The Mysterious Lost Child (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 2)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Yeah, it seems that things are reverting in a way,” Paris observed.

  They were silent for a moment, only listening to the music overhead and the sounds of their footsteps. Paris immediately began to overthink each step, and before too long she’d nearly fallen again, taking Hemingway with her.

  He tugged her straight, correcting her mistake, and gripped her tighter, holding her in closer. “So you’re a one-of-a-kind halfling…”

  She sighed, not meeting his gaze. “That’s the rumor around town.”

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said at once. “Just trying to keep your mind occupied, and that’s the obvious elephant in the room.”

  Paris couldn’t help but laugh. Who was she trying to fool anyway? It wasn’t like she could pretend that this all wasn’t her reality. “It’s fine. I’m trying to wrap my brain around it. Imagine if you woke up to find out that you weren’t a fairy anymore.”

  “Or not only a fairy,” he corrected, turning them gracefully in a circle. “I think that would turn my world upside down and I’d have a lot of questions. How do you think you’ll go about answering them?”

  She thought for a moment, wondering if she wanted to talk to Hemingway about this. Something in his sturdy gaze told her not only could she rely on him with such delicate matters related to her, but she should. She shook off the feeling, trying to focus. “I’ve been told that I’m not safe outside Happily Ever After College now that Shannon revealed this secret, so I need to be careful not to attract too much trouble on my quest for information.”

  He nodded. “That was already a problem for you before. I’m not sure what kind of dangers would be out there lurking for you, although it makes good sense. You’re an anomaly, and things like that in the magical world are prized.”

  Paris hadn’t thought about it that way. Honestly, she hadn’t had much time to think about it in general—having known this information for a whole twelve hours. “You should tell the elf’s face who I rearranged once that I’m this prize. I bet he’d disagree.”

  Hemingway laughed, caught himself, and straightened his face into a mock-serious expression. “Why did you beat up this elf?”

  “He kept trying to push his hippie balm on this old lady on Roya Lane,” Paris explained. “The jerk simply wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he was totally pressuring her to give over the last of her money, telling her she’d regret it if she didn’t.”

  “So you stood up for the old woman,” Hemingway guessed, arching an eyebrow at her.

  “I don’t like it when those who are more powerful take advantage of others,” she replied. “That old lady had some ailment, and he was convincing her that his hippie-ass junk was the only cure. She could have gone down to Heals Pills and gotten an elixir that was guaranteed to work and was half the price, and the elf knew it. That’s why he kept pushing the woman. So I intervened, and as usual, one thing led to another until it was the bad salesman who needed his balm. I told him I’d done him a favor setting him straight and that he’d see what a rip-off his cream was.” Paris chuckled, remembering the incident. “He said, ‘you’re not the prize you think you are, fairy,’ and ran off.”

  “Then what happened?” Hemingway twirled Paris around. To her surprise, her feet seemed to know all the moves until she was back in his arms once more.

  “Well, the incident attracted the attention of the authorities—”

  “Your uncle,” Hemingway guessed.

  Paris nodded. “I was found at the scene of the crime with the hippie balm, which apparently had illegal magical ingredients in it. The old woman had hobbled off by then, her hip bothering her or something.”

  “And with no witnesses, they blamed you for the whole thing,” he stated.

  “Yep, that’s how my life goes.” She sighed. “If there’s trouble out there, it finds Paris West—” She cut off her sentence prematurely, remembering that wasn’t her name.

  “So I could go along with you to Roya Lane or wherever else you need to go to start your investigation for answers,” Hemingway offered. “I know that I haven’t beaten up many elves and giants, but I’m tough.”

  Also an excellent dancer, Paris thought, impressed by how smoothly and expertly Hemingway moved.

  “Thanks, but…”

  “It’s only an offer,” Hemingway cut in. “No pressure. If you want some company, I’m happy to help.”

  “You have your responsibilities here,” she argued.

  He nodded. “Yes, but I’m clever enough to have those covered using magic in my absence. Besides, I haven’t ever been to Roya Lane. Well, I haven’t really left Happily Ever After College. Going to Los Angeles for the Valentine’s Day event was a first.”

  “It’s a nice offer, it’s—”

  “You’re new to this all,” he interrupted. “And you don’t really know me and probably don’t know if you can trust me.”

  “I’m pretty good on my own.” She avoided his gaze still.

  “You know,” he began in a low tone. “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”

  She paused with her feet firmly on the floor and looked directly at him with a discerning expression. “Is that an Ernest Hemingway line?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “How did you know?”

  “His lines aren’t like yours,” she answered.

  Hemingway pretended to be offended, pressing his hand to his chest. “Are you saying that I don’t speak like a prolific, prize-winning novelist? How dare you?”

  Paris laughed. “I know, shocking, right? Your point remains. I’ll think about your offer.”

  He nodded, bowing slightly to her. “Also, for what it’s worth, even if you don’t like ballroom dancing much, I think you’re a natural.”

