Chapter 14
brODERICK
Another Friday evening happy hour has me on the dock beside all my siblings as I eagerly stare toward the house, waiting for the cranky sound of Ophelia’s truck engine.
“Are you expecting someone, brother dearest?” Anthony sings the question at me from his spot beside Zara. The harpy was able to get off work tonight, but her presence does nothing to dampen the bother that is my twin. “Could it perhaps be a certain bird woman with a fiery pitch?”
“If you call me a bird woman,” Zara says, “I will shave your head.”
Anthony runs his fingers through his hair while wearing a satisfied smirk. “Mmm, I love it when you threaten me.”
I ignore the back-and-forth and the other side conversations everyone around me is having, not concerned about being subtle at all. They all know who I’m waiting for. Who I desperately want to appear.
Ophelia. My firebird.
Being back on this dock brings up the memory of last weekend.
What Ophelia and I did.
What she said.
“… if I can keep anything, I want that to be you.”
She doesn’t realize yet how easy I’ll make it for her to keep me.
At the sound of a rumbling motor, I straighten further in my seat, searching for the flash of her truck through the trees. But there’s nothing. Only a nudge on my arm. I glance over and realize Niko was the one to claim my attention, and he’s pointing toward the water.
A pontoon boat lazily turns into the inlet, and seated at the very front is Ophelia. She faces into the wind, the breeze playing with the long golden strands of her hair. Her eyes are closed, and she’s smiling.
I wonder if she’s thinking of flying.
“Ahoy!” Owen calls out from behind the wheel as he slows the pontoon to a crawl and aims for our dock. “When Ophelia told me where she was headed, I thought I’d offer my services. Who wants a happy-hour boat ride?”
We have a dock, but no boat, so everyone climbs on board for the novel experience.
At first, I’m worried that our whole group won’t fit.
But I shouldn’t have been concerned. The boat is basically a floating living room, and our party of nine settles in, close, but not crowded.
Especially because Ame and Jack only take up one seat.
The PDA between my sister and her wolf boyfriend was awkward at first, but I’ve grown used to it. Plus, it’s not like they’re making out in front of everyone. The werewolf simply has an incurable need to hold her.
As Ophelia settles at my side, I have a sudden, deep understanding of that urge. Despite the warmth of the summer night, I still lean closer, soaking in her hot cinnamon presence.
“Do you want something to drink? Owen stocked a cooler.” She points to a large Yeti tucked into one of the few sections of the boat without seating. “He said he wants to form a selkie-witch alliance, and booze is the best friend–maker.”
I already finished my first beer, but saying yes means she’ll leave my side even if only for a moment.
“I’m fine. Thank you though.”
Yeah, I understand Jack completely.
As Owen steers us out onto the lake, Ophelia takes hold of my wrist and guides my arm around her shoulders. Then, she snuggles deeper into my side, and I perish from happiness.
The cruise is beautiful, showing us a view of our home that can only be enjoyed from the water. Building on the lake is limited, which leaves large stretches of untouched, thickly forested shoreline. There’s a wildness to Lake Galen, and the mostly opaque water holds an air of mystery.
What might be lurking beneath the surface?
As we travel past the opening to one inlet, a chill goes down my spine, and Owen makes an abrupt turn.
“What was that?” Mor calls above the drone of the engine. “Did you all feel that?”
Everyone nods, but before my worry about a malevolent force in the lake can take root, Owen laughs.
“Sorry! My fault. Forgot that’s the stretch reserved for Galen’s Gauntlet this year. Warding spells are already up.” He grins. “No peeking allowed. Any of you competing?”
Beside me, Ophelia raises her hand, and a glow of pride lights in my chest. This past week, we’ve met every day after she gets off work to practice her swimming.
She’s treading water like a pro and even managing to swim a decent distance from the dock.
She’s not the most graceful, and speed isn’t her strong suit.
But every day, I watch her confidence grow, and that alone is a type of winning.
