Chosen (9781742844657) (43 page)

Rain was sharp and heavy…like nails…

Everywhere people ran, or went, or thought they might be safe, danger followed…

Their deaths, successively…like three rips through your soul…

Suddenly, you were alone.

He was
scrying
. Was this what Aristea had meant when she said she could scry
through
him? How fascinating that she'd discovered this possibility before he had. Was she seeing this, too?

She shoved away from him and stalked away. When she stopped in the centre of the study she turned back and glared at him.

‘It happened to me, not you,' she said, angry and upset. ‘I can't believe you would try and steal credit for
my
traumatic experience! Why would you even want it?'

What an imagination.

‘It happened to us both,' Renatus said, remaining calm and keeping his voice even. ‘You and I have suffered the same trauma. My parents and sister were killed in a storm here seven years ago. I got away with a scratch across my shoulder.'

She shook her head slowly as this filtered through her thoughts and beliefs, accommodated and rejected over and over. Renatus could understand her difficulty. How was it possible that two people could suffer the exact same insanely unlikely, random ordeal four years apart, miles apart, and then meet and learn of the other's ordeal? How often did freak storms strong enough to rip trees from the earth hit Northern Ireland and kill three people from the one witch family? Maybe it happened from time to time – who knew? But how often did two people with nothing else in common realise that their memories of totally different events
matched
?

The odds must be pretty incredible.

‘Well,' Aristea said eventually, ‘what does this mean?'

Renatus stared at her. She stared back.

‘What does it mean?' she repeated. ‘It has to mean something, doesn't it?'

‘I don't know,' Renatus admitted now. She frowned.

‘Why would you tell me something like this if you don't even know what it means?' she asked, annoyed. She stopped herself and took a moment to regain her composure. ‘I mean, don't you have any ideas?'

‘I have theories, each as unlikely as the next. All I know for certain is that Fate is a sentient thing and it has plans we aren't always meant to understand.'

Aristea sighed and began slowly pacing. Renatus let her alone, allowing the silence to expand into minutes as she explored the office. He'd seen in her thoughts that she'd wanted to do this for weeks, ever since she'd accidentally stumbled into the study in the midst of a dream. She looked for a while at the books in the bookcase, not touching a thing, and after some time moved over to the desk where they'd sat, night after night, slowly getting used to each other's company. This was a private working space, but not one Renatus felt particularly sentimental towards. This was where his father had spent his days, avoiding the family, and it was where he'd summoned his children, most usually Ana, when they'd been naughty. This was where he'd yelled at them and told Renatus he needed to shape up and told Ana she was nothing. This was where the Morrissey children's problems had begun.

Perhaps one day he'd walk in here and only be able to remember addressing envelopes with Aristea.

The chairs were where they'd been before, and Aristea sat back down in her usual seat. She opened the cover of the book she'd brought in with her and began to turn the pages, one by one, scanning each.

‘You said there were no random pages for people like us,' she noted. ‘You said there's information on that page for me. You were talking about Fate then, weren't you?'

‘I've seen a lot to convince me that Fate is very real and very much entwined with everything we do,' Renatus said. He remained by the door.

‘And you think my mum and dad and Aidan dying is just Fate nudging me in the right direction?'

Aidan? The brother, apparently. Aidan Byrne.

Aidan Byrne. Angela Byrne. Aristea Byrne. They were all on Lisandro's list, the one Emmanuelle had found with the ring. He had been watching this family, too.

‘Fate only makes sense in hindsight,' Renatus admitted. ‘One day, not this day, but one day, it could make sense.'

‘Does
your
past make sense in hindsight?' she asked pointedly. She scanned each page and turned it, looking for the one she'd lost earlier.

Renatus took a moment to answer. It shouldn't have been a tough question.

‘It…Some,' he decided, unsure how much he wanted to say. ‘They're dead. It hurt, and confused me, for a long time. It still does. But if they'd lived I'd be different now. I wouldn't be on the White Elm. Lord Gawain wouldn't have found me.'

Aristea pretended to read for almost a minute, but Renatus could hear her thoughts and knew that none were with the book. She struggled with her feelings about what she was thinking.

‘When…When Qasim came to my house,' she began, haltingly, ‘he…my sister said, my mum, if she were alive, wouldn't have let me come. She would have said no.' She looked over. ‘Maybe if she'd lived I wouldn't have minded. But…
this
me would mind.' She folded the corner of a page down and snapped the cover shut. ‘What an awful thing of me to say.'

‘Wanting what your parents
didn't
want doesn't make you a bad person,' Renatus insisted, recognising the internal debate. He walked over and rested his hands on the desk in front of her. ‘I can promise that.'

The best things I've ever done have been the opposite of what my parents wanted for me
…

‘Well, since you promised,' Aristea replied, obviously humouring him. Renatus sat down across from her.

‘I do promise that. What about what the rest of your family wants? What about what
you
want?'

‘My sister was the only one who wanted me to come here,' she admitted. ‘Except me, of course.' She fiddled with the edge of the book's dust cover. ‘Have you ever read a book called
Magic and Destiny
by Cassán Ó Grádaigh?'

Renatus sat back in honest surprise.

‘Yes.' But he had not for a second expected that
she
would have. ‘Did you find it in the library?'

‘No.' It was her turn to look surprised. ‘I didn't know you had a copy. I didn't think it was widely published.'

‘It wasn't,' Renatus confirmed, feeling slightly wary. That was why it seemed so odd that someone like Aristea – with such a limited experience with the traditional magical world that both Renatus and Cassán Ó Grádaigh's books inhabited – would know about that text.

