by Laury Falter
Reluctantly, our hands stretched out, meeting in the middle, each doing our part to follow their unrelenting instructions and adhere to our self-imposed contact restrictions.
The gentle brush of his fingers sent a jolt of electricity through me and caused my skin to prickle, a sensation which made me desperately wish our circumstances were different.
Tenderly adjusting my bracelet, so my family stone sat at the highest point, he paused before lifting his eyes to meet mine. My breath was locked in my chest until Miss Celia spoke.
“Jocelyn will channel first. Jameson, you’ll need to relax.” She added this last comment after noticing his reaction to me.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by our touch.
He nodded in response, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
It felt natural to close mine, too, and when I did, they almost snapped back open.
Images began flashing behind my lids, so rapidly, it was like being on a speeding train staring out the window as scenes blended from one to the next, none fully taking shape or offering any fine detail.
I heard Jameson take another deep breath and the images slowed. The loosening of his fingers around my hands told me he was relaxing more.
“Jocelyn,” I heard him say, his voice trailed slowly, running inside my head instead of passing through my ears. Then, a feeling of contentment washed over me, which I knew had to come from him.
“Good,” I heard Miss Celia say, evidently satisfied with our progress.
The images started like snapshots. The first defined image was of a hand, short, stumpy, and without fingernails. The next image was of a red-veined wall. A narrow, bright, and indistinct light was the next likeness to roll by. The snapshots began to speed up, steadily becoming a stream, similar to watching a film reel. I understood what I was observing then…glimpses of Jameson’s birth.
The very next memory came quick, and what I saw took my breath away.
Feeling restricted and itchy, with the sound of a motor running beside my ears, I stared up through the plastic covering of an incubator as a man’s blurred face moved across my view and out of sight. What stunned me was the hazy outline of what appeared to be a moldavite stone on the man’s tie clip. I knew instantly what that meant. A Vire had visited Jameson in the hospital immediately after birth. This made sense, when I recalled their attempt to kidnap him during the same time period.
That clip of his life was abruptly replaced with a scene showing a bird flapping rapidly and beating itself against a window, in an effort to escape. Sounds of a lunchroom drifted to my ears as forks and knives were aiming at the creature but Jameson’s voice broke through the commotion. “Hey, hey. Don’t do that.” Suddenly, I was staring directly at a group of fifth-grade boys already leveling their weapons again. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Jameson’s narrow, sending an unspoken message that Jameson wasn’t going to back down. Disgruntled, the boys forfeited their next onslaught of utensils and returned to eating. I almost sighed while realizing Jameson had defended the helpless from a young age.
The next memory was of Mrs. DeVille’s store, and my bracelet, the one with my family stone, came into view. Jameson was staring at it, but I didn’t get the sense that all was normal. He felt unnerved, defensive, as if a lion was waiting to spring from the corner of the room. His breathing had stopped, and I was struggling to fill my own lungs as his eyes remained firmly set on my quartz crystal. Thoughts were rushing through his mind, and they weren’t entirely comforting.
She’s a Weatherford…
She’s staring at me. She’s confused.
Why is she staring?
Because I’m staring at her stone.
I’m gonna have to stop staring.
No…she can’t be a Weatherford…
She’s too innocent. She’s not like the rest.
She’s saying something to me.
“Quartz crystal.”
This last phrase came to me through my mind and my ears, in an echo, because he just spoke and thought it at the same time, referring to the type of stone in my bracelet. His lungs were working again, but he hadn’t entirely unwound.
I’ve made her feel awkward. I look menacing. Put down your shoulders. Look her in the eye.
I watched from his perspective as his gaze settled on me, and I felt the tightening of his stomach muscles.
How did this happen? She doesn’t know me. How? How does she not know I’m a Caldwell? Maybe I’m wrong about the stone? Maybe she’s not a Weatherford?
I heard his voice ask for my last name and experienced the resulting sickness he felt when I answered.
Weatherford, he repeated in his mind. She’s a Weatherford. Can it be done? Can I get away with seeing a Weatherford? How can I do this? How can I see her without making her feel threatened?
I felt my throat constrict, protesting the ability to speak, but his words rang in my ears, as part of his memory, “All right.”
The memory of his thoughts came again. She’s talking to me…with that voice, that incredible voice. I could listen to that voice constantly.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” he said, his muscles releasing themselves now, as he made his way to the cash register.
All of this happened in just a few seconds, but it was long enough to recognize it had been the first time we met. Without warning, another memory appeared, one far more chaotic.
The explosion of a tree limb jolted me, nearly making me let go of Jameson’s hand. Vaguely, I heard him call out my name, anxious and hesitant, but I didn’t respond, having been pulled too briskly into the turmoil I was observing. Bodies were flying through the air, water was splashing all around, and it was dark, too dark to clearly define anything. I felt my eyes moving with his memory, darting back and forth, trying to take in all that was happening.
“Right,” Jameson shouted, his voice ringing in my ears. I felt my right arm want to fly out and point in that direction. In Jameson’s memory his limb did just that, but I forced mine to remain in place.
