by Sarah Noffke
“Now that she knows the truth,” Faraday slowly said as if working it out. “The locket has changed to reveal her true initials.”
“Precisely,” Wilfred said with confidence.
Paris eyed the locket as it continued to sway, turning in the air to display the quote as well as the letters. “T-T-The locket was spelled…” she stuttered, still having trouble wrapping her brain around the newest surprise.
“In scenarios where protective identity spells are used,” Wilfred began, “an object is employed to keep someone from asking questions about who they are, their past, the people related to them, or anything else that can unravel the truth. They only believe what others tell them, but the spell breaks the moment that someone tells them who they truly are and the object used for the spell reveals this truth.”
“So when Shannon Butcher told me I was Guinevere Beaufont…”
“It broke the spell,” Faraday supplied.
“Now I want to know the truth, whereas before, I wasn’t curious about my parents.” Paris’ knees suddenly went weak. She felt for the back of the chair and sat. “I want to know who they were. I want to know why someone covered up my past. That’s all…”
“That seems like it will contain a fair bit of information,” Wilfred stated blandly.
Paris nodded. “It’s even more complicated. I have a feeling that not just anyone can tell me. Mae Ling makes me believe there’s been other spellwork done that prevents most from telling me the truth—like her, for instance.”
“It appears that there has been quite a lot orchestrated to hide this information,” Wilfred observed.
“From me?” Paris asked as if he knew the answer. “Why?”
“I think that while it is improbable that your truth was hidden from you,” Faraday said, averting his gaze suddenly. “You might also consider that it hid your identity from others.”
She turned her gaze on him sharply, suddenly paranoid. “What do you know?”
“I’m simply working out the evidence based on what’s been presented,” he offered. “It seems illogical to think that this information was harmful for you to know, but the knowledge of a halfling would potentially be of great interest to others.”
“He’s right,” Wilfred added. “Halflings are extremely rare, and therefore not much is known of them. From what I’ve found on the Internet there is much lore surrounding the powerfulness of a halfling since it’s believed they have the strengths of both their races, which often cancels out the negatives. There is a case of halflings who are both mortal and fae. Triplets according to magi-pedia.com.”
“I’ve met them,” Paris admitted, remembering the women she met in the bar the night that King Rudolf Sweetwater shared the odd story with her about love. “They aren’t happy about the fact that they’re halflings because they’re so different from both of their races and can’t relate to either mortals or fae.”
Wilfred nodded. “That’s understandable. It is assumed that they will have half of the lifespan of a normal fae, which is five times longer than a mortal’s.”
“Which would make it tough to find a mate,” Paris muttered, the true implications of this halfling business coming to light.
“Exactly,” Wilfred continued. “They have the attractiveness of a fae but the fragility of a mortal. Also, their mortal blood tempers their magic, but conversely, their intelligence is much higher than that of a fae.”
Paris held the locket firmly in her fingers, finding that it still didn’t open—it never had, and she had no idea what was in it or if there was anything at all. “Maybe my identity was hidden from me because of the psychological implications.”
“That’s a reasonable conclusion based on what we’ve discovered thus far,” Wilfred confidently agreed.
“There are still so many questions to be answered, like how could two magicians have a halfling?” Paris mumbled, her head starting to cramp from all the overwhelming thoughts. “And Faraday is right.”
“About what?” he chirped, his eyes skirting to the side and an uncertain expression on his face.
“About the strangeness that I carry my mother’s maiden name instead of my father’s,” she answered.
The squirrel perked up. “Of course! Yes, it is a brooding question I’ve had since you told me.”
“I think I’ve discovered some information that might shine a light on that,” Wilfred offered.
“Go on,” Paris urged.
“According to what I’ve found on the Beaufont family, which isn’t much,” he began. “There are presently only two remaining family members living. A Mr. Clark Beaufont and a Ms. Sophia Beaufont.”
“So my mother is dead…” Paris slumped, the information a blow although it had always been her reality about her mother and father. However, before Uncle John had simply said her parents were missing, but them being dead had always been a possibility—although Paris never thought about it and now she knew why.
“What I’ve found simply says those are the only two Royals with the Beaufont family’s blood,” Wilfred stated. “Conversely, your father’s family, the Ludwigs, have many members. From what I can gather, if the Beaufont name died out, they’d lose their place in the House of Fourteen. Your uncle, Clark Beaufont, is currently a Councilor for the House. His wife, Mrs. Alicia Beaufont, is the Warrior who replaced your mother. Sophia Beaufont is the leader of both the Dragon Elite and the Rogue Riders, making her ineligible to work for the House of Fourteen. It goes to reason that your parents decided you’d carry the Beaufont family name so that it wouldn’t die and that you could one day be either a Councilor or a Warrior.”
“Not to mention that it’s a stronger name since it belongs to a founder family,” Faraday added.
Paris shot him a skeptical look. “How do you know about that? Wilfred only told me that this morning.”
The squirrel’s tail flickered. “I overheard…”
The butler tilted his head to the side slightly, a discerning look in his eyes that Paris couldn’t quite read.
