As Aleta continued introducing us to the cast of characters, a dozen agitated seagulls flew past us, one almost clipping Emma, all of them squawking noisily.
Aleta shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up. “Em, Briar, look. I didn’t know if he’d come; he and Solomon don’t get on at all, but he has a seat on the council, so…”
I missed the rest of what Aleta said when Emma gasped, and then I caught sight of it.
The largest bird I’d ever seen, something on the order of a hang glider, soared in silently. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the majestic creature circle the gathering once, then again before descending first toward Natura Perfecta before settling on The Belle.
Josephine, Lukas, and Palmer stepped aside to make way for the bird, colored dark brown save for white wing tips and a head that was wreathed in glorious golden feathers. Once it’s steak-knife-sized talons were firmly wrapped around the starboard side railing, the transformation occurred.
Gold feathers blended with brown, the menacing beak receded, and within moments, a tall, angular, deeply-tanned blonde-haired man stepped down onto the deck, where he was warmly greeted by Virginia.
“Oh, Henry, it’s wonderful to see you again.
“Henry” took Virginia’s hand in his and kissed it, smiling warmly. His transformation left him dressed in the requisite blue suit, the magic of which I was still trying to wrap my head around.
If the bird wasn’t wearing any clothes, how can the man be dressed?
He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about his presence that made it hard to look away. Maybe it was the fact that only moments earlier, he’d been a bird of prey of immense proportions.
“Warren Richburg’s father and I are old friends,” the bird-man explained to Virginia. “No matter my feelings about Solomon or any of the rest of the council, I mourn with them all.”
Virginia held Henry’s hands in her own, and they shared a somber moment.
Dr. Ibis approached and shook hands with Henry, the two of them smiling like old friends.
A sound like a trumpet drew everyone’s attention, and all eyes were drawn to the shifter’s yacht. Standing next to Solomon Lambiotte was a man wearing flowing blue robes. He blew into a conch shell and the trumpet sound repeated twice more. Everyone fell silent.
The mer chief stepped forward and spoke. “Friends, thank you for joining us here today on this celebration of the lives of Sasha Martin and Warren Richburg.”
Two small fishing boats glided past us, out into open water, completely oblivious to our presence. I assumed that Aleta, or some combination of supernatural entities, shielded us from their prying eyes.
As the mer chief spoke and introduced the members of the shifter’s council to the assemblage, the water directly below where I was standing drew my attention. It swirled and took shape, coalescing into human form. To my disbelief, a man emerged and walked across the water until he reached a smaller craft opposite ours, and a wave lifted him aboard. He wore glasses and a goatee, carried a cane, and looked altogether like he’d come from another time.
At that point, I doubted anything could surprise me.
I was wrong.
A yacht every bit as impressive as The Belle, maybe even larger, approached from behind the shifter’s vessel.
I assumed it was some wealthy Charlestonian who’d be telepathically “nudged” to go around us, but instead the boat slowed and took up residence alongside the Natura Perfecta as the rest of us waited patiently. I didn’t have much experience with boats, but the way the large craft steered into place didn’t strike me as typical. It reminded me of one of those people parallel parking on King Street; a driver with considerable city experience, who just pops into place effortlessly, while the rest of us switch between forward and reverse and inch into our tight space with white knuckles and a sweat-beaded forehead.
Aleta and Virginia exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher, and Emma shrugged when I caught her eye.
Calista balled and relaxed her fists. Everyone but Emma and I seemed to know what was happening.
“Welcome, Ezekiel Walker,” announced Solomon Lambiotte, and I immediately knew where I’d seen the new yacht before- it was the Emmanuel, the same boat that had been near Palmer and Lukas when their ability to shift suddenly left them. I hadn’t caught the name on the side of the yacht; there were too many supernatural distractions about. “You honor us with your presence.”
Ezekiel appeared on the deck of his yacht in a tailored blue suit, and he wasted no time in hovering in the air to close the distance between himself and Chief Solomon.
