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T H E H O L D E R S

“(The Holders is) an engaging, well-paced story.Julianna Scott is a fresh new voice in the para-normal romance genre.”

Juliet Marillier, author of the Sevenwatersseries

“A fierce and intelligent heroine, a sibling with achallenging destiny to discover, a heart-warmingromance, and an X-Men type school for specialpowers in the Emerald Isle, all add up to asuperbly gripping tale. I loved Becca and can’twait to read more of her world. A fantastic read!”

Suzanne McLeod, author of theSpellcrackers.com urban fantasy series

“The Holders is riveting! A genuine page pageturner of betrayal and revelation soaked inCeltic magic.”

Carol Oates, author of Shades of Atlantis

an excerpt fromThe Holders

by Julianna Scott

Published March 2013(everywhere – US/UK/RoW)

by Strange Chemistry,in paperback and ebook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-1-908844-42-2US ISBN: 978-1-908844-43-9

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-908844-44-6

Strange Chemistry (Angry Robot)An imprint of Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

strangechemistrybooks.com@strangechem

Copyright © Julianna Scott 2013

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish. You may post

this on your blog too, if you can wrangle the (easy)

code. And if you like this sample, buy the book.

The moment I saw Ryland’s silhouette in the windowof our old tree house, I knew something was wrong.

Ry was – as he liked to put it – the world’s besthider. This was due mostly to the fact that he was askinny kid and could fold himself down to practicallynothing. A talent he exploited when it came time to dochores, or when anything green appeared on Mom’sdinner menu. The tree house had at one time been hisfavorite place to hide, but he never went up thereanymore, or at least not since a family of raccoons hadgotten in two summers ago. Mom had chased themout, but he still refused to go in, citing the possibilitythat they might come back and could jump out andget him at any moment. He had a dozen or so hidingplaces that were safely located inside the house, so Iknew that whatever it was that had chased him up intothe tree, it had to be bad. Bad enough – in the mind ofa ten year-old anyway – to risk a possible raccoonattack.

I made my way across the yard, glad that I’d decided

1

to cut through the cemetery on my walk home thatday. If I had stuck to the sidewalk, I would have endedup at the front of the house, and never would haveseen him. “Ry?”

I heard shuffling on the wood floor of the tree housefollowed by a sniffle and a squeaky, “Becca?”

“What’s wrong, Ry?” I asked, starting theprecarious climb up the thin wooden planks. Reachingthe top, I poked my head through the square openingin the floor and found Ry sitting in the corner hugginghis knees to his chest, his eyes as red as his hair.

“Where is your coat? It’s cold out here,” I said, as Ihoisted myself up into the cramped space. The longPittsburgh winters hadn’t exactly been kind to the littleshack, and I found myself hoping for both our sakesthat the rotted structure and rusty nails could supportmy extra one hundred and twenty pounds.

“I’m not cold,” he sniffled. “I thought you were atwork.”

“Just got home. I saw you hiding up here when Iwalked by.” I slid my jacket off and wrapped it aroundhis shoulders, ignoring the nip of the early October air.“What’s the matter, buddy?” I asked, as I reached overto rub his back and he shrank into my side, hiding hisface.

“They’re going to take me away,” he mumbled intomy shirt.

I grabbed his shoulders, holding him away from meso I could see his face. “Who is?”

“The men in the house. They’re talking to Mom.They’re going to take me away.”

“We’re not going to let that happen, you knowthat,” I assured him, though I could already feel myneck getting hot as I prepared for battle.

Who was it this time? Representatives from anotherinstitution? Another doctor with his magicalprescription pad? Or was it that nosey bitch Ms Paust,the elementary school’s guidance counselor, back foranother round of “In my professional opinion…”

“Mom says I’m gonna go this time,” he choked.“She says it’s OK.”

His bottom lip shook as a new batch of tears spilledover onto his already shiny cheeks.

