Spirit Prophecy Page 23
“Because I’m not getting dragged down in this!” she whispered. “I know how things are around here, and I am not winding up on the wrong side. My mother is on the Council, my friends are all…I’m just not going to do it. And I’m sorry, okay? But please, just forget about it.”
“Fine,” I said. “I won’t say anything. But we know what you did, and we’re grateful. I just thought you should know.”
A softened expression flitted across Róisín’s face for just long enough to give her away. Then her eyes hardened again and she gave a derisive laugh. “Whatever. I wouldn’t want you thinking it was out of concern for you, okay? I was just trying to save our own skins. They may not want you here, but I don’t think the Council would have been very happy if you and your sister died.”
And with that she walked away, her long, dark hair swinging behind her like a closing door. But I wasn’t fooled. There was some shred of comfort in knowing that, even in the inner circle of resistance, there were those that, if they had the courage to make up their own minds, might have accepted us. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I trudged back to my room and flopped onto my bed, sure I’d be asleep in seconds. Instead I lay there, wide awake, my body exhausted but my brain buzzing with a hundred different things. After thirty minutes I gave up any hope of sleep and decided to spend the time on something else that seemed impossible: tracking down Pierce.
With no new clues about where he might be or why he’d vanished, I decided to focus my energies on locating the last person that I knew had definitely seen him. I opened my browser and googled Neil Caddigan.
I began to click and sift through the results. There was an astrophysicist by the same name, but he had been dead for ten years. There was also a thirty-something aspiring actor named Neil Caddigan with a toothy headshot and a résumé consisting mostly of community theatre and one underarm deodorant commercial. Finally, I spotted a link that looked promising and clicked on it.
It was an article debating whether historical buildings should be opened to the increasing requests for paranormal investigations. The author had interviewed a number of sources on both sides of the argument. I scanned for Neil’s name and read the section.
“Few have been as vocal in the quest for this open door policy as Dr. Neil Caddigan, a noted scholar in the field of theology and a self-styled “para-historian.” “What you must understand,” Caddigan insists, “is that this trend is only growing. We are missing a crucial opportunity to learn more about the history of our country’s most iconic places and events. There is only so much that artifacts and scraps of documentation can tell us; we must push the boundaries of science and technology, as well as the limits of our own beliefs, if we are to learn more. Imagine the wealth of primary source information we might have access to if these spirits can be reached! There have been many significant technological advances that could, if embraced, lead to some startling new discoveries.”
I read the entire article carefully, but though Neil was quoted twice more, there were no details that shed any light on where I might find him. I went back to the search page and tried typing “Caddigan theology.”
Bingo.
The very first link was to a course catalogue for a college in London where students could take three different theology classes with a Dr. N. Caddigan. A thorough search of the college’s website gave me Neil’s faculty email address. It was a long shot, given that it was now summer, but I sent a message to him anyway. It took a surprisingly long time to write, considering that it really wasn’t very long. I was careful to leave out all mention of my own whereabouts and kept the tone very light and friendly. I tried not to sound too anxious about Pierce, just in case I really was overreacting, and invented an excuse for needing to get in touch with Pierce as a pretext for tracking him down. I also requested any contact information Neil might have for any of the other team members, so that I could follow up with them if Neil turned out to be a dead end.
Next I shot off a quick email to Tia, to keep her in the loop. I would have loved to vent to her about the events of the previous night, but that was definitely too much classified information. Instead, I picked up the phone and called Karen, not because the idea appealed to me, but because I thought she ought to hear about the Elemental from me, rather than from someone else.
Predictably, she launched into mama bear mode.
“Those little shits!” she spat, after I’d given her all the gory details. “There’s not a chance they came up with that plan on their own, no matter how vindictive they are.”
“That’s what we figured, too. Mackie said they wouldn’t have been able to find that summoning without an adult’s help.”
“Yeah, and I know exactly which adult,” Karen said. “That’s it. Screw this case, I’m coming back there.”
“No,” I sighed. “Don’t bother. It’s over, and they’re not likely to try anything like that again, not now that they’re all scared to death of Hannah.”
“Are you sure? I can hand this work off to another partner. There should be an adult there who’s on your side.” Karen suddenly sounded congested. “Damn it, I never should have left in the first place.”
“Karen, stop. This isn’t your fault.” I only barely stopped myself from adding, “It’s mom’s.” Instead I said, “If we need help, we can go to Celeste. She’s been great. Siobhán seems alright, too. And if push came to shove, Fiona would probably help us. We’ll be fine, it’s only a couple of weeks.”
“Well, okay, but only if you’re sure.”
“We’re sure,” I repeated. “I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for Meditation and Bonding.” This wasn’t strictly true; I had plenty of time, but listening to Karen fuss over us was making me feel worse, not better.
“Right. Well, call me if there are any other incidents. I mean it, Jess, I want to know about it.”
