by Laury Falter
“Jocelyn?”
Hands grasped my arms, tender but firm.
“Jocelyn?” the voice sounded more urgent now. It was one I knew so well, one I counted on. My body leaned toward it as strong arms came around me. “Come back to me, sweetheart.”
I blinked several times, clearing my stagnant thoughts.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “That’s it….”
Finally, the air rushed into my lungs and I was able to move again. My chest rose, my mind began to stir, and my body began to shake.
I exhaled, carrying with it a single word. “Jameson…,” I locked eyes with him, taking comfort in his calm resolve even as my body shuddered.
“So you were planning on giving yourself up to The Sevens…,” he mused, not at all encouraged by his revelation.
“Give yourself up?” William blurted.
“To stop the attacks on the prisoners,” replied Jameson, never taking his eyes off me. Then he spoke to me…only me. “Always, if it’s not me you’re trying to save then it’s someone else.” He drew in a deep breath and smiled genuinely at me. “So now you know what I was about to say before we descended so quickly that I wasn’t able to finish.” He steadied his gaze at me. “You can’t give yourself up, Jocelyn. Too much is at stake.”
“B-But you knew?” I whispered. “How did you know…what would happen?”
“I used reason. Although, I wasn’t absolutely sure. Not until now.”
He turned back to Giorgia, still keeping his hands on me in case my body once again threatened to faint. “There are a few things I don’t understand, though.” Without waiting for her to consent, he asked, “How were you able to read the records? I would think The Sevens keep them well protected.”
“And they do,” she assured. “The channelers made two sets, one always kept at the ministry, and after some time, the second carried as far from the ministry as possible. The thinking was: separate them. It would be safest. The second set was secured by a contingent of Vires given the responsibility of guarding it with their lives.” She paused and, once again, pinned her gaze on Theleo. “I was within that contingent.”
Theleo swiveled around to face her, meeting her eyes, and telling me with absolutely certainty that her interest in him had all along been because she knew who, or rather, what he was.
“I’m-I’m sorry,” said William, reeling from Giorgia’s confession. The next question came out in an upset rush. “You were a Vire?”
She dipped her head in a slow nod, neither ashamed nor proud.
“But you wear a sodalite stone,” he countered.
“One I never relinquished.” This time she was proud. “I carried it with me…hidden beneath my lapel…even as I wore the one denoting my allegiance to The Sevens.”
Laughing quietly from across the room, Theleo opened his cloak and lifted the lapel of his Vire uniform. There, pinned to the underside, was a smoky quartz stone.
A smile danced across my face…and mine wasn’t the only one.
Jameson, who seemed the least flustered, stated, “Giorgia, that doesn’t explain how you were able to read the records.”
She let her head fall to her chest as she grinned at the memory of it all. “Ah, yes, that….” She chuckled to herself at a seemingly private joke and with her head still down, she explained, “You weren’t the first Dissenters. We were, the five Vires in my contingent. We opposed The Sevens order, each of us taking one scroll before disassembling and deserting.”
“And that’s why you only saw a part of the future because you each only had a part,” I muttered. “And it’s why you ended up imprisoned. They hunted you down, didn’t they?”
The lift of her head to a position of satisfaction told me that I was correct. “Every last one of us.”
“And why didn’t they kill you?” asked William, bluntly.
“Uh, you call it insurance, no? We destroy the second set, The Sevens keep us alive.”
No one spoke, each of us understanding the impact of what Giorgia was recounting.
“And the others…,” said Jameson, who hadn't finished with his questions. “Do you remember the names of the others in your contingent?”
She gave him a sad, thoughtful smile.
“They can tell us what to expect from The Sevens?” Jameson was clearly thinking defensively now.
“They must have read them. How could they have resisted?”
He exhaled with relief. “Who are they? What are their names?”
“Braith.”
I flinched. The name was too unique not to be recognized. “He has a scar down one side of his face?”
“Yes,” she replied, again in reflection, that sorrowful, longing smile remaining in place. “Yes, he is the one.”
“Of course,” I exclaimed. “He knew my ability to heal…and your ability to channel…remained intact in the prison. How else could he have known that?”
“Unless he saw another part of our future that showed we never lost our ability in the prisons,” Jameson said, finishing my thought.
“Isadora…,” Giorgia continued, seemingly oblivious to the discussion between Jameson and me.
“Isadora?” I uttered, puzzled, catching Jameson’s eye. He seemed to have the same reaction as me. “Was she Creole?”
“She was,” Giorgia replied, casually.
My thoughts drifted back to the conversation Isadora and I had in the village hospital, when she recounted the reason why my mother had truly sent me away to school. Isadora had let on that she knew more than she was telling back then. I had picked up on it but hadn’t pressed her on why. It didn’t matter anymore because now I knew. Isadora was a Vire. The reality of it seemed so surreal.
My attention was back on Giorgia by the time she finished her list. “Maleko and Kalisha were the last of us.”
“Is there anything else you can remember?” asked Jameson, so engrossed in the discussion he didn’t bother to be excited.
