Birthright (Residue Series #2) (33 page)

“Wonderful,” I muttered. “
More
witches to ward off.”

Hearing
my insinuation, Miss Celia
staunchly
corrected me
.
“Won’t be no lesson this time. This hea’ is an introduction. Nothin’ mo’.”

“I thought we were here to learn about Jocelyn’s scar,” Jameson inquired, keeping his focus on the windows and the women inside.

Miss Mabelle snickered, paus
ing as she placed
her hand on the door knob
,
and said, “Oh, you will…”

She opened the door
then
and,
just
as we stepped inside, the room
silenced,
and all eyes landed on us.

The kitchen we entered was just large enough to fit the four women standing around the wood island in the center. Layered with an abundance of herb-filled vases, cakes, tea cups, and candles, it instantly felt welcoming. The rest of the room was traditional
containing;
an antique stove,
displaying porcelain
and boasting six burners with a griddle on the side;
white cabinets
,
reminiscent of an English countryside
;
and a tile
backsplash
, winding
from the stove to the kitchen sink.

Jameson noticed who
was standing
in the room faster than I did. I
learned this
when he stated
,
skeptically, “You said this was an introduction.”

“It is,” Miss Mabelle reassured.

That’s when
I
realized
who
was here with
us: Ms. Veilleux, Ms. Boudreaux,
Ms. Roquette and Mrs. DeVille. And Jameson was correct…n
one of them were strangers.

“Welcome,” Ms. Veilleux said, approaching us. As her arm came around Jameson and me, she looked disturbed by our disheveled, dusty clothing.
She
apparently thought better about asking for an explanation
,
because she didn’t question us.

While our housekeepers stood near the door, Jameson and I squeezed in around the island where space was limited enough that our elbows were forced to press against one another. Our touch brought his eyes to the island where they remained until Ms. Veilleux began to speak.

“We’ve been waiting a while for this,” she admitted.

Jameson glanced around
then
,
confused. “For what…exactly?”

“To meet you. To introduce ourselves to you.”

“But we already know you,” I pointed out.

“You know our public personas,” she corrected. “You don’t know us as a coven.”

Jameson seemed as perplexed as I was. “You formed a coven? How long ago?”

Ms. Veilleux glanced
around,
looking for an answer.

“I was five,” shrugged Ms. Boudreaux.

“Four,” grumbled Mrs. DeVille, her usually sour personality
ever-present.

Ms. Roquette was still struggling from the Vire’s punishment
and chose to forego
her voice in order to see us
. She
answered by holding
up four fingers.

“Five,” said Ms. Veilleux, returning her attention to us.

She ignored
our
stunned reaction
s
to
nudge
a wandering kitten off the island.
As if all were explained, the
kitchen’s volume
began to
steadily escalat
e
again. Objects
started t
o drift overhead
,
as tea cups were assembled; h
erb twigs were rearranged in thei
r vases without being touched; and n
ever once did the conversation stagger.

Over the noise, I heard Ms. Boudreaux warn, “You’ll want tea. It’s chilly down by the water.”

Jameson looked back at Miss Celia who remained stationed
by
the door. “Is that where we’re headed? Are we going down to Lake Pontchartrain tonight?”

At that, the room fell silent
again
.

Miss Celia didn’t answer him directly, instead turning to the coven
to ask
,
“Shall we?”

Ms. Veilleux carefully placed her tea cup down and emphatically agreed. “We shall.”

Th
is exchange
denote
d
an end to this phase of the evening
,
and the ladies began filtering outside
in
to the backyard.
While
Jameson and I
glanced at each other,
skeptically
,
we
still
trailed behind them
.

Outside, we saw
Mrs. DeVille watching Ms. Boudreaux pull out
a pointy black hat
, unravel
ing and placing it
on her head. As I took a spot in the haphazard circle forming in the yard,
standing in
a position directly opposite Jameson, I overheard Mrs. DeVille whisper, “Must you always wear that silly thing?”

Unwilling to bow to another’s fashion demands, Ms. Boudreaux replied
,
passionately, “Yes, I do.”

I almost chuckled
, but
the memory of Jameson
,
defending me on the first day we met
,
and Mrs. DeVille
,
criticizing
my hat
, made me refrain
. Before I could stop them, my eyes moved to Jameson, the longing in them so evident
,
I knew he
caught sight of it before my gaze dropped to the ground. He had to
,
because
I saw the same in his eyes
.

By then, we
were
all assembled and waiting. However, what we were waiting for, I had no idea. Then it came. Fast.

