by Laury Falter
We had now exhausted all known avenues in trying to help Jameson.
“What?” Alison was clearly shaken. “No one on earth is capable of curing him?”
“Yer dad…maybe,” said Miss Mabelle. She was looking at me, hinting almost. “Was the best damn healer I’d ever seen.”
“He’s dead,” Nolan pointed out in his typical, loutish fashion.
At that point, something I could only describe as determination flooded me. “How much time does he have?” I demanded.
“A day…” Miss Celia softly replied, breaking the worst news of my life. “Maybe two.”
Instantly, I was on my feet, racing through the house. I heard footsteps behind me, my cousins following, but I didn’t slow. There wasn’t enough time.
As I breached the doorway, I realized that I’d just broken my promise to Jameson – to never go anywhere alone – but it was a promise I was willing to break, if it meant saving the one who made me promise it. With that belief cemented in my thoughts, my feet didn’t stop until I reached Jackson Square, and I was standing before the girl who Oscar pointed out on the first day of school – the one capable of speaking to the dead.
7 ACCEPTANCE
“Are you a channeler?” I asked.
The girl’s head snapped up at me and I stared into almost perfectly round eyes bordered by a full head of curly, chocolate-colored hair. “Am I what?”
“A channeler,” I stated impatiently. “Can you really talk to the dead?”
Her boyfriend stood at least a foot above her and his arms were wrapped around her waist; I felt only slightly guilty about interrupting them. He was gazing into her eyes when I ran up to them, his lips dipped in a smirk as she shook her head at him. But the speed of my approach caused his head to jerk up well before I reached them. He unraveled his arms and protectively stepped in front of her, as I stopped. He had the stature of someone who was familiar with responding to threats promptly.
They were both looking at me now, evaluating me closely.
“Yes,” he answered, in a distinctly English accent. “She delivers messages to those who have passed.”
After a glance at her Harley Davidson motorcycle, biker boots strapped to her ankles, and the sign propped behind her…declaring that payment is made upon proof of contact, I found it hard to believe she was the kind to make this stuff up. Exuding confidence so palpable I could feel it, her boyfriend came across as being pretty sincere, even dependable. He and Jameson would be great friends, if they ever met.
This thought aroused an image of Jameson in my mind, pulling it to the surface from just below my consciousness. I wistfully took a seat on one of the folding chairs.
“I need your help. And I don’t have much time.” Formalities would have to wait.
She raised her eyebrows at me, and for a second, I thought she was going to deny me service. Instead, she slid into the other seat and leaned toward me, alert and focused. “Let’s get started. Who do you want to deliver a message to?”
“My father.” I wondered if she would react to the dissociation in my voice, but she didn’t; she just nodded for me to continue. “I need to ask him how to cure…” I was having trouble describing it, and no one had named it yet. My family, whom I’d outrun somewhere back on Canal Street, hadn’t named it. At the time, I’d been glad to have long legs capable of taking greater strides. Now I wished they’d had the same.
Starting over, I said, “Can you ask him how to cure my boyfriend?” For good measure, I added, “His name is Jameson Caldwell.” I rattled off his address, wondering if it would help her at all.
She appeared to be memorizing the information, as she asked another question, “And what’s your father’s name?”
“Nicolas Sartorius…”
I noticed the confused look she gave me, and considering the fact she wasn’t recording any of this, I offered, “Do you need me to write it down for you?”
She pointed to her head. “Got it. Nicolas Sartorius. Not Weatherford?”
I was slightly taken aback. She knew me, but, of course, she didn’t know me well enough to understand why I had a different last name than my father. I didn’t learn it, myself, until the summer vacation before third grade. Even then, my mother didn’t divulge any additional details, other than what I was about to confess to this girl.
“My parents weren’t allowed to marry.”
She processed this information, and didn’t question it. I couldn’t have answered her anyways. Instead, she chose to move back to the issue at hand. “And where did your father pass on?”