“I know you do,” I said. “That’s why I called. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I hung up, grabbed my bag and a handful of tissues, and headed down to the courtyard. It was completely deserted except —
Finn Carey was sitting in our circle, face buried in his usual journal, scribbling away. I stopped abruptly at the sight of him, and was just about to turn and flee when he looked up and saw me. I cursed inwardly, knowing it would be rude to leave now that he’d seen me, and started for the circle. He stared at me all the way across the courtyard, like some bizarre apparition was approaching him instead of just me, clutching my ball of wadded-up tissues.
“Hey,” I said as I sat down.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied, finally taking his eyes off me and returning to his book.
“You’re early,” I said.
“So are you,” he said. He crossed out a word vehemently and kept writing.
“Yeah. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”
“Me too,” he said, in a tone that implied he wished he’d been right.
I decided to stop talking and leave him to his…whatever he was doing. I thought about pulling out my sketchpad, but I didn’t like the idea of him seeing my work —it felt too personal. So I just sat, letting my mind wander over the gardens, sniffling occasionally. But then I glanced in his direction and noticed that he was staring at me again.
“What?” I snapped, a little too harshly.
He looked startled that I’d caught him. “I, uh…I was just going to ask how you are —you know, after last night.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m fine. I mean, we both caught this nasty cold, but otherwise we’re okay.”
He looked surprised. “Oh, I see. You’re sick.”
“Yes, of course I’m sick,” I said, holding up the tissues. “What did you think I…” And then I broke off, as I realized what I must look like: red, runny nose, puffy eyes, expression of general misery. “Did you…did you think I’d been crying?”
Finn shrugged, his eyes back on his book.
“I heard that you told Peyto
n that Hannah was the one who got you both out of there,” he said, picking at a patch of grass that had sprung stubbornly up from between the cobblestones.
“What? Oh, yeah, we did,” I said, frowning.
“What did you do that for?”
“Are you offended?” I asked.
“Why would I be offended?”
“Well, you were the one that got us out of there. Will it boost your Caomhnóir street cred if everyone knows about it?”
“Will it boost my what?” Finn asked, scowling.
I shook my head, laughing. “Nothing. It was just a joke.”
“Oh,” he said, not even cracking a smile, and I thought how odd it would look if he actually had. “It doesn’t matter to me if you tell them I was involved or not. Come to think of it, it might make things easier for me if Peyton and Olivia don’t know that I helped you. I just wondered why you lied about it.”
“We thought it might help keep them off our backs, if they thought Hannah was powerful enough to get us out of there herself.”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, I expect that will work for a while.”
We sat in silence for a minute or so. Then he spoke again, so abruptly that it startled me and I dropped my tissues, which started tumbling across the ground in the breeze.
“So is she?”
“Is who what?” I asked, snatching at a passing tissue. Finn reached a hand out automatically for it. “Don’t touch that!” I shouted at him. “I already…that’s not clean. Please, just…I’ll get it.”
My face was scarlet with mortification; the idea that this guy was actually going to rescue my used tissue from its blustery fate was almost more embarrassment than I could handle.
“What did you ask me?” I asked, when all of the tissues were clutched safely back in my fist.
“I wanted to know if your sister —”
“Hannah.”
“I know,” he said brusquely. “I wanted to know if Hannah really is powerful enough to do that.”
The question surprised me, and I was torn about how to answer it. But I decided that Finn would shortly see far too much of our spirit interactions to keep any sort of lid on Hannah’s abilities, and, as much as I hated to admit it, it actually was his business.
“She couldn’t get out of that circle or break other people’s castings, or anything like that, but when it comes to Calling, she’s really powerful. The spirits can’t seem to resist her when she Calls them.”
“What does that mean for you?” he asked.
That pulled me up short. “I don’t really know,” I said. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Finn nodded, and then returned to his book. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was sure as hell thinking about it now. What would it mean for me that Hannah was a human ghost magnet? Would our lives be a constant stream of unwanted visitors and emergency Crossings? Since I’d first started seeing spirits, I’d had days that I’d felt haunted and days that I could pretend I was normal, not a ghost in sight. But for Hannah, who’d never known life any other way, normal was a life among the dead. Was my sister’s constant communion with the dead about to be my new normal? I pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes and sighed. I was too sick and too exhausted for pondering big life questions today.
I heard Finn’s tentative voice. “Are you —”
“Still not crying,” I muttered.
“Right.”
The rest of the class trickled in until the courtyard was full again. Hannah plopped down beside me looking half-dead.
“How is it only two o’clock?” she whimpered. “I don’t know, but I’m going to be adhering to the senior citizen schedule tonight,” I said, handing her one of my clean tissues as she sneezed loudly. “Early bird special for dinner and asleep by seven.”
“I’ll be joining you,” Hannah said, wiping her nose. “Hi, Finn.”
