by Laury Falter
Then it dawned on me…
Jameson had been correct.
I was witnessing the mysticism I had been mocking all day long. This realization stayed with me throughout dinner, which was a four course meal and probably the most delicious food I’d ever tasted. And while I would have preferred to sit quietly throughout the meal, giving me time to enjoy it and to better comprehend what I had observed here and in the French Quarter shops, that turned out to be an impossible expectation. I was peppered with questions about myself, my life to-date, and my mother for the first half of the meal. Only one thing broke the conversation, something that settled in and didn’t leave me throughout the meal. When I’d mentioned that Aunt Lizzy had slept the entire day and I’d gone shopping on my own, Miss Mabelle happened to be in the room, collecting empty soup bowls. Overhearing me, she muttered under her breath, “Mmmmhmmm, kin thank me for that…” Then she was gone, the door between the kitchen and dining room swinging back in its place.
It unnerved me.
She had just admitted to ensuring that the only person who could possibly escort me around this unfamiliar city was indisposed; and that during Aunt Lizzy’s absence Miss Mabelle had ushered me toward shopping for school supplies that could have been bought in advance, or even piecemealed together from the other school supplies until ones could be bought to replace them. Instead, Miss Mabelle had guaranteed that I would be shopping on my own. What happened to southern hospitality, I wondered.
That aside, dinner was very entertaining, as well as educational. For the last half, I asked them questions and found that I really enjoyed my cousins. This was a relief because they were the only family members I’d ever met. It bode well for the rest.
They were lively and each with their own distinct personality. Estelle was confident, audacious even, with a fondness for asking pointed questions. She favored the colors purple and green, which I was forewarned were the only colors in her wardrobe. Vinnia captured the image of a southern belle perfectly, with softly curled strawberry-blonde hair and large, innocent eyes. She moved very slowly and said very little. Although when she did speak her summation of the topic was amazingly precise. Spencer was short with curly red hair and a boisterous voice that didn’t seem right coming from his small frame. Oscar was a year older than me, average in height but built like a train, stiff and sturdy. He reminded me of a union boss with the poise and fairness to negotiate, which he did whenever an argument broke out. Nolan was a talker, fast and impeccably clear, with an almost palpable energy that simmered just below the surface. Besides their hair color, which had varying shades of red in it, and upturned noses, they did have one other thing in common. They all wore a crystal quartz stone somewhere on their body.
After several hours, as the questions lessened, I was just about to ask about Estelle’s ability to light candles and Vinnia’s ability to carry plates without actually touching them when Aunt Lizzy screeched back her chair.
“Well, your Uncle Lester is about to call and I have a lot to catch up with him.”
I’d learned that he was assisting my mother at the ministry and wasn’t expected home any time soon.
“And it is eleven o’clock…” she yawned.
I drew in a quiet gasp. The academy would never have allowed dinner to go this late, much less allow us to be outside our rooms at this hour. Still, no one seemed to pay it much attention. Even Aunt Lizzy was leisurely making her way to the stairs without rounding up her children and forcing them to their rooms.
“She does this every time,” Oscar pointed out. “The day before school starts-”
“School starts tomorrow?” I asked, feeling my eyes grow wide.
He gave me a nod of affirmation before Estelle started in about her first period teacher.
I watched them blankly, realizing one thing. They weren’t moving.
“You don’t have a lights out?” I asked, perplexed.
They broke in to smiles, evidently finding humor in my question. But Spencer replied, “This isn’t a prison, Jocelyn.”
Oscar went on to clarify. “We don’t follow the same rules or structure that you might be used to. Brush your teeth, don’t brush your teeth. Eat breakfast, don’t eat breakfast. Have chocolate for breakfast.” He shrugged. “Do what you want. No one will stop you.”
I sat quietly stunned, soaking up what he’d just relayed to me. Then, somewhere in the recesses of my mind and without much thought to it, a response formulated. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
That brought out laughter from everyone at the table before they began pushing back their chairs, collecting dessert plates and silverware, and bringing them to the kitchen.
I did the same and found Miss Mabelle slumped on a stool in a corner near the pantry, her cane propped against her robust thigh. She appeared to be asleep.
The dishes were arranged next to the sink and the silverware was placed in a bucket of suds as the conversation turned to the next day. Several times the word “school” was mentioned bringing out a yawn each time.
“You should rest,” Vinnia encouraged. Apparently, she’d noticed them. “It’s going to be a big day for you tomorrow.”
As much as I wanted to spend more time with my newly found family, I knew she made a good point. Having been unable to sleep much on the plane, or since we landed, it would be fair to say I’d been awake for almost thirty six hours.
Before I headed upstairs, Spencer revealed that he’d be driving me the next morning and instructed me to be ready by seven o’clock.
Their voices drifted up but became muffled as I closed my door.
This birthday hadn’t been at all what I’d expected. There had been no corny song or bundles of gifts. No birthday cake or congratulatory speech. But in its own unique way it had been one of the best. I’d finally met my family. It made me smile knowing I was very slowly coming to terms with my new home, my new life.
