by Amber Lynn
If you can’t tell, this whole concept of me going to school isn’t going over well. Knowing more than the teachers aside, the concept makes no sense. Ophelia rarely wants me to go out to even the grocery store because I usually find myself in some kind of fight. I argue with people over the prices of bananas, so you can imagine what would happen if a teacher had her facts wrong about some event I have firsthand experience with.
We’re talking epic throw downs here, and for some reason Ophelia seems all cool about it. I don’t know if she thinks there’s something different about this town that’s going to calm my inner wildebeest, but I’ve got some news for her if that’s the direction she’s heading.
“I think it’s probably best if we have that conversation in private. Mrs. Kline, if you don’t mind, I’d love for you to set up a schedule for my daughter with some of those more advanced classes you mentioned.”
The scowling Ophelia directed at me evaporates as she turns to smile at her guest. I bet she masked it, so Mrs. Kline doesn’t see anything more than her perfect hostess qualities. My mom has always been big about presentation.
That’s the main reason you find me in a dress instead of sweats. Even if I’m staying in the house, pajamas aren’t meant to be worn between the hours of eight in the morning and seven at night. I’ve got about five hours to go.
“No problem at all. I’ll head to the school right now and get things rolling. Just bring in the paperwork we discussed earlier, and she’ll be good to go tomorrow.”
Mrs. Kline reaches out and shakes Ophelia’s hand quickly. Then she turns to try to do the same with me. Staring down at what looks like a perfectly manicured hand, I wonder how much it cost to pay someone else to put the fancy pink sparkly polish on her nails. The glitter intrigues me just a fraction of a bit because Mrs. Kline doesn’t feel like the sparkle type.
Her smile stays strong as she realizes I’m not going to take her hand. She shakes her head and does an eye roll that tells me she knows I’m not the usual happy kid she probably sees around her fancy school. Most people might not be able to read into the look and be accurate about what it means. Trust me, I am.
“Well, I’ll make sure we add Etiquette to that class list. It was nice meeting you both. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The brunette with her hair spun tightly in a bun leaves before I can tell her not to worry about the hassle. That’s saying a lot, since my reaction time is a hundred times better than a human’s.
Not bothering to comment, I tilt back on my heels and spin around to leave the room myself. Ophelia doesn’t need me to stand around and talk. She already knows my feelings on the subject.
Chapter Three
At least I assume she knows where I stand. A rusty metal gate that looks straight from a drawbridge in medieval times appears in the doorway I’m about to walk out of. Personally, I think it does wonders for the boring white motif the kitchen has going for it, but the fact that it’s blocking my path registers high on the annoying scale.
“I don’t know what bee you’ve got in your bonnet, but I’m not going to school when I could run the place.”
My eyes close for a second as I try to seek some inner strength to not blow up as I spin back around to face Ophelia. She’s over a hundred years older than me, so lashing out with my power doesn’t do much more than tickle. The fact that her magic is stronger than mine is the only thing keeping me from blasting through the dramatic new addition to the kitchen.
“You can’t run anything when you look barely older than twelve, Periwinkle.”
My teeth grind together as I bite my tongue. Out of all the insipid names she’s given me, Tulip is the only one I hate more than Periwinkle. And she knows it.
Behind her head, above the center island, the pans hanging from a metallic rack sway as I briefly envision one of them flying across the room and thumping my mother in the back of the head. Have I mentioned that my temper is known for leading to violence?
“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s no reason for me to go to the stupid school. Do you already hate this place bad enough that you’re looking for reasons to move? Chances are good I’ll kill at least one of the chipper human students, so you might as well pack tonight.”
While I wait for an answer, my eyes dart to the door across the room that leads out to the backyard. It’s about thirty steps across the beige tile floor. I calculate it out to be about ten seconds away if I walk at a crawl, which I generally don’t.
My feet itch to take a step in the direction freedom is calling me. It’s almost like a gross rash has suddenly taken over the soles of my feet. I can picture red blistering skin that would go away easily if I just nudged my foot forward and headed towards the door.
“If you aren’t careful, I’ll make that rash you’re dreaming up a reality.”
I failed to mention my mom reads minds, didn’t I? Surprise.
Clearly, living with my mom for two hundred years isn’t enough punishment. It’s not a trait most enchanters have. I have very diluted abilities in that field. It’s kind of a rare thing for one of us to be able to read another, which only reiterates how screwed my life has been.
I stare at my mother’s emerald eyes and try to piece together a fair comeback. As far as the eyes I just described, other people may say they have eyes that look like the color of the gemstone, but my mom’s are seriously that color green and have facets in them. At least they do if you’re an enchanter; otherwise they just look bright and green.
The facets are a way for enchanters to know how powerful each other are. Basically, it’s like cutting a tree to count its rings. It’s the one thing an enchanter can’t change about themselves. In a way, the whole facet thing is good for me. I don’t have many, since my body is stuck in time, but my powers aren’t.
