by E. E. Holmes
“I’m just picturing you sitting out here in your abandoned cabin in the woods, brooding and writing in your journals,” I said, rubbing at my fingers to help the blood flow. “It’s just so… Thoreau.”
Finn grinned. “Like that, do you?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Misanthropic writers are so sexy.”
He stood up, brushed off his hands, and gestured grandly to the stove. “We’ll be defrosted in no time.”
“Does anyone else know about this place?” I asked, moving a few steps closer to the fire.
“No,” Finn said. “Or if they do, they don’t bother with it. Every time I’ve come back here, it’s been just as I left it. I brought those blankets down from the barracks and chopped this wood. The key is always right where I’ve hidden it. No one has ever found me here, in all the years I’ve used it. So, let’s talk.”
He pulled the stools out from under the table and set them both in front of the fire. He sat down on one and patted the seat of the other. I sunk onto it, basking in the warmth from the flames.
“Talk to me,” Finn said, after a few silent moments. “Why did you need to get out of there so badly?”
“It’s just everything,” I said sighing. “I know I should have been afraid of the Shards already, and I was. I watched Catriona and Siobhán both get infected. It should have been very real to me already. But…” I shook my head, swallowing back an urge to cry.
“I know,” Finn said. “Savvy is one of your best mates. It’s different.”
I nodded. “And that damn castle already makes me feel claustrophobic to begin with. I hate being back here. I hate that every time I walk into the Grand Council Room, I feel like I’m on trial for my life. I hate the stares and the assumptions. I hate that I have to put everything in my life on hold to be here. And most of all I hate that you and I have to turn back into strangers to do it.”
“We’ll be out of here soon,” Finn said soothingly.
“Not soon enough,” I said.
I looked up. He was staring into my eyes with a look I knew, a look that sent my heart into my throat.
The look before a kiss.
He pulled me into him and kissed me like he hadn’t been able to since we’d come here, a kiss without hesitation or fear. I melted into it.
“Oh God, I miss you so much,” I said, my lips still pressed against his lips.
“I’m right here,” he said.
“You are, but you’re not. That’s what makes it worse,” I said.
Maybe it was to escape the fear of what was happening back at the castle. Maybe it was the fact that his lips burned every remnant of good sense from my brain. But whatever it was, I let it take me over. I stopped thinking. I pulled him down on top of me, right onto the pile of blankets and mattresses and God knew what else and let the delicious weight of him crush the last of my fear right out of me.
Every minute we’d been forced to act like indifferent strangers only served to fuel the hunger as we kissed each other, as he tugged at the buttons of my jacket, as I flung his cloak impatiently to the floor beside us. And in that moment, I didn’t care what risk we might be taking, or who might come bursting in the door.
Let them find us, I thought. Let them try to pry us apart. I fucking dare them.
§
“So much for staying away from each other while at Fairhaven,” I said.
Finn chuckled, a deep throaty sound. “Yes, there’s that plan scuppered. I really do like this hair, you know.” He was twirling a strand of it between his fingers.
I laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell Milo.”
Milo? Why Milo?”
“Any and all fashion decisions I make for the rest of my life are to be fully credited to him, apparently.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Milo’s just having an afterlife crisis, I think. If he wants credit for the vast collection of oversized black sweaters and scarves I bury myself in while we’re here, he’s welcome to it.”
“You really don’t even know how very beautiful you are,” he added, running a finger along the curve of my jaw.
I snorted and jerked my head away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat and color now flooding my cheeks. “Please. I know exactly how beautiful I am. I’m a freaking bombshell.”
Finn smiled. “I’m serious, you know.”
“So am I. You better be careful, Carey. I’m totally out of your league.”
The smile faded a little as he found my eyes again. “You don’t need to keep that armor on with me, you know. You’d feel a lot freer without it.”
I dropped my eyes to my own hands, which were steadily shredding away at a frayed spot on the edge of the blanket we were lying on. “You seriously underestimate armor. It gets a bad rap, but actually it’s very warm and comfy in here, thanks.”
“Jess…”
“I fought for this armor, you know,” I said, and my voice was angrier than I’d thought it would be when I opened my mouth. “I wasn’t born with it. No one handed it to me. I earned the right to every single inch of it. Then I tested it, and I found every chink, and I filled them. This armor is a fucking masterpiece.”
“It is impressive, yes,” Finn said, with an air of surrender. “I suppose I was rather hoping you might make some room for me in there. It feels that since we’ve been here—and I don’t think I’m wrong—that you’ve been pulling away from me. Do you deny it?”
Was there any point in lying to him? “No.”
“What can I do to close the distance, Jess? How can I convince you to keep a space for me in there?”
