Page 8 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Six

CORDELIA

An insistent tapping against my cheek annoys me into consciousness.

“Get up,” someone who sounds a hell of a lot like me hisses. “I can’t be seen fainting in the middle of town. Get up , Cordelia.”

That’s a really weird mental pep talk in the third person, but I snap my eyes open anyway.

My own face gazes down at me. I roll my head to the side in an attempt to orient myself in time and space.

It doesn’t help. The headspace that I’m currently occupying is propped on my knee.

I only know that because it’s barely covered in the same hot pink Bermuda shorts that I wore to The Flame yesterday.

I blink. Turn my gaze back to the face above me. Blink again.

I’m looking up at myself. I’m using my body as a human pillow in the middle of town next to the wishing well.

This is not at all what I imagined when I read about people having out-of-body experiences.

Those tend to be associated with near-death scenarios.

Many people report floating outside of their bodies, looking down on themselves as they leave the mortal coil.

Emergency rooms, car accidents, murder scenes—those are the usual suspects for this sort of situation.

I don’t feel dead. I don’t remember a horrific accident.

Still, my bones don’t feel right. My skin fits all wrong, like I fell apart and whoever put me back together did a terrible job.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” I mumble.

An ice bucket of awareness pours over my head. Because my words just came out in Duke Castellaw’s voice. My ears aren’t ringing anymore. There’s no rain to muffle and distort sound. I heard that clear as a bell.

“Don’t you dare,” my voice mutters as my face twists into a sneer. “You’re already making a scene. I don’t know what the hell you’ve done, Cordelia, but if you puke right now, I swear to God...”

“Duke?” I whisper as I continue to stare up at my own damn face.

I don’t know how I know it’s him, staring down at me through my eyes. I just do. Light is bright. Dark is scary. Ice is cold. Fire burns. I understand all these things without the memory of ever being taught.

“Get up,” my lips repeat.

Getting up is a hell of a lot harder than it sounds. I don’t have full control of the limbs that don’t feel the same as I’m used to. As I stagger to my feet, I glance way farther down than normal.

Oh, my lands.

I thought I woke up with the worst hangover of my life, but no amount of moonshine can explain the way I’m hallucinating right now. Did I eat some bad mushrooms last night with Neveah at the bar? I’ve never done drugs before.

I’m wearing men’s clothes—oil-stained, patched-within-an-inch of their life, honest-to-God jean overalls on top of a flannel shirt. It’s like every stereotype of Appalachian hillbilly threw up all over me.

I reach up to pat my jaw, almost expecting a long, white beard a la Uncle Jesse from The Dukes of Hazzard.

My stomach roils as I feel scruffy facial hair beneath my fingertips. I’m not old enough to be growing a lady beard!

A firm grip around my wrist keeps me from plummeting over the edge of my building panic. I sway on feet that look three times as big as what I’m used to .

“For the love of God, don’t pass out again,” my voice grinds out. Still ninety eight percent sure that it’s Duke speaking, even though it doesn’t sound like him.

“Duke?” I whisper. Gag a little. Whimper. “Duke, is that you in there?”

In my body.

“No. It’s your fucking fairy godmother,” he hisses, plastering a fake smile on my face for the rest of the town to see.

“Of course, it’s me. Because of fucking course, it had to be.

” He mutters this last part before saying more clearly, “Let’s go.

One foot in front of the other. We’re going to walk to my shop and figure out what the hell you’ve done. ”

What I’ve done? How is this my fault? I wished this asshole out of existence! I didn’t pray to the unholy gods of the underworld for some nightmarish body-swapping scenario. For all I know, this is some dark sorcery on his part.

“Did you make an actual deal with the Devil this time?” I croak. “Neveah told me that you were gunning for revenge about your truck. Maybe the better question is what the hell have you done?”

“Not this. Never this,” he swears, with a laugh that sounds like me but also makes me shiver with the deep animosity in the tone. Might be hysteria, actually. “Now shut your mouth and at least try to look like we’re not about to murder each other in broad daylight.”

Sadly, I can’t argue with that suggestion. We’re drawing way too much attention.

I’m acutely aware of half the town watching my and Duke’s bodies walking together, seemingly voluntarily.

