by Amber Lynn
On paper, neither of them has a chance with me, so they should probably get that in their heads sooner rather than later. That last thought is meant specifically for the person who can hear it. He can spark me all he wants, but he’s still going to be an angel, and I’m an enchanter. Those two things don’t mix.
“There are a lot of things you should be open about,” Michael says in a cryptic tone.
If I had to guess, which, duh, I’m going to, I’d say he’s not talking about my communication with Ian. You can’t imagine how enjoyable it is for me to be able to get under his skin. As far as I know, the angel slash enchanter divide is a real thing. They’ll play with humans and all, but I haven’t heard anything about our kinds getting together.
Can you imagine what an angel enchanter baby would be like. Yeah, my mind is trying to go down that road, and I just don’t want to. I’m sure I would have heard if that ever happened. The world would probably spin like a top going five thousand miles per hour if it did. If you don’t already know, it goes about one thousand now.
“No one is talking about having kids, Jazz, so calm down.”
Easy for him to say. Guys aren’t the ones who would have to push that kind of power out of them. You would think with all the magic we have at our fingertips, enchanters would’ve sometime over the years made it not hurt to give birth. I don’t know from personal experience, but I’ve heard many times about my mother being in labor for fifteen hours.
“Enough, okay. I get it. I’m about to bring up the weather, because I can’t handle this line of thinking. And I hate talking about the weather.”
Last I checked, I did not invite him into my thoughts. If he has a problem with them, he can run off to class and stop listening in. And if he can’t turn them off, maybe he should find a dryer to stick is head in for a while. I’m not sure how that would work as far as running with the door open, but he’s an angel, so I’m sure he can figure it out.
“Are you guys having like a silent fight or something?”
Ian’s words take me away from trying to think up other options for the angel. It’s kind of sad, because the dryer idea was nowhere near my best work.
“She’s practically picking out names for our kids, so I wouldn’t call it a fight.”
I make some noises in response. I’m not exactly sure what they are. Lots of grunting, growling and vowels.
“He’s joking, right?” Ian asks.
Talk about a rhetorical question.
“Yes, he’s joking. And we weren’t arguing. I was just trying to prove a point.”
I was. I’m just not sure exactly what point it was.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you at lunch then, since all our classes together come later.”
Ian doesn’t sound happy about that as he gives a sad smile and takes off to whatever torture awaits him. I guess I don’t know his schedule, so I’m not sure how bad his first class is. I know it can’t be as bad as mine.
It’s a good thing I’m not worried about my grades. Mr. Oliver has not been impressed with my progress.
“There are times I think you do belong at the top of a mountain to protect the rest of the population. How hard is it to pretend to be nice and generally polite?”
I’m not sure what to be more surprised about. The fact he said the words out loud. Or that he said them to begin with.
“I can be both of those things. I don’t even have to pretend. I just can’t do it around idiots. Have you stopped to listen to some of the conversations around this place. Last week, I overheard a group of girls debating the meaning behind the word emoji. How am I supposed to be polite around that?”
With all the issues in the world, that conversation should never happen, not when the conversation lasted at least fifteen minutes. I’m not sure how I listened that long, but I left before it was finished.
“Okay, you got me there. Humans tend to focus on trivial things, so they don’t have to deal with the brutal truth in the world. It’s a mechanism we can’t really afford in our world. Especially, not now. We have to keep on our toes and watch around every corner.”
Yeah, that’s what I’ve been hearing for days now. It’s the mantra of don’t trust anyone, and yet, everyone seems to want me to trust them. The manboy holding my hand is at the top of that list.
“You’re going to have to stop calling me that. But, that’s going to have to wait for a little later. I guess I’ll see you in History. Try not to kill anyone before then, okay?”
I’m not making any promises. I’m about to say as much, but his lips descending on mine wipes the thought from my head. I should punch him for the move. I make note to do that eventually. Right after his wet lips leave mine and the power and warmth that flows into my body dies down.
He’s gone before my head clears. I’d been just going through the motions as we walked in, so I’m surprised to find I’m standing in front of my class. Apparently, my boyfriend just walked me to class. This day is starting off to be one of the most cliché ones I’ve ever been a part of.
Chapter Thirty-two
It’s amazing how fast a day can go by when you’re busy eyeing every person around you and trying to figure out if they want to kill you. Since I didn’t realize Michael was an angel at first, it could be anyone. I’d assume an angel can tell when another angel is around, but he hasn’t said to stay away from certain people.
I’m starting to get the feeling he’s using me as bait. Even though I was able to look Ian in the eyes earlier, I’ve spent most of my day observing others by not making eye contact. It’s difficult to get a good feel for people that way, but I don’t want to accidently point a bright red arrow at me if someone’s waiting to make a move.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been mind rambling all through History, and Michael has been annoyingly quiet. I know. That is a thought that should never cross my mind, but I’ve been throwing out all kinds of random tidbits that he could answer. I’m not even getting static back in return.
