19. The Letter
19
THE LETTER
What are prophecies? Don’t we hear them every day of the week?
— LADY GREGORY, THE DRAGON
Dear Cassandra,
By now you’re likely more confused than you’ve ever been in your young life, and Jonny can’t be doing much to help, secretive mong that he is. Please believe that the secrets were kept for your own good. But the time for secrets is over, and you need to understand your birthright and what may be asked of you in the coming months.
I find myself at a loss for beginnings—for how should I start to tell my dearest girl that her life is not what she thought it to be and will never be the same from this point forward? Straight to it, I suppose, and so I shall be.
As you know, we fae don’t exist alone in the world, reading minds and casting spells. Where there are those with power, there are those who work to guard and regulate them who might use their power to harm others without.
Although our life on the beach must have always seemed isolated, there was a reason for it. It starts with a governing organization that ensures the ethical use of magic and enforces codes of conduct throughout the fae world. We are called the Council of the Magi. Jonny will tell you more about who we are and what we do, but essentially we guard the secrets of our history and ensure that fae tradition and law are kept sacred.
I have served on the Council since before you or your mother was born. I was charged with protecting something that had to remain hidden at all costs. The Secret required me, at one point, to leave my friends and family behind and find a new home where no one knew anything of us.
Council positions are hereditary. Unless a line dies out, its heir has not manifested, or the last possible heir to the position abdicates in favor of an election, a position goes to the next of kin. Sybil never manifested fully, so she is not a candidate. For her safety, she mustn’t know about this. This is extremely important, Cassandra.
You’ve a few years left until you reach your zenith, and I have no doubt that you’ll have power greater than myself. I’venot told you enough, but what you can do now—what you’ve been capable of your whole life despite age and hardship—is astounding, even if you are not aware of it.
Once you turn thirty-three, you are my heir. And if you’re found before then, appeal for them to wait. You may have a chance, as close as you are.
Go to Seattle. Make peace with Sybil at last. Accept what she isn’t, but also accept what she is to you. What she can teach you. You’ll need her one day, Cassie.
Go to Inis Oírr. Spread my ashes off the big rock by the cottage, and find Caitlin Connolly and her husband, Robbie, dear friends who will be able to explain all of this and more I meant to teach you when you return home.
Forgive me, Cassie. I kept my secrets safe in hopes of protecting you too, but I fear I may have brought ruin instead. Go to Ireland and decide for yourself.
If I’ve done things right, you’ve already received something in the mail just prior to my death. This was my charge—our charge. Our Secret to protect.
Please know, my dear girl, that I wouldn’t have sent it until I knew there was no getting out of it. Death is coming. When he arrives, I’ll know that what he seeks is beyond his very long reach. Keep it hidden and, above all, keep it extremely secret, even from Jonathan, unless he’s figured it out already. He does that sometimes. It’s not your fault. But no one else must know where it is or that it even exists.
You are strong, Cassandra, even stronger than you think. Look ahead and keep your eyes and mind open. The world is full of shadows, but there are people you can trust, too—Jonathan and the Connollys are among them in the light.
I love you, wee girl. I should have said it more.
Burn this letter.
Gran
M y hands were still shaking when I looked up. I wasn’t normally the type to fall to pieces, but Gran’s words, so normally brusque and sharp in life, undid me completely. Flickers of her face, frowning in concentration as she wrote, appeared in my mind’s eye until I set the paper back on the table. I took exactly three deep breaths, then looked up. Jonathan was watching me, his brow furrowed with distinct concern.
“Shall I?” He glanced at the candle in the middle of the table, then back at the letter. His meaning was clear.
“You’ve read it?”
He looked mildly affronted. “No, of course not. It was sealed so that only you could open it, and I would never invade Penny’s privacy that way.”
“But do you know what it says?”
He traced small circles into the linen tablecloth with his fingertip. “I know some basics. That Penny was keeping secrets for the Council, but also from the Council. I know that someone wanted to discover that Secret and that…he is likely responsible for her death. And I also know she wanted you to destroy it after reading.”
“He?” I interrupted sharply, thinking of the chattering voice at home. “How do you know it’s a he?”
Jonathan’s eyes flashed. “I just do.” His jaw was pulled tight like a bowstring. It was clear he wouldn’t be giving up that information. For now. “I also know that she intended to pass her legacy on to you. And that she entrusted me with facilitating that passage.”
We looked at each other for a long time. He picked up the letter and touched the corner to the candle’s flame, then murmured something that kept the flame low and unobtrusive until it licked the edges of his fingers. He let go of the remaining piece, and the ashes of the letter disintegrated into glittering dust, then into nothing at all.
“Why you?” I asked.
Jonathan took another bite of salmon, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “The easiest way to put that would be to say that people’s secrets make themselves known to me…often whether I want them to or not. And I’m very good at keeping them.”
I frowned. “What, like a seer? I thought you were a sorcerer.”
“I am. It’s different. I have certain talents that are hard to explain.”
“Try.”
