Brenda flops on to her back besides Jackson. “Well,” she says on a bounce. “Most spells use an incantation to make magic happen.”
“That’s a big word,” whispers Jackson in awe.
Brenda nods, “Indeed it is. But…” she pauses for dramatic effect, reeling her audience in. “A wish can come, not from a grimoire or wand. Or even from ancient, spoken words. It can come from the heart.” She pokes a finger at Jackson’s heart, waiting for his reaction.
It doesn’t come.
“That’s it?” Jackson’s brows furrow, his face a grimace.
Brenda clutches her chest in a dramatic gasp. “Oh how can it be? Theheir to the Night has no whimsy! Oh the tragedy!”
Jackson rolls his eyes, pushing her away in a huff. “That’s not a rule, that’s how fairy tales end.”
“Says the elf to the oracle.”
“Oracle apprentice,” mocks Jackson in correction.
“You wound me, tiny lord. I am wounded. This is how the wounded sound.” Brenda rises to her knees, swoons with the back of her hand to her forehead, flopping on to her back, tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in mock death. “Bleh.”
Jackson groans. “Jean-Pierre! There’s a corpse in my bed!” He yells at his door, which opens to allow a butler with grey hair and a perfectly sculpted mustache to enter. “Oh dear, how tragic. She is gone too soon,” he dead pans. He says to the little lord, “Perhaps you should wish for her to miraculously return to the world of the living, young master.”
“It’s the only way,” murmurs Brenda, before returning to her death.
Jackson bellows a groan, head tossed back in indignation. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” He pokes a tiny finger to her cheek. “I wish you weren’t dead.”
Brenda sits up abruptly in a dramatic gasp, arms extended in front of her. “I’m allliiiiive!”
She waits for a reaction, this time Jean-Pierre is there to respectfully clap gloved hands. “A riveting performance.”
“I don’t get it,” says Jackson.
“Hm,” Brenda hums, “You might be too young to appreciate Frankenstein references.”
Jean-Pierre clears his throat. “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves, but it is time for the young master to retire for the night.”
“It’s always night here,” counters Jackson, a yawn punctuating his rebuttal.
“Nonetheless, growing princes need their sleep. Your room is ready for you, miss.” Jean-Pierre bows to Brenda, gesturing to the door.
Jackson grabs onto Brenda’s silk sleeve, pouting as he fights off sleep. “I don’t want you to go.”
Brenda wraps Jackson in a squeeze, kissing his head ofblack hair. “I’m here for a few more days with my family. I’ll see you for breakfast.”
“If the youngMr. Leedoesn’t see you first.”
“Don’t start,” sighs Brenda.
“He’s boring.”
“He’s nice.”
“You’re just saying that cause you want to kiss his boring face.”
Brenda blushes, not responding to Jackson’s bait regarding the son of another one of the Nocturnes’ family friends. Who just so happens to be staying at the castle during the same week. “Sleep well, little elf.”
Before she gets away, Jackson extends his pinkie. “Promise I get to see tomorrow?”
Brenda smiles softly, hooking her pinkie with his. “I promise.”
