by Laury Falter
Seeing this usually-powerful and once-healthy man weaken right in front of me caused my chest to tighten and provoked a powerful force within me, one more volatile than I even knew existed. I normally looked to him for strength, and now I was left to find strength on my own. Summoning it, I used every bit that emerged.
I didn’t immediately claim credit for what happened next. The closet door swung wide open, slamming against the wall behind it and vibrating the floor where I stood. The front door flew off its hinges and flipped out across the courtyard. Unexpectedly, Jameson was in the air, his limbs dangling helplessly beneath him, as he effortlessly floated through the room and out into the night. I frantically followed behind, sensing that my energy was the one levitating him. Meeting him in the courtyard, I placed my hand in his.
“Incantatio sana,” I said, anxiously, not recognizing my own voice. “Incantatio sana.”
The words poured from me again, repeating over and over, spilling so quickly from my lips that they turned into a stream of unintelligible chatter.
It wasn’t until we were in the air did I realize that my incantation wasn’t going to work.
6 CURSE
“This isn’t the flu,” Burke pointed out, lightly touching a finger to Jameson’s hand. He seemed to be channeling, in order to measure and assess what was happening.
“No,” agreed Charlotte, her arms were crossed, and her head dipped as she surveyed him. “This is something more.”
After we landed on the Caldwell front porch - me, shaking and muttering my incantation; Jameson, pale and unconscious – they ushered us in, maneuvering through the house, and into Jameson’s bedroom on the second floor. Now, Jameson was lying in his bed, surrounded by his siblings. I was sitting beside him, attempting to keep my hand wrapped around his cold, clammy fingers, as I fought back the shakes and the terror that kept threatening to surface.
Burke caught Charlotte’s gaze. “Ninth century?” he asked, guardedly.
“Seventh.” Her voice was tight, which meant that was not good.
“Charlatan?” suspected Alison.
Charlotte’s head snapped around toward Dillon, her eyes demanding the answer.
Dillon shook his head in disagreement. “No, the person who did this was legitimate.”
“Haiti?” asked Burke.
“I think…” Dillon debated, staring at Jameson as a doctor would when evaluating a particularly confusing ailment. “It’s nomadic. It’s a blend, from casts around the world…which means…” Dread spread across his face, as the words failed to materialize.
“What?” Charlotte’s demand was laced with exasperation.
He answered hesitantly, so weak I didn’t think I heard him correctly at first.
“It will be resilient.”
That helped me understand what the Caldwells were determining. Jameson’s ailment wasn’t a sudden, severe case of the common cold. And it didn’t just border on the mystical world. It was deeply engrained in it.
This was a virulent curse that hadn’t shown itself since the seventh century.
Before erupting, there was a silent, motionless pause, as everyone in the room processed this information.
“Miss Celia! Pictures!” Burke called out, not allowing time for her to appear, but instead, I assumed, left to retrieve them himself.
“I’ll get my reserves,” Dillon shouted, already stepping out into the hall.
Charlotte’s hand came up and began flicking toward objects. The window beside Jameson’s bed lifted and the items along the flat surfaces of Jameson’s furniture slid off to the side, landing in a neatly composed pile on the floor. Exercising her levitation abilities, she seemed to be preparing his room for what was to follow.
Alison had already launched herself toward Jameson’s dresser and began digging through its drawers.
“Where are your parents?” I asked, hoping they could offer some help.
“Australian Outback…” replied Alison, tersely as she opened and slammed each drawer furiously. I got the clear, distinct sense that she didn’t like the thought of us handling this on our own. “Meeting with Aboriginal medicine men.” She grunted, slamming the last drawer back in place. “Damnit! Where’s his supply bag?”
“The closet,” said Burke. He had returned to the room, haphazardly carrying a stack of frames, which he went about positioning around the room, displaying the faces of past Caldwells and showing their agate family stone present somewhere within each image.
Dillon reappeared with a small armament of supernatural tools under his arms and diligently began setting up on a desk in the corner.
Alison emerged from the closet, bag in hand. She hastily went about placing candles on nearly every flat surface. When her bag was emptied, she barked, “Dillon!”
He glanced up from the desk, where he was now laying out his ‘reserves.’ He did a sweeping look around the room at the candles. Without delaying the set up of his tools, he mindfully recited, “As these candles burn and energies mend…may good health return and sickness end.” With that, he rotated his head, blowing air toward each of the candles. But he didn’t wait to confirm the wicks flicker to life, his head falling back toward his task at hand.
Dillon had set up pungent herbs, snake head talismans, lizard bones, dried snake eyes, and small cauldrons that steamed, mingling with the smoke of Alison’s candles.
Charlotte was at the window, calling to the spirits of the north, south, east, and west, allowing the breeze to enter, which caused the flames to waver.
Dillon and Alison joined Charlotte, as Burke squatted on the opposite side of Jameson’s bed.
I remained at Jameson’s side casting my own healing spell and noticing my voice beginning to fail, coming out in a wheeze. But I still tried. As I kept my hands wrapped around his arctic grasp, I was desperate for the soft warmth of his touch again.
“Should we try blocking it?” Burke asked, to no one in particular.
