Chapter 2
brODERICK
Six months later
I’ve made it a tradition at the end of each semester, when the final grades have been entered into the electronic system, to treat myself to a drink.
From the bottom-left drawer on my desk, the one I keep locked all semester long, I unearth my favorite brand of scotch.
The amber liquid probably deserves to be poured into a beautiful crystal decanter, but all I have is my hastily cleaned Read the Syllabus mug.
Oh well. At least, this way, if any stragglers happen by my office, I’ll appear to be a responsible faculty member rather than a man getting tipsy on the job.
But I doubt anyone will see me. The students donned their graduation robes a week ago, and most of my colleagues are off enjoying their summer.
Or at least finishing their grading at home.
I prefer to work here, in my not-so-large office that has grown from organized to cluttered in a matter of months.
I’ve only recently moved out of my room in the Folk Haven Public Mythic Library—aka Mor’s Victorian house that she converted to hold all her magical texts.
My rental is a small house on the edge of town, and with the hectic nature of starting a new job this semester, I haven’t unpacked much more than my bed and my teapot.
The alcohol is heady on my tongue with a slight sting as it slips down my throat. I’m in the middle of savoring the subtle flavors with my eyes closed when there’s a light knock on my door.
“Professor Shelly?”
Oh gods. Her. It’s her.
I spin my chair so fast that some of my scotch sloshes over the rim of my mug and onto my hand. But who cares about booze when there’s a vision in my doorway?
The firebird. The woman I haven’t gone a day without thinking about since my sisters and I broke her curse.
“Ophelia.” I gasp out her name, in love with the elegant sound of it ever since I learned the moniker.
She didn’t fly far that night, just to an undeveloped plot of land owned by Moira MacNamara—local selkie and member of the Mythic Council.
Because of Ophelia’s rather spectacular display that evening, our small town’s magical ruling body had to be notified in case any humans unaware that mythical creatures lived in Folk Haven saw her.
But there were no calls to the local authorities about a fiery bird flying through the night sky, so the incident was contained.
Georgiana, a siren and the Of the Wing council member, took charge of Ophelia’s care—all flying mythics are considered creations of The Winged One and therefore given the Of the Wing designation.
One might argue a firebird is actually formed from The Bright One’s hand, but there are so few fire-based mythics in Folk Haven that they don’t have representation on the Mythic Council.
Georgiana learned Ophelia’s name, provided the mythic a place to stay, and helped her find a job.
A job that brings her by my office every Wednesday.
“Are you here for the recycling?” I ask. “I don’t have any bins in my office.”
The first time Ophelia showed up in the English department faculty offices, I about perished on the spot.
She wasn’t a huddled, terrified woman on fire.
She stood straight, her golden hair glossy and smoothed back in a ponytail and her glorious body clothed in fitted jeans and a Clean Haven Recycling polo shirt.
But the firebird wouldn’t meet my eyes or engage in conversation with me for more than a few words.
Ophelia is shy, and I am awkward.
Also, I’m pretty sure she’ll always dislike me for that “cute bunny” comment.
I still curse myself for that horrible slip of the tongue.
“I already collected the bins.” She waves over her shoulder toward the cart she trucks around Ramla University to dump the recycling in. “Can I talk to you?”
Talk to me?
There’s nothing I want more in this universe. Instead of saying such a dramatically needy comment, I manage a much more respectable, “Of course.”
Setting my mug of scotch on the far end of my desk—hoping she doesn’t smell the booze on me—I hurry to clear student papers off the cushioned armchair in the corner of my room. I want to encourage student visits, which means having comfortable places to sit.
Ophelia silently watches my frantic movements, then settles on the edge of the chair when it’s cleared. That’s when I notice she’s holding a notebook and a pen.
“How can I help you?” I ask as I resettle in my chair, at a loss for what she could want to discuss with me.
The longest conversation we’ve had was when I asked her about golden apple mythology.
After a break-in at the library a few weeks ago, Ame found an apple hidden in a wall of the library that gave off intense power vibes, and according to legends, firebirds are fans of apples.
But when Ophelia was done telling me one of the stories she knew, the woman scampered off, making it clear she liked to spend as little time in my presence as possible.
No need to focus on how that feels like a jagged wound to the gut.
