Simply Enchanting Page 12

  “I’m sure it’s just something in the house. Maybe we should go look around,” Mr. Hamilton suggests.

  I’ve spent around an hour a day with the guy, except weekends, of course, for the last month. Not once have I ever seen him as twitchy as he is right now. If a bloodsucker could have an aneurysm, I’d be afraid he’s about to give himself one.

  “We need to verify, Noah, if we’re going to protect her. Whoever did this to Audrey isn’t the only one who’ll come after her. If word gets out, which knowing Jazz, it will, we need to get in front of this. Make sure she’s protected and hides it for as long as she can.”

  Ophelia moves across the room in her there-one-second-gone-the-next kind of way. She puts her hand on Mr. Hamilton’s shoulder, causing him to gulp. I don’t know what’s going on between them, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something intimate in their past. The way he’s always on edge when she’s mentioned and the almost lost look in his eyes lead me to that conclusion, but it’s crazy.

  There’s no way my mom was ever with a bloodsucker. She’s the one who always taught me not to associate with them.

  “Why don’t we backtrack here a second,” I say, hoping to break up whatever moment has them looking deep into each other’s eyes. The scene is making me a little sick to my stomach. “Why are we suddenly acting like I’m in danger? I think we all know that I do stupid things all the time and am prone to pissing people off.”

  I’ve never seen my mother scared. I didn’t think it was possible, given all the crap I’ve done to get me in front of the Council five times. Each time she’s been stoic and ready to fight to keep me out of serious trouble. Never has a drop of fear made it to her eyes.

  But, when she turns to look at me, I see it. The facets that usually sparkle bright green as light hits them are dull. I don’t know if just touching Mr. Hamilton transferred whatever jumbled thoughts he’s been having, but something has clearly changed.

  “Because if I’m right, you are the next truthseer. And no truthseer has lived more than a year after word gets out.”

  Oh. Yeah. Well that kind of sucks.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “What’s a truthseer?”

  At this point, it feels like I should be asking that question instead of Ian. I thought I understood what a truthseer is, because, let’s be honest, the name seems to say it all. I’ve heard of them and know vaguely what they do, but I have never heard anything about them having short lifespans. I always thought they were born with their power. From what I’ve heard today, my assumptions could come back to bite me.

  “Maybe we should have had this conversation without an audience,” Ophelia says.

  The “duh” on my lips doesn’t make it out. My lips aren’t sealed again, but my head is too scattered to come up with words. I know Ophelia has an advantage over me as far as knowledge. That’s something I’ve spent my life trying to remedy. I just don’t know that she has a clue what’s she’s talking about this time.

  There is no way I’m a truthseer. I’m going on the record saying that now.

  “Last I checked, your memory eraser is working just fine if you deem Ian untrustworthy. Personally, I know Ian will keep anything said a secret.”

  I’m not sure why Mr. Hamilton seems to think Ophelia was only talking about Ian. If I were him, I’d worry about my own memory. It doesn’t matter that Ophelia’s hand is still on his shoulder.

  Wait. Why in the world is she still touching him? There are so many weird things going on right now.

  As if hearing my thoughts, which I’m sure she does, Ophelia removes her hand and takes a step back. Her hair has magically obscured her face from me, but I can see Mr. Hamilton’s eyes are trying to dig holes in her or something.

  I’m trying hard not to throw up with whatever puppy love he’s got going on. The dude honestly can’t think he’s got a chance.

  “You trust him with this? It’s her life, Noah.”

  Okay, I’ve officially had enough. They’re weird. There’s a dead or deep sleeping body in the room. And the smell of apples is grating on my nerves.

  Since Ian is close enough, I grab his hand and zap us out of the house. I should have probably thought a little harder on location, because we end up in the middle of my bedroom. Ian already seems to have ideas about us, so not the best move, but I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  I take in a deep draw of air. The smell is lodged in my nostrils, but it’s a little better. I think a shower is going to be in order as soon as I get rid of my passenger. Speaking of my passenger, I let go of his hand to make sure he doesn’t go all creepy like Mr. Hamilton and my mom. Touch seemed to amp up that craziness.

  If I was smart, I would’ve left him for the “adults” to figure out what to do with him, but they seem to be speaking in code, and I need a sounding board. It’d be helpful if that person had any advanced knowledge in all things Fae, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Did any of that make sense to you?”

  I figure I might as well ask the question. I’ve always heard misery enjoys company. I imagine complete and utter confusion is the same.

  “Whoa, where are we?” Ian asks.

  He’s looking around my room, which makes me double check to make sure my underwear isn’t scattered around the floor. I tend to be good about picking clothes up, but sometimes I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to get to school on time and all.

  “My room. We have more important things to talk about, though. Did you understand anything my mom and Mr. Hamilton were talking about?”

  Ian scrunches his nose as he stops looking at the various furniture and focuses on me. I don’t think the dresser, bookshelf and bed are all that interesting, but they sure keep his attention.

  “You brought me to your room? Is your mom going to be okay with that?”