“I grieve with you and for you, sir,” Ezekiel replied, landing on the shifter’s boat, where he and Solomon Lambiotte embraced.
“It’s my vow to you and to your people that I will not rest until those responsible have been brought to justice,” Ezekiel assured Chief Lambiotte.
“Can’t you see your own reflection in the water?” Palmer shouted, causing every head to snap in his direction and many to gasp.
The only person who didn’t seem shocked by palmer’s outburst was Ezekiel himself, who turned his head slowly in our direction and smiled warmly.
“Palmer Martin!” Solomon barked. “How dare you?”
Ezekiel lifted a hand and nodded his head toward the chief, indicating that he’d defend himself from the accusation.
“As we’ve come to expect, Virginia and her harlots exemplify class and dignity. They harbor the two merb…err, forgive me, the two former merboys who placed us all in danger in the first place with their reckless performance at Breach Inlet.
I only hope that I can help convince the Conclave to overlook their transgressions and keep your people in good standing, Chief Solomon,” Ezekiel continued. “I can remove them if you wish it. In order to maintain a sense of decorum and solemnity to these proceedings.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Lukas hissed quietly.
“That won’t be necessary,” the chief answered. “I’ll deal with them personally.”
Calista edged forward, but Virginia lifted a hand to subdue her. “The high road, ladies,” she reminded us. “This is neither the time, nor the place. No matter how he tries to provoke us, rise above.”
Aleta’s eyes never left her brother. Ezekiel looked like a politician, pressing flesh and smiling as he turned away and finished making his rounds.
“Inzignanin!” Darla exclaimed behind us.
“I’m sorry, what?” Emma asked.
“Inzignanin,” Darla repeated. “Lizard people.”
She pointed at the deck of the Emmanuel, where Ezekiel’s traveling companions stood by the railing.
Among a group of roughly a dozen men, I recognized two – Tyrus and another man whose name I didn’t know. They were the two lizard men Dr. Ibis had chased from Martha Lou’s Kitchen for us.
The Belle began to rock in the water as if we were out at sea in a violent storm, although the water around us was calm, save for the presence of mermaids and men and an abundance of sea life drawn to the proceedings.
“Calista!” Virginia hissed. “Control yourself!”
Josephine took one of Calista’s fists between her hands and pried it open, interlacing her fingers with Calista’s. The rocking ceased instantly.
I glanced over at Dr. Ibis, who was repeating a mantra under his breath that I couldn’t understand. Darla stood next to him, her eyes burning with fury and locked on the lizard men aboard the Emmanuel.
Once Ezekiel finished making his rounds, the conch shell was blown again. Chief Solomon and the mer priest with him took turns speaking, alternating between English and what I assumed was the native mer language, which sounded like whale song. Individual words were indiscernible to my ears, but the mermen and maids in attendance, whether in or out of the water, were held in rapt attention.
Aleta and Darla translated some of it telepathically, but there were parts that they either couldn’t make sense of or that just would
n’t make sense to surface dwellers. and it was typical funereal stuff; sadness, lives snuffed out too soon, senseless tragedy.
Four mermaids came together in the water and began to sing.
“Are they sirens?” I whispered to Emma. She glanced at Aleta, who nodded. Emma squeezed my hand
Their song was haunting. It sounded like 1,000 voices harmonizing together, at a high register that seemed to cascade all around us. Surround sound, only with no speakers. It was extraordinary.
The captivating song flowed through me, touching the deepest places in my heart, and I found myself weeping as if I’d lost my oldest and dearest friend rather than two people I’d truthfully met just the one time.
At a lull in the music, my eyes flitted from side to side to find that nearly everyone was in a similar state as I – the sirens had inspired a visceral sadness in all of us.
At some point, the bodies of Sasha and Warren appeared, floating in the water near the sirens. They were both on their backs, transformed fully; fish from the waists down. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d think they were simply floating on their backs.
