Page 81 of We Are All Sinners

Apparently, we all had a tiny chip inserted into our left heels in the shape of a fleur-de-lis, right after birth. That way, if and when the Saints need to find their subjects, it doesn’t take too long, if you have been scanned. We just have to check it with a blue light to make sure you have Saint blood. Only a Saint doctor has the capability of scanning. If you have never been seen by one, you are safe.

There are only a few elders who were born before they started chipping their children.

We couldn’t hide even if we wanted to.

That’s why we couldn’t find Boudreaux, he isn’t a Saint, so, no chip.

The Devereaux’s, Sin Devereaux specifically, has been very forthcoming with any and all information he has been able to obtain in their investigations. We all agreed to give him a task; to see just how loyal he and his friends are to an organization that tossed them aside.

Each family that had more than one son in that twelve-year period, had to choose one child that generation in New Orleans to sacrifice as a test. It was a time when the Devereaux’s were not the hierarchy.

It was years later, the Devereaux’s took over after a power struggle, between them and the Morelli family. Angelo Morelli died, leaving his wife Sylvia widowed. Some say she actually killed him, but no one could prove it.

She ran his business into the ground over the years, reverting back to her maiden name, Bennett.

The men born in that entire time frame have been denied their birthright their entire lives. There were a lot more men born in that time frame than Christian and his buddies.

I need to know that the stupid experiment, that Angelo Morelli went with to shake things up, actually worked in our favor. I’m hopeful they didn’t turn out to be as ruthless as their fathers and siblings that were brought up as a Saint, especially in NewOrleans. Some of the most ruthless Saints have been born and raised there.

Do they hate us and seek revenge? Will they fall in line to save their legacy, because they were raised a little more morally grey than black, or be worse than their brothers.

Will they protect the very thing that keeps our lineage going? Or will they sacrifice them as their forefathers have for centuries, looking at women as beneath them and at their disposal, a luxury, or simply, a mere pet.

I’m so thankful for our mother’s influences growing up. Had it not been for them teaching us how to treat women, and always calling us out on our bullshit, I don’t know if we would be the men we are now.

Evie gets completely silent, smiling as she rolls her window down. I watch her lean her head out of the window, taking in the French Quarter as the car pulls closer to her happy place.

The slight chill in the air whipping through the car gives me goosebumps when it hits the back of my neck at the same time Jinx decides to start meowing loudly.

“Home.” Evie smiles and I swear she is glowing, taking in the sight of our city. The place her soul belongs.

“Do you feel that, Brix?” she asks as she closes her eyes and smiles wide.

“Feel what baby?” I ask in pure awe of her.

“The magic. It’s always here. I can leave the quarter, and it always follows me for a while before it slowly fades to almost nothing. It’s like an overwhelming, beautiful recharge of light every time I come back from an extended trip. I don’t leave often, but I always love how it feels when I come home.”

“I wish I could feel what you feel.” I admit, a little jealous of the one feeling I can never give her myself.

“You felt my anguish the first time you touched me, making you feel the emotions as I did. Maybe you can.” She smiles at me with knowing eyes.

“You can feel my emotions and feelings when you touch me. I just react to your body and expressions, what I can see in your eyes. That’s not magic or projection, that’s love.” I explain.

Evie rewards me with a sweet smile.

I still have a hard time with all the witch stuff. Living through what we have, you would think I’m just a believer.

Like Evie, I enjoyed chemistry, but I flourished in psychology and forensics, learning the minds of some of the most notorious criminals in history.

I was studying to go into the FBI as a profiler, or so my transcripts show. I took a lot of classes to get the credits for several degrees, never really settling until my junior year, when Idecided business was my strong suit. It helped get my dad off my ass and I learned what his business was all about.

Learning how to read people during my freshman and sophomore year became invaluable when my dad got sick, and I needed to step up and help him. He bounced back a few times, but ultimately, his getting sick required me to fill his shoes and grow up.

Even when he took back over for a year or so, I helped him, but let people think it was all him. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. The way our friends look at us now, knowing that there is a good chance this shit is real. Knowing that there is a possibility that I may not be able to give her the happily ever after she deserves.

I know I should take this threat seriously after listening to all the witchy babble Darius spewed at dinner, trying to explain how it could be a Saint, but it also could be the witches who want me dead.

It could be someone closer than that. I have too many enemies to count after spouting about change at the last meeting that we were called to back in September. They were asking for a vote to sentence a covenant for cheating on her husband.

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