Jonathan looked like he was trying not to scowl. “Listen. Penny knew me for a very long time and trusted me with her secret, or at least the pieces of it that I learned. I don’t know what it is exactly or where she kept it, or if it was an object at all. And I’m not expecting you to tell me what you shouldn’t.”
The box , I thought, remembering the package still at the back of my closet with a shudder. The terrifying black void when I’d touched it. The fact that I still had no clue what was inside.
“Beyond that, you’ll have to trust me when I say you’ll learn more depending on whether or not you take Penny’s advice and accept this inheritance.”
My future seemed to crumble with every word between us even as I spoke. Settling Penny’s death had suddenly bloomed from so much more than a will and selling her house. She wanted me to go to Ireland. Take a position on some sort of council.
“And if I do accept it?” My voice was thick. “What happens then?”
“I expect you’ll go through some sort of training in Ireland with the Connollys, after which you’ll present yourself to the Council as an heir presumptive. They’ll want to test you. Make sure you’re up to the task. Caitlin will be the one to train you, I would guess. Robbie is the one with the connections to the Council, though, and he will likely be the one to sponsor your ascent.”
The position at Tillamook College. A little house in the woods. My dream of a quiet, solitary existence. All of it seemed to evaporate in front of me .
“I’m confused. I thought these positions were hereditary.” My pasta was growing cold on my plate. My mouth felt dry, and my appetite had vanished.
“They are nominally. But an heir must still pass a series of tests in order to fully assume the position of Council Mage.” Jonathan took another bite of salmon, chewed sympathetically, then swallowed. “I’m afraid they are even more difficult for the position of the High Council members, for which you are, technically, eligible. Most who withstand the examinations have a great deal more…experience than you have at this point. They have all reached their zenith and generally have been practicing magic at full manifestation for many years.”
“Fun. So I get to do all of this while going through magical puberty by thirty-three,” I muttered.
“Pardon?”
“What happens when I fail?” I asked.
Jonathan looked as if the idea made him ill. “ If you fail. Ideally, you would not. But those who do are stripped of their positions and inheritance. They return home, wherever that is, and deal with the fallout. Shame, mostly. Possibly exile. It’s not particularly pleasant when it happens.”
“It’s a bit archaic, don’t you think? Inheritance of power in an age of modern democracy?”
Jonathan pressed his mouth together in a way that made me wonder if he agreed. “The theory is that not all fae are created equal, and therefore those families with historically more, er, power or knowledge would have the ability to govern those who cannot make those decisions for themselves.”
“Cool, cool. So it’s good, old-fashioned fascism.”
At that, I earned a sharp glare. “That’s still a very dirty word in some circles, and one I wouldn’t use around any Council members.”
I felt as if I was frozen, unable to turn my head away from that icy gaze. So I moved my mouth instead. “Do you think it’s acceptable?”
“What I think doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. Especially if I’m trusting you to guide me through all of this.”
Jonathan cast his eyes upwards with a suppressed huff and muttered something that sounded like “Goddess save me from O’Brien women.” Then he looked back at me and folded his hands together. “Between us? No, I do not agree with that supposition. Do I think some people are more suited than others to govern? Absolutely? But do I think the basis of that character is genetic? Not at all.”
Truth rang through his words—enough that I didn’t feel the need to grab his hand to know if he was placating me.
“Well, good. At least that’s something.” I relaxed and ate some more pasta. “What about abdication if I don’t want any of this? Is that done?”
“It is,” Jonathan replied easily. “Not very often, and with similar results. Perhaps more severe, though.”
“Do you think I should do it?”
He set down his cutlery and focused his green, penetrating stare on me. “I’m saying it’s a special situation.”
“What exactly would happen though, if I gave this up?”
“The Council elects a new member, and your family loses its claim to any position or materials connected to the Council, all of which must be returned. More importantly, any protection you currently have is undone, and you would be exposed to anyone looking to find you.”
“What do you mean, exposed? I wasn’t aware I was in hiding.”
At that, I received a look that would have withered a daffodil in full bloom. “You can’t be serious.”
I set my jaw. “I don’t know anything about this. Penny said she came here to hide, but beyond that, what else is protecting us?”
Jonathan sighed and rubbed his face. “Cassandra, haven’t you noticed that few people in this town seem to remember you,despite the fact that you grew up here? None of the people I’ve asked about you knew who you, Sybil, or Penelope Monroe were. Honestly, it was obvious within twenty minutes of arriving here that Penny tampered with the memories of most of Manzanita’s residents.”
My mouth dropped. “She did what? ”
But now that he stated it out loud, I couldn’t deny it. Things I’d always written off as general Northwest awkwardness, the memory loss of an older population, lack of popularity in school, or just resentment…it was because they literally didn’t know who I was.
“On top of that,” Jonathan rattled on, “the original Council members built a series of powerful spells to protect Penny and the Secret. Penny was also the most powerful shield in the Council. That’s why she was given her task, and also why no one could find her once she disappeared. I believe her enchantments also extended to you and your mother. Many appear to be in place—it’s been bloody hard to find you, I’ll have you know. She taught you to erase your footprint on the world almost every day.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him. To ask more questions about what a shield was and how such spells were created and what other enchantments surrounded my mother and me. But once again, the answers were in front of me.
