Foretold Page 20
“Yes,” I choke out.
“What was it exactly?”
“It was…” I clear my throat. “…is intrusive thoughts, OCD, catastrophic thinking, anxiety…”
Pict steeples his hands on his stomach and bows his head. Then he gets up and pushes his rolling ladder along his bookcase, close to the windows. He peers up at the shelves, climbing almost to the top, then down one or two rungs until he finds what he was looking for. He returns to his seat.
“I read about this once,” he says in a quiet voice. “At our first meeting, you mentioned your visions leading up to that point were scried without a medium. Was that true?”
My nail starts bleeding. I put it in my mouth and suck, the metallic taste a welcome sensory distraction from the fact that I had a breakdown in front of this man. “Yes.”
Pict flips through the pages of his book. “It’s because of your condition. You’re so attuned to the what-ifs that you’re especially sensitive to the what-wills. It makes for abilities that are incredibly powerful but extraordinarily difficult to control. Visions are sporadic, usually coming when emotions are already heightened. Perhaps on the heels of giving into an OCD ritual, or trying to fend one off. Typically, they’re location-based, scrying something that will occur on that particular site, but not always. I would wager you haven’t had as many lately because you’re exercising your scrying muscle, giving your abilities a new outlet. Like a controlled release of steam. You’ll be a danger to yourself and your team during your Coil Walk if you don’t quiet your mind. Your perception becomes everyone’s reality.” He breathes in. “I will help you, but I need you to want to be helped.”
My eyes well again. I blink them back. I won’t walk the Coil, but if he can help me control… “I want to be normal.”
“You’ll never be that, Ms. Morai. You’re dreadfully strange in a manner that completely predates your ailment.”
“Was… was that a joke?” It’s so improbable it startles me out of my anxiety death spiral.
Pict’s lip twitches. “Perhaps. Answer my question. Do you want my assistance?”
“Can you fix me?”
“No.” He pauses. “A ‘fix’ for what is wrong with you doesn’t exist any more than ‘normal’ people do. But you have the power to help yourself. You can start by ceasing to think of yourself, of your mind, as broken in some way. You are not broken. You’ll never be free of your demons, but you can learn to relegate them to a closet in your mind, where they belong. Learn to live with them in a way that allows you to move forward. Do you understand?”
“I’ve been to therapy.”
“I’m not a therapist.”
I give Pict a small smile, thinking of him in that role. He must take it as acceptance of his help because he nods his head. I concentrate on taking air into my lungs and letting it back out. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“Your therapist may have mentioned it, but scryers and non-scryers alike have found it helpful to keep a diary to track the objective event occurring during an episode—a visit to a store, an argument with your neighbor, et cetera—your thoughts about same, and what you are feeling in that moment. You need to understand your emotions if you are to control them. Then, before you act on an urge, you need to ask yourself who benefits from that act in the short term, and who benefits in the long term.”
“DBT… yeah, my therapist mentioned we’d start using that if my Exposure and Response Prevention therapy alone didn’t…” I close my eyes. “Okay, I’ll do it. But… can you start calling me Cassie… or Cassandra, even?” I don’t know why I ask, but I desperately want to hear my name, my first name, from him.
Pict clears his throat, then says brusquely, “Absolutely not. As far as I am concerned, you don’t have a first name. You hatched from an egg known as Ms. Morai. Now then, the Agon. True or false? One cannot travel backwards in the Coil.”
“False. Technically, you can move backwards but there’s a price, and it’s different for each person.”
“I may expire on the spot.” It’s an insult, but the heat is gone from his voice. “You know something, for once. Yes, we often tell people not to step backwards in the Coil, which some take to mean one physically cannot do so. Not so. Moving backwards is inadvisable because the Coil picks the poison, and most do not like the taste. The severity is entirely dependent on one’s mental state. Physical pain, mental, some combination of the two… Some can march backwards a fair distance with relatively manageable consequences. Others cannot muster a single step without the Coil drawing them deeper. In the absence of knowing exactly what the Coil might demand, one is better off if they do not attempt to move backwards at all. Now, enthrall me with what you’ve learned of some of the Coil’s native species. Begin with the Night Mara.”
