by Amber Lynn
With the strong energy coming off Mr. Hamilton, he’s an old bloodsucker, at least four or five hundred years old. Last I checked, bloodsuckers can’t have kids, so there’s no way he could have had a daughter within the last three hundred years.
“You’re going to have to trust me when I say Noah will protect you with his life. That’s why I’m letting you go to the dance, and starting tomorrow, back to school. I’ll be there tonight to evaluate the threat.”
That sounds like I’m not really getting a reprieve from my captivity. I get to be around other people, but they’re people I don’t really like, and I’m going to be under a microscope. Such is my life, I guess.
“Have you told the guardian angel of the school? I bet he got a good laugh about your crazy idea.”
“Five people know about what you are. That’s two too many if you ask me, but I’m letting that be for now. No one else can know, especially not Michael. Angels have more to hide than anyone.”
I’m sure I look like an idiot, but I lift my hand and start counting. Me. Ophelia. Mr. Hamilton. Ian. Yeah, that’s what I came up with in my head. Four fingers.
“You’re forgetting Audrey. I’m still not sure how Ian is able to talk to her, but he’s made it clear that she’s listening just fine. Since no one else can get through to her, she’s the least of my worries right now.”
“Why are you so sure?”
I’m not asking about the least of her worries or who she’s trusting. From the second I mentioned the apples, she’s been hellbent on knowing what was going on. I’ve always blindly followed when it came to things in the Fae world, but I have to push back on this one.
“I already told you,” she says as she walks into the room a little further. “It runs in your father’s family.”
She goes to my dresser and looks at the various makeup on top. Since it’s the only thing that can really change my look, I have enough to last most humans a lifetime.
“Does that mean he was a truthseer?”
The fact that she never talks about him makes a little more sense if that’s the case. There is so much I don’t know, most of which I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
“No, he found a way around it. A way that sadly became irrelevant for you when you got cursed. But, enough about that talk for now. We have to get you ready for this dance. Ian’s supposed to pick you up in about an hour.”
She waves her hand and a vanity and bench appear against the bare wall next to the bathroom door. It would take a second to snap her fingers to get me dressed, but it looks like she wants to do things the old-fashioned way.
“What do you mean he found a way around it?”
I know she said the subject was off the table, but she can’t say something like that and not expect me to ask for more information. While I ask my question, I scoot off the bed and head for the vanity. I should have more fight in me, but I guess with at least a mild reprieve from my solitude around the corner, I just want to do whatever is required to get out of the house.
“I’m thinking a simple updo, some smoky eyes, bright red lipstick and just a touch of blush. You’re so pale.”
She starts playing around with my dull, lifeless hair. She’s lucky I decided not to let my hygiene lapse while being locked up.
Looking in the mirror, I try to picture what she’s hoping things will look like. My collection of makeup doesn’t reflect the fact that I don’t think it does much for me. Getting my eyes to pop how they should is an impossible task.
There should be facets to my eyes that make everyone stare at me for a few seconds longer than polite. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to reconcile once again with the fact that I will never have the basic ability every enchanter over fifty has.
When I open them, I’m forced to close them again. My imagination evidently is working in overdrive, because for a second, I thought I saw more than just my green eyes staring back at me.
This time I only open one, peeking at what should be the same thing I’ve seen in the mirror for two decades. The other eye quickly bounces open as I see my imagination hasn’t cleared.
“My eyes…” I manage as I try to make sense of things.
“What about your eyes?”
Ophelia turns my head and kneels to get a closer look. Her head moves from side to side, but her eyes aren’t showing the surprised expression I’m expecting.
I jerk my head away from her and look back in the mirror, leaning forward to make sure there isn’t some weird trick of the light. There aren’t as many facets as my mom has, but both eyes now have a depth from hexagonal and diamond shapes carved into my irises.
“I see the facets.”
My voice sounds far away, even to me. There’s no way I should be able to see them. Without turning away from the mirror, I reach over and pinch the skin on my left arm, trying to verify whether I’m dreaming. The instant pain tells me I’m not imagining things, but that’s impossible.
Chapter Twenty-three
“You look amazing.”
Ian manages to get the words out after staring at me for ten seconds in silence. I’m fairly certain he’s not seeing the change in my eyes, since Ophelia spent twenty of the minutes we had to get me ready staring at my eyes and never once saw a flash of the facets.
“Thanks.”
I glance down to see the dress that matches my eyes perfectly. Most of it is the same color green, but there are thin strips of sparkling silver fabric that catch the light. The deep-V neck has me a little self-conscious, but I suppose not having boobs is handy with a dress like this that isn’t bra-friendly.
“I was surprised when Mr. Hamilton said you were coming tonight. I was under the impression house arrest was a permanent thing for you.”
I’m busy concentrating on how well he cleans up to care about the subject of my house arrest. He’s not in a tuxedo, but the black suit and tie against the sharp white dress shirt looks good on him. It’s not something he just picked up off the rack, at least it doesn’t look like it. The tailoring has it fitted to his body in all the right places as I look him up and down.
Yup. He’ll do just fine for a date.
