by Amber Lynn
“How long is a while?” Ian asks.
He reaches over and grabs my hand. I’ve allowed the action more than once, but after the talk I just had, I’m not sure it’s the best thing for Ian’s health. I don’t know why Michael is jealous, or whatever caused the demand that Ian stop holding me close, but I’m actually going to go along with that demand.
I loosen my fingers and pull my hand away. Ian doesn’t let go easily, but he doesn’t have a choice. Unlike Michael, it’s easy for me to overpower him.
“Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to touch me right now. It’s nothing against you. He just seems to have gone into some overprotective psycho mode, and he’s a bit old-fashioned when it comes to people touching.”
There was nothing said about hand-holding, which I’m sure he’s seen. Playing on the safe side just seems like a good idea, since bones being broken were mentioned.
“He doesn’t want Ian touching you?” Mr. Hamilton asks.
So many questions, and I’m doing my best to gloss over them. Answers that make any sense aren’t currently at my disposal and speculating doesn’t seem right. It’s only going to make things more confusing.
“You’ll have to ask him what he wants. All I know is he claims he’s known from the first day we met, and he hasn’t killed me yet.”
As I think about the conversation more, and all the talk of protecting me, I have to wonder if he’s trying to make me feel comfortable before making a move. Comfortable is a relative word, because when I’m around him, I’m anything but comfortable. Between the weird communication, the sparks when we touch and the way I can feel him looking at me, I have no idea what to think about any of it.
“That’s impossible. He had to be fishing. We should leave. Maybe heading overseas for a while will let things die down. Do you still have that place in Vouvant?”
Mr. Hamilton’s knowledge of my mom’s property in France is disturbing, to say the least. She has places all over the world, but I spent the first years of my life in Vouvant.
“I do. We haven’t been back there since Jazz was ten, so I doubt anyone remembers her little outburst.”
I can feel the scolding still in Ophelia’s voice after all these years. You’d think she’d get over the fact we had to move almost a decade before she was planning.
“I imagine there are still legends about the day every kid in town had their hair turn blue. That kind of thing is hard to forget, but I doubt anyone will remember Jazz specifically. I’m pretty sure there weren’t any statues made of her,” Mr. Hamilton says.
What?
“What?”
I think the word as Ian says it. There is no doubt that very different questions are involved. I’m sure he just wants more information about my dabbles in magic as a kid. I want to know how in the world Mr. Hamilton knows about them. Knowing about my stunted age is one thing. My youthful indiscretions are not widely known.
At least they shouldn’t be.
“I haven’t told you that story about her?” Mr. Hamilton asks.
I know Ian mentioned what I thought was just some background information, but I’m starting to wonder exactly what was shared. It makes me have to reconsider how much of my life is shared with others. Maybe there’s a book of my exploits that gets handed out to every Fae, so they’re prepared if they ever run into me.
Being a narcissist is common for enchanters, but even I don’t believe there’s really a book about me. I’m leaning towards both my mom and I having dedicated stalkers.
“We can tell stories later,” Ophelia says. “Right now, we have to figure out what to do in this moment. If Michael knows, and my protection doesn’t seem to be working for him, we aren’t safe.”
“And you think standing around talking about it instead of trying to blend in and look natural is a good idea?” I ask.
They don’t have all the facts when it comes to Michael. I don’t either, but I feel that if he was going to off me, it would have happened. I also think the fact that he’s able to get around Ophelia’s protections underscores my initial thought that he’s way more powerful than Mr. Hamilton. The poor bloodsucker is in for a rude awakening as far as his position in the world.
I feel the touch of Michael’s eyes, causing me to look over my left shoulder. He’s taken his position back at the table. I don’t know when the dance started, but I imagine everyone who’s going to be here is already here. The position at the table gives him a good view of the room. Of course, the only thing he seems to want to look at is me.
“How much time have you spent with Michael?”
Mr. Hamilton’s voice brings my attention back to the people in front of me. I realize when I looked to Michael, I wasn’t careful about keeping my eyes low. It’s stupid, but thankfully, no one rushes to fawn over me.
“Less than you’ve clearly spent with my mother. Should we dive into whatever’s going on between you, or is it okay if we go mingle for a little while?”
My defenses are sky high. I don’t know that there is anything accusatory in his question, but I don’t like the connotation I’m picking up.
“Okay, everyone just calm down.” Ophelia reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’re right about blending in for now. People are starting to notice that we’re arguing.”
I raise my brow, curious that she’s allowing that. She’s great at casting illusions. So why isn’t she?
“We have a lot to talk about later,” she continues. “For now, go do your mingling. I think it’s time for me to have a conversation with the angel among us.”
I follow her gaze to Michael. He looks away from me to smile at my mom, but only for a second. If his goal is to creep me out, he gets a gold medal. I don’t know what’s different about tonight. I only know that for a month, he hasn’t been like this. At least not enough that I’ve picked it up.
“Good luck with that,” I say as I turn back and face Ian, remembering to keep my eyes averted. “People get photos taken at these things, right? Let’s go do that.”