  Paris smiled at him, not saying what she thought. First, that she wanted to trust him. She didn’t want to investigate on her own, as she had most all of her life—being a loner. Second—and this one was harder to admit to herself, mostly—Paris quite liked ballroom dancing when she didn’t overthink it and found all the moves.

  Chapter Nine

  Still full from breakfast and tired of all the gawkers, Paris skipped lunch and astrology class. She had already made arrangements with Faraday to help her with research in the study area then but hadn’t forgotten to grab him a cheese sandwich from the kitchen. Chef Ash assumed it was for her since she was skipping lunch and didn’t blame her after witnessing that morning’s events at breakfast.

  Thankfully the study area on the second floor of the fairy godmother mansion was deserted when Paris arrived with the cheese sandwich wrapped in parchment and tied with a bow—Chef Ash was ever so thoughtful, always making things extra special. Everyone would be at lunch, hopefully meaning no one saw Faraday helping her.

  The squirrel hadn’t shown up, which gave Paris an idea.

  “Wilfred, can you please help me?”

  A moment later, the AI magitech fairy popped up. “Yes, how may I be of assistance to you, Ms. Beaufont? Do you want me to continue to give you the information I’ve found on your parents?”

  She did, but Paris also hoped that she could do it on her own with Faraday. She held up her phone. “Thanks to my brilliant uncle and his many magitech hacks, my phone works here in that it allows me to make calls, but that’s it.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Then you’re the only one. That’s a very impressive hack you have on your device.”

  She nodded. “He’s brilliant, like I said. But the Wi-Fi doesn’t work or messaging. Do you have the password or something?”

  The butler shook his head. “I regrettably must inform you that Wi-Fi and access to the internet are strictly prohibited at Happily Ever After College.”

  “Because…” Paris drew out the word.

  “Because it’s believed these technologies serve as distractions to the creative endeavors of our faculty and students,” he explained.

  Paris blew out an exasperated breath. �
��And also keep us in the Dark Ages.”

  “I do, as you’re aware, have access to the whole World Wide Web and can offer you any information that you desire, within reason, of course.”

  “Of course,” Paris said in a snooty voice, her chin high in the air as she mocked the butler.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “What is it that you’d like me to retrieve for you, Ms. Beaufont? There is some information on the Internet about your namesake.”

  She sighed. “Although I’m grateful for that, I hoped that I could research on my own, like, at a computer or using my phone. No offense, but it’s kind of a personal thing, and I’d like to do it by myself.”

  Right on the heels of her words, Paris noticed something scurry in the hallway at Wilfred’s back. She tensed. Maybe he spied her tension, or he heard the squirrel’s claws as he hid behind a large vase. The butler turned his head and glanced in Faraday’s direction before returning his attention to Paris.

  “Are we pretending that the squirrel is not here in the mansion and also your roommate?” he asked, a clever glint in his green eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  Paris groaned, realizing that she should have figured out that the all-knowing magitech AI butler knew that Faraday was in FGE. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I don’t have the authority for such things,” Wilfred admitted.

  “Have you told anyone?” Hope edged into her voice.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see that it was of concern to anyone. My job is to serve the students and staff and care for the estate. As long as your friend isn’t causing issues to those responsibilities, I don’t see the problem in him being here, although I will admit that it is a bit unorthodox.”

  “Wait until you meet my talking squirrel.” Paris laughed and waved in Faraday’s direction. “Go ahead and come on out. We’ve been caught.”

  The squirrel poked his head out from behind the large ornately decorated vase and sniffed the air. Hesitation flickered in Faraday’s gaze before he scurried down the corridor, his tail curled and flying in the air like a flag. Abruptly the squirrel halted in front of the two, looking up curiously at Wilfred.

  “You are an incredible piece of technology that I’d love to study,” Faraday said as his way of greeting the butler.

  Paris sighed. “I told you. He’s very strange and says things like that all the time.”

  “A talking squirrel is also a very interesting entity that many would want to study,” Wilfred returned while eyeing Faraday, who had climbed up onto one of the bookcases and started to scan the selection.

  “These are all books on spells, romance, and study skills,” Faraday muttered, running down the shelf and reading the titles on the spines. “Do you have anything on other subjects?”

  “What subjects are of interest to you?” Wilfred regarded the squirrel with mild interest.

  Faraday paused. “The shorter answer is to the question, ‘what subjects aren’t of interest to me,’” he stated with a small chuckle. “I’m fascinated by most all things. Presently I’m studying Happily Ever After College since it’s such an interesting place.”

  “That it is.” Wilfred rocked forward on his toes and back again, his hands pinned behind his back. “I don’t see why I can’t answer most questions you have.”

  “Great!” Faraday chirped, making Paris glance around suddenly with nervousness.

  “Will you keep it down?” she urged. “Just because Wilfred isn’t going to rat us out doesn’t mean that we can parade you about for everyone to know. Someone could overhear us, so keep it down.”

  Faraday nodded.

  Wilfred pursed his lips. “There is no one on this floor but us presently. They are all eating lunch. I will, of course, tell you if that should change.”

