invsiblestringswrites

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Two firm taps against the counter and the egg cracked open, trailing residual clear, sticky fluid from Ford's fingers onto the surface. He was on breakfast duty in the kitchen just a few steps away from where the two women were forced to chat at the table. Ford had given his sister a bit of a warning look before he and Claire walked inside the home—something to say, Don't walk away. Otherwise, he knew Soleil would retreat upstairs in avoidance of their not-so-welcome houseguest.

"Make sure ya wipe that up, Ford," Soleil told him in disgust, green eyes flitting to the pile of whites accumulating on the counter as her brother cracked one egg after the other. She would have scolded him more, but it seemed like her brother was fixing up breakfast sandwiches for the table. Her favorite. One of the few things she could stomach if she couldn't have her first choice. (Which was, pure blood, of course.

Could'ja maybe drizzle some on top, like hot sauce or ketchup or somethin'? Nobody'd know the difference!

Soleil, you are despicable.)

The little sister was all saccharine-sweet whenever Claire began asking about the sigil. Claire didn't have to finish her word for Soleil to know. It was somehow embedded in Ford's warning look when the pair first walked in.

There was something anomalous about the blonde. Soleil could sniff it up this close that she wasn't just a plain human. Whether she possessed clairvoyance or something else. She wasn't an old-enough vampire to sniff it out accurately, but at this point, if she had a feeling, she'd hoped Ford had, too. Except, he seemed to be slipping. Perhaps allured by the woman's beauty, which was undeniable to say the least.

And when was the last time Ford got a long with a woman?

Leave it to Soleil to clean up Ford's mess, although Claire seemed quite insistently curious about it. All the years they'd had that sigil on the tree and not one townie mentioned a thing. Now here was some pretty girl that Ford picked up from the side of the road like a stray, asking questions. Soleil herself would never invite such a sleuth, no matter how easy he or she was on the eyes. (Never mind that she wasn't able to control who asked about the sigil and who didn't...)

"Oh, that stupid tree carving?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"It's the funniest lil' story. One time in middle school our class took a field trip to the St. Tammany Parish Historical Society." Then, a rambling monologue about all the things she'd seen that day, buying Ford some time to finish the sandwiches. "...My classmates and I saw that symbol in one'a the exhibits and had competitions to see who could draw it the best. We were so over that stupid little 'S' you drew in middle school, if y'know what I'm talkin' about?"

Ford's voice suddenly cut through, two sizzling plates of breakfast sandwiches in tow. "Alright, Soleil, enough'a your monologue," he said in scolding. He offered Claire an apologetic look, the siblings upkeeping the charade of being clueless. "Eat up, you two."

She smiled, not used to forcing herself to do so disingenuously, and took her spot at the kitchen table, making sure to wait until Soleil had done so first since she was a guest, but also a woman, and therefore meant to sit before Ford. Luckily, it seemed like everybody here knew that was the customary order as well. Good manners were hard to come by these days, but maybe that was only true in the city, since she'd found nothing but hospitality (and a growing list of incongruencies, but that was a separate matter) since she'd entered this parish.

"This looks great, thank you so much, Ford," Claire said, and meant it. But.. "Do you say Grace before meals?" she asked as tactfully as she could.

"there you go," the brunette praised in a gentle murmur, feeling the rise and fall of her shoulders steady. "you're doing good. just keep breathing for me," she encouraged, no ounce of impatience evident in her tone. she would be there for as long as her presence was wanted.

the air stilled around them once more — a moment of calm before the other utters words that has her heart squeezing painfully. such a heavy burden for one person to carry. she wished she could take the weight of it for her.

"hey," adeline begun, much more firm in her tone than before. "that is not not true—can you look at me, please?" she requested, fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before lifting her chin and forcing her teary gaze upon her own. "you did all you could for that man. remember how proud of yourself you were after your surgery?" she had seen it for herself, even if from afar. "sometimes...things happen. things that are completely out of our control, no rhyme or reason. you can't be torturing yourself with those kinds of thoughts. i won't let you."

Adeline's confidence in James' innocence was touching if misplaced. James swallowed, then swallowed again until the lump in her throat shrunk enough that she felt she could could get more than just gulping breaths down. It had been so long since she'd been on the receiving end of Adeline's touch, her warmth. Even if she hated the circumstances, she wouldn't reject the gift. "I didn't listen. He tried to tell me something was wrong. His nurse tried. But." Shame forced her gaze downward, away from Adeline's face. "I wouldn't hear it. I had the endarterectomy, and I wasn't - " She wasn't worried about anything, or anyone, else.

