by E. E. Holmes
If Finvarra was offended, she did not let on. Perhaps she had no energy left for such taxing shows of emotion. She merely looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing the question carefully before answering it.
“I am not sure. It is certainly some of both. But I will say this. I do respect you. You have faced great hardships, and you have overcome them. You have persevered against incredible odds and shown great bravery and resourcefulness. Either one of you would be a credit to the Council of the Northern Clans, whether it eases my guilt to see you there or not.”
§
“So, that was bizarre, huh?” I said across the space between our beds. Hannah and I hadn’t slept in the same room since college. There was something warm and comforting about it, a biological something that felt soothing and complete when I could hear my twin breathing in the same room. How strange that I had never realized I was missing it for so many years.
“Very bizarre,” Hannah agreed. “That was not what I was expecting Finvarra to say, that’s for sure.”
“No kidding.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Hannah asked, after moment of silence.
“About what?” I asked.
“About the nomination. When she calls for us to run for the seat, what are we going to say?” Hannah asked.
I rolled over and looked at her, incredulous. “What are we going to say? Are you really asking that?”
She frowned at me. “Yes, of course I am.”
“We’re going to politely decline. Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.
Hannah didn’t answer. She looked back up at the ceiling, her face thoughtful.
“Aren’t we?” I asked. “What possible other response could we have?”
“You don’t think we should at least consider running for the Council seat?” Hannah asked quietly. Her shoulders were tensed, anticipating the intensity of my reaction.
“Us. On the Council. Here. At Fairhaven.” I said blankly.
“Yes.”
“You think we should consider it.”
“I think it’s worth discussing, yes,” Hannah said.
I sat up, tucking my legs under me and staring at Hannah. “Say that again with a straight face.”
She too sat up, tucking her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. “I think we should discuss the option of taking the Council seat.”
We sat staring at each other in absolute silence for a solid ten seconds.
“Say something, Jess,” Hannah finally said.
“I can’t,” I said. “My brain just exploded.”
“Oh, come on!” Hannah cried. “Is it so absurd that we just talk about it? It’s a big opportunity to just blow off without a second thought.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly in an attempt to remain composed. “Hannah, where do we live?”
Hannah hesitated, as though this were a trick question. “Salem.”
“That’s right. And where is Salem?”
“In Massachusetts.”
“And is Massachusetts located in the English countryside?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “No.”
“No! And how about our jobs? Your graduate program? Our apartment? Our friends? Every plan we’ve ever made for our future? Are any of those things located in the vicinity of this godforsaken castle?”
“No,” she said dully.
“Exactly! So, what is there to consider? When the Prophecy came to pass and we actually managed to survive it, we made a pact never to come back here if we could possibly help it. We’ve been forced to break that promise a couple of times, but by and large, we’ve stuck to it pretty damn well. What in the world would possess you to go back on it now?”
“I… I don’t know. When we made that decision, there was no prospect of a Council seat,” Hannah said.
“You’re right, and if there had been, I would have run away even further and considerably faster!” I cried. “Are you telling me you actually want to take this seat?”
Hannah shrugged. “I don’t want to dismiss it out of hand.”
“So, you would consider quitting school, giving up on all your future plans, and moving here?” I asked.
“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Hannah said.
“That’s because it is ridiculous! It is one hundred and fifty percent insane!” I cried. “What about becoming a social worker? What about helping kids like you get out of the system? What about all of the good you wanted to do?”
“Jess, I haven’t decided anything yet. You are getting way ahead of me here, and it’s starting to feel like an attack. Will you please just stop talking and listen to me?”
“But Hannah, this doesn’t make any—”
“Jess, seriously, shut up!”
And I did. I shut up, mostly because I was shocked that my sweet and mild-mannered sister had just told me to shut up. She had never done that before, no matter how often I might have deserved it. She took advantage of my momentary silence and plowed on.
“I do want to do good,” she said. “I’m not going back on any of that. But doesn’t this Council thing seem like it might be an opportunity to do good? Just think about it, Jess. Just think of all the Durupinen rules and regulations and policies we have complained about since we got sucked into this system. Now imagine if we were actually in a position to change them!”
I had no desire to be in that position, but I humored her and let her keep talking.
“Just think about how long some of those Council members have been here. The same families. The same representatives. The same ideas and traditions, just recycled over and over again. What if someone could come in and shake things up? What if some new blood was exactly what this Council needed to force it out of the Dark Ages and into the 21st century!”
“And you think we should be that new blood?”
Hannah bit her lip. “I don’t think we should completely rule out the possibility. I… I think we might actually be able to do a lot of good here, too. Imagine, somewhere in the world, two girls just like we were: lost, confused, terrified about what was happening to them. Now what if we could enact policies and safeguards so that no one was ever left in the dark like that again?”
This brought me up short. “I… that would be good, I guess.”
