Inquest (25 page)

“Doesn’t that
mean it’s impossible, then? If no one can do it…”

“No one has
been able to do it, yet. That’s hardly the same as something being
impossible.”

“I don’t see
how.”

“There has yet
to be someone powerful enough to accomplish stealing a talent. If
someone powerful enough were found, they could do it,” he says.
“Apparently Libby’s father thought himself able to do it, or I
doubt he would have even considered it.”

“Or he didn’t
know how difficult it was,” Milo offers.

“Or how
dangerous. I still believe that Mr. Sparks would not intentionally
harm Libby.”

“Maybe,” Milo
mutters.

“The thing
that bothers me the most is where he got the idea from in the first
place. He shouldn’t have even known about the process in the first
place.”

“Why not?”

“Because the
technique was developed by the Concealers. They can find the root
of the talents and, if strong enough, use their ability to reveal
things to actually pull them out and transfer them to themselves.
Only a person gifted with Concealment can employ the Serqet. And
even though Andrew had Concealment, he was in training to be an
Inquisitor. He never would have been considered for a position in
the Veil.”

“The Veil?”
Milo asks.

“The ruling
council of the Concealers. They’re supposed to be the only ones who
know about this,” Mr. Walters says.

Even held back
by my grief, I am rocked by a new realization. There is no grief
for this betrayal. Only anger. Furious, consuming anger. My fury
spills out of me and covers the room. Milo must feel it because he
turns to stare at me. Mr. Walters follows his gaze.

“Libby?” Milo
asks. “Are you okay?”

My teeth are
ground together so tight I can’t even speak.

“Libby, what
is the matter with you, child?” Mr. Walters demands.

“My mother,” I
hiss.

The two men
glance at each other in confusion.

“My mother is
a Concealer. Her father is a member of the Veil.”

Realization
dawns on their faces at the same time. “You think your mom told him
how to steal your talents?” Milo asks.

“You said your
mother didn’t know about you being Cassia until your Inquest,” Mr.
Walters says.

“She didn’t.
My dad wouldn’t have told her for the same reason he set up a bank
account for me that she had no access to. He knew her too well. No,
he would have given her some other reason he wanted to know. She
probably thought he wanted to make himself more powerful, and she
would have loved the idea of that,” I say. Anything that made her
more influential, rich, or popular would have made her anxious to
help.

“But she would
have known the risk,” Mr. Walters argues.

A bitter
little laugh erupts from my lips. “Losing me wouldn’t have bothered
her at all, and she pretty much worshiped my dad. She thought he
was the most powerful person she had ever met. She probably told
herself that he would be the first one to ever steal a talent. I
doubt she was even worried.”

Milo’s arm
slips around my shoulder, stealing some of my anger. I’m not alone
anymore. My mom isn’t a part of my life, now. I can leave her in my
past until I’m ready to confront her. Which might be when Hell
freezes over, but still. I can’t deal with her right now. I have
more important things to worry about than my self-absorbed,
possibly murderous mother. Clamping down on my anger isn’t
pleasant, but I do it, and pack it away for another day.

“So how do I
contact these spirits?” I ask.

Milo frowns at
my sudden change in topic. Mr. Walters is as ready to move on as I
am, though. He picks up a book and starts flipping through the
pages. Finding what he’s looking for, he sets the book down facing
me and Milo. The tip of his finger draws our attention to the left
page.

“The easiest
way to contact a spirit directly is by falling asleep, but it is
also the most unreliable. You have to stay in the higher stages of
sleep the entire time. If you drop off to a deeper stage you will
lose your progress. Using a focused, meditative trance is harder to
achieve, but easier to maintain and manipulate,” he explains.

I sigh despite
my best effort. “Mr. Walters, I said Spiritualism wasn’t my best
area, not that I’m a moron. I already know about trances. Getting
myself into one isn’t all that hard. Doing something once I’m there
is my biggest problem. I can guide or manipulate someone, but only
if they’re pretty unstable in the beginning. I’ve never been able
to touch a living human spirit. And I have never even wanted to try
contacting a spirit.”

“Not even your
dad?” Milo asks.

