Birthright (Residue Series #2) (2 page)

“More will come…” she said. “And they’ll be coming for all of us.”

By midnight
,
I had done everything within my means to fall asleep.

I preoccupied myself
in the darkness
by moving a lamp across the room,
a
pencil along my small writing desk, a hanger from the doorknob to the closet, and a water glass from the nightstand to the windowsill - all without touching a single one.

Levitating had become second nature to me
.
I realized if
I wanted a real challenge
,
I’d have to move the entire house, which I briefly contemplated. Only Aunt Lizzy’s
potential
fury stopped me. An image of her puckered, freckled face and wiry, red hair
flashed
through my mind
;
I nearly laughed out loud
,
realizing she could look mad without trying.

The next image that filtered
into consciousness
was the very same one that kept me from falling asleep. There it was again…
the
breathtaking curve of his masculine jaw…the self-assured depths of his crystal
-
clear green eyes…the faint scar
accentuating
the seductive curve of his lips…

“Jameson…” I whispered
,
yearning for him while my heart
ached.

As a Caldwell, if I’d spoken his name just a few weeks ago – especially
in
a longing tone - I would have risked being tarred and feathered by my own family. As relatives of those who had been feuding for centuries, it was unthinkably egregious that Jameson and I would fall in love
, but despite the odds, we had.  Considering
what we’d gone through and our families agreeing to a fragile truce, one would think Jameson and I could openly see each other
, but
fate had a different plan for us.
After giving us love, it
teased us by keeping
us
at arm’s length.

No one could know.

Jameson slept only two streets away
,
but he might as well have been on the other side of the earth. We hadn’t said a single word to each other since the altercation in the bayou. It had been a week now
…
the longest seven days of my life.
In
an effort to thwart fate – or more precisely those who were against Jameson and I being together - every morning I timed my arrival at school
so our paths would cross
at his locker. In
our shared
second period class
,
I would sneak
looks at him. At lunch, I walked through the cafeteria, my eyes
sweeping
it
, trying
to catch just a glimpse of him. And every day
,
I’d
catch
him doing the same.

We were in love, within eyesight of each other, and we couldn’t give in to it.

I kicked the sheets off my bed and stood up, frustrated, looking for something else to consume my time until morning. Sleep was not going to be the answer
, and with
the house having been silent for the last two hours, socializing wouldn’t be
an option
. And
day
dreaming about Jameson certainly wasn’t going to
help any either
.

After slipping on a pair of
faded blue
jeans, knee-high mauve boots and a
soft
aqua sweater – an outfit far lighter than my mood - I opened my bedroom door
to find
I wasn’t the only one struggling with insomnia.

The dim flicker beneath the door across the hall from me and the smell of white sage drifting from the other side proved it. I mused silently at Miss Mabelle’s door
,
“P
racticing voodoo again
?
”
before making my way quietly down to the first level of the house.

The plush rooms
,
expertly designed by Aunt Lizzy and my cousin, Estelle, who both shared a flare for color, held no consolation. They were empty
and
lifeless,
compelling
me to keep walking.

After reaching the front door, any normal person would have spun around and found something to do…pick up a book, immersing themselves in another world…turn on the television
, captivating their thoughts…or retrieve their iPad
, mindlessly surfing the Internet. They would have
discarded the idea of leaving the house alone in the middle of the night. But
, a few months ago,
I had
already
accepted that I would never be normal.

The girl with the sparkling teeth and shiny hair rushing out the door for her first date on the latest TV series was a lofty and futile ambition. While I did have
a mouth full of
glistening
pearly whites
and a full head of inky black hair,
in addition to
a pair of long limbs and a plump mouth
…
I would never be that girl. Being a witch simply doesn’t fit well into that
scene.

However, because
of this circumstance, I was born with special talents. Levitation was one and the other was
the inspiration for me getting dressed and ending
up at the front door.

With that in mind, and the gleam of a thoughtful, satisfied smile pulling at my cheeks, I opened the door and slipped out into the darkness.

A mist drenched the Garden District where I lived
,
causing the streets of New Orleans to shimmer like a private wonderland. It rolled through the air, shrouding the streetlights and giving them iridescent veils, concealing the real world beyond
.
The night was tranquil, not a car or a voice or the flap of a bird’s wings broke the silence. It was as if I’d stepped into a painting.

The scene was misleading, though. Vires could be hiding in the darkness
,
so I had to be cautious.