“Won’t work,” replied Dillon, confidently.
“How do…” I had to stop and clear the lump from my throat to better project my volume. “How do you know?”
Burke frowned. “Trust me. He knows. He’s our resident professor.”
I glanced at Dillon, and Spencer’s face flashed in my mind. In the Weatherford household, he was the equivalent.
“Should I get my family? Maybe they can help…”
Without delay, Burke cocked his head and called for Miss Celia, who appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.
“They are on their way,” she announced. “’Cept for Lizzy. She’s on a business trip.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and I deduced that Miss Celia had made the call back when they found Jameson and me on the front porch. I wanted to thank her but she faded down the stairs to let them in.
“Can we retract it?” I asked, still facing Dillon.
“I’m…” He shook his head desperately. “I’m trying to think of a way, but…”
I gripped Jameson’s hand tighter. “Why won’t my healing…why can’t I heal him?”
My question elicited blank stares from everyone in the room.
Dillon blinked a few times, stunned. He reasoned, “Whoever cast against him knew you were a healer. They prepared for that.”
I sighed as a sinking feeling rose in my stomach. If we couldn’t find the problem how were we going to find the cure?
Following my line of thought, Estelle entered the room responding, “Which virtually everyone in our world knows.”
There were no greetings. A combination of the brief summary over the phone and a look at the expressions around the room told my family, as they filtered in, there was no time for pleasantries.
Spencer wasted no time in recommending, “Let’s narrow down the possibilities.”
“Good,” stated Dillon. “Good idea.”
“Who are Jameson’s enemies?”
“He doesn’t have any,” stated Charlotte, offended by the suggestion.
I let h
er finish before answering, “The Vires.” I then waited to see if she would react after I blatantly opposed her.
She didn’t, apparently recognizing that her ego wasn’t the concern here.
“And The Sevens,” reminded Oscar.
Spencer and Dillon disagreed, but it was Spencer who answered. “They’re too far away. It had to have been someone close…someone here in the city.”
“Has he had any altercation…any fight with a Vire who is now in the city?” asked Spencer, sensing we might be heading in the right direction.
“No,” Charlotte snipped.
Again, I was forced to counter her.
“Today, he did,” I said, and all eyes were suddenly on me. In an effort to soothe any damage to Charlotte’s self-esteem, I added, “He never had the chance to tell you.”
Disliking the morbidity my choice of words suggested, I recanted. “He hasn’t gotten the chance to tell you yet.” I cleared my throat after feeling it dry out, and proceeded to explain. “Mrs. Gaul attacked me-”
“Attacked you?” Nolan repeated, sitting forward in his chair. He wasn’t the only one who seemed alarmed by this news. To my astonishment, a few Caldwells looked unsettled too.
“She cast against me, and Jameson tried to stop it.”
“Did she see him?” Spencer questioned, remaining in his analytical state.
“I-I don’t know. She might have. She never retaliated though, and she was too busy casting against the shop owners after that.”
Vinnia drew in sharp, purposeful gasp. “So that’s why Mrs. Gaul wasn’t in my fifth period class.”
“She’s watching you, too?” I asked, shocked, never having considered this would happen. “I thought Jameson and I were their main focus.”
Burke’s response wasn’t comforting. “They are all watching. We have them in every class.”
“Us too,” Oscar noted.
After a moment of hesitant glances being exchanged throughout the room, Spencer summarized it for us…
“So, Mrs. Gaul attacks you. Jameson intervenes. And she left for The Quarter shops, to cast against them.”
Nolan added, “For no obvious reason.”
Dillon and Spencer shared a look of recognition, and Dillon replied, “Oh…I think we just discovered that reason.”
“Which is?” Charlotte demanded, in a tone we all ignored.
Speaking directly to me, Dillon answered, “Mrs. Gaul trapped you…well, you and Jameson. She set you up.”
“I’m still not understanding…” I admitted.
He allowed Spencer to clarify. “Mrs. Gaul knew she couldn’t retaliate in public. So she set up a scenario where she could cast against you and Jameson without anyone knowing it was her. The Quarter shops were perfect, both quiet and private. She set her cast and waited for you two to show up.”
“I don’t get it,” said Nolan. “What cast?”
“She set up two of them, actually. One, against the shopkeepers…to lure Jocelyn and Jameson…and one, lying in wait for them.”
“Lying in wait?” I was barely able to utter, sensing goose bumps rising on my arms.
“As you healed the shopkeepers, you absorbed the hex.”
“Right,” agreed Dillon. “She only needed you and Jameson in the same place at the same time for it to work.”
“Why?” I asked, still trying to put it all together.
Spencer replied softly, knowing what he was about to say would disturb me. “You were the bait, Jocelyn. She drew you in under the premise of healing others. She needed you to get to Jameson.”
Those words, that understanding, sent a stream of fire through me, a rage more intense than I knew was possible. If she had been in the room, there wasn’t a person or a spell that could have kept me from her.
“Then why was only Jameson affected,” Alison demanded, not opposing, but seeking clarification.
“Because,” I answered stiffly. “I can heal myself.” Choking on my next words, I muttered, “I just…I can’t heal Jameson.”
