by E. E. Holmes
What comfort can I offer her? What words of consolation? That she will grow accustomed to the unannounced guests? That there will come a day when the unexpected hiss of their voices in her ear will not curdle the blood in her veins? I cannot promise these things; the words are hollow and meaningless in the midst of this waking nightmare.
Our mother came at last to Hattie’s room, and after much effort, managed to calm Hattie’s fear enough so that she could fall asleep. But when she wakes again at last, it will be to stare into the unforgiving face of the same, immutable truth about herself and the dark and winding path along which we now must journey together.
The collar of my nightdress is damp and salty with Hattie’s tears, and I cannot help but add my own, drenching the lace which is now more handkerchief than nightdress. Even as I write, our mother is making arrangements for us to travel to Fairhaven Hall, the ancient castle seat of our clan, where Hattie and I will begin our formal training as Durupinen. We could leave as soon as a fortnight from now. I am at once filled with excitement and trepidation. I long to learn the secrets of our gift, and yet I feel as though I am turning the page on a terrifying new chapter in my life and, once turned, I cannot go back. From this day forward, the spirits who have always hovered on the outskirts of my life will become the center of my existence. It is both humbling and daunting to know what has been entrusted to us. I must swallow my fear, however; I must be strong for Hattie, who has so little strength herself.
Eleanora
5
Host
HANNAH WAS ALREADY AWAKE when I peeled myself out of bed the next morning. Milo was there too, perched on the edge of the fireplace like he was trying to warm himself. The firelight shimmered dully through him.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” he crowed at me.
I grunted acknowledgment of his existence, and noted that he was being much too nice to me, which meant that Hannah had already told him all about our conversation from the previous night. This didn’t exactly bother me; it was an unspoken rule that we had no real secrets from Milo. He was too deeply connected to our emotions and our thought patterns for much to get by him, so there was really no point in trying to exclude him. I suppose I should have been grateful that she’d already filled him in; that way I wouldn’t have to sit through the conversation all over again.
“Shouldn’t you get going?” Milo asked me.
“Get going where? Are you saying real words? Why are you even attempting to speak to me before coffee?” I groaned, rolling back over.
“You’ve got that meeting, don’t you?” he pressed.
“It sounds like English, and yet I cannot comprehend anything you are saying. Please leave a message at the beep,” I said from beneath the muffling weight of my pillow.
“You can sass me all you want, but I don’t think Catriona is going to accept ‘lack of caffeine’ as an excuse,” Milo said.
I shook some of the cobwebs of sleep from the corners of my brain. “Catriona?”
“Yes, sweetness. Your Tracker mentor. With whom you are supposed to meet in half an hour,” Milo said slowly.
I sat straight up. “Half an hour?” I repeated, mild panic zinging through me, rousing me.
“Yes, indeed,” Milo said. “You can always take the chance that being late won’t piss her off, but I don’t think you’re that delusional, even before coffee.”
I leapt from my bed. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” I cried.
“I forgot,” Hannah said.
“I didn’t,” Milo said. “I just like to watch you freak out.”
I tested the boundaries of my curse word vocabulary as I stumbled around the room, tossing off my pajamas and throwing on my jeans and a sweater, then attempting to brush my teeth and pull my boots on simultaneously. Fifteen minutes later I was jogging down the hallway, desperately hoping that, if I ran fast enough, I would have time to stop for sustenance in the dining room before I had to face Catriona.
One large, black, mouth-scalding cup of coffee later, I found Finn waiting in the entrance hall for me, standing at attention with his chest thrown out like he was patrolling the gates of Buckingham Palace. Several other Caomhnóir stood talking nearby, and so I dug into my memory, trying to remember how we used to speak when we both thought we loathed each other. This was not easy, since what I really wanted to do was throw my arms around him.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound indifferent at the sight of him.
He stopped short, his eyes wide. “Your hair.”
I pulled at a lock self-consciously. “What about it?”
“It’s… different.”
“I dyed it,” I said with a shrug. He just continued to stare so I said pointedly, “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, of course,” he said curtly.
“For me? Why?” I asked.
“You have your meeting in the Tracker office this morning with Catriona,” he replied.
I laughed. “Yeah, I know I do. That’s where I’m headed. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”
“Well, I would think that was fairly obvious. I’m coming with you,” he said.
I glanced at the other Caomhnóir in the corner. Was this an act for their benefit, or was he actually serious? “And why, exactly, would I need you to come with me?”
“For confirmation. No doubt she will be asking further questions regarding Whispering Seraph. I was also present, and can corroborate any answers that you provide to her,” Finn said swiftly, as though he had prepared the answer verbatim, and was merely waiting for the appropriate moment to give it.
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you’re wasting your time, Finn. I don’t need you there.”
He inclined his head, still unsmiling. “I would prefer to be present, and unneeded, than needed and not present,” he said.
I snorted with laughter and set off down the hallway. His heavy clunking steps fell in behind mine. We walked along several long hallways, not speaking to each other. The further we got from the entrance hall, the fewer people we passed, until we reached a narrow staircase and found ourselves completely alone.
