Birthright (Residue Series #2)

by Laury Falter

  They haven’t told him I am destined to kill him.

  No, there was no way he could know our fate. He told me he was The Nobilis way too casually, too indifferently. And he would have disclosed it sooner, like when he first learned I was The Relicuum.

  I wish now that when Miss Mabelle came into the study that night, I’d have asked for more details about The Relicuum’s fate. But I didn’t. I hadn’t entirely believed it then, not up until last night. And now, the stark, cold reality of the position Jameson and I were in was becoming clear.

  Jameson wasn’t safe around me.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Jocelyn.” He took another step in my direction.

  I retreated to the doorway, still facing him.

  His disturbed expression made me want to run to him, wrap my arms around him, and tell him it would all be fine. But it wouldn’t be, and any return to him would only confuse the situation further. Instead, I stood frozen, staring back at him, my heart crushing under the pressure in my chest.

  “We can’t be together,” I muttered; part of me was still in denial.

  “We can’t…? What?”

  “I never believed it, not until now,” I mumbled.

  “Believe what?” His frustration was growing but I needed to come to terms with what had to finally be said.

  “That I am your enemy.”

  He started across the room.

  “Stop,” I commanded, the duress in my voice forcing him to listen.

  His face hardened. “You are not my enemy, Jocelyn.”

  I swallowed hard, digging deep inside me for the courage I needed to answer him. Yet, even as I spoke the words, I felt a pang of regret stab my heart, making it numb. “I’ll show up for the midnight lessons, because that is what is needed to keep everyone safe, but that’s where it ends.”

  “Where what ends?” he beseeched me.

  “Our relationship,” I heard myself respond, my voice sounding hollow. “I can’t see you anymore, Jameson.”

  My feet were suddenly guiding me through the house, and out the front door. They barely touched the ground as I rushed to leave. I moved so fast I don’t think Theleo, who was standing at the Caldwell front gate, even caught sight of me. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyways. Ironically, I had become a greater threat than him.

  9 FIRST LESSON

  This was now the second time I’d run from the Caldwell house in tears, having just ended my relationship with Jameson, but this time would be the last. My heart would never be able to survive another recurrence.

  When the rest of my family made it home, after surreptitiously sneaking past the Vires who were watching the Caldwell house, they begged me to tell them what happened, but I waved them away, having neither the energy nor the motivation to recount it.

  Miss Mabelle’s ‘nice side’ emerged, as she poured herself in to Sunday dinner preparations, busily creating crawfish etouffee, oysters Louisiana, and sweet potato praline casserole with bananas foster for dessert. I didn’t eat a single bite.

  Just before midnight, her natural demeanor returned as I heard her cane rapping on my bedroom door. I wanted to tell her to go away, I wouldn’t be joining them, but the reminder of why I was doing it at all surfaced. To protect the innocents embroiled in my mess. So by the time I opened the door Miss Mabelle was already at the top of the stairs, not bothering to wait for me.

  “Don’t ya go makin’ me late,” she warned. “Don’t want ta hear it from Miss Celia. Understand?”

  I sighed, closing my bedroom door behind me. “I won’t make you late, Miss Mabelle. I can walk faster than you.” I didn’t bother pointing out the cane she used, figuring it would be rude. Although, I knew she’d had given me that treatment if our roles were reversed.

  “Don’t ya go sassin’ me, ya hear?” she warned over her shoulder, after reaching the first floor.

  “Yes, Miss Mabelle,” I replied, emotionless.

  “Don’t think I won’t quit on the spot. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Miss Mabelle, you were the one who insisted on-”

  We reached the door at that point where she spun around and narrowed her eyes at me. “Now what did I just say ‘bout no sassin’ me?”

  Apparently, my silence was just the answer she was looking for, because she turned around and hauled open the door.

