by Laury Falter
Anticipation.
He, on the other hand, looked tired. His eyes were dark and sunken, his shoulders drooped forward.
As I slipped into my seat, he spoke and I learned why.
“Your arm seems to be fine,” he said, his voice croaky.
“It is,” I replied. “My family’s, however, weren’t.”
He nodded, slowly. “I couldn’t stop theirs. Took me the whole night to prevent yours. Charlotte can be powerful.”
My intuition had been correct. His ragged appearance and hoarse voice told me so. Realizing this, I had an immediate urge to comfort him.
“Thank you…for all of it,” I said alluding to his protections against Emery’s choking and his sister’s cast.
Before I even realized it, I reached my hand across the aisle and placed it on his arm.
He drew in a quick breath and held it, reacting to my touch.
Certain I’d made him feel uncomfortable, I began to withdraw my hand when he placed his over mine, pressing it against his bicep. Now I was the one reacting to his touch. A heat coursed through me unlike any I’d ever experienced, tickling my stomach.
Jameson’s chest expanded as he inhaled deeply and I knew he was having a similar reaction. I could feel his muscles flex beneath my fingers as he debated whether to keep his hand in place. Then, very slowly, his fingers curled beneath mine delicately lifting my hand away.
I’d crossed a boundary, touched an enemy who I shouldn’t even be acknowledging. Something in me registered that he was stronger than me, acting ethically and removing my hand.
But he didn’t release me. Instead his hand curled around mine until we were holding each other’s hands.
Our eyes locked, questioning, exploring, wondering what might be behind the other’s. I was stunned by what I found in his. We were asking the same questions. Do we want to pursue this? Is this right? Where will it lead?
His eyes held longing, a resonance of hope, possibility…
Then Shelby Taylor, a girl from my first period class, came up the aisle and we instantly released each other. It went without saying that neither of us had mentioned to our families that we shared a class together. Eventually it would become known, but we wanted to prevent it as long as possible. If anyone saw a single interaction between the two of us, positive or negative, the gossip would literally fly through the school hallways.
For the remainder of the hour, my entire concentration was on Jameson and when I caught him out of the corner of my eye casually looking my way a few times, I knew it was the same for him. I doubted that either one of us could have repeated one word of Ms. Wizner’s lesson.
When the class ended and the room emptied, Jameson and I remained seated once again, eyes forward, bags on our table, hands folded over them. I wondered if this might become a tradition.
“So,” he said, twisting in his seat the moment the last person was out the door. “You have a question for me.”
I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “And how did you know that? I know you’re not a mind reader,” I said reminding him that I knew of his channeling ability.
He chuckled. “I’m attentive.”
“Ah, I’ll have to remember that.”
“I’m sure you will,” he stated with a teasing grin. “Your question?”
“Right. Why did you call my name last night from across the courtyard?”
“The action that started the minor battle?” he mused lightheartedly.
I smiled at his irony. “Yes, that one.”
Then his smile fell away and he seemed hesitant to answer.
I wondered if I shouldn’t have asked and then realized it was perfectly legitimate. He’d called my name. I had a rightful interest in knowing why. For this reason, I remained quiet, waiting for his answer.
“I don’t want you to think less of my family,” he admitted and then added under his breath, “Although I doubt they have much margin to lose.”
“Well, I can’t promise that I won’t judge them without knowing what it is you haven’t told me,” I admitted openly. “But I can commit to giving them a fair ruling based on what you do say.”
He gave me a single, rigid nod. “So choose my words carefully.”
“That would be wise.”
“Fair enough. As you know, there isn’t much trust between our families.” We paused to both chuckle at his understatement. “The last time the Weatherfords met us in that particular courtyard, there was no one around to stop us and we…well, the fight destroyed the planters, broke several railings, you get the point.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably before continuing. “So, when I saw my family lined up facing the Weatherfords it looked like the same scenario all over again. Only this time you were in the middle of it.”
“So,” I said slowly.
“So, it made me react.”
“Why would my presence in that fight be any different? I’m still a Weatherford.”
“You are,” he agreed slowly, as if unwilling to disclose anything further.
Yet I persisted. “I don’t understand,” I said cautiously. “Why did my involvement concern you?”
He shook his head, his eyes searching mine for an answer. “I don’t know. I’ve considered that you are new to our world and have no idea how to protect yourself. But you have your family for that. I’ve considered Olivia’s belief - that we are fated lovers.” His hesitancy in making that statement made me realize how much he actually believed it to be true. “But I’m not sure I have the same philosophy…The only thing I really am sure of, Jocelyn, is that I want to get to know you, your likes and dislikes, your beliefs, who you really are. Not just as a Weatherford, but you as a person.”
There it was; his honest feelings hanging in the air between us. He was leaned over now, his elbows on his knees, his body halfway across the aisle, the scent of him surrounding us, like a blend of fresh air and sunshine.
Then Ms. Wizner entered the room, in a heated discussion with a student who appeared to be begging to be allowed out of her class.
