35

Ophelia

Cas is gone for hours.

By the time I wake from my restless, shallow sleep, it's a little after seven and he's still not back.

I stretch out in his bed, gazing up at the carved ceiling and trying not to feel too disappointed I'm waking up alone. Or worried it's been so long since he left.

Crawling out of bed, I locate my phone in the pants I left on the floor before I showered last night, and find that its battery must have run out sometime between then and now.

Plugging it in and leaving it to rest on the bedside table, I sprawl back against the pillows with all my racing thoughts to keep me company.

And it's not just scenes from the graveyard that take center stage.

It's also everything that happened afterwards.

The way Cas held me, touched me, looked at me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world to him, like he really couldn't believe I would have put myself in danger to protect him.

The tenderness in his eyes, something raw and unspoken lingering just beneath the surface.

I wonder what he would have said if he'd stayed.

I wonder what he'll say when he gets back.

Our job is done. Though, I can't help but snort a small laugh at that. Cas and I really bumbled our way through this case, and I can't say for certain how much of a difference we made by being involved.

Maybe we didn't make any difference at all. Maybe all we accomplished was not fucking things up too spectacularly, and… this. The rest of it. Whatever it is.

The first thing I do once my phone has enough of a charge to flicker back to life is send Cas a text. I immediately get back a reply that he's alright, and that discussions are taking longer than he expected.

It's enough.

As long as he's safe, I can be patient.

The second thing I do is swallow a lump of guilt when I see all the missed calls and messages from Cleo.

Apparently news of what happened last night has already reached Seattle. I dial her number, and she answers on the second ring.

"Lia," she says, breathless. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I was just—"

"I've been trying to call you for hours."

"Sorry," I say, wincing a little when I remember the time difference and realize she's probably been up all night. "Things were a little hectic."

"I bet they were."

I give Cleo a brief rundown of everything we saw and heard, putting my phone on speaker and pulling up a browser to look at today's headlines.

Right there, at the top of the search results, is a scathing takedown of Haverstad, with all the details about what happened last night and a promise of more reporting to come in the following days.

Audra's name is proudly on the byline and, with another memory surfacing, I fire off a text to her about the flash drive. She responds in seconds, saying she'll send a reporter she trusts to pick it up, since she's currently knee deep in the chaos she unleashed when her story hit the news cycle.

"Lia," Cleo interrupts my multitasking. "How are you doing?"

"I'm great," I answer automatically. "With everything Audra's going to be reporting in the next couple of weeks, Haverstad's cooked. And we've already agreed the Bureau's going to be kept out of it, so—"

"Lia," she says again. "That's not what I mean. I mean, how are you, really?"

I pause for a moment, shifting out of the mindset of a PI giving a rundown of the case to her client, back to just Ophelia, talking to my sister.

"I'm alright."

It's Cleo's turn to pause. The silence on the other end of the line stretches for a few seconds as she decides whether she's going to believe me.

"I'm sorry for putting you in the middle of this," she says finally. "I heard that there was a gun involved last night, that it could have escalated into more violence, and—"

"It's fine." The familiar instinct to deny, to downplay, is a hell of a thing, even when a renewed surge of fear and dread twists my gut at the reminder of just how much worse things could have gone.

"It's not," Cleo insists. "You always do this."

"Do what?"

"You know exactly what."

Even from the other side of the country, I can hear the eye roll in her voice, and imagine the look of older-sister disapproval that's probably clear as day on her face.

"Yeah, well. I kind of have to."

The words slip out before I can stop them and prompt another weighted silence from Cleo.

"What do you mean?"

Are we really doing this right now? As much as I know I owe my sister some answers and some honesty, I also know my brain is still half-scrambled from everything that went down in the graveyard and a night of terrible sleep.

"Lia. What do you mean?"

Alright. Fuck it. We're doing this.

"You know what I mean. The way it's always been, with me trying to keep up."

"Keep up with who?"

"With you. With dad. With all the paranormals we grew up around. It's a little hard to be a human in that kind of company and not feel like you have to keep up."

"Did I make you feel like that?" she asks, voice heavy with guilt. "God, I didn't mean to. I never meant to make you feel… I only wanted to—"

"I know," I say quickly, trying and failing to rein in the hitch in my voice, the way it breaks on the end of the word. "It's just… it's just how it is. Facts are facts, and I'm not going to have… the same kind of life you and mom and dad have. So I've always tried to make the most of it."

"Lia," Cleo breathes. "Why have we never talked about this? Is this how you've always felt?"

"Yeah, I mean…"

I trail off, and another memory tugs at the edge of my mind.

Have you ever considered that you are extraordinary, in all your wonderful humanity?

It's followed quickly by others—the way Cas has always looked at me, the trust I've seen and felt from him as we've tackled this case together—but while they're more proof, they're not the whole story, not really.

Maybe the last few weeks have knocked a few things loose, or maybe the last seven years I've spent striving have finally caught up to me, but that sore spot doesn't feel so sore any more. When I try to reach for the same old sense of inadequacy, of needing to continuously be better, stronger, faster, it seems to be just out of reach.

I'm sure it's not gone forever.

There's always going to be some part of me that can't help testing limits, pressing buttons, seeing how far I can push, but maybe that doesn't have to apply to my family and the way I see my place within it.

But my mind's still too tangled to make sense of it all, and it's sure as hell going to take more than one conversation with my sister for all the dust to settle.

