Page 2 of Wicching Hour (The Sea Wicche Chronicles #3)

TWO

A Flutter of Butterflies

I escorted him through the gallery, pointing out paintings and photographs. It was my glasswork that drew him, though.

“I would like something small of yours,” he said. “Something I can carry with me.”

Other patrons noticed us and tried to approach, but they quickly turned away and moved on. I guess Dad didn’t want any interruptions, which was good by me. I took him to the locked display case against the slanted wall. My psychic reading room was behind this wall, not that I’d had time to do readings lately.

“I know just the one.” Using a spell rather than a key, I slid open the case and retrieved a tiny, perfect replica of a baby octopus. It had been extraordinarily difficult to get the details right when working with something so small. I was very proud of the transparent little guy, with tiny tan spots and big gray eyes.

“My gift,” I said, offering him the baby in my palm.

With a delicate touch, he picked up the little octopus and studied him. Turning his attention to me, he smiled and the room grew brighter, the butterflies in my stomach beating their wings furiously.

“Perfect. I know he’s made of glass, but my eyes believe him to be real.” With a nod, he added, “I accept this gift from my exceptional daughter.” He closed his fingers over the glass octopus, gave me his arm, and we continued our walk around the gallery.

We stopped in front of a painting I’d done of a tidal pool right before a large wave hits. Lots of little sea creatures working in the clear pools as a curl of ocean gets ready to slam into them. Some will get washed away. Some will spin and roll, buffeted by the force, but in the end remain where they were.

“There’s a lesson there,” he said. “We can’t always prepare for what’s coming. Often, we need to ride out the unforeseen and then make a new plan depending on where we end up.”

I squeezed his arm and nodded, probably getting more emotional than the moment warranted. Look at me, getting life advice from my dad.

“Maybe we should go talk with Mom,” I suggested. It hadn’t escaped my notice that his gaze kept falling on her.

“No.” He studied my gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. “Is this fashion?”

I shook my head. “I’m a Cassandra wicche. When I touch people or objects, I hear thoughts, see memories, know who last touched it. I have my mental blocks up high tonight, but persistent thoughts are still getting through.”

He nodded. “Like that man in the corner who’s been staring at you, dreaming of being your lover?”

Halfway across the crowded gallery, Carter’s head swung to the corner to see who Dad was talking about.

I knew exactly who he meant without looking. I didn’t recognize the man, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. I nodded. “Yeah, like him.” If I’d had my shields lower, I’d probably have picked up enough of a mental signature to place him, but I was blocking hard tonight. No doubt he was one of the very intense men who’d watched my daily progress on the huge mural on the side of the gallery.

My father stared down at me, his gaze charged with barely contained power. “I could kill him for you, so you needn’t worry.”

My throat went dry as I shook my head. “No, thank you. I have my gifts to keep me safe.”

He gave a quiet grunt of approval and then looked over to where Mom and Declan were standing. “What about that one? Are you sure he can be trusted? Can you hear his thoughts?”

I pulled his arm down as I went up on tiptoe. Whispering, I said, “He’s a magical null. I can touch him without visions and voices. I have a little bottle of seawater I carry with me, though, to reset my magic after he kisses me.”

Nodding slowly, he pulled me on so we could continue our walk. “Wolves are strong. I can see that he has good sense and loves you. I approve.”

Declan and I had never used that word. It made the butterflies in my stomach start up again. Dad stopped in front of my pottery, eyeing a large bowl that came up on one side in the shape of a wave.

“I like that I see myself in your art. The ocean is everywhere in here. As your father, it is a fitting tribute.”

I glanced around. I supposed I could see where he got that. “It’s me, though. I didn’t know you. I have my own affinity with the water.”

He nodded proudly. “Of course you do, through me.” He looked over his shoulder into the back corner again. “I find him quite irritating.”

“Uh, Carter,” I said, trying not to tip off the humans that I was talking to the large man across the gallery by the front door. “Can you escort that guy out before my dad does something these people can’t unsee?”

Carter moved toward the creepy guy and my father turned his back, looking out over the crowd again like he was surveying his subjects. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

A thought occurred to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know. What’s your name?”

He stared into my eyes again, a soft smile on his lips. “You may call me Father.”

The butterflies flapped wildly. “And while I appreciate that very much, I’d really like to know your name.” I looked back at Mom and Declan. “I mean, what did Mom call you?”

Detective Osso, Carter’s older brother, walked in the front door and gestured to Declan.

My dad patted my hand. “Walk me out. I need to get back now.”

“Oh.” My butterflies drooped. “Of course. I’m really glad you were able to make it tonight and see the gallery.”

We walked past Mom, and he pointedly did not look in her direction. When we stepped out onto the deck, he breathed in deeply and shook his head. His hair, multi-hued and curly like my own, was long again, hanging past his shoulders.

“May I visit again?” He glanced over cautiously before his chin lifted and he stared out at the waves.