He’s back to sniping, but his secret is out.
He’s not the complete worst.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I say. “Sneaking out of Theban.”
“It’s the best idea,” Regan replies simply. “Your aunt said she can’t help Colin. This fortune teller lady said she can. What choice do you have?”
Madame Grey’s Psychic Readings storefront shows no life except for the neon sign in the window. It’s always on, day and night. Other than that… no employees rushing over to open the door. The faded red curtains don’t move.
“How was Ford today?” I ask.
“He’s still weak. Whatever he was drugged with hasn’t worked its way through his system yet. But I was fussing over him, and he just kept saying, ‘Ray-Gun, relax! I’m okay. I’ll be fine.’” Regan pauses, her eyes misting. “He looked confused when I said we thought he was attacked by a woman. But then I swear I saw something in his eyes. Like he remembered… I don’t know what. Probably Psycho du Lac coming at him with a knife.”
“You’re still on that du Lac kick? Bacchy said she had an alibi.”
“Yeah, whatevs,” Regan scoffs. “Like her husband wants it known his wife tried to murder her ex-boyfriend? Of course he gave her an alibi.”
“Bacchy said she tried to visit Ford. Du Lac, I mean. The Magpies stopped her, and she ran away crying.” Did the curtains twitch?
“That was crazy nice of you to use your favor to have the Magpies keep an eye on Sid, by the way. A Magpie favor is… If you asked for the crown jewels, they’d probably score them for you. Thank you. Seriously.”
I shrug and look over at her, hearing the extra emotion surfing her voice, uncomfortable with the gratitude. I abruptly change the subject. “So, you weren’t in your room last night when I stopped by…”
She smiles and flushes. “You know how I told you Noah and I were kind of messing around and… okay, so last night took a serious turn and… don’t tell anyone, you’re sworn to secrecy…”
“I only talk to you and Noah!”
“Okay, fine… I slept in his room. He changed it so it looked like we were having a nighttime picnic under the Eiffel Tower, and we…”
“Wait, did you sleep in his room or did you sleep in his room?” I ask.
Regan’s cheeks have a distinctly rosy appearance. “Both.”
I cover my grin with my hand, but it does nothing to suppress the scandalized laugh that tumbles through my fingers. Beneath the amusement a second emotion surfaces, just for a second. I feel left behind.
“Anyhow, I’m obsessed with him and he’s amazing and every time I look at him, I want to bite his cheeks. Not to brag, but we’re kind of the best couple ever. What about you? Heard from Colin?”
“Yeah, he emailed me yesterday.” I bite back a smile, thinking of that four-word-long email. Hey. I miss you. I head off her questions. “Griffin’s dating someone too, now.”
Regan stiffens. “Yeah, Liz Dahn. Donkey Laugh Dahn.”
“Not nice.”
“She’s not nice.”
“If you have questions, I suggest you go inside and ask them,” a man says from behind us. My heart beats like a snare drum in my throat as I turn.
The man is
old and young, timeless and worn down at the same time. He’s wearing an old-timey bowler hat and a stained checkered suit with a faded yellow bowtie. I resist the urge to shout “stranger danger” like a five year old.
“Who are you?” I force out. He crosses the street without answer. When he reaches Madame Grey’s door, he props it open, waiting until we follow.
“Wait here,” the man says when we enter. He swipes through the thick red bead doorway curtain and disappears. Regan’s large gray eyes widen as she takes in the décor. I fight off my intrusive thoughts and the sudden stupid need to knock on the table. The compulsion surges through my bones as I count myself away from the edge. I don’t have my Pict diary on me.
Madame Grey enters the room a moment later, the man trailing her. “Oscar said you were back, but I could scarcely believe it. And you brought a friend.” She smiles at Regan. “Here to save that boy Colin, yes?”
“Okay, Madame Weirdo, why would you help? What’s in it for you?” Regan demands hotly.
