Birthright (Residue Series #2) (37 page)

“You sure?” he asked Miss Celia again, tilting his chin at her. “Just got in. Different time zone.”

“Yes,” said Miss Celia
,
almost jumping
into
the front seat of Miss Mabelle’s car. “We don’t have the time.” Then she slammed the door behind her.

I was thankful for the darkened windows of Miss Celia’s vehicle
,
or the man might have seen Jameson in the rear seat, which would have
divulged
the fact that we were spending time together. While he
very well
could be just a
n average
stranger on the street, something told me he was from our world. Another good look at him
confirmed
I was right. On the top of his watch, implanted in the lid was a
moldavite
stone.

As Miss Celia started the engine and pulled away from the curb, there was a smirk on the man’s face
,
as if he knew we had the time and were too disturbed by his presence to tell him.
Although after looking again, the smirk exuded a smug satisfaction, like he’d just
caught a prized animal.

“Who was that?” I asked, turning in my seat to find the man rotating entirely around to watch us leave. His legs were apart,
poised,
as the lamp
’s light
drenched him from
above, creating
uncanny shadows beneath him.

Jameson put it together first. “That was Phillip Turcott, wasn’t it?”

The fact that our housekeepers were unresponsive told us he was correct.

Phillip Turcott, my mind
was racing,
trying to place the name. I was in
such
a hurry
,
I
didn’t immediately settle on where I
heard the name
before
.
The
image of Ms. Roquette standing before our class
,
discussing notable Vires came to mind.
My
next thought
was more of
a question.

What is Phillip Turcott doing in our city?

Jameson, as if reading my mind, answered it for me. “He’s found us.”

Phillip Turcott’s arrival sent a tremor through our families.
It also
sent a shockwave through the rest of those in our world
,
as word
passed
about who
he was and what he did for a living.
The Weatherfords and the Caldwells made certain everyone else was watching for him too, knowing this
was the only way to ensure we knew when
he
would make
an appearance
.
While he
lived on the verge of absolute anonymity before, now he was a spectacle.
And n
one of us
expected the resulting fervor that followed.

The gossip raged through our private world
for
one reason
…

If Phillip Turcott was in the city
,
he must think either The Relicuum or The Nobilis
was
here
also.

Whisperings of
this suspicion
could be found in every store, at every gathering,
and
within every clique and coven.
Suspense
rose to an almost feverish pitch
each time
Turcott was spotted at a French Quarter shop or
attending
an event held by someone in our world.
All the commotion made it feel
as if Turcott’s presence indicated a celebrity would soon
be arriving
in the city.

News, even more disturbing than that of his arrival,
reached me at lunch one day a few weeks after he
first appeared.

We
were
teasing Estelle about her bright purple silk blouse when Vinnia slid onto the bench at our
lunch
table on the school patio.

“He’s asking about you,” she announced, keeping an eye on me
while pulling
out her sandwich.

The
hand holding my sandwich halted midway to my mouth.

Vinnia saw my nerv
ous reaction
and nodded, assuring me I’d heard correctly.

“What kind of questions?” I asked,
and I lowered
my sandwich
,
no longer interested in food
.

She
successfully gained
the attention of all my cousins then
.

“He’s asking about your likes,
your
dislikes, your friends, your famil
y…”
She paused
, allowing her answer
to register with the rest of the table. “
You know, those
kinds of questions.”

She watched as nearly everyone around the table lost their appetite
,
too,
shoving
their lunch aside
;
all but Nolan
,
who continued chewing. Nothing
ever
seemed to faze him.

“Turcott’s doing it subtly
,
but it’s being noticed.”

“So
,
he’s evaluating me,” I clarified.

“Yes…” she replied
,
her voice heavy and reserved. “He is.” She let that sink in before adding, “He’s also asking about where you go after school and on the weekends.”

I
stifled
a groan
because I’d
been sneaking out on healing errands every day since Jameson had taken me
, trying
to ease my pain
of our separation
. The
se errands
gave me
a sense of relief
.
I had fallen
into
a comforting routine
,
losing Theleo
-
or the Vire trailing me
-
and
stealthily rotating
between the hospitals and clinics around the city.

