And she did want that in a relationship, when it was with the right person. Her time was valuable, and she wanted to spend it with someone she truly cared for and in turn truly cared for her. There needed to be a give and take, and right now, Ophelia felt like all she could see were the takers that passed through her life.
Her attacker in New York, who took her naivety of the world and her feeling of safety in her new city, the serial killer who took her neighbor and her feeling of safety in her hometown, and Mateo, who molested her twice, tried to take her soul and instead took her ability to trust her feelings. They took her time, her body, her thoughts. Take, take, take.
Those with the upper hand were always taking from the perceived inferior to maintain their dominance. Ophelia thought that it likely derived from instinct, from some non-evolved part of the human lizard brain, but how did a human with a complex brain that had over 100 trillion synapses not see that power was infinite and didn’t need to be taken?
She supposed stripping the perceived inferior of power and safety were tried-and-true tactics. But she was so fucking tired of living in a world where she didn’t feel safe, where that sense of safety could so easily be stripped from her.
Ophelia’s mind drifted to the one thing shehadtaken from Mateo—the crucifix necklace. She hadn’t looked at it since she’d been home. She hauled herself out of bed and rummaged through her purse, where she pulled out the medieval cross on a silver chain. Mateo was right about one thing: it was hideous. The cross was as large as her palm and featured intricate swirls and designs in the metal. The overall effect was gaudy.
What she needed to do was call Detective Lewis again and get the files from her case. He still hadn’t returned her call from two weeks ago. She was not only curious about the attacker, but she needed to know if the police had recovered the necklace. She wondered if this was one of a kind or if there were others out there.
She was going to hold onto the cross for now. It wasn’t like she had the ability to detect magical people, so it could come in handy. Ophelia placed the cross necklace in the drawer of her bedside table and dialed Detective Lewis’s number again. Still no answer.
Ophelia sloggedthrough the work week, and on Friday afternoon, she packed up her weekend bag and began her drive to Oakdale for more treating lessons with Mawmaw. Ophelia waslooking forward to being in the comforting presence of her Mawmaw after everything with Mateo. Jolie checked on her every day and always brought a handmade gift to show her love and care. She had even made a little figurine of her tiger protector that Ophelia placed on her nightstand.
Jade and Jolie both wanted Ophelia to go to therapy. She was no stranger to therapy and typically loved it, finding the whole process cathartic, like a massage for her brain. But now that things were so complicated with magic, she wasn’t sure how to go about it. Jade suggested she ask Avery if he knew any magical therapists she could speak candidly to. It wasn’t a bad idea. She promised to consider it. For now, she was still licking her wounds.
Etienne texted her on Monday to check in as well. It was a sweet gesture, one she knew took a lot of effort from him. She was appreciative of his help and care as well. She supposed that through all of this, she felt appreciative of her true friends.
The drive to Oakdale was different at dusk. She rode with the windows down, letting the wind fill the car with its fast hum. The sky was hot pink and orange, transitioning to a deep purple at the line of the horizon. Someone once told her the sky looked that way in Louisiana because of all of the pollution from the refineries. She hated that person. It was probably true, but how dare they spoil a sunset?
Ophelia pulled into Mawmaw’s long driveway around nine at night. The crackle of the oyster-paved road, the smell of pines, and the warm air wafted through her car as she slowed down to take it all in.
Ophelia parked in front of the house and noticed the lights inside were still on. Mawmaw must be waiting for her, so she hurriedly grabbed her things and headed to the front door. The last time Mawmaw stayed up past seven thirty was for Ophelia’s passing, and before then, it had probably been half a decade since she heard the calls of coyotes at night.
Ophelia knocked loudly on the front door and tried the knob, hoping it was open so her Mawmaw wouldn’t have to getup to let her in. The knob turned without a hitch. The light was on in the treating parlor and living room.
“Mawmaw?”
No response. Ophelia left the lights on so she could walk through the house without tripping. She thought that Mawmaw had probably left them on for that reason. She made her way to her grandmother’s room to announce her arrival.
“Mawmaw?” said Ophelia as she quietly placed her bag next to Mawmaw’s bedroom door, hoping not to startle her.
Her room smelled different…the usual smell of incense and dust, but with a strange metallic note. A slight burning sensation tickled Ophelia’s nose. Mawmaw lay asleep in her bed. Ophelia crept across the dark room to wake her.
“Mawmaw? It’s me,” she said as she leaned over, gently touching her shoulder.
Ophelia stopped cold. She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing.
She took a step back and looked widely around the room for a simple conclusion. She stood there shaking as she examined her Mawmaw lying with her neck cut open, blood staining her nightgown and sheets. Her face was white and unnatural. Ophelia did not see peace or anger or anything on her face—just nothing.
“No, no, no, no…”
She needed help. She turned, grabbed her bag, and ran toward the front door, but the light on in the parlor stopped her. Her breath was heavy, and her whole body vibrated with fear. Something was behind the parlor doors, and she had to know. Curiosity and insanity outweighed her fear and impending grief as she opened the doors to the treating parlor.
“I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God.”
Exodus 20:5 was written in blood on the walls.
Her whole body felt as if it was falling, like she was jumpingoff a bridge into freezing water, and her arms were flailing in an attempt to stop.
Her mind came back online, and rational thought said she needed to get out of the house and find help. It was like she could feel the killer all around her, an evil presence. She bolted out of the house and ran to her car. She drove away, spinning her wheels, hitting potholes on the way down the driveway, forcing the car to swerve and jump underneath her grip. Sweat from her hands coated the wheel as she kept checking behind to make sure no one was following her.
She drove to the center of town, the only other place she knew the directions to without her GPS, and stopped outside of the pizza parlor. The parlor was filled with patrons, and the warm light glowing from inside alerted her that it was safe enough to stop.
She needed to call the police, but her heart hurt knowing they’d probably do very little. What could be done? No one knew who the Cutthroat Killer was. No one could talk openly about magic. There were too many things that couldn’t be said. Too many mysteries that were unsolved. Steadying her breath, she called the police.
Ophelia spentmost of Friday night with the police. At some ungodly hour, Aunt Susan picked her up from the station and let her stay at her home in the guest bedroom. Jack was in town visiting, and all three sat in quiet at the breakfast table the following morning.