That means any upstart enchanters who haven’t heard about my curse and just see me as a baby are in for a big surprise. It’s literally the only good thing about this stupid curse.
“Seriously, Mom. What’s the deal with the school thing? For the last fifty years you’ve been fine telling people I’m homeschooled.”
Instead of going straight to battle mode, I take things down a step and try to get her to talk things out like normal adults. Ophelia rarely does anything without reason, even if I highly disagree with most of the reasons, so I’m mildly curious why she thinks torturing me sounds like fun.
Sighing, she turns her back to me and glides over to the center island. The pale marble top surrounds an industrial-sized cooktop that is way overkill for just us. The only thing on the grates is a tea kettle with no flame underneath. Ophelia waves her hand, a little pompous and dismissive if you ask me, and the steam immediately comes out of the kettle as it whistles.
There is already a purple teacup on the counter next to the stove that I assume is filled with her favorite peppermint tea. Unlike hearing, enchanters have average sense of smells, so it isn’t until she picks the teapot up and starts pouring the hot water that I smell the peppermint I expect.
One thing that you really must see to understand about my mother is that all her motions are slow and calculated. Watching her move around is like seeing a work of art being brought to life, including the time spent watching the paint dry.
As I’m sure you’ve pieced together, we are very different when it comes to that. I’m known for dragging my feet, but that can’t be confused with the elegance Ophelia exudes from her pores.
“You’re correct,” she says as she takes a sip of tea. “In the last fifty years I have let you try to figure out your curse on your own, since the previous hundred or so years of me meddling with it haven’t worked, but your way isn’t working either.”
“And you think sending me to school is somehow going to change something?”
I have a feeling she had more to say, but I can’t help interrupting. The woman is full-out crazy if she thinks school is somehow going to help with the curse. I’ve gone to school before, many times early
in my life, and nothing they taught there did anything to help.
“I don’t see how it will hurt. You know as well as I do that the curse can be broken, and we can live normal lives if you just grow up.”
I can’t help my eyes rolling as she mentions the curse being broken. I heard the same song and dance from the crazy woman who cursed me after my mother found her and begged her to remove the curse. It was about three years after Molly screwed with my physical timeline, and I’m still stuck.
“That idiot was lying through her teeth. We wouldn’t be in this situation if she’d altered it. I know my eyes don’t get all sparkly like yours, but I don’t think I can get much more grown-up than two hundred and thirty.”
The exact years aren’t the point. My point is that I’m old and I don’t look it. I’m well over ancient by human standards and way into my adulthood when it comes to the enchanters, so I’m plenty grown-up.
“Your thoughts are exactly why the curse isn’t broken. Age has nothing to do with it.”
Ophelia sets her cup down and leans forward on the counter as she licks her lips, making sure every drop of tea is off them. Any hint of the smiles she’d had for Mrs. Kline are gone.
“You act like a child, Jazz, and I’ve let you for way too long. The only reason there’s a distance clause in the curse is because Molly wanted to make sure you always had someone looking over you. You can’t deny that I’ve had to clean up more messes than I have fingers, can you?”
At least she’s back to using my name, even if the conversation has turned very Debbie Downer. Her question is rhetorical, and we both know it.
“You keep talking, but you aren’t explaining how sending me off to Etiquette class with Mrs. Kline is going to do anything. Figuring out what fork to use is something already in my wheelhouse.”
When I want to, I can be extremely cordial and could eat in the grand dining halls of any palace. Just because I can do something doesn’t mean I have to.
“I doubt Mrs. Kline will teach you anything. It’s the students I’m hoping will finally make you wake up.”
My eyes squeeze shut, and I shake my head as I try to process what in the world she’s talking about. My head already starting to explode doesn’t stop her from continuing.
“As much as you hate the locations we keep moving to, I’ve picked them out for a reason. I look for places where you can find a role model you’ll listen to. Clearly, I’m not good enough for you, so I’m doing what I can.”
“Wait, what?”
I have to say there haven’t been many words coming out of my mom’s mouth over the years that have surprised me, but the craziness she’s spouting is top-notch. Between the talking of breaking the curse and finding a role model, I’m completely lost.
“Just try this time, okay? Go to school tomorrow and try to absorb what it means to become a true adult. I know you think you’ve grown up over the years, but you’re still a child.”
I hear the gate behind me lifting, as if the sound effect is necessary. My mother appears in front of me, moving at a speed I don’t expect, before I can turn around and run from the craziness.
“Please,” she says, reaching out to grab my hand. “Promise you’ll try to grow up this time.”
Her hand is like grabbing an icicle, which shouldn’t be the case after drinking her tea. It shouldn’t be the case period, because enchanters can easily control their body temperature.
“Are you saying I have a choice? Because I’m getting a tingly vibe that the school thing is non-negotiable.”
I have no idea what she’s looking for from me. As far as I know, I’ve been grown-up forever.
“Just promise, will you?”
