Chapter 6
OPHELIA
The Wednesday after the happy hour at the Shellys’ house, I approach Broderick’s office with a sense of optimistic anticipation.
Though I try not to get my hopes too high.
For one thing, the witch might not even be here.
It’s the summer semester, and many professors abandon their offices entirely.
Of course, if he’s not here, then I could theoretically send him a message with my phone.
I still feel strange, using the device. I always knew they existed when I was growing up, but my father never let me have one.
My father didn’t let me have a lot of things.
I push away those sharp memories and focus on the future. Focus on something new and exciting. Something to prove that I am not that girl who was given to a sorcerer.
I spy a light on in Broderick’s office and smile. My body remembers the feel of his arms wrapped around me. How his hold was comforting.
More than that, Broderick’s embrace was hot. His body was the perfect kind of heat that called to my inner firebird and enticed me to sink into him.
But I’m not sure I can be with someone that way. I don’t have any practice. I don’t have any experience. Not with romance.
Not with affection in general really.
Not since my mother and my aunt. But those memories are from so long ago that I’m not sure how accurate they even are. Maybe my mind made up a version of those two women that I could use to comfort myself in the harder moments.
Realizing I’ve begun to tug on the end of my ponytail in an agitated gesture, I let my hand drop and take a calming breath. Then, I knock on the door of the witch’s office and watch his crimson head pop up at the sound. An entrancing grin spreads across his honest face.
I could get addicted to this man. I might already be.
“Ophelia! You’re here!”
His cheeks flush a dark red, as if he’s embarrassed, but there’s no need for him to be rueful about such an enthusiastic greeting. It warms me to know that Broderick likes seeing me. That the eagerness I feel whenever I know he’s near is shared.
“I’m here,” I agree. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Not at all. Take a seat.” The professor turns in his desk chair as he makes the offer, facing me fully.
I know that Broderick means the soft chair in the corner, but I wish he were offering his thighs as a spot to perch. The memory of Ame cuddled up in Jack’s lap on the dock comes back to me. The ease with which they shared that innocently intimate embrace. I crave that closeness with another.
I crave that closeness with Broderick.
But I also know what it’s like to have power taken from you.
To have people act without asking. So, I won’t settle on his lap just because the impulse takes me.
Just like I did not hug him after that happy hour just because I wanted it more than anything in the world.
I asked him first and was honored when he said yes.
I settle in the chair, deeper this time, more comfortable in this cozy office. Broderick leans toward me with his elbows braced on his knees, eyes alight with curiosity. As if he finds me fascinating.
I don’t like the idea of others being fascinated with me. If people find me interesting, they’ll ask questions about me. They’ll want to dig into my past. They’ll want to know about what happened with the sorcerer. They’ll want to know what happened before the sorcerer.
Both of those times in my life should stay buried until I can convince myself they are forgotten.
But Broderick hasn’t pried into my past. Maybe he could be fascinated by the person that I am. Even if that person is relatively new.
“I was hoping you could explain something to me,” I say. “Something that your siblings were discussing on Friday.”
“Of course. What are you interested in?”
“Galen’s Gauntlet.”
The event they brought up, asking if Mor might contribute to it, seemed like a competition of some kind.
A challenge. And it wasn’t the first time I’d heard of the Gauntlet.
Georgiana was talking on the phone to someone about the event.
The woman seemed to be one of the organizers.
But when I asked her about it, she said it was only for sirens and witches to plan.
And that I shouldn’t worry about anything related to such a dangerous pastime.
The dismissiveness of her response irked me. The reminder that I am still anxious and skittish.
Like a rabbit.
As much as I hate my ever-present fear, I can’t deny that I’m easily startled. That I constantly risk getting overwhelmed.
I’m weak and quivering from my time with the sorcerer, an insidious voice whispers in my head. So, how could I ever be considered strong enough to participate in even a recreational activity that might have a touch of danger to it?
I don’t want to be thought of that way anymore. I don’t want to be that way anymore.
My fear infuriates me.
What if this new beginning means more than just escaping a bad situation? What if this chance to start over means finally claiming control of my life?
If I’m going to stake a claim as the new Ophelia, then what better way than to prove I will not be cowed in a simple competition?
“Oh, yes. Galen’s Gauntlet.” Broderick leans back in his chair and takes on a tone I suspect he uses when lecturing his students.
“Admittedly, I have never seen one. I moved here after the last one took place. They happen every two years in July, and I believe they are related to the founding of the town. I’m sure I could find out more information on the history if that interests you.
But as to what the Gauntlet is now, it is a competition.
From what Mor and Ame described to me about the last one, it is a race of sorts, but filled with magical obstacles that competitors need to maneuver through.
The victor is the one who reaches the finish line first, and they hold a position of honor in town for the following two years.
They win some money. But it also takes money in order to enter the competition. ”
That last comment—about costing money to enter—gives me pause. I shouldn’t be surprised. Most human competitions require money to enter them. Why should a magical one be any different?
Every dollar I earn from my job is precious to me. This is the first time I’m making money of my own. And the more I save, the closer I am to creating a home of my own. To becoming a self-reliant woman.
But a part of that self-reliance is also emotional. Mental. How can I truly feel at home without first proving to myself that I am not the weak girl that I once was? That control of my life is mine?
“Anyone can compete?” I ask, envisioning my bank account and estimating how much I can spare without making an uncomfortably large dent.
“Sirens can’t compete because they organize the whole thing.
My understanding is that any witch who contributes to the obstacle course cannot participate—so that would have included Mor last time.
Also, if you are mated to someone who takes part in the organization of the competition, you are ineligible.
That is a new rule after the last competition, where the selkie who won was mated to one of the sirens.