“Maleko was Polynesian, his name meaning defense. Kalisha was African; her name meant sorceress. We all came from different backgrounds. Kept us loyal, no?” She snickered and answered her own question, lacing it with sarcasm. “No….”
“Giorgia,” said Jameson, stepping closer, his voice softening for the first time. “Would you like to see your old contingent again?”
Her eyes lit up, seeming to add years back onto her life.
“We’re gathering them in the prison outside New Orleans,” he explained. “Partly because of the war The Sevens have brought to us, but also because we’re going to need to compile those records again. And you’re a vital piece.”
“I am?” she asked. “You are?”
I held back a grin, delighted by her astonishment. It made sense she wouldn’t know about Jameson assembling everyone. Clearly, she had one of the earliest records.
“Come with us,” I urged.
She only had to begin to stand and William and Jameson came to her side.
“I have her,” insisted William, giving me another indication that Officers were sympathetic to the needs of their prisoners.
Jameson agreed and we turned to leave, but Giorgia's voice stopped me, posing a question I hadn’t expected. “You still no remember me, no?” She contradicted herself, so I didn’t quite know how to answer her. “Your mother brought you here as a child, no?
I stared at her for a moment.
She broke into a grin, without saying a word.
“I-I do….” And it wasn't just from the Wanted Notices.
“You’ve met?” asked Jameson, perplexed.
I leaned slightly toward him, too giddy to turn entirely away from Giorgia. “When I was a little girl, my mother would bring me on trips during holiday breaks. She had me meet people throughout the provinces. But I-I didn’t remember being here. The destruction left by the Vires…I just didn’t recognize….”
“And, now, do you understand why?” Giorgia inquired.
I fell silent but only for a short whi
le. “She was preparing me, introducing me to people who would someday have an impact.”
“Smart woman, your mother, eh?” said Giorgia, tapping William on the forearm as a sign to continue out the door.
Yes, she is, I thought. Yes, she is.
Being the last to leave the room, Jameson and I waited until we were alone before speaking again.
“Jameson, my mother knew back then what role I would play. Which meant she and Isadora know more than they have told us. I feel…,” I paused, releasing a heavy sigh “…like we know so much less than everyone else does.”
“We do,” he agreed, his tone growing tense as he held out his hand to me. “Come on. It’s about time we find out….”
7 TRANSGRESSION
“Ten?” asked Vinnia, always more insightful than most. “You brought back only ten?”
“Ten what?” We heard Nolan ask before he entered the shack, joining us. He came into view with Alison at his side and openly gawked. “Ten what?” he pressed.
Jameson grimaced, thinking about the inevitable answer as he turned to leave. “Survivors.”
Not able to work out the hidden meaning, Nolan unintentionally rubbed salt in our wound by asking, “Where are the rest?”
It was my turn to deliver the blunt news, which I did passing him on my way out the door. “Dead, Nolan. They’re all dead.”
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Jameson asked Vinnia, “You’ll handle the details, then?”
She had been designated as coordinator of new arrivals. Unfortunately, the small number of this lot wouldn’t keep her as busy as she had been.
“Sure…,” she muttered, still dazed by the news of such devastation. “Where will you be if we need you?”
Jameson took a long, deep breath, as if he were about to face a difficult challenge. “Isadora’s.”
This morning, the village was buzzing with activity when we landed, and it hadn’t lessened when we stepped out onto the dock. Moss-covered boats were leaving for their fishing holes, and people leapt from dock to dock carrying buckets of fresh water or bundles of food, as if the docks had become a highway from one end of the village to the other. While passing one another, newly formed neighbors tipped their heads in greeting, stopping for brief conversation.
There were other signs of life too. New culture and customs were surfacing: A man sat a few shacks down playing a jazz tune through his horn; two elderly men had started a game of checkers using black and white rocks on a board drawn across the top of a barrel; and the smell of fresh bread hung in the air from a group of bakers testing various recipes.
“People are getting into a routine,” I noted.
Jameson’s optimistic grin told me that he’d picked up on it, too. “Your cousin, Vinnia, she’s good.”
“I’m going to credit her ability to understand others. She knows what they need in order to feel comfortable.”
“And she’s delivering it.”
Jameson stopped suddenly, causing me to do the same.
Seeming to be piecing something together, he fixed his eyes on the edge of the dock we were just about to cross. “I-I didn’t understand until just now why The Sevens were so dedicated to keeping our families apart.”
“To keep us from ever meeting.” I was unclear why this was such a discovery. We’d learned about it months ago.
“No…,” he fixed his eyes on me, overwhelmed with understanding. “They knew how dangerous the Caldwells and Weatherfords would be together.”
“You mean, we work well together,” I concluded.
“We do. All of us.” The smile of someone who had just learned a secret of his enemies crept across his face.
The sight of it mesmerized me, making it impossible to turn from it, even after he caught me staring. It fell away then.
“I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone, Jocelyn. Committing ourselves to prison; being unable to talk to family or friends; living with the constant risk that we’ll be found; unable to even go down to Café Du Monde for a quick beignet. But if it has to be, I’d rather be enduring it with-”
He cut himself off, evidently not wanting to go any further; guilt over what he was about to say evident in his expression.