“OK, listen to me,” I held his chin, forcing him tolook me in the eye, “you stay in here until I get back,do you hear me? You don’t come out for anyone butme, understand?” He nodded. “I’m not going to letanyone take you, OK? Just stay up here and try not toworry.”

I climbed down the tree as quickly as I couldwithout breaking my neck and ran toward the house.Who could it possibly be? Ever since I’d convincedRyland to stop telling people about the voices thingshad been OK. No trips to the counselor, no calls fromteachers or concerned parents. Sure, they all stillwatched him out of the corner of their eyes like hemight spontaneously burst into flame, and hisclassmates still avoided him, but no one had actuallyapproached Mom or come to the house in weeks. Ithought we had finally gotten past all this.

“Mom!” I was yelling before I had made it all theway inside the door, “Mom, where are you?”

I found her in the kitchen taking a full pot of coffeeout of the machine. As soon as she turned toward meand I saw her face, I could see that something wasdifferent. Something that made my throat close andmy nails dig deeper into my palms.

Ryland was right: they had gotten to her.Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have taken that stupid

waitressing job! If I’d been home, these people –whoever the hell they were – wouldn’t have made itpast the front door! How long had they been here?What could they possibly have said to get her on theirside?

In these situations, Mom and I had always been ateam. In the beginning, we had tried to reason withthe people who came to “discuss Ryland’s condition”,but they were never the sort of people you could talkto. They made it clear that they would do the talkingand our job was to listen and agree. Finally, duringthe third “house call” with a therapist from somechildren’s hospital, I got so mad at the woman’s snottytone and total disregard for anything Mom or I hadto say that I lost it. I started screaming and shouting,and threw her out. Since then, that was the systemMom and I adopted.

OK, the system I adopted, and Mom tolerated. Shedidn’t want to see Ryland locked up any more than Idid, but she was far too soft-spoken and even-tempered to do what needed to be done. But that wasfine, as I was more than happy to do the dirty work.This time would be no different. I took a deep breathand braced myself, ready to do whatever I had to. And

if I was going to be on my own this time, so be it.“Who are they?” I asked. “What are they doing

here?”“Becca, please.” Mom forgot the coffee and was in

front of me almost instantly, her hands firmly on myshoulders. “It’s not what you think – no, honey, listento me – it’s not the same this time. They just want tohelp.”

“Help? You can’t be serious, Mom!”“There is a school that–”“A school, of course, that’s what they all say. Nut

house isn’t PC anymore, remember?”“Becca, please, I think these people may be able

to…”I was out of the room before she could finish her

thought. Help him? Help him? Why on earth was shebuying this crap all of a sudden? Oh well, it didn’tmatter; I would take care of it myself. They’dobviously gotten to her somehow, but they weren’tgoing to get to me.

Following the sound of male voices, I headed to thefront room, ready to evict our uninvited guests. “Getout,” I clipped, finger pointed at the front door.

The two men slowly stood – though from courtesyor shock, I couldn’t tell. The man on the right took acautious step forward. “You must be Miss Ingle–”

“I said out. Now. Both of you.”“Becca!” Mom snapped, rushing past me with the

tray of coffee and mugs. “Gentlemen, this is mydaughter Becca, please excuse her. Becca,” she turnedto me, “calm down.”

“They’re not taking him.” My comment wasdirected less at my mother, and more at the two men Iwas glaring at over her shoulder.

I took a second to actually look at them, and was abit taken aback by what I saw. The first guy looked tobe in his late forties with a long crooked nose, anddark flashing eyes that were surrounded by deep-setwrinkles – more than likely the result of a life spentscowling. The way this guy looked alone would havebeen enough to make Ryland run and hide.

The other man, sitting next to him – the one whohad tried to speak earlier – was almost a shock to mysystem after studying his partner. He was young,twenty maybe, with fair hair and light eyes. His jeansand button down shirt were neat, and his hair was cutshort and styled. Sitting next to each other, they lookedlike some sort of “before and after” anti-drug posteryou’d see in a high school nurse’s office. I might havebeen amused, if they weren’t currently here to lock upmy brother.