“Here…New Orleans.”
“And what proof do you want that the message has been delivered?” she asked, throwing me off kilter.
“Umm…” I blinked a few times, clearing my mind. The honesty of my answer hit me hard enough to jolt all other thoughts from my consciousness. “If what he tells you works, my boyfriend will live. That alone will serve as proof.” Seeing that she might be worried about me demanding my money back, I adamantly reassured her, “Nothing else matters to me.”
“I’ll make sure he knows that,” she gently replied.
Something in her reaction told me that she understood, and her demeanor encouraged me. To me, it meant that she’d do her best to deliver the message…if she truly had that ability. I knew I was placing my trust in a complete stranger, who by all means could be a genuine wacko, but I had no choice. We already exhausted all other options in trying to bring Jameson back, each one failing miserably.
On the other hand, if she truly could deliver the message, I’d be opening a dialogue with my long dead father, one that wouldn’t start with “Hi Dad, I’ve missed you,” but with a demand for him to give me a cure for healing the man I love.
Hardly believing it was possible, I suddenly felt worse. I was an awful daughter.
I swallowed hard, and said, “Could you add something to my message?” She nodded, and I stated, “Can you tell him that I love him?”
Instantly recognizing the sensitive nature of my addition, she smiled. “Of course.” After a brief pause, she continued, “So, you don’t pay now-”
Realizing she was about to move on and explain her services, I stopped her and pointed to the sign promoting her service. “I know.”
“Hmm, good. You’re observant.”
While I appreciated the compliment, I didn’t have time for it. “When can the message be delivered?”
“Tonight, when I-”
I cut her off, knowing I was being contentious. “I’m sorry. That’s not soon enough.”
She looked back at her boyfriend; he was leaning against the rails bordering a park in the center of Jackson Square. He didn’t offer any response, leaving the decision entirely up to her.
“Jameson, my boyfriend, he has a day. Maybe two.”
She turned back to me where I could see her sympathy, but that wasn’t what I needed. A sense of urgency is what I was looking for. Then, in a move that completely threw me, she stood and headed for her motorcycle.
Under her breath, as she passed her boyfriend, I heard her say something that I knew was only meant for his ears. “Good thing you kept me up last night.” In an equally quiet manner, he chuckled mischievously in reply.
“Come back in an hour,” she instructed me, from over her shoulder.
An hour. That seemed like such a long time away when Jameson was fighting for his life. Her boyfriend noticed my hesitation and tried to soothe me as the girl began strapping on her helmet.
“Magdalene delivers messages while she’s asleep. An hour will be just enough time for her to get home, nod off, and get back here.”
“That’s her name?” I asked, as she was starting to mount her motorcycle with the poise of a professional rider. “Magdalene?”
The man stepped up and extended his hand to me. “Eran Talor,” he said with unabashed self-assurance. “Magdalene goes by Maggie.”
I took his hand. “Jocelyn.”
“Yes, a Weat
herford…”
I was surprised. “You do know us…”
“We know of you.” He gave me a sly grin. “It’s hard to keep anything private at our school.”
That seemed fair. Neither of our reputations were a secret.
Maggie’s motorcycle rumbled to life, drawing my attention to where she sat, entirely in black, reminding me of a knight on a horse preparing to ride into battle. With her helmet concealing her face, she offered a nod as she bolted off toward the street.
As I watched Maggie disappear down the road, it dawned on me…this girl impressed me. They both did. Sure, I’d seen them on the grass at lunch and in the hallways between classes, keeping mostly to themselves, but until now, I’d never given them much consideration. Either way, I’m glad they were here now, because I need an answer…fast.
My line of thought was disrupted when Eran tipped his head to the left of my shoulder, pointing out, “Looks like your family’s caught up.”
I was already standing as Vinnia and Oscar came to a stop, breathing heavily.
“Good thing…” said Oscar, doubled over from exhaustion, “you weren’t seen…”
I stared back at him, confused. “Why?”