“You’ll need to hold off for a while,” Oscar said
,
openly acknowledging that he and my other cousins knew about my secret trips.

“No,” I said
, emphatically
.

My cousins exchanged hesitant looks.

“He’s just another Vire,” I concluded.

“Who clearly has an interest in you,” Estelle pointed out.

“It’s too risky,” Spencer stated.

“People out there need help.”
Truthfully,
the excursions were as healing for me as
they were
for those I
healed. Either way, I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t.

“
Y
ou won’t be able to offer
any help if
you’re dead,” Nolan said, always managing to bring in a hint of the gruesome
in
to what
ever
we were discussing. His insinuation was a good one though. I had to admit. But it still didn’t change my mind.

“I’m not going to hole myself up because of them.” I knew I was being indignant
,
but I wouldn’t
back
down. They recognized it and ended the conversation there, wisely.

The next day
,
I learned the harsh reality
of
why they were so insistent.

It was Saturday
,
and I stayed true to my word, awakening
just before dawn
to crackling thunder and preparing for a day-long healing errand. I made my usual check on the Vires outside the house
and found
two of them
standing in puddles at our gate
, neither one being Theleo
.
They were suffering through the downpour with coats pulled
up
over their heads. Because of the weather, their focus was far less on our house and far more on trying to avoid the rain
presently assaulting them.

“Perfect,” I muttered
,
excitedly
,
and headed for the back door.

I couldn’t have asked for a better cover and easily lost my
Vire-
shadow on the streets.

Spending the next few hours on my rotations, curing those accessible in hospital waiting rooms, made me feel free
,
despite the threat of Turcott’s presence in the city. I was being irresponsible,
and
I acknowledged
this
s
everal times throughout the day
but my compulsion to bring aid to others
blatantly disregarded the forewarning.

By late afternoon my stomach was rumbling
and
,
being on my way to a clinic on the eastside of the French Quarter, I decided to make a quick stop at Café Du Monde. The storm had passed
,
which brought out the sun and the tourist
s
,
so it was busy enough beneath the green and white shade to blend in and hide sufficiently from any passing Vires.

I bought an order of sweet, powdery beignets and
strong,
black chicory coffee
,
and then choose
an inconspicuous seat near the center. The coffee
tasted bitter but
woke me right up and the beignets gave me the sugar I needed to stay alert.

The Jackson Square vendors
were
busy today, despite the early morning weather. Tourists perused the work of local painters
,
who lined their canvases along the wrought iron
fence
surrounding Jackson Square
,
and the mystics
’
tables were full and bustling too.

I
then
heard the deep rumble of a motorcycle on the opposite side of the park. Knowing who it would be, I finished the last of my beignet and strolled toward the sound, keeping beneath the eaves to stay unnoticeable.

I hadn’t spoken to her since nearly fainting in the hallway at school
, which
left us on awkward ground,
and
I didn’t want
that
. I figured a quick hello would clear
everything
up. But as I reached the corner of the park, Maggie and Eran came
into
view, along with her current customer.
Jameson sat in the chair opposite Maggie. Unfortunately,
Eran saw me
approaching
and motioned for me to join them
before I could turn back
.

Catching on, the customer
turned
in his seat
, and
after recognizing
me
,
his
eyes widened in surprise.

T
here was no stopping now. So, I continued my stroll, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi,” I said when reaching them, smiling to
chase away
my nerves
.

By this point,
Jameson
was standing and staring at me, awaiting my reaction.

“Jameson,” I said with a casual nod
in his direction.

“Jocelyn,” he replied
,
just as rigidly.

An uncomfortable silence
followed, surrounding
the four of us
.
 

“I’m-I’m sorry. Did I…
did
I make a mistake?” Eran asked, rapidly trying to assess the situation. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”

“Was,” I
countered.
“He was.”

“Oh,” he replied
uncomfortably
.

Maggie didn’t seem as uneasy with Jameson and my new relationship status. She had something else on her mind, a question that I couldn’t have expected
.
While gawking at Jameson, she asked,
“So why are you asking to speak to her father?”

He
reacted by snapping
his
mouth
closed.

“He is?” I asked and turned to Jameson. “You are?”