I have no idea if that’s a thing, but humans seem big on capturing every moment of their lives. Personally, I think that’s a mistake. As you get older, you don’t want proof documenting the stupid things you’ve done.
“Are you sure that’s not going to piss someone off?” Ian asks.
It’s clear from his tone he’s not happy about our little conversation. He needs a reality check, and soon. The inconceivable ideas he has about us are going to have to stop. Playing for his mom is one thing, but if he really thinks there’s a chance of something more than the friendship I’ve offered, he’s going to get hurt. And from the sounds of it, it’s not going to be by me.
“I can handle him. We’ve got about forty minutes left if we want to stick to the plan. Just try to act normal for that long.”
My words are directed to me more than anyone else. I figure if I say I can handle Michael, maybe it will become the truth. The same goes for acting normal. At this point, I’m not sure I have a clear definition of what that means.
“Just make sure you stay where I can see you. I’m planning on skewering him here in a second, but I still want to see you.”
“Seriously, Mom? If you announce I have to stay where you can see me one more time, I’m going to go find whatever kind of knife they have, which is probably a dull plastic one, and I’m going to stab myself.”
I’m not sure what problem that would solve. It’s not like it would kill me. It might get me away from the crazy things going on in my life for at least a few minutes, though. If done in front of enough people, I’ll have to be rushed to a hospital for some emergency surgery.
“I’d like to see you try,” Ophelia challenges. “I can’t wait to see how your new guardian angel deals with your melodramatic ways.”
I hate it when she dares me. Do I be the bigger person and let it go this time? I’m supposed to be lying low. Making the scene wouldn’t be out of character for me. I’ve spoken up and challenged thin
gs in class before, so having a little fun at the dance might be just what I need.
“Since you’ve got plans to distract him, this should be fun,” I say.
Let’s be clear. I’m an idiot.
I’ve had yet another person claim I’m a truthseer.
I completely understand that my life is possibly in danger.
I’m in a room that has no fewer than twenty other Fae mingling around, who all could decide they believe I’m a danger to them.
And, I’ve got it in my head to do something to cause a scene. I guess I understand why they say truthseers don’t live more than a year.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As Ian and I make it through the zoo of people on our way to the photo booth, or whatever they have, I do my best to make my fascination of looking at the floor natural. Since the lighting isn’t great and there are bodies everywhere, I think I pull it off.
“Do enchanters have soulmates?”
I almost slip and direct my scowl to Ian, who deserves it after those words. I hate the concept of soulmates almost as much as I hate challenges from my mother. I glance back in the direction we left a few seconds before and see she and Mr. Hamilton are standing at an empty table, looking around. If I had to guess, she went after Michael and realized he wasn’t feeling up to a conversation with her.
Honestly, I can’t blame the guy. I’ve literally pulled hair out before during some of our conversations.
Looking back as close as I can to Ian, I sigh and try to decide the best way to tell him my views on the subject he brought up. I know it’s silly, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I suppose that’s why I haven’t balked too loudly for all the signs that he thinks about me in ways that are very much not sisterly or friendly.
I haven’t dipped in his mind to verify, but his actions speak loudly enough. The whole story about pretending to be his girlfriend for his mom’s sake reeked of a ruse that wasn’t for her benefit.
“We can live for over a thousand years. Do you think any of us want to be shackled with one person for all that time?”
He sighs. I think it’s a good one, but I’m focused on figuring out if the line we’ve encountered is for food or pictures. I see where they have a backdrop set up and a photographer is posing a couple. They sadly put it right next to the lackluster snacks they’re offering, so the lines have converged.
“That’s marriage talk, not soulmates. With soulmates, you don’t have a choice. You meet someone and there’s a spark and some kind of draw you can’t ignore.”
The mention of a spark catches me off guard and all my hard work is flushed down the drain. I look up in disbelief, words of denial waiting on my tongue, but the look on Ian’s face stops them from coming out.
“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Was an hour really too much for me to last? The puppy dog look is the worse I’ve ever seen, and Ophelia has had some serious puppy dogs follow her around over the years.
“That she is, my friend,” Michael says, coming from out of nowhere to stand next to Ian and clap him on the back. “I think you might have gotten into some spiked punch, though. Maybe we should get you home.”
That sounds like a better idea than holding Ian’s head down to let the effects of my eyes pass. Especially since I have no idea how long that takes. The only problem is that we are in the middle of a crowded gym and getting to a door without Ian saying something to draw attention might be tough.
“Don’t worry. I was close enough that they’re only seeing the usual lovestruck look he has on his face around you. I don’t want to rub it in, but you do know to get a picture taken you generally look at the camera, and everyone in line would have been as dopey as he is now.”
“I want to touch her hair.”
Ian reaches out to do just that. His arms barely get above his waist before Michael pushes them down.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, pal. Jazz is still recovering from that cold that kept her home the past two days. I heard it was nasty, and I’m sure you don’t want to catch it.”
Angels are secretive, but they are known in general to be fixers. The way he easily directs Ian back the way we come shows me he’s good at his job. Looking over his shoulder, he nods his head to the side telling me to follow along.