Someone placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. It was large, so in the back of my mind I deduced it was Oscar.
“Then we find someone else to do it for you,” declared Nolan, his voice edgy and bold.
“Another healer?” offered Charlotte but was denied by the shake of Dillon’s head.
“We can try to channel for Jocelyn,” Oscar offered, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“This curse,” said Dillon, “will require everything we’ve got.”
Over the course of the next several days, multiple rituals were performed. We requested and received detailed casting instructions from the most powerful practitioners in our world. Favors were called in by both families, obtaining the strongest talismans, potions, and salves available. Ms. Veilleux appeared with a coven and personally worked on Jameson. Mr. Thibodeaux hand-delivered a package from my mother – a potion designed to cure all. Nothing worked.
Sometime between the sun rising and setting, Aunt Lizzy was located and brought to the Caldwell’s house. She attempted her own sorcery but failed. Sometime after, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell arrived at Jameson’s bedroom door, the news of Jameson’s illness having finally reached them. Their hair was windblown, so I knew they hadn’t bothered with the airlines. They had taken their own form of transportation. This didn’t seem to impact their energy level, though; removing my grip from Jameson’s hand, they insistently ushered me aside. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. Despite laboriously performing their own rituals and spells, even their practice on Jameson failed.
During this time, Miss Celia fed us, Miss Mabelle called in our absences at school, and Spencer and Dillon ravaged the library searching for a solution…the rest of us waited.
I kept my focus on Jameson, watching his steady, undeniable decline and chanting my incantation so often my voice grew hoarse, eventually disappearing entirely. But only once did he respond.
It was early morning, well before dawn, when his lips opened and he whispered just one word, chasing my heart up into my throat. Not only because he finally spoke, but also because it was the first word I was hoping to hear from him.
“Jocelyn…” he breathed.
“I’m here,” I blurted. “Jameson. I’m here.”
But his eyes remained closed, his muscles lay limp, and his breathing returned to a shaky rhythm.
When he said my name, I stood up, hovering over him. From above, I was taken aback by his striking features, and without thinking, I leaned forward, my lips settling on his. There was no movement from him, as I felt his lips surrender to the gentle pressure of my kiss. He showed no reaction, gave no response. Disappointed, I sank back into the chair I’d been resting in, feeling more hopeless than ever.
Jameson had gone as white as his sheets. A glimpse in his direction might cause you to miss him. Even his scar, usually a sign of his virility and hardiness, disappeared against his colorless skin. His breathing remained shallow and wispy, while his torso became more concave. Being witness to this caused a constant pressure in my own chest, one that threatened to take away my breath entirely…forever.
Just before sunset on the third day, we gathered in Jameson’s room, solemnly contemplating what to do next.
“We need something different,” said Dillon, with finality in his tone. “A unique approach.”
He then left the room without another word, leaving us all perplexed and watching the door, anticipating his return.
“Okay…” Burke said, slowly, uncertain as to where Dillon was headed. His reaction may have been funny under different circumstances. Right now, no one laughed.
Dillon came back shortly and announced, “They’re setting up.”
“Who is setting up what?” asked Burke.
Before he could explain, Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia entered the room carrying bowls, glasses of herbs, and a snake.
“Voodoo?” Alison asked, trying to clarify.
“Now
dontcha go usin’ that tone,” retorted Miss Mabelle. “Voodoo may just be the only thing ta save this boy’s life.”
While my cousins and I were familiar with Miss Mabelle’s disparaging attitude, the Caldwells hadn’t been introduced to it yet. But judging by the expressions on their faces, I knew that had been accomplished.
Miss Celia pointed a finger at the door then. “Out!”
We stared back, confused.
“All of us?” asked Burke.
“Yeyas, out.”
We left the room, the door slamming shut behind us, but none of us walked away. Our feet remained planted, listening to the chants coming from Jameson’s bedroom. They were warbled in a language I’d never heard before.
This was the first time I intentionally looked at my surroundings, and I noticed that the Caldwell house closely resembled the inside of Aunt Lizzy’s. Pictures of their relatives proudly lined the walls, alongside framed art created by young Caldwells. I wondered which ones were Jameson’s, as I heard him moan through the door.
I wished so desperately to be on the other side, holding his hand through whatever was happening to him, encouraging him with comforting words, even if he couldn’t hear them. Right now, it felt like we were miles apart. Even with Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle in there with him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was vulnerable, and that scared me.
Instinctively, my hand came up and flattened against the door, feeling for him inside. Then my body began to shake and my breathing staggered, as I choked back tears. I was frozen in this position for a very long time, struggling against the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume me.
Sometime later, the door opened, and Miss Celia told us to enter. They didn’t look pleased.
“Whateva’ he got…” Miss Mabelle sighed, hanging her head in sadness. “It wasn’t meant fo’ retaliation.”
Miss Celia agreed. “It was meant ta kill.”
The rest of us were stunned, driving home the significance of exactly what we had encountered.
“If two of the most powerful voodoo practitioners known can’t heal him…” Charlotte began to say, but allowed her voice to dwindle away.
I understood what she was telling us without her having to say it…