Simply Enchanting

by Amber Lynn

  I’ve already checked, and no, there is not a lick of Angelica around. Since it’s been known to have a calming effect on other Fae, it surprises me a little. Michael already mentioned it’s used often to control new shifters, so I imagine it would calm a bloodsucker. If Ian’s mom isn’t adjusting to her change, they should have a full greenhouse of it in every room.

  As far as I know, issues like a coma are rare after changes. Even if it’s unwanted, the body kind of does its thing and heals itself. That’s one of the reasons there are petitions every year to convert sick people bloodsuckers have been friendly with. I’ve never paid close attention to how many of those requests are granted, but in the grand scheme of things, I think it’s rare.

  Ian is quick to pull me through the red front door and down a long hallway to the back of the house. There’s an odd smell of apple that feels both fake and out of place. I highly doubt there is a lot of baking done in the house, but even if there was, it’s like a cheap imitation candle or something. And it’s almost like the apples were just a little bit rotten.

  My nose curls up as the smell continues to assault my senses. The fact that it gets stronger as we go doesn’t develop warm and fuzzy feelings.

  As he turns the corner through an open doorway, I am smacked in the face with the origin of the stench. How can anyone spend any time in the house? It’s no wonder his mom doesn’t want to wake up.

  “Mom, you got a new visitor.”

  He sounds so happy. I have to believe his human nose doesn’t smell the same thing mine does.

  Looking to the side, he smiles at me and squeezes my hand. I attempt a pleasant smile in return, but if he buys it, he’s more gullible than I thought.

  “Nice to meet you, Ian’s mom?”

  I guess he never told me her name. I hope she wasn’t expecting me to call her mom or anything. From what I can see, I don’t think her expectations can be too high.

  I don’t visit sick people, mainly because I’ve never known any. I assume they all look washed out on a bed, though.

  There are white sheets and a blanket pulled almost up to her chin. The only thing I can really see of her is her long black hair and a side profile. She looks to have a thin nose and lips to match. In fact, I would probably describe everything about her as thin.

  To the side of the bed there is one IV stand with a bag of blood connected to her right arm. Other than the IV and the bed, the rest of the room is completely empty. Not exactly what I would consider a homey place to recover.

  “It’s just a couple classes, Mom. Jazz already knows more than the teachers, and I needed a break.”

  Apparently, I missed a scolding or something. I focus on the woman on the bed and try to see if I pick up any response. As far as I can see, her chest isn’t moving, so I’m not too hopeful I can hear both sides of the conversation.

  Ian continues to respond to something, but I try to tune it out. It’s probably not the best plan if I’m supposed to be playing a role. I think he’ll understand that what I’m trying to do is maybe just a little more important.

  I feel his hand trying to pull out of mine, but I grip tighter to it. If he has a connection, I need to feel his energy.

  “I know I said we should hold hands,” he whispers in my ear, “but you’re about to cripple me.”

  With how hard I’m concentrating, it’s a miracle he makes it through. Opening my eyes, I realize I’d at some point closed them. I swear the image of his mom on the bed was still right in front of me.

  I look over to Ian and see the pain etched on his face. Quickly, I release his hand and take a step back. Maiming the person I’m trying to take under my wing was not in the plan I came up with last night.

  “Sorry.”

  I don’t know if there’s something else I should say or whether I should explain what I was doing. I don’t think he’d understand the latter. I doubt he’s had the same experiences I have when trying to get into a person’s head.

  “It’s okay. It just got a little intense. Were you trying to get in her head?”

  I’m surprised he words it the same way and doesn’t say something like trying to read her mind. To me, the two things are different, but I don’t really have time to get into that right now.

  “Yeah, I wanted to see if I could feel anything.”

  Obviously, hearing anything is probably more important, but I can generally feel brain activity without a person speaking or even thinking. The thinking part is pretty rare when a person is awake, because brains are always firing off something. There’s energy in there that keeps us going.

  Ian’s mom has none of that energy. If I was doing the assessment, I wouldn’t say she’s in a coma. I’d say she’s dead.

  “She said it sort of tickled. Do you want to try again? Does it make a difference if you’re holding my hand? I wanted to let you keep going. It’s just you’re a lot stronger than I expected.”

  By the time he got through to me, I’m sure I lessened my hold, but I doubt what he felt was even half of my full strength. In my assumption, he’s kind of brave asking to go at it again.

  “Maybe later. Can you tell me what the others say about her condition? I know this is harsh, but it feels to me like she’s dead.”

  For some reason, my words don’t cause him to lose the smile that’s reappeared on his face. If anything, he looks excited. The kid is well and truly messed up.

  “Watch this,” he says as he heads over to the bed.

  Sitting on the edge, he picks up his mom’s hand and intertwines their fingers. For a second, hers are lifeless, but they curl down to grip her son’s.

  I’m speechless. I shouldn’t be, but movement on her part is shocking, to say the least. There’s no way she should be able to do that.

  “When they tried to take me away from her after they came to confront Dad, they saw it. No one can explain it, but she’s in there, and she only responds to me. She didn’t even do it for Dad.”

