Residue

by Laury Falter

  She was halfway rotated when one seized her elbow. While she stood her ground, tilting her chin up, she didn’t force the issue and remained in place. Only when the person finished what they had to say was Ms. Veilleux released.

  Then, in unison, the two figures spun and disappeared down the courtyard’s tunnel toward the street. I watched as Ms. Veilleux wrapped her arms around her torso and rubbed her shoulders, a clear sign that whatever she’d been discussing wasn’t good.

  I stayed long enough to watch the other two step into a waiting vehicle and disappear through the city streets.

  On my way home, as I flew over Jameson’s house it dawned on me who they were, Ms. Veilleux’s mysterious cloaked visitors. I noticed that the Caldwell lights were off though, and I wasn’t sure if I could get away with stopping there anyway.

  I would need to wait until Monday to tell Jameson that Ms. Veilleux had been paid a visit by the Vires.

  13 VIRES

  Sunday morning’s breakfast was left almost untouched after I mentioned the Vires. After I got a good scolding for being out alone, the speculations began and none of them were positive.

  “The Caldwells are planning a serious retaliation…”

  “The Vires are moving into our province…”

  “The school is closing…”

  Estelle was the first to place her fork to the side and the others quickly followed. “Most likely, they’re checking in again, making sure we haven’t disobeyed their command to avoid the Caldwells.”

  “Like we are their wards,” Vinnia scoffed.

  In an attempt to help us face reality, Spencer mentioned, “To them…we are their wards.”

  That made us pause, some of us shaking our heads.

  “Maybe it had nothing to do with us,” suggested Oscar, always the level headed one. “Could be they had something else to talk about with Ms. Veilleux. There was that thing with the Monteux kid last month - where he almost burnt down the school with his cast - incantatio flamus-”

  “Incantatio flamma ignire,” corrected Spencer. “You have to study your Latin if you want to pass practical exams next year. I’m telling you, Mr. Mercier isn’t called The Merciless for no reason.”

  Oscar responded to Spencer’s chastising with a roll of his eyes.

  “Anyway,” said Estelle, “I still think there’s something wrong. The Monteux kid isn’t it. He was punished already.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it wasn’t good,” I said. “It looked like they were warning her - and she didn’t want to hear it.”

  “Why’d you get that impression,” asked Nolan, who’d been nervously crouched over his plate since I had brought it up.

  “Because she tried to walk away and they stopped her.” I delivered this news flatly, emotions about it broiling so deeply I wouldn’t allow them to surface.

  “Sounds like the Vires…” sighed Vinnia.

  The room went silent as tensions rose.

  “Remember that family over in the northwest province?” said Estelle. “They were in Seattle, right?”

  “Portland,” corrected Spencer.

  The rest of the table had their heads down now, remembering. There was heaviness in the air as if the energy around us had become depressed.

  “What happened?” I asked disturbed but intrigued.

  Oscar leaned back in his chair, the thought of breakfast seeming to leave him nauseous. “They were caught casting in the woods, deep in the woods where you don’t cross paths with anyone else for days. They took extra precaution not to be seen in fact. Anyway, it was some sort of family ritual meant to renew their protection.” He stopped and pinched his lips before continuing, his tone more subdued. “And it didn’t work.”

  After a few seconds of apprehensive silence, I persisted, “Did the Vires find them?”

  “No, they were turned in.” He drew in a deep breath. “Turned in and punished. Almost everyone said they were used as an example, but there are those of us who know better. They weren’t examples - they were trophies. The Vire used them for recreational casting and when they were good and tortured they strung them up at the ministry and kept them alive until the story could reach every province.”

  I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat. “The ministry?”

  “Your mother fought on the family’s behalf,” said Vinnia, deducing my thoughts. “She just didn’t have anyone else on her side at that time to help.”

  “Yep…” said Estelle, staring out the kitchen window at nothing in particular, “it’s the first rule you learn. Don’t get caught casting in public.”

  I thought about the Caldwells and their attempts to freeze, overheat, or drench me in the hallways of our school during the day. But, other than Charlotte’s first try, none of their efforts were so obvious it couldn’t be traced back to them. And that was exactly what Aunt Lizzy had forewarned me about on the plane here. They were sneaky. Regardless, the very fact they were casting in public made me realize just how dedicated they were to affecting me.

  “If they try anything like that on Ms. Veilleux…” threatened Vinnia, again amazing me that the smallest of the Weatherfords had the most nerve.

  “Nah,” denounced Oscar. “Won’t need to. She keeps that school obscure enough. Her neighbors still think she tutors wealthy delinquents.”

  Now I understood the secrecy.

  “That’s why I’m so surprised the Vires contacted her last night,” said Estelle exasperated. “It has to be because of us and the Caldwells.”

  The rest of the table shrugged or frowned but Oscar spoke for us all. “If it is, we’ll know soon enough.”

  The conjecture and assumptions lasted the rest of the day, someone throwing out a possibility every few hours. But it wasn’t until Monday that I heard the most reasonable explanation.

