Page 10 of Wicching Hour (The Sea Wicche Chronicles #3)

TEN

A Hard Truth

“I ’ve had a thought,” Bracken said, as we rounded the gallery into the parking lot where his RV was situated. “But first I want to know if this arrangement is working for you?” He glanced over and then looked out at the water again. “Do you mind having me living so close, visiting so often?”

I reached over and patted his arm. “I didn’t know what it would be like when I invited you to stay.”

His shoulders tensed, as though waiting for the blow. For a man who’d been overlooked and pushed away for most of his life, this heartbreaking hope and world-weariness tore at me.

“What I hadn’t anticipated,” I continued, “is how much I’d love having you here.”

In the moonlight, he stopped walking and waited, hope shimmering in his eyes.

“I’ve been living on my own for a long time and it’s fine,” I explained. “I know how to take care of myself. I have systems in place for when the visions are too much. I’ve developed strategies for crawling out from the dark. All that is to say, I don’t need anyone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone.

“Having Declan in my life has been miraculous. It’s like the Goddess looked down on me and took pity, giving me a man who could deal with all those dark places in me, who could hold my hand and help me find my way to the light.”

Bracken nodded, hearing the truth of my words.

“It’s the same with you,” I continued, surprising him. “I think the Goddess decided that both of us had spent too long alone and figured out a way for us to meet.”

“Through a sorcerer,” he mumbled.

I nodded. “She works in mysterious ways.”

He smiled, as I’d hoped he would.

“Most people don’t know this,” I said, “but I think it’s important that you do. I’ve cultivated and maintained a facade of aloof disinterest in almost everything except my art. It’s a cover, though, for a bone-deep fear of not being able to survive this gift of prophesy. Most Cassandra wicches who came before me died young, either at the stake or by their own hands. I think part of why I push people away is my dread of disappointing them. If they saw the hesitancy, the hands shaking, the gasp as I shudder awake in terror, I’d become something to pity rather than fear.

“Mom and Gran tout me as divinely touched. The othering has been lonely but also comforting. If I go the way every Cassandra before me has gone, I don’t want to leave behind mourners.” I thought a moment. “Or maybe I’m worried no one will mourn. No,” I said, blowing out a breath and bracing myself to speak the horrible truth. “I was clearing the way to check out more easily if it became too much.”

“I understand,” he said, his voice low and sorrowful.

I gave my head a quick shake. “That wasn’t the point. The point was that the Goddess gave me a big kick in the butt, bringing me Declan and then you, helping me to better understand my mom and then allowing me to meet my father. Even with the detectives and the cases they pull me into, it feels like everywhere I look, I see another point connecting me to this life.”

I brushed away sudden tears. “Which is a very long way of saying that I prize the Goddess’ gifts, and I love having you here. I love having my family so close. When I have horrible dreams or terrifying visions, I love knowing you’re nearby. It makes everything a little less scary.”

His shaking hand went to his chest. “Then I, too, have been blessed.”

The wind off the ocean tonight was icy and I felt a chill run down my spine. “Good. Now that that’s settled, what were you going to say before you asked if I was good with you living here?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, wiping moisture from the corner of his eye. “I had a thought. I think I should buy a car. Then we wouldn’t need to rely on Declan. The poor man is burning the candle at both ends. This RV isn’t terribly convenient for excursions like tonight. I think I need an easier mode of transportation, but that only makes sense if I’m staying for a while.”

“Yes!” I clapped, though with gloved hands, it was muffled. “I’ve been waiting for self-driving cars to hit the market, but this works better. We should go fifty-fifty, since you’ll sometimes be driving me around.”

He waved that away. “Nonsense. I have plenty of money and precious little to spend it on. Good,” he said on the way to the RV door. “I’ll research models after I copy Cowen’s interview for Orla.” Checking his pockets as he walked away, he muttered, “It needs to have good head and leg room for when Declan drives with us.” He unlocked his door and went in.

Grinning, I walked around the RV and stepped onto the deck hanging off the back of my gallery. Too preoccupied thinking about cars, I didn’t realize there was a man seated on the bench by my studio back door.

Pausing, I lowered some of my mental defenses. Not all or I’d be bombarded by too many thoughts and emotions. Self-preservation meant protecting my mind from the unrelenting noise. The person on the bench was human.

“It’s about time,” he complained, standing up. “I’ve been sitting here for over an hour. Where have you been?”

The possessive, angry tone had my fingers moving as I built spells. “This is private property. You need to leave now.”

“Big talk, but you don’t have your security guard around. No boyfriend either, huh? Looks like you’re all alone.” He moved forward and a cloud shifted, revealing his face.

This was the creepy guy who’d been standing in the corner of the gallery last night. I’d been focused on my father and so hadn’t looked too closely at him. I’d felt his obsession across the gallery but had tried to tune it out, not wanting another creep to ruin my evening.

