that could have kept me from her.
“Then why was only Jameson affected,” Alison demanded, not opposing , but seeking clarification.
“Because,” I answered stiffly. “I can heal myself.” Choking on my next words, I muttered , “I just…I can’t heal Jameson.”
Someone placed a hand on my shoulder , trying to comfort me. It was large , so in the back of my mind I deduced it was Oscar.
“Then we find someone else to do it for you,” declared Nolan, his voice edg y and bold.
“Another healer?” offered Charlotte but was denied by the shake of Dillon’s head.
“We can try to channel for Jocelyn,” Oscar offered , lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“This curse ,” said Dillon, “will require everything we’ve got.”
Over the course of the next several days, multiple rituals were performed. We requested and received detailed casting instructions from the most powerful practitioners in our world. Favors were called in by both families , obtaining the strongest talismans, potions, and salves available. Ms. Veilleux appeared with a coven and personally worked on Jameson. Mr. Thibodeaux hand-delivered a package from my mother – a potion designed to cure all. Nothing worked.
Sometime between the sun rising and setting, Aunt Lizzy was located and brought to the Caldwell ’ s house . She attempted her own sorcery but failed. Sometime after, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell arrived at Jameson’s bedroom door, the news of Jameson’s illness having finally reached them. Their hair was windblown , so I knew they hadn’t bothered with the airlines. They had taken their own form of transportation. This didn’t seem to impact their energy level, though ; removing my grip from Jameson’s hand , they insistently ushered me aside. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. Despite laboriously performing their own rituals and spells , even their practice on Jameson failed.
During this time, Miss Celia fed us , Miss Mabelle called in our absences at school , and Spencer and Dillon ravaged the library searching for a solution …the rest of us waited.
I kept my focus on Jameson, watching his steady, undeniable decline and chanting my incantation so often my voice grew hoarse , eventually disappearing entirely. But o nly once did he respond.
It was early morning, well before dawn, when his lips opened and he whispered just one word, chasing my heart up into my throat . Not only because he finally spoke , but also because it was the first word I was hoping to hear from him.
“Jocelyn…” he breathed.
“I’m here,” I blurted. “Jameson. I’m here.”
But his eyes remained closed, his muscles lay limp, and his breathing returned to a shaky rhythm.
When he said my name , I stood up , h over ing over him . From above, I was taken aback by his striking features , and w ithout thinking, I leaned forward, my lips settling on his. There was no movement from him, as I felt his lips surrender t o the gentle pressure of my kiss . He showed no reaction, gave no response. Disappointed, I sank back in to the chair I’d been resting in, feeling more hopeless than ever.
Jameson had gone as white as his sheets. A glimpse in his direction might cause you to miss him. Even his scar, usually a sign of his virility and hardiness, disappeared against his colorless skin . His breathing remained shallow and wispy , while his torso became more concave. Being witness to this caused a co nstant pressure in my own chest, one that threatened to take away my breath entirely…forever.
Just before sunset on the third day, we gathered in Jameson’s room, solemnly contemplating what to do next.
“We need something different,” said Dillon , with finality in his tone. “A unique approach.”
He then left the room without another word, leaving us all perplexed and watching the door , anticipating his return.
“Okay…” Burke said , slowly, uncertain as to where Dillon was headed. His reaction may have been
“Then why was only Jameson affected,” Alison demanded, not opposing , but seeking clarification.
“Because,” I answered stiffly. “I can heal myself.” Choking on my next words, I muttered , “I just…I can’t heal Jameson.”
Someone placed a hand on my shoulder , trying to comfort me. It was large , so in the back of my mind I deduced it was Oscar.
“Then we find someone else to do it for you,” declared Nolan, his voice edg y and bold.
“Another healer?” offered Charlotte but was denied by the shake of Dillon’s head.
“We can try to channel for Jocelyn,” Oscar offered , lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“This curse ,” said Dillon, “will require everything we’ve got.”
Over the course of the next several days, multiple rituals were performed. We requested and received detailed casting instructions from the most powerful practitioners in our world. Favors were called in by both families , obtaining the strongest talismans, potions, and salves available. Ms. Veilleux appeared with a coven and personally worked on Jameson. Mr. Thibodeaux hand-delivered a package from my mother – a potion designed to cure all. Nothing worked.
Sometime between the sun rising and setting, Aunt Lizzy was located and brought to the Caldwell ’ s house . She attempted her own sorcery but failed. Sometime after, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell arrived at Jameson’s bedroom door, the news of Jameson’s illness having finally reached them. Their hair was windblown , so I knew they hadn’t bothered with the airlines. They had taken their own form of transportation. This didn’t seem to impact their energy level, though ; removing my grip from Jameson’s hand , they insistently ushered me aside. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. Despite laboriously performing their own rituals and spells , even their practice on Jameson failed.
During this time, Miss Celia fed us , Miss Mabelle called in our absences at school , and Spencer and Dillon ravaged the library searching for a solution …the rest of us waited.
I kept my focus on Jameson, watching his steady, undeniable decline and chanting my incantation so often my voice grew hoarse , eventually disappearing entirely. But o nly once did he respond.
It was early morning, well before dawn, when his lips opened and he whispered just one word, chasing my heart up into my throat . Not only because he finally spoke , but also because it was the first word I was hoping to hear from him.
“Jocelyn…” he breathed.
“I’m here,” I blurted. “Jameson. I’m here.”
But his eyes remained closed, his muscles lay limp, and his breathing returned to a shaky rhythm.
When he said my name , I stood up , h over ing over him . From above, I was taken aback by his striking features , and w ithout thinking, I leaned forward, my lips settling on his. There was no movement from him, as I felt his lips surrender t o the gentle pressure of my kiss . He showed no reaction, gave no response. Disappointed, I sank back in to the chair I’d been resting in, feeling more hopeless than ever.
Jameson had gone as white as his sheets. A glimpse in his direction might cause you to miss him. Even his scar, usually a sign of his virility and hardiness, disappeared against his colorless skin . His breathing remained shallow and wispy , while his torso became more concave. Being witness to this caused a co nstant pressure in my own chest, one that threatened to take away my breath entirely…forever.
Just before sunset on the third day, we gathered in Jameson’s room, solemnly contemplating what to do next.
“We need something different,” said Dillon , with finality in his tone. “A unique approach.”
He then left the room without another word, leaving us all perplexed and watching the door , anticipating his return.
“Okay…” Burke said , slowly, uncertain as to where Dillon was headed. His reaction may have been
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