by E. E. Holmes
We turned a corner and saw Hannah running toward us with Milo floating along behind her.
“Jess! Jess, are you okay? What’s going on?” she gasped as she approached us.
“We’re fine!” I said. Then I braced myself as she barreled into me, nearly knocking me over in a violent hug. For a little thing, she sure could pack a punch. “How did you even know something happened?”
“I was on my way up to my meeting with Catriona, and we saw the Caomhnóir carrying her down to the hospital ward on a stretcher!” Her eyes were full of tears.
“We asked them what happened to her, and if anyone else was hurt, but they basically ignored us,” Milo said, rolling his eyes. “Sweet and accommodating, as usual.”
Finn and I relayed the story to our second horror-struck audience in less than ten minutes.
“Catriona looked awful!” Hannah said with a shiver. “And there was something… strange.”
“You think?” I muttered. “We’ve all seen a lot of spirit stuff, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Yes, you have!” Hannah said.
I turned to her. “What are you talking about? Did you listen to any of that story just now? When have we ever seen anything like that?”
Hannah was already shaking her head before I had stopped speaking. “No, no, no, I’m not talking about something we’ve seen, but something we’ve felt.”
I looked at Finn, and then at Milo. Their faces were just as blank as my memory. “Nope, nothing springs to mind here. Enlighten me.”
“Do you remember when we found Annabelle trapped in her flat by the Necromancers?” Hannah asked.
I nodded. Of course I remembered. I would never forget it. We had broken into the apparently empty apartment only to find Annabelle hidden in plain sight under a depraved Casting. The Necromancers had created a cage out of spirits they had ripped apart and woven back together like some ghostly Frankenstein’s monster. I still felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
“Well, I didn’t sense those spirits at first, because they weren’t whole spirits. They were just… pieces, and so it took me longer to figure out what I was feeling,” Hannah said.
“Yeah? And?” I prompted. I was still missing something.
“I just felt it again.”
Finn and Milo and I gaped at her.
I swallowed back a hard lump of panic. “You…”
“I just felt it. The same sort of feeling. Again,” Hannah whispered.
“Are you saying that Catriona is the victim of a Necromancer Casting?” Finn asked, his voice crisp and cutting with his own barely contained fear.
Hannah’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know for sure, but I do know what I felt—what I sensed—when Catriona was carried past me. It felt very similar to what I felt when we discovered Annabelle.”
For a moment, we all just froze, horror-struck. Milo was the first to come to his senses.
“Well, let’s go then!” he shouted suddenly. “What are we waiting for?”
“Go where?’ Hannah asked.
“To the hospital wing! To the Council! To Finvarra’s office! To the top of the North Tower with a freaking megaphone, if we have to!” Milo cried. “We are not going to ignore a single hint that the Necromancers might be involved, and neither is anyone else.”
Hannah twisted the hem of her shirt nervously in her hands. “But what if I’m wrong?” she asked.
“What if you’re not?” Milo shot back. “We were right last time, and it nearly meant the end of the world. We’re not letting them ignore anything this time. I don’t care how far-fetched it sounds.”
“I agree,” Finn said. “We cannot afford to take any chances in situations such as this. If you’re wrong, Hannah, no harm done. But if you’re right, we may just avoid another catastrophe.”
Hannah looked at me for guidance and I nodded seriously at her. “I know you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, or to anything that drags up the Prophecy again, but we can’t keep this quiet.”
Hannah closed her eyes for a moment, like she was saying a short prayer. Then she opened them and took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Who should we tell?”
Finn considered this for a moment. “Let’s head to the hospital ward,” he said at last. “This information might be of the most use to Mrs. Mistlemoore in treating Catriona. From there, we can determine what to do next.”
We all agreed, and set off at once. We jogged along in the wake of Finn’s enormous strides, no one speaking, each of us focused on fending off the fear.
Eleanora: 18 June 1864
18 June 1864
Dearest Little Book,
Did you think I had forgotten all about you? I have been at Fairhaven Hall for nearly a month, and I have been so busy that I’ve had not a moment to write about it! Between the classes and the mountains of work I must complete, my most fervent desire in the evening is to topple onto my bed and let sweet sleep wash over me.
I have always dearly loved learning, and never has the topic of my learning been so utterly fascinating! Most fortunately, Mother has been instructing us in Gaelic and Old Britannic since we were very small, or I expect the Castings would be quite daunting to learn. The library here is magnificent, and the grounds are beautiful. But I must say, the best part of being here is the lack of secrecy. For all my life, I have had to hide what I am and what I can do. It has, at times, been draining and isolating. I have often felt that my gift has stood as an invisible barrier between myself and other people. But here, I never need to hide the appearance of a Visitation. I never have to wear that mask of normalcy that was such a crucial part of my life back in London. I feel free—liberated for the first time since I was a very small girl. I have made several dear friends and have already found more enjoyment in my time here than I ever thought possible when setting out.
