by Laury Falter
LAURY FALTER
BIRTHRIGHT
Text copyright ©2012 by Laury Falter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or the publisher.
First Edition: July 2012
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Falter, Laury, 1972-
Birthright: a novel / by Laury Falter – 1st ed.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9855110-1-2
This book is dedicated to everyone with a dream.
I truly hope you get the opportunity to fulfill yours, too.
CONTENTS
1 BODIES
2 THELEO ALESIUS
3 RELICUUM
4 FIRST INTERACTION
5 CLEANSING
6 CURSE
7 ACCEPTANCE
8 BIRTHRIGHT
9 FIRST LESSON
10 CHANNELING
11 SAVIOR
12 HISTORY
13 COVEN
14 CITY OF THE DEAD
15 SARTORIUS
16 DEFIANCE
17 VOODOO
18 SLAUGHTERHOUSE
19 ENCOUNTER
20 ROPE
21 DEFECTION
PROLOQUE
The two men remained motionless, as if attempting to go unnoticed. Dressed in black suits and concealed beneath the thick, sprawling bows of mature cypress trees, they easily could have been. It was only the faint reflection of a stone embedded in their rings, glinting against the dull moonlight, which gave them away.
I stopped immediately, drawing the attention of everyone around me. That was the very problem in fact. Everyone was here. The Weatherfords and the Caldwells, whose family feud is notorious, were standing peacefully side by side, facing two men who would do everything in their power to keep us apart.
In those brief seconds, after I caught sight of them, everyone else traced my line of sight to what had caused the sharp, reactive gasp now drawing my shoulders tense.
Someone shouted “Vires” with panic in their voice, and the bodies surrounding me rapidly shifted in all directions.
Jameson was the first to make it to my side, stepping slightly ahead of me and selflessly becoming my human shield. The rest of the Caldwells and the Weatherfords collectively united, merging, positioning around us, prepared for the inevitable fight to come. I looked for a way to the front, refusing to standby helplessly, but the wall of bodies surrounding us was thick. There was no way to move through them, unless I wanted to disturb their intense focus toward the scene unfolding.
Only my mother seemed to react slowly, circling around to the front and stopping halfway between the Vires and the rest of us.
“Isabella,” the taller one stiffly addressed her.
“Frederick,” she replied, almost casually, nodding her head in his direction. To the other man, she stated, “Anastas.” He was squat with arms that curved out around his portly waist, making him appear imposing without saying a word.
The tension in the air was almost palpable now.
An owl hooted in the distance, somewhere beyond the rotting cypress trees, across the quiet, stale water of the bayou’s edge where we stood, jarring a few of those around me.
“I wasn’t told of your arrival,” my mother acknowledged, conversationally. Since that simply wasn’t a trait of hers, I knew she was trying to side step a conflict.
“They saw no need for it,” said Frederick, hinting at the fact that those in charge had sent them.
“I see…and what is the purpose of your visit?” The way she asked this made her sound as if she had a higher level of authority over these two, maybe not within the same group, but she was definitely more senior.
“Surveillance of the province.” Frederick replied, hesitantly.
No one dared to make a movement yet. The Vires’ stances remained taut and timid, as if they’d caught someone with more power than them making a grave mistake.
Then Anastas confirmed this by adding sternly, “It looks like that mission has now changed.”
Jameson’s immediate reaction was to step directly between me and the Vires, but I slid to the side, opening up my view of the situation again.
“Not so,” my mother glibly replied. “You’ve completed your surveillance here, and now you can move on.”
Frederick shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t work that way, Isabella. You know that.”
My mother’s jaw tightened in response.
“As believed, the Caldwells and the Weatherfords have united. The ministry will want to know it.” Drilling the message in, Frederick finished with, “This won’t go unreported.”
Jameson’s hand fell back and found my wrist. While his touch was comforting and secure, his words made me uneasy, as they ran through my head, “Stay beside me.”
“Please,” my mother firmly stated. “Let us leave and we can avoid any bloodshed.”
Again, Frederick shook his head, this time more resolutely. His hand slipped around the lapel of his suit jacket, opening it, exposing a cache of metal weapons. His free hand came around one of them and, a second later, the edge of the bayou erupted into a battlefield.
Shouts of incantations filled the once quiet night air. Bodies flashed around me, moving at blurred speeds. The tree closest to us uprooted and, despite it being the height of a two-story building, Anastas flung it towards us as if it were a paper airplane. It landed short, skidding along the ground, leaving a three foot-wide divot in its wake.
Frederick was now in the air, his legs bent beneath him, looking like he had just sprung off the ground. Oscar and Burke were under his feet, clawing for him and only catching air, which validated my guess. Yelling down at them, Frederick cast his voice so powerfully it caused them to crumple to their knees.
