“
Please…”
My hand seemed to move by its self toward the bare, hard branches, stopping when it’s sharp, wrinkled edges met my skin. I had to steady my hand because its shaking kept the branch from remaining in contact with my fingers but a few deep breaths later I was ready.
Focusing on that place deep inside, where the power had stirred, I drew it toward me, conjured it, called to it, coaxed it upwards.
The branches turned first. Slowly, the putrid brown changed to a fertile, dark auburn. Then the leaves sprouted, reaching out and uncurling as if I were watching a time delayed recording. Lastly, the blooms emerged, hundreds of them in a stunning bright blue.
My jaw dropped when I realized what I was seeing. Then I grasped the pot and spun it toward the light for a better look.
It was no wonder the gardeners at the academy had told me that I had a green thumb but I’d never done anything like this before. But then, I’d never put forth the same effort either.
It was breathtaking. Not just the plant but the veracity of this talent I’d denied for so long…Yet, here it was, to its due credit. Evidently it was still in its infancy because a glance back at the rest of the pots told me that I hadn’t healed them all, as I’d done in class. Those still remained shriveled and clinging to life.
What was the difference, I wondered. Then it came to me. The explanation Ms. Boudreaux had given in class.
“
Jameson,” I whispered to myself.
He was the key. He was the channel to enhancing this ability.
Still, I had done it. This was my confirmation…
I am a witch. And a descendant of powerful practitioners. Aunt Lizzy had told me the truth on the plane. I just wasn’t ready to hear it. Now, though, I found new respect for my family.
The next few minutes were spent healing the remaining plants so that when I left the far corner overflowed with lush green leaves and colorful blooms. My body was finally growing tired so I left the potting shed and crossed the lawn back to the house. Then my feet stopped and I focused in on the porch without really seeing it.
A realization came to me, a feeling actually.
I felt shame for not having acknowledged the ability to heal sooner. Instead of using it, I ignored it, gave it no respect and definitely no room to grow. All that time it could have helped so many…
There, in that moment, with the full moon overhead, the crickets stopped suddenly as if they sensed a life-altering change had taken place. One had. I made the decision to accept this fate, to develop it, and to use it to its fullest capacity.
Standing there, feet sinking into the moist earth, my mind locked on this new sense of purpose, I realized I’d already accomplished the first step.
Now I needed to develop it. And I knew exactly who to turn to. With a plan in place, I went back to my room, crawled into bed, and fell right to sleep.
The next morning arrived with Miss Mabelle’s traditional shout but I was already awake, eager to get the day started. After slipping on a patterned dress, leggings, and black boots, I headed for the kitchen and found only Miss Mabelle, Aunt Lizzy having decided it wasn’t worth the effort to attempt another batch of fritters.
Somehow she knew it was me without having to look. “Found some plants in my shed come back to life last night.” She was fishing for the truth and wasn’t bothering to hide it. Yet, I had an inclination she already knew what it was.
I could have allowed her to assume without confirmation but to what end? Instead, I took a seat at the table and replied, “They weren’t completely dead.”
“
Don’t go touchin’ my things now, ya hear?” she said and only then did she turn her head toward me. She waited several seconds, staring coolly as she was prone to do, before replying, “’Bout time ya embraced it.”
We both knew what she meant and that it didn’t require a response. So all I did was smile but her attention was back on the stove by then anyways.
For the rest of the morning, and up until second period, I had a difficult time paying attention. My focus was almost entirely on a constant search of my surroundings for something to heal. On the pathway to the main entrance a bush beside the door was drying so as I waited for my turn to enter I reached out a hand to it. A glance back told me that by the time I was stepping inside it had begun to recover, fresh green sprouts already budding. In my first period, Mr. Treme kept a potted plant on his desk, a small cactus that he playfully threatened as a tool for punishment should anyone disobey during his class. As I passed by it, I brushed my fingers against the pot and by the time I’d sat down it had flowered. I didn’t even immediately detect the sweltering temperature on my way to second period until a bead of perspiration dripped from my elbow. A Caldwell was nearby but I ignored it and continued to class, where it disappeared.
“
You doing okay?” Jameson asked, genuinely concerned as I took a seat beside him.
Ms. Wizner had been caught in the hallway and wrapped up in a discussion with another teacher, which gave Jameson and me a few minutes alone.
“
Yes, I’m still thinking about what happened last night…” Although I was now torn between it and the fact that Jameson’s arm muscles were carving shadows in his shirt.
He didn’t seem to notice my distraction because he replied, “What we did in class was impressive.” Then he glanced toward the door to ensure we had privacy before continuing. “I’ve never seen anything channel at that frequency before. It’ll affect one, maybe two objects in the vicinity but you never see the reach you did last night. It-It’s unheard of…”
“
Huh,” I muttered contemplating it. Then I said something under my breath that I hadn’t really intended which brought out a smile in Jameson. “We work well together.”
“
Yes…we do.” His voice was soft, serious. “Talking about Wednesday night, interested in partnering again?” he asked evidently without thought to how his family might react this time.
That, I was going to leave up to him.
“
Can’t get enough of me?” I asked, teasing instead.
He leaned forward and his voice dipped but the sincerity of it took my breath away. “Not really…”
I stifled a smile at his flirtation and he leaned back, proud he’d gotten a response from me. I ignored his intentions and said, “Actually, I was wondering if we could meet sooner? Do you have anything planned after school?”
His grin turned arrogant before he replied, “Now who can’t get enough of whom?”
I sighed in frustration at him and he chuckled. “All right. What did you have in mind?”
