Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) Read Free Page B

stared at her, incredulous. “How can community education not be relevant?”
    She patted her bulging stomach, once again smiling. “The mothers of this community believe parenting decisions should be left to those charged with the sacred duties of motherhood. We have the right to decide what our children do, and who we’ll allow them to spend time with.”
    And that was the crux of it. Because of my mother’s book, I was deemed unworthy to teach their children. As my hands fisted at my sides, my mother laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, a reminder that punching a pregnant woman in the face wouldn’t go over well.
    Not trusting me to speak, my mother intervened. “It was gracious of you to let us know, Jenny. It truly shows your character. And if you ever change your mind, our classes are always open to anyone who wishes to attend—including adults, if you’d like to broaden your own horizons. Perhaps if you learned to read you’d have a better grasp of what you’re denying your children. Have a lovely day.”
    I offered no resistance as my mother steered me toward the bakery, churning my paper further into the mud and rendering it a lost cause. The bakery line had dwindled during our exchange and I mustered a smile for Skipper, one of our favorite students and the son of Barbara, our local baker. After we’d received our breakfasts, we parted ways and I walked to the corner of the courtyard.
    Since letter writing demands little space, I have no formal setup for my services. Instead, I work out of my best friend Amy’s booth. Amy Bingham and her mother moved here ten years ago and quickly established themselves as the finest garment makers around.
    It takes someone strong and loyal to befriend the town outcasts, but strength and loyalty are two of Amy’s foremost qualities and she owes them to her mother. Comparing my maternal baggage to Amy’s is like comparing a lunch bag to a steamer trunk.
    Ms. Bingham suffers from some sort of mental disorder and her former square petitioned for her removal after a series of violent outbursts. Since Amy’s siblings had already left home, Amy came with her, telling everyone here Ms. B. suffers from Alzheimer’s. It’s not the strongest cover story, but it makes people uncomfortable enough not to question it.
    Some days Ms. B. is pleasant, and other days she’s… not. Today looked like a good day, and Amy smiled gratefully as I delivered the muffin I’d brought for Ms. B. Amy’s hands didn’t break rhythm as I plopped onto the rickety stool beside her, blinking at her latest outfit.
    Though Amy camouflages her mom’s problems with tidy braids and navy blue dresses, she wears her own personality for the world to see. She refuses to waste her leftover snips of yarn and fabric and today’s ensemble featured an explosion of hand-knit pastel ruffles. As always, her golden curls were piled atop her head to avoid getting tangled in her work. This hairstyle also serves as a receptacle for spare knitting needles and crochet hooks and is constantly at some stage of tumbling down.`
    With her sense of fashion, Amy is adorable in a way reminiscent of a fugitive from a faerie asylum. She has enormous gray eyes with long lashes, a ridiculously pert nose and her mouth quirks up when she smiles.
    I took a fritter out for her next break and dug into my own, but she was more interested in chatting. “How are you holding up after your encounter with Jenny? You look pale.”
    My pallor had more to do with last night’s blood draw than Jenny, but Amy knew nothing about that. “About as well as you’d expect. How’d you hear about it?”
    Amy gestured toward her mother, now contentedly detangling a clump of… something. “I overheard it on our way here. We were running late this morning. Mom had a fit about wanting clam chowder for breakfast.”
    My lip curled at the thought, but Amy and her mom were originally from Massachusetts. Things occasionally got ugly when Ms. B. forgot