The saining.
The open windows.
The smoke that cleared my apartment every day affected the rest of the world around me too.
“Are you on the Council?” I had to ask.
Jonathan balked. “Of course not. That position is held by my father.”
“But you’ll inherit?”
He paused, another bite of salmon balanced on his fork. “Unlikely.”
It was clear he wasn’t interested in expounding, and I wasn’t interested in another fight. For now.
I grimaced and shoved my food farther away. I’d box it up. My appetite had vanished completely. “This hardly seems fair. Sign on to protect a massive secret that has already killed one of my family members, from the sound of it. Or say no, and get dropped at the nearest bus station.”
“It’s not entirely fair, I admit, but there is always the possibility you won’t pass the examinations. If that’s the case, you’ll have shame, yes, but not full exile. And you won’t lose your protection. You are not yet thirty-three, correct?”
“I turn twenty-nine at the end of June.”
“Well, then, you have four years until you can even be considered for initiation. You’ll be able to train with Caitlin, hopefully without anyone knowing.”
I took another sip of wine, then a larger one, and ran my finger around the rim of the glass. If you did it right, you could make the bowl sing, a sweet, clear tone. Jonathan watched my finger, temporarily transfixed before he lifted his gaze back up and stilled us both.
“Listen, Cassandra. No one knows about this. No one in the Council knows about you, about your mother, or even that Penny is dead. No one but me and you.”
“And Reina,” I said. “My friend. She knows. And she’ll know the rest too. I won’t keep it from her.”
Jonathan seemed to mull over that information before he gave a curt nod. “Regardless, no one would even put it together that Penny Monroe of Manzanita, Oregon was Chief Mage Penelope Ann O’Brien from the Aran Islands. She has been lost for…well, for a very long time. And I promise, it will take even more time before anyone knows she is gone for good.”
I looked up sharply. “What do you mean, ‘lost?’”
Jonathan groaned inwardly, but I heard it anyway.
“Tell me,” I pressed. “What do you mean, she was ‘lost?’”
He ran a hand through his hair, causing a few pieces to stick up in the back. “I’m really not the right person…” he began, then seemed to his mind. “Part of Penny’s job was to conceal herself and her charge even from the Council members who gave it to her. I didn’t even know where she was until she called a few years ago and asked me to prepare the documents I’ve given you now.” He took a deep breath. “At the Council, she is collectively known as the Lost Mage of Inisheer.”
I looked up. “The Lost Mage? Isn’t that…a bit much?”
His mouth quirked—one of the first signs I had seen of humor all evening. “Perhaps. But we’re fae. We’ve a taste for drama, haven’t we?”
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips to my forehead. Councils, secrets, pseudonyms, inheritance of power…my quirky, pixie-haired Gran turning out to be famous? Suddenly, I found myself yearning for the quiet of the musty stacks of Burns Library and Aja’s genial yammering.
But the thought of my roommate’s chatter reminded me of another. If this was all connected to that terrible voice, I needed to know how.
“What about him?”
Jonathan’s right brow lifted. “Him?” He took a final bite of salmon and pushed his plate away so he could rest his forearms on the table. The mashed potatoes were all but untouched, though he had finished the mustard greens and the carrots.
I reached across the table. He stared suspiciously at my bare hand.
“Just take it,” I said impatiently. “I want to show, not look. Please.”
He looked down. “Can you do that with everyone? Or just me?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had the opportunity to try a large sample size.” I shook my head, too impatient to address the odd connection between us. “Gran said you can learn someone’s secret, can’t you? I want to try something.”
Tentatively, he placed his palm on top of mine. It was perfectly dry, I noticed, and he was warmer to the touch than I would have thought. A small zing ran up my arm that wasn’t connected to anything he was feeling, which was primarily nerves surrounding a carefully emptied mind.
“Keep your mind blank,” I said and began to remember the voice in the hallways, the insidious chatter that seemed to have seeped beneath the floorboard over the past twenty-four hours.
Goosebumps rose over my skin as the voices I had shoved well below my conscious thoughts over the past day came flooding back. Internally, I asked for any secret walls I kept closed around myself to open. To my surprise, they vanished immediately.
Listening with Jonathan, the memory seemed even clearer than before. Were those two voices I heard now fighting? Was it Gran’s, or just wishful thinking, wanting so badly for her to be alive again? I thought of her lightly creased face, her perpetually wayward hair, her eyes that glinted with intelligence and love even when she was angered by my antics. And now she was gone, and I’d never see those things again.
I didn’t realize my memories had drifted back to grief until Jonathan squeezed my hand and pulled away, not wanting to intrude any further than he already had. He didn’t press me, just watched quietly with lidded eyes while I steadily swallowed a few more sawdust-like bites of my meal and consumed the rest of the bottle of wine.