  Paris let out a breath of relief. Maybe Wilfred would be much more helpful to have in her corner of secrets than she realized.

  “So first things first,” Faraday began in his squeaky voice. “Why is the Serenity Garden off-limits on Tuesdays?”

  “That I can’t answer,” Wilfred stated at once.

  Paris laughed. “That’s how the irony of my life works too. Someone tells me they can answer most all of my questions, but when I ask the burning one, they inform me not that one.”

  “How about the Bewilder Forest?” Faraday asked. “Why can’t one go in there at night?”

  Wilfred shook his head. “Again, I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Paris plopped down in one of the armchairs, laughing. “Maybe start with something that’s less cloaked in mystery and restrictions.”

  “Fine,” Faraday asked. “Where can I learn more information about Happily Ever After College?”

  Wilfred cleared his throat. “The college's full history is kept in a volume entitled, The Complete History of Fairy Godmothers.”

  “Fantastic! Where is this book?” Faraday asked.

  “In the Great Library,” Wilfred answered. “Which isn’t accessible by first-years.”

  “So that means I can’t portal there,” Paris guessed.

  “Correct, Ms. Beaufont,” Wilfred stated. “There is a door directly to the Great Library on the third floor as well, but students aren’t allowed on that level, as the headmistress informed you.”

  “Because?” she asked.

  “Because it is off-limits to students,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “And you’re not allowed there until next year.” Faraday sighed and turned back to study the row of books.

  “Plus, I’m your way into the Great Library,” she added.

  “I’ll find what I’m looking for.” Faraday’s voice held a hint of mischief. “But we are here because we’re trying to help you find information on the Beaufonts and the Ludwigs. The key to good research when you have an AI at your disposal is to ask all the right questions.”

  Paris grinned at her helpful friend. “I think you’re right. So what’s the question we should start with?”

  Faraday climbed up on the next shelf so he was higher up and looking more directly at Wilfred. “I think that should be easy, although we will have to deduce the answer based on the records that we have access to.”

  “What is your question?” Wilfred asked, unflustered as the squirrel flicked his tail and chirped a little—apparently thinking.

  “My first question is, why is Paris regarded as a Beaufont when her father’s name was Ludwig?” Faraday asked. “Why wouldn’t she be considered Ludwig when this whole thing was announced?”

  Chapter Eleven

  That was an excellent question, Paris thought while pulling the heart-shaped locket from her pocket that she kept there full-time. Uncle John had given it to her because it had her initials on it: PW.

  That had seemed like a logical reason for her uncle to give her the locket that was abandoned in an evidence locker long ago. However, there had never been any explanation for why the locket didn’t open or the other inscription on the back that read, “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. –Rumi.”

  Paris was suddenly perplexed by the squirrel’s question about why she wouldn’t have her father’s name. Also, where had the name Westbridge come from? Why had her identity been covered up? There were so many questions.

  As she regarded the locket that she remembered for most of her life, a brand-new concern joined them.

  Paris nearly dropped the locket from shock—as if it was red hot and burning her—as she jumped to a standing position.

  Both the butler and the squirrel looked at her with sudden alarm as she stared down at the locket in her hand.

  The initials had changed. Now etched across the surface of the heart-shaped locket were two letters: GB.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you all right?” Wilfred looked Paris over, who was visibly shaking. “Your heart rate has spiked, and you’re now perspiring.”

  Faraday scampered off the bookshelf and onto the side table next to Paris, his focus on the object in her hands. “Wha
t is it?”

  “The initials on my locket…” She opened her hand to study the necklace again, thinking that maybe she’d imagined the change. She hadn’t. “They’ve changed. They used to say ‘PW.’ For as long as I can remember, they said that.”

  “For Paris Westbridge,” Wilfred offered.

  She nodded. “My uncle gave this to me. He said that he found it and since it had my initials, it seemed fitting that I have it.” Paris held up the chain, allowing the heart-shaped locket to dangle in the air, displaying it for both butler and squirrel to see. “But now, all of a sudden, it has…”

  “GB.” Faraday leaned forward and read the initials from his perch.

  “For Guinevere Beaufont,” Wilfred supplied.

  She nodded, having no other explanation. “But how? Because I learned yesterday who I truly am?”

  “That’s a powerful protective identity spell,” Wilfred stated matter-of-factly.

  “A-a-a what?” Paris sputtered, not having expected him to say that.

  “This situation, with what you’ve supplied, makes me think that the locket in your possession had a protective spell on it,” Wilfred explained.

  Paris glanced at Faraday, who nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “The locket was spelled?” Paris questioned. “I don’t understand. It came from an abandoned evidence locker.

  “Before yesterday,” Wilfred began. “Did you ever question what had happened to your parents or why your uncle raised you?”

  Paris shook her head. “I’ve not so much as asked him their names.”

  He nodded as if he’d expected this answer. “And now? Do you find yourself more curious about them?”

  “Well, of course,” she said brusquely. “I’ve found out that not only am I a halfling but that my parents were powerful magicians. Who wouldn’t want to know more about this past that’s been covered up for who knows why?”