I sighed as though I’d been holding my breath since the moment I’d seen him. “I really hate this,” I said.
“Hate what?” he asked.
“This!” I said, and I gestured to what felt like the gaping space between us, standing two steps apart from each other. “And I hate talking to you like that.”
“That’s how all Durupinen talk to their Caomhnóir,” Finn pointed out.
“I know, and it just reminds me how royally screwed up the entire dynamic is. Two people who have to work so closely together for so many years should not be interacting with each other like that. I mean, how can they possibly function with such ingrained disrespect in every interaction?”
Finn shrugged. “It’s just the way it’s always been done. I, for one, never questioned it for a moment, until I met you.”
“It just doesn’t feel right, especially now.”
“Just keep reminding yourself that it’s vital for our cover. Honestly, you do it very well. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost swear you despise and resent me,” Finn said, and he smirked at me.
“I know! That’s why I hate it!” I said. “I don’t even like to pretend those things! It makes me feel terrible.”
“I know something that will make you feel better about it,” he said.
“Oh really? And what’s that?” I grumbled, crossing my arms.
“This.” And he reached out and grasped my arms, pulling me down onto his step and kissing me fiercely. I gasped in surprise but recovered, throwing myself into the kiss gratefully. My heart beat hard and fast against the inside of my chest, as though it were trying to break free of my ribs and shoot straight between his, nestling in there next to the heart whose call it longed to answer. When we broke apart a few moments later, we were both short of breath.
“What’s gotten into you?” I panted.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’re breaking our rules. You know, the ones that you insisted we abide by to make sure our relationship stays a secret,” I said. “Not that I’m complaining, believe me.”
“You started it,” he shot back.
“Excuse me? You kissed me! How did I start it?” I said with a hint of a laugh.
“Look at you. A stunning new hairstyle and you just sprung it on me with no warning! You have no business looking that beautiful on a Monday morning. How is a man supposed to control himself?”
I laughed outright. “You’re delusional. I’ve only been awake for twenty minutes. I haven’t even unpacked my make-up. I look like absolute hell.”
He reached down, took my hand, and lifted it to his mouth, planting a kiss on the smooth underside of my wrist. “Hell,” he said softly, “is utterly lovely.”
I smiled, but it faded as quickly as it had come. It was hard to revel in a moment that I knew we had stolen, like criminals, from the hours of feigned indifference and disdain we would have to endure while we were here. It was starting to wear me down, and Finn knew it.
“As much as I love hiding in a darkened stairwell with you, we should probably get going,” I said. “It wouldn’t be smart to keep Catriona waiting.”
Finn squeezed my hand once, and then dropped it. “You’re right, of course. Onward and upward, then.”
The Tracker office was located on the fifth floor. I had been there twice before, once when it belonged to Marion, for a disciplinary meeting with Savvy, and the other to meet with Catriona to learn the details of our first ever Tracker case. I was no less nervous on this occasion than I was on the other two, and so I felt a distinct sense of resentment the moment I turned the corner and spotted the door.
Catriona had asked to meet with Hannah and me separately. It was an intimidation tactic and we both knew it. She wanted to make sure that both our accounts of the events at Whispering Seraph matched up. Finn said that it was standard operating procedure among the Trackers, and the Caomhnóir, too, but it still felt like Catriona was taking a bit more pleasure in it than was strictly necessary. Hannah’s meeting would take place immediately following mine, so that there would be no chance to confer with each other in between. This made me feel like a criminal rather than one of Catriona’s own mentees, not least because there were a few details of our mission we had decided to keep to ourselves. First, we agreed there would be no mention of my allowing Talia and Grayson to share their goodbye. The Durupinen were obsessive about secrecy, and so I was pretty sure I’d be raked over the coals for using a Melding casting to help the two of them.
The second secret was my own; well, mine and Milo’s, as he was the only one present at the time. When Catriona had refused to allow Irina to Cross, and instead had Caged her so that she could await official Durupinen justice, I had made a promise to Irina that I would find a way to set her free. Milo and I had both seen the utter horror her life had been in the Traveler camp, chained and guarded like a dangerous beast, all for the crime of wishing to Walk rather than remain trapped in her body. Whatever crimes she had committed at Sanctity House, the Durupinen had driven her to it, and I would not stand by and watch her punished for it. I had no idea yet how I would make good on that promise, of course, but I at least knew I needed to keep my mouth shut about it.
Finn took his position outside the door, at attention, his eyes scanning the surrounding hallway for signs of… I’m not really sure what. Danger, I guess? I snorted.
“If I get too rowdy in there, are you going to bounce me?” I asked in a murmur.
The corners of his mouth twitched, but otherwise he gave no indication that he had heard me.
The door to the Tracker office was cracked, but I knocked anyway.
“Enter, if you must,” came Catriona’s bored voice.
