Prophecy (Residue Series #4) (20 page)

But that wasn’t good enough. Not for Flavian. Here was someone who…No, here was a
thing
that had pursued Jocelyn, our families, me, and countless others. It was his deceit, his laws, his punishments that kept us living in fear, chased us from our homes, made us conscious of ever step, every action. Yes, it was rewarding to see him dead, but it wasn’t enough.

I strolled down the hill, passing Maggie and Eran, intending to make damn sure we left an impression with the Vires watching.

I paused at Flavian’s body, took hold of his wings and, one after the other, broke them off. The crunch of their dislocation seemed to echo in the stunned silence. I threw them aside, where they landed and crumbled to dust, and then yanked the suspenders off Flavian’s body. I then proceeded up the hill as the Vires remained motionless, too dazed to move.

“For proof…,” I said, holding the suspenders up, “for those questioning their resilience.”

Eran nodded just as the hint of a grin emerged.

I turned to Jocelyn and said, “I think it’s time we leave now.”

And we did, without a single Vire in pursuit.

In fact, when Jocelyn insisted on landing sporadically on the way back, to heal those needing her help, the Vires appeared to be vanishing, until there were none left in sight.

Our plan to take off the head to incapacitate the body worked.

By the time we returned to New Orleans a storm had stalled over the city, but that didn’t dampen our spirits. We considered this a good omen, of sorts. Cloud coverage, the density of the downpour, and the slim chance anyone would look up allowed us to come in for a concealed landing. And this was especially important because I was carrying Flavian’s suspenders, an object that would invoke respect from some and a death warrant from others.

We entered Maggie and Eran’s house through the back door, with Maggie muttering something about why the lights were on in the parlor, which could be seen through the kitchen door window.

The scraping of what seemed to be glass screeched through the house as we opened the door, and my muscles tensed, making me freeze.

“What?” Eran and Maggie asked in unison, their eyebrows crossing in nervous confusion.

Jocelyn and I exchanged a hesitant glance.

“That’s not a good sound,” I said under my breath, stepping fully into the kitchen, and laying the suspenders on the table.

With a direct view of the parlor down the hall, I groaned and felt my shoulders sag as a deep pang of shame riddled me. The destruction was obvious; pieces of glass and porcelain were strewn across the floor and trailing into the kitchen.

The sighs and gasps coming from the door behind told me that they had seen it, too. Only Theleo, whose emotion was limited, seemed unmoved. He’d seen worse. We all had, but this time it was my family who had caused the damage.

It took a lot of effort for my feet to move in Ezra’s direction. She was on her knees with a dustpan in one hand and a hand broom in the other. Ezra lifted her head to see who had entered as Jocelyn moaned, “Ezra, I’m so sorry.”

Remorse hadn’t hit me yet. Anger ruled my emotions.

Maggie moved by us demanding, “What happened here?”

Cringing, I waited for it…

“Well,” Ezra sighed, “we had a little battle of our own. Nice to see you all back.”

That was altruistic of her. Here she is, cleaning up after our families, and she’s welcoming us back. Our families could take a lesson from her.

Felix, however, wasn’t so understanding. “
Little
?” he said as his head appeared from around the corner. “I wouldn’t call this little.”

As we reached them, Rufus didn’t say a word, remaining expressionless as he picked up a picture frame and brushed the shattered glass from the photo with his bare hand.

“Who started-,” I said and cut myself off. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“Where are they?” Jocelyn asked, and I knew she was wondering if she was going to need to heal anyone.

“I split them up and kicked them out,” Ezra stated matter-of-factly, as if it were just another day in their household. “They’re fairly impressive, your families. They speak a few Latin phrases and things start flying.”

“Evidently,” Jocelyn said, stooping to collect a broken candle vase at her feet.

But I stopped her. “Where can I find another broom?”

Ezra directed me, and the next few minutes were spent scooping, sweeping, and dusting fragments of porcelain and glass from nearly every surface in the parlor room.

“Any challenges with Flavian?” Ezra asked, as she held a bag open for Jocelyn’s trash.

“Not really,” Maggie replied flatly, while Eran focused on brushing pieces out from beneath the couch.

It seemed like what they had done to Flavian they had done to others countless times before.

I stopped collecting pieces of glass from the mantel and stared at them.

“He was impaled and burned, and recovered from each one,” I pointed out. If that wasn’t a challenge, I didn’t know what was.

My gaze drifted out the window to the rain pouring from eaves over the porch. “Water was his weakness…just water.”

“What’s your point?” Eran asked.

“When you and Maggie stopped coming to school last winter,” I ventured, wondering if he’d actually tell me the truth. “Was this what you were doing? Taking down Sevens, or those like him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you happen to learn the rest of The Sevens’ vulnerabilities?”

“They’re all different,” Maggie said, plainly. “Every one of them.”

Jocelyn figured out where I was heading with my questions, and asked, “Then how do we know how to execute the rest?”

Maggie began explaining that she and Eran determined their weaknesses while in the middle of the conflict, which made it clear why she didn’t see a problem with how Flavian died. That didn’t work for me. I was going to need something more solid.

That’s when the pieces came together.

“There are others who have dealt with The Sevens before,” I declared.

Theleo’s focus shifted to me instantly, because he knew what I was referring to.

Felix, however, was stumped. “Who?”

“They stay on the periphery of our world, aware of its existence, but never entering unless absolutely necessary.”

“So they haven’t actually met The Sevens?” Felix countered.

“Let the lad speak,” Rufus grumbled, and Felix rolled his eyes dramatically but remained quiet.

“They watch The Sevens,” I clarified, “and they’ve been doing it for centuries. If anyone has learned about their weaknesses, it would be them.”

