by Laury Falter
I shook my head, refusing to hear him. “I’m just like anyone else.”
“No, Jocelyn, you’re not. Most girls would not insist on risking their lives by sneaking passed their enemies to find ill strangers to heal. They would keep their casting skills private - especially when they’ve just come into this world and don’t fully understand the dangers in using those skills publicly. And most girls…don’t interest me the way you do.” He paused, allowing that confession to sink in. It was long enough to feel a break begin in my heart. His chest expanded and his chin lifted, tapping into that easygoing confidence I found so attractive. “Why do you think I’ve never been attracted to anyone else, Jocelyn? You are different. The kind of different that makes someone sit up and notice. It made me fall in love with you.” He sighed, half frustrated with me and half perplexed at me.
I was left as stunned and speechless as he was, although for a different reason. I had never had anyone make that kind of declaration to me. It was heart wrenching.
Miss Mabelle’s car horn sounded then and Jameson groaned before going on to ignore it.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes,” I replied, quietly.
“If you want me to stay away from you…I will. If that’s what you truly want, I will do it. Because that’s what those who love someone will do for them. But you can’t ask me to stop loving you. That’s something I can’t do. I don’t have the power.”
Painful memories of how we both had been affected the first time we tried to separate and the devastation it inflicted on us, suddenly flooded me, sending a shiver through me.
“If the two of ya don’t get in the car,” Miss Mabelle’s irate voice boomed, “ya be tutored apart from hea on out.”
At that threat, Jameson’s hand immediately released me, but he didn’t move. He was waiting for my answer, the one that was stuck in my throat.
Finally, the words came, twisting the knife in my stomach with each utterance, because I knew they were clear enough he wouldn’t mistake their intent. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” With that, my throat constricted, holding back any more words.
We stared at each other, unable to hide our yearning, before he broke the silence.
“You don’t want this, Jocelyn,” he declared, tenderly. “But if that’s your decision, I’ll abide by it.”
I hesitated, long enough for his eyes to widen with hope. Before his expectation peaked, I stopped it. “That’s what I want.”
He nodded, still inspecting me, knowing that I was fighting against my own wishes, and struggling to understand why.
Then we turned and headed back to the car, together.
10 CHANNELING
Our next lesson came the following night, after an entire day of dodging Jameson at school. When our paths did cross, such as during second period, we kept our heads down and made certain we didn’t come in contact with each other, much to the relief of the new Vire designated to watch over us.
Jameson did everything he could to fulfill my request, and while I appreciated his effort, it took its toll. A pain settled in my heart and remained throughout the day. My stomach was queasy, to the extent that lunch and dinner passed without a single bite. A constant chill plagued my body. I was continually wrapping my arms around myself, until I realized they were trying to substitute for Jameson’s. Worse, Jameson appeared to be enduring the same heartache.
By the time Miss Mabelle banged on my door, just before midnight, I was torn. I yearned to be with Jameson. I wanted the lesson to start just so I could be near him again. Every inch of my body constantly fought to keep the rest of me from moving in his direction. But when considering my birthright, his future always intervened in my thoughts, steering me back in the right direction. For this reason, it was extremely difficult when Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia lectured us about restraint and keeping our personal interests to ourselves. These new rules were instilled on the curb of the Caldwell house, with two Vires watching, and Jameson hidden in the back of the car, which made it all that more uncomfortable for me.
“Ya’s be understandin’ us?” demanded Miss Mabelle.
“Yes,” Jameson and I replied, neither one of us enthusiastic about being told we couldn’t engage when we were already fighting against it. It was like pouring salt in an open wound.
We wouldn’t have been able to show affection even if we wanted to anyways. Not with Miss Celia driving. She jetted from the curb, just as she had the night before, and took off down the street like she was racing with a speeding jet. She skidded around one corner, and then the next, and the next, repeating her aggressive driving maneuvers until Miss Mabelle braced her head against the window and confirmed that we lost the Vires who were following us. Jameson moved to the back seat then, but as promised, kept his distance from me. That promise, however, didn’t stop him from glancing in my direction every so often, a habit that I noticed from the corner of my eye.
Miss Celia took us into the French Quarter, where despite it being Monday, the bars and patrons were still buzzing. The cacophony of music and voices drifted through the streets, as we made our way to Jackson Square, eventually parking at the end of a dark side lane. From there, our housekeepers walked ahead of us, guiding us around the corner and down another street, coming to an abrupt stop at an iron gate. The gate closed off an obscure hallway that didn’t seem to have any purpose. Unfortunately, when Miss Celia lit a candle to illuminate it, the end remained hidden beyond the candle’s reach. Even more suspicious was a thick chain wrapped around the bars, connecting to a lock that looked like it hadn’t been touched in centuries.
“Ya have it, don’t ya?” Miss Mabelle asked Miss Celia, who was pulling a hammer out of the same bag the candle came from.
Miss Mabelle took the hammer, slamming the head of it against the lock, sending the back of the metal lock crashing against the gate. The sound was loud, echoing down the vacant side streets of the French Quarter.
“Wow, you could wake the dead doing that…” I muttered.
