Birthright (Residue Series #2) (27 page)

My turn was far less impactful – for me, at least. I felt almost comatose by the end of it and had to open my eyes or I risked falling asleep. When my eyelids lifted, my gaze landed on Jameson and I witnessed what Jameson must have seen from me during my session. His face contorted from one emotion to the next. Pleasant surprise. Wistfulness. Humor. Worry. They all
surfaced
and faded away shortly after. Eventually they came to an end
,
and he respectfully removed his hands from mine.

Once he was alert, I asked the question that had been pestering me since his session began. “What did you see?”

“Uh, you tell me first,” he replied
,
hesitating, appearing ill at ease.

“I think I saw the Vire who tried to kidnap you when you were just born.”

His interest piqued and his agitation seemed to ease. “What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see. Your eyes weren’t developed yet. But I know it was a Vire because of the
moldavite
he wore.”

“So it was a male?”

“That’s what I figured. If it was a female she had short hair.”

“So you saw hair?”

“Yes,” I said, realizing that was an unusual question.

“What about skin color?”

I shrugged. “Light skinned. Why?”

He sat quietly nodding, apparently piecing together whatever was plaguing him.

“Why?” I pressed.

Still looking uncertain, he answered me. “I saw your father’s death.”

“Oh,” I replied. “
What does that have to with
the Vire who tried to kidnap you?”

His forehead creased as he evaluated me. “Because I saw who did it,” he answered
,
slowly, pacing out his
answer
as if he were doubtful on whether to say it.

Instantly, I sank forward, desperate for more information. “You saw who killed my father? Did you recognize him? Have you seen him before?” I stopped there
,
knowing I needed to give him time to answer.

“Yes, I-I recognize him.” He glanced up at Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia, neither of whom offered any assistance. Of course, there wasn’t much they could do.

“Who?” I asked, fraught with tension
.
When Jameson didn’t respond, I
urged,
“Who?”

When his eyes settled on me, he delivered an answer that made my heart stop.

“Theleo Alesius.”

I don’t have a single
memory
of my father.

My mother carried a photograph of him in
a
locket
,
encrusted with our family stone
,
but it had worn away over the years. White creases and color fading removed most of the details but his dark hair, lively eyes, and gleaming smile still came through. Other than the extremely limited stories my mother had told and the words ‘kind, generous, and altruistic’ used to describe him, this was the extent of what I knew about him.

Still, discovering the man who killed my father
was unsettling. And it
was no less disconcerting knowing the same man
was
now follow
ing
me.

As we drove back, after determining this particular lesson was over
based on my withdrawn reaction
, I assessed my options. Walking up and confronting him would risk endangering my family. There was no possibility of turning him in. I had no proof, other than a memory I never knew existed until now. Powerless. That was how I felt.
The
feeling only intensified when I saw his associates stationed at Aunt Lizzy’s houses. Theleo, thankfully, was not
with
them.

Jameson had watched me closely, his wisdom guiding him to remain silent,
before carefully sliding
into the back of the car before we reached Aunt Lizzy’s house.
Even though
he didn’t say another word to me during the drive,
this
wasn’t the last
time I would see him tonight.

After
I got ready to crawl into bed,
I twisted the lamp on next to my bedroom window,
and
he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Stunned, I inhaled sharply
, causing
Miss Mabelle
to give
me a curious glance from her doorway – a position that prevented her from seeing Jameson. I gave her a
wavering
smile
and quickly closed my door.

“I came for my jacket,” he stated
,
quietly, standing to prove his point and
to
convey
it
was the only reason he’d come. The fact it was
already
in his hand was enough to convince me
,
but then he stopped two paces from the door.

I hadn’t said a single word to him
,
but my tension, my yearning for him
,
was so
strong
he must have noticed it.

As he turned, I prepared myself for the strength I’d need if we started another conversation on rethinking the agreement about our relationship. Instead, he
caught me
off guard
by offering, “Do you want to practice channeling?”

Stumped, I didn’t really have an answer. I wanted him to leave
, and at the same time, I wanted him
to stay.

To buy myself time, I asked, “How did you get here so fast?”

“I have routes,” he replied
,
simply
,
and
offered
no more information.

He stood there, motionless, as awkward silence fill
ed
the room. “I thought you might have more questions,” he said
,
in a way that made me think he was explaining why he was still here.

I gave him a confused stare.

“About what you learned tonight. About your father.”

So he hadn’t come for his jacket, after all. Once again, he was trying to help someone
,
and this time it was me
. This made me feel conflicted; I felt guilty, but still craved him also.

“I thought…” he started
,
and shook his head hopelessly, letting his voice fade away.

A second later, he
was heading
for the door.