The frayed spot on the blanket was starting to unravel nicely. I kept at it. “Here’s the thing with that,” I said. “I tried to do that a few years ago. I opened up to you. It didn’t go so well, so I reinforced things. It gets harder and harder to get this thing off.”
“I know. That’s my fault. I’m here now, though. I’m right here,” he said. “You believe that, don’t you?”
“I believe it right now,” I said. “But what about in a week? In a month? In a year? We’re hiding, Finn, and it’s only a matter of time before someone finds us. And then what?”
“I don’t know,” Finn said. “I can’t predict the future, Jess.”
“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it,” I said, dropping the blanket in frustration and sitting up. “This, right now—sneaking away to a remote place, looking over our shoulders—this is it. This is the most that we can ever be! Don’t you want more than that?”
“You know I do.”
“I just never envisioned love being like this. I mean, I’m not saying I want to marry you or anything,” I said swiftly, feeling a strange panic welling in my chest. “I’m not trying to fly ahead to these crazy, huge commitments or anything. Maybe things will work out between us and maybe they won’t. Maybe you’ll always think I’m beautiful, and I’ll always think you’re adorably deluded about that fact. Or maybe we’ll wake up one day and whatever this is between us will have cooled and solidified into something heavy that weighs us down, until one of us ends it. I don’t know. You don’t know. But one thing I know for sure is that we’ll never get the chance to find out. We’ll never walk out in the sunlight holding hands. We’ll never…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A stream of images was flooding through my head, like flashes of memory from a Crossing spirit, images from another life, a happier one; walking along a beach hand in hand; moving boxes together into an apartment; running through the rain to his waiting car; even—insanely—him running a hand over my rounded belly. I didn’t even know if I wanted these things. Some of them scared the shit out of me. I just knew that having the choices ripped out of my hands was as bad as having them forced upon me.
“I hate that this was our only time together in a week. I hate sneaking around like I’m your goddamned mistress. I hate watching you check to make sure you don’t smell like my perfume,” I said, as I watched him sniff surreptitiously at the collar of his shirt.
“I know that, but it doesn’t change how I feel,” I said. “And if we’re not going to try to get the rule changed, then I’m always going to feel this way.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Finn said sharply. “You know why we can’t do that.”
“I could if Hannah and I took that Council seat,” I said.
Finn laughed a sharp, short bark, then caught sight of my expression. “You’re not serious, are you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Finn turned to face me. “You hate it here. All you’ve said since we’ve arrived is how much you loathe this place and how you can’t wait to get home.”
“I do hate it here. But I’m starting to think I hate our permanent state of limbo more.”
“And how exactly do you think taking a seat on the Council would fix that?” Finn asked.
“It might not,” I said. “But it would give me a chance to do something about these stupid rules that are keeping us apart.”
“And if you can’t change them? If they refuse to lift the sanctions on Durupinen/Caomhnóir relationships?”
“We’ll be no worse off than we are right now,” I said. I could feel my temper breaking the barriers with which I was trying to keep it in check.
“Except if they find out about us. Which of course they will. We’ve been through this, Jess. Seamus already knows about us. Petitioning to change that rule will be tantamount to openly declaring our love for each other.”
“He says as though that would be the worst thing in the world,” I said through gritted teeth.
“It will be the worst thing in the world if it means they separate us, which they will undoubtedly do,” Finn shot back.
“So, what if you just… quit?” I blurted out. I hadn’t meant to say it. I barely realized I was thinking it, but the half-formed thought was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Finn froze. “Quit.”
“I didn’t… I mean, I don’t… well, yeah,” I muttered.
“You think I should quit,” he repeated.
“I don’t know,” I said, and I was angry at how small my voice was. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to say that, but… would you ever consider that?”
His face was a mask. His mouth was barely moving. “Would you consider it?”
I started. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t quit,” I said.
“Why not?”
I laughed incredulously. “Finn, I am a Gateway. It’s inside me. I can’t turn it off, and I can’t get away from it. If I quit, it would mean nothing; the Gateway would still be there. The spirits would still show up, demanding passage. There’s no quitting this, or else I would have already done it already.”
“I see. So, you think your Calling is inherent and mine is a choice?”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s more of a choice than mine is,” I said, hating the defensive note in my voice.
“I see. I see.”
Finn started pacing. The silence between us spiraled and deepened; I shivered as though the temperature had actually dropped. Finally, he turned to face me, and I had rarely seen him look so angry.
“This is the world I grew up in. It is all I know. My Calling is to be a Caomhnóir, and I have known it as long as I have known my own name. It is in my blood, just as much as being a Durupinen is in yours. This is not some job I can quit. It is who I am, and I resent the fact that you could ever think otherwise.”
“Finn, I didn’t…”
“I’ve never known you to be guilty of that Durupinen arrogance,” he went on, speaking over me, “that inherent bias that puts the importance of the Durupinen far above that of their protectors. You are the queens, and we but lowly foot soldiers. It has always been that way, just never with you.”