“Listen honey, please,” my Mom pleaded quietly.“They are from a private school in Ireland. It’s theschool that…” she hesitated, and in that split second Icould see the words in her eyes before she could bringherself to say them “your father runs.”

Of course. Jocelyn. Also known as my father. Theman my mother had been madly in love with. The manwho swept her off her feet, only to walk out on all ofus less than a month after Ryland was born. The manwe hadn’t seen or heard from in ten years. If anythingcould have convinced my mother to side with them, it

was throwing Jocelyn into the mix.If I was angry before, now I was livid.She must have seen the rage fly across my face,

because she was quick to continue, “They say that theyknow what’s wrong with him and that they can help.”

“There is nothing wrong with him,” I growledbetween clenched teeth, never taking my eyes off theintruders.

The older scary-looking guy leisurely folded hishands in front of him and raised his chin. “Ryland isin need of care that only we can provide,” he said, witha cocky air that made me want to kick him in theshins. “He should be honored to be admitted to sucha fine institution.”

“Institution. Exactly.” I snapped.“St Brigid’s Academy,” he corrected with a glare,

“will give him th–”“It’s just a school,” the younger man interrupted, in

what I can only imagine was his best peacekeepervoice. “I promise.”

“You promise? What are we, twelve? Next Isuppose you’re going to pinky swear me that this willall be for his own good, and expect me to let you takehim?”

Ignoring my snide commentary, the younger mancontinued, “St Brigid’s attracts some of the fineststudents from across the UK and Europe.”

“Then maybe you should stay over there.”“Becca!” Mom snapped. “Please, just listen,” she

begged, but now with real irritation in her tone.I closed my mouth and crossed my arms, as the

younger man continued to plug his hopeless cause.“We host some of the finest instructors from all overthe world. Our graduation rate is nearly 100%, afterwhich, the majority of our graduates continue on tosome of the most prestigious universities in the world.The diversity of our curriculum rivals most–”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, no longer interested, “it’s ahell of a school. Got it. Let’s just say for one secondthat I am buying this private school crap. Why onearth would one of the top academies in Europe cometo personally recruit a kid who hasn’t gotten above80% on a spelling test since the first grade?”

The younger man opened his mouth to reply, butunfortunately the older man beat him to it. “Jocelynfeels it is time for the boy to join him.”

The younger man shot a look at his companion thatmade it clear that even he – who had known me lessthan ten minutes – knew that was absolutely thewrong thing to say.

“The boy?” I growled. “You know what, that isprobably exactly what Jocelyn said, because odds arehe doesn’t remember the boy’s name!”

The older man brought himself up to his full heightand had the audacity to shake his finger at me like hewas scolding a dog, “Young lady, this situation doesnot concern you. Ryland needs to be among peoplewho understand his condition and can help himcontrol it.”

“You bas–” but before I could even get the “tard”out, the younger man stood up, stretching one handtoward me, palm out, while placing the other hand on

his partner’s shoulder in a gesture that wouldhopefully keep him from talking.

“We don’t want to hurt him,” the younger man said,but I was done caring.

“You listen to me,” I snarled at both of them. “Idon’t care who you are, where you’re from, or whosent you, but believe me when I tell you that I will laydown in front of any car that tries to take Ryland fromthis house!” With that, I stormed out of the door, andup the stairs to my room, cursing under my breath.

2

The bedroom door banged as I shut it behind me, andI headed straight for the window against the backwall. One look outside told me that Ryland was stillhiding in the tree house, and from here I could watchto see he stayed there. This spot was also perfect as itwas right next to the heating vent in the floor which,when opened, allowed me to hear any conversationsgoing on in the living room below.

All right, so I’d camp here until they left. Noproblem.