  “So, he can’t hear her either?”

  I had wondered about that. I figured with them being married and he as her sire, there would probably be a connection.

  Ian shakes his head. “No, that’s why he called the big guns in. He thought she was dead. I’m pretty sure he still does.”

  Well, that certainly is an interesting development. I’m not sure what to think at this point.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Do you want to touch her?”

  I’m watching Ian’s face, so I can tell the question isn’t a joke. He can’t honestly believe I’d be up for that. Well, I mean he clearly is since he asked, but still. Who asks someone pretending to be his girlfriend if she wants to touch his comatose mother?

  “I think we’ll save that for another visit.”

  “You sure? Maybe you’ll be able to hear her if you touch her.”

  It sounds logical, but it would take a huge incentive to get me to cross the room. Even if she didn’t look dead, she’s a bloodsucker, and by some definitions, she might as well be dead.

  “I’m going to stick with my original answer, for now. I’ve never met someone’s mom before, and I’m pretty sure it’s best I don’t know her initial opinion of me.”

  Even second opinions aren’t usually good when I’m involved. I know you’ve noticed, but I rub people the wrong way. I’m not sure why that hasn’t worked on Ian, but he’s got to come to his senses eventually. His mom has probably already told him what an idiot he is for hanging out with me.

  “She says you’re pretty and exactly how I described you.”

  I scrunch my face up as I consider the statement. His mom hasn’t opened her eyes, so there’s no way she can claim I’m pretty. Even if she could see me, that claim is far-fetched even in the worst light. I’m pretty sure my mom wouldn’t even say I’m pretty, and there’s supposed to be some unsaid code that makes a parent always claim that kind of crap.

  “I know I was spacing off there for a little bit when I was concentrating, but I’m fairly cert
ain she hasn’t seen me.”

  It’s been obvious from the first day I met Ian that he isn’t all there, but I’m starting to think my assumption wasn’t strong enough. The hand trick is cute. I’ll give him that. But, as far as I can see, his mom is dead.

  The conclusion doesn’t settle well with me, which is odd. I shouldn’t care that Ian is looney and should be locked up where he can’t spread his delusions to other people.

  So why does it bother me that he’s not all there in the head? Or at least that I appear to have confirmation of that.

  At least I assume the odd itchiness I feel has to do with what I’m learning about my classmate. Itchy may not be the right word, but I don’t feel right in my skin. I want to peel it off to keep whatever is prickling it away.

  “I’m sure a person who can see without opening their eyes isn’t the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard of.”

  Ian sounds so sure. I suppose he’s right. I’ve seen and heard of a lot of crazy over the years, and whatever is going on is up there on my list, but I’ve been exposed to a few doozies.

  “Other than her hand moving, do you have any other proof she’s alive?”

  That is impressive evidence, but I need more. I’ve spent enough time around dead bodies that I’ve seen more than a few of them move. Yeah, you don’t want to ask why I’ve got that knowledge.

  He looks over to his mom and sighs. “I can hear her.”

  There’s a dose of defeat in his voice. I get the feeling the logic behind her being alive has been questioned a few times before.

  “But no one else can, and she moves only for you. Are you sure it’s not something on your end?”

  I have no idea how Ian would be controlling the movement. Thinking that his mom talks to him could easily be part of his coping mechanism since he found out his mom is basically dead.

  Fiery eyes dart in my direction and narrow. I smile, trying to take the anger I feel rolling off him down a notch.

  “I will not calm down. She’s like the rest of them. I thought she’d be different.”

  Since my lips haven’t moved in the last few moments, I quickly decide he’s not speaking to me. While his eyes still look like he’s trying to ignite me, his words are softer than they should be for someone that pissed off.

  “I’m not like anyone, so just hold up a second.” I take a step closer to the bed and put my hands on my hips, sort of combatively. “You can’t expect me to come in here and not ask questions. I just found out your parents aren’t human. Then you sprung the whole coma thing on me.”

  I want to continue by saying something about him bringing me to see a dead body, but I bite my tongue. His anger seems to be cooling down as his eyes open a little more and the storm clouds lift.

  “And not once did I lie to you about that stuff. Why would I start now?”

  I kind of bob my head from side to side as I consider that. I guess he didn’t lie, but he wasn’t the one to tell me about the coma. I’ve dished out enough lies of omission that we’ve got a little bit of a pot meet kettle situation.

  “I’m not saying you’re lying. I’m just trying to make sure I have all the facts. Is her skin cold and clammy?”

  The answer won’t change my mind about anything. I just really want to know. I find it bizarre that he’s still holding her hand. There is no way that is a comfortable sensation.

  “It’s no different than how your hand felt a few minutes ago. It’s not quite as warm, but it doesn’t feel like I’m holding a dead person’s hand or anything.”

  My general notion is that he doesn’t have much to compare to on the dead side of things. Of course, it sounds like he’d been living with his dad for over a decade and didn’t realize he was closer to dead than alive.