“Are we going to just stand in the doorway, or can we get going?”
The deeper male voice is only partially unexpected. I figured Mr. Hamilton would be at the dance, but I didn’t think he’d show up to be a chaperone from home to the dance.
“We should get going. Things are progressing faster than I thought they would, which means we need to make our appearances and get out as soon as we can.”
Ophelia had said she needed a few minutes to get ready, so she missed me answering the door. I feel her presence behind me, which takes away Ian’s fascination of staring at me. Surprisingly, it’s only for a second as he gives my mom a quick smile and turns back to me.
His smile grows even more as he sighs contently. Is there something wrong with him? His color looks fine and I don’t feel a fever wafting off him, but he’s acting even weirder than usual.
“She’s breaking through her curse.”
The words are weird enough to hear, even weirder coming from Mr. Hamilton. If Ophelia didn’t see my facets, there’s no way he can. Jumping to that conclusion is flat out illogical.
I’m not actually doing that, right? That’d be crazy. So, I’m seeing some sparkles in the mirror. That’s just me and the brain tumor that I am once again considering.
“It started about an hour ago. Are you seeing it yet? I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hide it.”
Wait, so Ophelia’s on the same page with him? How is that possible? She swore she didn’t see anything.
“No, but Ian is. I know that lost look on a human face. Which means, over half the school’s population will be staring at Jazz,” Ophelia says.
“No, no, no.” I could keep repeating the word, but three’s enough. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but look at my boobs.”
Ian shakes his head but follows the order that has a littl
e more force behind it than just saying the words. When the stupid smile instantly wipes off his face, I let it sink in that I’m in trouble. I see Ian’s head start to move back up, so I reach out and hold it in place, making sure he can’t look in my eyes.
“What the hell is happening?” I ask.
They’ve kind of explained what they think is going on, but I don’t understand. I’ve waited for centuries for my curse to lift, doing everything I could think of to try to make my life easier. I should be happy.
“Truthseers don’t just see through curses. They can undo them.” Ophelia’s words are calculated.
I assume she’s got the house in a cone of silence, even with the front door open. Her words should make me ecstatic, but I’m starting to wonder how much longer I can deny the truthseer stuff. If she would’ve given me access to the internet, I would’ve found some other explanations for whatever is going on. There has to be something out there that doesn’t involve me being a mysterious breed of enchanter.
There has to be.
“How do I stop it?”
Even if I can find another explanation, that’s not going to stop others from assuming whatever they want. I doubt all the Fae at school would jump to the truthseer conclusion, but the ones I have to worry about probably will.
“You can’t. That’s why it never takes long for people to figure out who the truthseers are.” Mr. Hamilton sounds morose.
Last I checked, he’s not the one with a potential death sentence hanging over his head. Speaking of death, if I’m undoing my curse, does that mean Ian’s mom is up and about dancing a jig? I should ask, but I have to think he wouldn’t be here if that’s the case. Plus, we still need to focus on me.
“So, I need to go find the highest mountain and just climb to the top until this truthseer stuff goes away.”
I’m sure that’s not how it works, but I’m trying to find a way out of the death portion of whatever this curse is. It shouldn’t shock me that I’m potentially getting over the curse that has plagued my life, only because another one that can possibly end my life is taking its place.
“That’s not how it works. You’re drawn to the lies,” Mr. Hamilton explains.
He must have gotten a lot of information about whoever he knew who was a truthseer. I’m starting to worry that he extracted it right before he killed the poor guy, or girl. Why in the world does Ophelia think I’m safe around him?
“And you expect her to be able to hide out in high school?”
Ian’s accent has cleared the dreamy tone that accompanied the only other words he’s said. I guess that means as long as eye contact isn’t involved, I don’t cloud his mind. I should be thinking about all the ways that works in my favor.
“I don’t think we have a choice. You said Mike asked about her today. He’s going to get suspicious if she doesn’t show up.”
There’s anger in Mr. Hamilton’s voice, especially at the mention of Michael. I wasn’t aware there was an issue between them.
“Everything will be fine as long as we can keep the humans under control. The Fae in this town for the most part are clueless.”
It’s not surprising that my mom shares my opinion on that matter. I turn to look at her and shake my head. I saw myself in the mirror and was impressed, but as usual, Ophelia is upstaging me. It’s a miracle Ian was able to look away from her.
Unlike my updo, her red hair flows down in waves around her face, which has a warm gold glow. Her black cocktail dress doesn’t draw out her eyes like mine does, but it’s molded to every curve of her body.
“It’s the few who aren’t that worry me,” Mr. Hamilton says. “I know there aren’t eyes we need to worry about here right now, but we do need to make a decision and stop standing around.”
I’m leaning towards finding the mountain I thought about earlier. Keeping people from looking in my eyes is one thing, but if I’m really undoing a curse even Ian knew about, more than just my eyes are going to change. I don’t even want to think about the possibility of finally going through the growth spurt I didn’t as a teenager.