“Spirited,” Madame Grey says, nodding approvingly and gesturing for us to sit. “I like her for you, Cassandra.”
Narisa enters with some tea and sets it down. She gives me a kindly look and hands me a cup. “For your nerves,” she whispers with a wink.
“We want to protect you, Cassie, and we want to help you save Colin. In return… there may come a time when we need you to help us,” Madame Grey says.
“There we go,” Regan says, satisfied. “What do you want?”
“Nothing right now,” Madame Grey says mildly.
“What are you trying to protect me from? What do you think Theban Group is doing?” I ask.
Madame Grey looks at the man she called Oscar. He removes his bowler hat and taps it against his knee, then shrugs, communicating wordlessly. “We were once part of Theban Group. Oscar, Narisa, and myself. Others, as well. We left when development of the ICARUSS began. Jordan Welborne is lying to you girls. He's lying to everyone. He views the future as a blank canvas he can paint with whatever he wants it to be. Not with his ‘money as influence’ claptrap. Not by nudging future events along. By inventing them whole-cloth. We aim to stop him.”
I sit back. “But he said we can’t make really big changes.”
“Lies.”
“My aunt said the same.” I frown.
“Either she doesn’t know or she was lying, too,” Madame Grey says.
Regan pulls out her ICARUSS. “There are rituals on here that—”
“He’s given you the illusion of control. That device just makes info gathering more convenient for him. His algorithm’s machine learning only works if it’s fed a steady diet of current news and a heaping pile of what comes next, courtesy of all of you at Theban Group. Every vision, every omen you provide is ammunition for him,” Madame Grey says. “There’s a great deal that device won’t provide answers for. Saving Colin included, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“So? Maybe the really big changes are off limits because of the company and the whole insurance deal or whatever,” Regan says. “He probably has a good reason for blocking it.”
“You’d make excuses for your jailor? We’re not talking big changes. We’re talking invented changes. Your entire future written by him,” Madame Grey says.
I shake my head. “Even if that’s true… he’s helping people. Everyone at Theban is.”
“What is life without freedom?” Madame Grey asks in disbelief. “A benevolent dictator is still a dictator, Cassandra. No person, no group, should have that much control over our lives.”
Narisa nods earnestly. I look at Regan, and something in her expression says she agrees as well.
“So what, then? We scry something bad and we’re supposed to accept it?” I ask with more force than I intend. I picture Colin lying in the street.
“This isn’t about trying to change the things we’ve scryed. Scryers have always done that. We’re not advocating for denying our gifts. This is about Welborne acting as God. This is him stripping free will away from everyone,” Madame Grey says.
“Not to mention the scryers Welborne has murdered,” Oscar hisses. At my look he adds, “That mongrel is removing anyone who might get in his way. Making it look like accidents. Scryers dropping like flies all around the world.”
That’s not true.
“My daughter is dead because of that madman.” Oscar slams his fist on the table.
Narisa’s face crumbles, and tears streak down her heavily painted face, carving a path like water through a gully. She rushes out of the room. Oscar takes a step toward her, but stops.
“Do you see? What he’s done to my wife?” Oscar looks again to where Narisa fled and turns back to me. “Our daughter bled out in my arms. She was our everything. Do you know what’s left when your reason for being is gone?” He visibly tries to compose himself before leaning forward, his hands splayed on the table. “I have nothing to live for except taking down that miserable cur. If it spares even one other parent the tears we’ve shed, it’ll have been worth it,” Oscar says, stuffing his bowler hat on his head and turning to leave. My heart clutches in response to the kindred pain in Oscar’s voice, even as my mind tries to reject the sincerity of his words.
Madame Grey puts a comforting hand on Oscar’s arm. “Please, Oscar, stay. I’m sorry, Cassandra, he’s emotional. We all are. We’ve lost people we care for in this.” She shakes her head in disgust. “Welborne’s turned our sanctuary into a cult.”