“
Well…how do you feel about hospitals?”
His eyebrows creased. “Not exactly the most romantic spot I can think of…”
I groaned. “That’s not my intention, Jameson.”
“
Too bad…”
“
Can you be serious?”
He shrugged. “I am.” He drew in a breath, conceding. “Where do you want to meet?”
“
I can pick you up on the backside of the gym after last class.”
“
Still trying to avoid telling your family?” he asked, insinuating two thoughts. First, I was trying to keep my family from learning about our interactions. Second, and far more impactful, that he knew I liked him.
“
You’re blushing, Jocelyn,” he boasted.
No, I thought. I’ve never done that before in my life. Yet, the heat crawling up my cheeks told me something was amiss and I figured it was for exactly the reason he’d mentioned.
“
You do like me, don’t you, Jocelyn?”
Ms. Wizner entered then and I instantly fell into our routine of acting like we are ignoring each other.
Yet Jameson remained motionless, his body directed at me, his eyes appraising me as he waited for my answer.
A student came through the door and did a double take at us, then suspiciously kept peeking back at us after taking a seat as if a quarrel were about to be started.
Still, Jameson didn’t budge.
“
Yes,” I whispered hastily across the aisle before more students could approach us.
Satisfied, he spun in his seat and went about logging on to his laptop, not bothering to hide his mischievous grin.
Jameson, true to his word, was sitting on a bench at the back of the overflow parking lot when I drove up. When he stood, I got a full view of him and my stomach tightened in reaction. His shirt fit snugly against his chiseled torso and his jeans hung perfectly from his hips. He was stunning and didn’t seem to notice it. He slid into the passenger seat and said, “So…What exactly is your plan?”
On impulse, my eyes were drawn to the scar above his lip, the one I’d accidentally healed a bit in class. It was a constant sign of his sturdiness, another mark of his stunning features, and I had to deliberately look away.
“
Don’t you trust me?” I smirked in order to overcome the reaction I was having to him.
“
Well, you being a Weatherford, I probably shouldn’t. But here I am…” he replied wistfully with humor beneath his words. “And what exactly am I here for?”
I laughed through a sigh. “I want to work on my ability to heal.”
“
Well it’s about time,” he said casually.
I turned to stare at him in amazement. “You knew?”
“
That you didn’t take it seriously? Sure. When I met you on the street outside Olivia’s shop you didn’t believe in any of us. Not in yourself or others.”
I hadn’t. Instead I’d mocked it. And he’d known.
“
Yes, well…I see it now. And I’d like your help in perfecting it.”
“
And you plan to do that at a hospital?” he asked referring to our earlier conversation.
“
Hospitals, clinics, veterinarian offices, wherever there’s a need.”
He blew air out his lips and shook his head. “We’re gonna be busy.”
“
So you’re interested?” I asked, hopeful.
“
Well, it does give new meaning to the term ‘spending quality time together’ but, sure, I’m onboard.”
I laughed at his false begrudging and headed for the first hospital on the list I’d made during lunch, at the same time I’d mentioned to my cousins that I’d practice healing after school. They stared back, perplexed for a few seconds and then agreed that it would be a good idea. Their perspective would change had they known I would be doing it with Jameson Caldwell so I didn’t volunteer that detail.
The next few hours were spent moving from one location to the next. When arriving, Jameson and I would find the waiting room, strike up a conversation with those who appeared ill, and then I would reach out and connect with them, either through a handshake, a pat on the arm, or a brush of my hand. In that brief interaction, I did my best to stifle the potency of my ability in my expression while focusing on conjuring the power within me and whispering “incantatio sana” at an inaudible level while making that contact. A few minutes later, they would get a curious expression, or their animal would end its sign of suffering, and then they would leave. We couldn’t help but notice that those nearby were somehow cured of their complaint too.
The other side of this process was the requirement to be somehow touching Jameson. As the channel worked as the enhancement to the healing, I needed to be holding him. Neither of us realized this until we reached the first stop and took a seat in the uncomfortable, sloped plastic chairs. Then, as I surveyed the room, my eyes finished its scan and landed on Jameson. That was when I realized he had his hand out, ready for me to take.
For reasons unknown to me, excitement flared and coursed through my stomach, searing it with a pleasurable pain.
I braced myself and then moved my arm, the one with the bracelet of my family stone, toward him. His face was serene, his hand patiently waiting as if he knew this would be a difficult move for me to make. My eyes lifted briefly to his family stone hanging from around his neck and then I slid our palms together. Our fingers entwined and a peace came over me, a feeling that nothing in the world could go wrong.
It became easier, holding hands with someone who I was told only a few days ago was my enemy, until our last stop arrived.
Then I didn’t want to let him go.
Apparently, he didn’t either because we didn’t release each other until we breached the outside where we were visible to those we wanted to avoid seeing us. For reinforcement, when I dropped him off in the school parking lot, he muttered a comment about his hand feeling empty. I didn’t tell him but I could associate with that feeling.
We repeated our practice sessions the next day, Friday, but postponed them for the weekend and resumed them on Monday. And our awareness of each other never lessened. He continued to hold his breath for the first few seconds our hands came in contact and his fingers unconsciously squeezed tighter around mine, signs that he was still affected by my touch. I, on the other hand, just tried to keep the butterflies from batting in my stomach. It helped to focus elsewhere and I began asking him questions about growing up in a house full of curious, rambunctious siblings, how he developed his channeling skills, what he thought of growing up in a lively city like New Orleans, everything I could think of to get to know this assumed enemy of mine. He, in turn, asked me questions, listening intently and making insightful comments.