by May Dawney
Ellen pushed up from her seat. “You know what Gregorios? I have about had it up to here with your antics. I am going to leave this room before I do something all of you will regret.”
Her chair balanced precariously on its two back legs when she shoved it out, but it stayed upright.
Claire watched it wobble while Ellen made her way across the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
Roos didn’t meet her gaze.
“You know I respect you Gregorios, but you have to be careful. Even a man in your position can fall.” Ndulu got up with an equally resolute push, but his actions were far more controlled. He pushed his chair back toward the table. “I will talk to Ellen.”
Mr. Senna’s face went even redder. “Careful, Ndulu. Don’t make me regret bringing you into the Den.”
Ndulu inclined his head. “Let’s make sure I never regret taking you up on your offer.” He pulled the door shut behind him.
Mr. Senna lowered himself down onto his seat and stared at the door with his jaw clenched.
“Come on, let’s get you to your room.”
Alena’s voice drew Claire’s gaze back to her.
“Are you ready?” Alena smiled at her. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“Did I… Did I mess up?”
Alena shook her head. “No, we just don’t agree on some things. Come on. Do you want ice-cream?” She got up offered Claire her hand.
Claire took it and allowed Alena to help her up. Her legs were wobbly. She was exhausted. The world spun, then bottomed out under her.
Alena caught her. “Whoa, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Dad?
“No!” The last thing Claire needed was to be picked up by Mr. Senna. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m okay.” She blinked a few times to clear the blur.
Alena’s worried face came into focus. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, thank you. I just—I need to sleep.” Why was she so tired? Why was she more tired than usual? Was it because she’d fought her possession? If that was the case, then staying active during any future possessions was going to take some practice. For now, she just wanted to get to her bed.
“Okay, I’m sure you can nap. We’ll—” She checked on her father. “We’ll probably need you in a few hours, if Noah hasn’t gotten in contact with us. Until then, I think you can sleep?”
Mr. Senna nodded. “Take her to her room and get her something to eat. Petrovna needs to stop being so damn vain and recruit some girls with meat on their bones. These scrawny things don’t last.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked a tiny bit like an angry garden gnome, which brightened Claire’s spirits.
She resisted the urge to laugh, although it was a good alternative to crying over his words.
“Are you steady now?” Alena’s hand rubbed circles on her back.
Claire still leaned into Alena, if only to soak up her warmth and strength. “I think so.” She stood up straight and mourned the loss of close contact right away. The ever-present moist cold that hung in the Den attacked her like a living entity and soaked through her jacket and sweater with ease. She shivered. Maybe it was just her exhaustion that made her such an easy target. “Yeah, I’m steady.”
Alena wrapped her arm around her shoulders again. “Let’s get you settled.”
She waited until they had left the meeting room before she looked up at Alena. “Um, what happened?”
Alena sighed and pulled her a little closer. “Mutiny.” She chuckled, but there wasn’t any amusement in her tone.
“Mutiny?” Claire frowned.
“Uh-huh.” Alena shook her head. “Remember when I said that opinions were divided on telling Noah about Wagner?”
Claire nodded.
“Well, opinions were more divided on traveling to Poland now Noah isn’t picking up her phone.”
“Would that do any good? Could anyone traveling from London get to them before Wagner does?” Claire allowed herself to lean against Alena as they walked. She made sure to pick her words carefully. She wasn’t sure if Alena would be all right with her trying to stay awake during her possessions. Seeing as the society wasn’t very forthcoming about what was going on, she doubted Alena wanted her to know about all the things she’d heard.
Alena shook her head. “No way.” She shrugged. “Madame Stravinsky is overreacting. I’m sure she knows that there is no way to get to Kraków in time. It beats sitting around here, though.”
Claire inspected Alena’s profile. “Would you go? If your dad allowed you to?” Something dark swirled in her gut at the thought of Alena leaving the Den. Roos would still be here, but she would be busy. If Alena left, Claire would have no one to rely on. Having Alena as her Attendant was what had made the experience bearable so far. Would Alena be in danger if she left the Den? Her mind provided an instant replay to the attack in the airport parking lot. Yes, Alena would be in danger. She would probably be in much more danger than she’d been back then.
“I’ve considered it. I’ve considered it often, actually. I could do good out there, real good. Not to say that I don’t think guarding you and other hosts isn’t important. That’s my way to contribute right now, but I’m an elementalist. Practicing combat magic is what I was born to do. Sometimes, I do wonder if our strategy of hiding and trying to covertly fight back is actually increasing the odds of eradicating us.”
They reached Claire’s bedroom and Alena pushed the door open. “There you go. Home, sweet home.” She motioned with her hand for Claire to head inside.
Claire hesitated. “Do you… Do you have to leave right away?” Fire flared up on her cheeks.
Alena inspected her. She glanced back down the hallway. “Maybe I can stay for a little while.”
“Really?” Claire instantly want to slap herself, both because she’d asked the question, and because of the ridiculous high pitch in her reply.
Alena’s gaze settled on her again. “Yes really, Alice.”
Alena’s smirk did funny things to Claire’s insides. She dropped her head in the hopes her hair would hide her glowing cheeks. “Um, come on in then. I um, don’t have anything for you to drink, or anything. Sorry.”
