Chapter 5
brODERICK
“Do you have something wrong with your neck?” Anthony’s voice pulls my attention back to our happy hour gathering.
My brother and the rest of the group have their eyes on me.
Heat pools in my cheeks. “No.”
“Then, why do you keep jerking around?” Anthony lounges in the chair across from mine, absentmindedly petting Sin, his black rat snake familiar. The creature has its long body coiled in his lap and flicks a forked tongue out every so often, as if tasting the air.
“No reason.” I try to affect nonchalance as I brush nonexistent lint off my shirt. “Just thought I heard something.”
My brother narrows his eyes at me. “You are a terrible liar.”
I ignore his comment and probing stare, pretending as though the lake has my full attention.
The view is gorgeous. Lake Galen sprawls before us, and gentle waves rock the floating dock our group has gathered on.
A hawk dives to pluck a fish from the water.
On the opposite tree-lined shore, a group of deer weaves through the forest. An oddly familiar barn owl perches on a branch above the herd and lets out the occasional hoot.
Could that be Ophelia’s owl friend?
Out on the water, I spy a pontoon boat slowly cruising, the setting sun reflecting off the frothing wake it leaves as it passes.
At the growing rumble of an engine, I assume another boat is approaching.
But then there’s the crunch of gravel, and once again, I’m flinging my attention back toward the house.
“I thought Zara was working late,” Moira says, the comment directed at Anthony as she references his mate.
“She is. Paperwork,” Ame answers from where she sits in Jack’s lap.
Zara is my sister’s boss at the town’s veterinarian practice.
“I tried to seduce her away from work,” Anthony adds. “But apparently, my skills are fading. I blame small-town living.”
“Who else is invited?” Niko asks the question everyone is wondering.
Everyone but me.
She came.
“I’ll go check!” I launch out of my chair and jog away from the group before anyone can offer to accompany me.
When I reach the driveway, I discover Ophelia climbing out of a truck that looks like it’s older than she is.
The paint job is chipped and rusted, the body of the vehicle is boxy, and the bumper was clearly replaced at some point yet still has a handful of dents.
But when she slams the door closed, I watch her turn and pat the hood, as if the vehicle were a loyal hound.
Ophelia seems almost proud of the old truck.
While I turn the idea over in my mind, I study the woman in front of me and remind myself that the firebird has made no mention of her time before the sorcerer. As if she wants to forget more than just her time in captivity.
And I wonder what it must be like to start life over from scratch. To have everything you own given to you.
How that might make you want to earn something on your own.
I’d lay money down that Ophelia bought the truck soon after getting her first few paychecks from Clean Haven. Which makes it hers more than anything the town or Georgiana has given her.
“You made it!” I call out when I get closer.
Ophelia jumps, as if spooked, and I feel an immediate wash of guilt. Especially when she turns to face me and her cheeks are flushed red and there are flashes of orange in her aura.
“I did. I’m here.” Her voice is tight, and so is the grip she has on her bag.
I want to focus on how I can avoid upsetting her, but I’m having trouble forcing my brain to think past the simple way she looks.
Ophelia has on a sundress. A deep red color with little white flowers.
The material hugs her chest and gently flares at her waist, giving only a hint at the curve of her hips.
Her hair is down. A golden screen falling over her shoulders that she pushes back to reveal two slim straps holding her outfit up.
Gods, this firebird will incinerate me.
“Hello,” I croak.
Ophelia tilts her head, and her lips purse. “Are you okay? You sound sick.”
“Good. I’m good.” I clear my throat and tuck my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “We’re all down at the dock.”
She nods and steps to my side. We walk quietly together toward the group. As we approach, they aren’t even trying to pretend like they aren’t watching us.
“Will they mind that I’m here?” Ophelia whispers the question to me.
“No. Not at all. We like when new people show up. Gives us someone new to interrogate.” I try for the suave, teasing tone that my twin is so good at.
Ophelia stops abruptly, her knuckles white on the straps of her bag. “I-I don’t want to talk about me.” She takes a step backward. “I should—”
“Wait. I’m sorry. That was a joke. A bad one.” I hold out my hands, palms up in supplication. “I’m bad at jokes. Anthony is the funny, charming one. I’m the awkward one.”
