Birthright (Residue Series #2) (14 page)

Trying to
maintain my balance
and
get my bearings, I reached my hand out and laid it against the door. From the outside, the closet appeared to be feeble and wooden. Inside, it was cold, hard
, fireproof
steel. Essentially, we’d just been shoved inside a vault.

While I was amazed at the security it
offered
, the thickness of
the
walls didn’t allow us to hear anything but our own breath
ing.

Jameson realized this, too, and sighed.

“No…” I said, speaking to a wall of pitch black. “We can’t hear them…” A moment later, I asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

I turned around, mentally envisioning where he’d ended up before the door closed, and very unsteadily
shuffled
in his direction. Keeping my hands low, so I didn’t poke out an eye, I searched for him in the dark, stopping when the back of my fingers settled against something warm and firm.

“Careful,” he warned
,
roguishly. “Any lower and…”

I laughed in response, amazed that he could tease in his physical state
and
in light of what was
unfolding
on the other side of the door. I turned my hand around
, feeling
the lower part of his
stomach and
the
contact sent excitement surging through me
as I
flattened my palm
.

He moaned
, acknowledging his reaction
.

“Jameson, this is not the time or the place.”

“Tease,” he whispered
,
playfully. “What are you doing down there, anyways?”

After uttering
“Incantatio sana”
,
I heard a disappoint
ed
groan
escape
him.

“You know, you don’t sound so tired any more…” I hinted.

No sooner were the words out of my mouth did I feel Jameson’s body collapse, my fingertips brushing against his skin as he
dropped
to the ground.

“Jameson!” I screamed
,
louder than I should have
, falling
to my knees
, and
searching for him until
my hands found him again.
As I traced his torso, I found his head lying angled and pressed against the wall.
When I
lifted
it
, it was listless.

“I’m feeling a little sick,” he finally acknowledged before trying to say my name. “Jocel-”

But he never finished it.

“Jameson?” I said, the sound of my increasing
ly
nervous pant unsettling me in the dark. “Jameson!”

When he didn’t respond
,
I
carefully
laid
his head
back
down
and went rummaging for the door, slamming my fingers
into it in my haste.
Ignoring the pain, I listened for sounds on the opposite side
before proceeding
.

I didn’t know what to expect when
I
opened
the door,
but there was no time to waste worrying about it. Jameson needed help – the kind I obviously couldn’t give him. This realization sent a chill through me, surmounting the frigid temperature of the door against my skin.

Unable to find a door handle, I resorted to the only other thing I could use. Body weight.
Positioning
my shoulder against it, I pushed with everything I had in me.

It budged.

I shoved again.

A sliver of light appeared, giving me hope.

After another few strong
heaves
,
the opening was
large
enough for me to slip out.

I
quickly glanced back at Jameson. H
is legs
were still
sprawled
across the floor, but he was
attempting to lift his head.

Terror
,
unlike anything I’d ever felt before
,
gripped me.
Lasting a brief second, my muscles froze, my mind went blank, and my breathing stopped completely.

Even the screech
ing noise
behind me didn’t disrupt my
stupor.
It did, however, get me moving again.

Mr. Thibodeaux was now stricken with the same hex as all the others, cowering in the corner, arms and legs bent defensively against his body, shuttering. He was mumbling something under his breath
, but
I didn’t pay attention to
what he was saying,
until I was within arms distance from him.
The
n his
words
assiduously
broke through my frenzy.

“Bind the mind from all that be. Then coax that beast for all to see.”

By my best guess,
this was the incantation Mrs. Gaul used to incapacitate him,
and
very likely every one of those we’d visited tonight. It didn’t matter. The man was too far gone. There would be no way to get Jameson out the door without Mr. Thibodeaux attacking.

I
bent down
in front of him, mindful
of what I was about to do,
but
completely apathetic. Without warning,
his hands were
ferociously
swinging at me, slamming into my head,
and
battering my ears. I felt no pain, only the curl of my lip
as it formed
into a snarl
.
I was
so completely
focused
on my task at hand
no
amount of
abuse would keep me from it.

The words were already
rushing
out of my mouth
,
as my hand came in contact with his leg.

“Incantatio sana!”

Without waiting to
witness
the result, I spun from my
position
and lunged
in
to a sprint. Hauling the closet door open, I found Jameson unconscious.

