by E. E. Holmes
Hannah looked at me and raised her eyebrows as though to say, “This might be more interesting than you thought.” I conceded with a nod of my head. She might just be right.
“Motion carries,” Siobhán called after the votes were counted. She took a moment to be sure that Bertie had recorded the correct tally, and then nodded to Celeste.
“Very well. Let us move then to the first order of business, which can be found on page one of your session agenda,” Celeste said with a faint air of relief.
It was tedious for a time. First, each clan had to confirm any deaths and births in the bloodline. Then each clan had to officially record any transference of a Gateway from one generation to the next since the previous Airechtas. I couldn’t imagine that they didn’t already keep track of these kinds of things; I mean, how else would they know who was coming to Fairhaven for training in any given year? But apparently, it was the formality of it that mattered, so we sat through round after round of clan updates.
Then Celeste stood again and read a sort of proclamation announcing the opening of new Gateways since the last Airechtas. At this point, Savvy and Phoebe were asked to stand and be officially welcomed into the Northern Clans. A few of the Durupinen stood, including Hannah and me, but the reception was lukewarm at best. Savvy, already looking uncomfortable at being made to stand up, looked downright curmudgeonly as she sat back down.
“What is their problem?” I asked Hannah under my breath.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You know the Durupinen by now. It’s all about tradition, and Savvy has none. Is it any surprise they show disdain for new Gateways? They probably resent that the old Gateway had to close.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re right. It’s like the old money versus new money prejudice,” I said. “Your status is somehow higher the longer you’ve had it.”
“Exactly. Some of these clans have existed as far back as recorded Durupinen history. You can tell which ones by where they’re sitting. The ones toward the front are the oldest clans, and the ones toward the back are the newest.”
I glanced around. We were in the second row from the front. That made us one of the oldest families in attendance. Again, I felt Agnes Isherwood’s gaze upon me, full of judgement and expectation. It was so tangible that I wondered if her ghost were about to appear beside me whispering heavily weighted words about legacy and duty and tradition. I suddenly felt a little claustrophobic. To dispel the feeling, I took a deep breath and looked up at Celeste who had begun to speak again.
“Next up for discussion is the open seat on the Council,” Celeste said. She reached a hand over to Siobhán, who was not paying attention, but instead rubbing distractedly at her temple.
“Madame Secretary? The Council Seat declaration, please?” Celeste prompted her.
Siobhán looked up, confused. “What? Oh, yes. Apologies. Here it is.” She extracted a paper from the pile in front of her and handed it to Celeste. Celeste took it from her with a look of mild concern.
“Here we are,” Celeste said. “As every clan is aware, having been formally notified of the decision, Clan Gonachd was stripped of its Council seat as punitive action for its involvement in events surrounding the fulfillment of the Isherwood Prophecy.”
These words, which she spoke unflinchingly, were met with a ringing silence. The tension in the room, sporadic thus far, was suddenly stifling. Every eye shifted to the middle of the room, where Marion sat, poker-stiff in a seat beside the center aisle. Her expression was supremely unimpressed, as though Celeste’s words were barely worth her notice. A woman sitting near Marion gave a snort of disgust. Marion betrayed a tiny smirk and acknowledged the sound with an ironic inclination of her head. It was one of those smug expressions that you just wanted to slap off of someone’s face. I clenched my hands together in my lap to suppress the urge. Assault was probably not the smartest choice I could make in this situation, even if it would be the most satisfying one.
I could tell we were hovering on the edge of a confrontation, and perhaps Celeste knew it too, for she plowed on forcefully before anyone else had a chance to speak. “That punitive action has left a seat on the Council open for filling on the event of this Airechtas. Anyone wishing to nominate a clan may do so by submitting a formal written nomination letter to myself or Siobhán by the end of sessions tomorrow. On Wednesday, all nominees will have the choice to accept or decline their nomination. A formal debate for remaining nominees will take place on Thursday, and a binding vote will take place on Friday afternoon. All votes will be submitted anonymously, per Airechtas guidelines, and the announcement of the seat will close the final session of the Airechtas on Saturday evening.”
My insides in a tight knot, I stole a glance up at Finvarra. She was looking right at Hannah and me, her gaze steely with resolve. I couldn’t imagine what kind of unpleasantness was going to be hurled our way when she formally nominated us.
A woman stood up on the Council bench. She was tall and statuesque, with mahogany hair swept back in a twist and lips pulled back in an ingratiating smile. I recognized her at once as Róisín and Riley’s mother, and one of Marion’s closest cronies; Marion had been speaking with her in the dining hall on the day she had arrived.
“The Council recognizes Patricia Lightfoot,” Celeste said, pointing to the woman. Bertie’s quill began scratching loudly as he recorded the exchange.
“Thank you for the opportunity to speak. I would like to state, for the record, that many among us are truly disappointed that Clan Gonachd was stripped of its seat without a full vote of the assembled Northern Clans. It seems inherently unequal that Clan Soillseach maintains its seat on the Council while Clan Gonachd is barred from ever serving again. In the first case, the punitive action has been applied solely to the guilty party, leaving the seat unaffected. In the second, the punishment has been extended to the entire clan. I have a hard time seeing the logic in two such disparate decisions.”
