Page 26 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Seventeen

CORDELIA

“Beg your pardon?” I rasp in Duke’s deep voice, blinking like I don’t understand simple English. In all fairness, I’ve been hanging on by a thread since last night’s hallucination at The Flame. To make matters worse, I woke up this morning alone on the couch in Granny’s sitting room.

I really need to do something productive toward solving my biggest life problem today, because I’m genuinely terrified of why I allowed myself to sleep on that couch all night with a blanket.

Duke was the blanket.

“You heard me,” Betty Lou Greaves says as she continues rocking on her front porch. “I said skedaddle. Git. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

I glance down to make sure I’m still in Duke’s body. I see a flannel shirt, perfectly proportioned pecs, and a flat stomach that leads to a worn leather belt and his ubiquitous jeans.

This is the first morning since I got dumped into his body that I’m not plagued by an insatiable erection.

I squint at Betty Lou, trying to figure out why she’s treating the man who was so beloved at The Flame last night like a leper. “Are you…sure?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Do everyone a favor, Duke, and go back to your garage. Stay there. The world could use one less cruel punk prowling the streets.”

I choke on a laugh.

While most of the townsfolk of Utopia ignored me, Betty Lou was one of Granny’s best friends.

She wasn’t necessarily a second grandmother to me, but she didn’t treat me like garbage either.

She was the one who’d found me stuck in brambles in the woods the night that Duke stood me up after inviting me to the Sweetheart’s Dance.

A slow smile spreads across Duke’s face. “You don’t like me much, do you, Ms. Greaves?”

“What’s to like?” She sniffs. “I know an entitled, no-good man-child when I see one.”

I bite Duke’s lip to keep my laughter contained.

When I’m sure I can speak without offending the silver-haired matron further, I test a theory, since Duke isn’t here to stop me.

“What if I told you that I’m here on behalf of Cordelia?

That she’s searching for some old books, and that you were at the top of her list of people who might have them? ”

There’s a flash of something unidentifiable in her cataract-clouded eyes before she drags a scathing glare from the tips of Duke’s boots to the top of his thick, black hair.

“I’d say you’re lying. And I’d tell you to stay away from that poor, grieving girl.

Find another plaything for your cock and leave Delia alone. ”

There’s not a chance to hold back the burst of laughter that burns up Duke’s chest. I let it loose and tip an imaginary hat toward her in sincere gratitude. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. Have a lovely day.”

This visit might not have given me anything that could help my situation, but I’m glad I started with Betty Lou this morning. I really needed that shot of reality in my unreal existence.

Duke Castellaw hasn’t turned over a new leaf. He’s not my friend. Definitely not someone who I should let hold me when I’m having a mental breakdown, no matter how justifiable .

I turn onto Carnahan Street and head for the next potential informant. I’m going to get us out of this. Come hell or high water, Duke and I are going to get back into our right bodies before we completely lose our minds.

Actually, I don’t care if he loses his mind, but I sincerely need mine. I have a mentally taxing job to get back to.

As expected at the height of summer, old Miss Seraphina Fraser is rocking on her front porch, watching children shriek in the street as they chase after a ball.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I say as I climb the front steps that are bracketed by large, pink hydrangea bushes.

“Duke.” She ducks her chin in greeting but doesn’t glance my way.

“Feels like it’s going to be another hot one.” If Granny taught me anything, it’s that you can’t jump into a conversation without exhausting all the polite pleasantries first.

“Hmm. It’s not the heat. It’s the humidity.” She turns a weathered eye to the sky, where the sun shines brightly. “Feels like a storm’s brewing.”

Not today it’s not, but even Duke’s aware of the forecast. He already warned me what bad weather does to his knee. Not that I care why. I haven’t caught myself wondering what happened to him to result in lifelong pain. I really haven’t. Much.

“Supposed to storm in a few days,” I agree.

She nods again but says nothing else.

I guess that’s my cue to get this show on the road. “I was wondering if you knew any history about the wishing well in town.”

“No.” That single word is sharper than the edge of a butcher’s knife.

Okay. I try again, “Well, do you happen to know any history about Utopia? Maybe some old stories about the founders or anything like that?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” she mutters. “Get on outta here, young’un. I don’t have time to waste with entertaining your morbid curiosity.”