The townsfolk of Utopia wear eerily matching expressions of suspicion.

They’re more perceptive than I ever realized.

Despite Neveah admitting to full investment in the Duke/Delia feud, I thought I lived far enough below everyone’s radar for them to be unaware of the worst person in my life.

It’s not like any of them ever defended me from Duke.

He's a prince of Utopia. I’m a nobody.

We reach the end of the main square quickly enough. Small blessing in a small town .

I force myself to focus on my environment, so I won’t absolutely lose my shit.

It’s a crying shame that I couldn’t bear to stay here.

Utopia really is beautiful. The Appalachian Mountains frame the town on all sides, covered in thick, lush shades of green.

No jeweled crown in history can rival the rainbow of golds, rubies, and emeralds of the forest during autumn.

Today, the tallest trees play hide and seek in a blanket of fog that looks almost magical.

Sunlight sparkles against the humid morning mist and the still soaked ground.

That’s just the natural beauty, but the town of Utopia is admittedly a gem of its own.

People here take pride in everything that they do.

In a place that’s accustomed to living so far below the poverty line, taking care of one’s belongings isn’t just a moral stance.

It’s a necessity. If you can’t afford to replace rotted wood, then you’d better make damn sure to sand it and stain it and seal it every season to combat the onslaught of the elements.

Every porch is pristine. Each shop front gleams with the elbow grease required to keep customers coming in and the harsh wear of nature out.

This microcosm society doesn’t have money to burn.

The free-market capitalist economy of a small mountain town balances carefully between providing for the real needs of the people while tempting them to spend money they don’t have on frivolity.

On the outskirts of town, we pass a shop that wasn’t here a decade ago.

The green, hand-painted letters of the business sign read Hope Grows .

A poster in the front display window advertises natural remedies for common ailments such as headaches, heartburn, and gout. Alongside this is a bright sticker that showcases a sale—buy one treatment, get a plant friend for fifty percent off.

I’m tempted to duck inside. Not only could I use a treatment for what’s currently ailing me, but I could also definitely use a friend. The idea of venting to a plant that can’t talk back really appeals to me right about now, never mind that I’d probably kill it in a few short weeks.

“Is this Hope Tate’s shop?” I ask, in the interest of maintaining the ruse that we’re walking together voluntarily and not because the world is seconds from imploding .

“Yeah.” Duke smiles and bats my eyelashes at a passing couple, who stare at us with wide eyes. “From what I understand, she prefers plants over people.”

Wow, do I empathize. I snort, only it sounds like Duke snorting, which is a noise I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make before.

He cuts me an unamused glance. That expression doesn’t look quite so out of place on my face. I’ve directed that exact expression at him so many times that it’s the most familiar part of this situation.

“My shop is on the next street.”

Something about the tone of my voice gives me pause. There’s a hint of a challenge, a dare.

Whatever. I’m still unconvinced that this isn’t a wild hallucination or a bad dream. I’ll wake up shortly, and life will go on as normal. Not necessarily happily ever after, just…not this absolute personal hell. I’m all about the little wins right now.

We round the corner. The businesses on the outskirts of town aren’t packed in as closely together. These are the types of establishments that require more space than a bakery, plant shop, or laundromat.

The medical building has a decent-sized parking lot and an ambulance bay.

What it really needs is a helicopter landing pad.

The nearest trauma center that can perform life-saving surgeries is hours away through sometimes treacherous mountain roads, depending on the weather.

The fire department has an attached garage large enough to house a single full-sized ladder truck.

Next to that, the police station has two marked patrol cars parked in the otherwise empty lot.

I’ve never been inside the building, but I doubt Utopia requires a particularly large jail.

Most of the criminal activity around town gets settled by unlawful, old-fashioned means.

The post office has enough room for a few delivery trucks.

Snail mail is still a way of life in an area without reliable internet or cell phone reception.

The residents around these parts probably aren’t even aware of the wonders of online shopping and home delivery.

It’s not like they’re earning enough money to waste on fast fashion.

Come to think of it, most of them don’t care about fashion at all.

Waste not, want not is as big a principle as cleanliness is next to godliness .