Ophelia

by D. S. Ryelle

  The priestess and priest began their oration about the journey upon which Eduardo and Ophelia were about to embark, the last before they exchanged rings. Ophelia found her concentration waning after a few minutes, distracted by the play of sunlight on the nearby reflecting pool. Turning her head slightly, Ophelia thought she saw her father’s image in the rippling water.

  This is your last chance! Norman’s voice hissed inside her mind. Marry Westbrooke or suffer the consequences!

  Ophelia turned back toward the priest, clutching her bouquet as if to defend against her father’s specter and offered no response.

  Pasting on her brightest smile, she exchanged rings with Eduardo a moment later. Emmeline stepped forward with a red ribbon to begin the binding of hands, but the clouds sprang open with a sudden downpour. Paloma, Eduardo’s mother, let out a shriek when she failed to get under the overhang in a timely manner, causing her and the ivory ribbon she held to be drenched. Ophelia’s smile only increased. The priestess had gotten her under cover quickly and Emily was already binding Ophelia’s hand to Eduardo’s.

  I may be your daughter, Ophelia thought. But I am also the daughter of the Goddess. And the Goddess always wins.

  ~*~

  “The nightmares I knew about, but this is the first I’ve heard of your visions.” David’s voice grew stern. “I noticed you were distracted during the ceremony, Ophelia. You were lucky Aidán and your mother didn’t notice.”

  “Thank you for your sympathy,” Ophelia said sarcastically. “Now if you will excuse me, I would like to go consummate my handfasting.”

  She was nearly at the balcony door when her bodyguard lashed out at her.

  “Stop holding out on me!”

  Ophelia sighed and leaned on the rail that separated David’s balcony from her own.

  “The nightmares I spoke of when we first arrived in the States never went away.”

  Her bodyguard’s silence had grown icy, but he made no attempt to stop her.

  “They have been joined by visions of my athair. He is not always present, but he generally takes responsibility for them when next he appears.”

  “You’ve had nightmares and visions for two years and you haven’t told a doctor?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ophelia, you could have a tumor!”

  “Máthair and Aidán think it is merely stress.”

  “Not nearly two years’ worth!”

  “When am I supposed to be examined?” she demanded. “I have an empire to run and an atelier to reopen as soon as possible!”

  Ophelia barely noticed when David gave her a Look.

  “If you think that I am going to interrupt a lavish Thai honeymoon for an imaginary tumour that is clearly not metastatic, then you are bloody mad!”

  Seven

  Friday,

  May 14, 2004

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My honeymoon is over.” Ophelia indicated the expanse of the mansion. “And this is my home.”

  Harry smirked. “Where’s your husband?”

  “Eduardo flew back to Australia to ship the last of our things.”

  David bustled through the door then, causing Ophelia to nearly trip over her suitcases in an effort to get out of the way.

  “What is he doing here?” asked her bodyguard.

  “I have not been able to get a straight answer,” Ophelia replied, glaring at her brother.

  “I’m having a dinner party.”

  “In my house?”

  “Without your sister’s permission?” David added.

  “As president of Osborn Scientific, I can hold company events on any company-owned property.”

  “The mansion is private property!” her bodyguard pointed out.

  “Check the by-laws,” Harry said with a poisonous smile.

  ~*~

  “Mrs. Miraz! I didn’t know you were back.”

  “I’m still going by Ms Osborn. My honeymoon ended yesterday.”

  “I know I shouldn’t be in here, but it is very crowded in the parlor and Mr. Osborn said it’s going to be another twenty minutes until dinner.”

  Ophelia smiled as Dr. Welker plucked a stray crab cake from a nearby platter and popped it into his mouth.

  “That is not a problem—Mr Osborn did not receive permission to hold a dinner in my home.”

  Richard’s eyebrows flew toward his hairline. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t know.”

  “You are welcome to stay.” Ophelia gestured to the opposite end of the kitchen, where the chef was placing the rest of the garnish. “It is almost time.”

  The doctor beamed. “May I escort you into the dining room, Ms. Osborn?”

  She took his proffered arm. “I would be delighted to accompany you!”

  Despite her brother’s disdain, Ophelia was treated as if the party had been her idea all along. An additional chair appeared, but when it came time to be seated, Harry went for the head of the table. Dr. Welker and a few of the more outspoken gentlemen reminded him that, as chief executive officer and chief science officer, his sister was entitled to sit in the place of honor. Harry glared, but no one seemed to notice in the flurry to claim their seats. Grumbling, Harry was shunted to the foot of the table by the ominous appearance of Ophelia’s bodyguard.

  Ophelia quickly struck up a conversation, alternating between business with Dr. Welker on her left and wedding questions with the vice president of research and development on her right. She was about to take another bite of her Caesar salad when she saw the vice president raise her glass.

  “Do not drink that.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Monica Wells blinked as if she had been struck.

  “Do not drink that,” Ophelia repeated, nodding to Monica’s glass of champagne. She glanced at Dr. Welker.