“You’re thinking of Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia,” Jocelyn speculated.

I smiled. She knew me better than anyone else, but she didn’t know this.

“There’s one in particular, a woman who plenty of people know about but not many have met. She’s someone you go to when you’re sick or hurt, if you can find her.”

“Is she a healer?” Jocelyn asked, intrigued.

“The opposite, she assesses what makes you weak.”

“And you think,” Eran contemplated, “that she can tell us what makes The Sevens weak.”

“She did it for me, when she identified me as the Nobilis.”

“She was the one who…,” Jocelyn let her voice diminish as the shock of what I said took over. She recovered and said, “She saw your faults?”

“Really, Jocelyn? You notice faults in me?” I asked, teasing.

She smiled at me through a glare. “I’d like to meet her.”

Foreseeing the problems that would create, I said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” she countered.

“Because you won’t like what she has to say.”

“I’m a tough girl,” she said with a smug sideways grin. “I think I can handle it.”

When my lips pinched closed in protest, she ignored my reaction. “I’m going,” she announced with enough resolve I knew she wouldn’t yield.

While every part of me wanted to keep her here, where she wouldn’t learn the truth about what made me weak, where she wouldn’t be hurt by it, the intrigue was too great for her. And I knew that I would only be throwing fuel on the fire by opposing her.

Ignoring the tension I felt, I did a sweeping evaluation of the room, finding that it was almost entirely clean of broken pieces and debris.

“It’s all right,” Ezra said, noticing. “Go, the cleanup is done.”

“Go where?” Felix asked, with a shrug, as if he’d missed the entire conversation.

Jocelyn had already started down the hallway, as determined as ever. Maggie, Eran, and Theleo followed. I hesitated, watching Jocelyn’s black hair disappear out the back door.

“Go where?” Felix pressed.

Sighing, I held back the urge to berate myself. I should have handled the situation better. I should have foreseen her interest in meeting the woman.

“GO WHERE?” Felix nearly shouted, obviously frustrated over being ignored.

It was loud enough to jar me out of my thoughts. “Sorry, Felix…we’re going to visit a voodoo priestess.”

12
VOODOO

T
HE DOWNPOUR OUTSIDE WAS BOTH A
blessing and a curse.

It gave us cover from the ground but it also inhibited our view of it. I contemplated this after giving Jocelyn directions to a remote part of the bayou, untouched for decades and overgrown with kudzu. It was a place seemingly uninhabitable for its lack of contact with civilization, without any roads or manmade paths to it. In short, it was hard to find, and designed to be that way.

When I thought we might be close, I mentioned, “I was only here once and it wasn’t from the air, so it might take me a few minutes.”

“How did you come before?” she asked, studying me, and I knew that it was just the start of many questions, including the one I wanted to avoid.

“By boat.”

“Like that one?” she asked, pointing at something pink between the trees.

“Exactly like that one.”

Taking my hint, she lowered us through the scraggly tree branches of a living cypress grove. In the middle of it, jammed between the trunks, was an old, beaten up fishing boat, dented on both sides from passing storms and with paint peeling from the beams.

The deck where we landed was no better. Water rot had eaten away the wood, leaving gaping holes in some places. Dirt that had never been washed off found its way beneath the corroding pink wood, collecting there as if it were propping up the peeling paint.

Theleo, Eran and Maggie immediately surveyed the area.

“It’s safe,” I reassured them.

Proof came when the only sounds that could be heard were the flat pings of raindrops across the water.

“Someone lives all the way out here?” Jocelyn asked, mesmerized, not intending to be patronizing at all.

Unfortunately, that’s how it was interpreted.

“Yes,” snapped a scratchy voice from a doorway leading inside. “Someone
lives
here.”

Jocelyn’s eyes widened at me. I took her hand, paused to enjoy the feel of it, and channeled, “Don’t worry. Her bark is worse than her bite.” Out loud, I greeted our host. “Mrs. LeClaire, your French accent has weakened.”

“There is nothing weak about me, Jameson Caldwell,” she said furtively before turning and walking inside.

She looked just like I remembered. Her head was wrapped in a scarf, placed far enough back that it exposed some of the wiry black hair she kept underneath. Despite living on a boat, she chose to wear a dress that covered her from chin to ankles. Countless pockets were poorly stitched into it, which she teased me with when I was younger, threatening to pull out a snake or a spider if I misbehaved. Her eyes were cat-like, always watching, and her lips remained permanently turned up at the ends as if she were making you aware that she knew what you didn’t want her to know.

Recalling that Mrs. LeClaire’s disappearance through the darkened doorway was her form of an invitation, I trailed her, hoping Jocelyn wouldn’t follow. Of course, she did. Eran and Maggie did the same, alert by instinct even if they didn’t need to be.

“Theleo?” I called out, already knowing he’d decline.

“I’ll remain at my post,” he replied, firmly.

Once a soldier, always a soldier.

Inside, I found that Mrs. LeClaire’s residence hadn’t changed, either. It was surreal, like being transported back in time. In the dim candlelight, everything still had a red tinge. The walls remained cluttered with shelves of various herbs, bowls, and the bones of long dead animals. The sparse furnishings were piled with pillows and colorful blankets. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, but there was plenty of disorder. The only difference between when I saw it last and now was that this time she had guests.

Seated around Mrs. LeClaire’s cramped table, was a collection of the most powerful coven in our world: Ms. Veilleux, Ms. Boudreaux, Ms. Roquette and Mrs. DeVille. Mr. DeVille was sitting to his wife’s right, appearing humbled in their presence. They wore the black cloaks so common in our world, and seemed out of place on a voodoo priestess’s boat.