“That’s fine. We should get you some cokes though, just in case you end up entertaining real guests, and not just little old me.” Alena winked.
Claire’s brain short-circuited. She couldn’t blame it, it had been through a lot the last couple of days. “I, uh…” She forced herself to close her mouth again.
“You know.” Alena stepped inside and closed the door. “You’re really adorable when you blush.”
Claire didn’t want to be adorable. She wanted to be beautiful and irresistible and enticing, but she was a realist, and she accepted the fact that at least right now she was a blundering idiot. Adorable is probably the most positive descriptor she was going to get. “Thank you.” If they had been anywhere without soundproofing, the words would have been lost.
“No problem, Alice.” Alena looked around. “I love what you haven’t done with the place.” She grinned, but then took Claire in with more scrutiny. “Hey, how are you holding up?”
Claire made her way to the edge of the bed and sat down. She glanced up at Alena. It would be so easy to lie, to say that she was doing fine, but after everything that had happened and the way Alena had confided in her about Ellen, it didn’t seem fair. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, which plucked at the hem of her sweater. “Not so great.”
Alena said down beside her, then scooted a little closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m not sure if there’s anything to say.” Claire shrugged. “I’m not here to be a part of the Society. I’m just here to be an extension of Madame Stravinsky.”
“That doesn’t mean that you’re not important.” Alena placed her hand on her leg, just above the knee.
Claire tried not to stiffen at the touch, nor to turn into a puddle. Tears welled up as the events of the last few days caught up wit
h her. She was a student, a barista. She wasn’t a mage. Why did she have to have a brain capable of hosting a ghost? Why had Madame Stravinsky chosen her? Why not some other girl? Maybe someone who liked being out of the house. Someone who liked adventures. “Important to whom?”
“Hey…” Alena squeezed her leg. “You are important to me. And before you say it, not just because it’s my job to care. You’re nice. You’re a little too shy for your own good, but your world did just get turned upside-down. You’ll adjust.”
Alena’s kind words and her warm smile chased some of the cold out of her bones. “You mean that?”
“Of course I mean that!” Alena nudged her. “No more sad faces, you’ll adjust. For now, you need to sleep.” Alena got up again.
Claire wanted to beg her to stay, but she already hated how needy she must come across. How immature. She pulled her legs up to her chest. “One more question?”
“Of course, hit me.” Alena slid her hands into her pockets.
“Roos; during the meeting, what happened to her eyes?”
“Ah, caught that did you?” Alena glanced around and pulled a chair away from the table. She sat and leaned forward so their heights aligned. “Roos is a seer. When she looks at something, be it past or present or some other location, that is where her vision goes. Seer magic is one of the only types of magic that has a physical manifestation. They often wear sunglasses in public, to hide their eyes.”
“Oh, that makes sense, I guess?” Nothing made sense. Nothing in magic so far seemed logical, although Claire suspected there was rhyme and reason to it. She just hadn’t been around long enough to discover it.
“I’m not sure it does.” Alena shrugged. “There is a lot about magic, and about the Veil, that we don’t understand yet. If only we weren’t so busy surviving, we could start thriving.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You say that a lot, you know that right? Especially when you’re not to blame.”
Claire ducked her head. “I know, sorry.” She cringed. “Sorry.”
Alena laughed, a loud and warm sound that chased away some of Claire’s mortification. “Like I said, adorable.” She got up again. “Sleep well, Alice. I’ll come find you when I need you.”
* * *
A knock on the door pulled her out of Magus’s words a short nap and a few hours later. Alena didn’t wait for a reply, she opened the door wide and flooded the dimly lit room with tunnel light. “I think we’ll be needing you soon. Are you up? Dressed?”
Claire pulled the blankets away to reveal her clothes. “Just my shoes.” She slid her legs off the bed and leaned forward to put her sneakers on. “What’s wrong?”
“They have officially missed the train. We can’t scry inside the safehouse, it’s warded against things like that, so we don’t know what’s going on. My father has informed Madame Stravinsky, and we’re assuming she’ll drop in soon.” She opened the door wider, seemingly as a sign for Claire to hurry.
She got up. “Um, okay.” Claire glanced at the book, but she probably wouldn’t need it. She was also a little tired of Magus’s bragging. “How do you talk to her? When there isn’t a host nearby, I mean?”
Alena chuckled. “Good old-fashioned seances; Ouija boards, spirit boxes, those sorts of things.” She pulled the door shut behind Claire and guided her down the hallway. “It's clumsy and time consuming. We much prefer a host.”
“Oh. Makes sense.” What was a spirit box? She didn’t dare ask, she’d just keep an eye out.
“We usually tell her when we’ll be meeting so she can show up on time or at least make sure she knows when to keep an eye on us. After all these years, the system is pretty foolproof.”
Would offhanded remarks about ghosts ever become commonplace to her like they were for Alena? Claire doubted it. “As long as it works.” She stayed close when they entered the kitchen.
