Page 101 of Reflections of Peonies
“Trouble?” My heart began to race.
“Don’t be dramatic, Miss Chou. Nobody is in trouble,” Ms. Protean replied. Today, she wore a floral dress that reached mid-calf and a white sweater. “And if it’s boils you need, Mr. Kelly is visiting today. He loves causing calamity. You’ll find him lurking in the History department. But I warn you against messing with witches.”
“Oh, thank you,” Jiayi said but then frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Weaver.”
Ms. Protean looked to the sky. “I wouldn’t write him off just yet.”
I nervously steppedinto Ms. Protean’s office, with her trailing close behind. My mind raced, imagining every possible reason I might have been summoned. The office was bathed in various shades of crimson, and lace-patterned doilies covered almost every surface. Judging by the knitting set perched on her desk, I suspected she’d made them herself.
However, we were not alone—nor was I the only one confused by my presence.
“What in the hell areyoudoing here?” Mr. Weaver glowered from the opposite end of the room.
I froze, staring at the ghost, and ignored Ms. Protean as she stepped around me to go to her desk.
He had been attempting to root through Ms. Protean’s bookshelves. However, since ghosts couldn’t always move physical items, he’d been failing. At my arrival, he seemed to have gathered enough energy to tug a book out by the spine. But his victory was short-lived, and the book fell to the floor with a crash.
He turned his dark scowl to the thick, fallen volume, and a pang of longing stabbed at me.
Did he really miss reading all that much?
“That’s what I thought.” Ms. Protean slumped into her chair, her weary gaze on the dropped book. “He’s always been this way.”
My attention returned to her. “Sorry?”
“It’s been over a week of this.” She nodded her head toward her library. “I suspected he was haunting me, but I wasn’t sure—”
“I’m not hauntingher!” Mr. Weaver protested, uncaring that the woman couldn’t hear him. He was watching me, uneasiness touching the air. “I’m a protector. I’m watching over the crazy old bat!”
“—Any time I ask for a sign of his presence, he goes silent.” She crossed her hands under her chin, her eyes glowing. “It’s rather annoying.”
He’d been with her all this time? And wasn’t thisduringthe time he was supposed to be watching Michelle Nolan? “Don’t tell me you were stalking Ms. Protean instead of watching Damen’s suspect? What about our agreement?”
Besides, why would he hide from her? Another emotion—not mine—touched me, and I added, “Are youembarrassed?”
Mr. Weaver had normal feelings?
“I am offended.” Mr. Weaver floated above the fallen book, placing a hand on his chest. He was genuinely hurt. “My life has never revolved around an Abernathy spawn, and nor will my afterlife, but I’ve always done my work to the best of my ability, which is better than anything you’ve done. Your magic is still out of control. What deuce trained you?”
“Brayden is training me now.” My lips pursed, irritation causing my blood to race, and he shot me a look. Technically, you were supposed to respect your elders. But he was dead, so did that rule still apply?
“Is he insulting you?” Ms. Protean narrowed her eyes. “Don’t pay him any mind—he’s just an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot!” Mr. Weaver protested.
My fury faded, and I sighed. I couldn’t stay annoyed with someone who was posturing. Being an empath made it difficult to separate oneself from the situation.
Why was I here? She’d still never told me. I was supposed to be on my way to Geology. I’d missed so much just being absent for one week. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever catch up.
I was so stressed that the heavy peppermint scent that lingered over the room threatened to make me puke. And I liked peppermint.
“Did you ask me here to confirm that Mr. Weaver was haunting you, or…” I didn’t care much aboutwhyhe was sticking around Ms. Protean. That was his business. “Why are you asking me? You could have just asked Dr. Stephens.”
This avoidance between the two of them was getting out of hand.
Her elbow slipped, and she jerked upright into her chair.Redness brightened her weathered cheeks. “You want me to askGregory?” Her usually even voice squeaked. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, here we go.” Mr. Weaver groaned into his hands.