Hattie has had more difficulty in adjusting to our new lives, but she is managing, and I am doing all I can to assist her. The Visitations are still a new experience for her, and so she is often frightened and caught off-guard. She has not yet learned to recognize the subtle signs and changes that will warn her of the appearance of a spirit. Hattie has never been strong of will or of constitution—prone to illness and fainting. She has had several such fainting spells since we have been here, and I confess I sometimes fear that the strain of our gift is taking a toll on her health. However, there is no help for it: the Gateway resides inside us, and tame it we must, for it is our calling.
Mother, while pleased we are excelling in our training, has been insufferable on the subject of social obligations. She is unwilling to allow our responsibilities here at Fairhaven to interfere in any way with our participation in the season back in London. A long parade of balls, socials, galas, and events awaits us in the all-important aristocratic circles, and Mother will not hear of missing a single one. As a result, Hattie and I have already made three trips back to London just in the month we’ve been here. We’ve both begged her to allow us a respite from the social whirlwind, but she would not hear a word of our pleas. Our absence would be remarked upon, she insists, and only so many excuses can be made before rumors begin to fly.
I’ve stopped arguing with her. It isn’t worth the energy that might better be spent elsewhere, such as mastering the many new aspects of our gifts. There are many here at Fairhaven who have been identified as having additional classifications beyond that of Durupinen. Our teachers have identified that there are those among us who have unusual ways of relating to and communicating with the spirits around us, and so therefore, some of the Apprentices receive additional training. For example, it has been determined that Hattie is an Empath. This means that she experiences Visitations in a heightened emotional state—that is to say, she experiences the emotions of spirits in a much more visceral way than the rest of us do. She has a mentor now who is working with her to help her exercise some measure of control over how these emotions affect her. I do
not seem to have any special aspects of my gift, much to my relief. Some may consider their additional titles of Empath or Muse or Visionary a badge of honor, but I think the responsibility of being a Durupinen is more than enough to cope with.
And, as I might have predicted, I am nodding off over your pages, Little Book. Thank you as always for listening. You are the only place where all of the aspects of my life can converge without worry or consequence, and I am ever so grateful for you.
Eleanora
7
Diagnosis
WHEN WE ARRIVED OUTSIDE of the hospital wing, Finn quickly grabbed the arm of a passing nurse, to ask if we could speak to Mrs. Mistlemoore.
The woman pursed her lips at us as though Finn were asking some enormous feat of her. “She’s quite busy right now. I’ll let her know, but I wouldn’t expect her right away. Perhaps you should sit and wait.”
“It’s about Catriona,” Finn said. “Hannah thinks she might—”
“Yes, yes, you can tell her when you see her,” the woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed inside.” And with one last, harried look, she pushed the door open with her hip, backed through it, and disappeared.
“Whatever happened to bedside manner?” Milo asked with an offended snort. “That woman had entirely too much attitude!”
“She was busy, Milo,” Hannah said quietly.
“And that gives her the right to be rude to people? Sweetness, I am an expert in the art of strategic sass, and I can guarantee you, her attitude had nothing to do with how busy she was. That woman is rude twenty-four seven, three sixty-five,” Milo said, crossing his arms.
“Well, we’ll just have to hope she’s rude and efficient,” Finn grumbled, peering through the windows at the top of the door.
“Can you see anything?” I asked him.
“Not as such, no. They’ve got Catriona at the other end of the ward, and there are screens up all around the bed. I can see people coming in and out.”
“It’s too bad we couldn’t just flag down—”
A horrific scream cut off my words. I leapt up just in time to watch through the window as several people dove out from behind the screen around Catriona’s bed, throwing their hands over their heads. Several lit candles flew through the air, smashed into the opposite wall, and extinguished.
“Tie her up, then,” came a frantic woman’s voice. “We’ve got to restrain her or we’ll never get these Castings done! And for God’s sake, move those candelabras back from the bedside before she kills us all!”
“What the bloody hell was that about?” Finn muttered.
“The fire again,” I said softly. “Remember how badly she flipped out when she saw the fire burning in the fireplace in her office? She must have done the same thing when she saw the flames on the candles.”
“We told them what happened with the fireplace,” Finn said through gritted teeth. “Why in blazes are they putting open flames by her bed? Did they listen to a bloody word we said?”
“Evidently not,” I said. “I don’t think we should hold our breath that Mrs. Mistlemoore is coming out anytime soon, not if Catriona is throwing flaming objects all over the place.”
“So, does this mean that the spirit that’s possessing her has a fear of fire?” Milo asked. “That’s got to be a clue, right?”
“We can’t say for sure yet that it is a spirit,” Finn said. “But that’s a fair guess, Milo. Certainly, whatever it is does not want to be anywhere near an open flame. Whether that is out of fear or some other motivation remains to be seen.” He peered back through the window, but all was quiet again. With a sigh of frustration, he shuffled back over to the bench and sat down. After another minute or so of fruitless spying through the window, I joined him.
