by Laury Falter
“Olivia,” I said softly.
Her nails were still embedded in her paper-thin skin but at least they’d paused at her jaw line. Now her fingers hung there, at the end of five rows of red trenches, despite the blood streaming down and dripping from the ends of her elbows.
I slid out of the way of the pool collecting below her and started again.
“Olivia, I’m Jocelyn Weatherford. You and I…we met once before…” While I was speaking, part of my attention shifted to my left hand, reaching for the remnants of a crystal candle holder.
As my hand came to rest on it, I saw Olivia’s fingers uncurling and readying herself to strike. Without hesitation, I gripped the candle holder and swung my left arm overhead, sending it flying across the room.
It crashed against the opposite wall and shattered, sprinkling shards across the floor.
My plan worked. Olivia’s head spun around, following the clatter, which distracted her just long enough for my free hand to land on her ankle, the part of her body closest to me.
The words “Incantatio sana” flew from my mouth faster than they ever had before. Then I turned my focus on backing up, because Olivia’s attention returned to me.
Snarling, she lashed out, nearly catching the edge of my forearm. She’d have reached me, too, if it hadn’t been for Jameson, who pulled me out of harm’s way.
“Did she get you?” he asked in a rush, already inspecting me for injury.
“No…” My heart was pounding in my ears.
“You didn’t have to…” I said, regaining my composure.
“I know. You can heal yourself. I just…I didn’t want to see you need to.”
I smiled my appreciation, drawing his attention to my lips.
“You’re welcome,” he said, tenderly.
By then, Olivia was coming to, her fearful expression being replaced with confusion.
“Oh my…” she groaned, noticeably shaken. She was blinking rapidly now, trying to readjust her sight. “How did…”
Her hands pulled away from her face, trembling, and she released a terrified gasp. Blood was covering her fingers and streaming down her arms, glistening in the candlelight.
Mrs. DeVille, with all her venom, lurched toward Olivia, shoving Jameson and me aside in her haste, to come to her friend’s aid. She immediately went about trying to calm Olivia, who was actually far more composed than her caretaker.
The rips down Olivia’s face started healing then, leaving only the matter of washing away the blood. You’d think this would have relieved the tension, but Mrs. DeVille kept a leery, watchful eye on Jameson and me, until we left.
We exited through the same back door we’d entered through, and then, following Jameson’s lead, we hurdled a building, landing in a private courtyard. The next shop was hidden down a long hallway, but it had been hit, too, and in the exact same way. We healed the owner, and briskly moved on to the next establishment.
It became a morbid cycle. Enter…slog through destruction…locate distraught proprietor…perform a healing…move on.
Jameson turned out to be an astute guide, knowing every shop’s rear entrance and, if locked, where the keys were hidden. By the ninth place we stopped, I grew suspicious. He’d just retrieved a key, designed to innocently resemble a hairpin, from a bowl in a planter when I asked, “So…how is it you know where the back doors are? And how do you know how to get in when they’re locked?”
He brushed it off. “I come around here every once in a while. Errands…” he added.
“Errands? What kind?” I wasn’t about to let him off that easy.
He paused to think about how to answer. “I carry things.”
I sighed dramatically. “Come on, Jameson.”
“I’m just a delivery guy. That’s all.”
“For what?” I persisted.
When he didn’t answer, I began to sense a feeling of frustration coming from him. We seemed to be at a standstill until stepping inside and closing the door behind us. Keeping his voice low, Jameson explained.
“Information that we don’t want others to know. The Sevens have relocated the Vires here, which means their emissaries…their spies…are here, too. That requires everyone to be extra careful. We don’t want to feed information back to The Sevens…”
“Because it would…”
“Cost lives.”
The impact of this realization stunned me, as we stood in the darkness of the shop’s back hallway in silence.
“Does it…are you…” I couldn’t quite form the words, the overwhelming nervousness I felt at the idea of their meaning stopping me. Composing myself, I finally finished. “It sounds dangerous for you.”
“Sounds like it, but no…”
“What happens if you get caught?” I demanded, my protective instinct taking over.
“Who would catch me?” he asked with an arrogant smirk.
I sighed, challenging him. “The Vires…emissaries…”
His hands came around my waist in an effort to be charming. While he was incredibly seductive, sending a spark of teasing emotion throughout my body, it didn’t work.
“You are delivering information they want, Jameson.” I looked away, stunned and irritated. “I can’t believe your family would allow you to-”
“I volunteered, Jocelyn.” In case I didn’t get his intended insinuation, he contended, “They couldn’t stop me if they tried.”
“No,” I agreed, and pride flitted across his face. “But they could protect you, go with you.” I was openly appalled, but he only seemed disgusted by the idea.
“I’m sure they would if they knew when I was going.”
“But you keep that from them?”
He nodded.
“Why?” I demanded.
“This was my choice, Jocelyn. I’m not going to drag anyone else into it. And I don’t need baby sitters.” He released his arms, starting to turn from me, but I held on.
“So they don’t agree with it either?” I pressed.
“It’s not up to them,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
I blew air out my lips. “You are so…stubborn.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I informed him.