Before
I knew it,
the words passed over my lips. “I don’t understand, Jameson.”

As much as I wanted him to leave,
giving
me time to build my wall higher and exclude him further, I wanted him, needed him
,
here with me. There was no chance I would fulfill my birthright tonight and end his life. The war hadn’t been waged yet. Even if it had
,
I still couldn’t bring myself to envision a scenario in which Jameson would die by my hands. So when he came to a halt
,
I forgave myself for keeping him here. Just tonight, I promised him silently. Just tonight.

“I don’t understand. Why did it happen the way it did? Why did Theleo have to kill him? He could have maimed him, punched him unconscious…
that’s
what keeps running through my
mind.”
I sighed heavily and,
sounding
almost desperate
,
asked, “You were there. Did you see why he killed him? Was there any reason at all?”

“With Vires
,
there never has to be a reason. It’s why the rest of us in our world avoid them at all costs. But,” he turned around to face me, “I have a sense there was more to your father’s death.”

“What did you see?”

“Well, it was hard to understand. You were pretty young.”

“A month,” I stated. “I was a month old.”

“Didn’t waste any time, did they?” He laughed
,
sardonically
,
through his nose. “Anyways, your eyes were still blurry, undeveloped, I think, and watery. I got the feeling that you were crying. Through it, I saw bodies moving – fast. You were
jostled
a few times as your father fought off the Vires coming at him, and there were a lot
of them
. Then
,
I felt something sharp in my stomach, like you’d been stung by a bee. A big one. Your father was falling back with you in his arms at that time
,
so I figured something or someone had hit you. He made a sound that reminded me of a roar
,
and the Vire standing over him brought his arm around the side of you, toward your father. He was aiming for your father
,
and that’s why he got close enough for me to recognize him. He had to get closer
,
to go around you. I figure that’s when your father was killed with some sort of blade…a dagger to the side of the heart, I think. Then, pretty quickly, that pain in the stomach went away.”

“A dagger,” I muttered. “That’s how Theleo did it. With a dagger.”

“Strange that he chose that weapon, too.”

“It is? Why?”

“Because it can be traced,” Jameson shrugged. “There are much better ways to kill someone without using your hands, especially in our world.
Incantatio Stran
g
ulatus
,
for one.”

“But wouldn’t that take time?”

“Right, exactly what I’m getting at,” said Jameson, nodding. “It seemed to me that he had to do it quickly.”

“We were walking through the neighborhood at that time
,
so…maybe the neighbors came out?”

“Or lights turned on?” he suggested
, growing
quiet
. His pause was followed by a hesitant question
. “You know what amazed me so much about you when we were channeling your memories?”

“What?” I’d been gazing at the floor, trying
to process all the information, but when
I glanced up
, I found
him watching me closely
and
my heart skipped
.

“On the outside you’ve had an easy life but there was something missing in each of your memories…”

“What was that?” I asked, not all that certain I wanted to
hear the answer.

“Affection,” he replied
,
tenderly
,
and waited for my reaction. When I didn’t move or make a sound, he went on. “You grew up surrounded by strangers. You were never hugged, never spontaneously treated to ice cream, never brought to the park on sunny days. You had to fend for yourself whenever you were in trouble. You had to solve your own problems. Your life was…sterile. And I see you…standing there…and it doesn’t seem like any of that affected you. You’re compassionate. You risk your life to help others and don’t ask anything in return.” He sighed deeply and shook his head,
awe
etched in his handsome face. “You deserve better. So much better, Jocelyn.”

Humbled, I
muttered
,
“Thank you.”

“You –
you
keep amazing me,” he laughed
,
softly through an exhale. “I feel like I just…I still have so much to learn about you. I want to know what I missed
,
because The Sevens wouldn’t allow us to grow up together. I want to know what they kept from us.” He stopped himself, apparently uncomfortable with having said
so
much. “But if we channel, I’ll try to find only the memories that relate to your father. I won’t violate our agreement.”

I knew just what he meant
,
and it stung me. He was promising he’d keep his distance, even from my private thoughts. That was
,
both
,
reassuring and disheartening. I wanted to be able to share with him
,
but that would only knock down another layer of my wall I was so carefully constructing.

Realizing he was waiting for an answer, I said, “I appreciate that.”

He seemed confused, because my response hadn’t agreed or disagreed to practice channeling. So, I took a seat on the floor and looked up at him, hinting for him to follow. He did and sat down so that our crossed knees wouldn’t touch. Still being respectful, I thought.

He
waited for me to extend my hands first. Unfortunately, it turned out to be just as much of a struggle this time as it was earlier in the night
,
and I resigned myself to the fact that touching Jameson was not going to be easy…ever.