No, she decided. She felt grateful. For, no matter how hard her life was, she had been loved. There was loneliness about Nicolas that contrasted heavily with this large, exquisite plantation.
“When did you learn to do that shit with the trees?” Nicolas asked suddenly, breaking her out of her reflective reverie.
“I’ve always had touches of it,” Anne tried to answer honestly, despite her growing nervousness. They were encroaching upon necessary territory now–it was why she came here, was it not?–but the shock she had seen on Nicolas’ face outside told her this was new to him. She might not get her needed answers.
"Wicked," Nicolas replied, admiringly. "Never seen anything like it."
Yes, that's what I was afraid of. "No?"
"Commanding trees to do your bidding and shit? No, I haven't," he replied, and her heart dropped. Then he added, "But it pretty much solidifies that you're a Deschanel."
"What do you mean?"
"Your mom never told you, I take it?" Anne shook her head. Nicolas laughed. "No, I suppose she might not have known, because my father was benign, and so were all of his kids. Except you, it seems." That last bit was added with a curious, amused, lilt to his voice. Nicolas maybe wasn’t such a jerk after all.
"Benign?" Anne was lost, but her heart started to race at his acknowledgement that her abilities might somehow be relevant.
"Meaning, we can't do cool shit with our mind," Nicolas replied. He refilled his drink, and then flopped down in the large, leather armchair across from her. He had one leg draped carelessly over the side. "Not like the rest of the Deschanels."
"So, I'm not the only one?" Anne's heartbeat skipped even faster, and she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, both eager and fearful of his next words.
"No, you're not. This whole family is filled with freaks who can move things across tables, and read minds, heal, and all kinds of bizarre shit. But," Nicolas clarified, dropping his leg and leaning forward, pointing a finger at her. "I would venture to say no one in the family can do what you do."
Anne didn't know if that distinction was good or bad, but she was overcome with relief. She may, in fact, be a freak, but she was no longer alone.
11- Nicolas
Despite Deschanels being notoriously clannish, Nicolas had never been much for family ties, thanks to an absentee father, and self-serving mother. He could not even say he was especially close to Adrienne, though he loved her dearly.
Something about Anne struck a chord deep within him, though. At first he suspected it was an extreme overreaction to the guilt he felt at trying to seduce her, but he was surprisingly over that already. They had both moved past it because bigger things were at hand.
Nicolas wanted to see things made right for Anne. He knew how she had grown up, because Adrienne had told him about the squalor she lived in with the Fontaines. It was unforgivable that any child of Charles Deschanel, heir of the infamous Deschanel Empire, would be forced into such an upbringing.
He had half a mind to lie to her about their father; to paint a picture of a loving and doting dad who guided them through their formative years with tender hands. But the truth seemed more merciful, rather than letting her continue to pine over a past that was entirely fictional.
Anne was his sister as much as Adrienne was. As he was willing to protect and sacrifice for Adrienne, he was similarly inclined to do the same for Anne.
After a companionable silence, Nicolas finally asked, "What are your plans?"
"You mean, while I am here in New Orleans, or for the rest of my life?" Anne hedged.
"The rest of your life."
"I don't know," Anne replied honestly, as a shadow passed across her face. There was obviously a lot to her story. "My brother is getting married soon, and he's moved to Baton Rouge, so there's nothing left for me in Abbeville. I suppose it's never too late to go to college."
Nicolas decided what he should do. "There's someone I think you should meet."
"Oh?" He didn't miss the flicker of fear beneath her undeniable curiosity. Even now, she still didn't entirely trust him. He didn’t blame her.
"Our Aunt Colleen. She's a healer, but she's also the leader of this family... group." How the hell do I explain the Deschanel Magi?
"I know I'm saying this an awful lot, but I don't understand," Anne admitted with a nervous chuckle.
"It's pretty fucking dumb really," Nicolas started, making sure his disapproval was clear before launching into the explanation, "but there is supposedly an ancient decree that someone from each generation take charge of categorizing all the Deschanels by ability, and then figuring out how strong each of us are."
"Like a taxonomy?"
Nicolas shrugged. "I guess. Colleen is the current leader of the Deschanel Magi Collective, and her modus operandi is to find the strongest Deschanels and keep them close, lest they wreak unimaginable havoc on the world. I think it’s safe to say she will find you interesting."
"But what does that mean for me… exactly? I make it on some list of mages? Become some freak to study?" Anne looked mortally offended at the notion, and Nicolas felt a touch of pride there might be another nonbeliever in the family.