Not that anyone believes Seamus got a leg up on the competition.
No one other than …” Broderick trails off, and from the expression on his face, I can see he’s hesitant about sharing who exactly has an issue with the previous winner.
“Who was it?” I press, curious about any drama occurring in the town. I spent all of my life in some form of isolation, so I find I’m wildly curious about the details of Folk Haven residents. “Who thinks he cheated?”
Broderick grimaces, but he still answers, “Georgiana. And a few other sirens she is close to. They were furious when they found out in the middle of the competition that a siren song didn’t affect him in the same way that it did the rest of the competitors.
To be fair, I heard Seamus didn’t seem to realize it either.
Word is, his mate—Neri, who owns the local bookshop—was pissed at him and wasn’t speaking to him at all, and he entered the Gauntlet to win her over.
That’s not a guy who’s about to cheat. Anyway, turned out, she was in love with him, and if a siren loves you, then their song doesn’t discombobulate you the way it does with everyone else. ”
Interesting. I’m not particularly surprised about that infuriating Georgiana. After living with the siren for so many months, I can easily see her being judgmental of a change in the norm.
But enough gossip. Back to planning.
“Other than not being affected by siren song, what do you think are the skills competitors need in order to make it through the Gauntlet?”
Broderick relaxes further in his chair, settling his hands over his torso, long fingers twining together. Their length fascinates me, and I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have those fingers trace over my skin. To be touched by him in a way that I haven’t been touched before.
Unaware of my thoughts, Broderick answers my question.
“Well, one of the rules is that competitors cannot overtly use their magical abilities. That means no shifting from shifters. No spells from witches and such. However, lots of mythics still have natural advantages. Superior strength and stamina. Those competitors tend to have an advantage in some challenges because of their speed and ability to potentially fight off things they might come up against. But there is a mental element. Puzzles to solve. Oh, and of course, everyone needs the ability to swim.”
My stomach sinks.
As quickly as I would if thrown into a body of water.
“Why is swimming such an important part of the Gauntlet?” I ask, trying to keep the hopelessness from my voice.
Broderick doesn’t seem to notice, and I wonder if the witch realizes that I’m more than just curious. That I’m interested in competing.
Or at least, I was when I thought I might have a chance.
“My understanding is that the trials are always set up in one of the coves on Lake Galen. While competitors don’t have to swim the entire time, there is usually a good portion of the race that requires swimming.”
My last feeble hope burns up in a puff of smoke. I duck my head to hide the disappointment that I’m sure is overwhelming my face.
“Were you planning on entering?” Broderick asks the question so easily, answering my silent query from a moment ago. He asks as if the idea of me in Galen’s Gauntlet makes complete sense to him.
I don’t sense wariness in his voice. I don’t hear judgment or fear on my behalf.
And maybe that could be enough. His easy belief in me.
But it’s not.
It helps, but it’s not enough.
“I was considering it,” I admit. “But I don’t think that I would be able to. Based off your description.”
Now, his voice tightens with apparent concern. “What did I say?”
I try to wipe all the vulnerability from my face as I raise my head. “Swimming. I can’t swim.”
Broderick looks genuinely confused by this confession. As if he cannot fathom an adult who can’t keep themself afloat.
I’m sure there is a vast number of people in the world who don’t know how. But this hurts. The acknowledgment that I am less than he thought I was. There are so many ways that is already true. I didn’t need another.
I stand abruptly, ready to walk away from the pity in his face.
“Wait, Ophelia.” He extends a hand, but doesn’t grab me. “There’s time.”
I pause my escape, but I don’t turn to face him. Not when I’m worried the pressure behind my eyes might be tears. “What?”
“We live near a lake,” the witch says, his voice gentle. Cajoling. “Plenty of water. I can teach you.”
He can teach me?
Behind me, I hear Broderick stand from his chair, and I can feel his presence at my back.
Tall, warm, but not intimidating. I don’t mind when this witch looms over me.
Someone else would have my hackles raised and my adrenaline spiking.
They’d set off alarms in my head and turn my breaths into anxious gasps.
But I trust Broderick Shelly. The man who bled for me.
There are times when he gestures and I catch a sight of the scar on his hand, and I know without a doubt he’s a good man.
“I’m sorry if I sounded surprised,” he says, unaware of my admiration for him.
“I grew up in a seaside town. And then I moved here, where there are water mythics everywhere. Where the lake is an integral part of the town. It’s been a little while since I’ve encountered someone who doesn’t know how to swim, but that’s completely normal.
But …” He hesitates, clears his throat, and presses on, “I can teach you. If you want to learn. If you give me a chance, I would be honored to help you, Ophelia. So you can compete in the Gauntlet. So you can win the Gauntlet.”
That last sentence has me choking out a laugh, even as my eyes feel wet.
I have no intention of winning. But even stepping over the starting line into whatever wildness the sirens and witches cook up would be a braver move than I’ve ever made in my life.
Would be proof that my fear does not rule me.
Slowly, I turn to face Broderick, and in that rotation, my eyes notice a sparkle on his desk. There, next to the professor’s keyboard, sits the glass firebird I crafted for him from sand and the heat of my hands.
“Can I hug you again?” I rasp, knowing deep in my heart, in the intuitive part of my soul that survived all the harshness of my past, that this witch is important to me. That he’s someone to keep close. To cherish.
If only I can open myself to him.
“Like I said before,” Broderick murmurs with a lovely blush on his sharp cheekbones, “anytime. Anywhere. For as long as you want.”
I’m in his arms again. And the sensation is as glorious as flying.
“Yes,” I say, breathing in the herb and soap scent lingering on his shirt. “Please teach me to swim.”