Residue (32 page)

But the words never came out.

Instead, he lifted his head and looked at me. And then his face fell because he’d seen something over my shoulder. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared just before he stated urgently, “Whatever you tell her, it can’t involve the swamp.”

This sudden change in his behavior and the course of the conversation threw me a bit. “Ha?”

“
Don’t tell her that you were in the swamp these last three days.” These words rushed passed his lips as if he were fighting against time to release them.

I couldn’t understand why he’d start talking about the swamp or the fact that he didn’t want me to mention I’d been there or who he was referring to by “her”. Then the car door to my right swung open and I rotated my head toward the person, ready to demand they close it. But my mouth clamped shut.

Because I was suddenly staring in to my mother’s eyes.

19 MISSING

“
Are you all right?”

It was the second time my mother asked the question before I gained enough control to ask, “What are you doing here?”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Attitude. It means you’re all right.”

Only slightly offended, I retorted, “Yes, I’m fine.” And then followed it with, “Mom, what are you doing here?”

In turn, she gawked at me. “I should be asking you the same question.”

My first thought was that she’d noticed who I was sitting with, a Caldwell, but that wasn’t what she was referring to.

“
You’ve been missing for three days.”

“
Two,” I corrected her.

“
Three,” she stated. “You left school on Monday. It is now Wednesday. I was called back because they couldn’t find you.”

“
You left the ministry?”

“
Where have you been?” she repeated, avoiding my question.

She still had one hand on the open door and the other propped against the cab’s frame, leaning forward toward me. She looked very imposing.

“
Where?” she demanded.

“
I went to heal others outside the city,” I explained. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Her eyes widened. “Notice? We’ve contacted almost everyone in the province. We hired channelers to give us a hint as to where you were.” She stopped, shaking her head, her mouth hanging open, speechless. Then she found her voice again and I wished she hadn’t. “What have I always taught you? Safety first. You have to think, Jocelyn. You can’t go running off on a whim.”

“
I was safe,” I declared.

She stared at me briefly and then asked, “And do I have you to thank for it?”

My mother was now leaning to the side in order to peer around me at Jameson.

When I turned to look at him, I found him staring back at her with intensity, almost sternly.

“
It helps if you speak,” she said. “I don’t channel.”

In any other world, outside our society, this would have been funny. But my mother actually meant it.

“
Yes,” he replied tightly. “You can thank me for it.”

Her eyes fell to his neck then and instantly it was me who was tense. She’d caught sight of his chain, from which his family stone hung.

“
Which Caldwell are you?” she asked firmly.

“
Jameson.”

“
All right,” she said, without a hint of opposition. She did take a few seconds to assess him, looking him up and down as any parent concerned for their child’s welfare would. But this was no simple comparison. He was a Caldwell. She should have been yanking me out of the truck by this point, terrified, angry, and screaming demands not to come around me again. She did none of these things. In fact, she did the exact opposite. “Thank you, Jameson, for bring her home safely.”

He blinked several times, as stunned as I was. There was no inhibition, no surprise, no incredulity in her reaction. It was as if Jameson were a Smith.

“
You’re…welcome,” he replied uncertainly.

“
If you wish to see her again, you’ll need to ask me beforehand. Understood?”

His forehead folded in astonishment and I knew he was trying to determine if she was playing some sort of perverse practical joke on him.

“
Do you understand?” she prompted in her typical straight forward manner, the kind that always intimidated me.

It was a colossal testament that he didn’t waver. “Yes,” he replied.

“
Do you have our phone number here at the house?”

“
No.”

She glanced around the cab. “Then I’ll need a piece of paper and a pen.”

“
I’ll remember it.”

Finally, she showed some measure of surprise but it was in relation to his excellent memorization skills. Not what I expected. Then she prattled off the number. “Repeat it back to me please,” she demanded, verifying that he’d, in fact, remembered it.

He did and she seemed impressed. Then she launched in to a set of instructions that left me thoroughly confused, and I was certain Jameson felt the same way.

“
Now when you do see Jocelyn again she will need to be home, nightly, before the eleven o’clock hour. She will not be pulled out of classes again, day or evening. She will not go beyond the city limits. Further rules may apply but you seem like an intelligent young man. Use your best judgment and we shouldn’t have a problem. However, if any of these rules are broken you will suffer the consequences. And you, being a Caldwell, know full well that I, being a Weatherford, am prepared to deliver on that threat.”

“
You’re allowing me to see your daughter, Ms. Weatherford?” asked Jameson, thoroughly confused at this point.

“
Only if you follow the rules. Any rules are broken and…” she let her voice trail off.

When he didn’t respond, she hinted, “And…?”

“
I’ll suffer the consequences,” he answered slowly.

“
Good,” she stated. “You should do fine.” She finally turned back to me, drawing a breath, preparing to tell me to get out of the car when he cut her off.

“
Ms. Weatherford,” he said. “Do you know anything about me?” Given the conversation so far, I didn’t blame him for asking.

Then my mother chattered off his profile, one she’d clearly researched. “You maintain a 3.9 GPA. You drive a silver Range Rover. You’re headed for an Ivy League college…if you don’t screw it up. Your favorite food is shrimp po’boys and you like a wide range of music. You channel…and though it is not widely known, you are one of the best at it. Casting is difficult for you because your other gift absorbs the abundance of your energy. That doesn’t sum you up but it is a good start.”