Charlotte followed his command, with Alison and Vinnia right behind her.
He’s coming around, Jameson thought.
Suddenly the face of a Vire appeared before Jameson. It was plump, dirtied, and snarling; I recognized him immediately.
“Anastas,” said Jameson, almost casually. “We don’t want to fight.”
Anastas snorted, snot blowing in strings from his nose. “What you want doesn’t make a bit of difference. You can come with us or you will die tonight.”
“If we go with you, we are dead anyways.”
Anastas laughed wildly and nodded in agreement.
“So we really have no choice,” said Jameson, as Charlotte, Alison, Vinnia, and Dillon appeared just beyond the trees a few yards away.
Anastas bent down and scooped a handful of bayou water into his palm. By the time he was standing again, it had turned to a jagged flat disc of ice. In his other palm, a fire began, lighting the hideous grin creeping across his face.
“Would like to haul you in. Ministry would probably crown me. But you and the girlfriend are worth just as much dead.”
When Anastas mentioned me, I felt Jameson’s muscles tighten, igniting a fury that violently rushed through me.
Anastas raised his arm then, aiming the disc at Jameson’s throat. From there, movement came from every direction, taking Anastas to the ground.
A second later, the sickening crunch of a bone breaking rose above the uproar of tired grunts and turbulent fighting.
It wasn’t just a bone, I realized. It was Anastas’s neck. And it was Jameson’s arm around it.
Breathing heavily, Jameson freed himself and slid off Anastas’s body, kneeling in the shallow water, stunned into silence. Not a single thought moved through his mind.
Memory of the walk back through the bayou, after what just happened, was a blur, with Jameson struggling to keep his feet under him and his stomach from coming up through his throat. Then he saw me,
and relief blanketed him.
Jocelyn, he called out, although nothing could be heard. There was no strength left to formulate the words or send them through his lips. When his arms came around me, words flooded his thoughts, speaking to me even though he kept me from hearing them at the time.
Jocelyn, Jocelyn, I killed a man. I killed him. With my arm. He threatened you…us. But I did…I did it to save us, to save you. So please…forgive me. I feel sick. I feel so sick. I’m supposed to save lives, not take them. I can’t…I can’t understand…anything.
When he took in a deep breath, I smelled the scent of my hair, like flowers on a spring day, something so out of place in the grimy, bloodied bayou. Then, I felt it. The healing power of my energy. For the first time, I felt what others experienced, sensing how it washed over him like warm water, cleansing and freeing, rinsing away the pain. The exhaustion was erased, and the pain ebbed until it was gone completely.
“You did it, sweetheart,” his voice murmured softly in my ear.
Then his thoughts ran through my mind, one that he hadn’t voiced, leaving me stunned to listen to them now.
I love you. God, I hope you still love me.
My eyes flew open suddenly, and again, I was recognizing where I was, surrounded by whitewashed walls in a candle-lit room.
“Yes,” I stated. “I do. Of course I do.”
His eyes flashed opened, realizing I’d broken our channel. “You do what?” The innocence in his expression told me he had no idea what I was talking about.
“You didn’t…did you…do you know what memories you just sent me?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Miss Celia interrupted, stepping forward while keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest. “One doesn’t single out any particular memory. You grasp onto them as they pass.” Her tone turned nonchalant, seemingly insensitive to what I’d just seen, though not intending to be callous. “You’ll learn to slow them down as you go.”
I drew in a deep breath, almost frightened to close my eyes again.
“Are you all right?” whispered Jameson, leaning toward me, trying to understand what I was feeling.
After another lung-filling inhale, I dipped my head and answered, “You were worried I didn’t love you…anymore.”
His eyebrows lifted, temporarily taken aback.
Then the candles flickered, sending sharp patterns across the wall, and extinguished entirely. The room went dark. The walls were windowless, and the hallway extending to the street wouldn’t allow any gusts to reach inside the room. Yet, somehow the flames were disturbed.
No one spoke as we sat in stunned silence, each of us attempting to reconcile with what just happened.
“Incantatio incendo,” Miss Celia whispered, and the candles’ flames sputtered back to life.
I was still staring at Jameson, whose eyes hadn’t left mine either. The indication of a smile played his lips.
“Never seen that happen before. Have you?” I heard Miss Celia ask.
“Never,” replied Miss Mabelle, breathless, as if what she’d just seen stole her ability to exhale.
Jameson and I had seen it before though. In Olivia’s shop, the moment we met. Jameson recognized it, too, which I knew from the grin still threatening to break through.
“Jameson,” said Miss Mabelle, disturbing our revelation. “It’s your turn.”
We broke our gaze, shifted on our bottoms, and prepared ourselves for another session. I was actually glad for the frigid concrete floor now. It reminded me I was here and not back in the bayou. I wasn’t sure how vivid my memories would be but Jameson’s were disconcertingly detailed.
My turn was far less impactful – for me, at least. I felt almost comatose by the end of it and had to open my eyes or I risked falling asleep. When my eyelids lifted, my gaze landed on Jameson and I witnessed what Jameson must have seen from me during my session. His face contorted from one emotion to the next. Pleasant surprise. Wistfulness. Humor. Worry. They all surfaced and faded away shortly after. Eventually they came to an end, and he respectfully removed his hands from mine.