Clearly, History class is much more interesting than me. That’s fine. As soon as the bell rings, I’m going to go find Ian and spend lunch away from everyone else.
“History is extremely interesting. Having lived through most of what they discuss, it’s interesting to see how truth has changed over the years and how the humans saw different events. I was born just after the fall of Rome. And I can say that I have never seen one History book that has even an inkling of what really happened.”
Whoa. I knew from the whole fifteen-hundred birthday thing that he was old, but the fall of Rome? I might be a little off on how old his car is.
“Maybe a little. It was an original prototype long before it’s time. I might have inspired the designer to create it around fifty years ago and then forget they did until recently.”
That is kind of terrifying. It makes me feel like a baby. I thought being around for the American Civil War was cool.
“Well, that about does it for class. Homework for the weekend is to read chapter nineteen in your textbooks and complete the assessments in the chapter.”
Mrs. Renaud has been doing some presentation on the Industrial Revolution, which I already know chapter nineteen is about. I was alive for most of it, so it’s yet another topic I’m not enthralled with. Michael is right that it is sometimes interesting to see how the humans perceive events. The sometimes in that sentence should be underscored a few times.
Unlike him, I find it annoying when people don’t see events the same way I do. If they can’t get the facts right, they shouldn’t be speaking about it like they’re an authority on the matter. That’s probably my biggest problem with every teacher in this school. Well, except Mr. Hamilton. There’s a few other problems I have with him.
The buzzer goes off a few seconds after the teacher’s instructions. I grab my books and am ready to get away from the feeling of the walls collapsing around me. I know I’m being all cool about it, but this whole idea that someone is out there who feels like stab
bing me, or something a little more creative, makes if feel like I’m in jail. Surprisingly, I’ve never actually been to one, at least not on the other side of the bars, so I’m basing that on anecdotal accounts.
“Just a second, Jazz. I wanted to talk to you about next week,” Mrs. Renaud says.
I keep my groan to myself, and instead I offer her a bright smile. If she can’t see how fake it is, I pity her.
“What about next week?”
I’ve stopped in front of her desk, where she’s looking down at some papers and straightening things up. The other students are running out the door to lunch. Well, except my shadow, of course. He had been on my heels, so he came to a halt the second I did.
Mrs. Renaud looks up, and then off to the right. There’s a quick look of surprise when she sees Michael behind me. I get a feeling that the surprise is about as fake as my smile.
“I remember on your first day you were interested in the Battle of Cannae, and that’s something we’re going to cover next week.”
My hand reaches up for my throat. I realize what I’m doing and redirect to fluff my hair. Since it’s in a ponytail, it’s a little awkward, but I think I pull it off.
Either my throat is acting up randomly today, or there’s something to this telling when someone lies business. I’m leaning towards the former, because I can’t figure out what in her words would be a lie. We’re not covering the Battle of Cannae?
That’s a lame thing to lie about. I’ve told some sad lies over the years, but that’s just pathetic.
“Oh yeah? Do you want me to see if I can round up some period-appropriate weaponry and bring it for show and tell?”
I don’t have to see the fake astonishment on her face to know the answer to that question. School policy is no weapons of any kind allowed on the grounds. There aren’t metal detectors or anything to enforce the rule, but I doubt I could hide my falcata and long sword tucked in my jeans pocket.
“Careful there. I’m not sure what’s going on, but your way of engaging might not be the best.”
And I question whether he knows best. I’ve been in class with Mrs. Renaud for a month, and who knows how long he’s been roaming the halls. I’d think one of us would pick up if she’s an angel who wants to keep her secrets secret.
“I was going to ask if you were able to meet after school to go over what you would teach the class on the subject. I’ve never had a student lead a lesson, so I want to make sure there are ground rules on what you’d share.”
Burn. Burn. Burn.
Every word makes the tingle in my throat grow. It feels like I’ve got a lump in there and can barely swallow. If this is what being a truthseer is like, I have to wonder how any of them last more than a few hours without ripping their throat out.
“Hmm. I suppose I could stay for a few minutes. My mom doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Do you think you can tell me the rules in like five minutes?”
I don’t know why she doesn’t just explain it now. It can’t be more than a quick outline of not scaring the rest of the kids by going into gory details and keep things on point. Not to speak ill of teachers, because they admirably deal with people like me five days a week, but I’m pretty sure it’s something I can handle.
“Since this is unorthodox, I’d like to include Principal Kline on the conversation. If you could stop by her office after school, I’m sure we can talk everything out in no time.”
I already feel sorry for mentioning my obsession. No reenactment. No weapons. And it includes a trip to the principal’s office.
Even though my sore throat is a temporary thing, which I might add didn’t trigger with the request to stop at the principal’s office, I feel a sudden illness coming on. I’m supposedly just getting over one, so it shouldn’t be hard to say I had a relapse.
“Sure. I’ll stop by.”
I know I just went through planning my excuse to get out of it, but it feels like at least pretending like I’m going along with the plan is smart. I have no idea if I’m really picking up her lying. I doubt it, but maybe the very human-feeling teacher is trying to expose me.
