Rise of the Phoenix

by Jamie McLachlan

  “Mr. Edwards, it’s good to see you again.”

  I twist around, and my heart sinks to my stomach. Keenan’s gaze shifts away from my face to settle on Devin’s.

  He reins in his emotions and greets Devin with a polite tilt to his mouth. “Devin? If I remember correctly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He holds out his hand, surprising the people around us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Devin.”

  Devin shakes his hand, his mouth curving upwards in a curious mixture of gratitude and confusion. I turn around, my cheeks flushed with anger. So the detective will acknowledge everyone but me. The inferno inside me flares to life until someone grabs my arm and pulls me into a tight embrace.

  “Moira!” Christine’s voice chimes in my ear. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  She releases me, and I stumble backwards. Beside her, Rick greets me with a smile. My own lips turn upwards.

  “I promised you two I’d be here.” I gesture to Devin and add, “Christine and Rick, I’d like you two to meet my friend Devin.”

  Devin nods and smiles, though he keeps his hands by his sides. Rick leans forward and offers his hand.

  Devin takes Rick’s proffered hand. “Congratulations, you two.”

  Before we leave, Christine faces me. “You two must come over for tea sometime.”

  “Of course, I look forward to it.”

  Devin and I stroll across the grass, distancing ourselves from the rest of the guests. We stop beneath the shade of a large tree and wait for Constable Smith to appear. I utter a silent promise to myself to learn how to drive. My gaze wanders back up the church’s steps to where Keenan stands. Anger surges forward, carrying with it the agony I’ve been desperate to hide. I tear my eyes away and swivel around on my heel, turning my back on him. Devin leans against the tree and watches me with a familiar intensity.

  I narrow my eyes in warning. “Keep your mind to yourself, if you want to remain friends.”

  “Moira, I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I did.”

  “Alright, go on then.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I already know it’s my fault. I ruined everything.”

  His expression softens, and his gaze drifts to the front of the church. “He doesn’t hate you.”

  I scoff and open my mouth to speak.

  He holds up a hand. “Just listen. He’s upset, furious, actually. But he doesn’t hate you like you think he does.”

  “I’d prefer it if he did.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He pauses before continuing. “You should go talk to him.”

  My eyes widen, and my throat constricts. “Absolutely not.”

  “Love is about taking chances. You have to put yourself out there, Moira. You can’t close up every time things get tough. If you want something, you give it everything you have. Only then can you say you’ve truly tried.”

  I tighten my arms around my waist as my shoulders lift and slouch forward. My body yearns to crawl away from Devin’s words, to slink away into the shadows and hide. I’ve lived there most of my life. Survival, the only motive keeping me from dying. Everything was simple, either black or white. I had the only person I’d ever needed: myself. Everything else had been expendable. But I’m tired of surviving. I want to live and experience everything life has to offer. Maybe Devin is right. During the entire investigation, I never truly gave myself to Keenan. I always held a part of myself out of his reach.

  My head turns, drawn to the man descending the church’s steps. I force my arms down at my sides and, without a word to Devin, walk toward Keenan.

  A voice screams in my head. You fool! How much torture can one person take? Turn back. Don’t let him humiliate you in front of everyone. Protect yourself.

  My legs continue to move, despite the voice. I arrive at the steps as Keenan nears the bottom. His eyes land on me, and the force in his stare forces me to take a few steps back.

  He pauses and nods in greeting. “Moira.”

  “Hello, Mr. Edwards.” I mimic his civility. “It was a lovely ceremony, wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed. I don’t have much time, so if there’s something you wish to discuss…”

  His voice trails off, and his gaze flicks to the crowd behind us. A sharp prick stabs my chest at his obvious attempt to escape. I scramble for words, a reason—anything to explain my presence.

  Finally, my mind latches onto a topic. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but the Chief has offered me a place at the station.”

  “I’ve been informed.” His attention drifts back to my face. “Have you accepted?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to speak with you first, to make sure my presence at the station wouldn’t be an issue.”

  His brows furrow beneath the rim of his hat. “I don’t see why it would be an issue. If any of the constables has a problem, then they can address it with the Chief.”

  “I’m not worried about the constables. I was referring to us—me and you.”

  I cringe at my last words, but I can’t take them back. They fill the space between us, adding weight to the silence that follows. Each time I inhale, his scent tantalizes me with the past. My body yearns to close the distance, to step forward and fall into his arms—the arms that once pulled me into an embrace filled with love, acceptance, and desire.

  Unwittingly, my foot inches forward.

  He clenches his jaw and answers in a monotone voice. “That won’t be an issue, I can assure you.”

  I jolt to a stop, smacking into an invisible wall. He withdraws his hand into his pocket and pulls out a gold pocket watch. He stares down to read the time before slipping the watch back into his pocket.

  He lifts his gaze, but his eyes wander behind me. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

  I step back, placing distance between us. “No, that’s everything.”

  He nods and steps around me. “Good day, Moira.”

  “Goodbye, Keenan.”

