Birthright (Residue Series #2) (42 page)

We left her standing at her altar, exhausted but seemingly appeased.

I
had
never seen anything like it before
, but
I was encouraged by it nonetheless. Without needing to be a true part of it, I understood it was powerful
, just
the kind of protection we were going to need.

“Papa Legba,” asked Miss Mabelle to Miss Celia, their heads bent toward each other
,
as we left the house.

“Yeyas, it was.”

“That was Legba?” Jameson asked from behind us, his enthralled voice carrying to the housekeepers ahead.

Miss Celia glimpsed over her shoulder and nodded, her expression matter-of-fact.

“Who’s Legba?” I asked, realizing that Jameson knew something about
Voodoo.

“One of the older spirits. Very wise, serious,” he said
,
laughing
to himself. “That’s the reason for the cane on the altar. It must be his symbol.”

I had absolutely no idea what he was referring to but didn’t ask any further questions. A few minutes later
,
I wish
ed
I had. We were in the car
,
being taken to another house a few blocks away on the edge of the French Quarter. Like Annemarie’s, it was an inconspicuous wooden house with stairs to the first level and plants placed strategically around the porch.

A man opened the door this time. He was tall
and
muscular, and
he
looked of West
Indies
descent.
He
was just as aloof as Annemarie had been. Given that it was two o’clock in the morning, it was justified that they’d be reserved about welcoming guests.
Yet,
I had the
distinct
feeling it was more than
just the time.
These people, these
Voodoo
practitioners,
take
their practice seriously
,
and
it’s
reflected in their mood.

There was one other element that stood out to me. The houses where our housekeepers were escorting us were not elaborate, luxurious dwellings. They were simple, comfortable,
and
unremarkable. Miss Mabelle’s and Miss Celia’s childhood homes had been at one point, also. These people had the ability to alter a person’s future, wealth, and well being and yet they didn’t taut it. They held their ability to a higher level of responsibility, treating it with sanctity and reverence. I respect
that.

“Castille,” said Miss Celia
,
humbly.

The man
nodded in response and then
ushered us inside to the first room beyond the parlor, one that was completely enclosed to the outside world other than the door we used to enter it.
At
the very end of the room was a wooden altar covered in candles with what appeared to be offerings, although these weren’t of wine and cheese. The aroma of coffee hung in the air while pieces of chocolate and seared meat lay on platters of various steps to the altar. 

As Annemarie had done,
the man placed
Jameson and
me
next to each other.
He
stood to the side
and
began chanting in what sounded like the same language Annemarie
had
used.

The next thing I
know,
I was staring at Jameson, who was now standing before me. Somehow, he had discreetly moved from my side to
be in
front
of me
.

“What…?” I asked, taken aback. “What just happened?”

Jameson looked to be just as shocked as I was. “You talked,” he said, hesitantly. “While you were in the trance.”

“I did?”

He recover
ed
slightly and replied, “Yes, you did.”

That explained it, somewhat. I was getting
a peculiar
feeling that he wasn’t
as
stunned about the trance as much as about what I said while in it.

“What…” I swallowed, having become nervous. “What did I say?”

“You said you didn’t want to be The
Relicuum. You didn’t want this…
this birthright.”

“Tell her why,” Miss Celia insisted from behind me.

He hesitated, unsure on whether to abide the command.
He
must have thought I should know
,
because he drew in a breath and
spoke
the secret I’
ve
been carrying all this time.
And
I felt my body cringe
.

“You said…you didn’t want to take my life.”

I recoiled away from those words the second they left his lips
,
and my reaction, being so swift I couldn’t have prevented it, was all the confirmation he needed.

I waited
then
;
certain he would realize our devastating
fate
and
understand why
we couldn’t be together.

I waited
for his withdrawal.

He blinked in astonishment
,
and his jaw fell open, releasing a deep sigh, as if he’d been holding it in for weeks.

“That’s part of your birthright?” he asked, his tone demanding and on the verge of anger.

I didn’t want to answer. Every part of me resisted it.

“Is that part of your birthright?” he persisted.

“Yes,” I said
,
so meekly I barely heard myself and quickly cleared my throat. “Yes, it is.”

“That’s what you’ve been worried about? And that’s why you pushed me away?” He said this in a way that it was just as much a statement as it was a question.

All I had to do was nod
,
and suddenly
,
the emotions
I
struggled to keep beneath the surface, hid
den
from Jameson, and even from myself, rushed forward. My lip began to tremble and my breath grew staggered. Finally, the tears that I
restrained for so long poured from me.

