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  “Of course. I’m here for the gardens.”

  She waves her hand to the side. It doesn’t magically move me over, but it might as well. Her force pushes her way into the house.

  I’ve spent way too much of my life wanting to have that kind of power. It’s something you only get with age, but seeing how easy everything is for Ophelia makes a girl want things. Shoot, I’d just love to age.

  Ophelia looks around the house. Nothing draws her eye for more than a split second. I don’t get the feeling she’s impressed by anything.

  “I take it you’ve learned the secrets behind why Ian gets to know about us. Dreadful, dreadful situation. I know you have no love loss for their kind, but no one deserves to end up like Audrey. I hear she was a delightful woman.”

  “Was?”

  That feels like key word usage. Even if someone turns into a bloodsucker, I wouldn’t use the past tense. I like to think that bloodsuckers are dead, but there is still something there. They are still the people they were. They just took on some annoying habits.

  “From what I understand, there is a shell that once housed a lovely housewife. I’ve heard it’s been tough for Ian.”

  Understatement of the century as far as Ian’s concerned. He decided not to leave his mom when I heard mine at the door. Ophelia didn’t bother knocking, just stood there for a few seconds while she waited. I’m surprised she didn’t come right in.

  “So, you don’t think she’s still alive?”

  I’m not sure whether the glare I get over her shoulder as I shut the front door is because of the question I asked or the fact that I whispered it. Ian doesn’t have super-hearing, but I feel talking about his mom’s condition is something that needs to be said quietly.

  “How long have you been in this house, Jazz?”

  “Less than an hour.”

  The question is odd, but I see no issue to hem and haw about the answer. I’m not sure if there’s a right answer. Although, I take a second to wonder if I should have fudged the number. I was vague, so it shouldn’t matter. Why does it feel like it does?

  “And in almost an hour, have you felt anyone else in the house other than you and Ian? Because that’s all I feel in this house.”

  That can’t be. I’m trying to remember what I felt when I walked in. There was the smell, which kind of overloaded my senses. The apple smell without a doubt is coming from Ian’s mom. It’s still heavy in the air.

  I haven’t watched Ophelia’s face closely, but she hasn’t reacted to it. She would’ve said or done something if she walked into the same wall of apple that almost closed my throat up.

  “You can’t feel her?”

  I’m a little mystified. I guess the smell alone might not feel like a person, but it’s something. I know I stood in there and studied her body and came up to the conclusion she was dead, but my mom’s question has me wondering if I really believe that. I thought I did, but then I heard a female voice in a house with no other female, so that’s got to mean something.

  Ophelia turns around to face me. Her head cocks to the side as her eyes narrow. I try to decide if there’s any look she’s ever given me that I liked, and I’m coming up empty.

  “You can. Explain.”

  “I think you should just see her first. Maybe something is blocking you before you get in the room.”

  That makes no sense to me, but I don’t want to explain without seeing whether I’m totally losing it. I should have asked Ian about the smell. Maybe it isn’t from his mom. Maybe I have a brain tumor or something.

  “No, I need to know what you know before I go in there. What are your senses telling you?”

  I want to be stubborn, but I’m pretty sure the word came to be because someone ran into Ophelia. I still find it hard to believe she doesn’t sense the same things I do.

  “They’re telling me I’m confused. Do you really not smell a sort of off apple smell. Kind of like they’re rotting or something?”

  “Rotting apples?”

  It doesn’t seem like a question that needs an answer. Ophelia likes to repeat things and make it sound like she wants further explanations. She says something like that and then stares off in space for a few moments before she comes up with something else to say. I sometimes think she sees something that isn’t there while she stares.

  “She spoke to you, didn’t she? That’s why you called.”

  See why it sort of stinks to have someone like her as a mother. There’s no reason she should’ve come to that conclusion based on me saying something about apples.

  “I don’t know. Ian says she talks to him all the time, and I might have heard something.”

