How Deep The Roots Go ( Book One)

Chapter 24

Temperance tried to keep in mind that she was born with a gift. That she was bound and destined for something in this life. If this was it, then so be it. She just wished she had her mother here to confer with. She would know what to do, what to say, and how to handle the visions when they became too dark for her.

Now that all these new revelations were coming to pass, Temperance felt void of clarity. There were too many things hitting her at the same time that induced such a suffocation — a true sense of rarity and reality that it seemed to dim the silver lining of her gift. But now... Oh yes, now...the added stress of the vandalism only sent her near the edge, cresting to a peak where anger raged like a sick monster seething and twisting inside of her...

Angels, the talk of demons, and now this... She exhaled heavily, laying her bags on a French linen chair in the hallway, tossing the thought away. While she was open - minded; this was something that seemed as unbelievable as having a vampire for a neighbor.

She walked to her living room then; a simple room really. There was a deep leather sofa in the middle; seated on top of a brightly colored wool rug. There were rustic farmhouse end tables on each side, adding a ranch like appeal to the space. The lamps were a clear glass amber color with wheat linen drum shades, giving off a softened light to the room. In the center, there was a massive stone fireplace with a large barn wood shelf resting midway. It was something her mom and her had purchased while antique shopping on the other end of town.

She had to admit, although she didn't entertain, she did have a certain knack for turning an empty space into something comfortable and worthy of entertaining. When Temperance decided to move back in after her mother passed, she didn't alter the entire decor, but decided to blend her style with her mother's. The process kept her mind busy while she was grieving.
Temperance walked over to the mantle and picked up a leather, framed picture of her and her mother. It was amidst several others that graced the aged wood beam.

She traced her index finger over the tooled leather, feeling the buttery softness of it. Temperance's eyes warmed looking at the image, recalling the moment when it was captured. It was taken a year ago at a social gathering in downtown New Orleans. It was an event that Genevieve attended every year before Mardi Gras began. It always seemed like an odd festivity to Temperance, as the occasion itself seemed to be surrounded by secrets. Genevieve prepped weeks before the event, having house calls and closed door meetings in her library. Temperance was never included in them.

Typically Genevieve would have taken Lilly, but this time she was adamant that Temperance attend. Their smiles in the picture indicated they were having a grand old time, and indeed they did, Temperance remembered, a beautiful moment that was inked in her heart.

A lot of whiskey had been passed around, she recalled. Not a glass had gone empty that evening. Toast after toast, she recollected... She had been introduced to many people that Genevieve knew, and ones, surprising to Temperance, that she had never heard her mother mention before. And those individuals seemed to eye her with some sort of assessment.

When Temperance had began to feel a bit uncomfortable, her mother had reassured her and ceased her worries immediately. But still, to no avail, Temperance couldn't shake the feeling that these people were almost... judging her — determining if she had salt.

Her mind trailed off, and she shook her head, trying to ward the memory off. She placed the frame back onto the mantle, when no sooner that she sat it there that it suddenly slipped off the ledge and came crashing down onto the floor.