"Addie, it's my fault." Why she needed Adeline to believe her, she wasn't sure. Wasn't part of the problem that Adeline had been so convinced of James' flawed character? Why give her more ammo? Because this time, it was truer than ever. This time it had killed somebody.

"Your Honor, it was an accident," he called out. The room's chattering came to a startled halt. The Council members stared at him. Ezra wasn't sure what of him would make them want to listen. He grew up poor and slicked around the city for a long time before the Singers took him in and treated them like their own (in Lou's case, perhaps better). His reputation as a magic-learner was soiled to say the least. Many thought of him as impure—an insult in this coven—but only a few had the guts to say so out loud knowing his involvement with the Singer family.

If only Lou could have been spared from their gossip the same way.

"Accident or not, Llewellyn destroyed sacred coven property," spoke Councilman Everhart. "At this age, she should have full control of her magic powers."

Suddenly, a woman's laughter—boisterous and mocking—cut through the Councilman's authority. "Who dare interrupt?!" demanded another Council member, looking out into the crowd, seeking the source.

Just then, a woman emerged from the back of the audience, slow steps commandeering everyone's attention as she made her way to the front row, heading toward the wooden gate that kept the jury separated from the Councilman and the defendant. "Sacred coven property?"

Ezra recognized it was that same woman from before, who lingered outside in the hallway. Her strawberry blonde hair glistened even under the dim light of the courtroom. His brows furrowed as he watched on. She held an apple in one hand, and the other, she lifted up. With that slight gesture, the wooden gate—which was protected by a special seal that prohibited the use of any magic from anyone besides who had laid the seal—gently pushed open.

"Do you know how many times I've watched your horses piss on that structure?" she asked with a giggle.

Lou watched as the mysterious woman gazed at Lou.

"Anyway," she said, taking a bite of her apple and sauntering across the courtroom. The guards at the entrance were seemingly entranced as she danced about. "It wasn't Llewelyn's magic that knocked the structure down. Councilwoman Seedra has been trying to decommission that structure for months, hasn't she?"

Councilwoman Seedra shifted in her seat.

"This is preposterous!" Councilman Everhart protested. The woman simply placed her finger over her lips, silencing him.

"Didn't you propose a new building take its place?" the woman turned her attention back to Councilwoman Seedra, hopping up on the desk in front of Llewelyn and crossing her legs. She was about to take another bite of her apple before coming to a sort of epiphany.

"That's right. You wanted to build a new theater exclusively for your daughter's dance recitals," the woman shared. "And you placed a rot spell on that old structure to watch it eventually crumble... just in time for her graduation from theater school in about a month, right?

"Luckily for you, Llewelyn here sped up the job. But you and I both know that one of Councilman Everhart's farts or, God forbid, another piss break from all of your horses could have knocked it down. Not so sacred after all, is it?"

Another bite from the apple. Councilwoman Seedra was as red as it.

When all of this was over and she received her own punishment, she'd come to deliver Ezra's for getting himself in trouble too.

She needed worry too long about the spotlight resting on her best friend. A new threat cascaded through the crowd on airless steps. Even if Llewellyn could speak, she would've been too stunned to do so.

As the woman spoke - as the woman revealed a truth almost comical - the strangest thing happened. It began as a warm tingling in her fingers and toes, like holding one's hands to the air vents in a defrosting car on a winter morning. The heat spread internally, so silently, mingling almost playfully with the little lick of flame she kept all for herself in the center of her chest. Enticing it.

That heat, once granted permission, unfroze her vocal cords and flushed her cheeks, and Lou really couldn't help it - she laughed.

"Blasphemy," Everhart sputtered, unsure whether to turn his ire on Llewellyn or the insurgent first. But the scales had already been tipped, the murmurings amongst the gathered coven rising in tenor.

"Well," Lou sighed, rising to her feet and dusting off the knees of her pants. "It seems maybe you all have things to... discuss. Unless you and Councilwoman Seedra wish to iron this all out before the whole coven," she offered with a wicked grin she did not bother to hide.

"I'm always hiring new ferry drivers." It was a wistful joke in return. She came in on the same ferry he was driving. How amusing was it to imagine her behind that very wheel, trekking the waters of Lake Pontchartrain, sometimes stowing partygoers who wanted New Orleans on a budget. They'd party in the city and sleep in the country.

After a moment, he was planning to stand, but Ford's actions were interrupted by the blonde's realization. His brows knitted together. So many times he sat with someone by this very same tree trunk and yet, no one had ever pointed out that sigil. No one outside of the Smith family, that is. It was the Smith family crest. Something that only a certain group of people would recognize...

His expression relaxed not even a second later, keeping nonchalant. "Soleil did, when she was younger. It was something she saw in a book," he told her. "It's been years since I even remembered that was there."