  “Jazz, there is no might when it comes to you. Did you hear something or not?”

  “At first no, but then Ian wanted me to touch her. When I got closer, I heard something.”

  Evidently, my words spring Ophelia into action. She doesn’t take off down the hall. Instead of walking, she flashes us both to the bedroom.

  I’m able to hide my astonishment, but Ian isn’t as used to the way enchanters do things. For a split second he was still on the bed holding his mom’s hand. Then, he was standing, a couple of feet away from the bed. It’s a little surprising he didn’t hit the ceiling.

  “Did you actually come in contact?” Ophelia asks.

  It’s like a flash thirty feet away didn’t change the conversation at all. This is my life.

  “No, but apparently she can see without opening her eyes.”

  I don’t really have any other details than that. I can’t figure out how that’s possible. It sounds even crazier than being able to hear her.

  Ian tries to go back to his post, but Ophelia pushes him out of the way to do some kind of examination. He looks at me. I shrug. I should’ve probably warned him about Ophelia’s way of doing things. He’s spent enough time following me around that he should know I got my uniqueness from someone.

  “What’s she doing?” Ian whispers as he comes to stand next to me.

  Ophelia has her arms out over the body. My head is starting to hurt. I was so sure it was just a body, but then she had to go and open her mouth.

  “Your guess is just as good as mine.”

  That’s not quite true. I can feel the energy Ophelia is waving around as she tries to pick something up. I could’ve gone that route, but since Ian was focused on her speaking to him, I went straight for the head.

  The look of doubt on Ian’s face tells me he doesn’t believe me. I guess he’s got a least a few brain cells working for him.

  “You’re sure you heard her?”

  Ophelia is deep in concentration, so the words sound distant. I wish I could pick up exactly what she’s doing, but it’s something I’ve never seen.

  “All I know is that he’s been having conversations with her, and I heard something in a female voice.”

  She stops whatever she’s doing and turns to face us. The gasp from Ian is hard to miss when he gets a good look at her. It feels a little like a kick to my gut. Every human acts the same way when they see her. If my growth hadn’t been stunted, they’d do the same with me.

  Most days that fact doesn’t bother me. After a couple hundred years, I’ve grown to live with it, even if I grumble. But, there are times it feels like salt is being rubbed in my wounds, and I have a lot of wounds.

  “And you’re sure about the apple?”

  If she can’t smell it now, I’m really leaning towards a brain tumor. Did I mention that was impossible for an enchanter?

  “What apple?” Ian asks.

  Ophelia waves her hand to the side, a clear sign that Ian’s question should be ignored. Since she’s been on the weird side, I go ahead and address him. To me, the questions aren’t really that different.

  “You do know your house smells like apples, right?”

  I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but it means I need to make an appointment to have my head examined, not from the shrink this time. I wonder if a brain scan will l
ook funny. I’ve always imagined Fae brains look like a big city at night compared to a town of maybe a thousand for a human brain.

  “It doesn’t smell like apples. Are you feeling okay?”

  Ian raises his hand towards my face, I take a step back and somehow keep myself from swatting his hand away. The kid can’t seriously think he’s going to check me for a temperature, can he?

  “Sorry, it’s just something my mom’s always done to me.”

  His hand lowers quickly and he sheepishly turns away from me. The blush on his cheeks is a little cute.

  “Well, I am hopeful she will once again be able to do that for you, but first, we need to call Noah. He should be here for this.”

  What? She’s hopeful? That makes about as much sense as her wanting to call Noah.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’ve dealt with tension before. I love causing it. But, I have no idea why the second Mr. Hamilton walked in the door, the temperature in the house literally dropped about ten degrees.

  It’s bad enough Ian is rubbing his arms. For a brief moment, I even got goose bumps.

  When Mr. Hamilton turns the corner to the bedroom, he stops. I smile, thinking it looks like he ran into an invisible wall.

