As I add my contact information, I do some mental math.
Jack escaped from the sorcerer three years ago and said he was almost certain he was the only captive the man had at the time. Which means even if Ophelia was taken the day after Jack broke free, she should have lived in the world when cell phones existed.
Unless Jack was wrong. Unless Ophelia was a captive for much longer than we assumed.
I want to ask so many questions, about her captivity and age and knowledge of the world. But I want to know even more than that. Like how she’s coping. Does she like her job? Does she want to keep living with Georgiana?
Are those spikes of orange in her aura normal anxiety or a constant wear at her psyche?
Maybe this exchange of numbers means the firebird might open up to me. Eventually. Now is not the time to pry.
But there is one question that’s reasonable to ask.
I send myself a quick text.
“Now, I have your number too.” I hand her back her phone. “I’m sorry. I just realized I’ve only ever called you Ophelia. I don’t know your last name.”
Until that moment, I didn’t realize the firebird had started to relax around me. I know now because her entire body goes stiff and a flood of orange that isn’t mystical fire burns in the air around her.
“No last name. Just Ophelia.”
She disappears from my office, taking every ounce of warmth with her.
4
OPHELIA
The neatly wrappedboxes 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 wouldthinkabout 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.”
