by Laury Falter
I was surprised at my ability to exhibit a convincing demonstration of will power by tilting my head up and turning away from the view that was trying to steal my attention.
“Jameson Bartlett Caldwell,” said his mother, curtly. “You get back in that bed and recuperate.”
“There’s no time,” he replied, flatly, drawing up his zipper with emphasis.
She stepped forward, her hands rising to her hips. “Let me make this very clear. You will remain housebound until I say. You will not be going on healing errands. You will not be formulating plans of reprisal. And you will get back in that bed.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with sincerity. “I can’t.” He made an attempt to move around her but she stepped in his path, blocking him. “Others are being hurt now. I won’t sit back and let it happen.”
As Mrs. Caldwell stared down her son, I looked to Aunt Lizzy for help, but based on her expression, she agreed with Mrs. Caldwell. So did Mr. Caldwell. I, however, did not. Jameson was correct. We needed to do something.
Opening my mouth to voice my opinion, I stopped. A hand came down on my shoulder, its message clear. It said, “I’ve got this.”
Looking back, I found it was Charlotte and instinctively stiffened until I heard the words coming from her mouth.
“Mom, it’s not just us in the line of fire. Almost every shop in The Quarter was damaged. Everyone in them suffered a hex. I agree with Jameson. We should do something about it.” Before her mother could respond, she turned to the rest of her siblings and my cousins. “What do you guys think?”
Immediately, the noise level in the room climbed several octaves, their voices blending together so that not one of them was distinguishable. But, judging from their nodding heads, it looked like they agreed.
“This is not a democracy,” rebutted Mrs. Caldwell, astonished.
Jameson wouldn’t allow the momentum to die out, however. “Mom, whatever Jocelyn did to me, she did it well. I am more than cured. I can handle this.”
She opened her mouth to disagree and then came to a halt. Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted forward before she went on to mumble something that threw every one of us in the room. “Your scar…”
“His what?” asked Mr. Caldwell, moving closer.
“His scar is gone.”
The two of them were staring at him closely now.
“Not gone but…almost,” said Mr. Caldwell, leaning in to see for himself.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” said Jameson, irritably. “Jocelyn healed me…made me better than I was.”
Mrs. Caldwell scoffed but clearly he’d broken through her armor of refusal. “What exactly do you plan to do?”
Aunt Lizzy chuckled. “Good question.”
“We need to train, to become strong enough to prevent it from happening again.”
“You’re already in classes at Ms. Veilleux’s school,” reminded Mrs. Caldwell.
“What I’m talking about is different,” he said, taking my hand before urging, “We need to train together.”
Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell gave him a bewildered look, which quickly shifted in my direction.
Jameson rubbed his forehead briefly and exhaled with frustration. “We – Jocelyn and me – are stronger together. We need to hone it. We weren’t prepared for this assault, but we can prepare for the next one.”
“And just how do you expect to do that with Vires watching your every move, dear?” asked Aunt Lizzy.
“We’ll do it at night,” he answered. “It’s the only way. We’ll sneak out, somehow, and practice where we can’t be found.”
I glanced from face to face around the room, feeling very much like Jameson and I were now alone in this battle.
Then our least likely supporter spoke from her position in the doorway.
“Think the chil’in are ready?” Miss Mabelle asked this question out loud, although it was directed to Miss Celia.
“Ready for what?” asked Burke, curiously.
Miss Celia answered in no uncertain terms. “Preparin’ fo’ The Sevens’ vengeance.”
“And how do you play a role in that?” asked Spencer, trying to piece together why our housekeepers gave the impression they were involved too.
The ladies ignored him.
Instead, Miss Mabelle announced, “We begin at midnight.”
“N’ ya’ll be prepared,” warned Miss Celia. “Don’t ya go thinkin’ we’ll be easy on ya. Ya’ll get no free ride here.”
The snickers behind me indicated that last phrase wasn’t foreign to the Caldwell household.
“I don’t expect one,” I said, to which she raised her eyebrows, obviously thinking I was being insolent. I disregarded her reaction and continued. “But what exactly are we agreeing to?”
Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle looked at each other, but it was Miss Mabelle who answered. “You, chil’, are gonna finally learn what it takes to be a witch.”
“No lazy incantations.” Miss Celia spat. “No more useless boil hexes.”
“You gonna get a good dose of the real thing,” added Miss Mabelle.
“Uh huh,” muttered Miss Celia in agreement.
“Ain’t no way ya kin beat them Sevens with what ya been doin’,” Miss Mabelle finished with a sharp nod.
Our housekeepers exchanged glances, and Miss Celia furtively reassured, “I’ll make sure he’s ready.”
With that, Miss Mabelle stood to her full height and turned, muttering something about getting home because she hadn’t seen her kitchen in days, and it could have burnt down for all she knew.
“Why them?” Charlotte asked with a shrug.
“Cuz it’s they birthright,” called out Miss Celia over her shoulder, as she disregarded Charlotte, turning to follow behind Miss Mabelle.
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed at me. “What exactly is your birthright?”