Knowing we had no more time, he spoke low but in a rush. “I know you don’t trust me. You have reason not to. I’m a Caldwell. But if you…if you give me a chance…”
I opened my mouth to answer but another student had already entered and was coming down Jameson’s aisle toward us. By the time we’d stood, he had taken a seat directly in front of Jameson so there was no way to speak without him overhearing.
Jameson followed me out of the room and into a hallway that was far too busy still for an answer. Then the crowd of students rushing to their next class overtook us and I lost sight of him.
His plea still hung in my ears. Give me a chance. It competed with another plea running through my mind. It was an echo from Oscar’s vow the night before. Turn and walk away.
It would have helped prevent inciting a volatile feud that simmered beneath a thin, delicate surface.
It would have been the prudent thing to do in a world of sinister, supernatural influence.
It would have been…
7 RETALIATION
The gift was wrapped in a big red bow, which was quickly removed in order to open its doors.
It was in the form of a blue, off road vehicle by the name Audi Q5. Spencer strolled its perimeter while articulating the nuances of my very first vehicle. With a turbocharged V6 engine, nimble performance, upgraded navigation, and heated seats, it was casual, sporty, and stylish. The vehicle was perfect for me, and the best birthday gift I’d ever received, late or otherwise.
The rest of my cousins sat inside during Spencer’s tour, admiring the new addition to our lineup of sports cars.
“It’ll be nice to have a vehicle in the family that doesn’t scrape the speed bumps,” said Oscar. Given his size, I wondered if that happened often.
“It’ll be nice to have leg room,” I commented, openly jesting with Spencer, whose vehicle’s dashboard had been steadily wearing down the skin on my knee caps.
“Ouch,�
� he retorted despite grinning through the open passenger window.
“It’s one of the reasons we didn’t select a sports car,” admitted Aunt Lizzy. “You have your mother’s legs.”
I knew this, recalling how she’d always buy first class tickets to our holiday destinations simply for the leg room.
While Miss Mabelle and Aunt Lizzy both claimed to have picked it out, I had a feeling it was mostly Miss Mabelle with the insight that led them to this particular choice. Her assumptions of me so far had been unpredictably accurate.
The inspection of it over, someone suggested a quick ride around the Garden District. So I slipped into the front seat and started the engine. It purred.
With everyone piled in, we drove through the streets focused more on the vehicle than on where we were going - at least until I turned down a particular street.
“Not this one,” Spencer shouted but it was too late.
I had turned the corner.
In reaction, I slowed only to be told to go faster.
“Why?” I asked, puzzled by their frenzy.
If they answered, I didn’t hear them. I’d already found it myself.
In the driveway of one particular house, a peaceful, well kept, two-story that reminded me a lot of where I now lived, sat a row of luxury off-road vehicles, the same ones I’d seen a few Caldwells driving off the school parking lot. As if that weren’t enough, the synchronous turn of my cousin’s heads to the opposite side of the street was enough confirmation.
“The Caldwell house,” I stated.
“Yes,” said Estelle through clenched teeth, reminding me of someone who was getting a vaccination.
Painful or not, I had to keep driving passed the house. Turning at this point would make it obvious we were here. Just like my cousins, they parked in a cohesive line along the front of the house and they each drove a sporty vehicle.
I wasn’t the only one to realize it either.
“They look so normal,” Vinnia noted in her typical precise estimation of others after having been daring enough to look.
Estelle shook her head in astonishment. “I know.”
“Haven’t you seen it before?” I inquired, a little confused. “You must have done intel on your mortal enemies.” I meant this humorously but no one laughed.
“We have,” Oscar said tightly. “We know just about everything there is to know about each of them.”
By this point, the house was behind us and, even though the joy of the ride ended at the sight of the Caldwell home, I kept driving, hoping they would disclose more. And they did.
“Their father is an investment banker, their mother volunteers like ours,” said Oscar. “They’re not around much so the kids were raised by their Haitian housekeeper, Miss…”
“Celia,” Estelle filled in.
“Yes, the one who practices voodoo.”
“Voodoo?” I said impulsively.
“That’s right,” Oscar said as if it were a common occurrence. “She’s one of the most sought after in the city - next to Miss Mabelle.”
It dawned on me that this was what the hanging skulls and countless candles were in her room. It should have concerned me, which would have been the logical reaction. But other than her surly attitude, which apparently was a core part of her personality and not solely directed at me, she’d done her best to fit things to my needs. It was what I imagined Miss Celia did for the Caldwells.
“They’re wealthy,” Oscar continued, drawing my attention back to him and returning the subject to the Caldwells. “But they rarely spend money, their cars being the exception. No big parties, no family vacations.”
“No expensive toys,” said Estelle. “You, Oscar, would never survive in that family.”
“It’s a good thing you’re stuck with me than,” he ribbed.
I turned on to our street then wondering if the Caldwells had the same bond, same camaraderie as my cousins.
When we reached the house we found that dinner was ready, something that I didn’t know was gumbo until Spencer congratulated Miss Mabelle on it being her best dish. I had two servings, it was so good.
Afterwards, as Miss Mabelle cleaned the dishes, my cousins and I sat at the kitchen table with books assigned to us from the normal school. None of us touched them though. I had questions nagging me and this was my first opportunity to ask them.
