Chapter 4: The Phoenix and the Familiar

She was a spark in the dark, a wildfire in the woods. The first time I saw her, I knew nothing would ever be the same.

Only after meeting Lila did I realize Derek just kept me as a pet.

It was a hard lesson, but it was the truth. I was the loyal dog, the patient companion, but she was the one who set his heart on fire.

We met Lila on the first frost as well, mist filling the mountains. Lila rested in the burning oak grove in her original form—a fiery red cardinal-phoenix, her magnificent tail feathers draping from tall trees like dazzling brocade, softly glowing in the morning sun.

The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something sweeter—magic, maybe, or destiny. Lila glowed in the trees, every feather catching the dawn like a jewel. I felt dull and gray beside her, but I couldn’t look away.

I was dumbstruck behind Derek.

My mouth hung open, my heart thudded in my chest. I’d never seen anything so beautiful, so alive.

Derek smiled at my expression, then tapped his boots and said, "Morgan, don’t envy her. I’ll pluck the longest, brightest tail feather for you as a broom. I’ll make you a broom outta her tail feather, just you watch."

He said it with a wink, as if he could sweep away all my doubts with a joke. I laughed, but it stuck in my throat.

I didn’t dare recall this scene for hundreds of years. After Derek plucked Lila’s tail feather, there was a piercing cry, and she transformed into a girl in a fiery red prom dress, screaming as she fell from the high branches. Her dress, like a brush dipped in crimson, spread downward from the most vivid spot. Before she hit the ground, Derek reached out and caught her by the waist.

It all happened so fast—a flash of red, a scream, the world holding its breath. Derek caught her like she weighed nothing, his arms strong and sure. I felt invisible, standing in the shadows.

She hadn’t steadied herself in Derek’s arms before slapping him—"Smack," a crisp sound. The killing intent in Derek’s eyes hadn’t yet spread before she suddenly cried out, wrapping her white arms around his neck, sobbing and acting spoiled: "You jerk, you plucked my prettiest tail feather. According to our phoenix coven’s rules, you have to marry me."

Her voice was high and sweet, her tears shining like diamonds. She clung to him, bold as anything, and for a moment, even Derek looked startled.

Then she pulled away to look at Derek’s face, laughed softly, then sweetly nestled in his arms: "I once swore, whoever plucks my tail feather—if I like them, I’ll marry them; if I don’t, I’ll kill them. But since you’re so handsome, I’ll agree to marry you."

The words were playful, but there was a steel beneath the sugar. I saw the way Derek looked at her, like she was the first real challenge he’d had in years.

She turned the plucked tail feather into a charm bracelet, clasped it around Derek’s wrist, and said with a smile, "There’s a wisp of my essence here; let it be our token of love."

The chain glowed, warm and alive, like a neon sign on a rainy night. Derek stared at it, then at her, and I knew—just knew—he was already lost.

After that, Derek’s companion became Lila.

She was everywhere he went, a flash of red in every crowd, a song in every silence. I faded into the background, watching them from the sidelines.

She was a very chatty little phoenix-witch; sometimes I envied how she could talk so much.

She filled the air with stories, laughter, gossip—like she was determined to keep the world bright, no matter how dark things got. Her tales wove in American fairy tales and local legends—stories of the girl who fell for Paul Bunyan, or the hedgehog who tried to win the heart of a wolf at a county fair, only to end up with his quills plucked by the pack leader. She had a story for every occasion, and I remembered every word.

She followed Derek everywhere, and though he rarely responded, I knew he enjoyed her lively chatter.

He’d smile when he thought no one was looking, his eyes softening at her jokes. I’d never seen him so alive.

He never forced himself; though he never replied to Lila, he never made her stop or leave.

He let her fill the silence, let her be the sun in his sky. I wondered if he’d ever let me be that bright.

Sometimes, when tired, she would turn into a fiery red bird, hop onto Derek’s shoulder, and sing softly into his ear.

Her song was low and sweet, winding through the night like smoke. Derek would close his eyes, breathing it in, and for a moment, the world seemed at peace.

From an angle Lila couldn’t see, I could see the curve of his mouth rising in a smile.

It was a small thing, but it cut me deeper than any knife.

When they were together, it was as if a barrier shut out everything else—including me.

I became a ghost in my own story, like the Lady in White haunting the highways, watching from the shadows as someone else took center stage.

One day, Lila pointed at me and asked Derek, "Derek, why does she always follow you?"

Her voice was sharp, her eyes bright with curiosity. I froze, waiting for his answer.

He didn’t answer. That whole day, Lila was gloomy, head bowed and silent, occasionally twisting a napkin in her hands, glancing at me, then at Derek. Secretly, I was a little pleased, until at dinner, I heard Derek casually explain to Lila, "She’s my familiar."

The word stung, more than I expected. I was just a pet, an afterthought.

Lila, who had been upset, immediately smiled, wrapped her arms around Derek’s neck, and acted spoiled: "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?"

She laughed, light as air, and the tension vanished. I slipped away, unseen, the sound of creaking floorboards and a distant radio anchoring me to the moment.

I lowered my head and quietly walked away.

My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, each one heavier than the last. I told myself it didn’t matter, but it did.