Except it was a problem. As much as I wanted to sitstill and keep an eye and ear on things, I couldn’t; Iwas too riled up. In an effort to calm down, I changedout of my work clothes and pulled my long hair outof my “work appropriate” bun. I grabbed my brush,pulled my desk chair up to the spot by the window,and started brushing out my mess of hair, not takingmy eyes off the back yard.

I’d really started to think that this was all over. Ithought life could finally be normal.

When Ry was younger and the voices started hewould panic every time he heard them and tell anyonenearby – me, Mom, his teachers at school, his friends,their parents – anyone. We thought it was just anormal childhood “imaginary friend” sort of thing,but it wasn’t long before everyone realized it was morethan that. These voices he heard came at random timesand usually said really weird things. Like once, Rylandhad an all-out panic attack at a baseball game becausethere was a voice screaming that if the Pirates didn’twin someone was going to die. Another time he wasat school and had to be pulled out of class because hestarted crying hysterically when his teacher returnedtheir most recent math test. Everyone assumed that itwas because he’d gotten a bad grade, but he insistedthat it was due to the voices that had suddenly come,yelling and crying in this head.

It wasn’t long before he stopped receiving invites tofriends’ houses, started sitting alone at lunch, andbegan making regular trips to the counselor’s office.Everyone thought he was crazy.

Finally the guidance counselor, with the help of theschool psychologist, started sending people to talk toMom about getting “help” for Ry. The problem waswhen they said “help” what they really meant waslocking him up to be observed and medicated, and Icouldn’t let that happen. He was my brother, and Ihad to take care of him.

But more than that, I knew he wasn’t crazy. Deepdown, I knew it. Yes, he heard voices, and yes it wasstrange, but why was everyone so convinced that

Ryland was imagining the voices he heard? What ifthey were real? No one had ever even tried to figureout what was going on or if there was a way to helphim – actually help him, not simply slapping a “crazy”sticker on his forehead so they could hide the problembehind an institution and drugs. I seemed to be theonly person who wanted an actual explanation for theproblem, not just a by-any-means solution.

A knock at my door made me jump. I reached forthe handle, thinking it was Mom, but the voice on theother side wasn’t hers.

“Rebecca?” It was the younger of the two men.“What?” I snipped.“Do you mind if… Can I speak with you for a

moment?”I was about to tell him to go to hell, but something

in the tone of his voice stopped me. Maybe I shouldtalk to him. The fact that they hadn’t left yet meantthey were going to be persistent, so I might as well getready for the long haul. Anyway, better him than thecrooked-nosed creature he had brought with him. “It’snot locked,” I said, though I still put as much venomin the words as I could.

He slowly opened the door, stepping in so cautiouslyit looked like he was trying to avoid landmines. Hestopped five or so feet from where I stood with myarms crossed, ready for battle.

“So, talk,” I said, after a few moments of silence.“We really do want to help your brother.”Really? More of this? What, so cute guy thinks he

can just waltz up here and win me over with some

alone time. I snapped. “Oh, sure, you want to ‘help’him ‘control’ his ‘condition’,” I said, making sarcasticair quotes. “Do you really think you are the firstpeople to come and try to take him away ‘for his owngood’? Do you think I don’t know what that means?I don’t care what you’ve been told, he’s not crazy. Ifyou think that I am just going to stand by and let youlock him up in some institution somewhere, so youcan–”

“I would never do that,” he interrupted quietly. Histone hadn’t been more than a whisper, but it was soearnest and solemn and, honestly, a little scary, that Icouldn’t help but believe him. And just like that, it wasgone; all my rage and aggression flew out of me likeair out of a popped balloon. I sank down onto theedge of my bed, too tired to yell anymore. Besides,something inside was telling me that this man didn’tdeserve a beating from me. I had no idea where thathunch was coming from, and I didn’t like it. He wasthe enemy, and I had to be strong. Yet unnatural as itfelt to show weakness, I also couldn’t fight it. I sathunched over on the edge of my bed, staring up at thestranger in my room, hoping I didn’t look as lost andhelpless as I suddenly felt.

