Chapter 3: New Kids in Town

Ophelia got ready to leave for work, checking on Antoinette in the guest room sleeping soundly and letting out a soft giggle at the raucous snores emanating from the small woman. They’d been having sleepovers since they were five and she still wasn’t used to how loudly her friend snored. Shaking her head, she closed the door gently and headed out, hopping on her bike and pedaling into the night.

At first, she didn’t feel too paranoid on her ride. She got out onto the dirt road without so much as a tingle running down her spine. Still, she picked up the pace, the memory of that shadowy figure on the tree burned into her brain.

The fresh night air rushed past her and she glanced up at the sky again. The stars were out in full force, bright and beautiful. Their ethereal brilliance eased her mind and the reminder of just how small she was calmed her frantically beating heart. She turned onto the main road and soon found herself in front of the cafe.

She looked around, letting out a small derisive laugh at just how foolishly frightened she had been. Running her fingers through her hair she groaned, remembering why she usually tied it up before riding to work. Pushing the door to the cafe open, Ophelia locked it behind her - just in case - and quickly braided her hair to get it out of her face. She winced as she pulled through the tangled strands but soon enough it was over and she was ready to work.

Thankfully, her trip from the night before left her with just enough ingredients to make everything she needed for the day. And tomorrow was the beginning of her “weekend”, so the other baker, Elsie, would have to make a restocking trip of her own. Ophelia felt a pang of guilt about that but that was not quite enough to motivate her to go out to the walk-in. She felt silly but after the sighting earlier in the night she was even more wary than usual.

The rest of her shift was relatively uneventful. She was more conscientious with the caramel and thankfully enough didn’t burn herself again. Today, the opening barista was Njinga, the daughter of Angolan immigrants who owned a restaurant nearby. She was tall, beautiful, and intimidating - until you talked to her. She had rich umber skin and deep brown eyes that shined like stars in her head. She never said much but she was very kind and had a way of putting you at ease, though she had a bit of a mischievous streak. She was one of Ophelia’s favorite coworkers.

Ophelia was in the kitchen cleaning up when Njinga arrived, so she didn’t notice her entrance. The scheming barista crept through the shop and stood behind Ophelia, mostly obscured by the shadow of the refrigerator, and smiled widely. Humming to herself, Ophelia turned to sweep the floor, glancing up to see if Njinga had arrived only to be greeted by her brilliant and terrifying smile from the corner of the room.

Ophelia froze, her hand over her heart, and fell to the floor. Njinga’s smile immediately dropped from her face and she rushed over, soft melodic voice full of concern as she rambled out an apology. Ophelia could barely keep a straight face as Njinga panicked and scrambled for her phone, presumably to call an ambulance.

She let out a snort. “And so the prankster becomes the prankee, mwah ha ha ha.”

Njinga looked up at her, apparently astonished to see she was perfectly all right. She scowled and gave Ophelia a shove. “You sneaky little sh*t. I’ll get you back for that. Mark my words.”

Ophelia laughed. “Oh, by all means. Bring the heat, Njinga. I’ll just double it and send it right back your way.” She paused and became serious for a moment. “It is sweet how quick you were to try and help me though, thank you.”

Njinga rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, well it would’ve been my fault anyhow. And who else is here to do anything?”

Ophelia feigned offense. “You wound me. I thought it was just your deep unbridled love for me that made you so wrought with worry.”

The other woman stood up with a snort of laughter, though her cheeks darkened ever so slightly. She extended a hand to Ophelia and pulled her up from the ground with an astounding level of strength. She looked to be a fairly lithe woman but there was no mistaking her power.

Ophelia dusted herself off and held out her hand for Njinga to shake it. “Truce? What do you say we team up and spook the hell out of Javi next time he’s in?”

A nefarious grin spread across Njinga’s face and she nodded. “I like that plan a lot.” She then moved to the front of the cafe, prepping the machines and getting ready for the morning rush.

Soon enough it was time to open and Ophelia was nearly done in the kitchen. She finished up the last of the cleaning and hung up her apron, practically skipping to the front to clock out. As she did so she was interrupted by a small cough, clearly intended to get her attention.

She glanced up from the screen and had to stop herself from groaning. Standing there, in all his weasley glory, was none other than Pierre. She stared at him blankly, raising an eyebrow to wordlessly ask what the h*ll it was that he wanted.

He shuffled on his feet, his usual suave façade dropped in favor of the sniveling man she saw before her. She sighed, tilting her head in his direction and trying to mask her annoyance. “Out with it.”

Pierre scowled at her. “Well, there were some men who came into the bar last night. Said they’re documentarians or something. They’re here for the creature, you know, the Bloodsucker of Boulder?”

She rolled her eyes. “And what does that have to do with me?”

His eyes roamed the cafe, unable to meet hers. “Well, I know you don’t exactly like new people but they needed information and I thought ‘who knows more about those legends than Ophelia and Mato?’. So I told them I’d bring them here to meet you and, well,” he gestured weakly to two men standing outside the cafe, “they’re outside right now.”