One second
,
I was watching the ladies gather together
,
and the next
,
they began shooting upward
,
as if someone from above reached down and plucked them from the surface of the earth.

“Jameson?” I
spoke, having just
enough
time
to say
this,
before I too was yanked upward. I think a grunt
mindlessly
escaped
,
but I couldn’t be sure.

We
were
above
the city
then
, the group of us gliding
far higher than
the lights, until, w
ithout
any
warning,
I was dropped
,
unceremoniously
,
onto hard-packed soil.

The incredible speed
we used
to travel to this new location left me breathless
,
until
I had
the vague recollection of Aunt Lizzy reaching me at the airport a few months ago. She
didn’t have a
ticket with her and
was
sickened by turbulence
…
and
it all made sense. I began to wonder if I, too, would ever be able to travel
with
the speed of a jetliner.

“Jocelyn?” Jameson was right beside me
,
his full attention on me. “Are you all right?”

I snickered. “Yeah, I love it when I have no control over my body’s mobility…”

Ms. Boudreaux laughed at
my
statement, surprising me. She and the
others
were
adjusting
their clothing
,
as Mrs. DeVille stomped the pain from her feet.

“Bit of a rough landing,” she muttered
,
irritably.

“Sorry,” said Ms. Veilleux. “A little rusty
at
placing everyone down at once.”
She
straightened her back and looked around, a nostalgic smile creeping up as she did. “Jameson…Jocelyn…” she said
,
wistfully, “welcome to our ritual site.”

As she spoke, Mrs. DeVille began casting a spell to lay down the grass around us, the wisp of its fall being almost inaudible, and Ms. Roquette went about pulling candles from her coat
and
set
ting
them in a circle around us.

When they finished, we
were standing
in an outdoor ceremonial
site, at
the edge of the lake. Because of its proximity to the water, fog
was rolling in,
concealing everything from ten feet out
,
over the water
,
and beyond. Still, I
was able to define
oak trees bowing around us
, forming
a natural tent
,
and tall grass behind us
,
reaching
to
the woodland border.

In a hushed voice
,
slipping into
reverie, Ms. Veilleux
began
to explain why we were here
,
so I refocused my concentration on her. “In the 1790s my family emigrated to what is now New Orleans. It was known as Port Bayou St. Jean back then. Not until 1718 was the city given its present-day name. It was a place where dreams could be actualized but, more importantly, it was a place to build a community. They were different and they knew it.
They
beckoned others here and learned from each other to build on our wealth of knowledge.
When
the slave trade began
,
and the West Indies brought
Voodoo, we started
to grasp the
magnitude and
importance of what we could do.”

As she spoke, I began to understand she was telling us about the origins of our world
,
and I listened closer with greater interest.

“And it all started right here, right where we stand. This ground is sacred
,
because it was the home of Adelaide Rousseau, the first to unite us, the first to reach out to others of our kind.
On
this very sacred ground, the first ritual was performed. Our numbers grew
,
and the results of our casts became
legendary.”
She paused
, surveying
us. “
Sadly,
only a short while later,
our decline b
egan. Adelaide was found dead and t
hose with our powers began to go missing. Neighbors…friends…began to turn on our kind, wielding their powers against us, burning our ancestors at the stake, ostracizing them.
Those
who would be
come
our saviors appeared. Seven of them…”

I held back a gasp
,
when
I realized which seven she meant.

“They offered us security, prosperity, anonymity. And we took it. And the killings stopped. And our world became structured.
But a
s the
influence of these seven grew so did the risks of our rewards. And now they are the eagle and we are wrapped in their talons.
Luckily,
their end is near. Their phase will be over. They
will
become a part of our history
, and
they
are
aware of it. The ritual we perform this night will bring strength and clarity of purpose to those who will stand in their way.”

I was slightly unnerved to find her looking directly at Jameson and me when she finished speaking.

At once,
her voice changed, becoming deeper and more forthright. “Hail, Guardian of the WatchTower of the North-”

Her voice broke off suddenly
then
,
and her eyes widened.

In a soft whisper, she alerted, “We aren’t alone.”

A second later, I found us hovering at the peak of the trees, candles and all. They had been snuffed out so that we hung in the dark. Several minutes passed
,
and I began to wonder if Ms. Veilleux
was
wrong
, but then,
the crunch of feet through the grass reached us
,
and all heads tilted toward the water’s edge. Along the embankment two men came
into
view, their heads swiveling back and forth.