There was a shimmering at the end of the hall, lighting the way up a flight of stairs that appeared from nowhere.
“Yes!” Hagen ran toward the stairs and Calum followed.
“Okay then. Guess I’ll see you later,” Kenzie called after them.
Calum skidded to a stop, turned around and ran back to his mom. He hugged her briefly, but tightly. “Bye, Kenzie.” He heard her laugh echo through the hall as he caught up with Hagen.
Level Five. For once, Calum would learn something at the same time as Hagen, instead of having to rely on his cousin’s explanations. They bolted up the stairs, both boys eager to learn about suppressing their thoughts, finally keeping them private. Calum opened the door labeled “Conprimō Room” and they were greeted with chaos. Every student in the classroom clambered for the attention of their teacher, Mr. Stotle.
“It’s not fair,” yelled one student whom Calum recognized as Brendan O’Neal. His cries of injustice were quickly drowned out by other students struggling to be heard about their own invasions of privacy.
“Come on,” said Hagen, pulling Calum away from the crowd. The room was enormous. One half was filled with leather couches, chairs, and dark carpets. The other half, where the rest of their classmates still demanded Mr. Stotle’s attention, held oak tables of odd lengths. Some accommodated two students, others twelve.
Calum and Hagen sat on one of the leather couches and watched the fray before them. As tempers flared, a miscellany of items sailed through the air, several coming close to their marks.
“Lemon,” Hagen said nonchalantly.
Calum agreed. The scent of this room reminded him of Kenzie’s lemon meringue pies.
“If you will all please settle down, we can begin class,” Mr. Stotle said over the shrill voices of his students, several who had their hands thrust in the air for his attention.
“Cian said I’m a jerk,” shouted Brendan.
“I didn’t say nothing,” said Cian Guinness, smirking.
“Anything,” Mr. Stotle corrected in a tired tone. “You didn’t say anything.”
“He didn’t have to,” said Brendan. “I heard your thoughts, Cian. And by the way, you’re the jerk.”
Mr. Stotle stood in front of the classroom. “For my own piece of mind, will you please be quiet long enough to listen to one instruction?” His voice was stretching thin and rising subtly. He was beginning to color from his neck right through to his balding head. The students continued their buzzing conversations, unaware of Mr. Stotle’s dissipating patience.
The first day in the Conprimō Room was always the same. Eleven and twelve-year-olds were mortified when they realized other Sidhe could read their thoughts. This realization added to the normal awkwardness of being a preteen. Mr. Stotle took off his glasses and massaged his temples. He could take no more of their demands. He made a quick sliding motion with his right hand. His fingers closed together like a crocodile’s jaw as he spoke a flurry of words that sounded like a hissing, and in the next second all was silent.
Mr. Stotle sighed loudly. “That’s better.”
Calum and the other students weren’t at all frightened by suddenly being struck mute. Every one of them had experienced this sensation at one time or another when they were small children. It was a simple calming verse that temporarily took away the ability to speak and left the recipient feeling relaxed. Gradually students became less frantic as they slowly found their seats. Calum and Hagen joined their classmates on the other side of the room.
Mr. Stotle allowed five minutes to pass before he began talking to his students. He took a crisp handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his red forehead. His short legs took him to a nearby desk.
“Now, as upsetting as this transitional period is for you, you must get a hold of yourselves. It is disturbing when you figure out those close to you can hear your private thoughts. What you don’t realize is those close to you have always been able to hear your private thoughts. You have only recently become aware of it.” He waited for them to process this. When their faces registered a new sense of panic, he knew they understood.
“This is actually much more difficult for me than it is for you. With your minds left wide open, I can hear all of your thoughts. It’s a little overwhelming. I ask you to pay close attention, so I can teach you how to close the door of your mind, which will make all of our lives a little less stressful. Close your eyes, and listen.”
Calum did as he was instructed.