She clicks her pen, tosses her golden ponytail over her shoulder, and flips open the cover of her journal. The academic preparation has my blood pumping hot through my veins.
“Could you please tell me some things that Jack Lim likes?”
She waits, pen poised, eyes on her paper, unaware of the spiraling despair in my brain.
She likes Jack? She’s here, asking me for advice on how to get to know Jack better?
Of course she likes the guy. He’s got that brooding werewolf energy that I could never re-create if I tried. I’m one hundred percent nerdy witch professor, and there’s no changing that.
Still, though I have no illusions it’ll raise my level of attractiveness in her eyes, I need to point out the obvious.
“I’m sorry, Ophelia. Jack’s in a relationship.
With my sister Ame. And he’s … well, he’s kind of obsessed with her.
Like bordering on unhealthy. But if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it because I want to keep my head on my shoulders.
” The man has used decapitation before. “All this to say, you’re an amazing woman any person would be lucky to earn the affection of, but Jack’s not the best candidate. ”
The firebird stares at me now instead of her paper, golden-brown eyes widening further as I ramble. My mouth loves to ramble around her.
“I’m not trying to seduce Jack,” she says when I finally shut up, her voice soft and melodic. “I want to get him a gift. Because he helped me. By taking part in slaying the sorcerer.”
“Oh. Oh. Yes. Right. Well, that makes sense.” I clear my throat. “And I’m an ass.”
Ophelia’s plush lips twitch in the hint of a smile. “You can redeem yourself by helping me.” She taps her journal.
“Of course. What does Jack like?” I lean back in my chair, twine my fingers together, and rest them on my stomach. My pondering pose, one student called it. “Well, as I mentioned, he likes Ame. A lot. Probably more than anything else.”
Ophelia raises her notes, turning them to face me. Ame is written in a lovely slanting script, underlined multiple times with stars around the name.
“Got it.”
I grin and think more on my brother-in-law. “He likes technology. He and his friend Niko watch soccer sometimes. He eats an ungodly amount of bacon every day. Hopefully, werewolves cannot develop high cholesterol.”
Ophelia bites her bottom lip, as if fighting off a smile as she flips a page. “And what does Ame like?”
“Jack,” I say, and my chest warms when Ophelia snorts.
But it’s true. My sister isn’t as obvious about it, but I can tell she’s gone for the man.
“She loves animals, especially her familiar, Lucky.” I almost add whom you’ve met, but am proud of myself for stopping and remembering that Ophelia probably wants to avoid talk of her time trapped as a rabbit.
“She also enjoys tech. Oh, and action movies.” I list off a few of her favorites.
“Funny thing, they all star bald men. The other night, I overheard Jack asking if she wants him to shave off his hair.”
Ophelia gasps out a chuckle. “Oh no. Jack has such nice hair.” She waves toward my head. “Not as good as yours though.”
Silence falls between us as Ophelia’s sun-tanned cheeks flush a deep red, and I make a silent vow to never cut my hair again.
Do you want to touch it? I long to ask. Comb your fingers through it?
I’d curl at her feet for a chance to receive that kind of affection from her.
She drops her eyes and flips to a new page. “Do you know Niko?” She names Jack’s best friend and the kappa who rents one of the free rooms in the library.
I’ve said hi to the guy plenty of times when we lived in the same space, but he worked late hours at a restaurant in town, so we didn’t cross paths much.
“Not well. Best you ask Jack.”
Ophelia nods and makes a note. “Mor. What does she like?”
“Books, coffee …” I rattle off a few more things as Ophelia writes each down. “I can tell you about Anthony too. But he was still avoiding magic back then, so he didn’t do much to help.” I keep my voice light and joking.
My twin has changed his tune, working through his hang-ups after he fell in love with Zara Ironfeather—the town vet and a proud harpy.
Ophelia gives a slight headshake, then leans forward in her seat. In the small office, the change in position almost feels like she’s crowding me. Or it would if I didn’t have the overwhelming urge to pull her into my lap.
“Next, I want to know what you like.”
“Me?” I croak, struggling with words and thoughts and breathing when her eyes hold mine.
She ignores my discomfort, never releasing me from her stare.
Which is why I only manage one word.
“You.”