Before Ford could ask why, Soleil's voice rang through the window in the kitchen. "Where are those eggs, Ford? I gotta head off to practice soon 'nd I'm starvin'!" she hollered.

It was as if she knew to cut in. He cleared his throat and stood up, reaching for Claire's hand to help her up. "We'd better go. She gets cranky when she's hungry."

"You saw her do it?" she asked, flicking her head back to ask the question. Did Soleil really put it here? And if so, what sort of book had she gotten her hands on to find something like this? Did they even know what kind of trouble they were inviting, leaving markers like this for all the wrong people to see?

Claire wasn't especially gifted. The fact that she had any heightened abilities at all for a halfling was remarkable and owed only to the strength of her father's bloodline. What little ability she did have, she had no conscious control over. It came and went as it pleased. And now, triggered by some inborn alarm system, that scent which had first struck her upon entering the Smith home came back to her flowing sure and steady across open fields. Ford reeked of it. She couldn't tell from here, but she'd bet Soleil did too.

And something God awful occurred to her just then. A fear she didn't want to voice aloud - not in front of Soleil, for one, and not now, when she hoped she was just overcome by the discovery and therefore overreacting.

Because if she was right, the Smiths were being fed upon by one of those swamp trash covens and they surely didn't even know it. And she no idea what to do about it.

She didn't know what else to do other than take his offered hand and follow him back to the house. If she was right, that house wasn't any safer than an open field, but it felt like it was somehow. Four walls and a locked door with no welcome mat.

"Hi there," she forced herself to greet Soleil with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It wasn't this poor woman's fault, whatever was going on, and she needed to be a good house guest. Almost as much as she needed answers. "Thank y'all so much for accommodating me. I won't be a bother, I promise. And it's just beautiful out here. You're the cutest thing! I never had a little sister, but if I did, she wouldn't be as darlin' as you by a mile." She held the basket up in offering. "We, um. Ford. Got eggs. Do you know anything about that sig-" she cut herself off. The word sigil wouldn't and shouldn't mean anything to them. "That sign, carved in the tree by the strawberry patches? It's so.. peculiar."

she resumed with her routine as usual. sleep, eat, work, study, repeat. no room for anything else. yet still, instinct reared in. it wasn't as if she would seek information on james' whereabouts or activities, but when it so happened to find her she would make note.

today's surgery happened to be a big one. the first solo surgery awarded to their cohort. and with a big personality like james, there was talk. adeline was one of many that filled the surgical theatre. as with everybody else, she watched in awe (others with envy) as she conducted the surgery — each move straight out of the textbook. perfect, even to the trained eye. however proud james must have felt, adeline felt prouder. she only wished she could celebrate james' success with her.

she came to learn of the news through a particularly mouthy group of their colleagues, far too smug for a situation in which a life was lost. adeline had told them as such within a monologue of insults and condemnation.

"maybe if you'd spent any less time with your heads up your asses you would be half as good as her, but i don't see any of you making that effort so—" her tirade had been interrupted by the very person she had been defending barging through the crowd she had managed to attract. adeline followed immediately, feet moving with no need for command.

"james!" the brunette called out after her, but to no avail. it did nothing to stop her from entering the room that the blonde had disappeared into. the sight she was met with broke her heart like nothing else — james huddled into the corner, looking as small as she had ever seen her. she didn't quite know how to react.

She hugged her shins tighter, the bones in her knees digging into her forehead, but she didn't notice. Adeline was speaking - what was she saying? James was a professional. She should know what to do for someone having a panic attack, which was certainly what this was. Logically, she knew that. Slow down her breathing. Yes. At least one of them knew what to do.

Without raising her head, James tried her best to follow directions. Adeline breathing slow and steady beside her, her own breaths ragged at first but then evening out to a similar if unidentical tempo. Adeline's hand on her back, steady and sure.

She wasn't dying. She wasn't alright, but she wasn't dying. Which was more than she could say for Mr. Blight.

"I killed him," she told her knees, still afraid to raise her head, but now out of something more akin to shame.

The pair of them stood outside of the meeting hall now. Beyond the frosted glass panels on the two wooden doors that led into the meeting hall, he saw splotches of dark moving about. Likely the Council in their robes prepping for Lou and her case, taking their seats.

He let out a sigh, facing Lou and begrudgingly pulling her hand from his arm. This way, he could touch her shoulders and ground her. "But you know the Council only deals in absolutes. Maybe they'll lessen your punishment, but they're still strict. The temple," like all the other structures in their coven, "was sacred." Emphasis on was.