Once he was alert, I asked the question that had been pestering me since his session began. “What did you see?”
“Uh, you tell me first,” he replied, hesitating, appearing ill at ease.
“I think I saw the Vire who tried to kidnap you when you were just born.”
His interest piqued and his agitation seemed to ease. “What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t see. Your eyes weren’t developed yet. But I know it was a Vire because of the moldavite he wore.”
“So it was a male?”
“That’s what I figured. If it was a female she had short hair.”
“So you saw hair?”
“Yes,” I said, realizing that was an unusual question.
“What about skin color?”
I shrugged. “Light skinned. Why?”
He sat quietly nodding, apparently piecing together whatever was plaguing him.
“Why?” I pressed.
Still looking uncertain, he answered me. “I saw your father’s death.”
“Oh,” I replied. “What does that have to with the Vire who tried to kidnap you?”
His forehead creased as he evaluated me. “Because I saw who did it,” he answered, slowly, pacing out his answer as if he were doubtful on whether to say it.
Instantly, I sank forward, desperate for more information. “You saw who killed my father? Did you recognize him? Have you seen him before?” I stopped there, knowing I needed to give him time to answer.
“Yes, I-I recognize him.” He glanced up at Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia, neither of whom offered any assistance. Of course, there wasn’t much they could do.
“Who?” I asked, fraught with tension. When Jameson didn’t respond, I urged, “Who?”
When his eyes settled on me, he delivered an answer that made my heart stop.
“Theleo Alesius.”
11 SAVIOR
I don’t have a single memory of my father.
My mother carried a photograph of him in a locket, encrusted with our family stone, but it had worn away over the years. White creases and color fading removed most of the details but his dark hair, lively eyes, and gleaming smile still came through. Other than the extremely limited stories my mother had told and the words ‘kind, generous, and altruistic’ used to describe him, this was the extent of what I knew about him.
Still, discovering the man who killed my father was unsettling. And it was no less disconcerting knowing the same man was now following me.
As we drove back, after determining this particular lesson was over based on my withdrawn reaction, I assessed my options. Walking up and confronting him would risk endangering my family. There was no possibility of turning him in. I had no proof, other than a memory I never knew existed until now. Powerless. That was how I felt. The feeling only intensified when I saw his associates stationed at Aunt Lizzy’s houses. Theleo, thankfully, was not with them.
Jameson had watched me closely, his wisdom guiding him to remain silent, before carefully sliding into the back of the car before we reached Aunt Lizzy’s house. Even though he didn’t say another word to me during the drive, this wasn’t the last time I would see him tonight.
After I got ready to crawl into bed, I twisted the lamp on next to my bedroom window, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Stunned, I inhaled sharply, causing Miss Mabelle to give me a curious glance from her doorway – a position that prevented her from seeing Jameson. I gave her a wavering smile and quickly closed my door.
“I came for my jacket,” he stated, quietly, standing to prove his point and to convey it was the only reason he’d come. The fact it was already in his hand was enough to convince me, but then he stopped two paces from the door.
I hadn’t said a single word to him, but my tension, my yearning for him, was so strong he must have noticed it.
As he turned, I prepared myself for t
he strength I’d need if we started another conversation on rethinking the agreement about our relationship. Instead, he caught me off guard by offering, “Do you want to practice channeling?”
Stumped, I didn’t really have an answer. I wanted him to leave, and at the same time, I wanted him to stay.
To buy myself time, I asked, “How did you get here so fast?”
“I have routes,” he replied, simply, and offered no more information.
He stood there, motionless, as awkward silence filled the room. “I thought you might have more questions,” he said, in a way that made me think he was explaining why he was still here.
I gave him a confused stare.
“About what you learned tonight. About your father.”
So he hadn’t come for his jacket, after all. Once again, he was trying to help someone, and this time it was me. This made me feel conflicted; I felt guilty, but still craved him also.
“I thought…” he started, and shook his head hopelessly, letting his voice fade away.
A second later, he was heading for the door.
Before I knew it, the words passed over my lips. “I don’t understand, Jameson.”
As much as I wanted him to leave, giving me time to build my wall higher and exclude him further, I wanted him, needed him, here with me. There was no chance I would fulfill my birthright tonight and end his life. The war hadn’t been waged yet. Even if it had, I still couldn’t bring myself to envision a scenario in which Jameson would die by my hands. So when he came to a halt, I forgave myself for keeping him here. Just tonight, I promised him silently. Just tonight.
“I don’t understand. Why did it happen the way it did? Why did Theleo have to kill him? He could have maimed him, punched him unconscious…that’s what keeps running through my mind.” I sighed heavily and, sounding almost desperate, asked, “You were there. Did you see why he killed him? Was there any reason at all?”
“With Vires, there never has to be a reason. It’s why the rest of us in our world avoid them at all costs. But,” he turned around to face me, “I have a sense there was more to your father’s death.”