“It is to me.”
My instinct to protect was so overwhelming that my reaction was to groan loudly and push away, using my hands to press against his chest. It felt like I was pushing against a brick wall.
Jameson caught me and pulled me back to him, his lips finding mine. Then his heady, enticing scent surrounded me. Faster than I would have believed, my irritation subsided, and our bodies leaned against each other, his heat warming me against the chilly night air.
“I’m sorry we don’t agree,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. I was sorry too, but didn’t say it. I was still irritated. He paused and took a breath. “You always smell like flowers.”
I sighed, allowing myself to enjoy his firm muscles pressing against me. “Wood chips and salt air…that’s you.”
“I was feeling tired, but this is helping,” he remarked, referring to our proximity and grinning mischievously.
I caught his gaze. “You too?” When his grin became even wider, I knew he misunderstood. “No, I mean, you’re tired too?”
Although he seemed disappointed that I wasn’t playing into his seduction, he acknowledged my question and lifted one shoulder, playfully shrugging off my concern. “Probably just the long night.”
I studied him before insisting, “No, you look worn out. Go home. I can finish this.”
He taunted. “And miss out?”
I frowned at his attempt to interject humor. “Jameson…” I warned.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he replied, flatly. “You could run across Vires…”
He was so resolute, I knew arguing with him would be pointless. Instead, I made the best suggestion I could think of. “Then let’s get it done.”
We worked for another two hours, arriving at the back door
of our last stop just after midnight. I was glad I told my cousins at lunch that I’d be on a healing errand with Jameson, or they’d have been out looking for me hours ago. Actually, that didn’t seem so bad, considering how Jameson was looking.
His skin was growing whiter and his forehead was coated with a fine sheen. The sight of him made me nervous. His breathing, which had deepened and begun to wheeze, didn’t comfort me, either.
As we moved to the door, he blinked once to clear his tired eyes and asked, “Whose place is this?”
“Mr. Thibodeaux’s.” I didn’t bother to mention he’d just told me that five minutes ago. “All right…stop.”
His legs came to a wobbly halt and he gave me a quizzical look. Even when I placed my hand on his forearm, he didn’t seem to know what I was doing.
“Incantatio sana,” I said, firmly. “There, that should help.”
He gave me a sideways smile meant to convey his thanks, which demonstrated how handsome he could be even when exhausted.
Despite my effort, I was still incredibly relieved that we would be on our way home in a few minutes. He would be able to fall into bed and wake up re-energized by morning. At least that was what I thought.
Mr. Thibodeaux’s shop was unlike the others. Being more of a will-call than a storefront, it was repurposed from a spare room in his home, a vast empty space with only a desk and a ledger at one end where Mr. Thibodeaux took order shipments to be fulfilled by Thibodeaux family warehouses around the world. With the exception of a small closet where delivered products were stored until their rightful owners could pick them up, it didn’t hold or display any merchandise. For this reason, I wasn’t surprised to find it in order when we entered. There would have been very little cleanup after the first round of Vires visited. What did throw me was the fact that Mr. Thibodeaux appeared lucid and speaking – and his short, plump, elderly body wasn’t cowering in a corner like a frightened animal.
Actually, he was writing at his desk as we entered.
“Do you have any idea what hour it is?” he asked, more astounded than outraged.
“Midnight,” Jameson replied, plainly and without remorse, stepping inside.
Mr. Thibodeaux gawked at us and mumbled something about never forgetting to lock the door again, before dipping his head back to the ledger.
“He…doesn’t seem affected,” I said quietly to Jameson.
“We’re here. Might as well see if he knows anything more on what’s causing all this.”
While I disagreed with that decision, especially since Jameson didn’t seem to be improving after my attempt at healing him, he didn’t seem to be persuadable. Jameson dropped into the guest chair in front of the desk where Mr. Thibodeaux surveyed him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mr. Thibodeaux demanded in a less-than-friendly tone.
“Nothing,” Jameson brushed it off.
“Hmm,” I mumbled, openly disagreeing as I took a seat in the other guest chair. Jameson shot me a look but I ignored it.
Mr. Thibodeaux didn’t look convinced either. He slammed his ledger shut, giving us his full attention.
“Vires,” said Jameson, his eyelids flickering as he forced his body to remain alert. “Did they come back here…by here…recently?”
“Yesterday,” Mr. Thibodeaux leaned back, reflecting and folding his hands across his belly. “Why?”
Intent on getting his own answers first, Jameson deflected the question by asking, “Not today? They didn’t come by today?”
“No, yesterday.” Mr. Thibodeaux drew in a deep breath, recalling the memory, and a frown angrily twisted his face. “Probably figured they’d already done enough damage the first time, they didn’t need to return.”
Jameson stared back, perplexed, blinking again to clear his sight.
“Son,” said Mr. Thibodeaux, suspiciously. “What’s this all about?”
His mouth opened, inhaling sharply, but he never got the chance to answer because Mr. Thibodeaux unexpectedly stood up.
“They just arrived.”
“Who?” I asked, suddenly very leery.
“The Vires you speak of.”
