by Laury Falter
He crossed the room and dropped his bag on the table and then stepped up beside me. At first, I was flattered. Then I noticed Charlotte, the curt girl who’d given Jameson and me such a hard time in the school hallway, was standing just to his right. He had positioned himself between the two of us, standing so close to me that our arms nearly swept against one another. My stomach, in reaction, did flip flops and it took all my will not to look at him. I was absolutely certain he felt the same when the tension between us rose and I heard his breathing catch as our elbows accidentally came in contact. Unexpectedly, he kept his arm in place for longer than would be considered appropriate and I debated with myself on whether to break contact. He was a Caldwell, a fact I couldn’t deny - and I was surrounded by them. Another fact I wished weren’t the case. With both of our breaths staggered and our attention limited to that spot on our skin where we were making contact, at that moment nothing else existed. There was no classroom, no students, no teacher. We weren’t standing in an aged building surrounded by wood walls. We were alone in our own world. Only when Charlotte began snapping her fingers in front of his nose did he pull away.
The remaining Caldwells were scattered, their agate family stones glinting in the faint light, making me feel surrounded.
The last of the students filed in before a squat woman with gray hair wound in a loose bun and Victorian-style clothing moved from a dark corner to the center of the room.
“For those of you who don’t know…” said the woman, pausing to stare at me. “Jocelyn Weatherford, to be precise, my name is Ms. Boudreaux.”
I understood the hidden meaning within her message immediately. I was the only new student. Terrific.
“What the rest of you may not know is this…” she continued on. “Why are you here?”
A slender girl in the corner raised her hand and waited for a nod from Ms. Boudreaux before answering. “For spell-casting lessons.”
“No,” Ms. Boudreaux snapped.
“To advance in the art of magic,” offered a boy with a narrow, curved nose reminding me of a beak.
“Again…no.” She eyed us, waiting for an answer. “You are here to learn to protect yourself - and others. Injury – Disease – Age - Impairments - Death. How do we defeat these? By breaking curses, by casting protection. Now, ” she ambled in a circle just outside the reach of her students, thankfully paying me no more special attention. “Let’s assess what we have to work with, shall we? You may use your family stone or tools from your school supplies. And who wants to go first? You and you.” She pointed to the girl and boy who had spoken up earlier. “Into the middle of the room.”
Their earlier inspiration to impress Ms. Boudreaux apparently disappeared with her request because this time they reluctantly stepped forward with frowns.
“Miranda, you will be Andrew’s attacker,” Ms. Boudreaux instructed and then stepped back to allow them space.
Neither of the opponents sought out a stone from their canvas bags so I figured they’d be using their family stones. This, I thought, was going to be interesting. How dangerous could a stone be? It might leave a welt if pitched hard enough at their opponent, but stones just didn’t sound particularly threatening to me.
Of course, I would be proven wrong, and come away with a new found respect for them after this lesson.
I was so immersed in my thoughts while attempting to hold back my laughter that I almost didn’t hear the whisper sent my way. It was terse and somehow I knew it was meant for me.
“I hope I get you.”
Glancing in the direction it had come, I saw Charlotte leaned forward in order to better peer around Jameson at me, again her eyes narrowed.
“You’d regret it,” I replied in a hushed tone so Ms. Boudreaux wouldn’t overhear.
At my retort, Jameson’s lips curled up in an almost undetectable smile.
Not wanting her to get the best of me, I said, “I’m told I have impressive abilities.” And for a final stab, I added, “Gifts as your mother would call them.”
Her eyes darted to Jameson, the only person who could have relayed that fact. His smile was gone as he ignored her gaze.
“You don’t know how to use them, Jocelyn,” she sneered back. “You’re no more a threat than a fly on the wall.”
Any retort at this point may backfire, I knew. It would sound defensive, weak. So, instead of giving her the satisfaction in believing she’d won this spat, that I was cowering to her, I countered with the next best approach.
Meeting her eyes, my lips lifted in to a bold and arrogant smirk, one that conveyed her words meant nothing to me, that I see her as harmless as a fly on the wall.
She seethed and snapped her head back to the front of the room. I casually turned my attention from her only to catch sight of Jameson’s head rotating in my direction. He was holding down a grin, which I returned. Then, as if I needed further confirmation that he’d supported me in that exchange, he winked at me, congratulatory and admiring.
I wasn’t going to deny it. It felt good to have his support, even if we were supposed to be rivals.
Grinning, I gave my attention to Miranda and Andrew, although strangely neither of them had moved or made a sound. They remained, staring at each other, less than a foot apart.
Then, leisurely, Miranda closed her eyes, her fingers uncurling around whatever it was that she held in her hand. With her palm exposed, it revealed a vividly colored turquoise stone in the center of it. Appearing so tiny and insignificant, I watched curiously for that little object to do something, anything.
Miranda followed this with a quiet muttering. “Incantatio frigus incantatores.”
It was Latin. My mother had tried to force the language down my throat several summers ago but it never stuck. Still, I could understand one word: cold.
