The conversation turned to other topics then. Tough classes. Malicious teachers. But no one else brought up the Caldwells.
Even then, I couldn’t stop myself from searching for Jameson throughout the day, between classes or in the library where my cousins met after last class to get a head start on homework and to snack while waiting for the next, more mystical, set of classes to start.
As we worked through the mountain of assignments given to us on the first day of school, I continued to keep my hopes up that Jameson would walk through the door. He never did and a few hours later my cousins and I packed up and headed for the parking lot.
In fact, only Spencer’s casual warning got my full attention.
“
Get ready for some real lessons,” he smirked lightheartedly as we slipped into his car’s bucket seats.
The truth was that each of the classes I was enrolled in seemed to be several months behind the academy so I wasn’t the least bit concerned about them. My nervousness was reserved for where we were headed and it was only compounded with Spencer’s next comment.
“
Now, you’re going to need the canvas bag.”
While I had a number of questions for him, I didn’t bother to ask any. The fact was I had a feeling that I already knew the answers.
I was headed for another school, one that would be teaching subjects far outside the Department of Education’s mandate.
Inside, I sniggered. If only Alisa and Elizabeth could be here to see it. My physics class at the academy was probably going to pale in comparison.
He left the parking lot, with our cousins behind us, and headed for The Quarter, his speed telling me that he’d been to our destination many times before. Being that it was September, dusk had just begun to settle over New Orleans and, while the streets were still lit by the dampening sunlight, neon signs now shone brightly above the doorways beckoning tourists with jambalaya, jazz, and cocktails.
Spencer parked on a quiet street just outside the heart of The Quarter so that when I stepped out the tantalizing smell of southern food and the faint sounds of a jazz horn hung in the air. My cousins found parking where they could, as there seemed to be more vehicles parked on this street than most others in The Quarter, and then met us at an obscure wooden door.
We entered together to find ourselves in a long, dark, arched hallway. With the dim light of the courtyard guiding us, reflecting off collected pools of water and wet cobblestones, we made our way toward the opposite opening.
On the other side was a courtyard, which, like most others here in the city, was draped in flourishing vines. Buildings encircled us, sheltering us from the street, with a single balcony running the entire circumference of the second story leading the way to countless more rooms. I wondered if this might have been a secluded apartment building at one time.
After a sweeping glance of my surroundings, I found that others had arrived before us.
Groups stood in cliques beneath the second story balcony and by flickering gas lanterns mounted alongside various doors. In the hazy evening light, I scanned them and found we were all similar in age, some I recognized from the school we’d just left.
Immediately, my cousins merged with the groups, each one seeming to know at least one other person in them.
“
Are these all the students?” I asked Spencer after he’d introduced me to a few of his friends and settled in to wait for the class to begin.
“
No, there are classes each day of the week here, based on levels of ability. Most families start their kids as young as four-years-old and as they advance in their casting skills they move on to another level, another day.”
“
Which one are we in?” I asked.
“
We,” he gestured to the rest of the cousins, “are in the advanced class. You, however, were probably assigned this day to just watch and learn. There’s no sense in sticking you in a class with the second graders - Crafty Casters as they’re called - when you’ll probably pick up skills faster with us.”
“
Ah,” I mumbled. “The advanced class…”
Oscar, who stood nearby, took this as a sign of nervousness and wrapped his arm around my shoulder protectively. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe.”
Actually, I wasn’t concerned at all, even though admittedly I should have been. Instead my interest was piqued as to whether Jameson had made it this far in his casting skills.
As it turned out, he had.
I heard scuffling behind me and pivoted just as the Caldwells emerged from the shadowy hallway. I caught sight of Jameson instantly and had to consciously subdue the excitement that ran through me. I also noticed that his eyes quickly examined the courtyard until they landed on me. Then, very briefly, a slight smile lifted his lips.
The courtyard fell silent as the Caldwells made their way to the opposite side from us, fusing with another group of students, while the rest observed both families warily.
Apparently, the Weatherfords and Caldwells had clashed at this school, too.
An elderly woman came through a door then and stopped in the center of the students. She looked Haitian, petite, with thick braids wound up and piled on her head and an orange patterned dress that hung to her ankles. When she spoke, there was an authority in her voice that, despite her size, gave you the impression not to test her.
“
I am Ms. Veilleux, the head of this school. Because of the student number this year, we will separate the class in two.”
Although no grumbles escaped from the students, there was an immediate air of surprise. They stood a little straighter, their attention more focused.
“
The attendance list is posted on my door. I will give you the next five minutes to review it and to find your respective room. There will be no transfers, no exceptions.” With that, she returned through the door where she’d come as the students filtered toward the paper hammered to it.
The Caldwells steered clear of us as the students gathered and we searched for our names.
I found an A next to mine and was about to exit the crowd when a cluster of names drew my attention. The Caldwells. They were bundled into one group - Group A. The same one as me.
We were to meet in the room on the opposite side of the courtyard, well away from the other part of the class.
Instinctually, I straightened my posture, tilted my chin up, and strolled through the crowd. If I was going to face them, I would do it with a show of confidence.
My cousins were waiting for me in the center of the courtyard, where I stopped to ask, “Which group are you in?”
They all replied at once, casually, some with a shrug - “B”.
I nodded slowly. “I’m not.”
Eyebrows rose as they stepped forward.
“
That must be a mistake,” Estelle suggested.
“
We should tell-” Nolan was saying before being cut off.