The sirens parted to allow the bodies to float between them, and Solomon Lambiotte suddenly dove into the water, shedding his human form. Several others from his yacht did the same, and they each submerged and returned to the surface tugging long strands of seaweed, which they used to wrap the bodies. Around their torsos and looping beneath their arms, the seaweed was then pulled tight and twisted together to form something like a length of rope, which the “pallbearers” in the water swam slowly out toward open water as the sirens again began to sing.
We walked around to the port side of the yacht to watch the funeral procession, as the rest of the mers in attendance joined their chief in the water. The sight of so many man and women diving into the water only to grow scales and tails mid-flight was startling, even after all I’d seen the past few weeks. They trailed at a respectful distance.
The man I’d watched emerge from the water earlier wearing a top hat and carrying a cane stepped back into the water and melted away, leaving no indication he’d ever existed.
I barely noticed the whales who showed up to spray farewells through their blowholes.
When the sirens finished singing, the bodies of the two fallen mers were towed toward the horizon by their family members as the sun set behind us.
The assemblage dispersed without incident, including the Ezekiel, and we were left to enjoy our Chantelle-prepared dinner.
16 Emma
“Is there anything Chantelle can’t cook?” I asked as I held my full belly amid the satisfied groans of my fellow Belles and friends.
We’d enjoyed an immense charcuterie board like I’d never seen before on our trip to the funeral, meats and cheeses of every variety, and after the service Chantelle presented us with a pear, arugula, and pancetta salad, three varieties of pasta, and the best garlic bread I’d ever tasted. I had seconds of a creamy smoked salmon paste dish that made my taste buds want to jump out of my mouth and hug the chef.
Crème Brule finished us off. To Calista’s evident disgust, Briar and Lukas each had three helpings. Aleta, Palmer, Dr. Ibis, and I each managed two. I felt as though eating even one more spoonful would cause me to burst.
As we recovered with the assistance of the gentle rocking of the waves, I broke the silence with a question that had been bugging me for days, and that Ezekiel had place back in the forefront of my mind.
“Virginia, or anybody who’d like to answer, what is the Conclave?”
A hush fell over the group and eye contact was exchanged all around the dining room. Amidst wry smiles and shrugs, everyone deferred to the elegant woman at the head of the table, Virginia Embers.
“The Conclave is…” Virginia considered and measured her words. “A group, the group, really, that serves as both the legislative and judicial branches of government for the paranormal populace of the southeastern United States, everything east of New Orleans.
“The Conclave represents the interests of shifters, witches, ghosts, demons, spirits, wizard, alchemists and everyone and everything beyond the ken of mankind.”
“And it’s here? In Charleston?” Briar asked.
“Savannah, actually,” Virginia corrected. “Think of it as Congress, with representatives from various places and groups, but much smaller. And based in, as I said, in Savannah. There are nine members, some of whom you’ve met.” Virginia swirled her glass of cognac and took a sip. “Darla is a member. As am I. Solomon Lambiotte, as head of the shifter’s council, has a seat. So does Ezekiel Walker.”
I looked at Aleta, who nodded.
“That makes four. Who are the other five? Do you have regular meetings? Can we go?” Briar asked. I envied her boldness.
Virginia smiled at Briar. “We meet four times a year, on the Summer and Winter Solstices, as well as the Autumnal and Vernal Equinoxes. Special sessions can be called as needed. Only members of the Conclave may attend. As for the other members, I’m not at liberty to discuss their identities.”
“Do we get to vote? Or run?”
“May I?” Darla asked, and Virginia nodded. “Briar, you have many questions, but you must understand, our world is, by definition, filled with unanswerable questions and mysteries wrapped in riddles. Seeking to understand, in a matter of weeks, that which has taken centuries to build, will only frustrate you and leave you more confused.
“No one I know can lead you through this intricate maze more adeptly than Virginia Embers. You’re in the best of hands.”
