Simply Enchanting Page 6

  “I’d applaud you making it through the whole day without me receiving a phone call, but your melodramatic reaction tells me you haven’t learned anything yet.”

  I groan again and turn my head so it’s facing her. Ophelia has always been hard to read. More than one statue has been built of her over the years, and I’m pretty sure she’s spent plenty of time looking in the mirror to perfect the same facial expressions of those statues.

  “How is the fact that the Fae around here have a pet human melodramatic?”

  “I’m guessing Ian introduced himself. I figured he’d at least say hi.”

  It shouldn’t surprise me she already knows about him. She probably has a spy at the school reporting back how I was doing.

  “Do you know him? How in the world is a human allowed to know about us? I know some of them get the romantic idea that vampires and werewolves exist, and they’ll fall in love with one, but he knows about me.”

  If it was the general sense of knowledge of the things that go bump in the night, that would be one thing. But, there’s no reason for him to know details about my life, like the fact that my temper somehow is well known in the circles he runs with.

  She slowly puts her cup of tea down on the counter. I should probably straighten up and have an adult conversation about the pain she’s putting me through, but I don’t have the energy after the day I had.

  “I’ve never met him, but he’s not unknown to me.”

  I’m pretty sure evasiveness is hereditary. It’s a miracle our conversations go anywhere.

  “Are you going to tell me why he knows about us? I assume you have a clue.”

  “Hmm,” she says softly. “It’s clear you spoke to him. Why didn’t you ask him?”

  Pushing myself up from the counter I don’t hide annoyance in my eyes. They aren’t totally squinted in my “angry enough I may kill you” look, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to think that look may be just around the corner.

  “Not that I would have asked him, but we happened to be interrupted by a bloodsucker who I’m surprised didn’t keel over dead when he saw me.”

  It takes some work to kill a bloodsucker, but I’ve never seen one as pale as Mr. Teacher when he saw me. I considered bringing up how he reacted to Ophelia being in town, but I figure whatever is going on there is for her to find out and deal with on her own.

  “I wish I could have seen that.”

  I’m watching her, so I see a strange light spark in her eyes. I look behind me for a second to check where the sun is coming in the window and trace it back to the center island. It’s nowhere near high enough to hit her faceted eyes, leaving me to believe Ian isn’t the only person at the school she’s heard of.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t that interesting. Just another case of the crazies at the school.”

  The spark disappears as she goes back to her statue face. I cannot remember the last time I had trouble putting a finger on the exact emotion her face portrayed. Since she spends ninety-nine percent of the time neutral, the opportunity to catalog facial expressions are slim to none.

  “Those crazies are your peers, whether you want them to be or not, Jazz. I’ve been waiting years for you to learn that.”

  Peers? She’s kidding, right? I’m slightly interested in the fact that there’s an angel lurking around, but even he isn’t my peer. My dearest mother hasn’t allowed me within miles of my peers forever.

  “Care to point out which one of them you think is a peer?”

  I know she used the plural, and it’s silly to ask, but it seems like something one of those “peers” would do. What I would normally do in cases like this is to just stomp away. I knew before I opened my mouth that she wouldn’t side with me on my opinion of our new neighbors, so I should’ve just kept walking.

  “I know you’re joking but let me make it clear to you. Since you,” she says as she points in the general vicinity of my chest, “are a student in that school, that makes every single one of the other students your peers.”

  I’ve heard of really old enchanters losing their marbles, which makes me start to wonder about my mom. When I say old, I’m talking thousands of years, but there’s a chance Ophelia’s already got a touch of the crazies.

  “You’re saying that the human pet is my peer. Let alone all the humans in that school that don’t know there is a person who wants to drink their blood teaching their Spanish class.”

  “Noah would never drink from a student.”

  I’m momentarily shocked by the indignation in her voice. The idea of a bloodsucker doing what he does naturally has somehow ticked her off. I guess it’s not the general act that repulses her, but the thought of him harming one of the precious human students. That revelation is sort of beside the point.

  “Noah? You’re on a first-name basis with the guy?”

  I’ve already spent way more than enough time trying to find any memory of the guy in my head, but I’m starting to think I should have dug a little deeper. It’s clear there’s some connection between the teacher and Ophelia. I just have no idea what it could be, since along with enchanters, it’s been forever since I’ve seen a bloodsucker in the flesh.

  Any hint of the anger about him drinking from a student is gone as her neutral face once again takes over. One of these days I’m going to try to slap that neutral look off her face. It usually doesn’t bother me, but I’m starting to worry about her mental capacities. Since we’re stuck with each other, it’s kind of important that both of us keep our stuff together.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to go up to your room and do your homework.”

  I raise my brow and just stare at her for a second or two. Alright, maybe it was ten. I’m trying to get a read on the impenetrable fortress.

  I have a feeling that if I reread this particular part of my journal, it’s going to sound like I’m obsessing over the looks on my mom’s face. I feel like I should apologize for boring you, but I think I have to keep bringing it up to try to relay how frustrated it really makes me.