  I turn around, only to realize my whisper had fallen on deaf ears. He walks away and fades into the lingering crowd. I close my eyes and gather all of my feelings for him, shoving them into the far corner of my mind. Behind my lids, my eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. They demand release, stinging with a ferocity I’ve never felt before. I squeeze and then open my eyes. The last remnants of my control shatter as my anguish unravels at my feet. I rush toward Devin, desperate to bolt.

  He pushes away from the tree, and his brows furrow with concern. “Moira, what happened?”

  “He doesn’t love me anymore.” I grip his sleeve and pull him toward Constable Smith. “I want to leave. Now.”

  “You must have misunderstood. I felt it when I shook his hand. He still cares for you deeply. He probably just needs time.”

  “Devin, you’re not listening. He made himself clear. He doesn’t want me anymore.”

  “But—”

  “That’s it! I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He falls silent and follows me. Constable Smith takes one look at me and rushes toward his vehicle. Without a word, I jump into the back seat beside Devin. The vehicle lurches forward as Constable Smith turns away from the curb and onto the street. As the church’s silhouette fades behind us, the tears I’d been holding back spill from my eyes. A burning sensation builds at the base of my throat, and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

  Devin pulls me into the comfort of his chest. “Shh, Moira. I’m here for you.”

  His whisper threatens to lull me into calm. And I know what he doesn’t say out loud.

  I’ll survive.

  Epilogue

  Braxton, Fortland

  Foxglove Park and Botanical Gardens

  July 16, 1903

  * * *

  The floral scents reminded him of everything he had lost. Most days, he preoccupied his time immersing in work or losing time at the bottom of a glass of liquor—his usual routine, one reinforced year after year. Yet, today, a compulsion to break the cycl
e had overcome him. He found himself wandering on his day off, pulled by an unseen force. His feet strolled past the cobblestone roads and paved sidewalks, over to the manicured lawns of Foxglove Park. The monochrome shades of the buildings gave way to an array of colours: vibrant green canopies with the sun’s rays filtering through the leaves, emerald grass neatly cut beneath his shoes, and a splattering of pastels blossoming around him. The delicate fragrance beckoned him, leading him toward the botanical gardens.

  A couple strolling through the grounds smiled in greeting.

  The man touched the tip of his hat. “Good day, Mr. Edwards.”

  “Good day.”

  As soon as the couple strode past him, Keenan relaxed his jaw. His smile vanished, giving way to a severe expression. He stared at the ground as he walked, his brows furrowed in thought. The pale blooms beside him drew his attention. He inhaled a deep breath and caught a familiar scent. His feet froze, rooting to the ground. He leaned down to smell the pink flower, only to get a whiff of the flower’s aroma, not the perfume he had inhaled a second ago.

  He straightened his spine and surveyed the garden. His throat constricted the moment he caught sight of her. She stood beyond the row of bushes, fanning herself with her hand. She rested one hand on her hip and used her other one to push her dark waves away from her face. His temperature rose, making the sweltering heat unbearable. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He removed his hat and swiped his brow with a cloth.

  When he glanced back up, she was gone. His heart pounded against his chest and pulsed in his ears. He swept his gaze across the gardens until he found her standing by a fountain. Remaining behind the cover of foliage, he crept closer. He hadn’t seen her in four weeks. Their last encounter flashed before him, and he tensed as the memory threatened to overtake him. For the past two weeks, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way she had looked at him at Jamieson’s wedding. Vulnerable and open.

  Unlike him.

  He hadn’t been able to reciprocate, because the pain inside had been too unbearable—still was. She had promised him she would never lie to him again. Her soft-spoken vow burned the wound in his chest, fuelled by the agony of her betrayal. How could he have forgiven her?

  How could he have let her go?

  Moira leaned forward and dipped her hand into the water. With her fingers moist, she dabbed the base of her neck. He had been a fool, thinking she’d be happy living under his roof as his property, believing they could have made a life together—her as a slave, and him as master. The titles meant nothing to him, but they mattered to her. A person like her was meant to be free. And someone like him could only hope she’d want to stay.

  An unfamiliar sting pricked the base of his throat. He blinked away the tension building in his eyes and cleared his throat. The sound drew her attention away from the fountain. She swivelled around, her expression tight with hostility. Her narrowed gaze swept across the gardens and settled on him. His collar tightened as embarrassment flooded his body.

  His tongue froze to the roof of his mouth, and his gaze flicked from her blue eye to her hazel one. During most of the investigation, he had failed to notice the difference. But there were times when he had felt as if he were staring at two different people caught inside one body. The duality within her had raised both his curiosity and suspicion. Who was she truly?

  In one eye, he saw the woman he had loved—still loved. In the other, he saw the woman who had unflinchingly persuaded two people to their deaths. He had lived his life by the rules, obeying and upholding the laws of his society. For weeks, he had ruminated over her actions, desperate to understand. But comprehension had continued to evade him, because he wasn’t her. He had never been a slave. He could only imagine, a weak substitute.