"Perhaps. Perhaps more," Nicolas said. "Colleen is a surgeon, but she also conducts research on genetics, specifically related to all the bizarre shit that goes on in our family. No one actually knows where or how we got our powers–“
"I am not interested in being someone's test subject!" Anne interrupted. Nicolas heard the tottering ceramic of the potted palm as it trembled along the cypress floorboards.
"Easy, Mistress Flora! Let me finish." The vase ceased its shaking, and he continued, more carefully. "There are provisions in this... Magi Collective that allow for the Grand Magi, or the most powerful of the Deschanels, to be given property and an important role in the Collective. It's very Middle Ages." Nicolas laughed, and swirled the dark liquid in his glass a few times before finishing it off in a short gulp. "Really, you can't make this shit up. Anyway, if she saw what you could do, and she signed off on it, you'd get some nice digs, an allowance, and maybe a cool job."
Anne's face was an open book of emotions; it was almost amusing to watch her process the absurdity of what he had proposed. Finally, she straightened her posture, blinked a few times, and cleared her throat.
Nicolas’ pride in his sister increased at her bold, yet still in control, conclusion: "I would consider hearing what she has to say."
12- Anne
Nicolas' driver picked Anne and Nicolas up at Ophélie, taking them back down the twisting River Road, and then onto the Pontchartrain Expressway toward New Orleans. At first embarrassed by her frenzied display from a few hours ago, the driver’s professional demeanor soon put her at ease.
On the drive, Nicolas explained Colleen was their father's sister, and, aside from being head of this Magi Collective, she was also the unofficial spokesperson and chronicler for the Deschanel family. There was no Deschanel who knew as much about the family as Colleen.
"Don't let her intimidate you," he said in conclusion, as the car pulled into town, and headed down St. Charles Avenue. "She has a way about her that tends to scare people off."
If anything were intimidating to Anne, though, it was Colleen’s home, The Gardens, an imposing manor in the heart of the Garden District.
They drove past many beautiful homes, but The Gardens was not a home at all. It was more of a mansion, spanning an entire city block; a compound in fact. It dwarfed the other homes, making them seem as small and insignificant as the increasingly pathetic shack waiting back in Abbeville.
Lily-white balconies wrapped clear around the house, and the windows on both floors ran top to bottom, bedecked with ornately patterned trim. Lining the property were tall, wrought iron gates with spiked tips, reminding interlopers the paradise within was not for everyone.
The residence itself was almost an afterthought in context of the oasis surrounding it. The Gardens was aptly named, for the home wa
s situated within a nest of luxurious flora and fauna, ancient magnolias flanking the four corners. Large, ceramic fountains let out arcing sprays that reached the balconies, leaving a fine mist to settle over the gardens. Bird of paradise, hibiscus, stargazers, and all kinds of clematis made their home throughout the maze of beautiful plant life. Even from behind the tinted windows, floral scents wafted in.
The earthy fragrances and textures were comforting and familiar to Anne. It was not unlike the feeling of coming home.
After spending the last couple of hours with the swaggering, devil-may-care Nicolas, Colleen Deschanel was both a stark contrast and a breath of fresh air.
The towering iron front doors of The Gardens swung open, and a tall brunette sashayed down the wide steps. The clicking from her heels echoed jarringly when compared to the soft sounds of flowing water and softly rustling leaves.
Colleen extended her slender arm toward a slack-jawed Anne, her handshake firm and quick. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear," Colleen purred, in a deep, silky voice. Her accent was as smooth and genteel as her well-coiffed hair, evoking images of the quintessential Southern belle. She reminded Anne of the decorous women who attended the Daughters of the Confederacy meetings in Abbeville, at the old Baptist church.
"You have a lovely home," Anne said, searching for something more interesting to say and coming up woefully short.
Colleen raised one well-manicured eyebrow, then smiled. "Well, being as you've just come from Ophélie, I will take that as quite the compliment."
"Nicolas," the elegant woman said, turning her head toward her nephew, "You did not tell me how much she resembles Charles!"
Nicolas shrugged, and was looking around as if already bored.
"I do?" Anne asked, feeling both timid and outclassed by this woman.
"Why, he is your father, is he not?" Colleen pertly retorted, neatly putting the question to final rest. "So my dearest nephew has told me you have a rare and unique ability." She flicked her delicate, ornamented wrists toward her gardens. "Care to demonstrate?"