Ophelia stares at me, her eyes wide as I babble. When I cut myself off, silence lingers between us for the stretch of one heartbeat. Then two. At three, I’m sure I’ve ruined things.
“I don’t have to talk about myself?” she finally asks.
I try not to be obvious about my sigh of relief.
“Not if you don’t want to.” I nod toward the two empty chairs on the dock, one of which I was just occupying. “You can just sit and relax and listen to us chatter. And you can leave whenever you want.” I lean toward her, lowering my voice. “Jack doesn’t talk either unless Ame asks him a question.”
Ophelia nods, and I thank the gods when she starts walking toward the dock again. This time, I let her get a step ahead of me, and when we reach the gangplank, I give everyone a warning glare that I hope they properly interpret.
Do not scare the firebird, I demand with my eyes.
“Everybody,” I call out even though their attention is already on us, “this is Ophelia. Ophelia, some of these might be a reminder, but this is Mor, Anthony, Niko, Ame, and Jack.”
There’s a chorus of greetings, and Ophelia detaches a hand from her bag strap long enough to offer a wave.
Ame slips out of Jack’s lap—ignoring his grumble of protest—and opens a cooler.
“What would you like to drink? We have water, beer, seltzers, and cider.”
Ophelia focuses all her attention on Ame. “Cider, please.”
Ame pulls out a bottle, pops the cap, then places it on the small table between the two chairs left open.
Then, my younger sister turns to Mor. “Have you decided if you’re helping with Galen’s Gauntlet again this year?”
And with that, talk turns toward the magical competition held in Folk Haven every other summer and away from Ophelia.
The firebird settles into her seat and sips her cider, the tension in her shoulders easing as time goes by and no one asks her any probing questions.
Slowly, the anxious orange in her aura fades from neon to pastel.
I wonder what had her retreating. Did she think we would ask questions about her traumatic time as the sorcerer’s captive?
Or was it more than that?
This week, I’ve played multiple facts over and over in my head. First, the small number of names in Ophelia’s phone. The firebird has been in Folk Haven for six months, and she hasn’t made any connections, it seems, outside of work and her living situation.
Then, there’s her lack of a last name and past life.
Jack mentioned his memory of the time spent as a cat had plenty of holes in it, but not of his life before his capture.
He could recall growing up in California with his mother and best friend, Niko.
He told us about the werewolf pack he attempted to join, but who ended up selling him to a sorcerer to fuel the man’s twisted magic.
Turned out, it was only one member of the pack that betrayed him, and the rest have done their best to earn his forgiveness. The wolves even relocated to Folk Haven, much to the consternation of the established pack. But that’s a can of worms I plan to stay far away from.
All this shows that Ophelia should have memories of her years before she was turned into a rabbit and used by that evil man.
Could it be that her time prior to captivity was bad in a different way? Was she betrayed, like Jack was?
Or is there simply nothing left from before?
As much as I want to know, I keep my curiosity to myself. Ophelia doesn’t owe me anything, especially not explanations of her past trauma.
“I just can’t commit to it,” Mor sighs, and I refocus on the conversation. “The Gauntlet planning takes up so much time. And depending on the spells, a lot of energy too. I have a library to run, my magical object studies, and I still need to figure out our statue problem.”
“Statue problem?” This soft question comes from Ophelia, and I try not to vibrate with happiness that she’s engaging in the conversation.
Mor gestures toward a thick stand of trees to the left of the library.
“There’s a statue garden there. Metal sculptures created by the dragon who used to live in this house.
” The library was previously a residence only, and from the outside, it still appears to be a regal Victorian house.
“There is one statue though that I think might be alive in some way. But frozen. I want to make sure it isn’t someone who’s trapped. ”
Ophelia goes tense once more, and Mor grimaces, no doubt realizing she brought up the very worst topic.
“Oh, look! Lucky is here!” Ame proclaims much louder than she normally would as her black cat familiar strolls onto the dock.
My sister gets up again, earning another unhappy grunt from Jack, which she ignores.
Ame scoops up her feline and strolls over to Ophelia.
“Do you remember Lucky? She loves to cuddle.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.” The firebird seems perfectly content to allow my sister to set the animal in her lap before Ame strolls back to Jack.
The werewolf wraps a set of strong arms around his mate’s waist and holds her tight against him—a clear command to stay put.
I wish I could hold Ophelia like that.