Chapter 9 #3
“The mud smelled like death, sucking at her knees, holding her frozen to the spot. Blood dripped from the gaping wound on her shoulder and pattered like frozen rain on the fallen leaves. The sulfuric fog slithered its way through the forest, advancing on her like the fingers of a silent silver wraith. Beneath her boots, the ground trembled, a warning of the evil that was to come. Her hand flexed around the hilt of the sword, so much heavier and less useful than the wand she was used to wielding. But they’d taken it from her as they’d taken everything else.
“The scream of the beast was inhuman. A fiery bellow that promised pain, so much pain. But she didn’t care.
Not with him sitting on the deadly throne, watching her every breath from the cathedral of trees.
She was going to die here in this field at the mercy of a monster, and he would be witness to it all.
Her mortal enemy. Her untenable ally. The man responsible for stealing her magic and sealing her execution.
She would spend the last seconds of her life with his icy gray eyes on her, and he would spend the rest of his never forgetting her.
She could accept that. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as the whoosh of wings and the burn of fire cut through the fog. ”
Opal flipped her notebook back to the first page and leaned back in her seat. “That’s all I’ve got.”
The room was post-record-scratch silent.
My mouth was hanging open like I was trying to consume an entire foot-long sub in one bite. Hazel was wearing her best “I told you so” face.
“Daaaamn,” George said, finally breaking the silence.
“Pipe down, you old bag of farts,” Opal said.
“Is there more?” I asked hopefully. “Like who is she? Who is he? Did he betray her?”
“Are there dragons? Dragons are so hot right now,” Kitty said.
“What happens next?” bellowed Mildred.
Opal harrumphed. “It’s a writing exercise. You people need to get out more.”
I was pretty sure I was going to vibrate out of my body by the time Hazel dismissed the class.
Levi closed the lid of his laptop with a snap and disappeared out the door before anyone else had moved a muscle. I got up, keeping my eye on Opal, thinking I should corner her here in the room before she escaped and I lost her in a sea of retirees.
“Hey there, pretty lady. You remind me of my granddaughter. Hang on. That came out creepy. Dang it! I’m new at this whole ‘meeting new people thing,’” Terrance said.
“Anyway, I’m Terrance, and I just moved here, and you really do look like my granddaughter but she’s too busy to visit me. Crap. Now I just sound pathetic.”
“Terrance, I’m Zoey. I’d love to help you work on your small talk, but I have to go tackle someone right now. We’ll chat later,” I promised.
“It’s a date,” he said enthusiastically as I fought to untangle my purse strap from the chair.
By the time I liberated it, Opal was already in the hallway.
I all but vaulted over George and his scooter, but my quarry had a head start on me.
The woman was faster than I thought she’d be with a walker.
It didn’t help that I got stuck behind two white-haired ladies with those four-footed suction cup canes in the hallway.
By the time I got around them, Opal was heading outside into the courtyard.
“Opal! Wait,” I called after her.
She paused and glanced back.
I dodged an adorable elderly couple holding hands and caught up with her. “Have you ever been published before?” I asked, sucking in a breath.
She looked me over from head to toe. “You need to sit down or something?”
“No. I’m fine. I just haven’t done cardio since 2010. Have you ever been published?”
“Is published slang for some kind of drug you wanna sell me? ’Cause I’m not buying.”
“No, ma’am. What you wrote in class was good. Really good. Opal, you can write.”
She snorted. “I know. I can also fry an egg, but you don’t see me applying for jobs in the cafeteria.”
“So what you shared back there, was that part of a larger work? Do you by chance have a finished manuscript lying around?” I asked hopefully.
“Who’s asking?”
“Sorry. I’m Zoey Moody. I’m a literary agent. Hazel’s agent. And I think you’re really good.”
“Listen, I gotta get to happy hour before George sucks down all the good whiskey.”
“Wait! Let me give you my card. We can talk when you have more time. Or I can come to happy hour with you. I love whiskey.” I shoved an arm into my purse, praying I actually had a few of my old cards left in the bottom. I’d meant to make new ones, but it had slipped my mind.
“I don’t need a card or some pretend publishing deal. I’m perfectly fine just the way I am. Now get out of my way, or I’ll stomp on you with this damn walker.”
I stepped aside and watched her go.
“How did it go?”
I jumped out of my skin and spun around to find Hazel lurking nearby. “Great. She threatened to stomp on me with her mobility aid.”
Hazel cracked open a Wild Cherry Pepsi and slurped heartily. “Yeah, she’s a tough cookie. Now tell me all about you and that fine specimen of manhood not having sex,” she insisted, pointing in the direction of sweaty, handy Gage. He raised a hand to us. We both returned it.
“Fine. I’ll give you every detail if you do my laundry for me. I haven’t had a clean pair of underwear in a week.”
“Deal. Since when did you start wearing underwear?”