Several people around her nodded their heads and murmured their agreement. Marion crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, her smirk spreading across her face like poison through veins.
“Your remarks are duly noted. If you take issue with the punishments handed down by the International High Council, I suggest you take it up with them,” Celeste said coolly.
“I assure you, I intend to,” Patricia said, and she held up a scroll of parchment. “I have prepared a formal complaint, signed by no less than fifteen clans present here. I would like to file a copy as part of the proceedings today.”
Celeste looked to Siobhán, who was now massaging her forehead, eyes closed. Celeste cocked her head at Bertie, who leapt to his feet at once and bustled down the aisle to retrieve the scroll, then turned back to Siobhán. I watched as Celeste leaned away from the microphone and whispered quietly into Siobhán’s ear. Siobhán shook her head and waved her away.
Patricia plowed on, ignoring the exchange. “Furthermore, I submit this motion for voting, that the Council of the Northern Clans dispute the ruling, and request that the Clan Gonachd be reinstated with its full rights to run for the Council seat again in the future. If Catriona can continue to serve, in the face of Lucida’s staggering betrayal, surely future generations of Clan Gonachd cannot be excluded over what was little more than a political squabble.”
I laughed incredulously. The sound echoed around the hall, drawing all eyes to me, but my indignation far outweighed my embarrassment. Marion had also looked up at the sound, and I met her eye unflinchingly, hoping that she could feel every ounce of my loathing for her burning through my gaze.
So, this was why she wanted to be here so badly. This was the reason the rest of her family suddenly and mysteriously couldn’t represent their clan this week. She wanted to be front and center for this; to orchestrate her family’s reinstatement into the hierarchy, or at least, to make them eligible to rise again. And it seemed she had a great deal of support, just as she did three years before when she attempted to orchestrate a coup in this very room.
Celeste was not to be trampled in this exchange, however. “You have every right to file this motion, and the clans here assembled have every right to debate and vote upon it. However, as a Council member, you are well aware how the punitive process works. Matters of this nature must be handled by objective outside votes from a higher court, so as to avoid personal relationships from interfering with due process. Nevertheless, the motion is on the table. Who will second the motion?”
“Seconded,” Marion’s voice called out over the crowd.
I felt my outrage bubble up toward my lips but Savvy got there first. She jumped to her feet.
“Are you havin’ us on? Does she seriously get to do that?” she blurted out.
Celeste turned to face Savvy, her expression stern. “The Council recognizes Savannah Todd of the Clan Lunnainn and urges her to remember that we are in a formal meeting.”
“Right, yeah,” Savvy said, clearing her throat and standing up straighter in an attempt to appear more dignified. “What I mean to say is, how is it she’s allowed to second that motion? It’s about her family, yeah? So, shouldn’t she be excluded?”
Many of the people sitting around Savvy, who had looked disapproving a moment before, now looked as though they thought she had a fair point.
Celeste sighed. “I see the basis of your objection, but as a voting member here, Marion has every right to—”
“Seconded,” another voice called out. It was another of Marion’s entourage, seated a row behind her. “Just so there is no contention.”
Savvy snorted in disgust and sat down abruptly.
“Very well, seconded. A majority carries. All in favor?” Celeste asked. A slim majority of hands went up; of course, mine and Hannah’s were not among them. “The motion carries,” Celeste said. “We will hear further discussion on this proposal of a formal complaint, and will vote on it along with the other measures. We move then to the question of—”
A soft whimpering sound drew her attention, and she looked over at Siobhán, who had covered her face with her hands. Celeste dropped her papers and hurried to the other side of the podium.
“Siobhán? My goodness, are you quite well?” Celeste asked. She placed a hand on Siobhán’s shoulder, but Siobhán shook it off, stumbling a little as she did so.
“Get it away,” she whimpered. “Please, I beg you. Get it away from me.” She pointed to the edge of the platform. There was nothing there except for a tall candelabra aglow with tapers and a large Triskele banner on a flagpole.
Celeste looked over at Finvarra, who was leaning forward in her chair. Siobhán’s Caomhnóir stepped forward as well, a hand outstretched to help.
“Siobhán?” Celeste repeated, and then called over her shoulder, “Seamus, go and fetch Mrs. Mistlemoore in the hospital ward. Immediately.”
Siobhán went suddenly quiet. She pulled her hands from her face and stared at Celeste with wide, terrified eyes. Celeste froze.
“Siobhán?” she asked again.
“Who is Siobhán?” she cried.
I stood up. “Oh, my God.”
But even as I stood, in the same moment that I realized what was happening, Siobhán staggered toward the podium. She snatched up the book there and then ran with it to the edge of the platform, shaking off her Caomhnóir’s restraining hand. With a wild cry, she swung the book with all her might at the candelabra. I grabbed Hannah by the arm and pulled her under our table as flaming candles and melted wax rained down on the first few rows. We listened as the candelabra fell with a deafening clatter upon the stone floor. I leapt up just in time to see Siobhán taking off across the room, heading straight for a second candelabra. She only made it a few steps, though, before two of the Caomhnóir who had been stationed nearby pulled her to the floor and restrained her.
