“
Thanks,” said Oscar proudly.
As if to prove my point, Spencer admired, “You really are getting better with the elements, Oscar.”
“
I’ve been practicing,” he admitted a little sheepishly.
Oscars transgression temporarily forgotten, Estelle slid a jar of salt across the table toward him while suggesting, “Try this…”
And soon the kitchen erupted into an impromptu study session that lasted late into the night.
In fact, the next morning, when the scream resounded down the hallway outside my room, I wasn’t certain if it was real or a figment of my foggy dream state. If the former, it didn’t sound good.
I leapt out of bed, pulled on a white lace top, jeans, and a pair of brown leather boots while in a rush for the door.
Someone moved in a blur down the hallway, so rushed I couldn’t make out who it was until I recognized the whimper.
Estelle landed with a thud against Aunt Lizzy’s door just as the rest of the household was emerging from their rooms.
“
Who’s screa-” Spencer was in the midst of saying as he opened his door.
Then Estelle’s arm was under his nose because Aunt Lizzy hadn’t emerged yet. “Boil,” she stated.
“
Did you cast incorrectly?” asked Spencer. “Did it come back on us?
Oscar growled. “You said you wouldn’t-”
“
I didn’t!” Estelle retorted, furious at their insinuations. “It was the Caldwells.”
A second later, I heard synchronous gasps run down the hallway and found my cousins staring at their left forearm. On each one, a boil stretched the entire width, rising several inches off the skin surface.
Instinctually, I looked down at my own arm expecting to see the same affect. There was nothing. Where the boil should have been was my ever-present white bracelet.
Although I didn’t entirely subscribe to all that I was seeing or learning in this new world I’d become privy to, always believing in the back of my mind that there was an explanation for it all, I felt relieved to be wearing my bracelet and thankful my mother had given it to me. But I realized it couldn’t be my defense because my cousins wore their crystal quartz’s as well and theirs didn’t protect them. Then it occurred to me what it was that had prevented the affects of the Caldwell’s hex. I was a healer, my body naturally prone to correct any ailments. Yet, the Caldwells had gotten beyond that layer of protection before, with the scar that had brought me here to New Orleans.
Finally, it struck me. The source of my protection wasn’t my family stone or my inherent ability to heal.
It was Jameson.
“
Apparently, they came up with the same hex,” Spencer muttered, assessing his new ailment.
“
We need something to counter it,” said Vinnia flatly.
“
Well, I have an ointment,” I offered. “It should work.”
I saw a few hopeful shrugs and then Oscar said, “Then let’s try it.”
After I administered the ointment on each of their boils, we finished getting ready for school, took muffins Miss Mabelle had left out for us, and headed out the door.
By the time we reached the main hallway, Estelle brushed up beside me and held out her arm, beaming. “Gone,” she stated. “Completely.”
I confirmed it with a quick glance. The skin was back to its smooth, flat surface.
“
And then,” she pulled up her other sleeve to show a minor wound. “I took some of the ointment you gave to me and rubbed it on this…” When I didn’t respond to what she thought was an evident hint, she persisted, “And it’s still there.”
“
I see that,” I replied, still confused.
“
It wasn’t the ointment, Jocelyn. It was you administering it. It was your touch.” She stated this so resolutely that it seemed hard to dispute. Then she drew my finger to the wound that still existed and rubbed it hastily against its surface before flipping her purple scarf over her shoulder and sauntered toward her next class.
I then headed for my classroom where I sat transfixed by several notions. First, she knew I fought the belief in my ability. Second, while I’d seen that ability materialize at times throughout my life, I’d snubbed it, never spending the time to develop it. The incident in which I helped Emery revive after being thrown against the wall was just another time I had to question my own suspicion. Third, if I were to acknowledge this ability in me than it would require me to accept the one belief I’d been denying since I’d been introduced to this world of witches. I would need to accept that it wasn’t an act or a series of hoaxes, that it wasn’t fabricated but that it was, in fact, real.
Staggered by these revelations, I entered my second class unprepared to handle seeing Jameson again. Not after what had happened last night between our families or this morning’s hexing incident. So when my eyes landed on him, a flood of emotion rushed through me but only one settled in and took hold.
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.”