He glanced toward the window and saw my chair.“May I?”

I nodded. He sat down and swiveled the seat so thathe was facing me. He leaned forward resting hiselbows on his knees, looking calmly at me.

“So?” he said with a small smile.“So.”

“There are things I’d like to explain to you, as wellas I can anyway.”

I made a small sweeping motion with my hand,letting him know he was welcome to begin. However,he shook his head. “I think we might make moreprogress with a question and answer session.”

“A what?”“You ask me questions, and I’ll answer them. I’ll be

honest, I prom–” he hesitated with a smile, “I pinkyswear.” I huffed a laugh in spite of myself. “I justdon’t want you to think that we mean Ryland anyharm, because that couldn’t be further from thetruth.”

“What I’m worried about is the difference in ourdefinitions of the word ‘harm’. The people that wantto lock him up and medicate him into a stupor don’tconsider that to be ‘harming’ him either, but I certainlydo.”

He nodded, but didn’t comment. His eyes never leftmine, and I got the strange impression that he wasreally listening to me. Most people don’t listen. Whenyou listen you hear the sounds and the silences. Youhear the words people say, and the words they don’tsay. Real listening takes more effort than most peopleare willing to give.

With a sigh, I decided to play his game. What couldit hurt? Hell, maybe I’d even get a few answers alongthe way. “Who are you?” I asked after a moment, asthat seemed the best place to start.

“My name is Alex Bray. The man with me is TaronCalgot. We both live at St Brigid’s Academy in County

Clare, Ireland.”“Wait, you live there? Like, all the time?”“Yes. Taron works as one of the lecturers, and I

work in… recruitment.” His pause seemed odd, but Ilet it go. “I have also taken many of the upper levelclasses that St Brigid’s offers, and would like to oneday be brought on as a teacher.”

“And what do you want with my brother?”“We want to help him. We really do understand.

Ryland has… abilities. Abilities he can’t control yet.He can do things that the average person can’t. That’swhy we want to take him to St Brigid’s, so he can bewith others who are like him, and learn to control hisabilities in a safe environment.”

He finished and was silent, waiting for my nextquestion, but I was at a loss for words. This wasdefinitely a new one. He hadn’t said anything about“fixing” Ryland; he’d simply said “control”. I couldadmit it sounded promising, but I knew better than toget my hopes up.

“How do you know all this?” I asked.“Because,” he paused and looked at me as if to

gauge my reaction, “I have abilities too. I’m likeRyland, and so is Taron, and your father.” He musthave seen my eyes flash at the term “father” as hequickly continued. “And there are others. We all haveabilities that the normal person doesn’t have.”

“And, exactly what do you mean by ‘abilities’?” Iasked, growing more skeptical by the minute. “Pleasedon’t tell me you’re talking about comic book-stylestuff, like x-ray vision, or flying.”

“Well…” Alex paused, as though he were afraid tocontinue. “No one can fly, at least not that I’m awareof.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to smile, asobviously this was a joke. But he just sat there, lookingback at me without so much as a smirk. “You’reserious with this?” I asked, after I was sure there wasno punchline coming.

“Yes,” he nodded.Oh. My. God. And people thought Ryland was

crazy? “Yeah,” I said, not sure whether I should belaughing or offended that this guy actually thought Iwas that stupid. “Thanks for the talk, but you andyour buddy can go sell psycho somewhere else.”

“Please, I know how it sounds, but–”“Out,” I clipped, standing, ready to physically

remove him if necessary.“I’ll show you.”“Show me?” He really wasn’t going to give up.“Yes. I can show you what I do, if you’ll let me.”“OK, fine,” I challenged, almost amused. I sat back

down on the bed and crossed my arms, waiting for theshow I was more than sure wouldn’t come.

“Thank you,” he smiled, apparently happy with histiny victory. “It will only take a moment, and then youcan decide if you’d like to talk further. I will warn youthough, it’s, well, strange, so just try not to freak outor anything, OK?”