That’s weird. I’ve seen plenty of times when plenty of townsfolk were more than willing to entertain any of the Castellaw boys. Just last night, half the town worshipped this man.

Maybe I rushed to the main event without paying the proper respect. It’s not like Miss Sera is looking for a drinking buddy or a hookup. “Mind if I stay a spell? I sure could use a break from…the things I do all day.”

I wince. I don’t know enough about auto mechanics to even remotely sound knowledgeable about Duke’s daily grind.

Miss Sera finally drags her gaze to me with heavy suspicion pulling down her brows. “Why aren’t you at your shop?”

“Uh…” Shit. It’s a Thursday morning. Is there any possible reason Duke wouldn’t be at his business? “I don’t have any customers today.”

She rolls her eyes, returning her attention to the kickball game. “You’re either a shrewder businessman than I took you for, or you’re flat broke. I can’t remember the last time I saw a car in your garage.”

In my head, I draw a mental map between Miss Fraser’s house over to the other side of town where Duke’s shop is.

True, I was only there once, on a very stressful day in my life, but I distinctly remember also passing the post office and fire department.

There’s no way that I’m underestimating the distance separating this location from that one.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to interrogate her about why she’s keeping such close tabs on Duke, but I push that disturbingly protective instinct away. Gossip is just part and parcel of life around here. The whole town knows each other’s business, thanks to a veritable switchboard of eyes and ears.

“Everyone has their place, Duke,” she says. “Be a good man and get on back to yours, now.”

There’s an almost threatening undercurrent to her command that takes me aback.

I study her more carefully. Her shoulders are bent under the weight of time, papery thin skin that looks as wrinkled as it does soft, gnarled fingers clutching onto her rocker like a lifeline.

And a trinket in her lap that bears a striking resemblance to one I found in Granny’s belongings.

Like the ones in cardboard boxes in the sitting room at the homestead, this dull metal seems so worn down that the original form and use is indecipherable.

It could’ve been a music box once upon a time.

It could be a statuette of some animal .

It has the same witchcraft symbol that’s been haunting my dreams.

The symbol appears to glow, and I stumble backward a few steps.

I can’t blame this hallucination on an unrepentant erection, or even too much whiskey.

“Is there a problem, Duke?” Miss Sera asks with a syrupy tone.

“N—no,” I stutter. “No problem, ma’am. Feeling a little faint from the heat. That’s all.”

Her answering smile can’t be labeled as anything other than smug. “Go on back to your shop. Stay there. Tonight, if you catch a wild hair, tie one on at The Flame. You’re young, and life is for the living.”

I hear an echo of those words in a different voice, in a far less menacing tone. One of Granny’s most used phrases haunts me in the light of day, delivered by a different woman.

I don’t know what to make of the sense of fear that prickles my skin, but I’m not about to ignore it either.

No matter how long I stare at her, she doesn’t turn into the terrifying creature that I imagined last night. Her all-too-human smile scares me a hell of a lot more.

Another thing Granny taught me? Never dismiss a gut instinct that refuses to fade.

“Thank you,” I say, because I feel compelled to. “Have a nice day.”

I force myself not to turn my back on her as I trip down her front stairs. It takes everything in me not to run.

“What the fuck was that?” I mutter to myself.

My gut insists my perception wasn’t wrong, but how can I trust anything right now? I’m in a different body. I’m slowly losing my mind.

I cut through town to lessen the distance to my next destination. As luck would have it, Nell Duncan hobbles out of the grocer with several bags in her arthritic hands.

“Why, Miss Nell.” I feign a smile as I approach. “Just the woman I was on my way to visit. Let me carry these bags for you.”

“Thank you kindly, Duke,” she sighs, eagerly offloading them to his outstretched hands.

Most people in town avoid Miss Nell. Partly because it’s odd a blind woman should be able to move about freely without so much as a walking stick, partly because they’re convinced that she can do that on account of being a seer.

Not a witch, like the rumors about Granny, but more like a fortune teller who keeps to herself on the outskirts of town.

For the truly desperate whose wishes don’t come true at the well, she’s the only other option for relief.

Rumor has it that she charges a steep price to seek her counsel.

