Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival Read Online Free PDF Page A

made me uncomfortable, like he was judging me.  “Do I
make you nervous?”
    “What?
 No, no!  Not at all,” I lied politely, wanting to crawl out of my skin.
    “Okay,
then.  Let’s get started.”
    He
pulled out a pot with soil in it and placed it on the table.  “Dig your hands
into the soil.”
    I
hesitantly did as I was told.  “Aren’t we kind of doing this backwards?  Maybe
we could have done the water after the soil,” I joked.
    Miles
did not show any signs of amusement.  “Feel anything?”
    “You
mean like a powerful sensation?”
    He
nodded.
    I
wanted to answer, Yes, a powerful sensation of feeling stupid , but I
shook my head.
    Next,
he lit one of the Bunsen burners and asked me to place my hands around the
flame.  I held them a couple of inches from the flame, but felt nothing other than
heat—no powerful sensation.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not feeling anything like you
want me to.”
    “I’m
merely trying to figure out which element will help you best with your
ability.”
    “Element?”
    “You
know the four elements—earth, air, fire, water.  As Traiteurs, we each use an
element to aid us in healing.  Your grandmother, for example, uses earth.  That’s
why she uses herbs and other ingredients from her garden so that she can make
what she needs to help the sick.  I, on the other hand, use water—holy water to
be exact.  My fountain is blessed.  I bring a vial of water with me when I do
my healing.”
    “What
are the big garden and green house for if you use water?”
    “I
had those made for Cee Cee and Ruby.  They use many ingredients for their
spells and potions.”
    “So,
what element am I?”
    “Do
you ever feel any kind of connection with the wind?”
    “Not
really.”
    Miles
sighed.  “Then this will be difficult.  If you don’t have an element to focus
on, then you will have to just use your hands and the healing ability inside of
you.  It’ll be hard to bring it out.  It will require a lot of training.”
    Great ,
I heard that annoying, sarcastic part of myself say.
    “Well
then, I don’t see why we can’t just dive in.  Would you like to ride with me to
the convent, or would you prefer to follow in your car?”
    “Why
are we going to a convent?”
    He
motioned for me to follow him, and we headed back into his house.  “I do my
healing from the chapel of St. Geneviève’s convent between Mid City and City
Park.  The residents of the area know by word of mouth to go there if they’re
sick.”  He paused, picking up a black case, and grabbed his coat from the coat
rack in the foyer.  He held the front door open for me, added, “I think it
would be better for you to follow me in your car.  The convent is closer to Cee
Cee’s than my house.”
     
    As
we neared City Park, I started to remember this area a little more.  I recalled
going to the Voodoo Music Festival there years ago with Carrie.  The park
covered about fifteen hundred acres of land south of Lake Pontchartrain and
west of Bayou St. John.  Within its boundaries, it contained numerous
beautiful, old live oaks with Spanish moss, lagoons, a golf course, an art
museum, and sculpture and botanical gardens, among other attractions.
    St.
Geneviève’s convent certainly had its charm.  Its exterior was made of gray
stone with a small steeple and a magnificent bell tower that rose about twenty
feet higher than the steeple.  The compound took up an entire city block
between St. Geneviève and Alexander streets along City Park Avenue.
    The
convent was across the street from the park’s southern border.  We parked on
the park side of the road and crossed at the intersection with St. Geneviève
Street.  As soon as we made it to the other side, we were approached by a
middle-aged woman who was previously lounging on the sidewalk in front of the
convent.  She excitedly hurried to greet us and walked with us up the steps to
the convent doors. 
    “Hey,
Miles!  You really early