This was it. His withdrawal would begin here, at this very moment. He would recognize that self-preservation required him to distance himself from me. He would step back and his eyes would avoid me
,
and he would stay clear of me as we left this house. He’d keep his self-imposed distance from me during midnight lessons. At school during the day and evening classes on Wednesday, he would keep his eyes downcast
,
so they didn’t mistakenly catch mine. This was because he’d once had feelings for me and now we had become the enemies The Sevens had always wanted. I was certain this was our path, the future we need
ed
to endure.

But this wasn’t what happened.

Through my tears, I saw Jameson’s foggy shape move toward me, and his arms, thick and secure, embraced me, comforting me. His hands found their way to my cheeks, tenderly taking them and his lips settled over mine. They pressed against me insistently, desperately, moving in perfect unity.
When
he pulled away
,
his thumbs gently brush
ing
tears from my cheeks,
as
he stared at
me, evaluated
me.

“You’re still scared,” he stated.

There was no denying it. Even though the truth was out and he hadn’t fled from me, our future
didn’t
changed. I was still destined to take his life.

“Why?” he demanded.

When I couldn’t speak,
and
only a sob escape
d
, his eyes softened as he recognized the reason without
me
having to tell him.

Tender yet resolute, he made me a promise that took my breath away.

“I’m going to wear you down. I’m going to prove to you that you’re wrong. I’m going to show you there is nothing to fear.” He leaned his head closer to me
,
gazing at
me. “Do you understand? I will not give up on you.”

He was so confident
and
so self-assured
, I briefly
allowed myself to believe him. Sobbing
and
torn, I fell into his arms
,
as they encircled me, and for the first time in months
,
I felt like everything would
truly
be fine. We’d work through
whatever stood in our way,
like every successful couple throughout time. But
, from the far corners
of my mind
,
the voice of reason emerged
,
and I knew I was fooling myself. Neither of us was safe together.

Even while knowing this, I gave in to the need to be with him. I stood there for an
immeasurable
amount of time, untroubled by the fact we weren’t alone
,
because his arms protected me
,
and his
comforting,
powerful chest made me forget everything but him. This was my time of reprieve before I
was
forced to face the truth again.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered into my hair, sending a
shiver
down my spine. “I never stopped, Jocelyn,” he said
,
referring to our time apart. “I never stopped.”

“I didn’t stop, either, Jameson,” I pulled away from him just enough to meet his eyes. “I tried but I…I couldn’t.”

“I know,” he said, tenderly. “You didn’t have to tell me. I
can
see it in you.”

There was a glimmer, a playful spirit in his eyes again, one
I haven’t seen
since I
pulled away from him.

“It’s nice to know you’re back,” I whispered
,
and the smile tugging at his pale scar above his lip.

When we finally
realize
d
we were alone,
we saw
the door to the other room
had been
left open
.
Jameson slipped his hand into mine
, and
as challenging as it was to coax our feet, we moved in its direction. After finding our housekeepers and Castille in the parlor, we said a brief goodbye to Castille.
We
left the house and started back across town, yawning, exhausted, and
having no
idea that our night was just getting started.

I immediately noticed what was out of the ordinary, even before Jameson voiced it.

“Where are the Vires who should be guarding your house?” he asked
,
apprehensively
,
as we pulled to a stop in the driveway.

Miss Mabelle gave Miss Celia a questioning look and stepped from the car. I didn’t have an answer, either, and simply shrugged.

Jameson’s voice came again from the back of the car. “I have a bad…I don’t want you going in alone.”

“I won’t be. Miss Mabelle is here.”

He’d already made the decision before speaking it, starting to sit up. “I’m going with you,”

“No,” I urged
,
briskly. “If the Vires come back and find you here…” I allowed that threat to linger because the imagination of what they could do was far worse than
anything
I could dream up.

“It’s all right,” I encouraged. “It really is.” Although neither of us believed it
.
I unbuckled my seat belt
and
gave him a brief smile
as I
exited the car.

It turned out our intuition was correct.

As Miss Mabelle opened the door, I saw the destruction beyond her brawny shoulder. Every piece of Aunt Lizzy’s elaborate furnishings was destroyed
; furniture
toppled, its stuffing spilling from deep, serrated cuts
; glass
scattered across the floor, glittering in the light from the streetlamp behind us
; framed
pictures of our family broken, the photographs trampled and torn.

“Lizzy!” screamed Miss Mabelle, several octaves higher
,
and with more fear than I’
ve
ever heard emerge from her.