  “Ophelia.”

  The name is almost choked out of his chest. I knew he was weird when my mom came up in conversation, but I never let my imagination play out what it would be like to see the two of them in a room together.

  Mr. Hamilton looks like he was smacked in the head, which is in line with walking into a wall. The hit apparently made his eyes pop out of their sockets, because they are wide as they take in my mom.

  “Hello, Noah. It’s been a long time.”

  Ophelia doesn’t let emotions out, so her face is as frigid as the air around us. Ian and I are standing off to the side, giving us prime seating for whatever is going on. I figured the two “adults” in the room had met before. From the reactions, it seems they had very different views of whatever interactions they’ve had in the past.

  “W-what are you doing here?”

  Mr. Hamilton sort of regains his composure. He’s stuttering, so that’s not great, but at least he’s gotten further than just saying her name. His eyes are glued to her, giving the definite feeling that I could set the room on fire, and he wouldn’t notice.

  I know Ian just told him his presence was needed, with no mention of Ophelia being around, but I figured Mr. Hamilton would feel my mom from a mile away. Of course, he didn’t know we were even in town, so her invisibility cloak for him must be on.

  “I’m sure you’ll understand why I asked for you in a second, but just to verify, have you had a truthseer in to see Audrey?”

  The hairs on my arms stand at full attention as a chill snakes up my spine. I’ve never met a truthseer, but the stories I’ve heard are scary. No curse or compulsion can hide the truth from that particular breed of enchanters. Truthseers are like the boogeyman for enchanters, and I suppose all Fae. They see everything.

  At least that’s the rumor. As I said, I’ve never met one, or heard of someone meeting one. They could just be bedtime stories.

  I seriously hope she’s not trying to get one in town. The Council hasn’t used one on me, which is sort of surprising. I lie my butt off every time I’m in front of them. If a truthseer told them everything about me, I’d be locked up somewhere with the key to let me out dissolved in acid.

  “You know as well as I do that the last known truthseer was killed five years ago. Until a new one is found, we’ve had to stick to Urus and Lopi.”

  So many things in his words need my attention. First, I feel like I should clap for the sheer fact he said that many things without swallowing his tongue. Second, the whole all the truthseers are dead thing is enlightening and explains a lot. Lastly, of course, the most annoying Council members have been called in to check out Sleeping Beauty.

  Urus and Lopi think they’re all that and a few extra bags of chips. My fingers and toes are all crossed that they aren’t going to be called in.

  Wait. Now that I think about it, why does a bloodsucker know about truthseers and the fact there aren’t any around. I didn’t even know that, and they’re technically the same species as me.

  Before I can open my mouth to question the path the conversation is going, I feel a hand slap around my lips, staying in place so I can’t open them. My eyes narrow to barely-open slits as I look over to Ophelia. She’s the only one in the room who can hit my mute button.

  She pays me no mind as she turns from the group and looks at Audrey again. I’ve spent over an hour looking at the body, so any fascination I had with it is long gone. I’m still curious what’s up with her and whether she’s alive, but I haven’t picked up enough from just staring at the body to keep doing it.

  “Periwinkle says the house smells like apples, and she heard Audrey say something.”

  The second Ophelia says apples, I hear a gasp from Mr. Hamilton. What the hell is that for? I look over to him, noticing his lips trembling, like he’s saying words, but nothing comes out.

  Looking back to Ophelia, I can see from her eyes there is something like a dare in them. It’s annoying enough that she switched back to Periwinkle. I don’t know why she insists on keeping my mouth shut too. If we didn’t have an audience, I would make a huge scene.

  “No. That’s impossible. She’s just a kid.”

  I know he’s my teacher and all but calling me just a kid is going to have some serious repercussions when I can speak again. I don’t want to risk Ophelia freezing my whole body, so I refrain from physically attacking him.

  Mr. Hamilton’s eyes have managed to find new focus. Me. And there is just as much confusion in them as there was when he was ogling my mom.