Most poor Appalachians can’t afford her expensive expertise, even as they maintain her legitimacy.

I’ve never believed she’s anything but an eccentric, lonely old woman who does what she can to make a buck, but I’m sure hoping she can tell me a few things.

I shift all the bags to Duke’s more-than-capable left hand and offer his right arm to the bent woman who stubbornly refuses the use of a cane. Never mind that she’s ninety if a day.

Since I’ve already ingratiated myself, I expect this conversation to go much more smoothly. Still, I support her in silence until we near the town square, so my eagerness won’t seem too obvious. Bonus—we’re passing the object of my unfortunate circumstance.

I gesture with Duke’s chin toward the well, assuming she knows more than she sees on account of age and experience. “Have you ever made a wish, Miss Nell?”

She shakes her head. “Never.”

“You don’t believe all the rumors that it works?” I chuckle, but it sounds more like a groan.

“No. I know it works. That’s why I never,” she huffs as we continue our slow shuffle.

I can personally confirm that it works, and in ways we don’t necessarily want. That’s not a warning I ever heard from any of the townsfolk, until the morning that Wallace had told me to be careful what I wished for.

“You believe in hard work and perseverance over wishing?” I guess.

That’s an adage that Granny always drummed into my head, so it makes sense that one of her contemporaries would share the same view. The idea that hard work matters more than luck is as much a thread in the fabric of mountain life as mythical folklore .

She sighs so loud and so long that it’s a real concern she’s going to deflate against me. “Out with it. Are you fixing to make a wish?”

“I’m…considering it,” I hedge. I don’t want to seem too excited, but this is the most progress I’ve made toward getting some answers in over a week.

“What are you aiming to wish for?” she mutters, and it feels like she’s trying to drag Duke’s much larger body out of range. “More customers for your shop? The egg stains to magically disappear from your truck?”

I snicker at that. She’s left me with a perfect opening. “I was thinking I’d wish for Cordelia to get what’s coming to her. She’s the one who egged my truck, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she mutters. “It’s a shame the girl finally snapped. She was always the bigger person in your little feud.”

I plant my feet on the fucking gravel. Miss Nell stares up at me curiously.

“You mean…” It takes all my effort to remember that I have to keep acting like him instead of me. “You’re aware of all the things I’ve done to her over the years?”

Did she hear the rumors that I prefer sheep, despite her isolation from the rest of the town? Or that I earned tuition money for college by sleeping with the mafia? Was she jealous that I supposedly made bank, or was she happy that she didn’t have to give up her autonomy the way I did?

She pats Duke’s arm again. “Is the guilt of your lies finally catching up to you?”

“Yeah,” I croak.

His eyes sting with tears that I won’t allow to fall. I never thought I’d live to see the day when someone acknowledged what he’s done to me. She’s giving me a gift that I haven’t nearly paid for.

Maybe she really is an all-knowing seer. I brace for the price of validation.

“You want a free piece of advice from an old lady with one foot in the grave?” Her voice is deadly serious.

“Yes, of course,” I gush, my anxiety immediately soothed.

“First off, leave the well alone. Unless your very life is on the line, don’t waste wishes on meaningless desires. Even the purest magic demands a price. Secondly, let go of your guilt. That’s no way to live a long life.”

There’s a play on that phrase again. Life is for the living. She says it from the perspective of someone who’s ready to give up the ghost.

She’s also confirmed that my wish wasn’t as free as her advice.

“What kind of price?” I grind out. “How much will I have to pay? What if I change my mind?”

She clucks her tongue. “That’s why I’m telling you to stay away from the infernal thing. You can’t afford the price, and the well doesn’t offer a money-back guarantee.”

“Okay, but what if my life is on the line? Is a wish worth it then?” I press.

She fixes me with a glare. “Is your life really worth so much, Duke?”

His jaw falls to the ground. I have no words for this moment, when someone finally called Duke Castellaw out for the waste of space that he is.

She pries her grocery bags out of Duke’s clenched fingers. “Mark my words, boy. Stay away from that well. Go back to your mindless fucking. At least helping unfortunate women makes you worth something.”

She hobbles away like she didn’t just drop a dump truck of perspective shift on me.

What am I supposed to do with these revelations that don’t offer a clear path forward?