Prophecy (Residue Series #4) (10 page)

“Stillo,” Estelle finished with unabated satisfaction.

“Wait!” Jocelyn shouted, because she remembered what I had – that the cast over the bayou had been lifted. Unfortunately, we were too late.

When Charlotte’s mouth began to drool I mentally translated the Latin word ‘stillo’, although watching the result would have been sufficient.

“Dribble?” asked Dillon, who was still studying the language.

And that’s exactly what Charlotte’s mouth began to do. Slowly at first, and then flowing to a rapid gush, until she was left bent over, cupping the spit pouring from her mouth.

6
BAD BLOOD

“
R
ECANT!” MY MOTHER SHOUTED IN A
way I’d never heard before. “Recant your cast right now!”

But Mrs. Weatherford didn’t seem capable of letting that haranguing go by without addressing it. “If your daughter would keep her mouth closed, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.”

Her message was twofold, and we all knew it. Charlotte shouldn’t have provoked a fight, but because she had, Lizzy was going to mock her for the drool.

Several snickers hissed at that remark, all of which came from the Weatherford side. And that was the spark that lit up the room. A second later it became a maelstrom, a disorganized symphony of casts and chants.

“Sanguis innocentium…”

“Scale of serpent, claw of cat…”

“Copias bonum…”

“…make way for the unrepentant, and pack on the fat.”

“Damn it,” I muttered rushing in front of Jocelyn, blocking with my arms outstretched, confronting my family in a way I had never done. There was no remorse, not from me, not as the screams around me grated my ears. They were all in a defensive mode now, but would soon shift to offense, and Jocelyn would be their intended target.

Watching the speed at which their lips moved and the lust for retaliation in their eyes, I knew I didn’t have much time.

“Jocelyn,” I called over my shoulder. “Back up. Slowly.”

Her hand came around my waist, and I felt some measure of relief to know she was there, and functioning. And then we began the gradual, tense trek toward the door.

In our agonizingly slow pace backwards, I kept my focus on the rest of them, cataloguing the effect of every cast. Jocelyn’s aunt and uncle, Lester and Lizzy, had their eyelids seared shut, blinding them into powerlessness. Isabella was bleeding from both ears, intermittently shaking her head as if that might clear whatever cast had settled over her. Regardless, she remained undeterred, her lips moving faster than anyone’s in the room. Vinnia was a strong force, too. Despite the icy cast set on her, and the shimmer of frost on her skin, she actually leaned toward my family, into the fight, teeth chattering as she sent casts back. Estelle, who had always come across as flighty and impulsive to me, showed none of it now. The drill of her stare at my family was amazingly rigid, even as the boils bubbled up beneath her skin. Oscar, Spencer, and Nolan were each debilitated in their own way, at least one extremity swelling until it looked like it might pop. This had to be painful, but they didn’t seem to notice.

My family didn’t fare any better. An odd, purplish growth crept up Charlotte and Alison’s arms. Burke frantically attempted to wipe something off his skin in between casting, and I knew that someone on the Weatherford side was channeling his worst nightmare, a spider infestation. Dillon kept collapsing to the ground, his limbs sporadically giving way to a cast that seized his ability to control them. My parents became stricken with some sort of stomach ailment, both of them doubling over in pain, their necks stretching upward so that they could continue to cast.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Here were people I knew from birth and I didn’t recognize them at all. Their heads shook with each word. Spit flew from their mouths. They shouted words like “rot” and “despair” and “disease.”

I thought they had lost their minds, until I remembered what all this was about…To protect me from Jocelyn. Here I am trying to keep her from danger against The Sevens, and it’s my family trying to hurt her!

They didn’t understand. They hadn’t realized that she has NO CHOICE! They don’t know the pressure she is feeling to know that she has to kill me. They’re blaming her and it’s not even her fault. She
has
to kill me. Or else everything we’ve done – everything we’ve become – will all be for nothing. The Sevens will win and the world will be a wasteland, a human playground for them. She doesn’t want that, and she doesn’t want to kill someone she loves. But if she doesn’t millions of people will die. There is no other alternative for her. They should be SYMPATHIZING with her.

I was sick and found myself shaking from an uncontrolled surge of emotions. I couldn’t imagine what Jocelyn was going through…. I wanted to open my mouth and shout “STOP!” but that would draw the attention to me, and to Jocelyn who was behind me.

No, I decided, get her out of here first.

The only two in the room who appeared unaffected by this bizarre fight were Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia. As I passed by them, I saw their expressions, and they were, of all things, pleased.

It wasn’t until Dillon produced a fireball – the same kind Sartorius had used to burn down half the village not so long ago – that everyone came to their senses. I saw it first, his intent gaze directed on the lantern illuminating the room. When the flame grew, and the room brightened, I shouted to him, my hands coming up in warning.

“Dillon, no! No!”

The rage in my voice stopped everyone in the room, as if a switch had been turned off. Their voices settled, hesitant and slow, as reason returned to them.

Jocelyn and I were at the doorway by then, just as they began to blink, to clear away the disturbing feeling of launching unwarranted attacks on people who minutes ago they considered their friends.

The room became silent, still, each observing the opposite side with distrust. They only seemed to be shaken from their stupor when Jocelyn made a declaration. It was unyielding and calm, and seemed delayed after all that had just taken place.

“I won’t do it. I can’t. I will die at the hands of The Sevens before I end Jameson’s life.”

And that statement brought on a wave of consideration that had been thrown to the side in favor of violence. I could see the understanding creep across their faces, the disturbed realization that they weren’t the ones who had the most to lose.