Though he didn’t admit it, I’d say my mother actually taught him something about himself. I wasn’t surprised. She was always prepared.

“
I meant…about my family?” he specified.

She stared at him and then replied flatly, “Your family and I have a lot of talking to do.” Without mentioning it, she confirmed that she understood the history between the Caldwells and Weatherfords and yet she was still all right with two of us seeing each other.

Jameson and I were stumped, but we weren’t able to reel in it for long. She stepped to the side and said, “I need your help, Jocelyn. Your cousins have gone missing, too.”

I gave Jameson a quick, baffled look, which he returned, and then I stepped out of the truck.

“
Remember what we discussed, Jameson,” she warned through the window after slamming the door.

“
I won’t, Ms. Weatherford,” he said and then his eyes drifted to me. They changed from confusion to longing, telling me that he didn’t want to leave. I understood because I felt the same way.

“
Jocelyn,” my mother called from the walkway leading to the porch but I didn’t turn until Jameson pulled away from the curb. Then I saw her and my breath caught.

Standing there in her grey business suit, her dark black hair curling down around her shoulders, she looked like someone who’d just come home from work and was about to prepare a healthy, balanced dinner. It was the image, the hope I’d carried with me the first few years at the academy in New York now actualized right before my eyes. It had defined my dreams of living a normal home life with a normal family. But I realized right then and there that I…we would never be normal. We were witches. We lived a secret existence. We moved things without touching them, cured others without pills or surgery, controlled the elements, channeled energy from one source to another. Just as significant, our world was far more treacherous than the one I’d dreamt of as a little girl. I knew that my cousins’ disappearance was not something to be taken lightly. So by the time I’d reached the walkway my focus was on them.

“
They weren’t in school today,” my mother said when we’d entered the foyer and the door was closed behind us. “Their casting supplies, all of them, are gone.”

“
That’s odd. Practicals - meaning exams - are a few weeks away,” I said, contemplating.

“
Yes, I remember practicals,” she replied and I thought about her name etched into the wall on the roof of our school.

I followed her into the library hearing her muttering about one down, five more to go and where they might be. “Lizzy is checking their friends’ houses and the shops they frequent. I’ve been on the phone with…others.” She didn’t offer any more details. After dropping into Lizzy’s desk chair, she tilted back, staring at the ceiling. “Let me think.”

That always meant leave her alone. So I took a seat too. Minutes passed but she didn’t speak again so I strolled around the room. It was only the second time I’d been in it and never knew it had so much information to offer. After perusing books on spells, hexes, and the casting of different cultures, Miss Mabelle appeared in the door.

“
Any word?” she asked, tensely.

My mother, absorbed in her thoughts, didn’t answer.

“
Nothing yet,” I replied.

“
Hmmm,” she muttered and turned to walk away, not bothering to offer dinner because it was the last thing on her mind. What struck me was the concern she showed. It was the first time I’d ever seen Miss Mabelle afraid for anyone. This didn’t sit well with me because it meant that their disappearance had even broken through her tough exterior.

The clock ticked on and with it being the only sound in the house it was loud and unsettling, as if each second going by were another clue that my cousins weren’t coming home any time soon. Eventually, the hands approached the hour when my evening class was supposed to start so I stood, found a piece of paper and pen on Aunt Lizzy’s desk, and scratched a note on it.

“
Where are you going?”

The sound of my mother’s voice caught me off guard so that I’d ended my name with a jagged line across the paper.

“
To class. They might show up there.”

She nodded. “I’ll drive.”

We took my car since it was the only one in the driveway, my cousins and Aunt Lizzy having all taken theirs to wherever they were now. When we pulled out the vacancy in front of the house was unnerving.

Our drive was silent as I searched for their vehicles on the road. It was even more disturbing when I found my mother doing the same thing. Then she let me in on what was going through her mind and I became even more apprehensive.

“
Kids leaving school without permission…that does happen. But all siblings leaving at once and not returning home. That’s telling. And it tells me that somewhere…someone is in trouble.” The side of her mouth dropped in a frown as she pulled up to the curb across from my school and turned off the engine.

Then I gasped.

“
They’re here,” I stated, my chest swelling with relief.

“
How do you know?”

“
Their cars…” I waved my hand toward the row of them parked on the opposite side of the street.

My heart leapt at the sight of another vehicle - a silver Range Rover - parked a few places behind theirs.

Jameson had come, too.

My mother’s frown hadn’t changed yet, which told me that she was still unsure. She confirmed it when saying, “I’m coming in.”

So together we walked down the tunnel and into the courtyard where the last of the students were filtering into their designated rooms. I marched toward my cousins’ classroom and glanced through the door. Similar in style to mine, there were no chairs so it took a few seconds to search the collected groups.

“
I don’t see them,” said my mother’s voice over my shoulder.

“
No,” I replied uneasily. “They’re not here.”

Spinning around, I headed directly for Ms. Veilleux’s office, with my mother at my side.

The door was ajar so we pushed it aside without knocking. It was just as old and weathered as the other rooms but her furniture was plush and comfortable. Lamps and candles gave the room a soft glow, barely illuminating the artifacts given by Mr. Thibodeaux to Ms. Boudreaux for showing in class. Set on a bookshelf, they were casting odd shadows up the walls.

We found Ms. Veilleux at her desk, casually scribbling her signature on a stack of documents. When she glanced up, her expression changed from indifference to apprehension.