“Exactly. And who’s to say anyone else on that Council would ever even consider addressing that issue? They’re all generations deep, steeped in Durupinen culture from the time they can speak. Wouldn’t it be nice for the outsiders and the reluctant ones to have a voice in that room?”
“Well, sure, but…”
“Just imagine if someone on that Council had been looking out for us instead of for themselves—if someone had had our backs when we got here. Things might have gone very differently,” Hannah said.
“That’s not really fair,” I said, starting to feel defensive because she was making so much sense. “Celeste was there for us. And Fiona is a great mentor.”
Hannah raised one eyebrow. “Jess, the first time you met her, she threw a chair at your head, didn’t she?”
“Well, yeah, but once she resigned herself to the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere, she got over it,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure how, but all of a sudden I was practically yelling at her.
“My point is that it all could have been so much easier,” Hannah said. “And I’m not just talking about us! Think about how many times you’ve complained about something the Council said or did!”
“Exactly! And they’re not going to change just because we’re around! I don’t want to subject myself to them on a regular basis!”
“Neither do I, particularly, but I might be willing to, if it meant we could enact a decision based on common sense instead of tradition! There could be a voice for the way things should be done instead of the way things have always been done!”
I shook my head. She was making too much sense, and I was determined not to be influenced in the slightest. “I get it. I just
don’t see why that voice has to be us.”
Hannah laid back down. “It doesn’t have to be us. I just think we should consider it, that’s all. Just consider it. You honestly couldn’t think of a single Durupinen policy you’d like to change? Any mandates you’d like to help overthrow? This could be our chance.”
She was staring at me, eyebrows raised and a knowing look in her wide brown eyes. I felt the heat rise to my face and I looked away. She didn’t need to say anything else. I knew exactly what she was talking about, and it was probably the only thing in the world that could convince me to consider Finvarra’s offer.
I wasn’t sure how much Hannah knew about Finn and me, but I didn’t underestimate her intelligence. She was one of the most quietly observant people I’d ever met. I knew she had her suspicions. She hadn’t asked me outright if Finn and I were together, but I knew that that was out of respect for me. We were close, but we didn’t force each other to confide in one another. Maybe it was because we had spent so long apart that we could allow each other this space without resentment. If one of us said that we didn’t want to talk about something, that was the end of it. Still, though I had never told her that Finn and I were together, she found little ways to hint at her suspicions. When Finn came over to our apartment, she would always find a reason to excuse herself, so we could be alone. When he called, she always handed me the phone. And she smiled at me in these moments, just a little. Because of course, she knew.
She knew that Finn and I were in love. She knew that we were secretly seeing each other. She also knew that there was a very good reason my relationship with Finn was completely under wraps. If the Durupinen or the Caomhnóir ever found out we were together, we would likely never see each other again.
I was not being dramatic. For centuries, relationships between Caomhnóir and Durupinen had been forbidden because of the very Prophecy Hannah and I had been the subject of. The Prophecy had spoken of twins, born of the relationship between a Durupinen and a Caomhnóir, who would have the power to save or to destroy the entire Gateway system. Trying to prevent the Prophecy from coming true—and because none of them had ever read even a single Greek tragedy, apparently—the Durupinen had instituted the ban on these relationships and brutally punished those who broke the law. Of course, their attempt to avoid the Prophecy only served as the vehicle to bring it about. But we had survived it. Hannah and I had saved the Gateway system, not destroyed it, and a centuries old fear was laid to rest. But in its wake, the law against Durupinen-Caomhnóir relationships remained, and Finn and I were forced to live a life in the shadows, unless someone fought to overturn it.
Someone like me. Damn it.
I had absolutely no desire to voice any of this, so after several minutes of loaded silence, I muttered, “I didn’t realize you were so political.”
“I don’t think I am, really. But when something like this falls in your lap, you can’t just ignore it. Not even you, Jess.”
The stubborn childish part of me longed to shout, “I can, too!” I grudgingly told it to shut up. Instead I said, “Okay, okay, I will think about it.”
Hannah’s expression cleared. She gave me a small smile. “That’s all I’m asking. Thank you.”
“Whatever. Now can we talk about something else? Like, anything else?”
“Sure.”
In the silence that followed we both cast around for something to say. Then, in a very different voice than before, Hannah said, “So, Finvarra is really sick, huh?”
I sighed. This wasn’t really what I had in mind when I suggested a topic change, but I couldn’t exactly ignore it. “Yeah. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Well, I was just thinking… what does that mean for Carrick?”
“Obviously it must suck for him. I mean, he’s devoted first his life and then his afterlife to her protection, and now this terrible thing is happening to her and he can’t protect her from it. I bet he’s feeling pretty helpless right now,” I said.
Hannah nodded. “Yes, that’s true, I’m sure, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh,” I said, frowning. “What did you mean, then?”