To my astonishment Andrew’s arms immediately came up to wrap around his body. His torso began to shake uncontrollably. His teeth began to chatter as he sucked in air between lips that were quickly turning blue. He was already bent at the waist, attempting to harness as much heat from his own body as possible, by the time Ms. Boudreaux stepped in.
“Nice job, Miranda.” She stepped forward just as Andrew’s teeth quieted and his lips returned to a more normal beige. “And what technique did you use?” she inquired.
“Elemental. I chilled the air around him.”
“Excellent,” she replied before acknowledging Andrew. “Clearly your protection did not work. We’ll need to practice it.”
He nodded before eagerly hurrying back to his spot along the wall. Miranda took her time returning to the lineup; clearly enjoying the fact she’d won that sparring match.
Now, I was impressed. Whether that affect came from a stone or otherwise, the potency of it couldn’t be refuted.
“Next,” Ms. Boudreaux suddenly called out, requesting more volunteers. “No one? Shall I continue selecting you then?” Without waiting for an answer, she called out another name, waiting for that person to come forward. When the person didn’t move, she called it again, this time using her last name.
“Jocelyn Weatherford.”
“Me?” I asked, dumbfounded. I was only supposed to observe.
“Into the center,” replied Ms. Boudreaux. “You will be the defender.”
I moved forward, recalling what Jameson had said about this teacher. She liked to test the limits of propriety. Clearly, she was doing it now.
“You understand that I’ve had no formal training,” I mentioned.
“I do,” she replied casually, not even bothering to look at me. “Elementary or otherwise, everyone has a skill level. Use yours to the best of your ability.”
By this point, Charlotte was nearly jumping up and down with her hand in the air, desperate to be selected as my opponent. Ms. Boudreaux moved passed her, though, selecting the largest boy in the class.
As he stepped up to meet me, he had to duck to avoid the ceiling beams and, when he stopped in front of me, I noted how his arms
were so broad they didn’t lie against his body but instead bowed outward.
My concern was growing now. Not only had I’d boasted about my skills to Charlotte, this boy was a mammoth in comparison to me. How was I ever going to spar with him?
I hadn’t chosen a stone from my canvas bag – there was no need for it. I didn’t know what any of them could do or how to use them. Instead, I looked down at my left wrist where the white bracelet was clasped. In it was my family’s stone.
I had little hope it could do much more than glint off the lights.
“Emery,” said the boy, extending his hand into my view. This eased me a bit. If he was offering his hand to me I figured he would be friendly, sympathetic to my being new to the class. His next comment dispelled that illusion. “I don’t go easy in sparring.”
I laughed through my nose, sarcastically, and shook his hand. I was getting the instinct that Ms. Boudreaux already knew this.
“Begin,” came her voice, commanding, unwavering.
Emery didn’t close his eyes, though it was fairly clear that he didn’t need to. He had a solid grasp of his skills and didn’t require the extra method of focus. He didn’t hold his stone in his hand either. His family stone, a golden rutilated quartz known to affect the respiratory system, hung from his neck on a silver chain. I noticed with irony that it did glint in the light.
I waited, uncomfortable beneath his stare, Jameson’s stare, the entire class.
The worst part was that I didn’t know what to wait for, having no idea how he might attack. I even paid special attention to the temperature until I started to feel silly.
Having reached the end of my patience, I made a demand that I’d quickly regret.
“Well, come on already,” I grumbled. “Let’s get on with it.”
A few of the students snickered at my blatant attempt to be the instigator until Ms. Boudreaux shushed them.
Emery then spoke in a chilling whisper: “Incantatio clausa faucibus.”
Faucibus…faucibus…Half my mind raced to translate it, the other half harangued me for not paying more attention to my mother’s Latin quizzes.
Then the word came to me.
Throat.
And that was when I begin to feel it. A pressure at the front of my throat. Gradually worsening, the pressure reached around to the back of my neck until it felt as if hands were fitted around my throat, squeezing closed. On impulse, I made the effort to remove them but my fingers grabbed only air. Quickly, just before my airway was blocked entirely, I drew in a breath, searching for something to stop the sensation.
The pressure tightened.
I made an attempt to draw in air, felt my chest cave in, felt my lungs react, no air entered. My throat remained closed.
My mind raced for an answer, anything that might stop Emery’s attack, and it was this effort that I believe distracted me from entirely seeing what happened next.
A commotion started to my left, bodies shuffled to the side though in no particular order. They seemed to be avoiding something. The sound of whatever it was that hit the wall there still resounded through the room, rattling the floorboards and shaking the entire structure we were in.
Then I could breathe again, recognizing this while drawing in a labored, hoarse gulp. Arching my neck back, I took another deep breath, this one filling my lungs with cool, delicious air. I took several more of them while the room steadied.
Regaining my awareness, I looked to my left, curious what had occurred there in the midst of my sparring match. Maybe another one broke out? I wondered.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I found my opponent there slumped against the wall. His limbs sprawled out, his head wobbling, eyes blinking to recover his sight. The movement I’d seen in that direction had been from the other students dodging Emery’s body as it had been flung toward them.