  “And you go around holding dead people’s hands all the time. That might be something to mention when you ask someone to go to a dance with you.”

  It’d be stupid to bring dead people up. To some Fae it may be a positive. I’m obviously not one of them, but even some enchanters walk on the crazy side. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with them. The dead bodies I’ve come across in life have not been things I hang around with.

  “Come on. You know I’m just making assumptions. She doesn’t feel dead. Okay? If you’d touch her, you’d know. I assume you have plenty of experience with dead people.”

  I smile as I shrug my shoulders. I imagine the uneducated who hear about my various bouts of fun with the Council think I’ve at least killed a few people. The Council generally only hears the worst of the worse cases. I think they make a special exception for me.

  “You know what they say about assuming things. I’ve lived a long time, but I try to steer clear from things that depress me, and not surprisingly, death ranks high on the list. Sure, I’ve seen my share of bodies, but what’s going on here, isn’t something I’ve come across.”

  “She’s not dead. Just touch her, will you?”

  His eyes drift back to his mom. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone as much as what I sense at least from his side of their relationship. Maybe that’s why he’s so sure she’s alive. It could be his love is boosting her or something.

  I guess the only way I’m going to know for sure is to touch her and see if she feels as dead as she looks. I already said that isn’t happening, but I’m up for changing my mind if it means we can move on.

  “Other people have touched her, right?”

  I don’t need to ask, since he’s mentioned it and Michael said other enchanters came in to try to figure things out. There’s got to have been handfuls of people who have touched her. I wonder if they’re just shining Ian on or if they’ve felt a sign that she’s still there.

  “Yeah. Two of the Council members even tried to figure out what’s wrong with her.”

  “And you think I’m going to magically be able to?”

  I’m delaying. I haven’t even inched closer to the bed. I really don’t want to touch her. Have I mentioned that yet?

  “I don’t know. I don’t want you to think I only asked you to the dance because I wanted you to test it out, but I really wish you would.”

  He hasn’t looked back in my direction. In fact, he’s a bit rigid, almost like he’s bracing for something. I get the sense he’s had nothing but bad news for a long time. Why do I feel so sorry for him?

  Taking a deep breath, I put one foot in front of the other and traverse the few feet separating me from what I’m sure is going to be an unpleasant experience. I know that, which is why I should be walking the other direction.

  “You would really touch me to help my son out?”

  The soft voice stops me. It feels a little like hitting a brick wall. Not that I would know what that was like.

  I have no clue how to react to the words. I can guess where they came from, but I don’t believe it. I reached into Ian’s mom’s head and found nothing. Why in the world am I hearing her voice now?

  “Um, Ian, I, uh what just happened?”

  I’m still a few inches from physically touching anything. There’s no reason I should suddenly be able to hear something.

  Ian’s head might as well be on a swivel as he turns back and forth between me and his mom. She hasn’t moved as far as I can tell, so I’m not sure why he doesn’t just focus on me.

  “You heard her, didn’t you? She asked about you touching her for me, and you heard it.”

  He finally stops looking back and forth and settles on me. The light of hope in his eyes is a little scary. I would usually deny everything in this situation and leave, but I find my head nodding up and down. I’m starting to think he does have some kind of power.

  What’s even weirder, neither Ian or her were looking at me when I heard the words. How in the world did she know I was really considering touching her?

  “You’re still hearing her, right? I can’t believe someone else can actually hear her.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. I heard something that was almost a whis
per, but his excitement has been clouding anything else going on in the room. I can almost cut through it.

  “I’m going to hate myself for saying this, but I think I’m going to call my mom. I have no idea what’s going on with your mom, but mine is the only one I trust around this place to have an answer.”

  Those words make me want to rip my tongue out and stomp on it a few times. I suppose it’s true but admitting things like that has never been my thing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ophelia’s stare has never been one of my favorite things. Especially, the one on her face right now. I don’t know if it’s a cross between I told you so and annoyance or something else. I’ve just always settled on that being her underlying thoughts when she looks at me this way.

  “In two hundred and thirty-three years, you have never asked for help. Do I take this for a sign you’re finally growing up?”

  I’m guessing from the fact that I want to slap her for saying that, the answer is no. Instead of wasting energy raising a hand I know will never connect, I roll my eyes.

  “Are you going to just stand out there, or do you want to come in and take a look at the medical curiosity that even the strongest Fae can’t figure out.”

  I’d barely opened the front door before she laid into me about calling for help. The phone call I made was kept short and sweet, simply giving her the address and asking her to show up. I didn’t specifically say I needed her help. For all she was supposed to know, I could’ve been inviting her for dinner.

  I try really hard not to laugh at the thought, but a scoff makes its way out. The glare on Ophelia’s face darkens what was an upbeat mood.

  “I know this address, Jazz. I can guess why you called me.”

  “Because you have a green thumb, and I imagine there’s a nice garden out back that could use a little help.”

  With all the flowers out front, I’m sure there’s something in back. Since she seems to know everything, like she always does, my sarcastic side tends to come out.