Shunning sleep for just a few minutes, I dropped my canvas bag on the bed and slowly emptied it on to the comforter. Shaking my head, I was still confused about what classes would bring tomorrow. Candles, tarot cards, gris gris bags, a voodoo doll, an assortment of stones… Not your typical school supplies.
Then all thoughts about school instantly disappeared as I focused on the items strewn across my bed. One of them shouldn’t have been there. It knew it with certainty. It’s starkly defined color would have drawn my attention when I’d peeked in the bag at Olivia’s store.
The violet candlestick, delicately carved with an intricate curving pattern lay haphazardly across a stack of tarot cards.
Picking it up for inspection, I realized there was only one person who could have put it there.
Jameson.
And my smile returned.
Finding a book of matches and a simple silver candleholder among my school supplies, I assembled them on my nightstand and struck the match, noting with curiosity that it didn’t leave the typical, stringent smell of sulfur behind as I touched flame to wick.
A brief crackling followed and then something entirely unexpected happened.
Smoke began billowing from the candle. Enormous clouds of it filled the room within seconds.
In a rush, I blew it out, hoping that none made it to the hallway. A quick glance back told me that it hadn’t and I took a seat on the bed, ready to laugh at myself.
But then I looked up…and the laugh caught in my throat.
There in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window, I watched as the smoke collected into letters. The letters then formed words, which I read in a whisper.
I didn’t get to say it earlier.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
-Jameson
5 ENEMY REVEALED
I didn’t tell anyone about the candle the next morning, partly because I hadn’t mentioned Jameson to them, and partly because there was no time for it.
The house had turned to complete pandemonium.
I was startled awake by the sound of a sho
ut. This, apparently, was Miss Mabelle’s way of rousing the household. After slipping out of bed, showering in the bathroom adjacent to my room, and selecting a colorful bohemian dress and brown leather knee-high boots, I was ready for my first day of school.
Downstairs, things became more hectic.
When there wasn’t a body rushing by me there was a shout to take its place. Footsteps thudded down the hallway, doors slammed, grunts were made as something was forgotten midway down the stairs.
I waited for Spencer by the door nibbling a croissant I’d found in the kitchen, holding my canvas shopping bag, and trying to stay out of everyone’s way, all while recalling the birthday gift Jameson had left me last night. Just the thought of it sent a flood of excitement through me and roused butterflies in my stomach. The affect of it clung to me so that I didn’t even think about my new school until we were on our way there.
My cousins each had their own sports car, Spencer having opted for a black Audi R8, and they all drove in a line out the front gate. While it was a short drive to my new school, the Academy of the Immaculate Heart, Spencer had time to inform me that I was one of the lucky ones. Apparently, the old principal greeted new students with a forced introductory meeting but the new one was more leisurely. Therefore, he or one of the other cousins would orient me to the school grounds.
As we pulled into park, I noted that this school resembled my old academy, albeit on a smaller scale. The campus housed red brick buildings dripping with ivy and expansive, lush lawns, bringing on a pang of sadness and the reminder that I needed to make a call to my friends soon.
Spencer found a spot to park in a vacant row and the rest of my cousins’ sports cars fell in line next to it. I stepped out, still holding my canvas bag, and taking in the campus.
“Oh no…” Spencer said across the car’s roof. “Not that one. That’s for later.”
Then he swung a laptop bag over his shoulder and rounding the car to replace the canvas bag in my hand with a laptop of my own.
“This,” he said heaving the canvas one across the backseat to settle next to his, “won’t be needed until after school.” He looked up to find my bewildered expression and explained, “That one is used for casting classes in The Quarter which start after school.”
“For extracurricular?”
“Sort of,” he replied as if having no other way to describe them.
“Come on,” Estelle called out, already strolling toward the school’s entrance with the rest of my cousins, the sash of her deep purple shirt trailing behind her.
We reached two double glass doors and entered the school’s main hall together. Had the doors not been shaded, had the morning light been angled slightly different, what transpired next may never have occurred.
I’d been right behind Oscar, close enough that when he came to a sudden halt just inside I nearly collided with him. Although I’m not sure he would have noticed.
His attention was on six others directly in front of us.
They all had the same sandy blonde hair and were all close in age to each other as well as to me and my cousins. And they all wore an agate stone, one of the oldest stones in recorded history and one thought to be worn for protection.
None of this mattered much to me because the butterflies had returned.
Stepping around Oscar, I came in to full view as Jameson turned to face us.
“Hi,” I said, excited to meet again and trying not to show it.
His stunning translucent green eyes settled on me and didn’t move. “Jocelyn…” he stated softly, apprehensively.
His tone was different today. It was restricted. And it instantly made me suspicious.
Then all eyes were on us, swinging from me to him and back to me again.
It was Estelle who asked what seemed to be on everyone’s mind. “You two know each other?” There was an edge to her voice.
“Yes,” I said, having no idea why I felt like I’d just broken a rule.
“How?” Oscar demanded. At the sound of his tone, the feeling I’d crossed a boundary grew more distinct.