‘I have one of the first editions,' she told him. ‘My sister gave it to me when I got here. Cassán Ó Grádaigh was our grandfather.'

Now Fate had to be messing with him.

‘He's been missing for over forty years,' Renatus said slowly, thinking over everything he knew about the infamous author. ‘I didn't think he had any children…'

‘He had a wife and a daughter, my mum.'

Aristea Byrne was Cassán Ó Grádaigh's granddaughter. How had that escaped
anybody
's attention? Let alone his? Ó Grádaigh had written a number of prominent, influential but very underground texts during his younger years about his investigations into the relationship between Fate, Magic, the Fabric (of space and time) and the nature of human relationships. In a time when such complex dissection of magic was being heavily discouraged by a paranoid White Elm, Ó Grádaigh's work was sought out and quashed by the council but also widely regarded as ground-breaking science to magical academics and a deep inspiration to the magical “freedom fighters” of the sixties – those hippie sorcerers bent on keeping access to magic “free”.

And Aristea was that man's granddaughter.

‘Well, I haven't really read it,' Aristea admitted now. ‘I've just opened it and, you know, glanced through. I was just wondering if you had, because what you said before reminded me of a passage I read in it.'

‘Your grandfather and mine belonged to the same circles,' Renatus told her. ‘I don't know if they were friends but they knew each other. They shared a lot of the same views about the nature of magic. Your grandfather was quite famous in our world. Did you know that?'

Aristea shook her head.

‘Maybe I should read his book,' she suggested with a small smile.

‘Maybe you should. The rest of his publications are in the library.' Renatus paused, thinking. ‘I remember getting one down from a top shelf. They're up high.'

‘Thanks. I might have a look tomorrow.'

They'd been in this office for a very long time. Renatus opened his desk drawer and checked the time on his father's old pocket watch.

‘You should go. It's getting quite late.'

Aristea checked her own wristwatch and nodded in agreement.

‘Yeah, okay.' She got to her feet. ‘I'll see you tomorrow?'

‘No, don't worry about your last detention,' Renatus dismissed. ‘You've more than made it up tonight.'

‘Oh. I suppose so.' Aristea looked at her watch again. ‘Are you sure? It'll feel weird not coming here after dinner.'

It
would
be strange to not have her company for that hour each evening.

‘I'm sure, but you can decide for yourself.'

‘We'll see what Fate organises for us,' Aristea said with a smile as she turned to leave. Renatus had the door open for her, but she stopped before she reached it. ‘Oh, oops.' She came back and grabbed the book from the desktop. ‘I really did leave my book behind before.'

She was almost out the door again when Renatus called after her, ‘I'm glad you came back for it.'

‘Me, too,' she called back. The door shut behind her and Renatus's eyes darted to the list in the centre of his desk. There was never much point to that stupid list, he realised now. This had never been
his
choice, anyway. Fate had plans and he was just a chess piece on a massive chequered board.

My scrying lesson was great.
Nobody
had experienced any success with their homework, so when Qasim looked mildly disappointed, it wasn't directed at me. I neglected to mention that I'd accidentally managed the task last night with an old ribbon, regretfully forgoing the praise I would have received but happy to avoid the topic of Renatus with Qasim.

In the familiar scrying environment of our usual classroom, I found that the exercise was much easier than when I was sitting, half-hearted, at the dining table or in my room. Qasim had us stand in a circle around a table, with enough space between us that we weren't touching. We each placed one personal item – a hairclip, earring, watch, whatever – onto the tabletop.

‘Your minds must be clear,' the Scrier said. I closed my eyes in an attempt to lock new thoughts out of my mind.
Clear my thoughts; clear my thoughts
… ‘It is important that you are
receptive
and
open
. Expect nothing. If there is something to be seen, let it come to you. Do not seek it out, or you will lose it. Take something from the table that is not yours.'

I heard light scraping sounds as some of my peers picked up some of the things. I took a few slow, deep breaths, focussing on nothing. It was difficult, so when my mind seemed empty enough, I reached a hand out to the table. My fingers closed on something cylindrical and plastic.

Khalida, carefully applying pink lip gloss in front of her mirror…Two other girls giggling behind her…'Maybe he prefers older women?'…'We'll give him a few days to get used to the committee idea…' Suki washes her hands in the sink…'Did you see my jerk brother checking you out, Bella?'

It was much the same sensation as yesterday, except without the grief and the intense reaction. The brief and erratic flow of disjointed images, sounds and feelings abruptly ceased, and I opened my eyes. Xanthe, Isao and Joshua had their eyes very tightly closed, concentrating much too hard. Dylan's eyes were open but out of focus. Khalida placed a boy's watch back on the table, looking annoyed. Constantine seemed to have given up – he was examining the charm bracelet in his hand with mild interest. Iseult was waiting patiently, looking around. She met my gaze. We'd never spoken before, so I didn't know whether or not she was nice. I offered a smile, hoping. Her return expression reminded me of Renatus; a kind of almost-smile where her mouth didn't move at all, but her sharp eyes softened significantly.

Despite what he'd said about power not being a deciding factor, I felt even more now than before that Iseult was the perfect apprentice for Renatus. Who on that list was more like him, better suited to him?

‘Any traces of energy will now be either lost or too mixed up for you to find,' Qasim said, breaking the concentration of those still trying. ‘Go around the circle now and let the group know what you saw, if anything. Isao?'