Spirit Prophecy (The Gateway Trilogy Book 2) (36 page)

“Calm down, Marion,” Carrick said. “You forget yourself.”

There was a pause. Marion took a deep breath. “I apologize, High Priestess,” she said, though her tone was till sharp. “But I must ask you to consider this request. We have monitored the situation carefully for years. The gift is only the most recent, though in my opinion the most significant, piece to a puzzle that points more and more clearly to —”

“I disagree, Marion,” Finvarra said. “You have made no efforts to hide your disdain for the entire clan since the girls have arrived here, and I will not allow prejudice and suspicion to cloud our fair treatment of them. What you have shown me thus far is not conclusive proof, but biased speculation. We will watch and we will wait. That is my final word on this matter.”

“I wish for my objections to this course of inaction be noted,” Marion said.

“So noted,” Finvarra said.

Several seconds loaded silence followed these words, then, without warning, the door flew open and Marion stormed out. I flattened myself against the wall as the door came swinging at me, just managing to stop it by wedging my foot against the bottom like a doorstop. Marion was so intent on her own dramatic exit that she did not notice.

I waited for her to turn the corner, and then I skirted the wall as quickly as I could, ducking behind the robed statue just as Finvarra and Carrick emerged from the room and closed the door behind them. I crouched, wedged tightly between the wall and the stone plinth, until they, too, disappeared around the corner. Despite my discomfort, it was several minutes before I clambered out.

I don’t know how I found my way back to my room; I was so distracted I was barely paying attention to where I was walking. I knew that Hannah was special; if I was honest, I’d known it from the first day that I’d met her. Her connection to spirits was something altogether more mysterious, more powerful than anything I’d ever experienced. She had such an affinity for them, such an intuitive understanding of their energy and their communication. I thought at first it was merely the result of practice; she had been interacting with them for her entire life. But I knew now, and so, it seemed, did everyone else, that Hannah’s gift was unique. But was it dangerous? Was it something for the other Durupinen to be worried about?

The Silent Child certainly seemed to think so. Why had she showed me that conversation? To warn me? Did she understand more about the exchange than I did? My head was spinning by the time I lay back down, and I dozed fitfully until morning.

§

I decided to say nothing to Hannah or Karen about what the Silent Child had shown me; I didn’t know what it meant, and there was no reason for all of us to obsess over it. Karen left the next evening, off to bury herself in more legal briefs, and we would not see her again until her next trip out — another month at least. I didn’t want to add to her already crippling worry about us. And Hannah was so happy about the way her mentoring sessions were going, and I didn’t want to ruin that for her.

“Lucida says my gift could be a real asset in the future,” she said enthusiastically after the following Monday’s session. “She says I may be of real use to the Durupinen, maybe even on the Council one day!”

“Do you want to be on the Council?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “Maybe not, but it’s still nice to know that they might want me one day.”

I didn’t respond. I for one wouldn’t set foot on that Council if they begged me on bended knee, not that I thought that was likely. My own mentoring sessions were going slightly better; at least Fiona now acknowledged my existence most of the time, but the tasks she set me were increasingly difficult, and no matter what I produced, she was never satisfied with my results. On one hand, her unattainable standards drove me to work harder in her class than I did anywhere else. On the other hand, I usually left feeling inadequate and frustrated.

This feeling was only likely to increase and spread like a disease to my other classes as long as the Silent Child kept haunting my dreams. Every night was now spent in her company, and the vision was always the same. In the dream I called to her, I begged her to show me something, anything different that might help me understand the dream. Was she showing me what happened to her? Was she showing me something that was going to happen in the future? She never made any reply, though I thought that might be because of her inability to communicate with me in the waking world.

I scoured the library for books on dreams and dream interpretation, but they yielded nothing. I asked Siobhán in class, hoping she could shed some light on how spirits might communicate in dreams, but other than confirming that they sometimes chose to appear in that form, she could offer little help.

“Are you having dream Visitations?” she asked, her voice full of academic interest.

“I…no, not recently,” I said. “But I have in the past. I was just curious.”

I was not entirely sure why I lied. But there had to be a reason that the Silent Child had chosen me to communicate with, and talking about our interactions, however unfathomable they may be, felt like a betrayal of her trust.

The cherry on the top of the aggravation sundae that week was yet another dead end in my search for Pierce. The reporter who had written the story about Neil sent his contact information on file for him, and it was the same email address I already had. I was at a complete loss for what to do next.

Friday rolled around at last, and all I could think about was how happy I’d be to get through it so I could fall into bed and sleep in on Saturday morning. I hadn’t been this tired since my first few weeks at St. Matt’s, when I’d been plagued by nightmares. Then, I hadn’t known what the nightmares meant, or what was causing them. This time I knew exactly who was causing them, but I was no closer to making them stop. At St. Matt’s at least I’d been able to rely on really strong coffee to get me through. But now I was in England, and there was not enough tea in the world.

I stumbled into the courtyard for Bonding and Meditation that afternoon with a sense of relief; just two more hours and I could hang out with my new best friend: unconsciousness. Then I saw how things were set up.

“Crap.”

Finn was sitting on the edge of our communication circle, his face buried in one of his battered notebooks. Hannah saw the look on my face and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’ll be done really soon.”

“Easy for you to say. All you have to do is snap your fingers and they all come running. It’ll be all Finn can do to line them up single file and keep them from talking over each other.”

Hannah smiled. “Want me to send some over to you?”

“I don’t need your pity ghosts!” I said. Hannah giggled.

