“Be that as it may, Mr. Hampton…”
I steeled myself. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to go.”
I hung up and stared at Annie.
It was done.
It was done.
I felt lighter. Relieved. Freed. I knew I should feel terrified. The Guild had long arms. I almost didn’t care. It wasn’t as if they actually hurt anyone. Those were all just rumors. Sure, I would have to leave right away. No more deliberating. I almost didn’t care about that either.
Annie looked puzzled but calm. Annie. She was the key to everything. I took the step to where she stood, twirled her around, and laughed a laugh filled with sadness and shared knowledge and the loss of a friend. But still we laughed together.
And then I kissed her. That was done too.
Chapter 52
Russ
You are possibility.
I couldn’t get Ian’s words out of my head and couldn’t stop wanting to argue and tell him it wasn’t true. I wanted it to be me. I thought I could do it, but it was the drug that was possibility; I was just some fleshy conduit. That made me a failure regardless of whatever the hell Ian Mackenzie thought.
My neck ached. My jaw was stiff from clenching my teeth. There were small half-moons in my palms from where my nails had dug in. This wasn’t the way I imagined meeting the Guild.
I went through the motions of dressing, of walking to Eaton Hall. My thoughts ricocheted with each step. What if I can’t do it without the drug? What if I destroy my best chance to work for the Guild? To become who I need to be? What if the Guild is so corrupt that I can’t do anything to fix it? What if I try and fail?
What if Ian Mackenzie is just fucking with me?
My thoughts were a Greek chorus of doubts that kept me company as I approached the hall. Willow Rogers, a gold Guild executive counsel pin on her collar, ushered me into a waiting room.
I sat, restless, until the she called my name and walked me to a tiny room.
“Say hi to Colin for me,” I said as she was walking out. But true to character, she didn’t turn back or even hesitate. Not yet even part of the Youth Corps, I was nothing in her eyes.
I looked around at four walls, a creaky chair, an even creakier table. One of the walls had a speaker hung on it. There was a spotlight on the ceiling. That was all. Ian had been right about this, at least.
My future would be decided by a panel. Charlotte North, Clive Rice, and Madeline Fisher weren’t the entirety of the Guild, just some of the executive members. I’d known them as long as I’d been in St. Hilaire, but now they felt like enemies. How could I look Charlotte Norton in the eyes after what Ian had told me about her role in Dec’s parents’ deaths? And Ian’s. Possibly Ian’s. Crap.
I ran a hand through my hair, the sleeve of my dad’s dusty black wool suit scratching against my wrist, as all of the lights aside from the dim spot shut off.
The speaker crackled. “You’ve opted not to ask for materials of any sort, so we trust this space is suitable?” asked Charlotte North.
My hands clenched. Just hearing her voice set me off. There were so many things I wanted to say to her. But I said the only thing I was allowed to say. “Yes, ma’am.”
The Guild had offered to provide whatever I needed, including alcohol, despite the fact I was underage. They really didn’t care how you contacted a spirit, just that you did. But I wasn’t going to tip my hand and tell them about my grandmother’s serum. If there was one thing Ian taught me, it’s that knowledge was power. I wasn’t going to be quick to give mine away.
“Then let’s get started,” she said. “For your first task, we’d like you to tell us what playing card is lying on the table in the foyer. Just press the red button on the speaker to talk and release it to hear us when you’re ready.”
I nodded, though I knew no one could hear it. I tried to quiet my mind and forget everything Ian had told me about the Guild. Harder, I needed to ignore the betrayal of my body, the craving I still felt for a shot.
In my mind, I pictured clouds moving through a blue sky, a meditation tool my grandmother had written about working for her. I allowed myself to remember the smell of incense. A familiar buzzing ran up the base of my spine. I pictured the lobby, the green moss-colored paint, the stained wood floors, the half-moon tables carved with patterns of fruit. On one of those tables, I imagined a playing card. Ordinary. Red diamonds crisscrossing the back.
There were fifty cards, two more if you included the jokers. Those weren’t insurmountable odds. I willed the card to flip over, but it wouldn’t budge. I was bad at this sort of thing. I wasn’t a psychic. This wasn’t how St. Hilaire worked. It was an unfair task unless…
We weren’t psychics. But we were mediums. We talked to the dead. I talked to the dead. I had to believe that’s why I was here.
There was only one ghost I could summon on short notice.
“Ian,” I whispered. My chest tightened. It would be like Ian to ignore me today.
It took a minute. A very long minute, but then Ian was in the room next to me, looking me up and down. “Ace of spades. And by the way, you look hot in that suit.”
I pulled at the collar of my shirt, which was suddenly tight. I counted to three, waiting to see if Ian was going to change his answer. When that didn’t happen, I reached over and pressed the button on the speaker. “Ace of spades,” I said into it.
There was muttering from the other side.
“Very good, Mr. Griffin.”
Ian stepped close, bent, and whispered in my ear. “You also look a little rough around the edges. Hard night?”
I pushed him away.
Over the loudspeaker, the voice switched to Clive Rice’s. “Melody Thorne has a message for you, Mr. Griffin. Please deliver it to us.” The speaker clicked off.
I took a deep breath and sent out tendrils of thought. I’d tried, time and again, to explain the process to Dec, but in words, it made no sense, not even when I said it to myself. Still, it worked. Most of the time.
Melody was stronger than most of us; now I just had to find her.
“Boo!”
I jumped and turned around to see Ian doubled over in laughter. “If this is your idea of helping, get another one,” I spat out.
“Come on, Griffin,” Ian said. “Melody looooves me.”
I shook my head and then winced from the sudden movement. “Yeah, sure, she does.”
“The first day of withdrawal is the hardest,” Ian said, placing a hand on my neck. “So I’m told, anyhow.”
I pulled away, even though Ian’s cold hand had felt surprisingly good.