Words flashed through my mind, all the words I read in Aunt Lizzy’s study the night I went searching for information on Phillip Turcott, but stumbled across a book on The Relicuum instead.
Prodigy.
Leader.
Savior.
One final word replayed in my mind, and I had a difficult time shaking it.
Killer.
“I’m a healer,” I declared.
Charlotte chuckled. “Oh, you’re more than that. I’ve never seen a healer cause this type of destruction before.”
“Maybe she’s discovered a new method,” suggested Spencer.
I lifted a finger and tipped it toward him. “I’ll work on fixing that.”
“You should,” he said, as a mock reprimand.
“No.” Charlotte shook her head. Just as I’d suspected, she was not about to drop the issue. “What you did required…” Searching for the correct ability, she chose, “levitation.” Narrowing her eyes at me, she then pondered out loud, “How exactly did you get Jameson here from Mr. Thibodeaux’s shop in the first place?”
In consensus, Alison stepped forward. “How did you get Jameson here?”
“I carried him,” I replied, resolutely.
Jameson, sensing my uneasiness, interrupted on my behalf. “There you go. Enough said.”
Charlotte immediately rejecting his easy dismissal. “Not quite.”
That didn’t seem to suffice for Burke either, who also started in. “You’re a strong, healthy girl. No one denies that…but all that way? It’s miles from Thibodeaux’s, and there’s no car out front.”
The room became silent, as they waited for my response.
My cousins stood awkwardly aside, as if they were watching a runaway train pass by, powerless to stop it.
I wasn’t sure how I looked on the outside, but on the inside, my mind was racing and for a valid reason. I hadn’t considered what I did until this very moment, until Charlotte insistently pointed it out.
I just displayed the ability to heal, and now, she was pushing me to disclose my levitation capabilities too.
“And when you said you c
ould hear Jameson…” Alison started in, raising the conversation to another level.
“Yes, I can hear him just fine.”
She scoffed, not finding my response funny. “You said it when he was still unconscious…”
Her insinuation was obvious. She had moved on to confirm my new ability to channel.
Jameson’s head cocked to the side at an inquisitive angle. He quickly caught on, and his stunning, clear green eyes lit up. Still holding my hand, he channeled silently to me. “So you’ve picked up my gift too, ha?” Without having to see, I knew the edges of his lips were curving upward, forming a pleased smile. “You’ll have to tell me more about that when you get the chance.”
Right now was definitely not the time, because the questions started being thrown at me faster.
“And what about manipulating the energy in the room?”
“While you were healing Jameson?”
“While the furniture vibrated?
“And pieces of clothing flew through the air?”
“Enough,” Jameson demanded and the room became silent again.
Slowly, Dillon reviewed everything that had just been mentioned. “So, you can heal. You can levitate. You can channel.”
A second later, I noticed it. The impact of the truth had manifested in the Caldwell’s expressions.
“She can’t be,” insisted Charlotte, violently shaking her head in refusal.
Estelle scoffed. “And why not?”
“She…She’s a Weatherford.”
“Hey…” replied Vinnia, clearly offended.
“Sorry,” Charlotte said, rolling her apology into denial. “But you’d think it would be someone with more authority; someone who has been involved in our world since birth; someone who knows us.”
I heard Jameson’s voice run through my head. “They’ve figured it out.”
They were all waiting for me to say something, but before I had the chance, Charlotte broke the silence with a scoff. “You are The Relicuum?”
The slightest nod elicited an exhale from everyone in the room, as they starting shuffling around in amazement. A few members of our families even appeared to relax, allowing a sense of relief to wash over them. I, however, was not relaxed or relieved. I didn’t like being put in this situation.
Regardless, Burke chuckled. “I can’t believe it.” He clapped Jameson on the shoulder. “My little brother’s dating The Relicuum.”
Jameson didn’t respond. He was watching me, judging my comfort level. He and I were the only ones who didn’t wear at least a hint of a smile.
Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell seemed to be the most amazed, with their mouths hanging open and their eyes pinned on me. But it was Charlotte who truly surprised me. Even though she had coveted this role as a child, she seemed genuinely happy with my disclosure.
A long silence filled the room; affording everyone the opportunity to take in and process the information they were just given.
“All right,” Jameson said, disrupting the rest of the room’s contemplation. “Now you know. Everyone out.”
At that demand, we all began to move toward the exit, recognizing he deserved a little recuperation time. But then his hand caught my wrist, intending to discreetly keep me behind.
“I’ll catch up,” I called out.
“We’ll wait for you,” Aunt Lizzy shouted back.
When we were alone, Jameson turned, wrapping his arms around me in an ironclad embrace. His eyes drifted across my face, a smile lingering on his lips.
He was deep in thought, so I didn’t want to disturb him. Gradually, I began seeing images in my mind, like recalling memories. It startled me, because they weren’t mine. I was sure of this, when I saw myself sitting at the lunch table on the outdoor patio. Another one formed, showing me walking down the hallway. Yet another danced through my consciousness, this one was me in a top hat gazing around, looking bewildered. I recognized the top hat because I’d only worn it only one time in New Orleans…the day Jameson and I met.