Yes, it’s just as funny thinking that as I’m sure it is reading it. Mrs. Renaud has the Mrs. In front of her name, but she doesn’t wear a ring. I picture her going home at night to feed her fifty cats that have replaced her life after her husband either left or died. I suppose it could be a wife, but that’s not important.
“Great. I’m looking forward to what you come up with to help your fellow students learn about a time you’re so passionate about.”
We’re back to the lies, or at least the sore throat. This is getting annoying.
“Yeah, well, we’re just going to head to lunch now. I hear pizza is on the menu, and I’m starving.”
I look over my shoulder and smile at Michael. He’s not my lunch date, but we do have a few things to discuss. Since he knows the teacher better than I do, I’m curious if I’m just being paranoid.
“Of course. I need to grab something myself. I’ll see you after school.”
She didn’t exactly seem nervous before, but I get the sense she’s relieved. It adds to the list of reasons I’m going to conveniently forget where the principal’s office is.
Michael is quick to wrap his arm around my shoulder and pull me out of the room. He’s a lot better at acting natural. I don’t pull away from his touch, but my shoulders tighten. It’s not the spark of our skin connecting, but I’m not used to the weight of someone else’s arm on me.
It’s not a horrible feeling. I could even get used to it, with someone else, of course.
“Is that really necessary? We’ve got plenty of other stuff to discuss. Do you have to focus on how much you hate my touch?” he says.
“Hate is such a strong word.”
I’m not saying it’s not accurate. It just seems like that’s the right thing to say.
“Yeah, well, it is what it is. You know so little about my kind, and everything I’ve told you about it isn’t helping my case. I know that’s not important right now, but I figure I might as well warn you that I see us discussing it once I’m sure there’s not a threat.”
My brow raises as I start to think of all the reasons we have to never partake in said discussion. Before I can count them on my finger, I realize there are too many to even list. If I only have a year, at most, to live, I’m not going to spend it on stupid things.
I’m not sure that having a lunchtime chat with Ian doesn’t fall in that category but avoiding it might be a little hard with him walking in my direction. Reaching out, I feel that Michael didn’t put a rush order on getting the Angelica back in place. The dullness from what’s left is only a mild irritation.
Michael and Ian should spend as little time as possible in the same room, so I go ahead and put a rush on getting out of the school and going somewhere to have a conversation that doesn’t involve hundreds of eyes on us. The act of moving from place to place is second nature. I don’t even need to be touching Ian to bring him along.
It’s always been as easy as taking in a deep breath and going. There’s no reason it shouldn’t be this time. But, the searing pain that radiates through my body when I reach out to transfer us is like nothing I’ve felt before.
Chapter Thirty-three
The only good thing about the pain is that it’s relatively short-lived. On the list of many things bad about the pain is that when it’s over, I drop to the ground, holding my stomach. If I would’ve had something to eat today, I’m sure I’d be upchucking it all over the floor.
What the hell was that?
My eyes have been shut, so I don’t have my bearings. What I do know is that I am nowhere near the creek I was heading towards. I didn’t plan on landing in the faery mound. With the magic in the land there, that’s just a bad idea. It might piss off the natural order of the place, and who knows what that would do.
Not even I am that crazy.
I also know that Ian isn’t around me. There is someone here
, but it’s not him. That can’t be good. I’ve never had a transport interrupted, whether I had a passenger or not. Our bodies are nothing for the moments it takes to move. If I wasn’t able to control where his body went, it could just be floating out there in space.
“I’m surprised you tried that when you know we’re out there waiting for a moment of weakness. I thought your little guardian angel would keep a little tighter leash on you.”
I register that the voice is female and vaguely familiar, but it doesn’t ring any immediate bells. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the person isn’t human. My senses are too jumbled to feel if I can pick up what they really are. I shouldn’t bother. There’s only one thing she could be.
An angel.
“Michael has been rather annoying the past month. At first, I thought it was a coincidence he showed up here a few years ago. We’re generally wanderers, going where groups of Fae are gathered to see that nothing gets out of hand. I didn’t think he was waiting for you.”
The sound of her voice is trying to trigger something in my memory, but the jolt of coming out of my flash transportation has my head still spinning. I know she’s someone I’ve met before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was my grandmother. There’s the same rasp in her cadence.
I clear my throat, thinking it would be a good thing to start talking. I know you’re probably wanting a detailed description of what’s going on around me and wondering why in the hell I haven’t just opened my eyes to see who my abductor is. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Somehow – I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it’s some kind of angel voodoo magic – when I landed wherever it is I am, there was instantly a veil over my eyes. Shoot, it might as well be over my whole face, because I’m not picking up any smells, and that attempt to start talking looks to be a failure. I’m surprised she’s even letting me listen.
“I’m guessing from those sad attempts at grunts that your trying to speak. I’ve heard you talk enough, which is surprising, since Michael disguises every conversation you two have. And not just you two. Noah, your mom, even the sad little human boy you’ve made friends with.”