  Don’t worry. I’ve already been told to leave the room, so this shouldn’t go on too much longer.

  I cannot let the fact that she and the teacher are so weird about each other go, though. There is a story in there that I’m sure I need to know. The trick is trying to figure out how to get her to tell me without her realizing she is. It’s not something I’ve accomplished, but I’m up for the challenge.

  “You sure you don’t want to hear all about my classes. I’m sure you already know this, but along with the pet human and bloodsucker, I met an angel today.”

  I cringe thinking about having to say the word. It’s used so often affectionately that even when I’m not speaking about an annoying heavenly being, I steer clear of even thinking it.

  “I’m aware.”

  She stiffly moves her hand down to pick her tea back up and takes a sip. Her nose crinkles as she looks at the cup and turns it upside down.

  “I swear there was some more left. Guess I’ll need to make another cup.”

  I might as well not be in the room as she starts going through the process of manually making tea. She could snap her fingers and make it appear, which makes it even clearer than the chilly atmosphere and the instructions to run off and do my homework that she’s done with our fun little “how was your first day at school” conversation.

  “Since you don’t seem to want to talk about school, I take it I don’t need to bother going anymore. You said you wanted me to learn things, and if we don’t talk about them, you’ll never know what I learned.”

  Humming softly, with a slight laugh to the hum, she turns the burner on. “When I think you’ve learned something, we’ll have a nice long talk. In the meantime, other than getting on that homework you seem to be avoiding, why don’t you do some research on why Ian gets to know about us. You might find you have more in common with him than you imagine.”

  I don’t have words for that crazy idea, so I grab my backpack and head to my ro
om. I need to do some research, and no, it’s not about Ian and how we have something in common. I could care less about that.

  Ophelia’s not letting me out of school yet, so I need to figure out just how long a school year is these days. I’ve never paid close enough attention, but I’m really hoping it’s just a few weeks. I’m aware that since they call it a school year and not a school month, the chance of that is slim.

  It cannot be a whole year, right? Small towns are bad enough to deal with. Having to spend hours of my day amidst what have to be the most annoying people I’ve ever met is going to take every ounce of energy I have to make it a week.

  I thought the same thing about even taking a day, so I can only hope I’m underestimating myself. There are no dreams of making friends and becoming a model anything, but I know Ophelia is hiding something from me, and I need to figure out what that is. I have a feeling the only way that is going to happen is if I pretend to blend in – no matter how putrid that idea sounds.

  Chapter Eleven

  So, you know how I said this journal is recording everything I do, at least generally? Well, I decided to do a little reread real quick. It is my expert opinion that in the three weeks since that last entry, nothing worth reading about happened.

  I went to school and pretended to blend in while trying to figure out answers to all the questions no one seems to answer. During the nights and weekends, I try to do the same on my computer. All the good stuff has restricted access, though, so I haven’t been making any good headway.

  You’re welcome for cutting out all the research that has literally gotten me nowhere. I don’t think my shrink is going to be very happy about the pages literally being ripped out from the book, but she’ll get over it.

  Anyway, today is going to be different. I have no real indication why that is, but something in my gut is telling me it will be.

  It could be the questionable food that was slopped on my tray for lunch, which I actually ate, but I’m trying to have a positive attitude. I know. It sounds crazy. As far as the questionable food, I’m pretty sure it was meatloaf, but it could’ve been roadkill.

  “Hey, Jazz, wait up.”

  So much for my positive attitude. I mentally groan when I hear Ian’s Scottish accent behind me. I thought I would always enjoy the accent in general, but hearing Ian continue to try to be friends, or whatever in the world he’s been doing, has made the timbre grate on my nerves.

  For almost a month, I’ve done what I can to avoid him. Throwing a protection enchantment around me to make me invisible didn’t work. Trying to zap myself directly to classes didn’t work. For fun I even tried to change my appearance, but I already knew that one wouldn’t work.

  I know Ophelia said I should find something in common with Ian, or maybe it was that we had something in common that I needed to figure out, but I haven’t even found out why he knows about me. And, before you ask, no, I have not come right out and asked him.

  What kind of fun would that be?

  Don’t give me that look. I see it enough from my mom.

  I keep walking, like I do every day when Ian decides we need to talk. The usual sigh from Ian that accompanies my action is more like a growl today. I don’t stop, but I like the change. If the human is going to play in the Fae world, he needs to have a little grit to him.

  “Don’t ignore me, Jazz. You’ve been avoiding me, and we need to talk.”

  He’s not saying anything he hasn’t already claimed, so I turn the corner into Spanish class. The class always fills me with weird emotions. I’m happy that it marks the last class of the day. I’m interested in what I can learn about the Fae and humans during their interactions in class, even if it hasn’t been fruitful. But, more than anything, I feel uncomfortable around the man at the front of the class, who spends the full hour trying not to look at me.

  I don’t understand why Mr. Hamilton, or Noah as Ophelia calls him, has gone from staring at me on day one to pretending I don’t exist, but it is unnerving me. I don’t think anything ever really has before, so I have no clue why someone ignoring me would. If anything, it’d be nice if everyone else followed his lead.