Njinga glanced over at them, stifling a laugh as she watched Ophelia close her eyes and take a deep breath. The shorter woman stood like that for a moment before opening her eyes again and speaking, “I am not interested in conversing with those men. And I do not appreciate you telling strangers about me or my family.”

Angrily, she finished clocking out and stormed past Pierre out the door and to her bike, ignoring the men as they stood awkwardly in front of the shop. Pierre rushed out waving his arms in front of him. “Just give them a chance, all they want is a little information.”

Ophelia sent him a glare that could level a city. Pierre and, curiously enough, the bigger of the two men shrunk back from her gaze. “I have no information to give them. And neither does my father. So stay away from me and my family. It’s just a legend, nothing more, so go leech off some other town’s history.”

One of the so-called documentarians took a step forward, blocking Ophelia from her bike. She looked him up and down, taking in his impressive stature and noticing the focused look in his eyes. Her lip curled into a snarl. “You’re in front of my bike. Move. Please.”

The man shook his head. “Not yet.”

His companion, a shorter and skinnier fellow with glasses and a shady disposition cleared his throat from behind her. She rolled her eyes and turned to face him. “What do you want?”

The man smiled and Ophelia felt a shiver run down her spine. She took a step away from him, effectively backing into the bigger man, who nervously backed into her bike, apologizing profusely.

Her fear dissipated into confusion at this and she furrowed her brow, preparing to question the distinct change in demeanor when the skinny one spoke, “Miss. We’re just here to do some research. We want to shed light on some of the mythos of the Americana, so to speak. We don’t mean to offend.”

Every word out of the man’s mouth felt like it was laced with poison, like she was being lulled into a false sense of security so he could get close enough to rip her organs out of her body with his… She glanced down at the man’s hands… disgusting fingernails.

She shifted her position so that the knife she wore on her hip was visible. “I am not interested in discussing this with you any further. Everyone in this town knows the stories. If you are that determined, find someone else to talk to. Because I have nothing to say.”

The man noticed her movement and a flash of rage flitted across his face but he quickly masked it with another sickly sweet smile. “I completely understand. We will allow you to make your leave. But, if you change your mind, feel free to seek us out. I’m sure your friend Peter here,” he gestured toward Pierre, “will be able to help you find us.”

Ophelia scoffed. “That won’t happen. Enjoy your stay here. I hope we never cross paths again.” Turning to Pierre, she snarled, “And you, stay out of my f*cking business and stay away from my family. Do I make myself clear?”

He nodded quickly, his face bright red.

She let out a breath and turned back to her bike. The larger man was still blocking her path but he took one look at her face and scooted away apologetically. Ophelia hopped on her bike and sped down the street. She glanced behind her to find the men watching her depart. The feeling of their eyes on her was a thousand times worse than the sensation she had at night, so she decided to take a long route home to avoid them following her.

The memory of the skinnier man’s smile burned in her brain as she pedaled furiously away from the situation. The way every word dripped out of his mouth like molasses made her sure he was hiding something. Something bad. There weren’t many people who frightened Ophelia but that man certainly set her on edge. Stupid f*cking Pierre. Always running his mouth.

After riding out of her way and circling back she made it to the dirt road that spelled home. Here she slowed down and let her mind drift from those shifty men to her peaceful surroundings. She listened closely and caught the whistling tune of a mockingbird somewhere in the trees to her right. The sound put a smile on her face and she felt some of the tension melt from her body.

She continued on until she reached her cabin, noting the absence of Antoinette’s car in the driveway. She smiled, wondering passively if her scatterbrained friend had remembered to lock the door on her way out. Antoinette was notorious for leaving her apartment unlocked because it was just so ‘hard’ to remember her keys and she had already locked herself out more times than Ophelia could count.

She gave the door a tug, pleasantly surprised to find it locked tight. Unlocking the door, she plodded inside and collapsed on the couch with her arm over her eyes. She considered falling asleep there but knew she’d regret it. Plus, it was far too bright in the living room. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and willing her legs to take her to her bedroom. She peeked out from her heavy eyelids and saw the little makeshift bouquet sitting on her coffee table.

Groaning, she collapsed back on the couch, “Dammit! I need to figure out who left those. If it was Pierre I’m going to wring his f*cking neck. Little rat b*stard. I don’t want him knowing where I live.”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh she resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing to be done about the situation at the moment. There was no way she was going back to confront him now. Best to save it for another time.

She stood up and checked the locks on the doors and windows. Then she headed to her bathroom, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and opting to shower when she got up. Her mood brightened when she remembered her plans for the night. The first night of her weekend and she was going to spend it exactly how she wanted to. A bonfire with Antoinette and a few of her theater friends.

Ophelia wasn’t always comfortable with large groups but these were some of Antoinette’s bosom pals from the theater and they had interacted enough that the prospect of spending an evening with them was only mildly anxiety-inducing. And she did always enjoy a bonfire.

Hopefully, it would be another clear night, the stars were much more radiant out in the woods. She smiled at the thought and pulled her light-canceling curtains shut before climbing into bed. Within minutes she found herself drifting off to sleep, the smell of fresh flowers and the sound of wings flapping in her head.