He leaned farther toward me, speaking just loud enough for only my ears to hear. “Because…you never…touched the ground. Vinnia couldn’t even keep up.”
I instantly knew what he meant. I didn’t run here. I levitated.
After quickly scanning the area, I was relieved to see that I successfully evaded the Vires who were guarding us. While that wasn’t my intention, it was nice to know I could do it. However, my sense of freedom would be short-lived, because they would catch up to us soon enough.
My cousins followed my motion and Oscar looked perplexed, asking, “What are you doing here?”
There was no denying it. This was the first time I felt foolish since coming up with this plan…my last resort. I tilted my head up a bit, ready for any ridicule they might send my way, and explained why I’d suddenly sprinted out of the house just before dusk and ended up in the French Quarter to ask a complete stranger to communicate with my dead father.
Thankfully, the idea of it didn’t seem so outlandish to them after all.
Oscar’s head bobbed up and down, surveying what I’d just said. “Makes sense…yeah, makes sense.”
“Good thinking,” added Vinnia.
I knew they were trying to be encouraging, and I appreciated the effort. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to speak again for the next hour, as we anxiously watched the sun set over the horizon, awaiting the answer we desperately needed.
As the shadows of the buildings around us fell across Jackson Square signaling that the day had ended, Eran began packing up his girlfriend’s folding chairs. He stopped to chat with a scrawny man who had an ostentatious quality about him and bright, orange hair.
Eran’s thick English accent came up behind me then. “Magdalene is my ride, so I’ll stay with you until she gets back, if you’d like.”
“Me too,” said Oscar protectively, already sliding closer to me.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Eran spoke. “This one…Jameson…he means a lot to you.” He said this as a statement, as if he already arrived at this conclusion, but I answered anyways.
“He means everything to me. Everything.”
“Yeah,” he replied, scuffing his foot along the ground and smiling at some private thought. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” He took in a deep breath, preventing the grin rising up, and changed the subject. “So, Jameson sounds like he’s in a tough situation.”
“He is,” I replied, flatly, not allowing any emotion to show, out of fear I would break down right here in Jackson Square.
“Cancer?”
I exchanged a look with Oscar, deciding to generalize my answer. “We’re not sure.”
“I know this won’t sound as encouraging as I’d like it to be but…” He hesitated, determining whether he should continue. His final statement was so pragmatic; I couldn’t discount it if I wanted to. “Jocelyn, love endures.”
The briefest flicker of recognition stretched to the far recesses of my mind. Eran’s choice of words made him sound much older than a teenager. They were comforting and poignant at the same time.
As my gaze skirted Jackson Square, all emotion I was feeling eroded, leaving my body cold, empty, and indignant.
Across from where we were standing, the Vires began to appear from around the corner of each building. They halted with fists by their sides and feet shoulder-length apart. I eagerly searched their faces, seeking just one of them. The image of her ever-present, moldavite pin was concretely etched in my memory, but despite my desperate pleas, I didn’t see the pin or Mrs. Gaul appear.
Now that the sun had set, Jackson Square was otherwise empty. The evening turned cold enough to push the tourists back to their hotels and the residents back to their homes.
It was just us and the Vires, Theleo being the last of them to appear.
I have never been confrontational, having never needed to be. I was a healer, a witchdoctor long before I’d ever known it, always placing emphasis on helping and strengthening. For the first time, it occurred to me; sometimes in order to bring healing, you needed to fight. Before I knew it, my feet were carrying me across the Square to Theleo.
He saw me coming, our eyes locking on each other before I was standing directly in front of him. I noticed his lips lift just slightly in surprise and then settle back again.
“Where is Mrs. Gaul?” I demanded, and before giving him time to answer, I released a furious shout. “WHERE?”
His muscles tightened, and I felt a flash of victory.
“Jocelyn,” Oscar snapped, warning me as he came up from behind. I didn’t budge, still waiting for my answer.
