the attacks. So, we’ve got a team here combing both files to see if we documented any other evidence that might link him to either scene.”

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  “We very nearly had him in custody,” Catriona said, her nostrils flaring.

  Beside her, the Tracker named Elin bristled. She turned to face Catriona, a long braid of dark hair whipping back over her shoulder as she spun. “That wasn’t my goddamned fault, and you know it,” she growled. “If that bloody Caomhnóir security team hadn’t gotten in my way, that suspect would be sitting in this office right now staring down the backside of my hand.”

  “It was a tactical cock-up on your watch. Spare me the sob story, Elin. The fact is that he now knows we are looking for him, and that means he’s going to be much more careful and therefore much more difficult to surprise. Our job is harder now, so stop your whining and fix it,” Catriona barked.

  Elin gave Catriona the kind of look Catriona usually gave other people she loathed. It was strange to see it directed at her rather than the other way around. The blonde Tracker laid a warning hand on Elin’s arm, and Elin, taking the hint, backed down and resumed her task of examining the slides.

  “So, you’re still looking for him, then?” I ventured into the loaded silence.

  “Unfortunately, that is where we find ourselves,” Catriona muttered. “What’ve you got for me? Anything that might help?”

  I assumed this meant our meeting had formally begun, and so I pulled out my Tracker folder and sat down in the only chair that wasn’t occupied. “I was able to get through most of your questions with Flavia,” I told her. “Her answers are here. She is still pretty weak, so I’m going to have to go back a couple of times before we get everything we need from her, but we’re making progress. I thought I might as well give you what I have so far.”

  Catriona snatched the folder from my hand and scanned about halfway down the first page. “Here,” she said to the room at large. “Here, we’ve got something here in the statement from the first victim.”

  Every Tracker in the room abandoned her task in the same instant and flocked around Catriona.

  “What is it then?” asked Elin, a slide still clutched in her hand.

  “First victim has been able to give details about the unknown second man in the room,” Catriona said excitedly. “‘Mid to late twenties. Approximately six-foot-one. Thin, pock-marked from acne. Clean shaven. Shaggy blonde hair, dark-framed glasses. Carries a backpack with a sticker on it from a local coffee shop called ‘Cuppa Wonderful,’” she read from the description, then yanked the page from the file and thrust it at the blonde Tracker. “Tamryn, see what you can match here with the known associates.”

  “I’m on it,” Tamryn said stoutly, and, gathering the photographs up in h
er arms, she ran from the room, a second Tracker right on her heels.

  “You,” Catriona said, handing the rest of the questionnaire to Elin, “go through the rest of this and tell me what other leads you can generate. I don’t want to see your face again until you’ve got something useful for me.” Elin, still looking surly, snatched the papers from Catriona’s hands and stalked from the room.

  Catriona flipped forward to the second set of questions, which had been reserved for Phoebe. She looked up at me. “I heard Phoebe was awake. Why haven’t you questioned her yet?”

  “She just woke up yesterday,” I said. “She’s really not in any shape to—”

  Catriona slammed her hand down on the desk. My head give a piercing throb. “Jessica, we don’t have time to be a bleeding heart here. Every day that goes by is a lost opportunity to make progress on this case.”

  “I know that,” I said, rubbing my temple. “But there’s been a sort of… development with Phoebe. Can I talk to you about it alone?”

  Something in my tone caught Catriona off-guard, and rather than continuing to shout at me, she turned over her shoulder and shook her head at the remaining Trackers. The last one closed the door behind her with a resounding thud.

  Catriona sat behind the desk and sighed. “Okay. We are alone. Talk.”

  “Celeste asked me to pass this information on to you when I saw you today, and she also asked that we just keep it between us. She doesn’t want anyone else to know, including the other Trackers, or the Caomhnóir, until we figure out how to contain it.”

  Catriona raised her eyebrows, and I knew that I had her undivided attention at last. “Let’s have it then,” she said seriously.

  “Charlie Wright’s experiments on Phoebe resulted in a severing from her Gateway. It’s not just that her Spirit Sight was twisted. It seems, now that it’s been untwisted, that it’s been too badly damaged to use.”

  “Damaged?” Catriona’s eyes were wide, horrified. “Permanently?”

  “They don’t know yet,” I said, trying and failing to keep emotion out of my voice. “But Milo came with us to the hospital ward yesterday to see her, and she had no idea he was there until we clued her in.”

  “Bloody hell,” Catriona whispered.

  “It gets worse,” I said. “Phoebe’s severed connection has left Savvy unable to connect to the Gateway as well. She can still see spirits, but she can’t Cross them.”

  Catriona let out a low whistle. For several seconds she didn’t seem able to speak. Then at last, she said in a subdued voice, “Yeah. It doesn’t get much worse than that, does it?”

  “No,” I said. “For Durupinen, it doesn’t.”

  It was almost strange to hear the words come out of my mouth. I thought back on the girl I’d been only four short years ago, a girl so terrified of her new ability that she would’ve done anything to get rid of it. I had so resented my legacy as a Durupinen, I would gladly have thrust it from me and never looked back. But my roller coaster ride of experiences since, while difficult and sometimes heart-wrenching, taught me not only to respect my gift, but to embrace it as a part of who I was. And I knew that Catriona, raised in the Durupinen culture from birth, would be utterly incapable of imagining a life cut off from her deeply ingrained calling. Even contemplating it happening to somebody else seemed to have left her momentarily dumbstruck.

  “How’s she taking it?” Catriona asked at last.

