A Snippet: Constance & Enzo's Tea Time With Peyton

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.