  The first person who needs to get a clue stands in front of my desk as I take my seat. I think I’ve been more than considerate by thinking of him as Ian and not any of the nicknames I come up with while he annoys me. Scotty has been joined by Squeaky, Toadstool and George. Obviously, there’s a story about that latter, but I don’t have time for that now.

  “If I talk to you, will you promise to leave me alone for at least a week?”

  I would love to ask for the rest of my life, but my chances are better for agreement with a small dose. Maybe I can work it out so he only tries to talk to me once a week.

  “That would sort of defeat the point of what I want to ask.”

  I’ve been thumbing through my Spanish book as I’ve waited for him to move on, but I hazard a glance up. I still find it odd that his skin is paler than the bloodsucker’s in front of the classroom. One of my points of research has been trying to find any Fae out there that don’t feel like Fae. I know he registers human to me, but one of my wilder thoughts has been whether he is.

  If there’s a book out there that explains Ian, I haven’t found it yet. It’d be nice to be closer to New York or London, where the Fae have huge secret libraries of books that haven’t seen the light of day in decades, maybe even centuries. I bet all my questions would have easy answers if I could just get in one of the libraries for an hour or two.

  My daydreams are shattered when Ian clears his throat. Was I supposed to be answering something?

  “Since you missed it the first time, I asked if you’d go to the Homecoming party with me.”

  The first part of his sentence is said fairly normally, but as soon as he switches to the question, his words come out fast and with such a heavy accent that I can hardly understand them. Sadly, I do understand.

  “I thought it was a dance,” I say hesitantly.

  It’s not like using the correct terminology is going to change my response. I’ve done an excellent job of ignoring all the festivities that have been going on for the last week at school, so there’s a chance I missed a memo on some party.

  “It is, but I figured a party sounded better. Look, you don’t have to say yes. I just promised my mom I would ask.”

  He’d already lost any eye contact with me, as he stared down at the ground. His skin was finely showing a little color as his cheeks turned sort of a light fuchsia.

  “You promised your mom you’d ask?”

  I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. It sounds like I was just asked on a date because someone’s mom thought it was a good idea. And I thought my mom was bad.

  “Yeah, it’s just that I talk about you so much.”

  I suppose that’s a little better, in a sad, sort of sweet way. If he’s asking me out, I guess I don’t have to ask what he’s saying about me. I’m sure it’s not true, since I’ve done my best to freeze him out and haven’t been exactly hospitable to anyone.

  “I can’t say I recommend boring your parents with the topic of me.”

  Getting right to the denial would’ve been the smart move, especially since we only have a few minutes left until class starts. What can I say? I guess I’m intrigued.

  He shakes his head as his greenish-brownish eyes meet mine again. There is way too much innocence in those eyes. The poor kid has no idea what is outside his little protected city.

  “It’s just my mom. I thought you knew that.”

  My nose scrunches up as I spend a whole second going through my catalog of facts to figure out if I managed to pick up that information somewhere. I don’t even know Ian’s last name, which now that I think about it would probably help in some of my research.

  “So, you don’t have a dad around either. Hmm, I guess that’s what my mom meant when she said we have something in common.”

  I’m not sure why she’d think we’d bond over tha
t. There are thousands of other kids out there with only a single parent. As far as I’m concerned, it hasn’t messed up my life, so I don’t see bonding with someone over it.

  His head shakes again while I let my mind ramble on. It’s faster than the first shake, seemingly more in a denial than just a negative answer. Yes, I read a lot into head shakes.

  “It’s not the same. Everything I’ve ever read about you says you don’t know your dad, but I know mine. He’s just not home right now.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”

  I’d let him have a second to continue, but it was clear he wasn’t going to fill me in without a little prodding. I’m not sure why I’m interested, but vagueness tends to have a fifty-fifty shot of working.

  “You really don’t know?” He hesitates before continuing. “He was sentenced the same day you were last ordered to get therapy. I’m not allowed in for Council proceedings, but I saw you when you walked out cursing about how stupid they were. Ten minutes later, my mom came out and told me they were locking Dad up for a year. If we have anything in common, it’s that we both hate the Council.”

  “Your dad is in Fae jail?”

  It’s a good thing most of the student population would’ve just heard gibberish with those words, uttered just a little too loudly. As it is, a quick look around the room has glares from Mr. Hamilton and Jimmy – no the angel’s nickname has not disappeared. I’m surprised Mr. Teacher looked my way, but he is quick to turn as soon as he sees my attention on him.

  Ian shrugs and nods. “I thought you knew. The Council usually doesn’t lock anyone up, they just impose other ridiculous punishments.”

  He has a good point. I imagine most Fae are in the know when it comes to things like that, but I’m a little too self-absorbed to care about others’ punishments.

  “What did he do?”

  I’ve done a lot of horrible things before. Ophelia gets freaked out every time that I’ll end up in jail or just burned at the stake, but I’m clearly not as bad as Ian’s dad.