Plague of the Shattered

by E. E. Holmes

  “Except for those of us being used as sacrificial lambs to this plague of the Shattered,” Marion called in a ringing voice.

  “No one is being sacrificed,” Celeste said with undisguised disgust in her voice. “We are working together to save our sisterhood. If everyone cooperates, this will all be over swiftly. But I will be sure to make note of your dissenting comments, and how unwilling you are to suffer an inconvenience to protect your fellow Durupinen.”

  “My, oh my, someone give her some aloe for that burn,” Milo crowed through our connection, startling me. I had nearly forgotten he was there amidst all the tension.

  “Unless anyone else would like to register their lack of cooperation, I hereby dismiss this session of the Airechtas, to be resumed at a later date to be determined,” Celeste said. “Dinner is ready to be served in the dining room within the next half hour. Caomhnóir, you may unblock the exits. Stay safe, sisters. Stay vigilant.”

  Eleanora: 12 July 1864

  12 July 1864

  Dearest Little Book,

  I need not fear prying eyes upon this page. My hands are shaking so badly that the words could surely not be legible to any eyes but my own. My hope is that, by writing about my experience, I can perhaps hold it at a distance and understand it better, for at this moment, Little Book, I am at a loss to comprehend what has happened to me tonight.

  Hattie and I attended Lord Kentwood’s ball as my mother insisted we should, despite a long and exhausting few days of training at Fairhaven Hall. I had resolved to play my part as the dutiful daughter. I even managed to convince myself, half out of desperation, I suppose, that I was exaggerating Harry Milford’s less desirable qualities. I arrived at the ball determined to find some good in him, and therefore some hope for myself.

  All I managed to do was to prove that even the most dogged determination cannot grow roses from ashes.

  It was apparent from the moment he saw me that Harry Milford has quite made up his mind in regards to our union. He was much more forward than I would ever have expected from a gentleman of his standing. He positively leered at me over dinner; I could hardly swallow my food for blushing. At one point, he actually leaned in and remarked that there was a direct correlation between a woman’s appetite and whether her figure was pleasing to a man, and that therefore I should be encouraged to eat up! I could have thrown my glass of wine in his face right then and there, but for the sake of civility, I refrained. I kept hoping my mother would catch on to Harry’s behavior, but at this point I think he could have ravished me upon the dining table and she would have found an excuse for it.

  After dinner, the men retired to the library for cigars and brandy, and I at last thought I had escaped Harry clutches, but I was mistaken. I stepped out from the salon where the women had gathered so that I could take in some fresh air outside. Within a few moments I heard footsteps behind me and spun on the spot to find Harry grinning at me, brandy snifter still in hand.

  “I saw you through the window,” he said to me, still grinning stupidly.

  “I was just taking a breath of fresh air,” I said, trying not to let hostility creep into my voice, “I was feeling rather overheated. But I am better now. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Oh, come now,” he chided. “You can’t honestly think I believe that?”

  “Believe what?” I asked him.

  “This silly story about being overheated. You are terribly transparent, Miss Larkin. You walked right by the window, where you knew I must be able to glimpse you pass by. Am I to believe that you wanted to be out here alone, when you made such an invitation as that?”

  “I hardly think walking past a window constitutes an invitation,” I said, and I felt my pulse quicken with something that might have been fear. “However, I am happy for your company back in the house, if you would care to accompany me.”

  “Back in the house? That rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Harry said with a failed attempt at a wink. “If I craved the company of any other than yourself, I’d still be inside.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Milford, you know that our being alone together out here is not seemly,” I said, endeavoring to sound playfully chiding rather than terrified, as I was now starting to feel. “We wouldn’t want to give the others reason to gossip, would we?”

  “Wouldn’t we?” he countered, taking several steps closer to me, so that he closed the distance between us by half. He swigged what remained of the brandy in his glass and cast it aside in the grass. “Let’s be frank, Miss Larkin. The others are already gossiping. There are no secrets here in the upper circles of society. Our impending union is already being widely discussed. Your family, my family, all of our acquaintances—every one of them is talking of nothing else. Why pretend otherwise? We both know what awaits us. There is really no need for such formality—such distance—is there?”

  “If this is your idea of a proposal, Mr. Milford, I am sorry to say that you have been woefully misinformed about the practice,” I said lightly, while silently cursing the distance between me and the house. Why had I walked so far into the garden?

  “Practice be damned,” he scoffed, with what he must truly have thought to be a winning, roguish smile. “What is the point of all this practice—all this etiquette? We are not strangers. We are soon to be joined. We are soon to know all there is to know about each other. What does it matter if we obtain some of that knowledge a bit early?”

  He took another step toward me, and there was a menace in that step, an intent that sent my heart into my throat and my brain into a panic.

  “Don’t come any closer!” I cried out without thinking.

  He threw his head back and laughed, and it was a joyless, mean-spirited sound. “My dear Eleanora, I do hope this isn’t a glimpse into our future together as man and wife! I will be a very lonely man, indeed.”