Being fully awake now, there was no turning back. Stopping at the corner and swiveling my head to the right, I stared in the direction of the street that would take me to the Caldwells – or more importantly - to Jameson. I was drawn in that direction until
I frowned,
realizing I wouldn’t be able to see him anyways.

Still battling with discontent over
my
predicament, I took my typical route through the streets until I saw the multi-colored brick building
; it
always reminded me more of a college dormitory. But this wasn’t a place where people prepared themselves for the real world.
This was
the place
, with all its bodily fluids, the stench of stringent cleaning solutions and the soft elevator music that seemed out of sync with suspiciously beeping machines.
This wasn’t where people came to learn. Here, they came to be healed.
And that
is
precisely why I
came.

The emergency room lobby boasted
overstuffed
, black pseudo-leather furniture, polished wooden tables, and fluorescent lights so bright it took several seconds for your pupils to adjust. When they
finally acclimated
, I
saw
it was empty.

Slow night.

“Can I help you?” The voice came from a woman at the reception desk. Her name was Clarisse. I’d seen her here before
;
I wondered if she recognized me. The expression she gave me – suspicion – told me that she did. I guess frequently visiting an emergency room lobby without ever signing in
would
get a person noticed
.

No sooner
did
this thought pass through my mind
,
when
the doors I’d just stepped through
began rattling
behind me
, t
he commotion that followed quickly
escalating.

“Rear door,” panted a squat, deeply
tanned EMT. “Broken.”

He was pulling a gurney with a gunshot victim writhing in
gut-wrenching
pain. Another EMT, one much burlier with a thick beard, pushed from behind. “Damn door,” grunted the one pushing. “Told them to get it fixed.”

By this point, Clarisse was on her feet and circling around the desk, which required her to enter a hallway and pull open a set of double doors. Clearly, the hospital wasn’t set up to admit patients on gurneys through the lobby.

These few seconds were a blessing
…for
me and for the patient.
The time
allowed me to cross the tile floor toward
gurney
and
discreetly
brush my fingers along the edge of his toes. As I did, a surge of emotion ran through me
, flowing
into the man still
groaning and
squirming against the gurney’s straps.

I passed by undetected
and ensured
my whispered healing incantation
,
“Incantatio sana
,
”
was inaudible, as the EMTs
stayed
focused on the doors Clarisse was opening for them. I stopped and waited, keeping an eye on them.

Gradually, the patient’s erratic movement slowed
;
and
as he entered the corridor his head lifted, offering me a full view of his expression
, one of
curious amaze
ment.
A few minutes later, I
listened with amusement as
Clari
sse and the stout EMT discussed
the patient’s miraculous recovery.

I
then
waited
for an
hour
.
But not a single person entered
the lobby
;
and since Clarisse was giving me a wary eye,
I knew my work here was done. 

It was almost two o’clock in the morning
now
and t
he thick
mist outside hadn’t cleared
,
impairing my vision
.
I felt as if my legs were moving
,
but I wasn’t actually making any progress.
In fact, t
he
street signs
were my only indication of the distance I’d covered.
The air
was so thick that I didn’t immediately notice the mist’s abrupt stirring a few houses directly in front of me. I was halfway across the street when the
shadow
of a person appeared.

My heart stopped in my chest
before quickly starting to race.
That shape
,
and the proud stride it made
walking
down the sidewalk
,
was
engrained in my memory. I’d been watching it from afar for the last week…
well,
longer actually.

Coming toward me, as surreal as a dream, was Jameson.

However, his
easygoing nature was gone
, replaced
with
a tense, hurried pace.
His agate family stone bounced rapidly off his chest, dangling from a long chain.
The
ankle-length jacket
wrapped around
his shoulders was
hanging
open, flapping
wildly
against
his legs,
hastily responding to
the speed his legs
carried him.

Shocked, I opened my mouth, ready to call out his name when he raised a finger to his lips – a sign even a
five-year-old
would understand.

He wanted me to stay quiet.

I felt my eyebrows knit together in confusion
,
but by that time he’d reached me. Without a word, or even
slowing
his stride
, his hand came around mine and smoothly pulled me around in the direction I’d come
from
.
In five swift steps, he was leading
me through an
arched
entryway covered in sloping vines
. He
then
gently
planted me behind the wall of foliage
, extending
across a stranger’s property.