“That giant boyfriend didn’t even seem to mind when you walked off arm in arm with that other guy who was even bigger.” He scoffed. “You got him cucked already. You let them all rail you, don’t you, whore? But nice guys, ones who would treat you like a princess, you won’t talk to us? Is that it?”

I walked forward and his eyes lit up. What gave me pause, though, was the strange tangle of emotions he was experiencing. Yes, there was obsession and a petulant anger at not being given the object of his desire, but with it was a strange giddy calculation. He wanted me to threaten him.

Lowering my mental blocks a little further, I caught gloating. He was recording me. He wanted evidence to prove I was something dangerous, a wicche.

Oh . I had it now. This was the man who’d followed me onto my deck a month or two ago. He’d tried to corner and overpower me but I’d given him a taste of scary Arwyn, using a spell that choked him. Then Declan had shown up and lifted the guy off the deck with one hand, scaring him so much he’d wet himself. The creep had grown a beard since I’d last seen him, so I hadn’t recognized him.

Shit. The first rule of being a supernatural was not letting the general public know you existed. I couldn’t use magic. Instead, I pulled my phone out and hit the screen for Detective Hernández. “Sir, I’m going to ask you one last time. Please leave.”

“Hey, Arwyn.” Hernández’s voice was almost lost in the roar of the surf.

“Detective Hernández, this is Arwyn Corey at the Sea Wicche gallery. I have a man trespassing on my back deck. He’s threatening me and refusing to leave. This is at least the third time he’s been here, and he’s been asked every time to leave.”

“Stay on the phone with me,” Hernández said. “I’m calling now for a car to pick him up.”

“I need a restraining order,” I continued, still staring at the man and slowly walking toward him. Calling for help went against every instinct I had. I wanted to deal with him myself, but if he was recording me, I needed to play human.

“I bet if you looked into his past,” I continued into the phone, “you’ll find other stalking complaints against him.” The quick spike of panic I felt from him told me I was right.

“The detective is asking your name?” I lied. I knew he wouldn’t answer me, but I hoped he’d think it. And he did. Brandon.

“Fuck you,” he ground out. “This isn’t over.” He turned and retreated while trying to look tough, which isn’t easy.

I followed him to make sure he left. Once he’d turned the corner, he started jogging. A police car pulled up as Brandon made it to the front of the gallery. The cop looked at my stalker and then slowly got out of his car, letting Brandon run down the road to wherever he’d left his own vehicle. The cop turned his head, checked his phone, spoke into the radio on his shoulder, and then slowly started walking down the side of the gallery.

My eyesight might not be as good as Declan’s, but I saw that cop let my stalker get away just fine.

“Arwyn, what’s happening?” Hernández demanded.

“I’m going to keep the line open,” I whispered. “The cop just watched the guy run away. He didn’t do anything to detain him. I recognize the cop, though. He’s the one I warned you about. The one who resents the hell out of you and Osso, two brown-skinned people who made detective before him.”

The cop was getting close so I drew back, put the phone in my pocket, and then pretended to run around the corner, just seeing him for the first time.

“Oh, my goodness! You scared me, Officer.” Eyes wide, I said, “Did you see him, the man who was waiting for me?”

He held up his hands. “Calm down, ma’am. No. I didn’t see anyone. Are you sure you saw a person? Shadows can play tricks.”

The moon had slid behind a cloud again, but I could see his smug sneer well enough.

“Yes, Officer. I’m sure,” I said with forced politeness. “He was sitting on my deck, waiting for me. He threatened me. Shadows rarely do that.”

Anger flared. He was not happy about the sarcasm. He was a petty little tyrant who handed out sarcasm. He didn’t take it. After an extended period of glaring, his hand on his gun, he flipped open the portfolio in his other hand, asking me basic questions in a bored voice.

When we were finally done with the report he was filling out, he flipped it closed and said, “Well, none of what he said or did is illegal. I’ll file it, but…you said you didn’t know who he was, right?”

“He was trespassing,” I reminded him.

The cop looked around at the deck and the tentacles. “This is a business. You invite the public onto your property all the time.” He was taking a great deal of joy in blowing off my concerns.

“I see. So if a business exists on private property, it’s no longer private? Is this a new law?”

He gestured with the portfolio in his hand. “No fences. No signs. Access to the water. It’s almost like you’re asking for it, don’t you think?”

“Officer Harding,” Hernández barked as she came around the corner of the gallery, phone still at her ear. “We do not tell victims of crimes that they were asking for it.”

His eyes went flat and mean. He didn’t appreciate being reprimanded.

“You’re relieved, Officer. I’ll take it from here,” she said.

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Hernández waited, watching him go. When his patrol car peeled out, she turned to me and shook her head.

Pointing at the back door of my studio, she said, “Let’s go in and you can tell me what I missed.”