  I noticed Theleo’s squad hadn’t left their positions to do their perimeter checks, even though it was just before midnight and well after the hour our house typically goes to sleep. When Miss Mabelle and I walked by them, I got the distinct impression they wouldn’t be leaving for their rounds any time soon. I wondered if Miss Mabelle knew they’d likely follow us, as they did every day since their arrival.

  Theleo was one of the two standing outside our house, so I tipped my head to him on my way past, a motion that was meant to taunt. As we eyed each other, he had the same subtle disapproval in his expression as usual, and I had the same arrogant glare in mine.

  Miss Mabelle went a step further, making a comment as we passed by. “Neighbors are startin’ ta wonda’ ‘bout ya two. Heard from one of them this mornin’. They’s loiterers is what they said. Need ta be on their way is what they said.” She snorted. “N’ I couldn’t agree more.”

  Theleo didn’t respond, and Miss Mabelle, having slowed her pace to make that statement, regained a steady stroll out to the street.

  Miss Celia waited in the driver’s seat of a black Range Rover, engine running. Miss Mabelle slid into the passenger seat and motioned for me to climb in the back, which I did.

  When the door closed Jameson’s scent – the faint muskiness of sea air – immediately surrounded me, teasing me.

  “Is Jameson not coming?” I asked, noticing that he was absent.

  Miss Mabelle swiveled her head around, peering over her shoulder at me, although she didn’t exactly answer my question. “There’ll be no hanky panky back there or lessons’ll start early,” she warned. Her threat made absolutely no sense to me. “Now, keep it down, hold on, and don’t complain.”

  I stared back at her, curiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss-” Suddenly, my head snapped back, as my body sank into the seat’s curvature.

  Miss Celia, I learned, had a twitchy foot and could drive like a professional racecar driver. Drifting around corners and stopping beneath thick trees with lots of foliage seemed to come naturally to her. Even more perplexing, she didn’t appear to be going anywhere in particular, instead she drove in looping circles through the Garden District.

  About fifteen minutes into our trip, she asked, “We lost ‘em yet?”

  Miss Mabelle, who’d been peering out the window at the sky above, replied, “Believe so,” and leaned back in her seat.

  Knowing they were referring to Theleo and the other Vires, I muttered, “Probably got nauseous,” to which I heard someone chuckle from the rear of the car.

  Jameson sat up then, flashing a grin, and slid into the seat next to me. That action, and my proximity to Jameson, sent a reaction through me that felt like a knife being jabbed in my stomach.

  I didn’t meet his eyes but felt his stare concentrating on me, evaluating me, wondering why I’d asked about him only to ignore him when he finally appeared.

  A few minutes later, Jameson’s hand attempted to slide across the seat and curl around mine. In reaction, I snapped my arms up, crossing them over my chest, and turned to stare out the window. Guilt was overwhelming me, and I had to fight the urge to apologize, as sadness saturated every part of my body.

  It took an incredibly long time, but eventually Jameson’s head turned away from me, and he started watching the lights pass by on the interstate.

  Finally, Miss Celia slowed to a stop at the edge of the bayou where a platform with a long, wooden walkway connected to the shore and floated several feet out in the water. Given the distance, and the dull light of the half-moon, our destination was nearly undetectable.

  Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia slipped
from the vehicle and we followed, circling around to the trunk, from which our housekeepers pulled out a metal pot, candles, and a few other unidentifiable items. Jameson and I tried to help unload, but we each received slaps on the hand for our efforts, warding us off. They enlisted my help only after all their supplies were lined on the ground. Miss Mabelle snapped at me as she and Miss Celia headed for the platform empty-handed, “A little help?”

  Accepting their request, I levitated their supplies to the platform, landing them before the ladies even arrived themselves. There were, of course, no thanks.

  The bayou was cold tonight, causing our breaths to drift in translucent puffs up over our heads, dispersing when they reached the cypress branches above. It was also eerily silent, the chill in the air forcing the animals to seek refuge. Even the water seemed to be frozen without a single ripple, which made it look like a smooth, black mirror set around tree stumps and mossy embankments. This was a part of the bayou I hadn’t visited before, and for reasons beyond what I could deduce, it felt mysterious and lifeless in comparison to the village.

