Chapter Twenty-Three Emma Baldwin
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Emma Baldwin
We rush inside. “Let’s get out of here!” Malcolm says, ripping off his suit and quickly changing into dry clothes.
“One second,” I reply, eager to get more information from the computer before we go, in case we end up in a time before the internet and technology. I may discover information that can help us defeat Sabine or at least help us stay hidden from her.
My damp fingers shake as they press down on the rune-etched keyboard. I inhale sharply. A blue digital face blossoms once again above the keys, rows of ones and zeroes shimmering into shifting facial features.
“How may I assist you?” it asks.
“Tell me about Sabine Blanchard,” I command, despite the fear pumping inside my heart.
The digital face whirls, morphing into a blur of black and white before solidifying into an online historical database entry, floating ghostlike above the keyboard. I read it aloud: “‘Mysterious Bride Arrives in Grand Belle Island.’
“In the past, young women from France were often sent to the New World as brides for wealthy planters. One such case involved Sabine LeClerc, a young woman from a poor family in rural France. Historical records indicate that a financial transaction between her family and a planter resulted in her marriage. Sabine’s story reflects the complex blend of power, economics, arranged marriage, and personal tragedy in colonial history. ”
Sabine was sold like property, like my ancestors, and banished to a new world. The injustice of it all squeezes my heart, but it doesn’t make me condone her actions. The computer reads me her story.
Malcolm tosses me an oversized T-shirt. “Change quick. Or pneumonia will get you before the witch does.”
I quickly peel off my dress, still staring at the image above the keyboard. It changes, revealing a blog post.
“Legend has it that Sabine was in a loveless marriage when she made a pact with an ancient deity of the woods. The mystical abilities she was granted helped make her a figure of terror, able to see through time and manipulate reality. Her story continues to fascinate paranormal enthusiasts and historians to this day because she left behind a trail of unexplained phenomena.”
So her power was born from desperation and a pact with darkness? My eyes flutter toward the computer as I jump up and down, wiggling into dry pants.
“Hurry!” Malcolm yells.
The image above the keyboard changes once more, revealing a snippet from a genealogy forum discussing complex family history.
“The Blanchard family tree converges with the Davenport line in the 1700s. Venus Davenport was a biracial slave rumored to be the plantation owner’s child.
Archibald Blanchard’s French bride, Sabine, was believed to have tormented Venus, who later disappeared.
Some think Venus was killed by Sabine; others believe she ran away or was sold to another plantation by her father.
There are also rumors that Venus remained trapped on Grand Belle Island until her death.
Slave anthologies and witness accounts also hint at a legacy of witchcraft, mysterious abilities, and horrors on the Blanchard plantation at Grand Belle Island, suggesting a family rooted in magic, mystery, and blood. ”
I tremble as I tie my sneakers. “Venus couldn’t have been sold, killed, and captured. So I guess there’s some fact and fiction in the legends.”
Despite the contradictions, I’m still shaken by Sabine’s legacy of magic and darkness.
Invisible projectors flicker on, and holograms displaying 3D images and daguerreotypes of Venus Davenport float above the keyboard.
I remember seeing her image before, her light brown skin, curly hair, searching hazel eyes, but it’s only now that I notice that her bright crooked smile is just like Malcolm’s.
Her image is trimmed in an oval of metallic gold that glimmers in the light like an image reflected on water.
“Look, Malcolm,” I say. He peeks over his shoulder as he shoves some spell books into a bag. “She’s one of your ancestors,” I add.
“Cool. Grab what you need, Emma. We need to move. Now. We can talk when we get where we are going.”
“There’s more about Sabine,” I say. “History has painted her as both victim and villain.”
I shove some clothes into Malcolm’s bag before noticing a cone of light glowing on the bed. My heart races at the sight of the golden mailbox. Jayla must’ve written back. Malcolm opens the box.
A delicate pink-winged fairy dressed in a shimmering gold gown and with flowing pink curls glides toward Malcolm.
In her tiny hand, she holds a glowing letter that grows and glows brighter as she approaches him.
Her wings droop sadly as she gives him his mail.
Malcolm’s face twists with horror as he reads it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He gives me the letter. My eyes scan the note, and my blood goes cold.
Malcolm. I said you were being stupid! The witch discovered your plans, and now Imani and Demetri are Tethered too! This is the price of you abandoning your family.
—Jayla