We sat outside the hospital ward for at least an hour, alternating between long stretches of anxious silence and bouts of increasingly wild speculation. Periodically, commotion would break out on the other side of the doors, and we would all jump up to catch a glimpse of nurses or Caomhnóir rushing in and out of the bed space. At one point, Hannah spotted smoke wafting out from behind the screen, but it turned out to be a bunch of sage that one of the nurses was using for a Casting. Finally, Celeste, Siobhán, and Fiona came scurrying down the hallway, along with three other Durupinen I had never seen before. They did not stop to chat, however, sparing not even a glance for us as they pushed their way through the ward doors.
Another hour passed without a glimpse of Mrs. Mistlemoore. Finn was just suggesting that perhaps we should all go get something to eat and then come back, when Mrs. Mistlemoore finally emerged. She looked exhausted. She held a damp cloth in her hand, which she was using to wipe chalk dust and sage soot from her arms and face. We all stood up automatically at the sight of her, but she waved us back onto the bench.
“How is she?” Hannah and I asked in unison.
“Resting. Comfortably, I hope,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said, with an edge to her voice that suggested she wasn’t entirely confident in the “comfortable” part. “I’m sorry you’ve been waiting so long, but I couldn’t leave her in that state.”
“We understand,” I said at once. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
“Something is forcefully Habitating in her,” Mrs. Mistlemoore replied, her expression grim.
“You mean she’s possessed?” Milo asked, his mouth gaping in horror. “Like, Exorcist-style?”
“Durupinen do not employ the term ‘possession.’ That is a religious construct. But for all intents and purposes, yes, she is possessed,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said wearily.
“But how could that have happened?” Finn asked. “The Wards on the castle ought to have prevented anything hostile from entering, shouldn’t they?”
“Not if it was already inside her when she returned,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said. “This is most likely something that attached itself to her while she was outside of the castle. It’s the only way to explain how it slipped in past the Wards.”
“How could something like that happen?” Hannah asked, her voice fluttery with panic. “Wouldn’t she know if a spirit had Habitated?”
“That’s not the kind of thing that escapes your notice,” I added, an involuntary shiver running its icy finger up my spine. I had once barely survived a forced Habitation during my first paranormal investigation with Pierce, before I even knew I was a Durupinen. A Necromancer spirit named William had entered my body and tried to force his way through the Gateway, which was closed at the time. It was the most excruciating pain of my life; if Annabelle had not been able to expel him, the trauma of it could have killed me. And even since then, when I’d allowed Milo to Habitate with my consent, there was still no ignoring the utterly bizarre sensation of sharing your physical and mental space with another soul.
“I agree, it would certainly be very difficult for a spirit to Habitate without the knowledge of the Host. Only non-sensitives, with no understanding of the spirit world, could possibly be an unwitting victim of a Habitation by a spirit. But the fact is… we are not entirely sure if it is a spirit,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said. “We cannot establish contact with it, and we can’t draw it out, which is worrisome. We ought to be able to expel it fairly easily, but the Castings are not working.”
“That’s why we’re waiting here,” Finn said. “Hannah sensed something when she was near Catriona, and she wants to tell you about it.”
Finn looked pointedly at Hannah, who swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Um, yes, that’s right.” With many nervous pauses, Hannah told Mrs. Mistlemoore about our experience with the spirit cage that the Necromancers had used to imprison Annabelle. She explained how the spirits had been somehow torn into pieces and then reassembled into a mass, and how she had felt a similar, fragmented spirit energy when Catriona was carried past her.
Mrs. Mistlemoore looked pale and nauseous at the very thought. “On that first occasion when you encountered these partial spirits, you couldn’t sense them
the way you could normal spirits? None of you?”
Hannah shook her head. “Not at first. It was very difficult to detect them, because they weren’t whole souls. I couldn’t Call them either. It was just this… muddled mass of confused energy. They camouflaged themselves.”
“I could expel them, though,” Finn said. “It took a massive effort, but I was able to shift them away from Annabelle so that we could rescue her. Whatever is Habitating in Catriona cannot be expelled.”
No one spoke for a moment, trying to make sense of Finn’s words. I’d forgotten that Finn had indeed been able to use his regular expulsion Casting to blast the spirits away. If he hadn’t, we would never have even seen that Annabelle was lying right there on the bed in front of us.
“Well, we could still be dealing with the same thing,” Milo said thoughtfully. “Those messed up spirits weren’t inside Annabelle’s body. They were just surrounding her, sort of hovering around her like a cage, weren’t they? It might have been easier to expel them because they weren’t actually attached to her?”
Mrs. Mistlemoore’s thick gray eyebrows drew together as she mulled this over. “That is possible, of course. So very many things are possible when dealing with the spirit world. Just when I think I’ve seen it all, something new comes along to prove me wrong.”
The door behind Mrs. Mistlemoore swung open and Celeste emerged, looking troubled.
“I’ve got to give an update to Finvarra,” she said to Mrs. Mistlemoore, before noticing—for the first time, it seemed—that we were all standing there. “Jessica, what are you still doing here? You’ve given your statements about what happened, haven’t you? You needn’t feel obligated to stay. We can send someone to find you if we have any more questions.”
“They’ve got more information for us, and it might be important,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said, and she briefly recounted what we had just discussed.