It was clear from her tone that Colleen was skeptical. There was kindness in the woman's voice but also something else... bemusement? All of a sudden, Anne regretted agreeing to come, and wanted only to go back to her old, worn shack in the bayou.
"Well?" Colleen prompted. A large white Persian cat snaked itself around the woman's ankles. "Inside, Kitten," Colleen cooed firmly, but gently.
Nicolas snickered, leaning against the car with his arms crossed. "Kitten. Really, Aunt C, you need to think about changing that cat's name. She's as large as your grandson."
"Nonsense," Colleen said dismissively, still watching Anne. "Nicolas, you did say you actually saw this child's abilities, did you not?"
Nicolas nodded affirmatively. Anne wanted to shrink into the flagstones and disappear entirely.
"Anne, do I need to stick my hand up your skirt again?" Nicolas teased. Colleen frowned slightly, but did not seem nearly surprised enough. This entire family is very unexpected.
"If she doesn't want to do it, then we can't force her." Colleen allowed a touch of arrogance to color her words, glancing toward the front door. A woman who managed an estate like this obviously had other things to be attending to.
As Anne watched first Nicolas' disappointed face, and then Colleen's almost smug look of satisfaction, Anne was reminded of the very last coherent words her mother said to her. You're best off using this money as a dowry, because there's nothing a girl like you can expect to accomplish in this big world except being an attentive wife and mother. Ain't no shame in that, either. Better to leave the big dreams to Jesse.
Why? Because she was not college educated? Not pretty enough? Not fortunate enough to be born somewhere like Ophélie, or The Gardens?
Or because her mother had thrown her own life away, and could not bear to know that Anne was able to make something out of nothing, when Angelique could not?
The sky above them rapidly grew dark as a large, looming shadow closed in over The Gardens. The magnolias were whistling, and moaning as they bowed inward, generating large gusts of wind that nearly knocked Colleen over. The woman steadied herself against the iron fence, watching Anne in growing awe.
I will not be nothing. I am Anne Fontaine Deschanel, daughter of Angelique and Charles, and I will not be nothing!
Anne threw her head back. Her arms rose out and up into the air, as she called all of the flora and fauna in The Gardens to her. The beckoning song came directly from her heart as she commanded their obeisance, offering herself in an equal and loving servitude.
The winds from the answering flowers and trees whipped around them as oleander, jasmine, and bougainvillea came to life, dancing and singing in a symphony only Anne could understand. This time, she did not have dark thoughts in her heart, so the plants simply twirled and swayed, creating a show for her slightly nervous guests.
"That's quite enough!" Colleen called from her left. Anne averted her eyes and saw her aunt crouched near the fence, gripping it with both hands. Her once lovely up-do had come undone, and her brunette hair was flowing in the breeze, with bougainvillea almost playfully teasing the ends.
Anne slowly lowered her arms back down to her sides, and as she did, the flowers shuddered to a halt and then wound their way back toward their origins.
Her aunt was straightening her silk blouse, and doing her best to right her frightful hair.
Nicolas was gloating. "Told ya.”
"I'm sorry," Anne said, though she did not know why she was apologizing. She had done exactly as requested. It's because I've been apologizing my whole life. For everything. For my mother's behavior. My brother's loyalty. My father's defection.
"Apologies are unnecessary, though I may need to set aside some time to concoct a reasonable explanation for our busybody neighbors," Colleen mused. If not for her wayward hair, she was entirely recovered from the shock of the situation. Kitten, in the midst of the storm, had apparently decided to follow his mistress’ advice and was nowhere in sight.
Colleen continued, extending her hand to Anne, who politely took it, "Unless you have any strong objections, I'd like to discuss a long-term assignment with you. You see, I've been waiting so long for an arborkinetic in this family, and-" Aunt Colleen had turned and was headed for the door to… her new home?
"A what?" Anne asked, rushing to keep up with her aunt.
"An arborkinetic, dear. An individual who can speak with, and command, plant life."
"I can't speak to them," Anne insisted.
"You can," Colleen corrected. "You just don’t know it yet."
As Anne was led by her aunt, and newfound confidante, up the white wooden steps, she realized suddenly that Nicolas was not behind her. She turned and called for him, as he was slipping back into the car.
"Where are you going?" she queried anxiously.
"To find Adrienne," Nicolas said, with an encouraging smile. "And let her know our sister has arrived."
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Read on for a glimpse into St. Charles at Dusk, the novel that started it all…
St. Charles at Dusk
PROLOGUE
Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine (A La Famille Lagniappe) Page 4
