Chapter 4
OPHELIA
The neatly wrapped boxes fit easily in my cloth tote bag. Though my thanks are big, I’m glad I went small for size. This way, I won’t overwhelm happy hour by stumbling onto the dock with an armful of gifts. They can be unobtrusive.
Like me.
I know my voice is soft, and my body has a tendency to curl in on itself. Most times, I can’t help it.
Years of conditioning are hard to circumvent.
When I check over my appearance in the mirror once more and see nothing else to be fixed or altered, I know I’m wasting time as I work up my nerve.
You can do this. You can make friends.
I meet my eyes in my reflection and let my power out enough for a flicker of gold to show in the irises. The small rebellion I allowed myself all through my childhood.
“I’m in control of my own life,” I remind myself out loud.
And with that declaration, I pick up my bag and head downstairs.
“There you are, Ophelia! I thought you’d hide in your room all night, silly girl.” Georgiana strolls up to me with a wide smile that matches her perfectly tailored attire.
The siren is a beautiful Southern belle, blonde hair arranged in perfect waves around her meticulously made-up face. She has on a yellow day dress that makes me think of butter.
“You can help set the table for dinner. Richard has some friends coming over, and I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“Oh.” I wrap both of my hands around the straps of my bag. “I’m sorry. I have plans. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made them.”
Apologizing and lying come easy. I spent years doing both.
If I actually wanted to attend whatever dinner party Georgiana is hosting, I easily could. I only told Broderick that I would think about attending happy hour.
The corners of her eyes tighten, but her smile remains. “That is unfortunate. I told them all you would be here. Everyone was looking forward to meeting you.”
That makes the event even less appealing. I don’t want to be stared at by strangers who find me intriguing for whatever details Georgiana shared about me.
The siren continues, “With you living in our house—rent-free—for so long, I would have thought you’d also want to take part in our household.” The unspoken message: You should want to do what I say because of what I have done for you.
I’ve always found it strange how the people who loudly claim to be charitable always expect a return on their supposed good works.
“I can pay rent,” I offer, not for the first time.
My job pays well. Enough that I’ve begun keeping an eye out for For Rent signs. Next week, I am hoping to go to Folk Haven Realty on my lunch break to start an official search.
I want out of this house.
“No, dear. There’s no need.” Georgiana expertly folds her face into disappointment. I know this tactic well. “What are these plans you have that are more important than saying hello to our friends?”
Despite being aware of the manipulation Georgiana is using, I still feel a familiar twist in my gut.
The insistent urge to do whatever pleases her.
To tuck away my own wants and needs to make sure she is happy.
The siren has been supportive since I returned to my true form.
Giving me a place to live. Explaining how things work in this small, mythic-filled town.
She even tried to get me a job at her husband’s doctor’s office, but my lack of tech knowledge would’ve required much more training than collecting recycling for Clean Haven did.
Those were kind gestures, but I don’t owe her my life.
“I’m going to the Mythic Public Library,” I say, forcing my spine straight when I realize I started to slouch forward in a form of defense. “The Shellys invited me to happy hour.”
Georgiana’s face sours before she smooths the wrinkled expression away. “Really, Ophelia? If you’re going to abandon us, at least spend your time with other Of the Wing mythics. Not those strange witches.”
My hackles rise, but in the same way I can’t manage to say thank you, I also can’t seem to force it’s rude to talk about decent people like that past my lips.
“They saved me,” is as much of a defense as I can muster.
Georgiana scoffs and waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m sure that horrid spell would’ve worn off on its own with that sorcerer being dead. If you ask me, those Shellys put you at risk, working more magic on you.”
The siren lets a tempting smile take over her lovely face. “If happy hour is what you want, then I have some specialty cocktails that’ll have you singing and dancing by the end of the night. So strong that you’ll forget all your worries.”
That does not sound appealing. At least not among a group of strangers who apparently find the idea of me fascinating.
Instead of turning her down flat, I reach into my bag and pull out a little box. “I’m sorry. I can’t. But I made this for you.” I press the box into her manicured hands.
She blinks in surprise. “You made something for me?”
I nod as I shuffle toward the front door. “I hope you like it. Good night.”
Then, I turn and hurry out of the siren’s beautiful house before she can tempt me to stay with more guilt. Too much of my life has been dictated by manipulation.
I need to practice making my own choices.
And tonight, I choose Broderick Shelly.