Seeing
this usually-powerful and once-healthy man weaken
right in front of me caused my chest to tighten and provoked a powerful force
within me
, one more volatile than I
even
knew existed.
I
normally
looked to
him
for strength,
and
now I was left to find strength on my own.
Summoning it, I used every bit that emerged.

I didn’t immediately claim credit for what
happened next
.
The closet door swung wide open, slamming against the wall behind it
and
vibrating the floor where I stood. The front door flew off its hinges and flipped out across the courtyard.
Unexpectedly,
Jameson was in the air, his limbs dangling helplessly beneath him
,
as he
effortless
ly
floated
through the room and out into the night. I
frantically
followed behind, sensing that my energy was the one levitating him
.
Meeting
him in the courtyard
, I placed
my hand in his.

“
Incantatio s
ana
,”
I said
,
anxiously,
not recognizing my own voice. “
Incantatio s
ana
.”

The words
poured from me
again, repeating over and over, spilling so quickly from my lips that they
turned into
a stream of unintelligible
chatter.

It wasn’t until we were in the air did I realize that my incantation wasn’t going to work.

“This isn’t the flu,” Burke pointed out, lightly touching a finger to Jameson’s hand. He seemed to be channeling,
in order to measure and assess
what was happening.

“No,” agreed Charlotte, her arms
were
crossed,
and
her head dipped as she surveyed him. “This is something more.”

After
we landed
on the Caldwell front porch - me, shaking and muttering my incantation; Jameson, pale and unconscious – they ushered us
in,
maneuvering
through the house
, and
in
to Jameson’s bedroom on the second floor.
Now,
Jameson was lying in his bed, surrounded by
his
siblings. I
was sitting
beside him, attempting to keep my hand wrapped around
his
cold, clammy fingers,
as I fought
back the shakes and the terror that kept threatening to surface.

Burke caught Charlotte’s gaze. “Ninth century?” he asked, guardedly.

“Seventh.” Her voice was tight
,
which meant that was not good.

“Charlatan?” suspected Alison.

Charlotte’s head snapped around toward Dillon, her eyes demanding the answer.

Dillon shook his head in disagreement. “No, the person who did this was legitimate.”

“Haiti?” asked Burke.

“I think…” Dillon
debated,
staring at Jameson as a doctor would when
evaluating
a particularly confusing ailment. “It’s nomadic. It’s a blend
,
from casts around the world
…which
means…” Dread
spread
across his face
,
as
the
words failed to materialize.

“What?”
Charlotte’s demand was laced with exasperation.

He answered hesitantly, so weak I didn’t think I heard him correctly at first.

“It will be resilient.”

That helped m
e understand
what the Caldwells were determining. Jameson’s ailment wasn’t a sudden, severe case of the common cold. And it didn’t just border on the mystical world. It was deeply engrained in it.

This was a virulent curse that hadn’t shown itself since the seventh century.

Before erupting, there
was a silent, motionless pause
,
as everyone in the room processed this information.

“Miss Celia! Pictures!”
Burke called out, not allowing time for her to appear, but instead, I assumed, left to retrieve them himself.

“I’ll get my reserves,” Dillon shouted
,
already stepping out in
to
the hall.

Charlotte’s hand came up and began flicking toward objects. The window beside Jameson’s bed lifted and the items along the flat surfaces of Jameson’s furniture slid off to the side, landing in a neatly composed pile on the floor.
Exercising her
levitation abilities, she seemed to be preparing his room for what was to
follow.

Alison had already launched herself toward Jameson’s dresser and began digging through its drawers.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, hoping they could offer some help.

“Australian
Outback
…”
replied Alison
,
tersely
as she
opened and slammed
each drawer furiously. I
got the clear, distinct sense that
she didn’t like the thought of us handling this on our own. “Meeting with Aboriginal medicine men.” She grunted
, slamming
the last drawer back in place. “Damnit!  Where’s his supply bag?”

“The closet,” said Burke
.
He had returned
to the room, haphazar
dly carrying a stack of frames, which he
went about positioning around the room, displaying the faces of past Caldwells
and showing
their agate family stone
present
somewhere
with
in each image.

Dillon reappeared with a small armament of supernatural tools under his arms and
diligently
began setting up on a desk in the corner.