“You’re crying,” I point out, as if she doesn’t know.
Her smile is sad as she brushes her fingers across her cheeks, collecting droplets of moisture. “You make me feel like I can. Like I don’t have to hide it.”
“You don’t.”Gods, what has this woman gone through?
But I refuse to press her. Instead, I hold up the box. “Can I open this?”
“When I’m gone.” Ophelia pulls out her keys. “It’s just sand and heat. Something I learned when I was younger.”
I wait until her taillights disappear before turning back toward the dock, walking slowly as I savor the sensation of her hug and her trust. There’s a soft, steady sound above my head, and I realize the owl has appeared again, settling on a branch that’s only slightly higher than my head.
When the bird coos, I experience a surprising wave of contentment flow through my body. As if the animal has the same soothing magic that I do.
But that can’t be right. I must be imagining things.
Still, I give the bird a nod, then continue walking toward the lake.
“Where did she get these?” Mor asks the moment I step onto the sun-bleached wood.
I glance over to see my older sister cradling a small glass book. The thing looks so fragile with its flipping pages. Niko examines a wolf in mid-howl, his own mouth slack with wonder. My eyes trace to Ame, who holds a glass cat out for Lucky toexplore. Jack still has one arm wrapped around my sister’s waist, but in his other hand, he holds a glass replica of her.
“She made them.” I understand now.
Heat and sand.
Together, they make glass.
I slip the lid off my box and find a glass firebird nestled inside.
6
OPHELIA
The Wednesdayafter 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’snothere, 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.