“I’ll do my best,” I said flatly.He walked over to my bedroom door and shut it

softly, immediately sending alarm bells ringing in my

head. Strange guy… in my room… shutting us in…“Just so you know, I scream really loud,” I

informed him, eyeing the closed door.“Don’t worry,” he smiled, undeterred by my

announcement, “I will stay over here.”“Do I need to say the magic words?” I asked,

hoping my sarcasm would help me ignore the fact thatI was actually getting nervous. Of course nothing wasgoing to happen, but he was also taking this way tooseriously for a stupid joke.

“No magic words, though it will be easier if youstand,” he said, gesturing to the middle of the floor. Igot up and moved to the spot he had indicated in frontof him, while he stayed where he was, hands behindhis back. “You ready?” he asked after a moment.

I nodded.I waited quietly for a second or two, thinking maybe

he would do or say something, but he didn’t. Nothinghappened at all. It was just me and Alex, standing afew feet apart from each other in the middle of myroom.

But then, suddenly, my vision went blurry.Everything in my room seemed to shift out of focus,like there was something in my eye that I needed toblink away. All the colors and shapes began to meltinto each other until I couldn’t tell where one thingleft off and another began. My eyes flew to Alex,thinking that he too would be an edgeless fuzzy blotof color, but he was still there, standing exactly wherehe was, the only thing in the room, other than me, thatwas still crisp and clear.

His eyes met mine, and when he saw that they heldonly wonder and confusion but no fear, he smiled andthe fuzzy blobs of color began to move. The greenssank down to the floor and grew, spreading out underour feet, reaching far beyond the boundaries of mysmall bedroom. The blues and whites soared upwards,expanding as they went, creating a clear sky high overour heads. Lines, edges, textures, and dimensionreturned, but in the forms of grass under our feet,clouds in the sky, and water – an entire ocean of it –stretching out over the horizon. Suddenly all the lineswere clear again, only now Alex and I were standingon the edge of an enormous cliff. To my left, an oceanswelling and falling with white foam caps on each ofits rolling waves; to my right a seemingly endless fieldof gently sloping hills covered in lush green grass. Itwas the most beautiful place I had ever seen.

I looked over at Alex, who was still standing a fewsteps away from me, watching me calmly. “Where arewe?” I breathed.

“In your bedroom,” he answered quietly. “What youare seeing are the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. They’renear St Brigid’s.”

“You’re doing this?”“Yes.”I turned towards the edge of the cliff trying to make

sense of it all. This couldn’t possibly be an illusion, itwas all so real. I could hear the waves pounding intothe bedrock of the cliffs below us. I could feel the windpouring up over the edge of the cliff.

And then it hit me; I could feel the wind. Feel it

blowing past my face and onto the fields. Yet my hair,which was hanging free and should have beenwhipping like mad around my face, lay perfectly stillagainst my back. I took a step towards the edge of thecliff when suddenly my leg hit something. I lookeddown but there was nothing there. I could feel theobject pressing against my shin, but the only thing infront of me was open air.

“What is that?” I asked Alex, swinging my legagain, kicking it.

He smiled, obviously happy I wasn’t having somesort of mental breakdown. “Your bed. We’re still inyour room. Here…” He reached down and pattedwhat looked to be empty air, though it made a sound.“Feel.” I reached down towards the invisibleobstruction, to find that it was indeed my bed. Icouldn’t see it, but it was there – the sheets, the pillow,and the quilt with the little embroidered rosettes – allof it.

My vision began to blur again, the sounds of the seatapered off until they were only an echo, and a fewmoments later I was back in my room looking downat my quilt. I twisted around and plopped down ontothe edge of my bed, disillusioned, yet somehowexhilarated. Alex pulled the desk chair up next to meand sat. I glanced up at him to find him studying me.