Forgetting Jameson’s request to stay with him, I ran to them, skidding to a stop as another tree soared overhead and crashed into one of the vehicles behind us, raining shattered glass all around. Ignoring it, I placed one hand on each of their shoulders, grasping them as they writhed in pain. Over the roar, I had to shout “Incantatio sana” several times before their bodies responded, and they sat up.
Turning, I found Jameson leading the charge on Anastas.
Frederick, however, was harder to get to. He was hovering near the tree tops.
Someone flew by me then, heading directly for him. She was a smudge against the tree-lined backdrop; her frizzy, bright red hair confirming it was Aunt Lizzy. She moved with the speed of a jetliner, not bothering to slow down on her approach. From another angle, someone with extremely long legs made the same motion toward Frederick. This one I recognized instantly as my mother. Jameson’s mother followed, and the three of them carried Frederick over the trees and out of view.
The rest were on Anastas now, as he too tumbled across the shallow water and into the darkness.
I swept my legs out from under me and shot off in that direction, only to be stopped by Estelle.
She emerged from the gloom bloodied and shaking.
I healed her and went farther in.
Next, I saw Spencer and Nolan. Their gashes were deep, spilling blood like a running hose. I healed them too.
Everyone returned, coming out of the dark as a whole, exhausted and scuffed with moss and dirt, their clothes hanging in shreds. Jameson was the last to appear, panting heavily. Half his face cloaked by the blood streaming from a wound hidden above his hairline.
&nbs
p; My heart wrenched so tightly I thought it might have stopped all together. When it finally started beating again, it raced fiercely, emphatically pumping a mixture of emotions through me. Desperation, anger, dread…
That stream turned into a rushing current, pounding in my ears and vibrating my skin until it consumed me.
Just as Jameson reached me, embracing my trembling shoulders, the energy exploded, sending a blast radiating across Jameson and out to our family members who were struggling through the muck toward dry land.
As Jameson brought his lips closer to my ear, he took in a deep breath, filling his lungs to a depth that made it seem as if he’d been suffocating for years.
I knew he’d felt it too when we pulled back and I saw the pain had been erased from his face.
“You did it, sweetheart,” he softly whispered.
After a sweeping gaze at everyone else, I understood what he’d meant. They’d all been healed.
My relief was short lived, however, as my mother spun around to face us.
In her typical, bleak, bitterly-honest way, she delivered a warning, quickly erasing any feelings of abatement.
“More will come…” she said. “And they’ll be coming for all of us.”
1 BODIES
By midnight, I had done everything within my means to fall asleep.
I preoccupied myself in the darkness by moving a lamp across the room, a pencil along my small writing desk, a hanger from the doorknob to the closet, and a water glass from the nightstand to the windowsill - all without touching a single one.
Levitating had become second nature to me. I realized if I wanted a real challenge, I’d have to move the entire house, which I briefly contemplated. Only Aunt Lizzy’s potential fury stopped me. An image of her puckered, freckled face and wiry, red hair flashed through my mind; I nearly laughed out loud, realizing she could look mad without trying.
The next image that filtered into consciousness was the very same one that kept me from falling asleep. There it was again…the breathtaking curve of his masculine jaw…the self-assured depths of his crystal-clear green eyes…the faint scar accentuating the seductive curve of his lips…
“Jameson…” I whispered, yearning for him while my heart ached.
As a Caldwell, if I’d spoken his name just a few weeks ago – especially in a longing tone - I would have risked being tarred and feathered by my own family. As relatives of those who had been feuding for centuries, it was unthinkably egregious that Jameson and I would fall in love, but despite the odds, we had. Considering what we’d gone through and our families agreeing to a fragile truce, one would think Jameson and I could openly see each other, but fate had a different plan for us. After giving us love, it teased us by keeping us at arm’s length.
No one could know.
Jameson slept only two streets away, but he might as well have been on the other side of the earth. We hadn’t said a single word to each other since the altercation in the bayou. It had been a week now…the longest seven days of my life. In an effort to thwart fate – or more precisely those who were against Jameson and I being together - every morning I timed my arrival at school so our paths would cross at his locker. In our shared second period class, I would sneak looks at him. At lunch, I walked through the cafeteria, my eyes sweeping it, trying to catch just a glimpse of him. And every day, I’d catch him doing the same.
We were in love, within eyesight of each other, and we couldn’t give in to it.
I kicked the sheets off my bed and stood up, frustrated, looking for something else to consume my time until morning. Sleep was not going to be the answer, and with the house having been silent for the last two hours, socializing wouldn’t be an option. And daydreaming about Jameson certainly wasn’t going to help any either.
After slipping on a pair of faded blue jeans, knee-high mauve boots and a soft aqua sweater – an outfit far lighter than my mood - I opened my bedroom door to find I wasn’t the only one struggling with insomnia.
The dim flicker beneath the door across the hall from me and the smell of white sage drifting from the other side proved it. I mused silently at Miss Mabelle’s door, “Practicing voodoo again?” before making my way quietly down to the first level of the house.