  “Do not drink that. In fact…”

  Ophelia raised her voice: “No one touch the champagne!”

  “What’s going on?” Harry demanded.

  “I will deal with you in a moment. Mr Bernard?”

  “Yes, Ms. Ophelia?”

  “Call emergency services—we will need the Gardaí and the ambulance immediately.” The young woman rose and moved closer to her bodyguard.

  “If you have not consumed champagne this evening, please go home at once. The rest of you, stay here—the paramedics will need to examine you.”

  Ophelia felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to discover Andrew Whitaker standing next to David. She’d suspected that he’d been tailing her while in Phuket—apparently, he was still on assignment.

  “Do you need me to do anything, Ms. Osborn?”

  “Come with me. I am going to speak with Harry. David, will you keep an eye on the guests?”

  He nodded as Andrew took Ophelia by the hand and led her to her brother. She tried to focus on the other end of the room, but it was hard not to notice that some of the remaining guests were beginning to slump in their chairs.

  “Are you on narcotics again?” she asked her brother in a low voice.

  “No!”

  “His eyes are red,” Andrew pointed out.

  “Harold, if you do not tell me the truth, the gardaí will pull it out of you!”

  “Do you want to lose your company?” he asked.

  “I am in no danger of that.”

  “If you call the paramedics, you will.”

  A light went on in Ophelia’s eyes. “There are other ways to eliminate the competition. I hear…what is it the Americans call it? Mudslinging? I hear that is very effective.”

  “Did you see some of the people that walked out of here tonight? They were disappointed that they couldn’t get a piece of the family fortune! They’re on the streets right now, besmirching the name of House Osborn because of your charade!”

  A moan escaped one of the guests, then, and Ophelia turned to examine the woman. After a moment, she took the pulse of another guest and started cursing her brother in vivid Spanish.

  “What are you doing?!”
/>
  “I do not need a diagnostics class to know that this woman has about ten minutes to live!” Ophelia barked.

  Before she could elaborate, David hurried up to her.

  “The ambulance is here.”

  “What about the gardaí?”

  Ophelia looked at him, and then at Andrew, but both shrugged.

  “Westbrooke, stay with my brother. Whitaker, keep an eye on everyone and perform first aid if necessary,” she ordered. “I will go out and direct the ambulance. Perhaps I can find a garda on the street.”

  When she was halfway across the room, a pair of paramedics burst through the doors. Ophelia motioned to the guest nearest her bodyguards and picked up her pace a bit. She was gone for barely five minutes, however, when David and Andrew heard her in the hall, jabbering away in Spanish. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, the bodyguards would have laughed as Ophelia returned, dragging a rather bewildered police officer of Puerto Rican descent. She was too far across the room to allow David to interpret for Andrew, but by the way Ophelia was gesturing, there was little need. After a moment, the officer jogged across the room and Ophelia resumed her rant against her brother.

  “You are the one who has brought shame on the House of Osborn, Harold Ambrose!” she screamed in English. “If you ever set foot in this house again, it will be too soon!”

  Eight

  June 2004

  “I’ve been attending a lot of meetings lately.”

  Ophelia frowned as she stepped behind the screen that separated her closet from the rest of the room. “I do not give you free time that often.”

  “I leave more than you think,” David replied. “Enough to have met with Andrew Whitaker on a regular basis.”

  “That friend from your Marine unit?”

  She saw his shadow nod.

  “He thinks we should increase security.”

  “Why?”

  “Andrew believes that since you sent Harry to jail, you’ll be his first target upon release.” He hesitated. “Your brother went home this morning.”

  Ophelia nearly dropped her earrings. “It has scarcely been three days!”

  “According to the news, his attorney got him off on a technicality.”

  “It must have been quite the technicality—he was charged with attempted murder!”

  “I haven’t paid attention to the details.”

  “How many more guards does Mr Whitaker think I need?”

  “One. Possibly two. He mentioned hiring a woman to stand watch when you go to the restroom and another who would sleep on a trundle in your bedroom, but I told him I didn’t think you would approve.”

  Ophelia shoved the screen aside.

  “That is too much. If Harry wants to attack me in the water closet, then so be it! I am not giving up the privacy of my bedroom when the protection of my husband is sufficient.”

  “Andrew suggested the second guard when he realized that Eduardo could leave in a fit of jealousy at any moment.”

  Ophelia didn’t feel inclined to point out that Eduardo hadn’t had one of his outbursts since before the handfasting. She was even less inclined to mention that he had resumed counseling after their honeymoon.

  “Even if Eduardo keeps his temper, what will you do when he visits his family?” David continued. “Surely you’ve considered the fact that there will be occasions when you are too busy to go with him? Or that there will come a time when you will be pregnant with the next heir to the Osborn Empire?”

  ~*~

  “Doctor Otto Octavius, page thirty-five.” Ophelia slid the scholarly journal toward her brother. “An investment that will certainly benefit our company in the future.”

  Harry didn’t open it.

  “The article is about fusion-based energy—its benefits as opposed to coal, how it burns more cleanly than fossil fuels. It is also easily renewable.