“Good,” said Mr. Stotle. “Now, imagine sitting in the dead center of a quiet clearing in the wood. See the shape of the field. It is large, circular. Look over the clearing and find the tree line. Study each tree, memorize it. Imagine that a white rope surrounds the clearing. This is your line of vision. Move the rope closer, shrinking the clearing about one yard all the way around. The trees are a little further away now. Move the rope in another yard all the way around. Keep doing this until you can no longer see the trees. Now you can no longer see even their tallest branches.”
Mr. Stotle continued this practice until the circle was only one inch from the students’ faces in the imaginary field. “Now, take your line of vision even closer. Now the rope is inside your mind. This is called the internal line. You no longer see the field at all. This is how you must work to rein in your thoughts and keep them to yourself.
“What you learned last year, gathering intentions, is really the precursor of intercepting thoughts. When you gather intentions you’re picking up the thoughts of those who have allowed their roped circle to go beyond their mind. It is not a precise art because some of the gathered thoughts are actually memories of events that have already taken place, or sometimes they are possibilities that had been considered and perhaps cast aside. It isn’t so much you can hear each other’s thoughts, but rather you are reading the thoughts another person has allowed to escape. Only a few of you will be able to get past someone’s internal line and intercept thoughts when they have shut their door to their mind.”
Mr. Stotle took a deep breath, studying his students’ faces. “I’m going to break the calming verse now. I’d like you all to focus on what I’ve said and practice closing the door of your mind.”
Mr. Stotle walked the students through the exercise again. Each time students moved their line of vision closer in, he asked them to raise their hands if they were still picking up stray thoughts. When all students had successfully moved their imaginary rope circle inside their minds, he was satisfied his students could no longer hear each other’s thoughts—and thankfully neither could he.
Chapter Four
Shadows of Light
Calum peered into the front window of his grandparents’ house after school and his stomach dropped. His Uncle Liam was indeed waiting for him.
“It won’t be so bad,” said Hagen, clapping him on the back. Calum shrugged in response. “Hey, I’ll come over after supper and we can go to Kischef. Okay?”
Calum nodded and slowly opened the front door. He was immediately ambushed.
“My goodness, you’ve grown over these past few weeks,” said Calum’s grandmother, Salena. She then proceeded to, what Calum called, kiss his face off. “If I could only squeeze you in two, I’d have two amazing grandsons.”
Calum wondered if she was trying to do just that, but he hugged her back, thankful for her support. His stomach rumbled a little from nervousness, a little from the savory smell of a roasted chicken. He looked toward the kitchen in anticipation and locked eyes with Liam, who sat at the whitewashed table with Uilleam. Calum swallowed hard and joined them.
“I’ll give you a few minutes.” Uilleam rose. “I’ll be right outside, Calum.” He walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
Calum stared at his uncle. Liam Murray was tall, lean, and had dark coloring. Calum noticed for the first time how very much Liam reminded him of Donnelly.
“I’m flattered,” said Liam, grinning broadly. “But I don’t think I’m as, hmmm,
let’s say as intense as your Uncle Donnelly.”
Calum smiled, remembering Liam’s gentleness.
“Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened,” said Liam. He placed a hand on Calum’s shoulder. “Don’t leave anything out, okay?”
Calum told him about his time in Devil’s Peak, a day that now seemed a thousand years ago. He sighed heavily when he reached the part in the story where Finley vanished. Calum wished with all his might he could speak a different end to the story, much the way the Foletti had spoken the verses into the stacks at Siopa Leabhar.
“I know that was hard for you to do,” said Liam. “But I needed to hear it.”
“Does it help? Do you have any idea what happened to Finley?” asked Calum.
“I don’t know anything more than I did before you told me,” said Liam. “All we can do is keep looking for Brownshire, or at least another brownie who can interpret the verse.”
“And we will find one,” said Uilleam, rejoining them. “Without a doubt, we will find one.”
“Calum, when you see Dara again, you don’t need to tell her what you’ve told me,” said Liam. “I’ll take care of it.”