  I was on my way to second period, keeping my eyes moving through the crowd in case I ran into a Caldwell and hoping if I did it would be Jameson. As it turned out, we did cross paths but not the way I expected.

  The fast-paced footsteps caught my attention first. Then the crowd around me was running, sharply brushing my shoulders in an effort to get around me, and closer to whatever was ahead. Shouts started about then and they were along the lines of…

  “Fight!”

  “They’re girls!”

  “It’s a Weatherford and a Caldwell!”

  That last one launched me into a sprint.

  I followed the flow of the crowd until reaching the part where they clustered together around a vacant center in which two heads were positioned only a foot apart.

  I recognized them instantly.

  Estelle and Alison…

  Shoving my way through the swarm of students, I reached the center and found them pitted silently against each other, mouths turned down, eyes locked on each other, daring the other to make the first move. Their book bags were hanging at their sides, straps gripped between clenched fingers, and I knew they would become weapons if given the chance. Without the option to cast here in the hallway, it was the only tool they had.

  Jameson broke through the circle on the opposite side at the same time I did and our eyes met. His were the same as mine…deeply apprehensive.

  We each stepped across the opening, closing in on our relatives, and meeting them at the same time.

  “Let’s go Alison,” said Jameson, his voice commanding.

  She didn’t respond. Not even a flinch was made at the sound of his voice.

  “Estelle, this can’t happen.”

  There was no sign of her withdrawing either.

  I looked up at Jameson and shook my head, perplexed on what to do next.

  His expression had turned by then, not to anger or frustration. It was telling me to leave, to get out of here before something was said or a move was made and I was caught in the middle of it.

  Very slowly, I shook my head from one side to the other and back again, denying him.

  I knew he understood as his shoulders dropped and
he sighed in frustration.

  “Alison, not here,” Jameson warned. “Not now.”

  The only movement made was an almost imperceptible raise of her lip, into a snarl.

  “What started this?” I demanded and then I saw it - the water down the front of Alison’s shirt and the flattened, bent cup inside Estelle’s fist.

  “Estelle!” I sighed.

  “It was an accident,” she seethed to me and then reiterated it sharply for Alison’s benefit. “An accident.”

  “A manufactured accident,” Alison hissed. “Weatherford’s are professionals at displacing blame.”

  I paused, realizing that was exactly the belief held in my family toward theirs. How could two families be so similar and still be at odds, I wondered. Without the time to evaluate it, I simply used this notion to turn the fight around.

  “Jameson,” I said cautiously, drawing his attention back to me. Knowing Alison wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say, he was the only path to reason. “If Estelle meant to do this, wouldn’t she have done it without Alison knowing she’d done it? Why execute it so obviously?”

  With a surprised lift of his eyebrows, he caught on to what I was doing and agreed. “As much as I hate to admit it, Alison, the Weatherford is right. When was the last time you could actually tell a Weatherford was the one to blame?”

  That was when I realized it. Jameson didn’t put as much stock as his family did in blaming us for unexplainable problems arising. At some point, he’d concluded it wasn’t feasible or reasonable. And that was his way. He was logical. It was that very trait that allowed him to look beyond the past and see me as more than an enemy. Now he was attempting to do the same with his family.

  It seemed like Alison was listening, starting to waver in her belief that Estelle had preplanned the spill down her shirt, her hesitation seeming almost palpable…and then she spoke.

  “I really don’t care if it was intentional or not.” She’d made up her mind. And with that she opened her mouth and said, “Incant-”

  In that moment, several things happened at once. Jameson seized Alison by the mouth and hauled her backwards. I stepped in front of Estelle to form a wall between them. My cousins stepped forward forming a wall behind me. And the crowd around us went wild, screaming and clapping at the event playing out in front of them.

  I watched as Jameson struggled to contain his sister, shoving backwards through the horde until they’d been swallowed up by it, the guys around them bent over in laughter, the girls leaned together in gossip.

  Ignoring the crowd, I spun around. “Estelle, are you all right?”

  Her expression said it all. She was astonished. If there had ever been any question as to whether the Caldwells had the gumption to cast in public, it was now erased. Estelle, nor the rest of us, would ever refute that again.

  “She’s fine,” said Oscar after a quick assessment and then he addressed the crowd. “Get to class everyone. You’re late. Show’s over.”

  While a few boos rose up, they did disperse and I headed for second period. Jameson was delayed by another minute and received just as harsh a glare from Ms. Wizner as I did.

  When he took a seat, he didn’t address me. Instead, he ducked his head, pulled out his laptop and began typing. Peeking in his direction, I wondered if somehow the incident in the hall had come between us, that he was mad at me. When he didn’t acknowledge my sly look, and I knew he’d seen it, I settled on the conclusion that he could believe what he wanted.

  Let him be angry, I thought. What he saw wasn’t my fault. I didn’t start it. I was trying to-

  Then, with no one watching, his arm rose and he settled his hand over mine. It was warm, firm, and comforting.

  His voice came through clearly, at the same slow cadence and easy going tone he typically used. Only this time, I heard it in my head.