They were all there, except for Ellen. Mr. Senna sat in front of an ancient-looking laptop, which blasted out a dial tone. Everyone else either sat at the table or had found a spot to stand or lean. Except for Ndulu and Mr. Senna, they all stared down at their hands or food. Ndulu watched Mr. Senna while Mr. Senna kept his gaze on the screen.
Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the dial tone was replaced with static.
“You know who it is. Leave your me—”
Mr. Senna hit a button and the heavily accented female voice cut off.
“So, what do we do now?” Mr. Senna looked around the room. His gaze landed on her a few moments longer than on anyone else.
Claire stepped closer to Alena on instinct.
“I would ask you to reconsider letting me go to Poland.” Ndulu sounded thoughtful. “I could travel with Ellen. Even if we encounter a death squad, we should be all right.”
“Not if you run into Wagner as well.” Mr. Senna shook his head. “No one’s leaving. Poland is crawling with Inquisitio now, and Kraków especially. Even if you shift, you’re not immune to Wagner’s magic. Besides, you’ll be too late.”
Ndulu hummed and folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t seem pleased with the decision. “If you had let us go this morning…”
Fog slipped into Claire’s mind. She might have noticed it much later if she hadn’t been warned Madame Stravinsky could drop by any moment. She grabbed Alena’s arm. “She’s he—”
The darkness whisked her away.
It took a few seconds to adjust to the jolt. She floundered now she’d been robbed of her body, but at least she knew what had happened now. She stilled herself, then searched out the gentle tug of her shell. Roping herself in was much easier this time.
“You’re not going either, Petrovna.”
“And why is that? I can stand up to Wagner; she can’t manipulate me. You are being irrational. Your own fear paralyzes you—as it always does!”
Claire skirted the edges of her domain—or really, the edges of where she couldn’t go. If Magus was right, there would be world upon world for her to explore behind her, but where she wanted to be—her own shell, her own mind—was off limits.
“It’s not fear, it’s reason. By the time you get to Poland, whatever is going to happen, will have happened. Even if you fly—”
“I’d rather not, thank you.” Alena’s tone was curt.
“Even if you fly.” Mr. Senna spoke over Alena’s words. “You won’t be on time. We either contact them in time for them to flee, or the Inquisitio gets to them. For now, they are safe, right Roos?”
“As far as I can tell, yes. They are in the safehouse, but Wagner is close.”
“I say we keep trying to reach them.” Mr. Senna seemed to consider that the end of the discussion. “The wild mage hasn’t manifested again after this yesterday’s little…hiccup, the safehouse is secure, so we have time. Not much, but we have time.”
“You will regret this day, Gregorios. If you cost us the wild mage, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
The anger in Mr. Senna’s voice caused Claire to jump in the darkness, which was an odd sensation. Perhaps “stretched” would be a better word to describe it? Her spirit seems to expand with the reprimand, chased back into the darkness, but whatever part of her wanted to stay to listen remained. So, she stretched.
That was interesting. If she could stretch, would she be able to stretch herself so far that she could wiggle her way back into her shell? Perhaps, if she managed to wiggle only a little part of her through, she could take control of her body again? Or at least part of it? What had Magus written? Any action beyond the Veil can only be achieved by considering it achieved? Something like that?
“You keep forgetting your place, Gregorios. You always forget.”
Claire focused on her own energy. How small a part of it would she need to see? Her energy slipped through her grasp like grains of sand. No, that was the wrong way to go about this. She twisted in the dark. I want to see and not be detected. That was better. She focused on the wish, visualized herself hidden aw
ay in her own mind, looking through her own eyes, but with Madame Stravinsky still firmly in control of her body.
She pictured Mr. Senna at the table, behind his computer; Alena beside her, probably with her jaw clenched; Ndulu by the fridge, arms crossed; Roos by the counter, sipping tea; Nathan at the table, pretending not to watch or listen. She filled in as many details as she could remember, right down to the color of their clothes. She balled it all into the wish and flung it outwards, into where she thought the voices originated. She pulled at the thought as if it were a grappling hook, to test its hold.
It held.
She yanked, and something seemed to snap deep inside of her. Light poured into her being and blinded her. When the world came into focus, Mr. Senna looked squarely back at her.
Claire almost lost the connection as a mixture of fear and embarrassment fizzled through her at his look, and excitement that she had managed to hook herself into her shell.
She waited for Mr. Senna to call her out, then realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at Madame Stravinsky. Neither seemed to notice her, because they continued to argue.
Her vision shifted when Madame Stravinsky turned her head. Motion sickness kicked in. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut, but nothing happened—duh. She wasn’t the one in control of her eyelids. But she could see; she’d managed to seize a bit of control again.
She had to bite back a squeal of excitement. Any disturbance of her focus and she’d lose the hook. It was like holding on to a rope while being blasted by gale-force winds as it was. She needed to focus. Her mental muscles quivered.
Outside of her shell, the discussion seemed to have dissolved into an endless cycle of repeated arguments. Madame Stravinsky still wanted to head to Poland, Mr. Senna forbade it, and everyone else either offered helpful advice or stayed out of it. It was impossible to focus, and soon it became impossible to hold on. Her strength dissolved, and she let herself slip back into the darkness, then gave up that control as well.