Calum nodded, thankful to have this burden off his shoulders. He didn’t think he could bear telling Finley’s mother how he’d managed to lose Finley. Again.
“No one thinks any of this is your fault,” said Liam. “Not the first time it happened here in Tusatha and not this time in Devil’s Peak. All right?”
“Thanks,” Calum said in a quiet voice.
Liam rose and shook Uilleam’s hand. “I need to get going.” Calum watched his uncle and felt everything would be all right between them and maybe even Aunt Dara. Calum hadn’t seen Finley’s brother and sister, Graham and Allis, for years and he hoped that was about to change.
“We’ll all get together soon,” said Liam. He patted Calum’s shoulder before walking to the front door. He turned back and said, “One more thing, Calum. How was Finley? I mean, did he look well? Did he seem himself?”
“He was great,” said Calum. “A lot taller.”
Liam smiled. “That’s good to hear.”
Salena gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Maybe we’ll all see you at the Natali.”
Liam nodded and closed the door behind him.
The Natali was a global birthday celebration which dated back to the beginning of time when all Sidhe were born during the summer months. The last generation of total summer month births was Uilleam’s.
Calum’s stomach rumbled but this time only with hunger.
“Dinner’s ready,” said Salena, taking the chicken from the oven. She opened white cabinets and pulled blue plates from the shelves. Salena cut several pieces from the roasted chicken and spooned potatoes, carrots, and onions onto each plate. Calum devoured the meal then asked for seconds.
Once he’d gotten his fill, Calum caught his grandparents up on current events in Emerald Lake. He struggled when telling Salena what had happened with Andrea, but she stopped him.
“Uilleam has already told me all about that,” she said in a harsh tone.
“Now, Salena,” said Uilleam. “We shouldn’t get involved with this.”
“Calum is my grandson, and I’ll involve myself where I see fit. I have a notion to give Andrea Werner a piece of my mind.”
“It’s okay, Salena,” said Calum.
“It is not okay,” said Salena. Seeing Calum’s expression she added, “But I guess she’s got a right to be overprotective of her children after everything they’ve been through with Daniel.”
Uilleam smiled at her.
“Things will work out. They always do,” said Salena. She placed her hand on the side of Calum’s face. “I just know Laurel will come back to you.”
A knock at the door startled Calum. “It’s open,” said Uilleam. “Always open.”
Hagen entered the room with an impatient and eager look on his face.
Calum looked at Salena, a silent request for her permission. “Go. Have fun. And tell Rebeccah I say hello.”
“I will. Thanks, Salena.” Calum gave her a quick hug before following Hagen through the door. He breathed in the warm air, thankful for the long days of summer. Hagen took off and they raced each other to the polder.
Calum had been looking forward to seeing Rebeccah. Although he’d known her all his life, he’d missed nearly seven years with her when Kenzie stopped bringing him to the Otherworld. He wanted to visit Rebeccah as often as he could to make up for lost time.
Hagen grabbed Calum’s arm right before they walked through the threshold to Kischef Mound. “Hang on a second.”
Calum stepped back. “What’s up?”
“I want to try something,” said Hagen. “I’ll go through first. When I feel like I’m inside Kischef, I’ll reach back through and see if you can give me a high five.”
“Part of you will be here, and the other part will be in Kischef?” asked Calum. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Hagen, grinning. “In theory.”
Calum looked unsure.
“Tell you what, if something feels wrong, I’ll come right back.”
“Okay. But if you or your hand are not here in three seconds, I’m coming after you.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Hagen. “Here goes.”
Calum watched his cousin disappear in segments. First his left arm and leg, then his body, then his right leg. All that was left was Hagen’s right hand, which hung suspended in the air outlined by a thin silvery light. Calum laughed, and gave his cousin a high five before following him through the polder.
“That was cool,” he said, catching up to Hagen on the brick path leading to the heart of Kischef Mound.