  “Good,” he said, jolting me. He waited for my muscles to relax again, to unwind from the shock of hearing him in my head, before he spoke. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  I shook my head, still keeping my eyes straight forward, on Ms. Wizner; although at that point, I wouldn’t have cared if she saw Jameson holding my hand or not. What was going on in my head was enough to handle.

  “That’s all I wanted to know,” he said and started to pull his hand away.

  I rushed to place my free hand on top of his. And then I said without moving my lips, “You’re channeling, aren’t you?”

  For no good reason, I was surprised when he answered because it meant he’d heard me.

  “Yes.”

  “You said you channel other’s abilities,” I said, inferring he’d never mentioned that he could channel thoughts.

  I heard his laughter clearly in my head. “You speak, right? That’s what I’m channeling; your ability to speak.”

  “And can you do it any time?”

  “Only when I’m touching you,” he allayed my fears.

  Still, I thought back through all the times we’d connected and wondered if I’d ever been thinking about how I felt when he was around.

  “No,” came his voice. “But the secret’s out now…” Then I heard him chuckle.

  Reflex made me draw in a quick breath, offended at his teasing, causing Janice Beltro in front of us to glance over her shoulder. But Jameson swiftly dropped his hand before her head made it all the way around.

  Ms. Wizner didn’t notice and continued on with her lecture, which we listened to for a few minutes. But I couldn’t resist for too long and soon held my hand out, dropping it down beside my desk in a gesture that asked Jameson to take it.

  As his fingers brushed against my palm and slipped between mine, intertwining, I struggled to inhale steadily.

  “Yes?” he asked and I could hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

  “This was how you knew what I was like in Olivia’s shop the first time we met - when the things began flying off the shelves. You channeled me then, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t immediately respond and I got the sense that I was correct and he was embarrassed by it.

  “Didn’t you?” I persisted, unwilling to let him off the hook.

  “Yes, sorry…”

  “And the candle you gave me that same day - which you sent my birthday gift through. That was you channeling your message through the smoke, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when I’m healing others - and you’re holding my hand - you’re reading my thoughts then too?”

  “No,” he stated so quickly that I believed him. “I only feel your ability then. I think it overpowers whatever is going through your mind.”

  “So what have you figured out about me during the times you have channeled my thoughts?” I asked, knowing the anger came through in my tone even without speaking the words.

  I’d been looking for confirmation on what I’d said but he didn’t offer it. Instead, he returned the favor I’d given him on the first day I’d found out that he was a Caldwell. He assessed me as I’d done him.

  “You surprised me. You aren’t what I expected a Weatherford to be. You’re kind and you have a strength and courage that you tap when dealing with others. You don’t take on others’ beliefs as your own but choose to make the decision yourself. And you don’t like authority. You don’t like to be told what to do. And you’re irresistibly gorgeous.”

  Despite my best efforts, my heart warmed to him again and my anger melted away. Then he ruined all that built-up collateral.

  “But you lack patience, Jocelyn, and you don’t trust easily; which, granted, may or may not be such a bad thing.”

  He heard, or saw, my responding sigh of irritation.

  “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that,” he said, his tone guilty.

  “The skepticism is something that I’ve been taught,” I replied, thinking of my mother and her insistence that I question everything.

  “And being a Weatherford, I don’t blame you.”

  “Speaking
of trust, there’s something I need to tell you,” I said, again feeling my muscles stiffen.

  “What?” he asked, nervously, sensing my reaction.

  “Alison needs to be warned, your whole family does, they can’t cast against me or anyone else in my family again.”

  “I’ve been working on that-”

  “Tell them the Vires visited Ms. Veilleux. Maybe that will help.”

  He didn’t reply for what felt like a very long time. I tried to sense, to capture whatever it was he was thinking but, unlike him, I didn’t have the ability to read someone else’s mind. He had to channel his thoughts and he wasn’t doing it now.

  Finally, he sighed, something I would have noticed even if we hadn’t been holding hands. Then his head dropped and he closed his eyes briefly clearing his thoughts.

  “They didn’t visit her for the reasons you’re thinking. The Vires were here because of us, because we cured the village and they’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  When he spoke he didn’t try to hide his despair. “They found out, somehow…probably through their emissaries…that an entire village was healed overnight. That’s unheard of in our world…in anyone’s world for that matter. And it means that someone got around their cast, that someone was able to help those they punished.” Jameson sighed and his jaw clenched down in anger. “I’m so sorry, Jocelyn. I think…” He drew in struggled breath. “I think I’ve put you in danger.”

  For the first time since our conversation began, Jameson looked at me, his eyes filled with remorse. And I wanted so desperately to reach across the aisle and comfort him.

  Still holding my hand, he sensed this, or saw my thoughts in his mind. And in reaction he blinked, distracted from the guilt running through him and replacing it with inhibited shock. Then a hesitant grin rose up.

  He knew I wanted to kiss him. That much I was certain of.

  Given our surroundings, I settled for a much less satisfying squeeze of his hand and a message that I hoped would pacify him. “It’s not your fault. I chose to go. And before you make the argument that I didn’t know it would be dangerous, you need to know that I thought we were visiting convicts - which is never safe. I went in to danger with my eyes open.”