Finn didn’t even look up. He raised a hand in acknowledgment and continued with his scribbling.
“What do you think he’s doing with that book?” Hannah leaned in and whispered to me.
“Penning his memoir? 1001 Awkward Social Interactions with Finn Carey?” I suggested. Hannah burst out in a giggle that quickly disintegrated into a hacking cough. I patted her arm in sympathy.
“Settle down, settle down, everyone, please,” Keira said, and the class came to order. “Today we will be starting our foray into actual spirit communication. As you know, our grounds play host to an impressive number of spirits. This is particularly useful for an activity such as this, which depends upon the proximity of spirits to be successful.”
“Unless, of course, you’re a Caller and can just pluck one out of thin air from a hundred miles away,” I whispered to Hannah.
“I can’t do it from a hundred miles away,” she said dismissively.
“Yet,” I said.
“Our relaxation and concentration exercises thus far have built the foundational skills needed to establish clear and detailed communication. It is now time to put them into effect and see how well you can commune with the dead. These books which I am now going to hand out to you are spirit journals. You are to document, in as much detail as you can, your conversations with and observations about the spirits you encounter. The quality of your interactions will improve with concentration and practice.”
Keira handed me a book with a plain blue fabric cover. I flipped through the blank white pages, marveling that I was about to start filling it with encounters of ghosts I’d communicated with on purpose. Seriously, what was my life becoming?
“Caomhnóir, your task during these sessions will be to practice your mood reading,” Keira went on. “A big part of your ability to protect your Gateway is being able to sense danger before it happens. A spirit’s energy, when correctly read and interpreted, can be an important clue to the nature of an interaction before it even occurs.”
Finn had finally tucked away his book and pen. He was listening intently to Keira’s instructions.
“Novitiates will allow spirits to approach and enter the circle, please. Only when you sense hostility should you expel. Apprentices, it is important that you work together with your Caomhnóir. Talk to each other. Listen to each other. Only when we are clear and honest can we work together successfully.”
Finn caught my eye. He wore the stoic but determined look of someone about to face an oncoming enemy horde. Irrational resentment flooded through me. Of course I didn’t want to work with him either, couldn’t care less what he thought, but…did he need to look quite that miserable?
“Excellent,” Keira said, handing out the last of the books and clapping her hands together. “Apprentices, you will need to work one at a time in your circles. Two Durupinen presences within the circle may muddle the strength of your connection or confuse approaching spirits. Decide who will go first in each pair, and let’s begin. Casting instructions are on page 394 of your textbooks.”
Hannah and I looked at each other. “You can go first,” I told her.
“Okay,” she shrugged, and I scooted out of the circle to give her space. I followed along in the textbook as she worked through the steps of the casting, which was one of the more complicated ones we had attempted so far. She carefully drew six different runes around the perimeter of our circle; each sent a queer shiver of energy through the space as it was completed. Then she took three round agate stones from the pouch and spoke slowly and carefully through six lines of ancient Gaelic as she placed them in a neat row in front of her. Keira hovered nearby, listening and nodding her head.
“Very nice pronunciation, Hannah,” she said with an approving smile.
Hannah smiled, turning pink. Then she closed her book and turned to Finn.
“I’m ready to start, Finn. Are you all set?”
Finn grunted his readiness. Hannah closed her eyes. Within seconds she was murmuring to someone and Finn was shaking his head.
“She’s quick, I’ll give her that,” he muttered.
After about thirty minutes or so, Keira called out softly, “Time to switch places. Please end your communication, and Novitiates, prepare for expulsion by mutual consent.”
Hannah’s spirit said something that made her laugh softly, and then I heard her murmur, “Beannacht leat go bhfeicfidh mé aris thú,” and she opened her eyes. She collected her three agate stones, dropped them back in her pouch, and grinned at me.
“Tag, you’re it!” she told me, and tried to stand up. “Ouch, my foot’s asleep!”
I helped to pull her out of the circle, and she sat on the grass, trying to massage some feeling back into her numb foot while I took her place. The runes were already drawn, so I flipped my book open to the casting and looked for the next step.
I read the instructions carefully, then fished around in my own pouch for my agate stones. They were smooth and polished, layered in brown and gold stripes that reminded me of the rock formations from our roadtrips through the southwest when I was small. I laid the stones in a straight line on the edge of the nearest rune, which I knew from homework was called ‘ansuz,’ and facilitated communication, revelation, and knowledge. It looked a bit like a letter “F” that had been bent at strange angles. Then I stumbled through the words that opened the casting, which consisted mostly of Old English. I knew I was butchering it, but my brain and mouth were refusing to cooperate.
I looked up and saw Hannah’s mouth twitching as she wrote in her journal.
“You better be laughing at something in that book,” I said, and she smiled more broadly, still not looking at me.