Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,25
left hand up and pointed nonchalantly to my right side.
She looked and shrugged.
I gritted my teeth and tilted my head.
She looked again and tilted her head back.
I had no choice but to risk a quick glance to clue her in.
Blond boy. Big blue eyes. Period clothing.
After offering her my best deer-in-the-headlights, she shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
He tugged again, and my lungs seized. Why? It was just a boy. A gorgeous, playful little boy who couldn’t have been more than two or three. The gravity of what was happening began to sink in.
Annette froze too, but only for a moment before she whirled around, her gaze darting about wildly.
The boy lifted his hand as though he wanted me to take it, but I was still in the throes of terror and couldn’t move.
Annette whirled around again like a drunk ballerina, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. They cast glances over their shoulders that were both curious and irritated. “Where is it?” she asked, flapping her jacket as though trying to shake him off.
It was the little boy’s actions that snapped me out of my stupor. He wilted, the hope in his eyes vanishing as he lowered his hand and began to walk away.
“Wait,” I whispered to him. He stopped but didn’t look back, and I had to wonder how many times he’d tried to get someone’s attention over the years. Hell, over the centuries. How many times had he tried to connect? I closed my eyes a moment, then knelt. “Wait,” I said again.
Annette stopped her Elaine dance, her expression equal parts interest and horror.
He turned toward me, his face the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You just startled me.”
Two dimples appeared on his cheeks, and I melted, almost falling through the floorboards to the kitchen below. He walked up to me and put his hand on my face. I could barely feel it, like a brush of cool air.
By that point, we’d gained the attention of the others in the room. There were only five, but they were very interested in what we were doing. One of them, a woman in her early thirties, brought out a phone to record the crazy lady talking to air.
I was pretty much done with others seeking their fifteen minutes at my expense. As calmly as I could, I leveled my best glare on her and explained, “I am a witch. If you even think about recording me, I’ll fry your phone and the 4,738 pictures on it.”
Slowly, as though I were a snake about to strike, she lowered the device and tucked it into her pocket.
I turned back to the boy. “How old are you?”
He struggled to raise the proper number of fingers, using his other hand to help, then held up three. “Free.”
Three? If he was three, he’d only recently seen that birthday when he’d passed. He looked younger.
I crossed my arms over a knee and buried a smile behind them. “What’s your name.”
“Samwell.”
“Samuel?” I asked.
He nodded, then turned and pointed to the open doorway. “Open.”
“Deph?” Annette asked. “I need some verbal cues here.”
A man came rumbling up the stairs and skidded to a halt. We’d been ratted out.
“Hey, Karl,” Annette said. He had to be her guy. “We’re just looking around like everybody else. Nothing to see here.”
His face was bright with wonder. “Is it the little blond boy or a man?”
“A man?” I asked him, afraid to take my eyes off Samuel for very long. Considering my crouched position, I had to wonder why he would think it was a man. Or what he thought I was doing to a man in said position.
“Sir,” Samuel said. Then he pointed again.
“Yes.” Karl chanced a step closer. “There’ve been several accounts over the years, but all of them report seeing either a blond boy or an older gentleman. They believe the man is Jonathan Corwin himself, but pictures of him don’t match their description. The boy could be one of his children. He lost five. But we just don’t know.”
Annette had taken out her phone and was already looking something up. She shook her head. “He’s not one of the judge’s children. Jonathan Corwin didn’t have a son named Samuel.”
“His name is Samuel?” Karl asked, astonished.
It amazed me how he didn’t even question the authenticity of my sighting.
“Can I take a picture?” he asked. “I might get an orb. Or even an outline.”