It took me a while to understand what was happening, but when I did, a flood of excitement consumed me. These were Jameson’s memories, and he was thinking of me. I was picking up his thoughts.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just seeing his memories. I felt the press of lips against mine followed by an impassioned surge. It was quickly replaced with disappointment, as the image of my face pulled away. He was thinking about a time we kissed, and it was so overwhelming for me, I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
He caught me off guard by saying something I never expected.
“There’s something you should know. Our housekeepers aren’t who they seem.”
Despite being disappointed because my tap into his memory ended, I obliged him by asking, “What do you mean?”
“Well, they came to our families asking for work. No ads were ever placed searching for someone to fill these spots. Their spots…their roles hadn’t been created. It was Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle who insisted on being our housekeepers. And they don’t need the work. They’re capable of casting – in their own way, through their own rituals. Making meals for kids and cleaning up after them doesn’t compare to the money they could make with their voodoo practices. And they’re powerful. More than we know.” He paused briefly, looking like he was considering whether to tell me what he was thinking, but he continued. “The…The Surveyor, who had taken over authority of the provinces for this region…she visited my grandfather once, before she killed him,” he added, harshly, “and I saw something in her when Miss Celia walked in the room.”
“What?” I pressed, sensing that he was telling me all this for a reason, a very good one. “What did you see?”
“Fear. The Surveyor, the most dangerous person in our province, was scared of our housekeeper. And I think it’s because she knew what Miss Celia could do.”
“What about Miss Mabelle?”
“I believe she would have shown the same reaction if it was Miss Mabelle entering the room.”
“Amazing…” I mumbled. “And I figured it was their personalities that kept everyone away.”
Jameson stifled a laugh. “That might have something to do with it too,” he joked, before seriousness prevailed. “I haven’t gotten a chance to thank you for saving my life.”
I lifted my shoulder, half shrugging. “It was nothing.”
He released a hearty chuckle, knowing I was really understating, but he adjusted his mood when I confessed, “You…really scared me.”
“I’m all right now.”
He paused, taking time to evaluate me again; his expression brandished a mixture of intrigue and pride. “All because of you. What did you do to me anyways? I feel so strong…”
“Good,” I replied, firmly, ignoring his reverence. “I’m not sure. I did the same thing I always do. The only difference was I channeled as much energy as I could into you.”
“Channeled, huh?” he said, his impressed grin rose up again and then faded away as he asked, “And how did you pick it up?”
Our somber frame of mind rushed back in, because we both knew I only acquire additional capabilities one way, through the demise of another.
I went on to describe Battersbee, and my father channeling through him, as Jameson listened intently. When I was through, I was shaking and could only think of a single word to summarize the experience…surreal.
He nodded. “It would be for me too. Thank you for going through it for me.” Feeling the awkwardness of my memory, he took a deep breath and changed the subject. “So, are you under the impression you don’t need me anymore?” I could see he was more uncomfortable with this idea than he was letting on.
My reply was encouraging at first, but confused him. “No. What you said is true, we are stronger together. Something happened to me when you were…incapacitated. I-I wasn’t able to heal you. I tried, for three days I worked at it, but I couldn’t…I just couldn’t.”
“Before you came here, were you able to use your healing on anyone?”
“Yes, but it was minimal…very limited. There, I could heal a plant in a few days. Here, it takes a few seconds.”
His expression was telling, so I knew what he was thinking.
“It wasn’t the move, Jameson. It’s not the city. It’s you.” This revelation garnered a satisfied smile from him. “We are stronger together.”
I felt goose bumps beginning to rise on my arms, and a chill course throughout my body, making me tremble again. Jameson pulled back slightly to gently rub my arms, a gesture that soothed me.
“Why is that?” I shivered, feeling like my intuition was alerting me of frightening news to follow. “Why are we stronger together?”
As he spoke again, I thought I’d misheard.
“Probably because you’re The Relicuum and I’m The Nobilis.”
I blinked at him. “What…? What did you…? What did you just say?”
He stared back at me, repeating. “I think it’s because you are The Relicuum and I’m The Nobilis.”
“You’re The…” I couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.
Instead, I stepped back, away from Jameson and out of the comfort of his arms.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, becoming anxious at my behavior.
He had every reason to be. We were bound by fate to be together…just long enough for me to eventually kill him.
“Jocelyn,” he said, trying to take a step toward me. I countered by sliding farther back.
I couldn’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper. “How long have you known…that you are The Nobilis?”
“Oh…” he replied casually. “Since birth.”
“Birth?” I asked, anger swelling in me. “And you never mentioned it?”
“It’s not something you go around telling people.”
“You could have told me.”
“I would have, eventually, when I saw the need.”
“How many people know you are The Nobilis?” I asked, trying to ignore the chill creeping up my spine.
“My family, Miss Celia, who was the one to enlighten us in the first place, and now you.” My apprehension was amplifying his worry, which in turn made him hesitant. “Why?”
Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia, if they even knew, hadn’t told him. The observation screamed through my head.