“Vinnia,” I said, keeping my voice low so I didn’t disturb the others, even though I found out quickly they weren’t actually dedicated to their studies. She looked up, inquisitive. “How do you…How do you fly?”
In jest, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug and the book in front of her rose in unison.
I gave her a frustrated look and she giggled. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist… It’s called levitation.” She placed the pencil in her hand on the table and leaned back. “Back when witches were being burned at the stake here and in Europe, there were a lot of misconceptions about us. One, however, was correct. We are able to…fly, as you called it. We don’t need a broomstick. And we aren’t restricted to using it on All Hallows Eve or Halloween. The only limitation is that those of us who can do it are born with it. No one can learn to levitate, unfortunately.”
I nodded. “Right. Everyone’s born with their own unique abilities,” I replied, recalling what Jameson had told me while buying school supplies.
“Exactly,” said Vinnia. “Mother and I levitate. Estelle and Oscar manipulate elements. Well, Oscar to some extent,” she teased and received a scowl for it. “Spencer and Nolan channel.”
“But everyone has the aptitude to learn other skills,” clarified Spencer. “You can learn to manipulate the elements or channel. But you’ll never be as good at them as you are with your principal talent.”
“That’s right,” said Vinnia. “You can learn to channel energy, thoughts, or knowledge of the future, commonly called intuition by those outside our world, but others will always be better at it than you.” At the mention of channeling, I immediately thought of Jameson and a pang of excitement lit up my stomach.
“There are really only two abilities that cannot be learned,” Vinnia continued to explain. “Levitation and-”
“Healing,” said Estelle pointedly.
“Is that your talent?” asked Nolan.
I shrugged, refusing to vocalize it. I still wasn’t entirely embracing the idea of me having a talent of any mystical sort.
“You still haven’t accepted it yet, have you?” asked Estelle, observantly.
Not wanting to be refuted, I simply smiled back at her.
After a brief silence in which my cousins exchanged looks of concern, Miss Mabelle cleared her throat and said, “Goin’ upstairs now. Keep it quiet or I’ll be back down ta knock heads.”
We said our goodnights and she left as Spencer stretched his legs out, laid his hands across his belly, and said, “But then, of course, there are The Sevens. They’ve been around so long that they have acquired special talents. They can transfer abilities or energy between them. While that may not sound so impressive, think of centuries of knowledge and practical exercise in leveraging energy to do as you wish and then think about transferring all that power in to a single person. It would make them virtually indestructible.”
“Which is why they’ve lived for centuries,” said Estelle.
As if I weren’t amazed enough already, Vinnia added, “And if seven individuals were able to transfer those powers among one another, in part or as a whole, whenever one or more of them were at risk - that would make all of them virtually indestructible.”
“For example, consider that most of us are not born able to levitate and are forever grounded. Each one of The Sevens can levitate.”
“And channel…”
“And heal…”
“And manipulate the elements…”
“And they are experts in each one.”
I now understood Mr. Thibodeaux’s anxiety about The Sevens seeking the rope I had stored upstairs and how Ms. R
oquette could be disabled from speaking for six months as punishment by The Sevens. The Sevens were impenetrable.
As the topic moved to something more lighthearted, like why Oscar’s attempt to start a flame typically resulted in setting the object next to it on fire, a realization overcame me. I had entered a world that was just as dark as it was mystical. I appreciated the fact that my mother had removed me from it until I was prepared to learn to defend myself and that Nurse Carol had recognized this was the time to do it. If, of course, any of it were actually real.
Several charred remains later, Oscar gave up his attempt to control the flames he conjured, all of us holding back our laughter at his attempts, and we collected our school books and untouched assignments to head upstairs.
I slept well that night, even waking up early and venturing downstairs after hearing someone noisily clanging cookware together.
“Good Lord, Miss Lizzy. Why you always got ta be so loud?” Miss Mabelle’s voice drifted around down the hall toward me.
“Jocelyn, you’re up!”
“Hi, Aunt Lizzy,” I said and then glanced in Miss Mabelle’s direction, who sat on her stool in the corner again, cane leaning in its spot against her thigh. She tilted her head and looked up at me under her lashes as I asked, “Joyful as always this morning?”
She harrumphed and rolled her eyes in response.
“Can you get your cousins up too?” Aunt Lizzy asked in a rush around the kitchen, flour drawn across her cheek, her apron askew and dirtied with paste.
“Voice box broken, Miss Mabelle?” I asked, knowing full well that it wasn’t. It was just getting more entertaining to tease her.
“Don’t make me use it this monin’, chil’,” she replied snidely.
Smiling, I left the kitchen to wake the rest of the household.
“Mabelle, come help me with these fritters,” I heard Aunt Lizzy behind me and then came Miss Mabelle’s subsequent snap “I’m old n’ tired!” But as I reached the stairs, Miss Mabelle was back to criticizing my aunt for not turning the fritters fast enough, which confirmed she did indeed lend a hand.
I knocked on everyone’s bedroom door until I heard a reply and then found a phone to make a quick call to my friends in New York. They were in class, but I left a message to let them know everything was fine. Then I went to my room to get ready for school.