  “You know as well as I do that she looks and acts like a kid, but she’s old enough. There aren’t any rules as far as I know.”

  Okay, the whole mouth sealed shut is passing the point of just mildly annoying. Talking about me like I’m not in the room is irritating enough. Making it so I can’t get information, when clearly, I need to ask questions, is going to push me to the homicidal realm of things.

  “What’s she saying now?” Mr. Hamilton asks.

  The question makes me laugh. He clearly doesn’t know my mouth is taped shut and hasn’t asked enough questions to learn I only heard her once.

  When I first moved to this town, or at least started going to school, and knew that there were other Fae around, I thought it would be a fun change for the boresville I’m used to. It’s been a month now, and I’m thinking Fae business isn’t for me.

  “You can reply, Jazz. I just wanted to make sure the essential information got out before you asked the million questions you’ve got.”

  I see Ian in my peripheral vision glance over at me with his brow raised. He’s got to be even more confused than I am.

  “You’ve been doing a ton of hand waving over there, Mom. What’s going on?”

  First step in payback, don’t answer direct questions. Asking my own is so much more fun.

  “And you wonder why I kept you from speaking. Is she still speaking to either of you?”

  “She’s trying to get through to Jazz again. Thankfully for me, I don’t think it’s working. I really don’t think anyone needs to know about stuff I did as a baby.”

  The Fae eyes in the room haven’t left me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m starting to feel like a sideshow act or something. I know I complain about all the attention Ophelia gets, but I guess I’m okay with people not noticing me.

  “I need you to focus on her, Jazz. If that means lying next to her in the bed, so be it.”

  “No,” Mr. Hamilton says, while Ophelia is still getting her words out.

  It’s not surprising that she finished even with his urgent command in the negative. I’m not sure what part he’s saying no to, but I side with him. There’s no way I’m climbing in the bed.

  “Noah, we have to know for sure, so we can
figure out how to proceed.”

  Ophelia’s using her calming, “what I say is best” voice. It’s definitely one of the ones at the top of the annoying list. I’ve never been able to perfect it myself. Of course, people have issues taking me seriously in both the Fae and human worlds.

  “The way we proceed is to get Periwinkle out of here and make sure no one hears about any of this.”

  The only way to describe Mr. Hamilton’s words is creepy. He’s been weird since the day I met him, but before now, he hasn’t crossed completely over the creepy line. Both “adults” have been throwing out my first name like it’s candy or something, and apparently, they think something is going on that needs to be hidden. Personally, I think they’re on some kind of Fae drugs.

  “I agree that if it’s true, we don’t tell anyone,” Ophelia says. “I just want to verify it is true. I take it none of the other people you brought in were able to tell Audrey here is wrapped up tight in a sleeping curse.”

  “She’s alive?” Mr. Hamilton asks.

  “I’ve been telling you she is for years. I thought you believed me.”

  Ian’s not quite whining, but it’s close. I’ll have to make sure he knows that if we’re hanging out, I don’t do whining.

  “You guys can discuss that later. Right now, we need to focus on Jazz. The apple smell is really all we need to know. It’s the enchanter’s signature. I would like to feel what happens when she connects with Audrey, though.”

  Yuck. I’d hate to leave the apple stench around every time I did magic. My signature smell is sugar cookies. Nice, fresh, warm sugar cookies.

  If Ophelia is right, whoever left the apple smell is powerful, which means they’re old. I wonder if that means my sugar cookie smell will eventually turn rotten too. Yeah, it’s something stupid to be thinking about when there’s something big being left unsaid in the room.

  “So why would I be able to smell this signature?”

  I’ve never been able to pick up smells other than my own before. That’s how it is for all enchanters. I don’t know why. It just is. I’ve always imagined my mom’s smells like that tea she’s always drinking, kind of pepperminty, but I’ve never actually smelled it.