But I didn’t feel guilty about it, because I felt the very same way. “Me,” I finished for him. “You’re glad it’s with me.”
He let loose the breath suppressed in his lungs. “Yes….” Shaking his head in confusion, he tried to understand it himself. “You’re my motivation, Jocelyn. You’re the reason I’m still going after what happened last night. When I touch you, when I’m even near you, I feel…driven, because I know that someday I’m going to marry you and we’re going to have children and we won’t be constantly waiting for Vires to appear out of nowhere to apprehend us.”
When he had finished his outburst, his unabashed release, I could only remember one part. “You want to marry me?” The reality of it was disorienting.
He exhaled with a laugh, as if it was an inevitable conclusion. “Yes, Jocelyn. I do.” His eyes softened, the sparkle in them conveying a different kind of passion. “You’re the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”
He seemed entranced by that idea as I closed the space between us, raising my lips to press against his ear. I hoped the sensation would tickle him…tempt him. “You can stop waiting…,” I breathed. “You have me.”
Slipping his hands inside my cloak, he released a primal sound, bringing me closer to him and showing me that I was successful.
“Do you remember the last time we were so close?” he asked, his voice husky as his lips found my ear.
“Yes…,” I murmured.
“I had to fight myself to stop.”
“You did?” I teased, remembering it clearly.
His breathing became unsteady as he groaned seductively, “You know I did.”
I realized that my body had started to tremble, a result of the undeniable surge of heat coursing through me…between us. It limited my awareness to only one other movement…his powerful hands slipping up my back, pressing me toward him.
He chuckled and his chest pressed against mine, causing me to inhale sharply from his contact. “You realize you’re teasing yourself, too,” he whispered. “Don’t you?”
Holding my body up against his, I moaned, prepared to admit defeat. And then my mother’s voice intruded, abruptly separating us. “Recuperating from the long night?” she asked, accusingly.
When I looked over at her, she was standing firmly planted with her hands on her hips. It was clear by her stance that she’d been there for a while.
To his credit, Jameson remained composed. “Isabella, we were going to look for you next.”
“Next?” Her eyebrows rose.
“We were on our way to Isadora’s.”
“Yes,” she muttered skeptically. “I can see that.” Her snide comment elicited a smirk from Jameson, a reaction that was missed by my mother only because she had passed us by that point. “You were at the Great Britain penal colony last night, were you not?” Without allowing us to respond, she added, “Then we’ll all go to Isadora’s together.”
Her statements gave me the sense that her knowledge of where we’d been last night and our visit with Isadora weren’t mentioned innocently. As we followed her, I began to wonder if she hadn’t searched for Jameson and me this morning for that very reason. It wasn’t often I met up with my mother. Her concentrated efforts to find new and various ways to reach her sources at the ministry kept her busy.
I was thankful when we finally reached Isadora’s shack and found her there. So many questions were left hanging. Jameson aired the first one. “Why didn’t you mention you were a Vire?” His tone nearly demanded, as he came through the door.
Isadora, who had been stirring a pot on the primitive wood-burning stove, slid her food to the side and turned to face us.
My mother entered the room, giving Isadora a meaningful look. Jameson and I stood side by side,
just barely a foot in.
“Come inside,” Isadora urged.
“I’m fine here.”
Justifiably, his feelings were hurt, and he was finally showing it. Isadora, being a second mother to him, had kept a vital part of her past hidden from him, one that could have cleared up so many matters.
“You’ll need to close the door then,” Isadora directed, her feeble body working against its aches as she made her way toward the bed.
Despite his frustration, Jameson crossed the room and gently escorted her to her destination. I quietly closed the door but didn’t come any farther in.
I was just as upset, but for a different reason.
“What do you know about our future?”
Isadora glanced at my mother, seeming to exchange a silent message.
“Stop,” I insisted, openly offended and they turned their attention to me. “Jameson and I deserve the truth.”
Isadora agreed, with a shrewd smile, and then began to speak, starting from the very best place: the beginning. “At one point, I was indeed a Vire. This, I kept to myself for more than one reason, Jameson.” She added his name pointedly. “First, had I arrived here branded a Vire, I would have been lynched.” The authenticity of her words was not lost on Jameson or me. “Second, I was stripped of my moldavite stone, henceforth, I was no longer considered one; and finally, I never embraced the ideologies of the Vires or their rulers. Like those in my unit and a few random others, I did not consider myself a Vire. Oh, I was raised as one, taken from my mother at age three to spend the rest of my childhood in a compound. There, I was taught…and tested…on casting, weaponry as it pertains to our world, coercion techniques, and Vire customs. It was at that school, I bore witness to atrocious crimes…brainwashing so compelling my bunkmates forgot the sight of their father’s faces and the sounds of their mother’s voices, the slaughter of innocent children unable to meet the standards The Sevens had set for us, the pitting of children against one another to improve their fighting skills, and more…so much more….” She took a moment to regain her vigor and perspective before continuing. The rest of us stood silent and immobile, humbled by her confession.