She reaches for something in her pocket and sets it on the table. It’s the clear glass-like oval eye she tried to give me last time. “We may need your help at some point in the future, but for now, as a token of good faith, please take this talisman with you and carry it at all times. Some know it as an evil eye, but this is a particularly powerful one. It will protect you. And we’ll also tell you how to help Colin, no strings attached. Okay?”
I hesitantly accept the glass eye. It’s cool and smooth to the touch, the iris the same shade as Colin’s. I palm it and ask, “Can you really save him?” I think of Aunt Bree, of her insistence that there’s no way to save someone destined to die. They say she was lying about other things…
Madame Grey doesn’t even bat an eye. “Of course he can be saved. I wouldn’t have suggested it if he couldn’t. But I don’t have what you need here.” Regan opens her mouth, and Madame Grey holds up a hand. “I know where you can get it, though.”
Oscar pulls out a paper and spreads it open in front of us. It’s a photocopied page of text.
Madame Grey points at the paper. “During the course of my readings, I came across multiple references to a ritual called ‘Halt the Harvest,’ the only known ritual to have successfully averted a scried death. But I couldn’t find the ritual itself. I started thinking it was a myth, to be honest. But then I found it. There is a book that contains the most arcane of scryer knowledge. Hand inscribed by monks in the fourteenth century. In relatively modern English, so you’re in luck. It’s called the Galdr Leechbook. Only a handful left in existence, and I know for a fact Linda Fenice has a copy in her office thanks to an article written about her last year in Fortnight Foresight.”
I inhale sharply. I’ve been that close to saving Colin this whole time?
“If you can get the book, and if you can gather the ingredients for the ritual, you’ll need to be careful. It’s forbidden, so if you’re caught… well. And the ritual is said to take three days to complete. Saving a life is complicated. Not for the faint of heart.”
I nod eagerly, willing to do anything. I’d teleport myself to Fenice’s office right now if I could. I shove the eye talisman into my pocket, and Regan and I stand. Madame Grey blows out a breath, as if in relief. “You’re on the right side of history, I promise you. We’ll be in contact when we need you. Just, please… keep that eye on your person at all times. You’ll need it before all is said and done.”
Chapter 19
We emerge from Madame Grey’s and I skitter to a halt.
Colin is at an ice cream stand. He’s not alone. Greta, a cute girl from my school, is with him, pouting prettily. Colin grins and hands her a vanilla cone. She brightens and stares up at him, licking her cone, a flirtatious bent to her movements.
I cross my arms to hug my bag to my middle. The lonely little flame inside me winks out; the one I warm my hands on in the middle of the night whenever I think of Colin and a million breathless what-ifs.
The email he sent yesterday was unkind. Or it feels that way because I’m an idiot who read more into it. Read more into his feelings. Again. Hey. I miss you. He misses me as a friend. And after hanging out with Greta and probably other kids I know, who knows what they’ve told him about me? Will he even want to be my friend after they unload all of my baggage?
“That’s Colin,” I say in a flat voice, pointing him out.
Regan’s jaw drops. “He’s super cute! I approve, and…” She notices Greta. “Oh. Ew. You don’t need to worry. He’s so not into her. Deadass, that girl is a complete uggo. Also, who eats ice cream this early in the day?” Regan’s expression is now one of outraged solidarity.
We head back to Theban Group, a pinch in my heart making it hard to breathe, and pause on the way only to pick up a gift for Theodore. Regan avoids mention of Colin and instead tries to distract me with the reasons she feels Donkey Laugh Dahn and Griffin are completely wrong for each other.
When we arrive, Theodore lifts one bushy white eyebrow, his sagging eyelid slowly following. He repeats the motion with the other. “Howdy, Cassie. Regan. No one came asking ’round here about you, ’cept your young man, Noah,” he says to Regan. “I told him I hadn’t seen ya.”
“Thanks, Theodore,” I say.
“Don’t mention it. By the way, I knew blue would suit your eyes, Cassie.” His Eeyore voice is soothing and slow. “For a second, I thought I was back home looking down at the water’s edge, greens and blues and browns beside.”