  I shrugged. “Phoebe? I’m not really sure. I’m not very close with her, but I don’t think she’s had much time to absorb it yet.”

  “And Savannah?”

  “Honestly? Not well. I took her out last night, tried to tear up the town like she used to do, you know, to try to cheer her up and get her mind off things. That’s why I’m…” I gestured to myself vaguely, sure that my pale complexion and general state of dishevelment would speak for itself.

  I was sure that Catriona would take the opportunity to toss out a jab at my expense, but surprisingly, she didn’t. She just nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I used to do the same for Lucida, when the pressures and prejudices of being a Caller became too much for her. I hoped that, by misbehaving a bit, I could help her cope—you know, keep her on the straight and narrow. I need hardly point out that I failed miserably.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” I said quietly. “We can’t make other people’s choices for them.”

  Catriona shook her hair back and quickly smothered the vulnerability that had appeared on her face. “Yes, well. Ancient history, that. Thank you for filling me in. Celeste is absolutely right. We can’t let anyone find out about how successful Charlie Wright’s experiments were, even if the outcome is not the one he intended. I’m sure you can imagine the damage they could do with a weapon like that.”

  “Yeah, I can,” I said. “They would never rest until they had severed us all from our Gateways.”

  “Too right, they would,” Catriona said. “I’ll keep the lid on this for as long as possible. We will have to proceed with caution. Eventually, the word will spread that Phoebe and Savannah are no longer a viable Gateway. We’ll have to manufacture some kind of cover story, something to hide the true extent of the damage that has been done at the Necromancers’ hands. I’ll start looking into it.” Catriona glanced up at me. “I think that’s everything I needed from you, unless…” She stopped midsentence and looked at me with a strange expression on her face. “Are you all right?”

  My head was aching again, as intensely as when I’d first woken up. “Huh? Am I… Yeah, I’m okay. Just this damn headache.”

  Catriona was still looking at me with concern. “You really don’t look well. Do you think you need a lie-down, or…?”

  Everything went dark. I didn’t hear the end of her question, and though I had opened my mouth to answer it, I couldn’t seem to do that either. The darkness, whatever it was, pressed in upon me, squeezing my lungs and my heart, preventing me from drawing even the slightest breath. A rushing sound filled my ears, and it seemed to be coming not from outside me, but within, as though every blood cell in my veins had decided simultaneously to race each other through my circulatory system. Just as I thought that I was surely about to suffocate, the darkness receded as quickly as it had begun. The rushing sound stopped, and though my heart was still pounding, my blood seemed to have calmed. As my vision cleared, I looked around in confusion.

  “Sorry, I… I don’t know what just…”

  But the details around me were shimmering into view, and the rest of my sentence stuck in my throat. I was crouched on top of Catriona’s desk. One of Catriona’s pens was clutched in my shaking right hand. In front of me, upon the back of a manila file folder, was a very familiar image.

  “Shit,” I whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Jessica?”

  The pen slipped from my fingers and fell to the desktop with a clatter. I looked up to see Catriona standing with her back pressed against the wall, as far from me as she could possibly get. Her expression was utterly terrified, and as I looked up at her, the terror only seemed to intensify.

  “Jessica?” she repeated. And as she said it, I realized that she wasn’t just calling me by name to get my attention, but she was questioning whether the form crouched in front of her was actually the girl that she knew to be Jessica. My eyes filled with tears.

  “I… I’m sorry, I…” My legs seemed to turn to water and I collapsed onto all fours, shaking violently. “I don’t know what happened,” I whispered. “I don’t…”

  Catriona took a very measured step forward, approaching me as one might approach a rabid, feral creature. Seeing the way that she was regarding me only compounded my fear and panic about what had just happened.

  “It’s all right, now,” she said in very soothing tones. She took another step closer, and very slowly reached out a hand toward the desk. “I’m going to take the pen away. Is that all right with you?”

  I stared at her, unsure of what to make of the question, until I realiz
ed that she thought I might use the pen as a weapon. I swallowed back a hysterical sob and nodded. Catriona plucked the pen from the desk and placed it on top of the filing cabinet beside her, never taking her eyes from me.

  I shivered and realized that I had broken out in a cold sweat. My stomach gave a heave, and I fought hard not to be sick all over the desk.

  “I… I think I need to sit. Could you… I’m not sure I can climb down,” I whispered.

  Still looking intensely wary, Catriona walked around to the other side of the desk and helped me down, bearing most of my weight as together we lowered my shaking limbs into the chair.

  “Do… Do you think I could have some water?” I asked. I didn’t sound like myself. My voice sounded distant and trembling.

  “Of course,” Catriona said, and hurried to the back corner of the room where a small table contained a coffeemaker, a collection of teas, and a pitcher of water with several glasses. She filled a glass with water, carried it back to me, and held it out.

  I reached out a hand to take it, but she shook her head at me. “You’re shaking too badly. You’re going to drop the glass, or else just spill water all over yourself. Let me hold it, all right? You just drink.”

  I didn’t argue with her for once, but allowed her to tip the glass of water toward my face. I took several gulps, ignoring the water that dripped down my chin. Then I leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” I told her. “That’s better.”

  Catriona set the half-drunk glass of water on the desktop and then picked up the folder upon which I had drawn. “Jess, what the hell is going on here? What in blazes did I just witness?”

  I couldn’t think. My brain seemed to be trapped in the back corner of my head, pinioned there by fear and panic and exhaustion. I could not muster an excuse or cover story. This was it. I may have decided not to tell anybody about the prophecy, but the prophecy had decided otherwise.