“Why is it that you showed up when you did exactly when I was leaving for Happily Ever After College?” she asked the squirrel while folding her arms.
“I was in the neighborhood and saw you talking to yourself,” he answered at once.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“A small town in Louisiana. You haven’t heard of it.”
“Why don’t you have a southern accent?” she instantly questioned, not missing a beat.
“I worked to get rid of it.”
“Yeah, that seems like real squirrel behavior,” she retorted bitterly, suddenly paranoid about everything.
“It isn’t something that most would think to do as squirrels, but I’m obviously different.”
“How did you get to Roya Lane? Why are you a talking squirrel who doesn’t act like one? And why did you want to accompany me and help me out so much?” she demanded in rapid succession.
Wilfred’s gaze slid to the squirrel as his teeth chattered as though he was chewing on air.
“I slid through a portal that an elf opened without them knowing,” he stated. “That’s often how I get around, regrettably.”
“Yeah, like when you followed me here,” she muttered.
“I understand that my ability to talk is an anomaly, but I assure you that there’s nothing nefarious about it,” he continued.
“The fact that you use the words ‘anomaly’ and ‘nefarious’ is exactly why I don’t trust you,” Paris fired at him. “Tell me something about you. Anything other than that you’re a nerdy squirrel who is allergic to nuts and prefers high thread counts on your sheets.”
Wilfred was watching a tennis match, his gaze directing back to Faraday.
“I was born to simple parents in the backwoods of Louisiana, who wanted me to live a simple life,” Faraday explained in a shy voice. “I was never content with foraging in the forest or hunting around in the swamps.”
“Squirrels don’t hunt,
” she corrected.
“Maybe he means it in terms of ‘searching’ or ‘seeking,’” Wilfred offered.
Paris narrowed her eyes at the AI but didn’t think he was in cahoots with the strange squirrel. Turning her attention back to Faraday, she directed, “Go on.”
“I escaped to the city as soon as I could,” the squirrel continued. “I was always fascinated by science and magic and spent much of my time at the universities and following various scholarly magicians around.”
“Is that how you learned to talk?” Wilfred asked.
Faraday’s gaze slid to the left as if he’d suddenly caught something out of the corner of his vision. “I’m a talking squirrel because of a spell.”
“Why are you following me around?” Paris questioned, although she was starting to lose her fire. So far everything that Faraday said made sense and didn’t make him sound untrustworthy. What had Hemingway quoted to her that morning? “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” She sighed with resignation, wanting Faraday to check out. He was her first real friend, but it all relied on how he answered this question.
“I was in the right place at the right time,” he began. “I saw you talking to yourself, and I was curious about you. Of course, from a scientific standpoint, I’d want to investigate Happily Ever After College, so when I discovered you were going there, I simply thought it was a good opportunity to research. Furthermore, you were alone and looked like you could use a friend, and I wanted to know you. Now that I know you’re a halfling, I’m even more interested in learning about you.”
“One last question,” she said through clenched teeth, watching his every move and expression to see if he was lying. “Did you know that I was a halfling?”
“No, I did not,” he asserted.
“Did you know that I was a Beaufont?” she added, the thought suddenly occurring to her.
“You did say only one last question,” Wilfred cut in.
“I want to know,” Paris seethed, not taking her gaze off the squirrel.
“I can honestly say that I didn’t,” Faraday answered. “Before meeting you on Roya Lane, I didn’t know a single thing about you.”
She sighed and sat back in the large armchair. “Fine. I won’t have Chef Ash make you into squirrel sausage.”
“According to my findings,” Wilfred began. “You need approximately fifteen squirrels to make the standard squirrel sausage recipe.”
Paris leveled her gaze at the butler. “It was a joke. I don’t even like sausage that much.”
“Can we not talk about food that I could become?” Faraday asked.
“Yes.” She sighed and glanced at Wilfred. “What else have you dug up on the Beaufonts and the Ludwigs? Anything of interest?”
“The Ludwigs are a relatively new family to the magical world,” Wilfred stated in a rehearsed voice. “There’s much information on how they made money in magical trades and served in many noble ways. Raina Ludwig, a current Councilor for the House of Fourteen, is of Royal blood and married a Fane Popa-Ludwig from Lupei, making him a Warrior to replace your father, Stefan.”
“He took her name,” Faraday observed. “How very progressive.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Paris replied.
“Again, I think it’s to preserve the family status in the House of Fourteen,” Wilfred observed. “The organization that governs magic appears to be dictated by many customs and old traditions, although there isn’t much on the subject.”
“And the Beaufonts?” The name still sounded strange to Paris, knowing it was hers.
“There is very little information on them, and much of what I’ve found appears redacted,” Wilfred supplied.
“So that’s where I need to investigate.” Paris pulled her phone out.
“I thought you said that your data and messaging didn’t work on your phone.” Wilfred gave her a skeptical look.
“It doesn’t.” She dialed the only number she knew by heart. The only one she ever called. “But I can still make calls, and there’s only one person who I want to talk to right now. Thanks for your help.” A smile flicked to her face, politely dismissing the butler.
Chapter Thirteen
Paris had expected to leave a message for her uncle, which was why she was surprised when he picked up the phone after only one ring.