  By the time I finished assessing our surroundings, our housekeepers were standing over the black pot, each holding a cluster of items in one hand. As Miss Mabelle spoke, they took turns dropping, sprinkling, or throwing their items into the pot.

  “Hail full moon, sovereign of the night. Guard me and mine, until first light.”

  I vaguely recognized this to be a protection spell. Then Miss Mabelle lifted her cane and, to my amazement, stood steadily on both feet while drawing an indistinct, pointy figure in the air. Once finished, she settled the cane back onto the platform, leaning her immense frame against it again.

  Their ritual was complete, and without hesitation, they both turned to Jameson and me, raising their left hands and facing their palms directly at us. Their stance was strange enough, but it was their expressions that caught me off guard. They were darker, carefully focused, and unfriendly.

  All of a sudden, I felt a forceful suction from inside my body, so strong that it felt like I was an aluminum can being crushed in preparation for recycling. My body was caving into itself, shriveling until unbearable pain was all I could feel.

  “Jocelyn,” Jameson called out, though I couldn’t move to face him. His voice pitched at the end, so I knew his head had pivoted to witness my pain. “Jocelyn!”

  His hands came to my elbows, holding me, as I crumbled and landed in a curled ball against the platform’s soft, rotting wood. Purely by accident, he channeled what he saw, and it terrified me.

  I was lying on my side, head pressed against the wood, although it was no longer my face he was seeing. Where my eyes had been, were now hollowed sockets with small, almost undetectable eyeballs set far in their recesses. My nose was gone, leaving only an outline of the tapered bone beneath my skin. The steep edges of my skull forced my cheeks to give way to cavernous depressions that looked even more severe against my other features.

  Life was being drained out of me.

  Jameson’s voice was hollow in my ears, echoing, as he called out, “Stop!”

  When nothing changed, his hand left mine, and through the haze, I sensed he was charging our housekeepers, our confidantes. For him, one was his surrogate mother. I understood somewhere deep inside that he was going to hurt them in order to save me.

  As the platform vibrated rapidly, his body slid back next to mine. They’d defended against him, defeating him.

  When he rose again, leaving my view, his hands were bloody from scraping the wood, and he was violently slammed back down to the platform near me a second later.

  “You’re supposed…” he grunted, holding his arm. It looked injured. “Supposed to help us.”

  “Help yerselves,” retorted Miss Celia, blithely.

  “You-you led us here!” Jameson raged, staggering to his feet. He only made it a single step before collapsing back to me.

  I heard the wicked cackling, taunting and confident; telling me they weren’t going to ease up. They wouldn’t bring this to an end. Not until…

  The mere thought of Jameson being hurt summoned the energy I needed, filling me, goading me through the agony.

  I was relying on it completely, as my lips began to move, and the words surfaced in my mind. My voice, barely a whisper, was faint but reached my ears.

  “I am strong. I banish this wrong. I send it away. I send it astray. I am strong. I banish this wrong. I send it away. I send it astray.” Repeating this cast over and over, my voice quickened as Jameson became inflicted with the same pain I felt, his skin sinking in before my eyes. But he heard it, my cast, and he fought to take my hand.

  Slowly, I continued, and together our voices rose as his joined in. The power pulsed against my torso and my limbs; the words were pulling out my energy like never before. I felt him, his energy, surge through me, a blinding, passionate wave causing me to shudder.

  As we lay coiled together, our hands clasping each others, our eyes focusing on the other, and our words flowing in unison, we repeated the cast until it was nearly a scream. I felt my power returning, and I knew we were overcoming them. Then I redirected my energy by altering my chant, sending it back at them, at our housekeepers…our attackers.

  “I repel this energy back to its caster. I return it to them harder and faster. I repel this energy back to its caster. I return it to them harder and faster.”

  This went on for what seemed like several minutes, and then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. They were standing above us, as we scrambled to our feet.