“You can go first next time,” said Hagen. “But I wouldn’t mention this to Kenzie.”
“No problem,” said Calum. “You see, I actually like hanging out with you. I’m not going to give her any reason to put a stop to it. I also want you to live a long and healthy life.”
Hagen snickered and they continued down the path. Kischef was much brighter than when Calum had visited during Christmas break. Every house had an eruption of flowers spilling out of flower boxes, planters, and small gardens. Street vendors sold fresh peppers, tomatoes, and other vegetables. Calum watched small Sidhe throwing snowballs at each other. Snowballs?
“Yeah,” said Hagen, laughing. “Snowballs.” He threw one, hitting Calum square on his chin.
Calum had long ago stopped asking, “How?” while in the Otherworld. His only question now was, “Where?” He scanned the street until he found it a dozen feet away. A vendor cart filled with snowballs. He ran to the vendor and set his Bart, a small gold coin, on the counter beside Hagen’s. The coins came to life and bartered with the vendor’s Bart over the cost of the snowballs. Calum pelted Hagen with snowballs until his fingers were too numb to hold any more and he called for a ceasefire. Both boys retrieved their Barts and headed to Argentinische Allee.
“Rebeccah,” Calum shouted as they entered The Four Corners.
“Ah, Calum and Hagen,” came the response. A small woman with black wiry hair and eyes as dark as secrets walked from behind a glass-topped counter. “Mein freid,” she said, wrapping her arms around Calum tightly.
“Hey, Rebeccah,” he said, trying to suck in air. “Salena says hello.”
“And how is your dear grandma?” asked Rebeccah.
“She’s fine,” said Calum, sighing when Rebeccah moved on to Hagen, who was now struggling against her tight bear hug.
“Well, please send her my love,” said Rebeccah, at last releasing Hagen. “So tell me, what is going on? You must be back at school now, yes?”
“First day,” said Hagen. He eyed a platter of Rebeccah’s famous chocolate croissants on a low table.
“I hope you aren’t waiting for an invitation,” she said.
Hagen smiled sheepishly. He sat at the table and took a couple of croissants from the silver platter.
>
Calum was about to do the same when a thought struck him. Rebeccah was one of the wisest Sidhe he’d ever known, maybe the wisest. Well, except for Uilleam. Calum wondered if Rebeccah had some idea of Finley’s current whereabouts.
“She doesn’t,” Hagen mumbled through a mouthful of croissant.
Calum sat down at the table and sighed.
“She does,” said Rebeccah, giving Calum a wink. She joined them with a teapot that matched the silver platter. Rebeccah poured three cups of steaming peppermint tea.
Calum held his cup tightly, warming his still frozen fingers.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this before?” asked Hagen, barely concealing the accusation in his tone.
“Because when Finley disappeared seven years ago, his current where wasn’t in the right when. It didn’t match what I knew. Now it does,” said Rebeccah. “And I’ll make your where outside if you can’t control your Hobayeth temper.” She flashed her eyes briefly at Hagen.
“Sorry, Rebeccah,” he said, hanging his head.
“Does this mean you know where Finley is?” Calum asked, his heart racing.
“Not exactly,” said Rebeccah.
“But you do know something, right?” Calum leaned forward in his chair.
“Yes,” said Rebeccah. “I know how you will find Finley. You will find him by looking through shadows of light in the darkness.”
“What does that mean?” asked Hagen.
“Finley is in a place he should not be. He is the light in this dark, dark place. You will find Finley by looking in the shadows of light cast on this world from that darkness.”
“I don’t understand,” said Calum, his frustration growing.
“The light shadows are here because the darkness doesn’t know what to do with them,” said Rebeccah patiently. “Just as the darkness doesn’t know what to do with Finley. You need to find him before his light is cast out of this dark place.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” asked Hagen.
“Not if he were cast into a still darker place,” said Rebeccah.
“There has to be more,” Calum said desperately.
The Choice Page 4