Recognizing this, Theleo replied calmly, “Mrs. Gaul has been replaced. Her services will be more valuable at the ministry.”
Honestly, I really didn’t think he was going to answer. Being a Vire, I expected him to shun and then cast against me as I turned to leave. This would have been more appropriate behavior. Theleo, however, was actually engaging me, drawing me into a conversation.
“She is not your concern, Jocelyn.” He said this in the same manner a wise teacher might talk to a student, as if he was counseling me. The candor of his demeanor continued when he added, “Only you can save Jameson now.”
My breath caught as his implication threatened to expose me. “What do you know about him?” I took another step closer.
“You show quite a bit of concern for someone deemed your enemy,” Theleo pointed out, openly hinting that my behavior wasn’t consistent with our efforts to insinuate that we remained at odds.
Picking up on this, Vinnia cautioned to my left, “Jocelyn.”
“What do you know?” I seethed, never breaking my focus from Theleo. If he was my link to finding a cure for Jameson, I wasn’t going to back down.
My behavior didn’t seem to faze Theleo, who replied courteously, despite our tense interaction, “I know that seventh century nomadic curses cannot be reverted. They must be overcome.” He offered this while keeping his voice so low only I could hear him.
I paused, thoroughly confused at the moment. He’d just confessed that he knew what afflicted Jameson. Now, I had to determine whether he was earnestly giving me a hint or simply taunting me.
The rumble of a motorcycle told me that Maggie was back, but I didn’t turn around, keeping my eyes pinned to Theleo, until Oscar’s hand gently pulled at me.
It took another two yanks before I moved, and when I did, my glare remained unyielding, until Theleo and I were several feet apart. Oddly enough, there was something in his eyes that seized me. It took a second, but I finally determined what it was I saw.
Pride.
He watched me like I was a child of his own, demonstrating courage for the very first time.
That should have repelled me and disgusted me, making my anger fla
re again, but it didn’t. Instead, I was baffled. A Vire sent to spy on us, and very likely kill us, had just passed along vital information, the kind that, while seeming mysterious, might save Jameson’s life. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around why the man who had been sent to take our lives may have just helped save one of them.
Discarding an effort in trying to decipher his motives, I met up with Maggie and Eran, as Oscar and Vinnia stopped at my side.
“Friend of yours?” asked Eran, though he wasn’t smiling, which told me he already knew the answer.
Because of this, I chose not to waste time answering him and, more readily, turned to Maggie. “What…” Involuntarily, I stopped to swallow back the constriction in my throat. “What did my father say? Did he have a cure?”
The Vires were at a distance where they couldn’t hear, but still, I kept my voice low.
Her initial response was shown in her expression. It sent a sickening chill through me, an emptiness so vast, it started in the depths of my stomach and ravaged its way throughout my body. I was left feeling nothing but weak and desolate.
Maggie saw this and answered delicately. “He said there is no cure. It must be overcome.”
I must have looked stricken, because Oscar’s hand gently grasped my elbow, and Eran circled around Maggie, ready to help.
I felt as if the world was collapsing around me. The buildings seemed to pulsate toward us and back out again. The ground below my feet shifted, testing my balance. Even the night sky seemed to be vacant of oxygen.
I was so entrenched in working through this intense reaction, trying to get a grip on myself, that I didn’t hear my own reply. “Overcome?” That was the same word Theleo had just used…
“I asked him the same thing,” Maggie replied, obviously perplexed. “He said there was only one way, and it involved you.” She paused, glancing at her boyfriend tensely. “Now this is where it gets a little strange. He referred you to someone else…someone named Battersbee.”
“Okay,” said Vinnia, approvingly. “Now why is that weird?”
Maggie snickered under her breath. “Because I know him and he’s a…what did you call me earlier?” She answered her own question, finishing her statement. “A channeler. Battersbee is a channeler.”
