The Opal Witch

Chapter Two: Declan

Declan

From inside his idling car, Declan watched the girls speed down the dusty road on their bicycles. He worried they would notice him- it was a quiet street where strangers stood out- but they were too caught up in whatever adventure they were planning. In fact, no one stopped to question him which was either a result of people no longer caring enough or people being too trusting. Neither of those options settled well in his gut.

Cutting the engine, he climbed out and leaned against his new red, muscle car. When he bought the vehicle, the man assured him it was a classic. He'd wanted to tell the man anything built after 1912 would be new to him, but that would've prompted more questions than he was willing to answer.

Then again, some things hadn't changed during his hundred years of slumber. The Mississippi heat, for one, was still just as offending, and he was glad modern dressing standards didn't require a jacket and tie. The article of clothing called blue jeans was quite comfortable, though he felt more than scandalized by the way the material clung to his legs, but it did a good job protecting him from the searing metal he leaned against.

More scandalous than tight trousers was what the girls had been wearing. Both wore little more than cloth tied together with thin strings, their long limbs exposed for all the world to see, and he was ashamed to find the heat climbing up his throat had nothing to do with the outside temperatures. It would seem women's current attire was a rebellion against the layers society had forced them to wear over the centuries, and he wondered how he would have reacted to the slow changes over the decades. What would he have thought of his wife and daughters trading out their petticoats for t-shirts and pants?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought back the frustration that had been choking him since he'd awoken in this century. So many mundane details distracted him from his actual purpose, but he couldn't ignore them completely. This was his life now. He needed to know how to navigate it, and despite the century between now and his last birthday, he was, in reality, a nineteen-year-old boy.

The screen door creaked, drawing Declan back to the present, and he sighed with relief when the lithe form of Bella Godelieve stepped outside. He'd been given a colored photograph of the woman, and it hadn't done her beauty justice. She was talking on a device called a cell phone while attempting to slide papers into a leather satchel. Pieces of her dark hair stuck to cheeks already damp with sweat, and the white top she wore was already wilting in the humidity.

"Yes Dawn, I've got all the layouts ready," Bella said as she unlocked a large black vehicle with the push of a button.

Declan shook his head. Never had he thought technology would amaze him more than magic. "Excuse me, Ms. Godelieve?"

Bella shrieked and spun around. Her eyes widened when she saw Declan, and in a clipped tone, she spoke into the phone's receiver, "Dawn, I'll call you back. Sir, you scared me to death."

"Apologies ma'am. My business is urgent, or I would've waited for a more socially acceptable time to visit," Declan said, resisting the urge to ask her if she needed help with the items in her hand. The last time he offered assistance to a lady, he received a ten-minute lecture on rudeness and sexism.

"Um, yes, well... What can I do for you?" Bella asked.

She lifted a manicured hand to shade her eyes from the radiant morning sun, and her entire body stiffened. Reaching out with trembling hands, she swayed on her ridiculous heels. Declan didn't move when her soft fingers slid across his face, stopping to trace the thin scar running across the bridge of his nose. He'd been told the chances of her recognizing him were slim. Bella turned her back on magic long ago, but it would seem she paid more attention than she let on.