Glancing around, I’m surprised to see Jack and Niko also have their hands raised.
The kappa grins at Ophelia, his expression open and friendly. “Didn’t know you were signing up. Want to be part of my and Jack’s alliance?”
I glance down in time to watch a hesitant smile take over her lips. “I-I would. But I’m a slow swimmer. Broderick has been helping me learn.”
Owen lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “How dare you! You asked for a witch to teach you how to swim when you know a selkie? I think this might be a fireable offense.”
Ophelia snorts, and I get the sense Owen has a similar personality to my brother. A tendency to tease and most of the words he speaks sounding like flirting.
“We practice in the evenings if you want to come by and offer your wisdom,” Ophelia says.
Part of me wishes she hadn’t because the selkie’s presence will largely cut down on the end-of-lesson make-out sessions. But with Owen’s help, she might learn faster, and more than anything, I want to see Ophelia’s confidence in herself grow.
We can find other times and places to wrap ourselves around each other.
“Cool. It’s a plan,” Niko announces, holding up his beer. “You’ll get some selkie training and join the Jack-o Alliance.”
“I didn’t agree to that name,” the werewolf grumbles.
“Well, it’s better than the Nack Alliance. And now, we can be the Jack-olia Alliance.” Niko slips his phone out of his pocket and offers it to Ophelia. “Let me get your number. For strategy meetings.”
This could be a sneaky hit-on-Ophelia tactic, but I only get friendly vibes from the kappa. Plus, when I watch her eagerly add her number to the man’s phone, I remember how few contacts she has in hers.
As much as I want all of her time to myself, what’s best for Ophelia is to establish a group of friends in Folk Haven. And what better group to start with than the one we’re in now?
“Why don’t you get everyone’s numbers,” I say, “while we’re all here?”
She blinks up at me, lips slightly parted in surprise.
“Come on.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Where’s your phone?”
After handing Niko’s his back, Ophelia reaches into a pocket on her jean shorts and pulls out the device. When she swipes it open, the picture of the owl makes me smile. Then, I hand it off to Mor.
“Everyone, put your number in Ophelia’s phone.”
“Good idea.” Ame smiles at us from her spot in Jack’s lap. “That way, we don’t need to go through Broderick to talk to you. We can make sneaky plans behind his back.”
“I regret this immediately,” I grumble, but without true heat because Ophelia is laughing.
Talking trails off as Owen navigates to a more open section of the lake and increases the speed, filling the air with the roar of the engine.
The clouds take on a magenta shade against a periwinkle sky as the sun sets behind the trees.
With the growing darkness, our captain points us back toward the library.
We dock smoothly, temporarily tying the boat up long enough for everyone to unload. Owen accepts our thanks with a dramatic bow.
I wish the ride could have gone on longer. That I had an excuse to hold Ophelia for endless hours.
Now, I have to say goodbye.
But when I turn for my farewell, the firebird is right behind me.
“Could you drive me home?” Ophelia asks.
“Abandoning me?” Owen shakes his head with a mock frown.
Meanwhile, I grin. “Of course.”
After we untie the pontoon and watch Owen cruise off, the two of us walk hand in hand toward the house. Everyone else has already disappeared, either going inside or heading home. We’re alone in the twilight.
A hoot sounds overhead, and a beautiful barn owl glides past. The bird has a watchful quality, as if it’s guarding the two of us.
“That’s my friend.” Ophelia points to the owl. “Always joining me on walks.”
I make a note to ask Ame and Anthony about their familiars. How did they know the animal was their magical partner? Because I feel a calm connection with Ophelia’s feathered friend, and I wonder if maybe I’ve discovered mine.
When we reach my car, I try to be a gentleman by heading to the passenger side to open Ophelia’s door for her.
But the firebird seems uninterested in chivalry when she presses me back against the car and claims my mouth in a searing kiss that tastes like the spices from the cider she was drinking on the boat.
I groan and spread my legs to both lower myself closer to her height and to make room for her between them.