  “Please,” I said, and I did my best to smile, but I cannot say what expression actually appeared upon my face. “Please. It is late and you have had a good deal to drink. Let us walk in together arm in arm and rejoin the party. I do not want to begin our life together under the haze of gossip, and I am sure you do not want aspersions cast upon your new wife’s character. Please. Please let’s go inside.” And little though I wanted to do it, I reached a hand out toward him.

  And God help me, I thought it had worked. Harry’s head sagged on his neck and he sighed. “You are right,” he said. “Decorum above all else.” And he stepped forward, offering me his arm.

  I was so relieved at this show of acquiescence at last that I did not hesitate to traverse the last few steps between us and take his arm. Had I taken my time, had I moved more warily, I would surely have seen the gleam in his eye, the cruel smirk on his face. But I did not.

  As soon as my arm was within the crook of his, Harry dropped his elbow, pinioning me to his side. Then with a rough gesture he grabbed the hair upon the back of my head and pulled me against him into a kiss. His breath reeked of brandy and his lips were greedy and forceful upon mine. I struggled. I pushed and shoved. I tried to cry out, but my cries were smothered against his lips. At last all I could do was cry inside my head, in desperation, a silent plea: Help me! Oh, dear God please, someone come and help me!

  Nearly the instant the thought exploded in my head an icy blast of wind descended upon us, driving between Harry and me like a wall, knocking us apart. Then a second gust thrust us to the ground in opposite directions, so that we landed several feet from each other.

  Harry sat up, shaking his head and staring wildly around for an explanation as to what had just happened. His eyes found me, and he seemed to conclude that I had somehow managed the feat on my own. Anger etched all over his features, his lips pulled back in a snarl, he began to crawl toward me. But I could barely concentrate upon him, for there was something standing between us that he could not see.

  Lined up like a defending battalion, shoulder to shoulder, were seven spirits. Their faces were blank; as though each slept with his eyes open,
and each was facing Harry as he came toward me again. They made no motion that they would stop him, no sign that they even knew he was there.

  A strange, heady feeling came over me. I do not know how I knew it, but suddenly it was clear to me: these spirits were here to answer my cry for help. And they would do my bidding.

  “Stop him,” I whispered.

  As one, they flew at him, and the force of their energy blasted him backward again, right off of the ground and into the air, twisting and flailing, until he landed with a thump and a shout in a flower bed twenty paces away.

  He clambered to his feet, cursing and shrieking, staring at me as though I were an apparition myself. Then he turned and pelted for the house. I remained on the ground, motionless in abject terror, as the spirits floated back to me and waited, seemingly for me to give them further instruction.

  “Go,” I told them. “Just go.”

  And they went, vanishing on the spot, but lingering behind my eyelids like the imprint of a candle after you blow it out in the darkness.

  Before I could think, before I could master my gasping breath, our Caomhnóir sprinted around the side of the house from where he had been waiting with our coach. Without a solitary word to me, without inquiring if I was hurt or what had happened, he took me by the arm and dragged me to our waiting carriage. He did not stop to find my mother or my sister, or to tell anyone where we were going. As soon as he had deposited me onto the seat, we took off at breakneck speed.

  We are barreling through the night as I write this to you in the unsteady light of the wildly sputtering oil lamp. He will not answer any of my questions, nor explain where we are going, though my knowledge of the route has led me to the conclusion that we are headed for Fairhaven Hall.

  Little Book, I am so frightened. What has happened to me? Why did those spirits attack? Did my cries for help summon them? Why did they only act upon my spoken command? And how in the world can we possibly repair the damage they have caused to our secrecy and our reputation? I can only pray that the Council will be able to answer these questions that are burning inside me.

  Eleanora

  12

  The Léarscáil

  A DEAFENING SCRAPING of chair legs signaled the mass exodus from the room, but Hannah and I had barely risen to our feet when Celeste called our names over the commotion. I looked up to see her beckoning us forward. Milo followed us up the aisle to the edge of the platform.

  “Thank you both for your input,” Celeste said. “I know it was not easy for either of you to speak in such a hostile assembly.”

  “I didn’t think we really had a choice,” I said, shrugging. “This isn’t the moment to think about that stuff.”

  “And yet few in this room chose to master their fear. I applaud you for it,” Celeste said.

  I didn’t really know how to accept the compliment, so I said nothing.

  “I would appreciate your help, both of you, as we continue to investigate this matter,” Celeste said. “Jess, you are the only person to have witnessed both Habitations, and so I hope you will not mind making yourself available to answer questions.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “Anything I can do, just let me know.”

  Celeste reached out and squeezed my shoulder in a motherly gesture. “And Hannah, there is something in particular I may need you to help with, if you are willing.”

  “I’m happy to help, too,” Hannah said warily. “Although you should know up front that I don’t think I’ll be able to Call the Shards. I wasn’t able to Call the spirit fragments in Annabelle’s apartment, either. I don’t think an incomplete spirit is compelled to answer a Call.”

  “Yes, the Scribes have told us as much,” Celeste said. “Did you understand what I said about the Naming?”