"Maybe it would be better if we talked about this in person," I say with a small, tired laugh. "But I'm okay, Cleo. Really. I love you, and mom, and dad, and nothing is ever going to change that."

"Alright," Cleo says, though she still doesn't sound entirely convinced. "And I'm sorry, Ophelia. If I had anything to do with making you feel that way, I'm sorry."

"Let's talk more when I get back to Seattle?"

"Sure, we can do that. And when is that going to be?"

There's another, unspoken question in her words, one no doubt inspired by the last time we talked, when she saw Cas's mark on my throat. As a properly annoying big sister, I know she probably didn't believe my half-assed explanation for it. But now, like then, she doesn't press me on it.

"I'm not sure yet."

With a few last goodbyes and promises to talk soon, we hang up, and I sprawl back onto Casimir's bed.

I close my eyes and let my racing thoughts unravel. If I were lucky, I might have dozed back off, but all I manage to do is spend the next hour tying myself in knots and straining my ears for a car door in the driveway, footsteps on the stairs.

But it stays painfully silent, and when it's clear I've got no hope of falling back to sleep, I crawl out of bed.

Wandering out of the bedroom and down to the first floor. I debate stopping in the kitchen before deciding my stomach is way too unsettled with worry to want to put anything in it.

Instead, I find myself out in the driveway, opening the side door of my van.

Depending on how the conversation with Cas goes when he gets back, I suppose I might have to get used to staying here again soon.

It wouldn't be cowardice this time, leaving Boston. It would be me protecting myself and my tender, fragile, extraordinarily human heart.

Because no matter how scrambled my brain might be this morning, one thing is all too clear.

I want more with Cas.

Whether more means staying here in Boston and deciding to be exclusive, or maybe even entertaining the idea of a bloodbond one day, I don't know. But I do know that if he's not interested in anything more, I can't stay.

I won't beg him for it, and I'll respect any decision he makes, but the thought of being here in this city and not being his is intolerable.

I love him too much for that.

The realization nearly knocks the wind out of me.

But there's nothing I can do about it until I talk to him, and with no idea when that will be, I climb up into the van.

Stepping inside, something immediately feels… off.

Like I'm a damn hermit crab who's outgrown my shell, the whole space feels small. Too small. The walls are too close and the sight of the tiny kitchenette brings a hot, unexpected prickle of tears to the backs of my eyes.

It will be fine, moving back in here. I can do it if I have to. It will be an adjustment, sure, but there's no reason I should be having such a viscerally negative reaction to the idea of packing up and driving off and leaving Boston behind.

It will be fine.

I will be fine.

If only I could make myself believe that.

I step to the bed and sit down, doubling over my knees and resting my head in my hands. I take a few deep, steadying breaths, at least until the sound of footsteps from outside snaps me back to the present.

"Ophelia?" Cas leans into the van, brow furrowed in concern.

His expression lightens when he sees me, only for those furrows to immediately reappear as he takes in the way I'm sitting and what I'm sure must be a pained, hopeless look on my face.

The sight of him almost knocks the wind out of me again.

Here, whole, so devastatingly handsome as he looks me over in concern.

"Hey," I say weakly, trying to offer a smile as my heart slams into my ribs. "How did everything go with the covens?"

He shakes his head slowly. "We can talk about that later."

I sit up a little straighter, ignoring the way my whole body aches to stand and wrap my arms around him when he steps the rest of the way into the van.

Did I think it was small before?

With Cas in here, too, there's barely any room left. The shell that's held my life for so many years suddenly seems comically tiny, much too small to hold everything it is now, everything it might become.

"I can make this work."

"What?" I ask.

"The van," Cas says, like it's obvious. "If you're in here because you're packing up to leave, I can make it work, living here with you."

My heart stutters, then kicks back up in deep aching beats that make my throat constrict and my stomach flutter like I've swallowed sunshine.

"And you think I'd just let you move in?" The words come out shaky, edged with equal parts tears and laughter.

"Well," he says thoughtfully, examining the small set of cupboards above the kitchenette. "You went right ahead and moved into mine, so I suppose it would only be fair of me to return the favor."

"Cas," I say hoarsely.

"Or I can purchase one for myself and follow you from place to place, if you'd rather have a space to call your own."

This time, all I can do is shake my head and give him a wobbly smile.

"Or…" he says, trailing off as he takes a half-step closer and curls a hand around my jaw.

I lean into the touch. "Or?"

"Or perhaps you're tired of running. Perhaps you'd like to rest here a while. With me."

Unable to help myself, I stand and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back, lips pressed to the top of my head as he murmurs into my hair.

"So how about it? Can I convince you to stay?"

"What would I be, if I did? What would we be?"

He leans back so he can meet my eye. "We would be together. Now. Always. We would be together."

So simple, when he says it like that.

"And I'm more than happy to wait," Cas continues.

"Wait for what?"

"For you to allow me to bond with you, sweet Ophelia."

My throat tightens with unshed tears. "That isn't… I'd never expect you to…"

"To live the rest of my centuries without you?" he asks with a tender, teasing edge to his words. "You'd be so cruel to damn me to that fate?"

The first of those tears escapes the corner of my eye, and Cas wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Only if it's something you want, my love. I don't blame you if it's not."

"Of course it is."

My lips are on his before I've registered I'm moving.

Sweet, so sweet, this kiss.

Slow and reverent, the two of us stepping forward into uncharted waters together. Now. Always.