Hannah hesitated, as though she wasn’t even sure she wanted to continue. “Well, he’s Bound to her. Their souls are connected. He can’t Cross as long as she’s alive.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But she’s dying. So…”
She didn’t need to finish the thought. The realization hit me and then dropped like an anchor into the pit of my stomach, making me feel instantly sick. It hadn’t even occurred to me what Finvarra’s death might mean for Carrick. Carrick’s soul and Finvarra’s soul were linked. When she died, and her soul Crossed over, Carrick would be able to Cross as well, no longer tied to the living world. Would he choose to go? I would never presume for a second that he should choose to stay because of us, and yet a startling array of emotions flew through my head, leaving me dizzy and confused.
On the night I had discovered that Carrick was our father, he told me he had Bound himself to Finvarra so that he could continue his search for our mother and, by extension, for us. He stayed behind for us, though we were not the ones he was Bound to. Was it so presumptuous to think he might choose to stay behind for us again? At the same time, it felt completely insane that he would make such a decision. He barely knew us. Our relationship was a mere product of circumstance, not any sort of deep or evolving state. We’d spoken only a handful of times since we’d discovered who he was. And now that our mother was gone, and the Prophecy had blown over at last, was the paper-thin bond between us enough to keep him here? I could not even begin to articulate any of this. It churned and roiled inside me.
“He’ll have a choice to make, I guess,” I said.
“No, Jess, I don’t think he will. I think he has to Cross with her,” Hannah said very quietly.
My pulse quickened with a touch of something that smacked of panic. “He does?”
“I think so,” Hannah said again. “I researched everything I could about being Bound, after Finvarra told us that Milo had Bound himself to me. I wanted to know every detail about what Milo had done, because I felt so guilty about it. Anyway, I read that the Bound spirit can stay in the living world as long as half of the Gateway he is Bound to is still alive, but when both the Key and the Passage have Crossed over, he must follow them. His soul must follow where they lead, even in death. The bond can only be broken in the Aether.”
My mind was refusing to absorb this information. “What are you telling me?” I asked.
“Finvarra’s sister died several years ago. When Finvarra dies, and it looks as though that day isn’t far away, Carrick will have no choice but to go with her,” Hannah said, her voice now a tremulous whisper.
Wow, the sucker punches to the face just kept on coming today, didn’t they? First, we had to see Finvarra, whose deterioration was a direct result of our actions. If we hadn’t exposed the rampant Leeching process in the Northern Clans, she could still be using it to keep herself healthy. And now, before we’d even considered whether we would try to get to know him, our father would likely be gone from this world, too.
“Jess?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to just tell you like that. I thought you realized…”
“I probably should have, but I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah whispered. “In retrospect, that was a lot to drop on you in one conversation.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I’d used the magic code word for “I don’t want to talk about this anymore”, and Hannah took it as such. She murmured “Good night,” and rolled over. I listened to the sounds of her breathing ease gradually into the steady patterns of sleep, which refused to rescue me from my own churning thoughts until nearly dawn.
Eleanora: 1 May 1864
1 May 1864
I open you tonight, Little Book, fo
r the first time in nearly a month, but it is with great need of your solace. If I do not put these words down right now by the light of this sputtering candle, I fear I may drown in a tumultuous sea of their terrible and immutable truths. Forgive me if I sound quite melodramatic, but the events of this night have left me in a state of despair.
I have been seeing ghosts nearly all of my life. You might think, knowing what you do of my mother, that this would shock and distress her, but you would be mistaken in your suppositions. The truth of that matter is, my ability to see ghosts has been inherited directly from her. Her lineage has been a part of the Durupinen for centuries, and her own skill at communication with the dead is outmatched only by her ability to camouflage it from others. Indeed, I have never once, in all my nearly eighteen years, seen her flustered by the presence of a spirit. In this regard, there is much to be learned from her.
The Durupinen always emerge in pairs. When I was a small girl, my mother told me that, someday, I would have a companion in my Visitations, someone with whom to share the burden, and that would make it lighter and easier to bear. That day arrived today, or rather, in the dead of this night.
My heart is still racing from the screams that echoed through the house mere minutes ago, and tore everyone from their slumber. The screams were issuing from my sister Hattie’s room. As my own bedroom is closest to hers, I arrived first and I found her cowering under her bedclothes as the spirit of a housemaid apologized over and over for waking Hattie whilst she attended to her housekeeping duties.
We always knew there was a chance that Hattie would one day experience the Visitations. Even Hattie knew, though that knowledge could hardly prepare her for the ghastly reality of it. As a child, I longed for Hattie’s gift to awaken, wishing, quite selfishly, to no longer be alone in my abilities. But there in Hattie’s darkened room tonight, cradling her in my arms and wiping the tears from her cheeks, I felt nothing but sadness, and a fervent desire to save her from the frightening place her world has now become.