“That’s not fair! I don’t think that at all!” I cried.
“I would have said the same, until a moment ago,” Finn said.
Angry tears flooded my eyes, blurring him from my sight. I brushed them fiercely away, silently cursing them for betraying me in a moment when I wanted that armor to be impenetrable. But when I focused on his face again, I couldn’t find the words I needed.
He turned away from me, pulling his shirt from the back of the chair and over his head in one fluid motion.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes. I need to get some air.”
“You’re not even going to let me—”
“No. I’m not.” He stomped his feet into his waiting boots, and tucked his jacket up under his arm.
“Finn—”
“Make sure you put out that fire and lock the door behind you,” he said, peeking out of the curtain to be sure the coast was clear before wrenching open the door. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
“Who’s hiding behind their armor now?” I called after him as he pulled the door shut. He did not reply.
Eleanora: 13 July 1864
13 July 1864
Dearest Little Book,
When last I sat before you, I was full of questions. Now I put my pen to your pages with an answer, an answer so terrible that I wish I could unknow it.
I was smuggled into Fairhaven Hall under cover of darkness in the moments before the sun rose. Like some kind of criminal or leper, I was brought not to my bedroom, where I could have found some much needed rest, but to a room off of the Grand Council Room. It was little more than a cell, with a single hard chair, a small table, a lamp, and a glass of water. There was no window, no fireplace, and worst of all, no person waiting there to tell me what was going on.
On three separate occasions, Durupinen came in to question me, though none of my own questions, which had grown increasingly desperate, were deemed worthy of an answer. I was subjected to the most humiliating of physical examinations. The nurse seemed to be looking for evidence of Castings that had been placed upon me. I repeatedly denied that any such event had occurred, but she took as little notice of my protestations as if I had been incapable of coherent speech.
After several hours of this treatment, I was escorted into the Grand Council Room, where the entire Council sat ensconced unsmilingly in their seats. Three spirits were also present, hovering near the High Priestess’ seat. Without preamble or explanation, she demanded that I Call the spirits.
“I’m sorry, I do not understand you,” I said, barely able to answer through my frustrated tears.
“Call them. Ask them to come to you,” the High Priestess repeated.
Bewildered, I turned to the spirits. “Would you be so kind as to come over here to me?” I asked them.
They all looked at each other as though conferring about something, then turned to the High Priestess, and shook their heads.
“No, do not make a request of them. Call them to you. Command them, as you did last night on the grounds of the Kentwood estate,” the High Priestess said.
“Can you please tell me why I’ve been—”
“Do what is requested of you, Miss Larkin,” the High Priestess said, raising a hand to silence me.
I fought back another wave of tears and tried again. “Come here to me,” I said, though I felt foolish.
Again, the spirits did not respond. Again, they shook their heads.
Over and over the High Priestess demanded I do what I seemed incapable of doing. Over and over again, the spirits remained motionless. The Council members were all glaring suspiciously at me.
“Could it be, Miss Larkin, that you do not wish to comply with my request? Could it be that you are refusing to show me what you can do?”
“No, of course not!” I cried. “But what is it I’m meant to be able to do? What happened to me last night has never happened in my life! I was frightened and needed help! The spirits came to my aid!”
“And how did you summon them to you?” the High Priestess asked. “Did you shout? Did you scream?”
“No! That brut
e was upon me. I could barely breathe, much less make sound,” I said.
“So, then what was it you did?”
“I… I just…” I closed my eyes and, in my fright and confusion and frustration, I shouted inside my own head, “Come here to me, spirits! Come to me now!”
At my words all three of the spirits’ faces went still and blank. As though tied to me by strings that I could jerk and tug at will, the three spirits drifted toward me, stopping just in front of me. They simply hung there, empty, waiting for further instruction. They appeared to be completely at my command.
I stared at them in horror for a moment, but it was surely no match for the horror on every face staring back at me from the Council seats. The moment I had looked away from them, the spirits seemed to come to their senses. They seemed not to comprehend how they had come to be standing in front of me.
“Caomhnóir, remove her to the Warded chamber again. We must confer,” the High Priestess called, and at once turned her back upon me. Then it was hours of desperate anxiety before anyone finally came to explain to me what was happening.
A Caller. That is what I am. I can exercise some measure of control over spirits, bring them to me and demand their compliance. No one can explain why I have this gift, nor where it came from. All they can tell me is that Callers—that I—am to be deeply feared.
I do not know what will happen to me now. They will not allow me to see my sister or my mother. They will not allow me to leave this room until they have determined where they can “safely” keep me. They will not accept my promises that I will not use the gift, that I will suppress it. And above all, they refuse—absolutely refuse—to explain to me what it is they fear I will do with my powers.