The truth of Mr. Walters’ words slap against me like an endless tide of betrayal. I want desperately to deny what he said. There is nothing left for me to defend. The proof is in my own memories. After waking up, I felt as if I was being drained. Of everything. I was so weak I could barely move. I felt disconnected from the world in a way I had never experienced before. The world around me felt plain and ordinary.
I grew up with my talents from birth. Plain and ordinary were completely foreign to me. It was beyond terrifying. I can’t imagine living my life feeling so singular, as if I were one tiny rock in a vast forest instead of part of something immense and unending. Given the choice of casting off my future to be free of my destiny and living such a barren existence, I don’t know that I could choose something so bleak.
“I’ve never heard of someone stealing another person’s talents,” Milo says. His voice sounds far away and thin. I’m too wrapped up in my own emotional turmoil to be present in their discussion. I can only listen through a haze.
“It is called a Serqet, and it’s not openly discussed. I have only heard of it myself through some less than legal inquiries. I have never heard of it being performed successfully. In every case both people involved died,” Mr. Walters says.
“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