I hesitate and wonder if I should just run the other way. Not only would I be following Michael somewhere, it’s in the direction of my mother. I’m not sure I want to deal with her anymore tonight. Things haven’t gone according to plan, and I haven’t even had a chance to make a scene.
She’s either going to lock me in my room for a month or call to have the house in Vouvant opened up. It’d be one thing if it was just me and her moving again, but it sounds like we’re going to have company. Company I really don’t want to go into exile with.
“Neither of those things are going to happen. I wish you would’ve just casually mingled. You were doing so good.”
Michael looks over his shoulder again. I have started walking, so I don’t think it’s to verify that. I should be looking around the room to see what the reactions to our movements are, but I’ve gone back to concentrating on the floor. The only reason I know what Michael’s looking at is because I can feel those stupid eyes I want to pluck out of their sockets.
“What did you do to him?” Mr. Hamilton asks as we get to them.
The bloodsucker is quick to extract Ian and take over getting him to the gym doors. I hazard a glance up to see Ophelia’s face about to explode in anger. It’s my fault Ian’s loopy, so it should be directed at me, but it’s all for Michael.
I’ve had similar looks shot in my direction. A human wouldn’t survive one without at least a little damage. Michael’s laugh makes it clear his skin isn’t burning from the heat.
“It’s funny that you’re asking me that question, when you know it’s your fault he’s involved in any of this. If you and your council would have wiped his mind like they should have, Jazz wouldn’t have been pushed to see through Audrey’s curse.”
Mr. Hamilton is almost to the door when he whips around and gives Michael his own look of death. I should remind everyone that this isn’t the place for whatever fireworks are about to burst.
“You knew it was a curse.”
The accusation is accompanied by Mr. Hamilton’s finger pointing in Michael’s direction. Really? Am I the only one thinking clearly?
“Let’s get out of here, and then you guys can have whatever conversation is brewing. I know you said you were covering things up, but a full out brawl between an angel and a bloodsucker isn’t going to be easy to explain.”
I’ve never seen those two species fight, but Fae fights in general are nasty. The stronger the opponents, the more explosive, and I have a feeling Mr. Hamilton will probably get some assistance from my mom, who can’t seem to stop scowling.
“You underestimate my powers, but I agree,” Michael says. “Getting Jazz out of here needs to be our focus. You can be pissed off all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that she is the priority.”
I like the way he thinks, even if I don’t understand it. There are a lot of agendas I don’t know or understand, but if protecting me is involved, I can’t be against it.
“We will get my daughter out of here. You can stick around to clean up the mess.”
The mess part of the equation becomes clearer when the gym disappears and we’re magically in my kitchen. The move punctuates how bad things went tonight. Shoot, it wasn’t even a full night. In less than an hour, I’m pretty sure ever tectonic plate in the world shifted a tenth of an inch. The world isn’t crumbling just yet, but I can feel it coming just around the corner.
“I wanted to get out of there too, Phea, but I think walking out to the car and driving back here would’ve been fine.”
At least I’m not the only one on that page. Mr. Hamilton walks Ian over to a chair at the kitchen table and makes him sit. The making part is required, becaus
e he keeps trying to get up. Since his focus is on me, I imagine he’s thinking my general direction is where he wants to be.
This is bad. When I opened the door earlier, he got dreamy-eyed, but this is far beyond that. I’m scared to go check a mirror to see if my eyes have changed.
“They have. Since you’ve never had to deal with their full effect, you’re not prepared for how to tone them down.”
I jump when I hear Michael’s voice. My startled reaction doesn’t compare to the hiss that comes from Ophelia’s lips.
“How did you get in here?” she asks as she turns to see him leaning in the doorway between the living room and kitchen.
He looks too casual for the situation. I was focused on his face at the dance, so I didn’t take in the full package of him in his suit. I doubt the top few buttons of his shirt were undone in the gym, but they are now as he straightens and shrugs his shoulders slowly. It doesn’t look like that’s his answer to her question. It’s more of a stretch.
“Well, now, that is an interesting story. I don’t think we have time to go through all the details, but remember when you called me a guardian angel earlier?”
There’s a pause after the question, but no one responds. Ophelia’s too busy gathering energy to her, and from the sounds of a chair sliding across the floor behind us, I’m guessing Ian is getting a little unruly.
“Cat’s got your tongue? That’s too bad, Ophelia. Well, to answer my own question, of course, you remember. Well, surprise. Guardian angels are real, and I’ve been waiting for your lovely daughter to arrive, so I can get to work doing my guarding.”
“Wait. What?”
I’m the only one who seems prepared to talk. He didn’t just say he was my guardian angel, right? Because that would be crazy. Crazy is too mild of a word. That would be complete and utter lunacy topped with a healthy dose of insanity.
The idea makes no sense with our interactions over the last month. The first day we met, he threatened me. He said he was going to protect everyone else from the torture I’m known to inflict. Is that what he’s talking about? Maybe I heard it wrong. He didn’t say he was protecting me, just that he was waiting for me to arrive, so he could do his guardian angel thing.