The thought has me looking down at my chest. What if some day I’m walking around and all of a sudden, my bra snaps because it can’t take the load? I never let myself believe the curse would be over, so I haven’t thought about what it would mean.
I can make a new bigger bra appear without a problem, but it’s the concept of needing one that has my mind racing. What is going on?
“You’re right, Noah. We’re all dressed up, so we might as well make an appearance. I’ll monitor the situation and redirect any unwanted attention. We’ll stay and pretend to be normal for about an hour and then leave. That should appease any questions about Jazz’s whereabouts.”
I’m glad Ophelia seems to have it all planned out. After seeing her, I don’t doubt the ease of turning attention on me to something else. The poor humans in the room aren’t going to know what hit them.
“And it’s not going to look weird with me staring at her chest all night?”
The math between an hour and all night is lost on me, but Ian seems optimistic. I guess I should’ve just turned his head to the side.
“Ian, we talked about being a gentleman. I don’t care if she adverted your eyes for you, they better be closed.”
Mr. Hamilton’s words make me scoff. If he’s worried about my modesty, he should’ve told Ophelia to pick a little less revealing dress. The high waist keeps the center split down my torso from going all the way to my belly button, but there’s a lot of skin.
“Jazz can take care of herself as far as unwanted attention. The question now is whether we’re taking your car or mine.” Ophelia takes a deep breath before adding, “The last time you drove me anywhere, you broke the rear axle of the carriage. The poor horses had to drag us around for a quarter mile before you bothered to fix it.”
What? Since we’re talking horse and carriage, this clearly didn’t happen this century, but it’s my first clue to figuring out what their prior relationship was. Did he work as a driver for her family back in the day? I’m going to have to think about that before interrogating Ophelia later.
“That wasn’t my fault, and you know it. That being said, I know how much you like to be in control, so we’ll take your car.”
I look back to Mr. Hamilton just in time to see him wink at my mom. Things like that make it impossible to believe he was just a driver. There’s something between them and it freaks me out.
“Perfect. Let me just grab my purse, then we can go. Jazz, be a dear and let Ian’s head go. He’ll get a crick in his neck, and that will make it hard for him to spend an hour dancing with you.”
I look over my shoulder again with a scowl on my face. I agreed to go to the dance, even with the pressure of not attracting attention, but I didn’t say anything about actually dancing.
Chapter Twenty-four
I’ve mentioned my lack of going to school in a bazillion years, so I wasn’t sure what to expect as I walked in the gymnasium. I’m flanked by Ian on one side and my mom on the other. Mr. Hamilton is directly in front of me, blocking most of my view.
I assume he’s making it difficult for people to see me, which is fine. The whole ride to school was spent listening to a lecture from the two “adults” about ways to avoid making eye contact with a single person. I almost gouged my eyes out, so I didn’t have to listen to them anymore.
I don’t know what they’re so worried about. The gym is dark, not to the level it’s impossible to see your hand in front of your face, but the mood lighting will damper any sparkle to my eyes. At least it should.
When Mr. Hamilton moves far enough out of the way, the Mardi Gras theme jumps right out. I’ve watched movies about high school, so I’ve seen how they like to pick silly themes for their dances. I doubt there are more than a handful in the hundred or so other people in the gym who have been to Mardi Gras.
Purple, gold and green is everywhere in the space, in every format imaginable. Streamers,
bunting, balloons, beads, masks, oh, and feathers, they have them all. Above our heads, a net holds probably three hundred balloons, which I assume at some point will be dropped. Thankfully, if I’m only going to be here an hour, I should miss that fun.
“We have to turn in our tickets and get our hands stamped. They’re kind of strict about security here.”
Ian sounds sincere, but I question anyone being strict on security when we’ve made it through the whole school without anyone stopping us. I look over to him, and he’s already walking over to a table set up six feet away.
I move to follow, because I wouldn’t want to break the rules by not getting my hand stamped. Ophelia’s long fingers dig into my shoulder before I can take a second step.
“Stay where I can see you. This place is a little more packed than I thought it’d be.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mom. I’ll keep it in mind.”
I’m pretty sure having my mom there as a chaperone should be embarrassing enough. If anyone heard her telling me to stay in sight, like a three-year-old, I might as well just shoot myself now.
I look around quickly to see if anyone happens to be rolling on the floor laughing. I get an almost apologetic look from Mr. Hamilton, but no one else seems to witness my shame. I guess that will keep me going for at least a few more minutes. My goal has turned from not being noticed, to seeing how far I can get from my mom without her making a scene.
From what I’ve seen from her lately, I’m guessing the six feet between her and the table I need to get my hand stamped at are about it. Maybe we should turn around and head home now.
“Here, let me stamp your hand,” Michael says as I reach the table.
I feel his eyes on me, burning my skin. I’m quick to look down at the table, avoiding eye contact, as I hold out my hand. I know he was mentioned in passing, but I forgot to mention the fact he’s proven to be in my mind. And the spark that seems to ignite when we touch.
Not prepared for it to happen, I react and pull my hand back before he gets the stamp on it. He doesn’t let it get away from his touch as he grips firmer and presses the purple stamp to my skin.