“Have a kid sister to control”—she sank her left hand down a quarter of an inch—“or have the entire world to control.” Her right hand thudded downward, and Ophelia cocked her head, looking genuinely sad. “Sorry, sis, looks like you lose.”
Ophelia lunged for me and I skidded out of the way, winding my way back to the storage-room door. I heard the slap-slap-slap of Ophelia’s bare feet on the concrete; I heard them gaining on me. I crouched, snatched my .22 out of my bag, and then used my bag to wallop Ophelia on the side of the head. The bars of soap made a satisfying thunk as they made contact with Ophelia’s pretty blond curls.
“Ow!” she howled, looking stunned. “What the hell do you have in there?”
I took the opportunity to lunge closer, arm outstretched, gun aloft, finger firmly on the trigger. I tried to focus, but the barrel trembled, and so did Ophelia’s shoulders.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and I felt a bead of sweat make its way down my back.
Ophelia couldn’t hold my gaze—because she was laughing so hard.
“Really, Sophie?”
I swallowed, my throat constricting. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d vomit, so I just nodded, hoping the movement looked cool and certain.
Ophelia laughed harder and skipped toward me. She flicked my hand, then pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun.
“Go ahead.”
“I will,” I said with every ounce of confidence I could muster.
“I’m waiting.” Ophelia’s ice-blue eyes locked on me and her lips turned up into a mocking smile. “You wouldn’t. I’m your sister—the only family you have left. And you’re a complete wimp.” She stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
A pinprick of pain started behind my eyes and began pulsing, coursing through every fiber of my being. The room dropped into stony silence. A drop of sweat fell from my hands in achingly slow motion and then the world cracked. Loudly. There was a spit of fire and I was vaulting backward.
“You bitch!” Ophelia was a hairbreadth away and she smacked the gun from my hand. “You shot me!”
I didn’t notice any blood on Ophelia so I hurriedly glanced at the ceiling and floor (my two usual targets). Nothing.
Ophelia grinned at my confusion. “Not corporeal,” she said, thumping her chest. “There is nothing inside here!”
I’ll say.
I took off running toward the waiting room with Ophelia close behind.
“Come on, Sophie,” Ophelia yelled. “Don’t you want to be a part of something bigger? Don’t you want to be something greater than yourself?”
I stopped and held my ground. “Like a Vessel?” I said, my own voice a fearsome snarl.
Ophelia giggled—a sweet, completely inappropriate giggle. “Oh, you know about that.”
I snatched a metal ruler out of Pierre’s I Heart Tuscaloosa penholder mug in the waiting room and brandished it like a sword. “And I know about our father.”
Ophelia paused, her eyes wide. She pulled herself up on a desk and sat down, crossing her long bare legs. “What do you know about Daddy?”
Hearing her say the word daddy tugged at my heart. Ophelia cocked her head and stuck out her lower lip. “What’s the matter, Sophie-pie? Feeling a little abandoned since Daddy left you and Mommy couldn’t stand you?”
I felt that snarl of anger roil through me again.
“Shut up, Ophelia.”
Ophelia bobbed her foot playfully. “Don’t worry; it probably wasn’t you at all. I mean, Daddy did have me at home and your mom, well”—Ophelia looked at me, her eyes sharp and icicle blue—“he always said she was a regular nutcase.”
“That’s not true!”
“Oh come on, Sophie! How many people who are square in the head go out and kill themselves?”
I bit my cheek hard, feeling the bitter taste of my blood.
Ophelia jumped off the desk and landed, sure-footed, on the ground. “Okay, enough with the family reunion crap. I’m impatient. I’m ready to rule.” She snapped her fingers. “Come here, chop, chop!” Ophelia giggled at her own horrible pun. “Or shoot, shoot.” She dug into her prissy straw purse and pulled out a gun. I gulped, the sudden thunderous beat of my heart—corporeal as I was—nearly choking me.
“Um, will that really work to release the Vessel?”
Ophelia looked at the gun in her hand and frowned. “Yeah, why?” She acted confident, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was unsure. I sucked in a breath and stood a little taller.
“You have to know that something with”—my eyes flicked over the barrel of the .357 Magnum she held—“that kind of firepower runs the risk of shattering the Vessel.”
Ophelia faltered for a split second, the barrel of the gun dropping a fraction of an inch. “You don’t know that.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But, being the Vessel, I think I pretty much know how this works.”