Reynaud's Redemption, стр. 3
Every Creolyte there understood what that meant. Originally from the Caribbean Islands, their people settled in New Orleans many years ago. Those first comers were humans having no magic at all. During hard times, they rekindled old skills of practical magic and enchantments used in their homeland to help them make it through.
Over time, their bodies adapted and absorbed the magic creating the first generation of children born with the talent embedded in them becoming the first Creolytes. A human could have the ability taken away without any harm to them, because it was a learned skill, but for a Creolyte, whose magic was a part of their soul, removing it was a fate, they felt, worse than death.
“Although you’ve failed in your job, we are not totally convinced you were alone in this.”
Madame Cousteau’s voice brought him back to reality.
“Therefore, it is the decision of this council that your present form be altered. We have decided to see if you can handle your obligations without the comforts of your magic. In this new form you will have to find a mate that will trust you with his or her life.”
This time an appalled sound moved through the room like a wave. Reynaud was sure the noise appropriately matched his expression.
“The magic you will maintain will be minimal,” Madame Cousteau added. “It will be enough for comprehension in your transformed state, but you will not be able to communicate except within the confines of said form. You will be allowed to remember what has transpired here, the passage of time, who you are and the task at hand.”
Reynaud was speechless. His knees finally buckled. He fell forward, palms on the floor trying to steady himself as a wave of nausea came over him.
“Madame, I— How can—?”
Madame Cousteau held up her hand. “Humans do it all the time, Reynaud,” she mentioned softly. “I have no doubt you will find a way. If you are successful, your powers will be restored to you. The council will confer on the matter and let you know what form we feel is appropriate.”
Reynaud stared blankly. The guards lifted him from the floor, directed by her dismissing wave. The distress inside him rose like a dense fog around his consciousness. His legs seemed as heavy as lead when the security personnel all but dragged him down the hall. They returned him to the detention cell and shoved him inside. The invisible bindings on his wrists instantly released, and he stumbled forward, the gate slamming shut behind him. Reynaud felt numb as he sat on the bench with his face buried in his hands. When he could no longer hear the footfalls of the departing men, he allowed the tears to fall.
“I must say I am a little disappointed at the elder’s decision, Reynaud.”
He jumped. The confusion lifted around his mind at the familiarity of the voice. He dropped his hands to view his visitor and confirmed his suspicions.
“Baptiste.”
“I should have known your punishment would not be the one on the books, but I am satisfied to know you will be gone all the same.”
Reynaud frowned. He was not surprised by Baptiste’s gloating or distain. They had been rivals for years. Reynaud rolled his eyes and turned away from him.
“It wasn’t hard to do, you know.”
Something in his tone sent a chill down Reynaud’s back. He raised a brow to Baptiste.
Baptiste gripped the bars and pressed his face between them.
“You and Angele were so predictable,” he said with an impish grin. “Every Monday, lunch at Vincente’s on St Charles, Wednesday was dinner at Maximo’s Ristorante and, of course, breakfast at Lucia’s on Saturday,” he added with a dramatic flip of his hand.
Reynaud furrowed his brows. “What—? I don’t—”
A soft chuckle escaped Baptiste when he looked at Reynaud. “The great Reynaud Leduc,” he announced with the same theatrics as before. His voice lowered, softer and more sinister when he spoke again. “It was easier than I expected to dispense of you who are always so trusting. It just never occurred to you that anyone would be after you, did it? But then, why would it? Everyone just loves Reynaud Leduc,” he said in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes.
Though Reynaud was accustomed to Baptiste’s ire toward him, this mocking smugness made him uneasy. He closed his eyes as he tried to figure out what secret the man could be holding.
“All I had to do was arrive early at your little rendezvous spot, intercept your waiter and pour my potion into your drink before he brought it to you.”
Reynaud’s popped his eyelids open and his heart raced as he gripped the edge of the bench. “What are you saying, Baptiste?”
“The potion was just a simple aphrodisiac,” Baptiste confided with an arrogant shrug. “It was nothing out of the ordinary, really. I did enhance it a bit so you couldn’t stop pawing, touching and kissing each other.” A disgusted look crossed his face, matching his tone. “I followed you home and waited patiently for you to finish your disgusting mating ritual. When you finally fell asleep and your magic was in its restoring stage, I killed Angele,” he admitted calmly.
Reynaud’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“Oh yes, it hardly took any effort at all on my part,” he said matter-of-factly.
Baptiste raised his hand and focused his gaze toward Reynaud. His thoughts formed a picture in Reynaud’s mind as he spoke.
Baptiste walked a few blocks behind them. Reynaud’s arm rested lovingly around Angele’s shoulder, holding him close. Angele’s feathery blond head rested against Reynaud’s chest as they moved leisurely across the streets. Turning onto Decatur Street, they went inside their home, and Baptiste took up a position outside the bedroom window.
Reynaud and