“I was too
afraid.”

“Well, it’s
time to get over your fear, Libby,” Mr. Walters says. “Spirits are
not ghosts that are going to haunt you or harm you. They are simply
sentient entities. No one is particularly sure what they are.
Spirits of the dead, or perhaps those not yet born, gods of some
kind, aliens, there are plenty of theories. None of which I want to
discuss. I don’t care who they are or where they come from right
now. I only care that they know something we do not. You must
attempt to contact them. This could be an invaluable piece of the
equation that will keep you alive.”

“Okay,” I say
with a growl that sounds way too much like Milo, “then tell me how
to do it and stop lecturing me.”

His scowl is
hardly intimidating. “I was getting to that,” he says.

I wait.

“Once you are
in the trance you must first access your own spirit. You do that by
shutting down all your other talents besides Spiritualism. Once you
are disconnected from everything else you have to turn your focus
inward, sifting through any lingering distractions until you reach
the spirit. Once you’ve made contact, you can then open yourself up
to the other spirits around you.

“From what I
understand, spirits in the spirit world are generally a curious
group. It shouldn’t take long for you to find one. Once you do that
it will simply be a matter of finding the right spirit to talk to.
I have no idea how many of them there are, but hopefully they’re
all acquainted with each other enough that finding one of the ones
who visited you that night won’t be too difficult.”

“It all sounds
so simple,” I say sarcastically.

“Simple or
not, it’s your only chance at finding out what really happened that
night,” Mr. Walters says. “So let’s get started.”

How did I know
he was going to suggest that? I glance up at the pendulum clock
hanging on his wall. It’s already after midnight and I have a
feeling this isn’t going to be short. “Alright, let’s get started
then,” I say through my fear and exhaustion.

Milo glances
at the clock. He doesn’t look thrilled about staying. I kick him in
the shin, followed by a smirk. He’s the one who suggested this in
the first place. He’s not leaving until I do. Sinking into the
couch, Milo crosses his arms and settles in.

“Get into your
trance first, and I’ll do my best to guide you after that. I don’t
actually have Spiritualism, so I’m working purely off my research,
but it should be enough.”

I nod and
close my eyes. I’m tired and emotionally drained, which isn’t the
ideal circumstance to be trying this, but I do it anyway. As scary
as it is to think of actually getting some real answers, I want
them desperately.

Mr. Walters
waits patiently as I struggle to compose myself. His quiet is
unnerving. I could almost stand it better if he yelled at me. His
eternal politeness is incredibly irritating sometimes. With no
other options, I systematically begin shutting myself off from all
of the outside interference. The noises go first, the scents, the
comforting presence of my other talents, and last, the feel of Milo
sitting next to me.

Now I move on
to cutting away my internal distractions. Thoughts are easy to
release. I don’t want to think of anything else right now, anyway.
My weariness is the most difficult. It clings to me stubbornly. But
when I finally distance myself from it my mind comes alive. I go
from feeling absolutely nothing to being acutely aware of every
particle of matter in the room.

Mr. Walters
confirms that I have attained my trance and begins walking me
through contacting my spirit. I can feel time passing. It’s getting
harder and harder to maintain my trance the longer I sit here. If
exhaustion doesn’t get me first, frustration certainly will. Mr.
Walters’ voice swirls around in my subconscious, pushing me to keep
going. “Keep trying,” he whispers. “You have to do this. You’ll
never have the answers you need unless you can do this.”

It is just one
more ounce of pressure too much. My concentration shatters. An
angry growl rumbles through my clenched teeth. “It’s my own
freaking spirit! Why can’t I find it?”

My fists smash
into the cushion uselessly. Why can’t I do this? It’s my only
chance to know, and it’s the only talent I totally suck at. I can’t
keep my frustration from bubbling over and I throw myself back
against the couch.

“Hey, it’s
okay,” Milo says. “You’re just too tired. You know the steps, now.
We’ll practice again tomorrow and you’ll get it.”

“Practice
tomorrow, and the next day, and the next,” Mr. Walters says. “This
is your assignment for the week in lieu of coming to my class. I’ll
call you to check on your progress, but I expect you to be able to
contact not only your own spirit, but the other spirits as well by
the time I get back.”