Miss Celia’s head turned with a crafty smile. “Probably already has.”
“Could wake the local law enforcement, too,” Jameson pointed out. “What happens if they come by?”
“Oh, not to worry. We kin handle them if they do,” said Miss Celia, still smiling impishly.
Miss Mabelle eagerly pulled open the gate, scraping the ground and causing another loud, grating noise. We waited for Miss Celia to hold up her candle and followed as she guided us in.
Miss Celia’s flickering light sent eerie shadows creeping across the brick walls as we moved farther into the hallway, one that didn’t have an end in sight. There were no windows and no doors, only metal loops attached to the brick walls every few feet. When Miss Mabelle stopped to touch one of them, closing her eyes and mumbling something to herself, Miss Celia halted too.
“Used ta keep the slaves hea, tied up, while waitin’ to be taken fo’ sale in Jackson Square,” explained Miss Celia. “Miss Mabelle’s family came hea that way.”
I glanced around at the desolate, dark corridor and immediately understood what Miss Mabelle was doing…sending a silent prayer to her ancestors. I was trying to imagine what it must have felt like to be in a foreign land, tied to a cold, hard wall, and waiting for the unknown to happen. Given those circumstances it was hard not to be overwhelmed with compassion.
A moment later, Miss Celia started down the hallway again, Miss Mabelle at her side. “This way, chil’in.”
A few more steps and we came to a worn, wooden door in front of us. This one didn’t require a lock so Miss Celia simply opened it and stepped inside. We followed, finding ourselves in an empty room with only whitewashed walls and a concrete floor. Even the ceiling was smooth, void of any light fixtures.
As Miss Celia went around the room, pulling out and lighting additional candles, Miss Mabelle laid down a few ground rules.
“We will return each night to this location until you have mastered wh
at it is you have come to learn. At the point when Miss Celia and I conclude you are prepared to advance, we will bring you to the next location. And so on.”
“Your voice,” Jameson muttered. “It’s…changed.”
I witnessed Miss Mabelle do this once before, in Aunt Lizzy’s study, while describing The Relicuum to me. Her southern accent disappeared and her words resembled more of a proper English dialect.
“Our accents, our demeanors, everything about Miss Celia and me will be different in private. You will get used to it.”
Jameson blinked. “But why? Why change and use a different public persona?”
“Because it keeps us safe. Others don’t need to know the extent of our intellect.”
That seemed like a reasonable argument. Jameson must have come to the same conclusion, because he didn’t address it further. It did, however, reinforce what Jameson had told me in his bedroom. These women were far more skilled than what they ever let on. As if to prove that point, Miss Celia finished illuminating the room and came to stand beside Miss Mabelle.
Facing us, they spoke the same protection cast as they did in the bayou, once again lifting their palms to us. Before either Jameson or I could anticipate it, and before we knew they were once again casting against us. My sight faded until I saw nothing but black, and , instinctively, my hands extended, accidentally crashing into Jameson, who I determined was suffering the same fate. I opened my mouth to release a grunt but only heard the distressed sound of my breath laboring in unison with Jameson’s. The crunch of gravel told me he was moving, but I didn’t know if it was in my direction, until I felt his hand’s gently land on my arms.
With neither of us able to speak, he channeled, “Together, they said. We need to work together.”
I nodded, but soon realized he couldn’t see me. “Right.”
“Can you reverse it?”
“Just a second,” I replied, beginning to speak the same words I recited in the bayou. When my sight didn’t return, I knew they’d purposely prevented it in their casting.
“They blocked it, didn’t they?” Jameson asked, having figured it out.
“Yes.”
“What about your healing incantation?” he suggested in a rush, his words streaming through my mind.
“I can’t. They’ve taken away my voice.”
I felt the tension within him rising. “What other casts can we do?”
Ms. Roquette came to mind and the words she’d used to transfer energy from sight to voice. But that was just temporary, an impermanent shift between faculties.
That’s when I discovered our housekeepers’ objective. “This cast is common with the Vires, isn’t it?”
“Good guess,” he replied, confirming it.
“But no one knows how to block or reverse it?”
He paused, unwilling to paint such a bleak picture for us. “No.”
“They won’t leave us like this,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure. “They can’t.”
Miss Mabelle’s voice interrupted our channeling to refute that notion. “Without sight or sound, you will have a difficult time explaining your condition to your families. Which means you’ll be unable to refute any justification we choose to offer them.”
That was all the confirmation I needed. Immediately, I began considering a cast, knowing nothing about it other than when I uttered a spell and redirected my energy toward that purpose it tended to work in my favor. How was I supposed to solve a curse that even Ms. Roquette had been unable to herself?
Still, I gave it a chance, attempting to assemble the words that came to mind. “Power be drawn and make us one with thee. Make us better, make us stronger, make us heal, make us see.”
“Nice job,” Jameson encouraged, but while we waited, there was no change.
The silence in the room was deafening. I became concerned about where our housekeepers were standing. They felt like adversaries, and I felt vulnerable without my sight.
I repeated the incantation. “Power be drawn and make us one with thee. Make us better, make us stronger, make us heal, make us see.”