Jocelyn is in a much more challenging position over her future than the rest of them. She has to face the horror that it must be her hand to take the life of someone she loves because if she doesn’t tens of thousands, possibly millions, of people will die. And she has to do it alone.

Still, resentment was still alive in Estelle. Her glare said it all. But she did the right thing, as hard as it was for her. “Incantatio dimittam,” she muttered.

Instantly, Charlotte’s mouth began to dry. She was still bent in the corner, almost cowering in embarrassment in a way I’d never seen her act before, allowing her drool to spill freely now. She had given up trying to contain it. Despite the drying of her mouth, the front of her shirt remained drenched, a good reminder of just how potent the Weatherford casts can be.

Estelle began it but the rest followed suit, rescinding their casts one by one until all cuts, bruises, sores, and incapacities were removed. They then stood staring awkward, and still skeptical, at each other.

In the quiet, an unfazed Miss Celia, started for the door. “Well, best get ya to ya new livin’ quarters.”

She said this in a manner that made me think she was checking something off a to-do list, without any reference to what had just occurred in the room.

When no one followed, she looked over her shoulder at us and demanded, “Ya comin’?”

The Weatherfords were the first to respond, which meant my family remained behind. Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle took turns taking small, obscure, undetectable groups to their new covert hiding places, with greater security than what the open and exposed bayou could offer. Isabella, however, didn’t shift from her position in the corner near the door, keeping a close eye on my family as they filtered out, as Kalisha stood reserved a few inches away.

Steadily, the number of those of us in the room declined. Most of my family left without incident. The exceptions were my mother and Charlotte. On her way out the door, my mother stopped at Jocelyn and, in her subtle way, warned her against taking action.

“I can see how hard it is for you,” she said, referring to the dark future between Jocelyn and me. “But there comes a time when you must think of others. If you love Jameson, you will let him go.”

“She already has,” I informed her. “It’s me who’s sticking around. So you can stop blaming her. She has no say in the matter.”

She gave me a concentrated stare, one I’d seen before. She was telling me that she disagreed with me staying.

“There also comes a time,” I said, using her words to drive home my point, “when you need to trust in your son’s decisions. You’ve trained me for this, mother. All those years of midnight lessons, this is what that was all about. It all was leading to this point. You need to trust me now. Let me live my life,” I said as a reminder, “because, whether you like it or not, Jocelyn is the path I’ve chosen.”

Although she obviously disagreed, she didn’t counter it. Knowing there was no hope of convincing me, and that I had made up my mind, she hesitated, still holding on to hope that my mind could be changed, and then gave me a light kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Charlotte and Alison were the only ones remaining of my family. Their continual glances in Jocelyn’s direction didn’t leave me any more relieved though. I’d seen those expressions in the past, right before a cast was made to destroy the romance between our classmates or to give someone the flu that left them out of school for weeks. I gave them each a barely discernible shake of my head, warning them against whatever it was they might be planning in the dark recesses of their minds.

As if Charlotte had been waiting for the right moment, when Miss Mabelle returned and called out to them from her boat, her mischievous smile surfaced. And on her way out the door I knew why, as she uttered a phrase in French. “Votre contact sera aussi venimeux à vous comme une veuve noire.” It sounded oddly familiar, like something Miss Celia would say in her native language, but the direct translation of it made no sense to anyone else in the room, it seemed.

Charlotte and Alison left with firmly planted glares on Jocelyn, unaltered, even as they made their way out the door.

“Your touch will be as venomous to you as a black widow? That’s what they said, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, apprehensive. “That’s correct. I’ve…that’s not a cast I recognize. I think she picked it up from Miss Celia.”

“Well, she had the last nine weeks to do it,” Jocelyn joked, trying to lighten the mood.

I didn’t feel like laughing, though.

Jocelyn, who always proves she has more courage than the rest of us, boldly reached out a finger toward her forearm, the one decorated with the jewelry embedded with her family stone.

“Careful,” Jocelyn’s mother and I cautioned her simultaneously. It was clear by Isabella’s expression that she didn’t underestimate Charlotte or the potency of her power any less than I did.

My jaw clamped shut and I began considering what action to take if Charlotte hurt Jocelyn. My thoughts grew more menacing as Jocelyn placed her finger on the top of her arm.

When it settled there, I held my breath, and then she pressed in, showing no affect. An echo of relieved sighs filled the room.

Isabella and Kalisha were taken soon after by Miss Celia, leaving Jocelyn and me entirely alone. The sounds of their departure faded into the night slowly, only to be replaced by the quiet resonance of the bayou. Water almost undetectably slapped the stilts on the planks below our feet, crickets carried a steady tune along the river’s edge, and insects hummed throughout the trees, as Miss Celia’s motor faded away.

“Jocelyn,” I said.

“Jameson,” she sighed, her breath intoxicating me.

Then, as a clear sign that neither of us could hold back any longer, I took her in my arms. Her body clung to me, my hands pressed her closer. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. And then I found her pulling away, grunting, gripping her abdomen, and beginning to tremble.

“Jocelyn,” I said just before she collapsed in my arm. “Jocelyn! What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

She continued to moan, writhing, twisting, the pain visible in her expression.

“Jocelyn, talk to me,” I said, trying to get her to look me in the eye. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Stomach…pain,” she grunted. “Weak…sh-shake…shaky.”

“Use me,” I urged. “Channel from me.”

She loosened her grip on her shoulders, prying apart her solid white fingers to place them on my arm. The pain instantly worsened, and she screamed out.

There was only one thing left to do. I saw no other option.

“Can you heal yourself, Jocelyn? Sweetheart…can you heal yourself?”

She gave me a weak nod, which was the only indication she could muster.