“Are you all right?”“I think so,” I said, though my voice shook more

than I would have liked. Dear God, had that really justhappened? Was it even possible? I blinked a few timesand shook my head, hoping I wasn’t losing my mind.

“What was that?” I finally asked.“It’s called Casting, it’s what I do; my ability. I can

project images on reality, making people see whateverI want them to.”

“Is that what Ryland is doing?”“No, Ryland’s ability is different. He can…” he

paused, looking again to read my reaction. “The thingshe hears, the voices, they are people’s thoughts.”

“You’re telling me my brother can read minds?”“Well no, not yet. Right now, he is just overhearing

things once in a while by chance, but he’ll learn tocontrol it as he gets older.”

“And that’s what you’re going to teach him at thisschool?”

“Not me specifically, but yes. That, among otherthings.”

“And the other kids there, they are like him?”“Some of the children have abilities, but not all of

them.”He was looking at me with unveiled worry in his

eyes. Poor guy must have thought I was about toimplode, and honestly I probably should have beencrying or screaming, or something else a normalperson would have been doing, but I was strangelycalm. For some inexplicable reason, this all seemed tomake perfect sense to me. People had been trying toconvince me for years that Ryland was crazy. Crazybecause he needed more attention, crazy because ourfather left us, crazy because some people are just crazy,but they had all been assumptions based on nothing,and I hadn’t believed a word of it. Go figure that the

story about magic visions and mind readers would bethe one I would actually buy.

Maybe I was the one who needed medication?I looked down at the floor, realizing that for the first

time I was torn. I knew I had to do what was best forRyland, but now I wasn’t sure what that was. What ifthese people really could help him? What if, for thefirst time in his life, he could finally be somewherewhere he fit in? Where he could have friends and anormal life? Sure it seemed unlikely, but clearly therewas something going on here that was beyond myunderstanding. I mean this guy had just sent me toIreland without ever leaving my room. There was alsothe fact that they had been sent by the one known asmy father, who – according to Alex – also had somemagic ability. Much as I hated to admit it, if that weretruly the case, then he might actually be able to help.Maybe…

I sat quietly for a few minutes trying to organize mythoughts, while Alex waited patiently. After a longmoment I came to a decision. “Can I ask yousomething?” I asked, looking up at Alex.

“Of course.”“And you’ll be honest?”“I promise,” he stated with a grin. He’d said that a

few times now, and though I’d mocked him for it, evenI had to admit that he was the first person I’d ever metwho could say that without sounding like a four year-old.

“Is going with you to this school truly the best thingfor Ryland?”

He didn’t answer right away, as though he weretaking my question very seriously, his eyes neverleaving mine. “Yes.”

I nodded to show him that I did believe him beforecontinuing with a small grin. “Can I ask you anotherquestion?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling suspiciously at my tone.“Why do I get the feeling there is a lot more to this

than you’re telling me?”“Because you are very perceptive,” he chuckled. “It’s

not that I’m not telling you. I’m not hiding anything;it’s just that the story – the whole story – will takemuch longer than we have time for tonight. But I’llmake you a deal. I’ll tell you everything – anything youwant to know – before we take Ryland. That is ofcourse, if you give us permission to take him.”

“Pretty sure my Mom has already given you that.”“But you haven’t.”“Does that matter?”“I’m sure it matters to your brother. And it matters

to me.”In that moment I knew, deep down, that this was

right. This was what Ryland needed. I might not haveknown what was going on, or even who these peoplewere, but something inside me knew they could helpmy brother. And knowing that, there was only onething I could do.

“When are you supposed to leave?”“Don’t worry about that, I can take care of it. You

can take your time; no one is going to pressure you.”“When?” I asked again.

“We have flights scheduled for Friday, but that’s notimport–”

“How about I make you a deal?” I said, cutting himoff. Alex raised his eyebrows, interested. “He can gowith you on Friday.”

“Really? Are you sure?”“Yes… as long as I can go too.” It was already clear

that Mom was going to let them take Ryland with orwithout my approval, but no way in hell was I goingto let him go alone.

