Birthright (Residue Series #2) (8 page)

Ms. Roquette, whether intentionally or not, had just
pointed
out our most dangerous enemies. Unfortunately, only one of them I knew by sight, Theleo.

My
antagonizing
thoughts
gradually dwindled down
, leaving
one in particular.
The
name Phillip Turcott began to repeat faintly in my mind.

If I was The
Relicuum,
he was after me
,
and I still had no idea how to identify him.

For the next hour, I tossed and turned, twisting myself around the bed sheet
. Just
as I dozed away…

Phillip Turcott…

Phillip Turcott…

Phillip Turcott…

Vires were threatening enough
,
but for some reason
,
this man sent a
pang
of fear through me.

In less
than a minute
,
I
was
downstairs
, although I
wasn’t
fully aware of where I was
headin
g
until my subconscious
stopped
me outside Aunt Lizzy’s study.

The door was ajar
,
and through the
opening,
I saw only one thing
.
Shelves stuffed with books.

While pushing
on the doorknob
,
my metal bracelet slid down
my arm;
the
quartz
crystal embedded in it tapp
ing
lightly against the wood. It was the only sound in the house
,
and it seemed to reverberate through the rooms. I
grumbled under my breath
at my lack of grace but didn’t hear anyone stir from upstairs.

Once inside, I located the desk lamp
and turned
it on,
but
it offered such
little
light
I almost turned it off again.
I then made
my way across her study
,
stumbling
on the carpet
and
catching
my toe on the leg of a foot rest. Just then, I began to wonder if my clumsiness was a
subconscious
sign
proving my apprehension about being here.
I paused
and
evaluated that thought,
finding
it to be true.
Although
I wasn’t sure what I was going to find
,
I didn’t expect it to be all that comforting.
Shoving my worries aside, I
began squinting in the darkness, reading off the titles of the books Aunt Lizzy had collected.

Having been in her study once before, I had perused her assortment but didn’t recall seeing the name Turcott on any of
the books
.
After a thorough sweep, I resigned
myself
to the fact that it was because there wasn’t any. There was, however, a book given the general title RELICUUM. Curious
,
I pulled it from the shelf and took a seat at the desk
where, thankfully, the light was more suitable.

It was winter in New Orleans
,
and cold weather had a way of creeping inside old houses. Aunt Lizzy’s being no different
;
it was chilly as I sat in her study
,
but
that wasn’t
why goose bumps spread
across my arms.
It was the words. As
I voraciously devoured them unlike any I’d ever read,
they stirred within me, causing the bumpy reaction.
By the time Miss Mabelle cleared her throat loudly from the doorway, I was trembling
,
and my stomach felt queasy.

I didn’t even jump. Fear already had
an unrelenting hold
on me.

“Could you…” My voice sounded weak, which I hated. After clearing the tightness from my
vocal chords,
I started again. “Could you get me a cup of something warm?”

I expected her to retort with something callous like “Git yer own damn tea” or “Whatchoo think this is? Some café?” But she turned and headed for the kitchen, bringing back a mug of steaming, black li
quid. I didn’t ask what it was;
I didn’t really care at this point. Judging from
the taste of it
,
I
determined it was
a custom tea mixture.

She took a seat on the guest chair across from the desk,
leaning
her ubiquitous cane against the wall, and folded her hands across her protruding belly.
She was waiting,
staring unabashedly
,
until I spoke.

I knew my voice
carried a tone of rid
icu
le,
but somehow
,
I was unable to control
it. T
he stream of words that tumbled out
was
candid
,
leaving
no question as to how I felt.

“
I
had
finally conceded that my relatives – the entire line of them – are witches. Took me a while
,
but I did it. Then
,
I accepted my ability to heal…” I paused
,
pushing back the remorse at not having acknowledged it sooner. “I’ve accepted it…
accept
it and use it as often as I can.
I’ve
also
appreciated the fact that I can levitate. It’s the one gift I really enjoy exercising.” Stopping again, this time I sighed and warily dropped my head against the back of the chair. It was shaking in refusal by the time I lifted it again. “But I can’t be The Relicuum. I can’t. I’m just a fluke, an accident
that
happens to be more capable at healing and levitation than the rest of our world. Being more capable doesn’t make me The Relicuum.” I leaned back in the chair
again,
but only briefly. The nerves in my body wouldn’t allow me to stay still for very long. “No one even knows how to identify The Relicuum. They’re just assuming I’m the one.”