“Come along, everyone,” Keira called, her voice a whip crack through the echoing courtyard. “The hour is about to start, and you all need appropriate time to meditate if you are going to make any meaningful communication! I want spirit journals filled today, no excuses!”

There was a general flurry as the class, scattered to the four corners of the courtyard, hurried to their circles and settled on the ground, which was still damp from the previous night’s rain. I pulled off my hoodie and folded it under me as I sat in a feeble attempt to keep my jeans dry.

“Hi,” I said to Finn.

He didn’t look up from whatever it was he was writing, but nodded his head in grudging acknowledgment of my presence.

“Castings for connections should now be underway,” Keira said. “I will be coming around to make sure your runes are correctly drawn.”

I pulled the chalk out of the little black velvet bag and held out a piece to Finn, who was still scribbling. I cleared my throat loudly.

“I’m not getting marked down because you want to be the next Shakespeare,” I said.

Still without looking at me, he snapped the journal shut, shoved it deep into his backpack, and snatched the chalk from my hand.

I pressed my hands against my eyes so that the black behind my lids popped with white lights. What the hell were the runes I was supposed to use? I didn’t dare glance around me or take out my book, lest Keira notice and call me out in front of everyone for being unprepared. I visualized the page from the book that contained the instructions for this casting, forced myself to see first the heading, then the illustrations. The shapes emerged from the fog of my brain, and I opened my eyes to scratch them onto the rough cobblestones. When I had finished, I turned to Finn, who had already set down his chalk.

“Are you ready to start?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

We both closed our eyes and began to concentrate. I knew what to expect, so I didn’t waste time doubting myself and concentrated all my energy on relaxing my body. Then after a few minutes of this, I rerouted some of the energy into keeping myself awake. I started to repeat the incantation Keira had taught us, doing my best not to massacre the pronunciation. I’d barely gotten through it twice when a voice broke in.

“Are you Jessica Ballard?”

I jumped in alarm, and my eyes snapped open. I couldn’t see anyone. I looked over and caught Finn’s eye. He’d clearly sensed something as well.

“You’ve got something?” he asked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’m not getting any hostility, though. I think you can try to communicate.”

“Okay,” I said, and closed my eyes again. I tried to find the mental place I’d been in when I heard the voice, but before I’d even gotten my mental bearings, the voice broke through again.

“Hello? I really don’t have all day here. Are you Jessica Ballard?” It was a man’s voice, and he sounded…annoyed.

“Yes, I’m Jess Ballard,” I thought, trying not to move my lips with the words. “Who are you?”

“My name is Lyle McElroy. I have a message for you.”

His tone completely threw me off. It was like being on the phone with a telemarketer who resents his job. I scrambled for the next thing I was supposed to say. “I mean you no harm, Lyle. I welcome your presence.”

“I don’t care whether you welcome my presence or not!” Lyle said, and beside me, I felt Finn shift his weight. “I really couldn’t care less! I just want to deliver my message so that I can get back to my flat. I’ve been trying for days, every time I’ve seen you out here, but that kid is keeping the other ghosts away.”

“What kid?”

“The creepy one. The one in the night dress. Looks like a street urchin from a Dickens novel.”

The Silent Child again. So that was why I couldn’t get any connections. She was keeping them all away, trying to keep the lines of communication between us clear and unfettered by interference. At least I knew now it wasn’t me.

“It took me days to convince her that I needed to see you. Doesn’t talk much, but she certainly gets a point across. Kept lighting herself on fire every time I got too close. So can I give you the message or what?” Lyle said.

Finn’s voice cut across Lyle’s. “His negative energy is rising. Should I expel him?”

“No,” I whispered. “He’s not hostile, he’s just…grumpy.”

“Grumpy?”

“Yes, grumpy!” I snapped. “I’ll let you know if he needs to go! Now would you please leave me alone so I can concentrate? I don’t need another bad grade in this class.”

I felt for Lyle again and found him quickly. “What can I do for you, Lyle?”

“What can you do for me? What can you
do
for me? I’ll tell you what you can do for me! You can tell your friend that I don’t appreciate being used as a messenger boy! I might be dead, but I have things to do and places to be! Well, one place really, but I’d like to get back there as soon as possible!”

I tried to force Lyle’s energy to form a picture in my mind. Slowly, the hazy form of a balding, middle-aged man resolved itself. He wore heavily-framed glasses and an ill-fitting, rather crumpled suit. He had the kind of comb over that only exists in cartoons.

I tried to remember the next thing I was supposed to say, but Lyle’s wheezy breathing distracted me. I decided to drop the official text and go off-script. “Did you say you had a message for me?”

“Yes,” Lyle said with a sigh. “She wants you to meet her tomorrow night.”

“Who wants me to meet her? Who are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, in case anyone else intercepted her message, whatever that’s supposed to mean,” Lyle said, shrugging in a resigned sort of way. “I don’t know who’s going to bother trying to intercept a message from me. I haven’t spoken to anyone living at all since I died. Well, except for my brother, but he’s still pretending he can’t hear me.”

“How am I supposed to know who I’m meeting if you don’t know her name?”

“She told me the first time you met her was in her tent, and that you brought a fish. She said you’d know who I meant.”

“Annabelle!” My heart began to race. She was alive.

“If you say so,” Lyle said. “Whoever she was, she was very rude to insinuate that I had nothing better to do than run her errands.”

“Why does she want me to meet her?” I thought as hard as I could.

“I don’t know why, I only know where,” Lyle said, his voice rising with impatience.

“Jess, I really don’t like his energy right now. If you can’t calm him down, I’m going to expel him,” Finn murmured.