“Mr. Walters,”
I say, not at all patiently, “this is something that usually takes
people years to learn. You can’t expect me…”

“You’ve had
years to learn, Libby. You chose to ignore this talent. It’s your
own fault you weren’t successful tonight. You will master this if
you put in the effort it requires. Make sure you practice every
night.”

My head is
pounding, and my body is ready to drop. When I glance up at the
clock and realize it’s three in the morning, I feel twice as
crappy. My brilliant response to Mr. Walters’ calling out is to
snarl at him and turn away. Out of the corner of my eye I can see
him roll his eyes and turn away from me. I don’t care. I’m too
tired to care at this point. He approaches Milo, who stood up to
put his coat back on at some point, and frowns.

“How has she
been doing since her Inquest? I worry about her being on her own.
Even with her talents, she’s really only a child.”

Do either of
them have any idea how irritating it is to have people talk about
you like you aren’t there? I’ll forgive them if they just let me go
to sleep. My eyes close as they continue their conversation.

“She’s doing
pretty well, although tonight has been particularly hard on her
emotionally,” Milo says.

“Was there
more than what we discussed here tonight?”

“We ran into
Lance at the dance. It didn’t go very well.”

“I can
imagine,” Mr. Walters says. “How are her training sessions
going?”

“Alright, I
guess. I’m just not familiar enough with everything she needs to
know. We seem to complement each other, but I don’t know if it’s
enough. Especially when it comes to Spiritualism. Neither of us
have much practice with that,” Milo says.

“Take the
books with you. She’s going to need every talent to stay alive.
Don’t let her put it off.”

“I won’t.”

I can feel
myself moving toward sleep. The idea that Milo is in any way in
charge of me is annoying enough to keep me from drifting off quite
yet. He gets bossy and annoying enough all by himself without Mr.
Walters egging him on. I’m going to have to say something to him
about that. Later. Right now I’m too busy falling asleep.

“Milo,” Mr.
Walters says after a few moments of silence, “I wouldn’t usually
make this suggestion to two teenagers, but you may need to stay
with her tonight. Not just because she’s physically exhausted, but
with telling her about her father and finding out about what her
mother may have done, not to mention Lance, at some point it’s all
going to really hit home. She put it aside tonight, but she can’t
do it forever. She’s going to have to face the fact that her mother
may have tried to sacrifice her in order to gain a better social
position. She shouldn’t be alone when that happens.”

“I won’t leave
her,” Milo assures him.

The heck he
won’t, I think fleetingly. He’s not in charge of protecting me. I
can take care of myself. Their voices are growing more distant. Mr.
Walters’ is the last one I hear before sleep takes me.

“Take care of
her, Cipher. She’s more important than any of us can even
imagine.”

Chapter 21

Frigid

The first
thing I see when I open my eyes is Milo sprawled uncomfortably on
the sling chair next to the bed. I’m not sure how he’s even
breathing with his head tilted back in such an awkward position. My
eyes travel down his arm to where his hand meets mine. He held my
hand all night. I know I doubted him last night after Lance’s
warning, but in this moment, I could never believe he would hurt
me.

I am content
to let him sleep as long as he wants, although I do consider moving
him to the bed. Before I can take action Milo begins to stir. His
eyes flutter open and find me. His tired smile makes it impossible
for me to be anything other than grateful to him. Milo tries to sit
up and winces. One hand rubs his neck vigorously, making me feel
just a little guilty. He shakes it off, and I tug on his hand until
he climbs up next to me. I lay my head on his shoulder, grateful
for his nearness after such a terrible night.

Brushing my
mangled curls out of my face is trickier than one might expect. It
takes Milo a few tries to clear them enough to keep from getting a
mouthful of hair. His cheek rests lightly against my temple,
momentarily distracting me with thoughts of what he was going to
say at the dance last night before Lance interrupted us. I want to
ask, but there are other things weighing more heavily on my mind
right now. I have a plan for today, and I want Milo with me, but I
don’t think he’s going to like what I have to say.