Page 42 of Eye on the Ball
Rose’s face lit up. “Oh, can we do that? I love the singing.”
“Me, too,” I said ruefully. “Nobody loves my singing, though.”
Instead of commiserating with me or offering apologies, Rose sent me a long, speculative glance. “You know, Tess, I may have something to help you with that.”
I sat up straighter. “Do you mean … my visions … did you?—”
“Oh! No, I’m sorry. I’ll need to discuss that with my mom and sisters to figure out if we can help you. First, I need to research if anything like that has ever been done.”
“I understand.” I tried not to lose hope. She needed to research and discuss. She hadn’t said no. I could wait. I’d been living with this for a long time. I could wait a while longer.
“But wait. You said you may have something to help me?”
“With your singing! I can whip up a charm that will make you sing like Poppy Cardinal!”
“Who?”
“One of my illustrious ancestors who sang for kings and queens around the world. She and Jenny Lind were great friends.”
Jenny Lind I’d read about. She was a Swedish opera singer in the 1800s who’d been such an amazing singer they’d called her the Swedish Nightingale. If Poppy Cardinal had even a fraction of that talent, and I could sing like that …
“How long does it take to make this charm?”
20
Tess
Everybody in the church welcomed Rose and Alejandro with open arms. Jack had been attending regularly with me lately, too, and everybody was glad to see him, except for Sally DeSario, who owned Dead End Daycare. She was a Brownie (the fairy kind, not the Girl Scout kind), and she was horribly allergic to cats.
Jack had told us that cat allergies didn’t apply to him when he was in human form, so it was almost certainly psychosomatic. Real or imaginary, though, she sneezed every time we ran into her, so we took a pew on the other side of the aisle.
Pastor Nash opened the service with a song, and, to his credit, he only flinched a little when he looked at me. Old Mr. Russell, two full rows ahead of us, turned around and fixed his beady gaze on me and then put earplugs in his oversized ears.
I sighed, chiding myself for thinking unkind thoughts about his eyes and ears in church, but then I picked up the hymnal and perked up. I hadn’t tested the singing charm, but Rose had been adamant that it would work.
Starting off softly, I first hummed and then quietly sang along with everyone.
And then I almost fell down.
It worked.
Itworked.
I sounded like someone who could carry a tune! My voice wasbeautiful!
The song was a short one, unfortunately, and ended too soon. I was singing so quietly that nobody really noticed my new talent.
During the thankfully short sermon, I could barely sit still. I was dying for the next song, so I could sing out loud and proud. In fact, I would …
My train of thought was completely derailed when the hats of the women sitting in front of us all levitated up off their heads.
“Shelley,” I hissed, elbowing my little sister, who loved trying out her new magical talents. “Cut it out.”
She elbowed me back. “It’s not me!”
Then who?
Suddenly Rose, seated on my other side, groaned softly. “Stop it,” she whispered fiercely.