“
It’s no mistake.” Ms. Veilleux had returned, standing off to the side where no one had noticed her. She had her hands clasped in front of her as if she’d been calmly waiting for this reaction from my cousins.
“
Jocelyn will remain in the group assigned.” She paused to look each of us in the eye, seeming to tempt us into a dispute. Apparently, my cousins came to the same conclusion as I had. She wasn’t going to budge. When she received no response, she prompted, “Lessons will begin now.”
I exchanged looks of suspicion with my cousins but we followed the instructions given and headed for our respective classrooms. As I approached the door, I intentionally straightened my back even further. If I was going to spend the next couple of hours in a room with my enemies, I wouldn’t be showing any fear of it.
Then I entered the classroom with them directly behind me.
The room was simple with only small wooden tables set against each wall. The ceiling was low and the floorboards had gaps in them big enough to see the dirt below. They groaned as weight was unevenly distributed on them, an eerie sound in the nearly silent room. A muskiness filled my nose which, oddly enough, gave me a feeling of comfort, something I appreciated with my enemies at my back.
The students stood on the perimeter, against the wall, after stashing their canvas bags on the tables. I did the same, keeping my attention partly on the other students and partly on Jameson.
He crossed the room and dropped his bag on the table and then stepped up beside me. At first, I was flattered. Then I noticed Charlotte, the curt girl who’d given Jameson and me such a hard time in the school hallway, was standing just to his right. He had positioned himself between the two of us, standing so close to me that our arms nearly swept against one another. My stomach, in reaction, did flip flops and it took all my will not to look at him. I was absolutely certain he felt the same when the tension between us rose and I heard his breathing catch as our elbows accidentally came in contact. Unexpectedly, he kept his arm in place for longer than would be considered appropriate and I debated with myself on whether to break contact. He was a Caldwell, a fact I couldn’t deny - and I was surrounded by them. Another fact I wished weren’t the case. With both of our breaths staggered and our attention limited to that spot on our skin where we were making contact, at that moment nothing else existed. There was no classroom, no students, no teacher. We weren’t standing in an aged building surrounded by wood walls. We were alone in our own world. Only when Charlotte began snapping her fingers in front of his nose did he pull away.
The remaining Caldwells were scattered, their agate family stones glinting in the faint light, making me feel surrounded.
The last of the students filed in before a squat woman with gray hair wound in a loose bun and Victorian-style clothing moved from a dark corner to the center of the room.
“
For those of you who don’t know…” said the woman, pausing to stare at me. “Jocelyn Weatherford, to be precise, my name is Ms. Boudreaux.”
I understood the hidden meaning within her message immediately. I was the only new student. Terrific.
“
What the rest of you may not know is this…” she continued on. “Why are you here?”
A slender girl in the corner raised her hand and waited for a nod from Ms. Boudreaux before answering. “For spell-casting lessons.”
“
No,” Ms. Boudreaux snapped.
“
To advance in the art of magic,” offered a boy with a narrow, curved nose reminding me of a beak.
“
Again…no.” She eyed us, waiting for an answer. “You are here to learn to protect yourself - and others. Injury – Disease – Age - Impairments - Death. How do we defeat these? By breaking curses, by casting protection. Now, ” she ambled in a circle just outside the reach of her students, thankfully paying me no more special attention. “Let’s assess what we have to work with, shall we? You may use your family stone or tools from your school supplies. And who wants to go first? You and you.” She pointed to the girl and boy who had spoken up earlier. “Into the middle of the room.”
Their earlier inspiration to impress Ms. Boudreaux apparently disappeared with her request because this time they reluctantly stepped forward with frowns.
“
Miranda, you will be Andrew’s attacker,” Ms. Boudreaux instructed and then stepped back to allow them space.
Neither of the opponents sought out a stone from their canvas bags so I figured they’d be using their family stones. This, I thought, was going to be interesting. How dangerous could a stone be? It might leave a welt if pitched hard enough at their opponent, but stones just didn’t sound particularly threatening to me.
Of course, I would be proven wrong, and come away with a new found respect for them after this lesson.
I was so immersed in my thoughts while attempting to hold back my laughter that I almost didn’t hear the whisper sent my way. It was terse and somehow I knew it was meant for me.
“
I hope I get you.”
Glancing in the direction it had come, I saw Charlotte leaned forward in order to better peer around Jameson at me, again her eyes narrowed.
“
You’d regret it,” I replied in a hushed tone so Ms. Boudreaux wouldn’t overhear.
At my retort, Jameson’s lips curled up in an almost undetectable smile.
Not wanting her to get the best of me, I said, “I’m told I have impressive abilities.” And for a final stab, I added, “
Gifts
as your mother would call them.”
Her eyes darted to Jameson, the only person who could have relayed that fact. His smile was gone as he ignored her gaze.
“
You don’t know how to use them, Jocelyn,” she sneered back. “You’re no more a threat than a fly on the wall.”
Any retort at this point may backfire, I knew. It would sound defensive, weak. So, instead of giving her the satisfaction in believing she’d won this spat, that I was cowering to her, I countered with the next best approach.
Meeting her eyes, my lips lifted in to a bold and arrogant smirk, one that conveyed her words meant nothing to me, that I see her as harmless as a fly on the wall.
She seethed and snapped her head back to the front of the room. I casually turned my attention from her only to catch sight of Jameson’s head rotating in my direction. He was holding down a grin, which I returned. Then, as if I needed further confirmation that he’d supported me in that exchange, he winked at me, congratulatory and admiring.