  “Dr Octavius made only the barest of references to his own work, but the article was written by someone with experience in the field of fusion—I assume from his own experiments.”

  “Spare me the lecture on why Octavius is a good investment and get to the point of dragging me in here.”

  “As president, it is your job to contact Dr Octavius and help me determine if this venture is worthwhile.”

  Her brother started to complain, but Ophelia held up her hand.

  “You are still friends with Peter Parker, correct?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he got it into his head that he should move out because he couldn’t pay a fair share of the rent.”

  “Be that as it may, Mr Parker still cares for you as a friend, correct? He would do you a favour, if you asked?”

  “I guess.”

  “Invite him to accompany you and Dr Octavius to dinner. If his mind has the scientific capacity Athair always admired, Parker will be impressed by Octavius…and will be there to bail you out when the doctor becomes overly enthusiastic in discussing his work.”

  “Why can’t you persuade Octavius yourself?”

  “It is time for the departmental reviews and I need to meet with each supervisor individually,” Ophelia replied. “Furthermore, I am scheduled to meet with the accountants so that I can establish what kind of offer we can make Octavius.”

  She leaned across the desk. “If the idea of meeting with the doctor makes you that nervous, let Parker do all the talking. But make no decisions without my consent!”

  ~*~

  Several weeks passed before Eduardo found himself bounding up the stairs to the master bedroom, his most recent photo shoot interrupted. A maid lurked outside the oak doors in a surgical mask, looking unusually apprehensive. Eduardo approached the door on the right, but the woman inserted herself into his path.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Miraz,” she said in heavily accented English. “Mr. Westbrooke and Mr. Whitaker gave me explicit instructions—no one is to enter the room without their accompaniment.”

  “Mr. Westbrooke called me and told me to come pronto!” Eduardo snapped. “I left a shoot for this!”

  The maid shook her head, but Eduardo shoved her aside and barged into the room.

  The curtains were pulled and the lights were off. He couldn’t be sure in the gloom, but Eduardo thought that it appeared that the drapes had been drawn on the four-poster bed. Unsure of what to expect, he crept closer.

  “¿Cariño?”

  Eduardo swept one of the curtains aside to find a blindfolded form huddled in his bed, its features obscured by a mask. He frowned at the thought of having to lecture the servants about being overprotective.

  “Ophelia?”

  He lifted the blindfold and tenderly pulled the mask down around her chin.

  “Corazón, what’s wrong?”

  “Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered, but did not open.

  “David called me and said there was an emergency.”

  “I do not remember what happened,” Ophelia said in a flat voice. “Dr Octavius had that exhibition today…Harry could not go…I went. Fire…explosion…I think Rosalie Octavius is dead. Maybe others.”

  Eduardo tried not to let the shock register upon his face, but his wife had yet to open her eyes.

  “I’ll go find Whitaker or Westbrooke. There might be something on the news.”

  Ophelia didn’t respond and he allowed the curtain to fall back into place. David had replaced the maid by the time Eduardo returned to the corridor.

  “How is she?”

  “Barely conscious,” the younger man replied. “She was cognizant enough to answer me, but has no idea what happened.”

  David nodded. “I’m going check on her and then I’ll come back and get you squared away.”

  The bodyguard disappeared into the chamber and Eduardo gave in to the urge to pace. At least six weeks had passed since he had moved into the mansion and he had begun to wonder about the wisdom of marrying Ophelia shortly after.

  It wasn’t that he questioned her fidelity any longer—many months of counseling had shown him
where he went wrong—but more than he questioned the changes in her life. When he met her, Ophelia had been a carefree woman who designed clothes and relished the time they spent practicing the Old Ways in the Temple they had founded together. Since her father’s death, however, Ophelia seemed to have a higher stress level and no desire to start another Temple—or at least find another coven. Worse than her increasingly overprotective bodyguards was the uptick in nightmares. There had been a few times where he had even snuck out to sleep in Harry’s old suite, but they never discussed it in the morning.

  The click of the door announced David’s return.

  “She’s sleeping peacefully.”

  “Ophelia’s accessories were clearly Whitaker’s idea. I gave him the responsibility of escorting her back here and putting her to bed while I addressed the appropriate people at Osborn Scientific.”

  “She doesn’t appear to be hurt. Why was she sedated?”

  “I suspect that was Andrew’s doing, as well.” David shook his head. “The short version is that Dr. Octavius’s fusion generator backfired horribly, to the point of destroying his laboratory and killing his wife. Several went to the hospital, including the doctor. From what I understand, the needles that connected the actuator harness to his central nervous system fused with his spine. There was an inhibitor chip for his brain, but I suspect that that was broken in the explosion.”

  Eduardo looked bemused.

  “Octavius has…octopus arms, for lack of a better term. The actuators help him control the fusion reaction and the needles eliminate the need for a control box. The chip ensured that he controlled the actuators and not the other way around.”

  The younger man cringed. “Ophelia won’t be thrilled at the loss of a profit-bearing investment.”