Unable to understand how he’d gotten there, I searched for the reason. Only then did I realize that no one was staring at me any longer. All heads were turned in the opposite direction, to where I’d been standing before entering the circle of students.
I followed their concentration to where Jameson was poised in a lunge. His right arm was extended, his palm facing me. No…facing Emery. His other hand clutched Charlotte’s arm, channeling her ability.
Then I pieced together what had happened…
Jameson had just stepped in and defended me.
6 THE PLEA
He hadn’t planned it.
That much I was certain of as Jameson rocked back to a standing position and released Charlotte’s arm. Yet, he retained his firm stance, his head tilted up defiantly, his expression taut and unyielding.
While I was still processing all that took place, I was certain of two things. What he’d done was by instinct and he had no regrets for it.
When his eyes locked with mine they stayed there briefly, only to confirm that I was breathing again, before moving down my body to ensure I hadn’t endured any other injury.
Only after he was confident I was safe did his expression loosen.
Charlotte remained at her brother’s side but with the same amazed and disgusted expression the rest of the class held.
It was obvious this had never taken place before. I was fairly confident no one had stepped in to defend another during a sparring match before and I was absolutely certain that a Caldwell had never protected a Weatherford. These insights, however, were discarded immediately as the room erupted.
I started toward Emery, concerned about what injuries he might have sustained. Ms. Boudreaux brushed by me to reach him first, an herbal remedy already in her hand. She stooped and tucked it under his nose until he reacted to it with a shudder.
In the midst of the commotion, as I watched Emery’s eyelids flutter, I reacted with the only solution I could offer.
“I’m a healer,” I said in a shallow, hushed breath. And then my mouth snapped shut, realizing what I’d just done. I’d made an announcement that the class had just heard, and about which I wasn’t entirely certain of…and I was furious at myself for it.
Several heads turned and once again I felt in the spotlight but it was Ms. Boudreaux who reacted. She yanked me forward and down to a crouched position, giving me the approval to work on him.
Completely uncertain of what I was doing and irate with myself for having proposed my assistance in the first place, I hesitated. Emery’s eyelids fluttered and without another thought I placed my hand on him.
“Incantatio sana,” Ms. Boudreaux instructed.
While I’d never spoken this particular phrase before, or any really, and the objects I’d touched had still healed, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
“Incantatio sana,” I whispered hastily.
There was no movement from Emery other than his fluttering lids.
“Incantatio sana,” I repeated more firmly, more loudly. “Incantatio sana.”
Emery’s eyes settled, closed momentarily, and then reopened. His mouth twisted upward in a half-smile before he drew in a breath. Then, in the silence, his voice gruff, he asked, “Well? Did I win?”
“No,” I replied flatly.
Only then did Ms. Boudreaux relax, rolling back to an upright sit. A few students laughed and stepped away, the incident over now. I stood, drew in a deep breath, and headed back to the edge of the room where I had been before the sparring session.
Now I was the one in the flustered state. I had just openly acknowledged that I had healing capabilities and they had just been demonstrated on my opponent. How could that be, I thought. Then I surmised that there was really only one conclusion. He had already been on his way to recovery. I had nothing to do with it other than placing my hands on him and speaking a quirky phrase at the opportune time.
Somehow, this realization made me feel better.
Jameson still stood where he’d been, his stance still readied. It looked like he’d take on the entire class if needed.
Emery didn’t seem to take a
ny offense though.
Whatever Ms. Boudreaux had done, it worked. By the time he was on his feet, he clapped his hands readily and belted, “Who’s next?”
He even argued with those insisting he sit the next one out. That took place as Ms. Boudreaux wiggled a finger at Jameson, beckoning him to the corner of the room.
Clearly, he was going to be punished which made me wonder what that meant in a school like this one. Although I tried to listen without making it obvious, she kept her voice low and what I deduced from the conversation wasn’t much. When he collected his canvas bag and left the room, I figured he was heading for the principal’s office, or whatever the equivalent was here.
The sparring lesson resumed but not without stares from the Caldwells. I figured they were each planning a different end to my demise. To take my mind off it, I focused on learning as much as I could, picking up a few spell incantations and learning how a voodoo doll and a few more stones could be used.
Jameson still hadn’t returned by the end of the two-hour class, which made me start to wonder if he’d been expelled from it, a thought that made me feel guilty even though I had been a bystander during the incident. He’d been defending me, and if I were honest with myself I’d have to admit I was flattered. Eventually, Ms. Boudreaux would have stopped Emery but Jameson couldn’t wait that long, he couldn’t bear to see me in pain. I knew this for certain without him having to tell me.
For this reason, I sought him out after class was dismissed. While the rest of the students left through the archway toward the street, my direction took me toward the only other lit window in the courtyard.
But I didn’t get very far.
I found Alison was suddenly in my way.
How she’d gotten around me without my noticing was actually remarkable. Even in the darkness, I should have seen some movement, along the walkway to my left or around the planter to my right. There had been none. I made a mental note that she had the ability, the gift to move fast and without sound.