“Hey, Pare.” Uncle John’s voice was a little gruffer than usual.
Something caught in her throat, and Paris was unable to speak.
“Pare? You there?”
A cough sputtered over her lips and Paris sucked in a sudden breath. “Yeah, I’m here. I didn’t expect you to answer. I thought you were on a stakeout.”
“I was,” he answered. “Something happened…I had to return to FLEA.”
“Something happened?” Paris wanted to ask her burning questions as soon as she heard Uncle John’s voice, but now, she sensed brand-new stress in his voice, and it didn’t feel right. Also, she wanted to talk to him in person and not over the phone when it involved something serious and life-changing.
“It’s…well, it’s nothing for you to worry about,” he answered. “I’ll tell you the next time I see you.”
“About that,” Paris said tentatively. “Are you around tonight?”
“Tonight?” he questioned. “To see me? Is everything all right there?”
“It’s fine,” she lied, not knowing how she could tell him she was in shock without explaining to him that her whole life had turned upside down. That’s what she’d do when they saw each other in person. “I thought I’d stop by tonight if you’re available.”
“For you, always, Pare.”
“Great.” Paris smiled, her unwavering fondness for her uncle warming her chest. Maybe he had lied and hidden her past, or perhaps he was in the dark. She’d find out, but at her core, Paris knew that her Uncle John would never do anything to deceive her without a good reason. “I’ll see you around eight then.”
“See you then,” he agreed.
Paris shut off the phone and hurried out of the study area, looking forward to seeing Uncle John, although she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was very upset about something. She’d find out about that tonight and hopefully much, much more.
Chapter Fourteen
Although Paris could have skipped her afternoon classes, per Headmistress Starr’s permission, she found that she wanted to attend Gardening and Baking-slash-Cooking. Most of the students were gathered in the greenhouse when Paris took her seat at the back.
As if Hemingway was simply waiting for her to show up, he clapped once as soon as Paris sat.
“Welcome, welcome first through fourth years,” he stated excitedly. “I have something to show you today that I don’t think any of you have seen before regardless of your level. I’ve only just found it in the Bewilder Forest for the very first time recently.”
Sitting on a high table in front of Hemingway was something draped in a small green tarp.
With enthusiasm buzzing in his eyes, Hemingway yanked the covering off to reveal a small green plant with purple flowers and little black berries.
“For one thousand points,” Hemingway began. “Who can tell me what this plant is?”
Unlike usual when he asked a question, not a single hand went into the air. The students all looked at each other with confusion.
However, Hemingway nodded understandingly. “This plant isn’t cataloged in any of your textbooks, so I’m not sure where you would have run across it. This is a very rare and dare I say, poisonous plant known as the Deadly Nightshade.”
Gasps echoed around the room. Many covered their mouths. Whispers flew around the greenhouse rapidly.
“Ingesting only ten to twenty of these berries,” Hemingway continued, “can cause death in adults. The leaves and petals in small doses will most likely lead to an impromptu nap, and waking up is a gamble depending on the person.”
Many in the front row leaned back as if afraid th
at mere proximity to the plant was dangerous.
“If this plant is so toxic, why did you harvest it and bring it in here?” Penny Pullman pushed her glasses up on her nose.
Hemingway nodded. “Good question. I don’t make a habit of playing with poisonous plants. However, education is important, and before today, I didn’t have the opportunity to show you all what Deadly Nightshade looks like. Now you all know and can avoid it since even touching the plant could be dangerous.”
“Why did it recently show up in the Bewilder Forest?” Paris thought the timing was a little strange.
“Well, it’s more likely that I only now discovered it in the Bewilder Forest,” Hemingway offered while giving her a thoughtful look. “They aren’t the easiest plant to find because they grow low to the ground, and other plants covered this one. However, it is worth speculating on the reason that it was in the Bewilder Forest since although many unique magical plants grow there, the properties of Happily Ever After College discourage dangerous plants or animals from living in our bubble. Although that brings me to a relevant point, which is that even though Deadly Nightshade is extremely lethal, it does have some benefits. Does anyone know what those are?”
He was silent for a moment, staring around the room, waiting for someone to reply. When no one did, Hemingway nodded, understanding the lack of knowledge on the plant.
“Although the plant is, as its name indicated, very deadly, there are some extraordinary benefits if handled properly,” he explained. “In the past, women have used it cosmetically since it can dilate pupils. In stronger doses, the plant can be administered as a mild sedative to treat colds and alleviate stomach discomfort. It also can be a pain reliever, anti-inflammatory, and muscle relaxer. Those attending Burning Man might use it as a hallucinogen. Regardless, working with this plant is very dangerous, and there’s a fine line between using it for a medicinal purpose and creating a poison.”
“Do you know how to make any of that stuff with the plant?” a girl toward the front of the class asked.
Hemingway shook his head. “I would only trust an experienced alchemist with such a task. Therefore, none of you should play with this bad boy. Take note of what the plant looks like and stay away from it. If you do spot one in the Bewilder Forest, let one of the faculty know. I’m not sure whether there are any more out there or if this was the only one but do keep an eye out.”