She paused before answering, clearly deciding if and what to say.
In
perfect
enunciation
, as if Miss Mabelle had heard it countless times before, she
proceeded to
unmistakably
define the person
known to be The Relicuum
. “Born in September
,
under the full moon, she will be raised without a family. Innocence will prevail
,
until witnessing the first death. She will reside
,
at one point in her life or many
,
within the Crescent City. Love will rescue her.” She paused to assess my reaction
, though,
I wasn’t certain I showed any.
She
continued. “Discovery is particularly dangerous for her. This is because after finding a home…her enemies will find her. From then on, only her gifts will keep her alive.”

She stood,
lift
ing
the thick cover of the book in front of me
,
and opened it to a page I hadn’t read yet. There, in the second paragraph, were the exact words she’d just spoken. I shifted uncomfortably in the desk chair
…
I fit that description perfectly.

It dawned on me
,
if she could recount those details
,
I was
sure
there was
at least
one other person who could do the same. Phillip Turcott
. My
intuition
was urgently telling me he
was using
those same
criteria to identify and locate me at this very moment.

I took a sip from my mug
and waited for the hot liquid to leave
a singed trail down my esophagus, both warming
me
and distracting me from my thoughts, before allowing my attention to return to the page.

“Yeyas,” Miss Mabelle stated,
confidently
. “I know’s about The Relicuum.”
Having
returned to her traditional southern
dialect
and preferred linguistics, she somehow comforted
me. I didn’t want Miss Mabelle to change. She was a rock
:
strong, sturdy, and independent.
Not
only did I like her that way, I needed her to be that way.

“Do you know what she’s expected to do?”

“Save her people.” Her voice was
blunt, emphasizing
the weight of
her
statement. “But that ain’t gonna happen any time soon.”

“Why?” I
hesitantly
asked
.

“The Relicuum’s a spoiled little girl right now. No idea’s what she possesses. No idea how ta use it. N’ no interest in learnin’. Wouldn’t trust her with an old brick.”

Miss Mabelle knew I was fighting the
possibility
of being The Relicuum
,
so her
words stung me.

“Chil’ probably don’t even know what relicuum means…”

“What does it mean?”

“Residue,” she uttered flatly.

“Oh…” I immediately felt humble
d
.

My gaze dropped to the desk where Aunt Lizzy’s papers were scattered beneath the book I’d been reading. Ironically, Miss Mabelle had just given me more insight about The Relicuum than
the book offered. What
she said was simple.

The Relicuum wasn’t prepared. Nor did she show any sign
of
wanting to be. If I was
The
Relicuum,
this
was absolutely correct.

Miss Mabelle groaned,
rolling
her rotund body forward, and stood up. “She got to understand, to accept her fate. Only then can she learn. Can’t do nothin’ until that happens. Be like tryin’ to boil an egg without water.
Just
don’t work.” I wasn’t sure exactly how that applied
,
but
I
understood it as
a
southern woman’s
analogy for
being impossible.

She swiped her hand at the handle of her cane so that it slapped loudly against her palm as she seized it. Then
,
she waddled toward the door.

I watched her body sway from side to side, appearing larger than life to me in that moment. A moving statue
:
strong, resilient,
and
unyielding.

“When it be time…Then we git ta work. Got to prepare fer yer birthright,” she
said,
her normally terse tone replaced with an unusually soft and calming inflection.
“Ya don’t know it yet - no one in yer world does - but ya need ta prepare fer yer killin’.”

“Killing?” I said
,
loud enough to jar her. “I’m not killing anyone.”

Stopping midway through the door, she glanced
back at me,
and for the first time I saw sympathy in her eyes. “S’ part of yer birthright, Jocelyn. Can’t be denied. War ends with yer killin’ of The Nobilis.”

She circled the edge of the door as if she were pivoting around and disappeared into the darkness
.
I heard her scuffle along the hardwood floors and back up the creaky stairs to her bedroom.

Her final statement
invaded
my
whole being
,
taking over my consciousness so forcefully
I knew it would never be erased
. S
haking,
I
remained seated, unable to
bring myself to move until her bedroom door clicked shut.

The next day, classes were uninspiring in comparison to all I’d learned the night before. It wasn’t the fault of my teachers
.
There was simply nothing they could have said that would deliver nearly as much impact. Calculating the light years from a star in a galaxy I’d never heard of and
studying
who ruled the empires of early Africa just didn’t measure up.