I darted around my table and sprinted across the room, dropping to my knees beside Siobhán. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, and her body was convulsing.
“She promised, she promised,” she was hissing through clenched teeth. “It’s closed! Why is it closed? She promised!”
“Celeste!” I cried over the general commotion. “It’s just like Catriona!”
Celeste was already hurrying down the platform and over to us. “What do you mean? What’s the same?”
“She’s saying exactly the same things Catriona was saying back in her office,” I said breathlessly. “She’s saying, ‘She promised!’ and something about, ‘It’s closed.’ I don’t know what any of it means, but Catriona was saying it, too.”
Celeste’s eyes widened in horror. “And the fire. Mrs. Mistlemoore told me something happened with the fireplace in the office as well?”
“Catriona lost it when she noticed the fire burning in the fireplace. She tried to smother it with a tapestry from the wall,” I confirmed.
Celeste looked down at Siobhán’s struggling figure for a moment with an expression of growing horror, then pulled herself up to her feet.
“Everyone please remain in your seats. Stay calm,” she called commandingly over the commotion. Desperate for a bit of direction, everyone obeyed. Durupinen crawled out from under tables and climbed down off of chairs, where many had been trying to get a better look at what was happening with Siobhán.
Up on the platform, Council members were flooding down from their benches and Finvarra was struggling to stand up from her wheelchair, while Carrick and the nurse pled loudly with her to stay in her seat. Finvarra was protesting, but it wasn’t much of an argument, as she clearly couldn’t even support her own weight. Meanwhile Siobhán was writhing on the floor like a frantic animal, blinded from reason by her own—or someone else’s—terror.
As Siobhán struggled she turned her head and, for the briefest of moments, two things were clear. First, she was not the person looking out at me from those eyes. And second, I had seen those very eyes somewhere else before, staring out from the wrong face.
“Celeste,” I whispered. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but whatever is possessing Catriona… it’s possessing Siobhán, too.”
10
Nemesis
SIOBHÁN WAS CARRIED, thrashing and screaming, off to the hospital ward, and the Airechtas was placed on recess. Finvarra was whisked away to her tower to recover what little strength she still had. The remainder of the clans were asked to remain in the Grand Council Room until further notice.
With formal proceedings suspended, and nothing to do but wait, people began to cluster into little groups around the room. Savvy shuffled across her row of seats and came over to sit with us, parking herself casually right on top of our table.
“What do you reckon?” she muttered eagerly. “What was that all about, then?”
I filled her in on what I had witnessed with Catriona that morning, and then about our experience outside of the hospital wing. Her eyes widened with every new revelation.
“So, you reckon whatever possessed Catriona is now possessing Siobhán?” Savvy asked. “But how?”
“Well, that’s the part I don’t understand. I mean, at first I thought Catriona must have been the victim of a forced Habitation. But, like I said, there was no way this could have happened while we were inside the office, because of the Wards. So, that meant she had to be walking around with a spirit inside her for hours—maybe even days—before it took her over like that. I just don’t see how that’s possible.”
“No way, mate,” Savvy said. “I’ve had more than the occasional Habitator, always by choice of course, and there is no bloody way a spirit just strolled into Catriona without her noticing. It’s the most invasive experience I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said. “Speaking of spirits who have invaded my body, any word from Milo?” I added to Hannah. She had filled him in through our connection immediately after Siobhán had been taken from the room.
“No, not yet. He said he was going to float up to the hospital ward and see what he could find out. He can’t
get in there without permission, but he can at least haunt the entrance like we did. Hopefully he’ll find out something soon,” she replied.
“It’s the strangest thing,” I said slowly. “I saw those eyes looking at me out of Catriona’s face, and I saw them looking out of Siobhán’s, but… I feel like I’ve also seen them somewhere else before.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah asked.
“I mean something about those eyes was familiar. Like I’d seen them before.”
“And you can’t think of where?”
I shook my head, both in reply and in an attempt to shake that tortured stare out of my head. It was a very unsettling feeling—kind of like déjà vu—to realize I knew the person looking out at me from Catriona and Siobhán’s faces and yet having not a clue who it might be.
I turned in my seat and looked in Finn’s direction. He was standing at military attention beneath the tapestry of Agnes Isherwood. His face, usually impassive when on duty like this, was pulled into a frown of concentration; I could practically hear his gears turning, analyzing this new development and what it might mean. I knew he didn’t dare break ranks to come over to talk to me, but he must have felt my gaze, for he let his eyes drop to my face to a moment. There was a flicker of tenderness there, a contraction of the brows that meant to ask, “How are you?” I gave a tiny nod of my head, hoping to let him know that I was fine, and then quickly turned back to Hannah before anyone could notice the exchange. Hannah was already filling Savvy in on what she had sensed, first as Catriona was carried past her, and then when she looked at Siobhán.
All the color drained from Savvy’s usually rosy complexion. She had been in Annabelle’s flat, and had witnessed the horror of the dismembered spirits used to mask Annabelle from sight. “You reckon the Necromancers are up to something, then? It’s got to be them, right?”