The intensity in her eyes goes up a notch, to the point it’s likely laser beams will be shooting out of them at any second. For some reason, the whole school thing seems important, and I suppose spending a little time playing with the feeble humans could be fun.
“I’m on my way upstairs now to try to figure out what on Earth I’m going to wear for my first day of school.”
It’s impossible to miss the relief in her eyes from the admission. I gave up way easier than normal, so I would’ve thought she’d be a little more skeptical, but I’m not going to warn her I’m up to something. Like everyone else, she’ll just have to wait and see how stupid sending me to school is.
Chapter Four
If you’re wondering whether I really ran upstairs and started throwing clothes everywhere in my room to find the perfect outfit, you should probably stop reading. You clearly haven’t figured me out yet. I know a few thousand words aren’t a lot to get to know me with, but we should be on the same wavelength by now.
I fight against any form of structure. There’s no way I’m excited about this school thing. Mom’s lucky I found it in myself to wake up when the alarm went off and put on clothes before I met her at the door.
I thought, probably harder than I should have, about conjuring up a horse and riding to school a la Lady Godiva, but I decided not to give my mom an aneurysm. There’s something going on with her, and for once I’ve decided to tread lightly. I’d make a big deal about how mature I’m being, but that wouldn’t be grown-up of me.
Whatever that means. According to my mom, I have no clue.
“What kind of school is this?”
From the moment my mother pulled into the rinky-dink parking lot, my eyes have been glued to the boxy brick building. We’ve lived in town for enough days that I should’ve felt other pulses of power around me. I don’t know if our house has a magical damper built in or what, but there are definitely some beings around the school that aren’t human.
Mom hasn’t let me around others with abilities forever. I’m not great on counting time passing, other than to make sure my birthday is celebrated, but I’d say it’s been thirty years since we were around more than a few pixies. You really can’t move anywhere and not deal with pixies.
The whole not being excited by school is still in place, but I’m at least mildly intrigued now that I know there’s more than humans hanging out. The fact that I can smell the putrid scent of some less desirable beings tells me my opinion is probably going to change.
I already mentioned that my nose isn’t that good, so you can imagine how bad it really smells. So bad, that describing it on top of smelling it would make me barf, because the description would be nasty.
Mom has been humming a weird tune that sounds like something from a horror movie, the part where someone is about to get hacked to pieces by a chainsaw. She lets my question hang for a while, so she can get through the full song. I’m not sure what it is, but I like the general creepiness I’m hearing. It goes well with the whole haunted school vibe I’m getting staring out my window.
“It’s just a normal school. So, don’t get too excited. I know there’s a dozen or so non-humans around, but according to the directory, there aren’t any enchanters.”
The car parks in one of the many empty spots in the lot. Mom decided we needed to get here early, so I doubt school starts for another hour. That makes it a little weird that I’m already feeling all sorts of fun magical beings around. God, I hope they aren’t all just teachers.
Age-wise I’m probably as old or older than them, but it’s going to totally look like I’m being a little teacher’s pet if I’m trying to hang with them. Not that I’m sure I’ll even attempt that since there aren’t any enchanters, but there are a few Fae-folk that I wouldn’t feel I’m totally lowering my standards to hang with.
“How accurate is the directory, really? Did you consult it before we moved? Because usually you wouldn’t land us in this smorgasbord of power.”
My hands are all tingly, thinking about how I can play with that power. I don’t have a good sense of everything hanging out inside, but I don’t think any of them use power like I do. Enchanters are considered Fae, like everything you’ve ever imagined going bump in the night. They are really the only members of the race that do cool thing
s with power – either from the earth or from people around them.
I can do things by swiping energy from humans, but Fae give me more to play with. I’m starting to feel a little intoxicated just taking it all in.
“The directory doesn’t have a choice whether it’s up-to-date. It’s the law that all of our movements are tracked, so I was aware of what we’ve moved to.”
Which makes it all the stranger to me. Sometime I’ll tell you about the laws we have to live by, but they really aren’t important at this point. I can’t stand them and have done what I could to make people see they’re stupid over the years. Not surprisingly, no one is listening to me.
“So, you purposefully moved us somewhere with tasty morsels?”
Neither one of us has made a move to get out of the car. I ponder whether I should maybe change into something else. I can’t change my physical appearance, which still sucks if I haven’t made that clear enough. I can use my magic to change my clothes though.
Knowing there’s people who I might want to impress means the goth sort of vibe I went for may be a little over the top. Thankfully, makeup is allowed, so my eyes are dark, and my lips are the color of cherries. I don’t think it really enhances anything, but it proves I can put makeup on.
For attire, I went with black boots up to my knees with silver spikes lining the toe and heel to accompany my corseted black dress. Hey, I need all the help I can get to make it look like I have boobs, so don’t judge the tight leather.
Anyway, it’s an outfit playing into a stereotype I thought about kicking around, pretending I’m all into what the kids would call witchcraft and stuff. It sounded like fun, and a good excuse for any times I decided to step out of line and ghost smack someone.