The hot press of her body against my hardening cock is a beautiful kind of torture.
Ophelia peels her mouth from mine. “Maybe we could walk for a bit.” Her words are breathy and full of promise. “Before you drive me home.”
“Walk.” I nod repeatedly, trying to force my brain to function. “Yes. I know how to do that.”
She laughs and tugs me toward the woods. And despite claiming I know how to move my legs in a normal manner, I end up a touch bowlegged until I adjust myself.
The woods swallow us, the evening growing darker with a thick canopy of leaves overhead.
“I was going to find a good tree to kiss you against,” Ophelia informs me. A tight note to her voice that replaces the lighthearted tone from before.
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
And any other time, just the thought would melt me into a puddle beneath her feet.
But with Ophelia’s hand in mine, I have a closer connection to her emotional state. A clearer view of her aura. Creeping orange tendrils twine through the air around her, and her fingers tighten in mine with each step we take.
Is she shaking?
“Ophelia—”
Her gasp cuts me off, and she whirls to face me with wide eyes, pupils dilated. Overhead, the owl screeches. On instinct, I gather the firebird into my arms. Her body is sweltering against mine. I send a brief prayer to The Bright One that I’m not about to be burned alive.
“You’re safe,” I tell her. “What’s wrong? Why are you scared?”
The magical urge to soothe her terror is so strong that my skin actually stings from holding my power back.
Not without her permission.
“D-dark,” she forces out through chattering teeth. “P-panic. Panic attack.” Ophelia squeezes her eyes shut, but not before tears flow from them. Her breathing is erratic, short gasps and ragged exhales.
I hold her closer, not sure if my embrace is helping or hurting.
But I know something that can solve this—at least temporarily.
“Ophelia. Sweetheart. Will you let me use my magic on you?” There’s a desperate rasp in my question. “I can stop the panic attack. That’s all I’ll do, I swear.”
For a long stretch, she only shudders and sobs in my arms. But eventually, she manages a weak, “Yes.”
In a secret compartment on my watch, I keep an emergency dose of the red powder us Shellys use to amplify our magic, making it easy to manipulate. I press the notch now that releases the dry potion and spread the clinging crimson dust on my palm.
Then, I cup the back of Ophelia’s neck and focus on the tangled orange of fear that’s suffocating her.
I guide my magic over the sickly color, easing the vivid shade until it turns into the rich emerald of contentment.
The power tingles along my nerves, like all my limbs fell asleep and are suddenly regaining blood flow.
Not the most comfortable sensation, but worth it.
Ophelia sags in my hold, and I guide the both of us to the leaf-strewn forest floor. We settle there, the two of us breathing in time as our owl observer coos a soothing hoot overhead.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a stretch. “For the magic. I know it can’t be easy after … everything.” I clear my throat and try not to let my fury rise, like it does every time I think of that evil sorcerer using Ophelia as a power source for his sick spells.
“Can you explain what you did?” She asks the question against the collar of my shirt, giving nothing of her feelings away.
Now that she’s not panicking, I hold off on trying to explore her aura.
“All witches have specialties. A type of magic that comes naturally to us. Shellys are emotion witches.” I draw on my professor voice, pretending I’m in a lecture hall and not terrified I’ve screwed up everything with Ophelia.
“Mor has a general kind of control over all emotions. Ame senses and can affect desires. Anthony deals in jealousy when he wants.” I try not to hold her too tight to me as I explain the next bit. “I’m acquainted with fear.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can sense it. See it.” I clear my throat. “Not the cause though. Not unless I perform certain spell work.”
“And you can get rid of it?”
“I can ease it,” I agree. “Soothe the harsh edges.”
Ophelia tilts her head up to stare into my eyes, her brows dipped. “How often do you soothe my fear?”
“I don’t.” The words rush out of me as I experience another wave of my own panic. “This was the first time and only because you told me I could, I swear.”
The question is, will she believe me?