  “Yes, I think so. Using the spirit’s name gives us lots of power over it, right?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes. And in the case of a Shattered spirit, knowing its name could be crucial. If we have the name, and most of the Shards have been contained, there is a possibility that we—that is to say, you—could Call the rest of the Shards into the circle even if they have not yet found Hosts.”

  Hannah looked surprised, but nodded eagerly. “If that’s true, then I’ll help in any way I can. Of course I will try to Call them, if you think it might work.”

  “Excellent,” Celeste said. “We will likely ask you to try, when we discover the name. I will keep you posted. In the meantime, be sure to alert the Caomhnóir or a Council member if you sense any other Shards in the castle. Thank you both.”

  She turned back to the remaining Council members, which we took as the signal that we were dismissed. Finn was waiting by the doors for us, as were Savvy, Phoebe, and Bertie. Savvy was already in full rebellion mode about having to stay in the castle.

  “I’d rather be a Host than have you staring at me like a bloody pervert all night while I sleep,” she was shouting as we approached. “You can stay in the hallway or you can sod off.”

  Bertie stood there, spluttering something about “not a pervert…” as Savvy turned her back on him. “Food, yeah?” she said to me, and with a cock of her head, marched out the door, leaving Phoebe and Bertie with their mouths hanging open.

  Food. Yeah.

  §

  It was a long night. I barely slept, every tiny sound setting my teeth on edge and my pulse thundering through my veins. Was I about to be invaded? Was Hannah still okay? I rolled over so many times to check on her that I made myself dizzy. After about the hundredth time, Milo’s frustrated voice shot through the connection.

  “I am watching her like a hawk, Jess. Calm yourself before you roll right out of that bed.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Thanks, Milo,” I whispered.

  “Just doing my job,” he said.

  I settled with my gaze on the wall, but I still did not sleep. Perhaps the worst part was that I was desperate to speak to Finn alone, and the new safety protocols had made it completely impossible. We had managed a tiny snatch of conversation when the new Caomhnóir, a hulking middle aged man named Patrick, arrived to relieve Finn for the evening shift. Hannah and Milo stayed in the room to explain his Spirit Guide status to Patrick, while Finn and I went out into the hallway to set up the cot.

  “Are you alright?” he muttered so softly that I almost didn’t hear him.

  “I guess so. Scared,” I murmured back.

  “What did Marion—”

  “Don’t worry about Marion. I can handle her.”

  “But what did she want?”

  “She wanted to dissuade us from running for the Council seat,” I said.

  Silence. I looked up. Finn was staring at me. “But you don’t want the Council seat.”

  “I know that, but Marion doesn’t.”

  “How did she even find out about the nomination?” Finn hissed.

  “You know Marion. She’s got ears everywhere.”

  “I don’t like that she’s here. I don’t trust her any farther than I could throw her.”

  “I don’t trust her any farther than Hannah could throw her,” I countered. There was a pause as Finn unfolded an olive green wool blanket and spread it over the bed.

  “I miss you,” I whispered.

  “I miss you, too,” he whispered back. “A few more days and this will all be over, I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope so.” And he let his hand brush gently over mine as he handed me a pillow. Then he straightened up, arranged his face into the most businesslike of expressions, and walked away.

  I replayed this conversation over and over again in my head as I lay in the dark, not because of what I said, but because of what I didn’t say. True, there had been no time, but I almost felt like I had lied to him by not mentioning it.

  The truth was, my conversation with Marion had lit a spark inside me that I never could have predicted. The moment that she had advised me not to run for the Council seat, I had experienced a sudden, burning desire to do the exact opposite. I dismissed
it at the time; after all, I wasn’t exactly a pinnacle of rational responses when I lost my temper, and few people riled me quite like Marion could. But the feeling, though it had calmed considerably, had not gone away. I didn’t think that Marion wanted to keep me from the Council just out of spite. I mean, I knew she was spiteful, but I also knew that she didn’t let things like spite drive her decisions. Marion, first and foremost, was a strategist. She was nothing if not practical, and if she wanted me out of that Council seat, it had nothing to do with my personality, and everything to do with what I might do with that power. She feared me. She feared what my perspective would do to her precious system. She feared that I might shake things up, and start to influence the other members through regular conversation. Suddenly, that Council seat was looking less like a burden and more like an opportunity. It was almost exactly the same argument Hannah had already made in its favor, but it had taken Marion’s opposition to help me to see it that way.

  Taking the seat was not an option, I told myself, over and over again. I had a life in America. I had goals. I had a deeply-held disgust for Durupinen politics. And of course, there was my relationship with Finn. If we were back at Fairhaven for good, our relationship would be reduced to what it was now; an occasional stolen whisper and a permanent, aching sense of longing.

  Just as I had spoken none of this to Finn, I had confided none of it to Hannah. What good would it do to express these feelings if I couldn’t act on them? No, as usual, I could be counted on to make the mature choice for my own mental health: I stuffed the feelings down and buried them in other shit.