“It’s not working,” Jameson’s voice echoed through my head.
“No,” I agreed tersely, my anger building. “It’s not.”
“I think they need a little incentive,” I heard Miss Celia say, and instantly my muscles tightened. Whatever incentive they chose, I didn’t expect it to be easy.
Jameson grunted, and his fingers around my arm flexed.
“Jameson?” I called out, channeling.
He responded with another grunt, this one louder and laced with pain.
They were hurting him, which in turn made me frantic. “What are you doing?” I shouted before realizing they couldn’t hear me.
It was Jameson who answered. “They’re-” Another jolt of pain followed, his arms shaking against the fierce intensity of it. “They’re stabbing-”
That was all I needed to hear.
From deep inside, I conjured the energy, that powerful force I used to heal others, and sent it outward, drawing on it, building on it, until my body vibrated from its strength. When Jameson released a sigh, and I knew he was feeling the energy flow through him. Gradually, the faint light of the candles broke through the darkness and the room began to form. Jameson came into view, crouched in pain but with his head up.
“Jameson,” I said, this time out loud. Momentarily, I was stunned to learn my voice had returned.
“It’s working,” he confirmed.
“Good,” said Miss Mabelle in a tone void of admiration.
Miss Celia waited until we were staring around the room, blinking away the blindness. They remained in place, appraising us as if we were on display. “You will find yourself untouched, Jameson.”
Sure enough, a hurried scan of his body showed no blood, no ripped clothing, and no sign of stab wounds.
“It isn’t the words,” Miss Celia went on. “It isn’t the tools you use. It’s your energy, and Jameson’s ability to enhance it, that makes you powerful. You use it well enough to heal others. Now you will need to learn to use it with every cast. And you will need to do it faster and stronger.”
Jameson caught on quicker than I did. I knew this when he demanded, “You were testing us?”
“Testing?” I reiterated, confused.
“Yes, we were,” replied Miss Celia, indifferently. “Every lesson is in itself a test, as we evaluate your competency.”
“While also teaching you to deflect our attacks,” added Miss Mabelle.
I didn’t feel like they were teaching us anything at all. We were defending ourselves, just as they had insisted during the first lesson. I was about to say as much when Miss Celia chose to move on with the current lesson, not giving me a chance to respond.
“This location was chosen for its power to enhance channeling abilities. Here, human suffering, and most importantly death, were a way of life. Swamping, epidemics, scourges, - they have all shown themselves here. Hundreds of thousands have died on the very streets you have walked. The presence of death, in fact, is so strong it permeates dimensions. The French Quarter, for this reason, is one of the most powerful sites to communicate with the dead. We will not be using it to that end. We are here to develop the silent communication between the two of you.”
“We already channel,” I informed her, anxious about the possibility of touching Jameson again.
“Yes, I noticed,” she replied, acknowledging she knew Jameson and I had used it to escape her cast just now. “You don’t use it to the extent required. The Nobilis is powerless without The Relicuum. The Relicuum is powerless without The Nobilis. You will be successful only in tandem. Therefore, you must know each other’s actions before any movement takes place. And you must know each other’s thoughts before they enter each other’s minds.” She inhaled, recovering from what felt was a scolding, and said, “This exercise is meant to open that channel of communication between you. Now sit.”
“How do we know you
won’t attack us again?” asked Jameson, making a valid point.
Miss Mabelle’s response, unfortunately, wasn’t comforting. “You don’t. Now sit.”
Jameson and I looked at each other, hesitant, but we did as we were told. We’d defended against them twice now, and while it had been excruciatingly painful, it did offer me some small amount of confidence to know we could do it again. As I sat down, my eyes remained on them until my body touched the concrete floor and I recoiled against the chill.
Noticing, Jameson offered, “Do you need my jacket?” He then removed it before I could respond. Beneath the black leather jacket, he was wearing a navy blue, long-sleeved tee-shirt which defined shadows across the contours of his chest.
I glanced up to find him catching me staring, but his expression remained impassive, detached, and so unlike him.
“There’s no point in freezing,” he stated quietly, concern exuding from him.
“Jocelyn,” Miss Celia reprimanded, demanding my attention.
“Yes, sorry.” To Jameson, I silently agreed by taking his jacket. It was a struggle because it was bathed in his scent, which already teased me. More importantly, by taking anything from him, I didn’t want the wall I’d already built up between us to be dismantled. I felt weak when my hand came to rest on the leather, and yet, relieved because it was Jameson’s jacket and no one else’s.
I stopped myself from staring at him again by focusing on the motions of slipping into the sleeves, still warm from his body.
Jameson, however, never took his somber eyes off me.
Miss Celia’s chastising turned to him. “Jameson,” Miss Celia barked, his head turning slowly to look up at her.
Once both our eyes were focused on her she began. “Now, you have channeled before. This is good. Experience opens the conduit. This time, you will relax, open your mind, and allow your thoughts to drift. It may help if you take each other’s hands.”
When neither of us moved, the suggestion became a command. “Take each other’s hands,” restated Miss Mabelle.