  My fists curl up tight to keep from smacking the poor kid upside his head. He needs something knocked loose, but I don’t want to knock him out. In my mood, there’s a good chance I’d hit a little too hard.

  “I’m pretty sure my mom just said she doesn’t think I’m going to live to see my next birthday, and you’re concerned about whether she’ll be mad I brought you to my room? You’re seventeen, not ten.”

  We haven’t gotten to know each other well, but I get a feeling our development as far as relationships are concerned is very different. I might need to remind him that I’m over two hundred.

  “My age is the point. Most guys my age would try something.”

  Something? His naivete is sort of cute, but at the same time wants to make me puke.

  “We can get back to that concept later. First, focus on the craziness we just left. Did you understand anything they were saying? Have you heard of …”

  Before I can say truthseers, my lips are sealed shut again. It’s only been like ten minutes since Ian asked what’s a truthseer, but I was hoping maybe something jogged a memory. It’s unlike me to hope. I suppose hearing someone predict an imminent death has me changing my usual behavior.

  My lips didn’t need to be sealed to feel Ophelia’s arrival. The blast of warm air that fills the room lets me know she’s not happy with how I left things. Well, she can take her anger and stuff it. She’s brought Mr. Hamilton with her, so I have no confidence I’m going to get anything answered.

  She should have left googly eyes back at Ian’s. It’s not like he has a say in what’s going on in my life.

  “Why in the world would you say the word without putting up a barrier so no one else can hear it? Periwinkle Jasmine Rose Lavender Tulip Murphy, I know I didn’t raise a complete idiot.”

  And I thought dropping Periwinkle into the conversation a few times was infuriating. I choose not to look at my mother as she goes on, so I see Ian’s mouth drop open a little more with each name. I’m surprised she didn’t add a few more for effect. I guess since it already takes an hour to say my full name, she let things be.

  “Is that really your name?” Ian asks.
>
  Like that’s the important thing. Why is it that no one can get to the problem at hand? I guess none of them want to admit they all belong in a mental hospital somewhere.

  Thankfully, Ophelia totally ignores the question and moves forward. Of course, she doesn’t answer the million questions she knows I have. I’m getting a little tired of not moving forward in a path that makes sense.

  I can only imagine how much you want to reach in and smack these people around. Wouldn’t that be cool? I wonder if I can work some magic in this journal that would allow something like that. As soon as I figure out if I’m going to die tomorrow, I’ll get to work on that.

  “I need to know whether I’m going to have to wipe your memory of everything you’ve heard today. Noah says we can trust you, but it’s my daughter’s life we’re talking about.”

  Are we back to that again? I thought I left so we didn’t have to go through the whole brain wiping talk.

  “I’m only allowed to talk about the Fae world with people Mr. Hamilton approves. I already know all about what you guys can do. I’m not going to jeopardize being able to talk to my mom.”

  Wait. What? Does that mean Mr. Hamilton somehow approved him talking to me? That doesn’t make any sense, since Mr. Hamilton about had a heart attack when he first saw me. Maybe everyone at school is already approved. I’m going to file that thought away to come back to later.

  “You keep your mom in mind. I won’t hesitate to kill both you and your mother if anything happens to Jazz because you ran your mouth to the wrong person. What we’re about to say stays in this room. That’s why I’ve put up a protection bubble, like I did at the other house.”

  Ophelia turns to glare at me, making her point of how stupid it was for me to start flapping my gums without protection. I don’t think I’ve ever heard as much conviction in her voice as when she told Ian she’s going to kill him if he runs his mouth. She’s always been protective of me. I figure it’s because she’s somehow connected to me and has no idea what will happen if I die.

  I open my mouth, testing to see whether I can or if my words are just going to be loud hums. Since my lips open, I go ahead and try to finally get some answers. At least the answers concerning the truthseer stuff. I’ve got all sorts of questions about other things that are just going to have to wait.

  Like my luck today, I’m not able to get anything out before Mr. Hamilton has his own comments. Why is he here again?

  “Did you feel this coming on, Phea? Is that why you brought her here?”

  I get the sense he could keep asking questions, but Ophelia stops him. As far as I know, no one has ever called her Phea. The weirdness grows yet again.

  “This isn’t something you feel coming on, Noah.” She says his name slow, drawing out the four letters to sound like twenty. “There were no signs before we got here. She’s been a little off lately, quiet, but I thought it’s just been a mood.”

  Or I’ve been quiet because I hate it here. I suppose that would put me in a mood. Really, I’m surprised she’s even noticed. I’m not sure what she does while I’m at school, but she’s turned into a social butterfly at night. There’s a dinner party almost every night, and she runs off to pretend to be like all the other neighbors.

  “Can we stop tap dancing around things?” I ask. “What do you two know?”

  A quick glare between Ophelia and Mr. Hamilton has me squinting my eyes. It clearly says that mentally they’re trying to figure out what to keep from me.

  “I’ll skip the obvious, the name says what they are,” Ophelia says. “What it doesn’t say is that they are rare and run in a certain enchanter family line. Your father’s to be specific.”

  “My dad’s?”