“You mean transfer to St Brigid’s?”“What? Oh, no, I graduated high school two years

ago.”“I thought you were only seventeen?”“I am. I graduated just after I turned fifteen, but

Mom didn’t want me going off to college so young.”“So, you’re advanced,” he said thoughtfully,

“that’s… interesting.”“Why?”“No reason,” he said, though I didn’t believe him.

“So you will just be coming to observe?”“That, and for Ryland. He is way too young and

scared to make a trip like that alone, and there’s noway my Mom can go.” Or, that is to say, no way wasI letting my mother anywhere near Jocelyn, but I keptthat part to myself. “And anyway,” I continued, “I’dlike to see this school with my own eyes. It’s not thatI don’t trust you, I just think it will make everyone feelbetter if I can see this place first hand. If we get there,and I am OK with what I see, and I’m positive Rylandis happy, then I’ll come home. Deal?” I asked, holding

out my hand for him to shake.“And your Mom will be OK with this?”“You leave that to me.”“That sounds like a plan,” he said with a smile and

reached for my hand. But right before he grabbed it, Ipulled it back. “One more thing,” I added, “I don’twant Jocelyn to know I’m coming.”

“What?”“I don’t want him to know I’ll be there.”“That… may be difficult,” he said, confused. “Is

there any particular reason?”Because if he knows I’m there I’ll have to see him.

“Does it matter?” I asked more defensively than I’dmeant to.

Alex thought for a moment before nodding. “I canmake sure he doesn’t find out you are with us, but soyou know, once we are there it might be hard. He livesin the same building on campus as the rest of us – thesame building you’ll have to stay in.”

“That’s fine. I can handle it from there.” I knew howto keep a low profile, that wasn’t a problem. All thatmattered was that I would have the advantage. It’smuch easier to avoid someone who isn’t looking foryou.

“All right, then,” Alex said with a smile.“And I’m still holding you to your end of the deal,

you have to tell me everything.”“OK,” he hesitated, looking pensive, “but now it’s

my turn to ask for a favor.”“Which is?”“I promised to tell you everything, and I will, but I

am going to have to ask that you keep what I tell youto yourself.”

“What, like not tell my Mom?”“Or Ryland.” He must have seen the suspicion enter

my eyes, because he quickly explained, “Jocelyn wasadamant that your mother not find out about all this.One day, when Ryland’s older and understandseverything for himself, he can make the decision as towhether or not to tell her, but for now, it’s better if shecontinues to believe that St Brigid’s is nothing morethan a typical school – which honestly it is in mostrespects.”

I didn’t like it, but he might have had a point. All ofthis was going to be hard enough on Mom, withoutknowing her son may or may not be some sort ofmind-reading carnival act. “And Ryland? Doesn’t hedeserve to know what’s happening to him?”

“Of course. But trust me when I say that it will bebetter for him to find out slowly, with other kids whoare in the same situation. He will handle it better if heknows he’s not alone.”

There was a sad note in his voice that made methink that he knew all too well how alone Rylandsometimes felt. I still wasn’t sure about all the secrecy,but I decided to give Alex the benefit of the doubt, fornow.

“All right. Mum’s the word. But you have to tell meeverything.”

“OK,” he laughed.“All of it?”“All of it. But maybe not all at once.”

“OK,” I said with a satisfied smile, and lowered myhand for him to shake. “When do we start?”

“Well, I think we’ve covered enough for today,” hesaid, taking my hand in his, “but it…”

He stopped suddenly and froze, staring over myshoulder.

“Alex?”Coming back to himself he brought his eyes down

to meet mine. “Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shutfor a moment, still looking a bit uneasy. “It’s a… aseventeen hour trip to St Brigid’s… so…” He releasedmy hand and smiled, though not as easily as he haddone a moment ago. “So we’ll have plenty of time.”

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THE HOLDERSby Julianna Scott

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