Ginger hums thoughtfully and twists a lock of hair around her finger. “You two are a very odd power couple.”
“Who? Me and Phantom? Not anymore. His fault, by the way.”
Ginger’s eyes meet mine curiously. “How did you and Phantom meet?”
Ginger is the newest club member, only a couple months in. She’s a sweetheart and we’ve all adopted her, but occasionally, we have to catch her up on years of club-lore.
I sigh. “That’s a long story.”
“But a great one!” Dove clasps her hands together. “Please? Storytime!”
I take a deep, long sip from my glass of wine. “Alright, you masochists. You asked for it.” Then I begin.
PART II
HER VERSION
8
Ophelia.Three Years Ago.
“Ruby.” A voice called my name from a far-off planet. “Ruby. Can you hear me?”
“Uh-huh,” I squeaked out.
“Come on, Ruby. Open your eyes.”
I pried my eyes open. At first, I couldn’t see anything but blinding light, and I squinted against it. My vision slowly cleared and, when it did, my heart gave a jump-start and stuttered.
I was looking up at a silver fox god. I found myself lost in his eyes. Hazel brown, speckled with hints of green and gold.
The edges of his gorgeous eyes creased lightly when he smiled.
“There she is,” he said. “Good girl.”
My body, normally tensed and ready to fight, suddenly unwound. The low cadence of his voice tricked my nervous system into relaxing. I felt cradled in the cocoon of his soft, soothing tones.
“Don’t try to sit up, alright?” he said. “Do you know where you are?”
“Um…” I twisted my head. I was on my back on the flat, polished stage. Our painted backdrop—a black and red version of the underworld—loomed behind me. My castmates lingered around me like vultures, eyes on me, equal parts worried and curious.
Oh, yeah. I knew exactly where I was. I was in hell. Or more accurately, the Chrystie Theatre, in New York City, in the dead heat of summer with a broken AC unit.
“Chrystie Theatre,” I told him, bits of memory coming back. “We were rehearsing…blocking the descent scene…and that’s the last thing I remember.” When I turned my head, a jolt of pain sliced through the back of my skull. I winced and touched the spot. “Did I…pass out?”
“Seems like it. Try not to move around. I’m going to get your vitals, alright? You okay with me touching you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He had large hands, strong arms, but his touch was delicate as he fit the pressure cuff over my arm.
“Have you been sleeping okay, Ophelia?”
“We’re opening in a week, so. I’ll sleep when the show is over.”
“How about water? Have you been keeping hydrated?”
“Does coffee count?”