Jameson and I caught on at the same time, both of us automatically coming to our feet.
From our angle, it seemed that Mr. Thibodeaux was peering out the window to his courtyard so we craned our necks around to follow his gaze.
“We must have caught up with them,” Jameson said, his weary eyes already evaluating our surroundings for the next logical step to take.
“Then you don’t want them to know it,” cautioned Mr. Thibodeaux, his eyes pinned on the door because it was just about to open.
“In here,” Mr. Thibodeaux urged, steering us toward the only other door.
“I’m not hiding,” Jameson and I said at exactly the same time.
Mr. Thibodeaux did a rapid assessment of our situation and convinced us the only way he knew would work. “Jameson, you’re in no condition for conflict. If the Vires want to start it, your girlfriend will be vulnerable.” That last remark was cutting, but I knew it was unintentional. Besides, there was no time to refute it. “Jocelyn, he’s sick. He needs you to look after him. Now…get in there. Both of you.”
There was little time to appraise our hideaway, but I did catch a glimpse of shelves stacked with canvas bags and what appeared to be boxes wrapped in brown paper, tied with hemp string. The closet, I thought just before the door closed, suctioning the air and stealing the light, leaving us in absolute blackness.
Trying to maintain my balance and get my bearings, I reached my hand out and laid it against the door. From the outside, the closet appeared to be feeble and wooden. Inside, it was cold, hard, fireproof steel. Essentially, we’d just been shoved inside a vault.
While I was amazed at the security it offered, the thickness of the walls didn’t allow us to hear anything but our own breathing.
Jameson realized this, too, and sighed.
“No…” I said, speaking to a wall of pitch black. “We can’t hear them…” A moment later, I asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
I turned around, mentally envisioning where he’d ended up before the door closed, and very unsteadily shuffled in his direction. Keeping my hands low, so I didn’t poke out an eye, I searched for him in the dark, stopping when the back of my fingers settled against something warm and firm.
“Careful,” he warned, roguishly. “Any lower and…”
I laughed in response, amazed that he could tease in his physical state and in light of what was unfolding on the other side of the door. I turned my hand around, feeling the lower part of his stomach and the contact sent excitement surging through me as I flattened my palm.
He moaned, acknowledging his reaction.
“Jameson, this is not the time or the place.”
“Tease,” he whispered, playfully. “What are you doing down there, anyways?”
After uttering “Incantatio sana”, I heard a disappointed groan escape him.
“You know, you don’t sound so tired any more…” I hinted.
No sooner were the words out of my mouth did I feel Jameson’s body collapse, my fingertips brushing against his skin as he dropped to the ground.
“Jameson!” I screamed, louder than I should have, falling to my knees, and searching for him until my hands found him again. As I traced his torso, I found his head lying angled and pressed against the wall. When I lifted it, it was listless.
“I’m feeling a little sick,” he finally acknowledged before trying to say my name. “Jocel-”
But he never finished it.
“Jameson?” I said, the sound of my increasingly nervous pant unsettling me in the dark. “Jameson!”
When he didn’t respond, I carefully laid his head back down and went rummaging for the door, slamming my fingers into it in my haste. Ignoring the pain, I listened for sounds on the opposite side before proceeding.
I didn’t know what to expect when I opened t
he door, but there was no time to waste worrying about it. Jameson needed help – the kind I obviously couldn’t give him. This realization sent a chill through me, surmounting the frigid temperature of the door against my skin.
Unable to find a door handle, I resorted to the only other thing I could use. Body weight. Positioning my shoulder against it, I pushed with everything I had in me.
It budged.
I shoved again.
A sliver of light appeared, giving me hope.
After another few strong heaves, the opening was large enough for me to slip out.
I quickly glanced back at Jameson. His legs were still sprawled across the floor, but he was attempting to lift his head.
Terror, unlike anything I’d ever felt before, gripped me. Lasting a brief second, my muscles froze, my mind went blank, and my breathing stopped completely.
Even the screeching noise behind me didn’t disrupt my stupor. It did, however, get me moving again.
Mr. Thibodeaux was now stricken with the same hex as all the others, cowering in the corner, arms and legs bent defensively against his body, shuttering. He was mumbling something under his breath, but I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, until I was within arms distance from him. Then his words assiduously broke through my frenzy.
“Bind the mind from all that be. Then coax that beast for all to see.”
By my best guess, this was the incantation Mrs. Gaul used to incapacitate him, and very likely every one of those we’d visited tonight. It didn’t matter. The man was too far gone. There would be no way to get Jameson out the door without Mr. Thibodeaux attacking.
I bent down in front of him, mindful of what I was about to do, but completely apathetic. Without warning, his hands were ferociously swinging at me, slamming into my head, and battering my ears. I felt no pain, only the curl of my lip as it formed into a snarl. I was so completely focused on my task at hand no amount of abuse would keep me from it.
The words were already rushing out of my mouth, as my hand came in contact with his leg.
“Incantatio sana!”
Without waiting to witness the result, I spun from my position and lunged into a sprint. Hauling the closet door open, I found Jameson unconscious.