The plush rooms, expertly designed by Aunt Lizzy and my cousin, Estelle, who both shared a flare for color, held no consolation. They were empty and lifeless, compelling me to keep walking.
After reaching the front door, any normal person would have spun around and found something to do…pick up a book, immersing themselves in another world…turn on the television, captivating their thoughts…or retrieve their iPad, mindlessly surfing the Internet. They would have discarded the idea of leaving the house alone in the middle of the night. But, a few months ago, I had already accepted that I would never be normal.
The girl with the sparkling teeth and shiny hair rushing out the door for her first date on the latest TV series was a lofty and futile ambition. While I did have a mouth full of glistening pearly whites and a full head of inky black hair, in addition to a pair of long limbs and a plump mouth…I would never be that girl. Being a witch simply doesn’t fit well into that scene.
However, because of this circumstance, I was born with special talents. Levitation was one and the other was the inspiration for me getting dressed and ending up at the front door.
With that in mind, and the gleam of a thoughtful, satisfied smile pulling at my cheeks, I opened the door and slipped out into the darkness.
A mist drenched the Garden District where I lived, causing the streets of New Orleans to shimmer like a private wonderland. It rolled through the air, shrouding the streetlights and giving them iridescent veils, concealing the real world beyond. The night was tranquil, not a car or a voice or the flap of a bird’s wings broke the silence. It was as if I’d stepped into a painting.
The scene was misleading, though. Vires could be hiding in the darkness, so I had to be cautious.
Being fully awake now, there was no turning back. Stopping at the corner and swiveling my head to the right, I stared in the direction of the street that would take me to the Caldwells – or more importantly - to Jameson. I was drawn in that direction until I frowned, realizing I wouldn’t be able to see him anyways.
Still battling with discontent over my predicament, I took my typical route through the streets until I saw the multi-colored brick building; it always reminded me more of a college dormitory. But this wasn’t a place where people prepared themselves for the real world. This was the place, with all its bodily fluids, the stench of stringent cleaning solutions and the soft elevator music that seemed out of sync with suspiciously beeping machines. This wasn’t where people came to learn. Here, they came to be healed. And that is precisely why I came.
The emergency room lobby boasted overstuffed, black pseudo-leather furniture, polished wooden tables, and fluorescent lights so bright it took several seconds for your pupils to adjust. When they finally acclimated, I saw it was empty.
Slow night.
“Can I help you?” The voice came from a woman at the reception desk. Her name was Clarisse. I’d seen her here before; I wondered if she recognized me. The expression she gave me – suspicion – told me that she did. I guess frequently visiting an emergency room lobby without ever signing in would get a person noticed.
No sooner did this thought pass through my mind, when the doors I’d just stepped through began rattling behind me, the commotion that followed quickly escalating.
“Rear door,” panted a squat, deeply tanned EMT. “Broken.”
He was pulling a gurney with a gunshot victim writhing in gut-wrenching pain. Another EMT, one much burlier with a thick beard, pushed from behind. “Damn door,” grunted the one pushing. “Told them to get it fixed.”
By this point, Clarisse was on her feet and circling around the desk, which required her to enter a hallway and pull open a set of double doors. Clearly, the hospital wasn’t set up to admit patients on g
urneys through the lobby.
These few seconds were a blessing…for me and for the patient. The time allowed me to cross the tile floor toward gurney and discreetly brush my fingers along the edge of his toes. As I did, a surge of emotion ran through me, flowing into the man still groaning and squirming against the gurney’s straps.
I passed by undetected and ensured my whispered healing incantation, “Incantatio sana,” was inaudible, as the EMTs stayed focused on the doors Clarisse was opening for them. I stopped and waited, keeping an eye on them.
Gradually, the patient’s erratic movement slowed; and as he entered the corridor his head lifted, offering me a full view of his expression, one of curious amazement. A few minutes later, I listened with amusement as Clarisse and the stout EMT discussed the patient’s miraculous recovery.
I then waited for an hour. But not a single person entered the lobby; and since Clarisse was giving me a wary eye, I knew my work here was done.
It was almost two o’clock in the morning now and the thick mist outside hadn’t cleared, impairing my vision. I felt as if my legs were moving, but I wasn’t actually making any progress. In fact, the street signs were my only indication of the distance I’d covered. The air was so thick that I didn’t immediately notice the mist’s abrupt stirring a few houses directly in front of me. I was halfway across the street when the shadow of a person appeared.
My heart stopped in my chest before quickly starting to race. That shape, and the proud stride it made walking down the sidewalk, was engrained in my memory. I’d been watching it from afar for the last week…well, longer actually.
Coming toward me, as surreal as a dream, was Jameson.
However, his easygoing nature was gone, replaced with a tense, hurried pace. His agate family stone bounced rapidly off his chest, dangling from a long chain. The ankle-length jacket wrapped around his shoulders was hanging open, flapping wildly against his legs, hastily responding to the speed his legs carried him.