“In the French Quarter, yesterday. Jameson showed me around.”
“First name terms, ha?” scoffed a girl next to Jameson, who gave her a swift glare for it.
My defensiveness kicked in then. “That’s really none of your business.”
The girl stepped forward but was also held back.
“You showed her around?” demanded a stout boy on Jameson’s side of the line, inquiring just as harshly with him as my cousins were being with me.
Jameson didn’t respond right away. He remained rigid, his eyes boring in to me, guilty, seeming to apologize. But there was no reason for it. He’d done nothing wrong.
“Jameson,” snapped the girl, insisting on an answer.
“Don’t raise your voice to him,” I ordered, knowing that I was stirring up the fight.
The girl was about to retort when Jameson responded. It was subdued but stiff and unyielding. “She didn’t know who I was.”
His eyes never wavered from me.
“Did you know who she was?” urged the girl.
He drew in a deep breath, unwilling to answer.
After another forceful prompt from the girl, he growled in warning, “Enough, Charlotte. Yes, I knew she was a Weatherford.”
There were gasps from both sides at his acknowledgement and Nolan took a step forward, reminding me of a soldier advancing toward his enemy.
Oscar’s hand came up and stopped Nolan at the chest before asking, “Jocelyn, were you harmed?”
“No,” I replied, shocked he’d even think to ask the question. “No, not at all. Jameson was…”
Nolan pressed his chest against Oscar’s hand when I hesitated, ready to break through it toward Jameson’s side of the line.
“Was what?” Estelle prompted.
I met Jameson’s eyes again. The intensity in them made me hesitate. He was waiting to see how I’d characterize him.
“Well…he was a complete gentleman.”
This seemed to placate both sides. Nolan lessened his pressure against Oscar’s hand and those standing on both sides of Jameson dropped their shoulders.
I got the sense this interaction was about to break up when Vinnia, petite and childlike Vinnia, stepped forward to direct a threat at Jameson. “Stay away from her or you will regret it, Caldwell.”
My cousins began to turn and head down the hall, the fight deterred for the time being, when my subconscious registered the name she’d used.
I repeated it slowly. “Caldwell?”
Then I was piecing it all together from the depths of my awareness, his last name screaming through my mind. It was the name of the family who had repressed and endangered the Weatherfords for centuries, the name of our mortal enemy. And it was the name he had not disclosed yesterday when he’d asked for mine.
Jameson remained firm, his expression never flinching and intently trained on me.
“You’re…” I swallowed hard, the words barely making it passed my throat. “You’re a Caldwell?”
“We’re all Caldwells,” Charlotte spat vehemently, motioning to the line on both sides of her. Apparently, from her point of view, I should have known this already.
“Easy, Charlotte,” Jameson warned again.
She drew in a sharp breath, offended. “You spend the whole day with a Weatherford…knowing she’s a Weatherford…endangering yourself…all of us…and you’re telling me to take it easy?”
“No one got hurt,” he mumbled, contentious, his mouth downturned.
“Not yet…” seethed another one of the girls from his side, one with clear green eyes like Jameson, framed with long dark lashes. Right now they were narrowed and pointed at me.
No one spoke for several seconds and only then did I notice that we’d drawn a crowd. Somewhere inside the swarm people were whispering.
“…starting another fight…”
“…always at it. Can’t they just get along?
”
“Wonder what they’re gonna do this time.”
Then Oscar’s voice rose above the rest. “Let’s go, Weatherfords.”
This time, I turned with them to move toward the classrooms, noting that by accident or with intent they’d formed a circle around me.
“That went well,” I muttered sarcastically and heard a few of my cousins chuckle.
“You can hold your own,” Estelle pointed out, playfully elbowing me.
I avoided it and used the motion to do a visual sweep of the boundary my cousins made. I lingered briefly on the Caldwells who stayed in place watching us leave.
While most of them gradually returned to what they’d been doing before, opening their lockers, digging through their notebooks, Jameson stayed focused on me.
The rigidity in his face had loosened. He no longer seemed alert, tense. But there was something in his expression that I couldn’t deny.
He looked disappointed.
That caught me off guard. Here was my enemy who, for every sane reason, should be glaring at my back but he wasn’t. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Thinking back over the hours we’d spent together, even after he’d learned that I was a Weatherford, he’d remained friendly, even flirtatious at times. He’d diverted the attention of his family when we nearly met them on the street, which I had a feeling was to help me avoid the tense meeting that had just taken place. He’d defended me against Mrs. DeVille’s derogatory remark about my hat. He’d left me an unexpected birthday gift, written in smoke through the air. He’d been concerned for my safety in transporting a dangerous item back home. Even if it had turned out to be a seemingly innocuous rope, he didn’t know it. He was supposed to be my greatest adversary and yet he’d done nothing at all to prove it.
This realization stayed with me until we crossed paths again, in my second class, History of the Civil War. As I walked through the door, I saw him seated at the back of the room, his head down, immersed in the words of a textbook.
