Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 43: Awa’s Ordeal
The bracelet, hidden inside the handkerchief, pulses faintly. I feel the subtle magic ripple through the air. The bracelet has responded to Élise’s unconscious desire to help Awa, nudging her gently, guiding her hands, urging her to give the Maristela Bracelet to Awa.
Awa unfolds the handkerchief. The bracelet lies inside, gleaming softly.
Her eyes widen. “Mademoiselle ... this is yours.”
Élise shakes her head. “No. It’s yours now. I don’t know why, but ... I feel you should have it.”
Awa looks at her with a mixture of fear, gratitude, and disbelief flickering across her face. “I cannot accept...”
“You must,” Élise says firmly. “I can’t protect you. But maybe you can use this to protect yourself.”
Awa swallows hard. “Thank you.”
Élise reaches out and squeezes her hands. “I don’t know if they will let me come again before they bring you before the court. I’ll do my best. I promise.”
A guard clears his throat. Élise steps back, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Awa ... please forgive me.”
Awa nods. “I already have.”
Élise leaves, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud. Awa sits slowly, unfolding the handkerchief again. She lifts the bracelet with trembling fingers. The gold warms instantly, responding to her touch. She slips it onto her wrist and the bracelet becomes invisible.
Awa gasps softly. “Jeannia...?”
I appear beside her, shimmering faintly, almost invisible in the gloom of the cell. “I am here.”
She touches her wrist, feeling nothing but skin. “Where did it go?”
“It hides itself,” I say gently. “Both to protect itself and you.”
Awa’s eyes fill with tears. “Will it save me?”
“It will protect you,” I whisper. “And I will help you.”
She wipes her eyes, steadying her breath. “What will they do to me?”
I hesitate. “I fear that the word of a duke’s son carries much weight among the judiciary. While any sane judge will deny Henri’s petition for you to be burned at the stake as a witch, the judge will still punish you in order to placate the superstitions of the nobility. You will likely be sent away.”
Awa closes her eyes. “To the colonies.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but the powers of the bracelet are finite. Gaining your freedom against the wishes of so many is more than the bracelet’s magic can achieve. But don’t give up hope. I will be with you for as long as you need me, and unexpected opportunities may arise.”
She nods slowly, accepting the truth with quiet courage. “Then I will survive.”
I drift closer, placing an ethereal hand over hers. “You are stronger than you know.”
Awa lifts her chin. “When they take me ... stay with me.”
“I will,” I say.
The bracelet pulses with a protective shield, possessive of its charges, and ready to face whatever comes next. Outside, the guards prepare the paperwork for transport to court, and for after the judge’s inevitable decision.
Inside, Awa sits alone, wearing a bracelet no one can see, holding onto a hope no one can take from her. And I remain beside her, shimmering softly, waiting for the journey that will carry her far from Paris.
Paris November 1676
The morning of the ship’s departure is grey. After weeks of delay, a ship bound for the coast of Africa, and then onto the Caribbean, is ready to depart. Few captains welcome a winter departure, but the profits from shipping African slaves from Senégal is huge when so few ships’ captains are willing to risk the storms en route. Tools and weapons are transported to west Africa; from there, slaves to the Caribbean; and sugar and spices brought back to France. A triangular trade that makes merchants like Dupré obscenely wealthy, even without cheating the tax collectors.
Awa stands in the prison courtyard, her wrists and ankles bound in shackles. The guards move with brisk efficiency, checking their six prisoners, testing their chains, preparing the small convoy that will carry them to the docks. Awa stands at the rear of the coffle, keeping her back straight and her chin lifted, refusing to let fear bend her. She’s the only one of the six who is being transported to a slave plantation in the Caribbean. Her fellow travellers are criminals serving a sentence of hard labour in some disease ridden French outpost somewhere in Africa. To them, it looks as though Awa has the better deal.