That makes the event even less appealing. I don’t want to be stared at by strangers who find me intriguing for whatever details Georgiana shared about me.
The siren continues, “With you living in our house—rent-free—for so long, I would have thought you’d also want to take part in our household.” The unspoken message:You should want to do what I say because of what I have done for you.
I’ve always found it strange how the people who loudly claim to be charitable always expect a return on their supposed good works.
“I can pay rent,” I offer, not for the first time.
My job pays well. Enough that I’ve begun keeping an eye out forFor Rentsigns. Next week, I am hoping to go to Folk Haven Realty on my lunch break to start an official search.
I want out of this house.
“No, dear. There’s no need.” Georgiana expertly folds her face into disappointment. I know this tactic well. “What are these plans you have that are more important than saying hello to our friends?”
Despite being aware of the manipulation Georgiana is using, I still feel a familiar twist in my gut. The insistent urge to do whatever pleases her. To tuck away my own wants and needs to make sure she is happy. The siren has been supportive since I returned to my true form. Giving me a place to live. Explaining how things work in this small, mythic-filled town. She even tried to get me a job at her husband’s doctor’s office, but my lack of tech knowledge would’ve required much more training than collecting recycling for Clean Haven did.
Those were kind gestures, but I don’t owe her my life.
“I’m going to the Mythic Public Library,” I say, forcing my spine straight when I realize I started to slouch forward in a form of defense. “The Shellys invited me to happy hour.”
Georgiana’s face sours before she smooths the wrinkled expression away. “Really, Ophelia? If you’re going to abandon us, at least spend your time with other Of the Wing mythics. Not those strange witches.”
My hackles rise, but in the same way I can’t manage to saythank you, I also can’t seem to forceit’s rude to talk about decent people like thatpast my lips.
“They saved me,” is as much of a defense as I can muster.
Georgiana scoffs and waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m sure that horrid spell would’ve worn off on its own with that sorcerer being dead. If you ask me, those Shellys put you at risk, working more magic on you.”
The siren lets a tempting smile take over her lovely face. “If happy hour is what you want, then I have some specialty cocktails that’ll have you singing and dancing by the end of the night. So strong that you’ll forget all your worries.”
That doesnotsound appealing. At least not among a group of strangers who apparently find the idea of me fascinating.
Instead of turning her down flat, I reach into my bag and pull out a little box. “I’m sorry. I can’t. But I made this for you.” I press the box into her manicured hands.
She blinks in surprise. “You made something for me?”
I nod as I shuffle toward the front door. “I hope you like it. Good night.”
Then, I turn and hurry out of the siren’s beautiful house before she can tempt me to stay with more guilt. Too much of my life has been dictated by manipulation.
I need to practice making my own choices.
And tonight, I choose Broderick Shelly.
5
BRODERICK
“Doyou 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.”