  “What did ya learn?” asked Miss Celia, casually brushing off her skirt, as if she’d been dirtied in the process.

  “WHAT DID WE LEARN?” Jameson bellowed. His hands were still on my arms, holding me behind him and acting as protection against them. I felt his anger crash over me, inciting me too, as I actively tried to face them myself, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  Miss Mabelle answered calmly, ignoring my efforts to get at them, allowing each word to sink in before saying the next. “Ya gotta channel together. Always. Together. Channelin’ is what makes ya strong.” She briefly pinched her lips in disapproval, though I couldn’t care less about impressing her at this moment. “Yer enemies will use different ways ta kill ya n’ each one has their own way of doin’ it. Stranglin’ is just one way. Work together n’ you’ll survive.”

  “Well, yer likely to, anyways,” Miss Celia interjected, flippantly.

  Jameson and I stared back at them, dumbfounded.

  “Interesting way to educate us on it,” I retorted.

  “Right,” scoffed Jameson. “Did you think about just telling us?”

  “We warned ya. Don’t you go expectin’ us to go easy on ya,” Miss Celia added, as a terse afterthought, “Can’t be done. Not when yer learnin’ to protect yerselves against The Sevens.”

  With that warning hanging in the air, they casually stepped around us and headed for the car, leaving us to fume behind them.

  “Now, heal the boy,” Miss Mabelle instructed as she meandered away, a surreal command coming from someone who’d just inflicted the exact harm I would be curing.

  Jameson caught my eyes then.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice so tender it made my response catch in my throat.

  “More mad than anything.”

  “Me too,” he admitted.

  “If that’s what we have to look forward to each night, the Vires won’t need to worry about killing us.”

  “Why?” he probed.

  “Because by the time they’re ready to attack, we’ll already be dead.”

  He laughed through his nose, although he didn’t respond.

  “How’s your arm?” I asked, tipping my head at it.

  He was holding it again, his shoulder lifted against the pain. “It’s been better.”

  We stood in awkward silence for a moment, because we both knew what came next. In order to heal him, I’d need to touch him.

  Suddenly, he lea
ned forward. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he implored, sending crushing remorse washing over me. “Just tell me what I did, what I said,” he pressed.

  “It’s nothing you did or said,” I told him, my head ducking away from the tenderness in his eyes.

  “Are you sure? Because you changed right when I mentioned that I’m The Nobilis.” So he had picked up on it. Of course he would.

  “It’s nothing that can be changed,” I said, hopeless, feeling the full weight of that statement. “I can’t change, and you can’t change. So there’s no point in explaining it. Let’s just…we have a job to do. Let’s focus on learning how to prevent another assault.”

  He refused to concede. “I can’t help the problem if I don’t know what it is.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to either way,” I replied, flatly.

  His eyes fell to the platform, and he became quiet, while considering our discussion. After what felt like forever, he said something, conveying his arrival at the reason behind my forcing us apart, at least partially. “You’re right, Jocelyn. I can’t change the fact that I’m The Nobilis.”

  His words actually made the knife plunge into my stomach again, but this time it felt as if someone were turning it. He thought he was at fault, an impression I couldn’t endure leaving with him.

  “Don’t change. I love you the way you are,” I blurted, before thinking about its effect.

  His head snapped up. “I know you love me. You can’t hide it…even though you’re trying so hard to.”

  I bit my lip from saying anything more I might regret.

  “So why do this?” he asked, longingly. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

  Unable to answer, I reached out, seizing his arm. He observed me, never taking his eyes from me even though mine were down. I drew in a shaky breath and whispered briskly, “Incantatio sana.”

  As I released him, his free hand came across mine, pinning me to him.

  My eyes darted up, demanding to know what he was doing.

  When he spoke, the words were firm, unyielding, and gentle. “I am in love with you, Jocelyn. Against all odds, I fell in love with you, because you are not like anyone I’ve ever met-”