Reynaud's Redemption, стр. 18
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After the morning meeting with the restaurant crew, Cameron announced that he and Reynaud would be gone for the day. Reynaud followed him quietly to the car, apprehensive but determined. He looked out of the window, reminiscing and marveling at how things had indeed changed. A sense of melancholy settled upon him when Cameron turned down a familiar street and he saw its dilapidated form. Reynaud’s magic, recognizing the region, sparked within him a bit. Possibility raised its head, but it was quickly doused. A pit formed in Reynaud’s gut at the full sight of the area. The car pulled to a stop, and they got out. Devastation spread as far as the eye could see. Despair clutched his heart and tears stung his eyes.
“What is this place called today?” he managed after a while.
“The locals call it the Ninth Ward. It took the greatest hit when the flood came,” Cameron told him.
Reynaud nodded as he looked out over the site of Lieu de Rencontre, where the Creolyte council hall once stood. He’d spent every day of his adult life there as a magical trainer. With so many users performing tasks of all kinds for countless years, the very walls of the dwelling hummed with enchantment.
Their sect wasn’t as large as a few of the others in Louisiana. Many of their people were content to build their homes near the structure to remain near the energy that flowed from it. It allowed them to be a close-knit group.
Reynaud strolled down the hill. Everything around him lay in ruin. The tiny twinges poking at his magic were miniscule compared to the full body throbbing the neighborhood’s former glory used to instill. Suddenly he snapped his head around to look over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Cameron asked, coming to his side.
Reynaud hesitated, wondering himself. He walked along the overturned soil, stepping over tossed debris, not knowing exactly where he was going. Cameron followed in his footsteps, almost bumping into him when he stopped abruptly looking around again.
“There’s something…familiar… Something”—he shook his head—“something pulls at me, Cameron. Its touch is very faint, like someone trying to tap me, but I’m just out of their reach. It tugs at the magic sitting in my soul.”
“Maybe you should follow it.”
Reynaud turned to him. “Follow it?”
“Yes. Can’t you do that if you focus on it? It could be like a lighthouse is to ships at night. I don’t know how your magic stuff works, but…” he suggested with a shrug.
Reynaud thought a moment. There were so many things he could not yet do. He had been doing small tasks to strengthen his long inactive earth magic since it had returned to him. In the beginning, concentrating on his power was exhausting each time. He practiced by healing trees and the grounds in the general area, multiplying the growth of healing herbs he found in the places Cameron had taken him and enhancing Cameron’s own vegetable gardens in their atrium. Those things were much easier for him than they were six months ago when he’d started.
Although uneasy, Reynaud closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation. Heat vibrated inside him, consuming his senses and intensifying as he focused. Something pulsed just outside his consciousness, just as Cameron had suggested. Fatigue brought him back. He wavered on his feet, but Cameron remained at his side.
“Rey, are you all right?”
He leaned forward, supporting most of his weight on his knees to catch his breath. “Yes, I’m fine. And yes, I can follow it,” he added with a grin.
Chapter Six
Baptiste St John sat at his desk, glowering at the man before him. He tapped the pencil in his hand on the cherry wood desktop in a slow, methodical rhythm. As he stared at the man, Baptiste played with the idea of striking him, but he knew he couldn’t until he had all the information he needed. When he leaned the chair forward to speak, his visitor jumped.
“Are you telling me that you caused me to miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Andrew?”
Distain filled his deep baritone voice. Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbed over his shirt and tie. As he nodded, he fidgeted in his chair under Baptiste’s glare.
“Y–y–yes, I guess I am, Mr St John,” Andrew stammered. “But it wasn’t our fault,” he added quickly. “How were we to know—?”
Baptiste held a hand up, and Andrew’s words stopped instantly.
“I do not want your excuses. I want you to tell me, once again, what happened. This time go slowly. The punishment you receive depends upon my full understanding.”
Although Baptiste’s tone was calm with a soft octave, Andrew widened his eyes at their obvious warning. He nodded vigorously, shifting in his chair again.
“Yes, sir. Well, we were all there—the same four that took Tomas to the house back in 2010. We did just like you said, made him comfortable and watched his status, keeping you abreast of how he was doing.”
Baptiste rolled his eyes then slammed the desk with an open palm. Andrew’s bottom left the chair and he gasped at the sound.
“My patience is wearing thin with you, Andrew. I suggest you fast forward to yesterday.”
“Oh. Yes, sir. Well, we took turns keeping watch over him, you see. I guess when Louis left the room to get one of us, he must’ve missed it. When I walked in to take his place, I saw Tomas glowing like a light bulb, just like you said he would. It was amazing. I ran for the boys. We were all kind of frozen, just staring at him, you know. None of us had ever seen an elder die.”
Baptiste pressed his lips into a thin line and pushed against the back of his chair. He heaved a breath and clenched his hand into a fist.
“The magic seemed