Birthright (Residue Series #2) (25 page)

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 ris
ing.
“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.

Reluctantly,
our hands stretched out
, meeting
in the middle, each doing our part to follow their
unrelenting
instructions and
adhere to
our
self-imposed contact restrictions.

The
gentle brush of his fingers sent a jolt of electricity through me
and
caused my skin to prickle, a sensation
which
made me desperately wish our circumstances were different.

Tenderly
adjust
ing
my bracelet
,
so my family stone sat at the highest point
,
he paused
before
lifting
his eyes to
meet
mine. My breath
was
locked in my chest until Miss Celia spoke.

“Jocelyn will channel first. Jameson, you’ll need to relax.” She added this last comment after noticing his reaction to me.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by our touch.

He nodded in response, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

It felt natural to close mine, too, and when I did
,
they almost
snapped
back open.

Images began flashing behind my lids
,
so
rapidly,
it
was like being
on a speeding train staring out the window
as
scenes blended from one to the next, none
fully
taking shape or offering any
fine
detail.

I heard Jameson
take
another deep breath and the images slowed. The loosening of his fingers around my hands told me he was relaxing more.

“Jocelyn,” I heard him say, his voice trail
ed
slowly, running
inside
my head instead of pass
ing through
my ears. Then
,
a feeling of contentment washed over me, which I
knew had to come
from him.

“Good,” I heard Miss Celia say, evidently satisfied with our progress.

The images started like snapshots. The first defined image was of a hand, short, stumpy,
and
without fingernails. The next
image
was of a red-veined wall.
A narrow, bright, and
indistinct
light was the next likeness to roll by
.
The snapshots began to speed up
, steadily becoming
a stream,
similar to
watching a film reel. I understood what I was observing
then…
glimpses of Jameson’s birth.