  Staring at her two different-coloured eyes, he now only experienced a sense of loss. The sight of her opened the chasm within him. Not even the laws that governed the world controlled the void expanding in his chest. Inside, pandemonium reigned, a state that caused his nerves to twitch with unease. An impulse to organize the chaos seized him, the same urge that had overwhelmed him the moment she had entered his life. But no matter how hard he tried to control her, to set her neatly into a box he understood, she always managed to fall back out.

  He had been powerless then, just as he was now. Despite the bruises marring his heart, he still loved her, still yearned to be close to her, to hold her in his arms and never let go.

  He licked his dry lips and approached her. “Good day, Moira.”

  “Good day, Mr. Edwards.”

  Her gaze shifted downward, settling somewhere around his collar. Tension wove in the air between them and hooked into his flesh. His muscles tightened, and his pulse drowned out the sound of the fountain.

  He scanned around them, searching for something to say. “It’s a beautiful day. Everyone seems to have had the same urge to stroll through the park.”

  “It would appear so. Is that why you’re here? I’ve been coming here for weeks, and I’ve never seen you here. Until today.”

  “My wife loved this place.”

  He inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, wondering what had possessed him to say such a thing. Celeste had adored Foxglove Park. They had often strolled through the grounds during their courting period, and he had proposed to her beneath one of the trees. But she hadn’t been on his mind when he’d decided to wander through the park.

  He steered the conversation away from Celeste. “I hear you’ve been working with Alyssa at the Legislature building, helping her negotiate new laws.”

  “I have.” She forced her hands down at her sides, yet her fingers twisted and pleated the fabric of her skirt. “I’ve also been helping Josephine at the Boarding House while I live there. The accommodation is temporary until I save enough money for my own place. Alyssa has offered to house me at her estate, but I refused. I’d rather live in the Pleasure House than the house Scott used to occupy.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. She only rambled when nervous. The tension winding his shoulders tight eased a little.

  She narrowed her eyes and scowled at his mouth. “Once we have enough money, Devin and I plan to find a place together.”

  His nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the emotion rising within him. He despised the sensation stirring deep in his chest. Jealousy, petty and offensive. But, worst of all, the hideous emotion plunged him into the maelstrom he desperately sought to avoid. He clawed his way out and reined in the revolting emotion.

  “Ah, I see.” He kept his expression composed. “And are you two together?”

  “As if that’s any of your concern. But, no, we’re not together. Devin and I have agreed to keep our friendship purely platonic.”

  The jealousy swirling inside him subsided.

  Her voice lowered. “And what about you? I hear you’re courting Annabelle.”

  “Miss Ashworth?” His brows pulled close together until realization dawned on him. “I suppose you heard that from Mrs. Garrett. That woman has been attempting to set me up ever since my wife died. But, I assure you, I haven’t been courting anyone.”

  She clutched her skirt and bobbed her head several times. “Well, I should be leaving. Devin is expecting me any minute.”

  She spun around and took a step away from him. And with the growing distance, the spark flickering inside him faded. The colours surrounding him dulled, paling in comparison to their original shade. Without her, his life was a shadow.

  “Moira, wait.”

  She halted. He took a step forward, lifted his hand, and lowered his arm back down. His muscles clamped up, unable to close the distance between them. His mouth dried, and words died on his tongue. Thoughts clamoured in his head as his mind and body struggled to react. He needed to say something before she left. But what could he say that would possibly convey how he felt?

  A slip in his distress allowed him to utter three words. “Read my mind.”

  “Pardon me?”


  She turned around, her movements slow. A foreign presence brushed his mind as her eyes searched his. He held out his hand in the space between them, an unspoken invitation. Her gaze darted to his palm, and hesitation flickered across her face. In his mind, he saw her refuse, turn, and walk away, departing from his life forever. He dared to hope, even if he didn’t deserve another chance.

  She lifted her hand and placed it into his.

  The touch elicited a flurry of memories to resurface. In one, she sat across from him, defiant as usual, with her eyes flashing a feral challenge. Intrigued, his acceptance had only led him into the unknown. And in another, his fingers pressed into her shoulders as he held her close yet at a distance. The scent of her hair still haunted him, stirring waves of yearning. Heat flooded his body as he recalled the way she had writhed beneath him and the feel of her silky-smooth skin against his.

  He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. His mind scrambled, wading through the creeping desire to recall what he wanted to show her. She infuriated him often, always prodding him and turning his world upside down. Every time he pushed her out, the need to have her close burned stronger. He loved their discussions, even if her beliefs sometimes frustrated him. He had never met someone so full of opinions.

  A strange sensation caressed his mind. He shuddered, his thoughts stilling. She was a storm, yet she calmed him in ways no one ever did. In that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to say.

  He looked into her eyes and whispered low. “I miss you.”

  Her hand slipped out of his, and she spun around. His shoulders slumped, and his arm dropped to his side. Even when he tried to pull her close, he always managed to push her away by demanding too much.

  She broke the silence, her voice rough and stern. “This is the last time you break my heart, Keenan. Remember that.”