I pushed the door open to reveal Catriona sitting behind a desk, head bent over a comically large book; it was the kind of tome that you expected see in the hands of venerable wizards or evil sorcerers in fantasy movies. As I crossed the room to the chair in front of the desk, she turned one of the thick, yellowed pages. I caught a glimpse of an illustration of what seemed to be a Geatgrima, surrounded by dozens of runes. Then she dropped her head into her hands and began massaging her temples.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“My head is aching fit to burst, and no wonder, trying to read through this bloody monstrosity,” Catriona said. With a groan, she flopped forward, thumping her forehead against the book three times.
“Don’t!” I cried instinctively.
“Why not?” came Catriona’s muffled voice from under a curtain of glossy golden curls. “I can’t possibly make it any worse, so I may as well knock myself unconscious.”
“I… do you want me to come back later?” I asked, half-standing up.
“No, don’t bother,” Catriona replied, lifting her head so that her nose was an inch from the page beneath her. She had bags under her eyes and looked exhausted. “Ugh, I am too attractive to be stuck behind this monstrous thing doing bloody research.” She slammed the book shut with a disgusted grunt; the pages expelled a musty cloud of dust into the air. “If the Council doesn’t hire another Scribe soon, I’m going on strike.”
“Do we have Scribes here?” I asked, surprised. I’d never met one at Fairhaven, though I had befriended one in the Traveler camp during my time there. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Flavia and her general brilliance, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of the Necromancer attack alive.
“Of course we do. They work in the library,” Catriona said, swiping at the dust motes so that they wouldn’t settle in her lustrous blonde hair. “You probably assumed they were librarians. But our most senior Scribe recently retired, and they’ve yet to find a suitable replacement. No one wants to be a Scribe anymore, and frankly I can see why. What a mind-numbing slog.” She pushed the book aside and settled back in her chair. “Well, enough of that. On to something else tedious. I’ve got a fair amount of paperwork to go through with you.”
“Really?” I asked. “That sounds… boring.”
Catriona smirked. “Oh, it is, I assure you. Lest you thought Tracker work was all danger and glamour, let me set you straight.” She reached into her bottom drawer to extricate a large, overstuffed folder full of papers, and slammed it onto the table in front of us.
“What exactly do I need to fill all of this out for?” I asked. “I gave a statement to you right after we left Sanctity House. What’s left to do?”
“Everything you said, along with everything your sister, Caomhnóir, and Spirit Guide said, has been compiled into a testimony file that will be turned over as evidence to the Traveler Clan. They’ll use it in the Walker’s trial.”
“Irina,” I said, more sharply than I intended. I had to make a conscious effort to keep my voice as casual as I could as I went on, “Her name is Irina. So, have they set a date for the trial yet?”
Catriona shrugged unconcernedly. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Although when they do, you’ll likely get called to testify, so I daresay you’ll know before I will.”
My heart leapt into my throat, where it nearly choked off my next words. “Testify? In front of the Traveler Council?”
“Yes, of course,” Catriona said, as though this were a long-standing arrangement instead of entirely new information. “Do forgive me, but I assumed you had the most basic of understandings of how trials work. They will undoubtedly want to question you about what you witnessed. You will all need to testify, I expect.”
I nodded, but my brain was whirring. When last I’d seen Irina, trapped and despairing in the basement of Sanctity House, I’d had no idea how I would make good on the promise I’d made to her. Now, it seemed the Travelers themselves might present me with an opportunity.
“Do you know where she is now? I asked.
Catriona looked up at me squinting, one hand pressed to her forehead. “Who?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Leave off me,” Catriona snapped. “Irina was taken to the Traveler camp and returned to her body. She’s not been transferred to a príosún. The High Priestess Ileana informed us that they have adequate means to keep her locked up until her trial can commence.”
“Yeah, they certainly do,” I muttered bitterly.
“Look, I know you were worried about that Walker, but believe me, you’re wasting your time,” Catriona said. “The best thing you can do for her is to finish this bloody paperwork, so they can proceed with the trial. First off, we’ve got to go through your statement that you gave when we debriefed at Lafayette Boarding House,” She pulled a thick packet off the top of the pile and slid it across the desk to me. “It’s been transcribed from the audio recording I made of your interview, so I need you to read through and make sure that everything looks accurate. Sign the bottom of each page as you finish it.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Be thorough, now. By signing, you’re swearing that everything in your statement is true,” Catriona said sharply.
“Mm-hmm,” I said, keeping my eyes on the pages in front of me. I didn’t want my face to give away the twinges of nervousness I felt at her words, knowing what I’d intentionally left out of my statement.
For a few moments, there was no sound in the room except for the gentle crackling of the fireplace in the corner, and the occasional rustle of a paper as Catriona occupied herself with some work. It felt strange, reading my own words on a page, full of “ums” and “wells” and other things I never realized I said so often. It was like having an out of body experience, so I felt startled, and even a little disoriented, when Catriona suddenly spoke a few minutes later.
“Where am I?”
I looked up sharply. “What did you say?”
She looked up from her papers, brow furrowed. “Sorry?”