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Hi, all. I've been working on the audition script for Constance & Enzo, which is slated to follow Asylum in the audio book category, and thought to share a chapter for your reading pleasure. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 7 – Two Lessons
Enzo’s focus intensified
as he brought his face almost to the tabletop, his hazel-green eyes narrowing
on the little white feather they’d retrieved from Peyton’s duvet.
Peyton giggled. “Your
eyes are crossing.”
Enzo remained singly
engaged in his task.
Peyton sucked in a breath
and pursed her lips in silent support.
Enzo inhaled, then blew,
his gaze never faltering, and though the feather remained on the spot they’d
carefully placed it (which was the same result as the first and every attempt
that had followed), it fluttered, ever-so-slightly.
Peyton gasped painfully,
her lungs already full of held air, then cheered on a giant outbreath.
Enzo peered up at her, a
light in his eye. “Did you see that?”
Peyton nodded, and Enzo
cheered, too, jumping up and dancing around the room.
“You did it!” she
exclaimed, hopping a little on the spot in a rare moment of unfettered joy. But
a familiar feeling stirred beneath the excitement, too, as she watched Enzo
whirl about the room, his form leaving trails as it zipped too fast to be solid,
too smoothly to be trapped inside a body that was tangible.
Apprehension.
For Enzo’s progress meant
something more than an improvement to his mood and endless possibilities
insofar as his freedom was concerned. It also meant an enhanced capacity for the
types of tricks and teasing that Enzo loved - and Peyton would surely pay for,
should Constance catch on.
But even more ominous was
the fact that Enzo’s hair-trigger of a temper would experience a dangerous
boost in potential outlets.
He was happy now, but
Peyton knew him well enough, even after only a few months of acquaintance, to
predict a shift back to resentment – or worse – boredom, as soon as the novelty
wore off.
Enzo whooped as he spun
again, then darted back to the table. Peyton watched, a small smile still
playing at her lips as she tried not to ruminate on the darker implications of
his success. But instead of refocusing on the feather, which had moved
in the wake of their celebrations, he jerked his gaze to the windows. “It’ll be
time for tea soon,” he murmured, his voice low.
Peyton scanned the line
of windows along the western
wall, then looked down at herself, her heart starting to race. “Oh, no!”
She’d been so busy with
Enzo that she hadn’t even dressed for the day, much less for tea.
Enzo observed the
frenzied flurry of activity that followed with an amused smirk.
“Can I have some privacy,
please?” Peyton asked, her voice high.
He picked at his teeth,
then looked at her lazily, his eyebrows raised. “Hm?”
“Enzo! I need to get
ready!”
He rolled his eyes. “You know
I could watch you dress anytime without you having a clue.”
Peyton threw her hands
into the air, the dress and tights she clutched flouncing dramatically. “Can we
please keep up the pretense, for my benefit, that I’m able to believe
nobody is watching me dress?” she exclaimed, punctuating the sentence
with several little stomps, like an overstimulated toddler.
Enzo bent to the table
again, his eyes on the feather.
Peyton feared she might
explode. “Enzo!”
He ignored her.
She shut her eyes,
inhaling. Willed her heart to slow and her blood pressure to stabilize. She
blew out, regarding him again as she concentrated her angst on the clothes she
grasped with clenched fists. “I’ve spent a lot of time helping you in the last
week. The whole time I’ve been here, actually.”
Enzo raised an eyebrow in
her direction.
Peyton shuffled her feet
a bit. She loathed confrontation, but had found herself challenged by it more
in her short time with Constance and Enzo than she’d ever found at any other
time of her life. And that was saying something, given the very things that
made her different. “Enzo, please.”
Empowered by her gift or
not, Peyton was ever-aware that she was at the mercy of the twins. And if Enzo
was angry with her and refused to cooperate, Constance would know. And she was
fully capable of acting on her whims, being alive and all. Peyton hung her
head.
“Oh, don’t be so
dramatic,” Enzo lamented, but something like satisfaction laced his words.
Peyton clenched her jaw.
Suddenly he was in front
of her and she froze. It was hard being this close to anyone.
“You’re so weird,” he
voiced, and it hurt her more than anger could have, because it was true.
She glanced again at the
trees, the sunlight dipping behind them, making them into silhouettes. “Fine,”
she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she begun to remove her shirt.
Enzo giggled. “Don’t be
indecent!”
Peyton, pressed onward by
the anticipation of Constance’s arrival, did not pause.
“Ugh,” Enzo sighed, then
snapped his fingers and was gone, just like that.
Peyton did pause, then.
“That was new,” she muttered.
He
was back before Constance arrived, though, popping back into existence as soon
as Peyton was dressed. He
was watching!
she internalized with a frown as he sat beside her
on the bed.
“She’s
late,” he said.
Peyton
nodded. “Do you know why?”
Enzo
shrugged.
Peyton
studied his features. “You do, don’t you?”
He
smiled as he studied his fingernails. “She’s had a visitor.” Something darkened
his expression, even as he feigned indifference.
Peyton
paused, then ran to the window. “That car’s here again,” she remarked, mostly
to herself. It was a black Bentley, and she’d seen it once before, but had
missed its owner. She whirled on Enzo. “Whose car is that?”
He
regarded her darkly.
“A
friend?”
He
laughed.
“Family?”
His
smile faded.
“Is
it your father?” she tried, but knew it was wrong. He wasn’t due to return for
another week.
Enzo
shook his head. “If it were, we’d be at tea now. He’s
not here even when he is.”
Peyton
looked down at the car again.
“You’ve
seen her before,” Enzo hinted, but the teasing tone she’d usually have
expected was apparent.
She
frowned again. Her? “I’ve only ever seen you and Constance,” she
retorted. “Unless -” she gasped. “Oh!”
Enzo
watched her, waiting.
“You
know what I’ve seen?”
“Who
do you think’s been showing you?”
She
shook her head. She’d never quite understood just how the dead communicated. The methodologies escaped her, though she heard
them, loud and clear. It wasn’t just conversation, though. The give and take of that was easiest to comprehend,
but more difficult for them. Dreams seemed easiest, and visions came in as a
close second, but there were so many more ways. Her thoughts turned to the one
constant she’d seen in her head since Constance had approached her after her
last art class: the stables. The hayloft. The blonde woman, naked and
straddling the bodily form of the ghost who watched her, now.
“Her?”
she asked, and the word was met with a single nod, Enzo’s eyes hard. She looked
back down and as if by some miracle of timing, she was there, walking toward
the car in a smart skirt and blazer, her hair pinned into a French twist.
Peyton leaned forward until her forehead met the cool glass, straining to see
details and failing as the woman lowered herself into the driver’s seat
smoothly. She watched the car turn and fade down the driveway, then looked over
her shoulder for Enzo. She jumped back, having found his head just behind her,
disembodied and gazing out the window over her shoulder.
“Sorry,”
he muttered as the rest of him materialized.
She
shook her head. “Who is she?”
“My
mother,” he replied without hesitation, all traces of mischief erased from his
comportment.
Just
for that moment.
And
then there came the sound of a key in the lock.