  A man I’ve never met, and really have no inclination to meet, is the reason for all this craziness? I let a little sigh of relief out. Her imagination is probably just going into overdrive. Some rumors over the years or something has her seeing things where they aren’t.

  “Yes, because I was in a relationship with him for almost a hundred years, I’ve heard all the stories and the truth about that particular family curse. They aren’t born with the curse. It just happens one day. They start seeing through lies, like you did with Audrey.”

  “I smelled something off. That hardly means I’m seeing through lies.”

  “I knew the last truthseer,” Mr. Hamilton says softly. “He talked about the smells. If you’re starting to get them, it’s only a matter of time before no one will be able to lie to you. And if you can’t hide that fact, you’ll be a target for every Fae with a secret.”

  I don’t know if I believe the truthseer stuff, but they have my attention. I want more information about this person they claim is, or I guess was, a truthseer. It’s too bad that’s when Ophelia decides to wave her hand, sending first Ian and then Mr. Hamilton somewhere other than my bedroom.

  “Until further notice, you’re not to leave this room. I’d get comfortable if I was you.”

  The door slamming echoes behind her words. It’s a good thing she’s on the other side of it, because I’m not someone who handles being captive well.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The journal has weathered the storm of another page-ripping rage. I suppose the first removal of boring pages wasn’t in rage, but there is no doubt this time I was pissed when I went through and removed the two chapters the book came up with from the two days I’ve been locked in my room.

  Let’s just say Ophelia is smart to zap my food in the room and not come through the door. She cut my ties to the outside world, even killing the internet, so I can’t do some independent research.

  I’m feeling just a little homicidal.

  Okay, maybe a lot. I’ve spent my days envisioning different ways to kill my mother. Right now, strangling her is my favorite. I know that’s unimaginative, but it’s also the most personal.

  A knock on the door distracts my latest round of murderous thoughts. I roll my eyes at the sound. I’ve been able to hear Ophelia in the house, but she hasn’t bothered gracing my door.

  I think that’s what pisses me off most. She dumps her assumptions about me being a truthseer and doesn’t bother letting me ask questions. What kind of psycho does that?

  “Sorry, I’m busy. Maybe come back in an hour.”

  It’s a little before my usual dinner, not that I’m hungry. I’ve barely eaten anything during my captivity, because I’m too mad to think about food.

  “If we don’t start getting you ready now, you’ll be late to the dance. There are already questions about where you’ve been floating around. I don’t think we can keep you locked up much longer.”

  The words are said as Ophelia lets herself in the room. It’s not like I ever had a say in whether she came in. Her words do manage to perk up my interest.

  It’s not like I ever wanted to go to the dance, but if it’s going to get me out of my room, I suddenly can’t wait to dance the night away. I am a little surprised she’s bothering with worrying about whatever rumors are going around. Usually, if something is off, we just move.

  I sit up on my bed to see her and the emerald green dress she has in her hand. I will admit that I didn’t keep up the goth look I started out my first day of school with, but I’ve been a t-shirt and jeans girl for a month. The elegant gown she’s holding doesn’t exactly mesh with the laid-back persona I’ve been putting on.

  The last time I went to any kind of dance was about a hundred years ago, so I haven’t been big on keeping my closet full of dresses for all occasions. The dresses back then included more fabric than what Ophelia is holding and were plain ugly. I think that’s why I stopped trying to get myself invited to any balls.

  My body lacks the curves to pull off most dresses. As beautiful as the strappy mermaid gown is, I have a feeling it’s going to look better on a hanger than on me. If only I could use my magic to add a cup size and maybe a little padding to my hips. That’s sort of unimportant as I finally get back to the whole concept of
her allowing me to leave the house.

  “You want me to go to the dance.”

  That should be a question, but it comes out as a statement of fact. Did I ever say anything about the dance to her? I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Until Ian asked me to go with him, I ignored all mention of it.

  “I want your principal to stop calling, asking about where you’ve been. I was a good parent and phoned in both days you’ve been gone. There’s no reason that crazy woman needs to call and check up on how you’re feeling three times a day. I’m starting to think she has a crush on me.”

  Ophelia hangs the dress on a hook on the back of the door as she closes it. I wonder if she closes it simply for the access of the hook, or if it’s meant to deter me from trying to make an escape. I’ve been calculating my odds of rushing by her, and they’re not good.

  “Then why don’t you just let me go back to school? Or even better, why don’t we move again?”

  Once the words are out of my mouth, I realize I kind of don’t want to leave. It’s got to be my captive brain going all Stockholm syndrome or something, because normally, I wouldn’t think something like that.

  I have to put the blame on my inquisitive mind. There are so many unanswered questions that I don’t think I’ll get answers to if we move.

  “For now, you’re safest here. We just have to figure out a way to keep everyone else from noticing the difference.”

  “The difference? Everyone else? You told a bloodsucker you have a crazy idea about me being the Fae boogeyman. I’m surprised someone hasn’t shown up to kill me already.”

  Being locked up has afforded me plenty of time to consider the long-lost relationship between my mom and teacher. I realized I reached the point of complete lunacy when I started thinking about ways he could be my dad.