“Thank you, Darla,” Virginia replied. “But Briar, your curiosity, and Emma’s, are both expected and welcome. I just don’t want you to become overwhelmed and overloaded with information. Today alone was quite a lot for me to process. I can’t imagine for you two sweet girls.”
“Are there other groups in different parts of the country, or the world, like the Conclave?” I asked. “Or anything like the United Nations? And if the Conclave is like Congress, is there a President as well?”
“There is an… organization, based in New Orleans, that the Conclave answers to, yes. But there is no individual leader of our group, no president. We’re equals, each with a vote.”
“Forgive me, Virginia,” Henry, the bird-man, interjected. “Many thanks for the food and hospitality, but speaking of New Orleans, I have pressing business in the Crescent City early tomorrow morning, so I should be off.”
“So soon?” she replied, rising to bid Henry farewell.
“I’ll return next week, hopefully with good news regarding your two young mermen and their peculiar problem.” Henry shook Palmer and Lukas’s hands amid saying goodbyes to everyone on the room.
By the time he reached Briar and me, golden feathers had begun to sprout from his head and neck, indicating his transformation was imminent.
As he exited the dining room, he was more avian than mammal, and his second step on deck was his last, as he took to the night sky with a great beating of his glorious wings. Within moments, he’d disappeared altogether.
Aleta, Josephine, Briar, Palmer, Lukas and I walked along the deck, twinkling lights appearing sporadically on the shoreline as we passed a swampy, less-populated section of the coast.
“Henry’s going to help you two?” Briar asked the guys.
“Louisiana is the epicenter for supernatural and paranormal activity in this part of the world,” Aleta answered. “New Orleans, in particular. If there’s a cure for Lukas and Palmer, whether Solomon Lambiotte and the rest of our local shifters like it or not, somebody there will have it. Henry is as connected there as anybody we know.”
“What is Henry?” I asked. “I mean, obviously a giant eagle of some sort, right? But it’s odd to just keep accepting these things, sorry, people, as normal, right? I watched a man at the funeral today pretty much melt into the water. I know Briar saw him, I don’t know if anybody else did, but at this point I don’t think I’d even know the difference if I was hallucinating
or if somebody’d given me mushrooms or if I’d simply lost my mind altogether. Am I crazy?”
Briar threw an arm across my shoulders and pulled me tight. “If you are, so am I.”
Aleta smiled. “Jo, can you take Lukas and Palmer back inside, or to the other end of the boat, so I can be alone with the twins?”
Josephine looped an arm over the arms of each of the two erstwhile mermen and they lifted her off the ground between them as if she were a small child. She squealed with delight as they took off running with her dangling between them, her feet flailed as she ran on air.
Aleta led us to the stern, and sat between us on a bench there, the starts filling the sky above us as a salty spray tickled our noses from time to time.
“Henry,” she began, is, or was, Atlantean. He’s a product of Atlantean science and magic, which were in many ways one and the same. Have you ever heard of a bird called a Haasts’s eagle?”
Briar and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
“Haast’s eagle lived in New Zealand but went extinct in the 14th century. The native Maori people call it a pouakai, and its still part of their mythology, even six hundred years after the last one died. Well, the last natural one, anyway.
“Henry managed to relocate a flock of Haasts’s eagles to America, before Europeans were officially here, and he briefly succeeded. He had them hunting bison on the Great Plains.”
“Is that where Indian legends of thunderbirds come from?” I asked.
“Bingo,” Aleta answered. “They lasted longer here than in Oceania, but eventually they went extinct here as well. When Henry realized saving them was hopeless, he used Atlantean magic to merge with the last surviving one. Sometimes there will be reports on the news about sightings of giant birds, which they’ll ascribe to gliders or California condors, but chances are that they’re actually just seeing Henry.
“In one sense, he’s a shifter, and by strictest definition, yes, he is, but he wasn’t born that way, so he isn’t fully accepted as one by many of them.”
Carolina Conjuring Page 9