In the distance, Ezra caught sight of another figure peering at them. Almost eavesdropping. She was tall and thin, clothes raggedy. Something was bright red in her hand. Her face was unfamiliar to him. His brows furrowed out at the woman before glancing back at Lou, his hand on her shoulder guiding her in the hall. "It sounds like they're ready. Let's head inside."

That woman was Ivy. An excommunicated witch whose unknown powers proved too strong, too calamitous for the safety of the coven. She held an apple up to her mouth, hovering its waxy, bright red skin near her lips before she promptly took a bite out of it. Her gaze, dark blue like the depths of the ocean, was fixed on Lou. Though they were at opposite ends of the hallway, Ivy could see Lou's face clear-cut, from her spotless skin to the dimples on her cheeks. Ivy's stare was unwavering, isolating. And yet, warm. As if they were coaxing Lou to jump into a wide body of water for a new wave baptism.

Ivy would linger behind and eventually follow the pair inside.

It was a bad sign. Lou stood her ground for a moment, piercing into Ezra with her resolute stare. "Our lives are sacred," she reminded, as if it was Ezra who held her fate in his hands and not a room full of stuffy and uncompromising elders.

Whatever argument she'd been about to launch into was cut short when the ancient wooden doors swung open of their own accord, blowing her hair backward and beckoning her forward. Here goes nothing.

It was like the whole coven turned up to witness her public lashing. The stone of the walls, the carved benches, the floors and ceiling - it all seeped the color and heat from every living thing in the oversized room. As Llewellyn took her place on her knees before the half moon of enthroned elders, she dug around inside herself for that little scrap of radiant warmth that lived within. It would not go out. Not in here. Not anywhere.

"Your hi-" she began, but Councilman Everhart held up an imposing pale hand and stole the words from her throat. Not intimidated her into silence. Stole the words from her throat. It opened and closed, and nothing came out. She gaped liked a fish.

"Llewellyn Singer. You stand accused of defacing a holy temple by means of reckless and excessive use of power. Power beyond anything taught to you in the academy. Destructive power. Not healing power. Do you contest this accusation?"

"Yes. I-" She was only allowed those two words before the air was stolen from her again. This time she leaned forward on both palms, her brow creased, her skin hot despite the permeating chill. They could steal her voice but not her rage.

"And no sense of personal accountability, either. Many would expect better from a Singer." Everhart paused here to share a conniving glance with the weathered robed men on either side of him, and the pause gave permission for a few in the crowd to exhale bated breaths, shift on their feet, whisper to those they'd come with. And still Lou sat. Silent.

Maybe his ears perked up a bit at the notion Claire was from New Orleans, only because Soleil wouldn't shut up about it. If she was listening, she'd probably dash out into the strawberry fields sooner rather than later, if only to ask the blonde about all of her endeavors in the city. As if it was a place for movie stars. His overzealous little sister often wondered why they couldn't leave their podunk estate and move onto bigger and better things, like New Orleans. How could Ford simply explain that the city kind and their kind—the vampires from the bayou—didn't mesh well?

He let the blonde fill the basket with just a few more berries before their smiles matched each other's. Her smile was warm and genuine enough but, he still couldn't shake it. Something was evermore peculiar about Claire. What it was, he couldn't discern, and yet he felt as if curious fingers were slowly but surely peeling something back to reveal another something. He'd never felt this way about any other visitor that came through the Smith farm. Otherwise, he wouldn't think to be so curious.

"Right." Ford cleared his throat. Maybe this was his chance to uncover some light. "And you're out here in Abita Springs to... get away from the city, I take it?" It was an innocent enough question. So many New Orleans natives took advantage of the history surrounding them. Louisiana was rich with things unknown, knowledge waiting to be eaten.

Claire sighed, dropping to sit criss cross against a tree trunk and sift through her pickings. If she'd been back home, these berries would've been bought organic at a Trader Joe's, thoroughly rinsed, then pared into a bowl before eating. As it was, she plucked one from the basket and took a bite, holding it a little ways away from her so that when the juice slide down her palm, it would drip in the grass and not her lap. "Know anyone looking for a job? Benefits suck, but there's not a lot of turnover." She had to laugh at her own joke, even if she'd be the only one who got it.

But she wasn't laughing when she made to move her braid out of the way of the tree trunk and saw something known to her and yet not. "Did you put this here? Did Soleil?" she asked, her fingertips hovering over the crudely carved sigil in the bark. At her feet, the clippings still scattered. Someone had done this recently. "Does it mean anything to you?" her head snapped to him now, eyes purposeful, any humor gone. She almost wished this was her own family's sigil - not for her sake, but Ford's. She'd be able to bargain for him. But if this belonged to one of the calamitous covens she'd been warned about..