“Yes, please.” Butterflies resurrected, they bumped into each other like zombie insects.

“Good. I would like to get to know you, daughter.” His perfect suit turned into a toga like it did the first time I saw him.

“I’d like that very much.” Hands clutched in front of me, I added, “I always wanted a dad.”

His austere expression softened. Leaning down, he kissed my forehead. “You’ve always had one.” He glanced through the gallery windows and then turned his back to me. “I suppose a daughter should know her father’s name.”

I waited.

“You, little one, must call me Father. Or Dad.” His brow creased at that moniker, but he smiled. “If your man needs to ask for me, though, he should use Mac. That was what she called me.”

I was pretty sure I knew who the she was he was referring to, so I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to do anything to spoil this moment.

“Mac,” I repeated.

He nodded once. “But that’s not for you.”

“No.” I pulled his arm down again and kissed his cheek. I had a moment of fear that I’d see or hear something that would ruin this whole night, but he’d just kissed me and I hadn’t heard anything, so I took the chance. Nothing but a strong jaw and a feeling of tentative affection.

The back door flew open.

“There you are!” Mary Beth said, waving me in. “I have people I need you to meet.”

Looking around, I realized I was by myself. Dad was gone. “Bye.” I waved at the ocean and followed my agent back in.

“Okay,” Mary Beth murmured. “The Winslows will be back tomorrow morning. Tonight, I want to introduce you to Miles Cheng. He’s a tech millionaire who’s an heir to billions.”

She took us to a man standing alone, studying Cecil 2.0. He was a few inches taller than me and impeccably dressed in a black suit with a matching black dress shirt.

“Mr. Cheng?” Mary Beth said. “Please allow me to introduce you to the artist, Arwyn Corey. Arwyn, this is Mr. Cheng, entrepreneur and art lover.”

He turned, his gaze sweeping over me, before inclining his head. Thankfully, he knew not to try to shake my hand. “How do you do? I’m honored to meet you,” he said in a gorgeous British accent. “Your work, as I’m sure you know, is extraordinary. But this—” He gestured to Cecil. “I’ve been staring at him for a little while now and I swear I see his tentacles move out of the corner of my eye. I don’t understand how you make glass fluid.”

I felt Declan move up beside me, but Mr. Cheng’s eyes stayed on me. “I asked Ms. Peredel if I might speak with you about a commissioned piece.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“I’d like you to make me a window. A circle five feet across.” He paused. “Are you familiar with A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains ?”

“Yes. Fan Kuan,” I said, referring to a Chinese artist from the Song dynasty whose painting he’d named.

Finally, a smile. “I don’t expect a replica. What I’d like is a piece of art glass inspired by that painting.”

I considered the idea. I’d never done a window of that size. The challenge was exciting.

“I saw the glass ceiling you made for a nightclub in San Francisco,” he added. “I must confess, I spent more time studying the ceiling than paying attention to the entertainment. Or my date, for that matter.”

“The Bubble Lounge,” I confirmed. I’d created a glass wave that hung from the ceiling over most of the nightclub. It was dark indigo on one side of the room, the color gradually lightening through blues and greens until it went foamy white on the other side of the club. The mermaid owner of the club wanted the ceiling to look like the ocean surface seen from below.

“That was a logistical nightmare,” I said. “I made many smaller pieces of glass ocean and then had to transport them and fit them all together so the lines couldn’t be seen.”

“You didn’t charge anywhere near enough for that job,” Mary Beth said, “which is why I don’t let you negotiate on your own anymore.”

She was right about that. It was a hell of a job, but I was proud of the finished piece.

“Mr. Cheng,” Mary Beth began, “I’m afraid Arwyn has just this evening accepted a commission that will keep her quite busy for the next few months. Can this project wait until the beginning of the year?”

He inclined his head again. “I desire art, not a mass-produced windowpane. I will wait, assuming Ms. Corey accepts.”

“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Cheng,” I said with a grin, “I’ve already begun designing it in my head.”

“Splendid,” he replied.

“Arwyn,” Mary Beth said, pushing her long hair over her shoulder, “your mother looks as though she’s trying to get your attention. You two go ahead while Mr. Cheng and I agree upon a price.”

I said good evening, my head filled with plans. I’d never done a window like that. It would be horribly difficult, but I was excited to get started. After I made a fleet of octopuses for the Winslows, of course.

Declan squeezed me around the middle and we moved through the crowd toward Mom. “Damn, Ursula, look at you.” He glanced over his shoulder and then back at me. “How much is she going to charge him for the window?”

I shrugged. “A lot. I saw Osso arrive. What was that about?”

Declan growled quietly. “One of my wolves got into a bar brawl tonight and killed a human.”

“What?” I clutched his arm.

Expression dark, he shook his head. “That damn sorcerer is getting the wolves all twisted up. The pack is having trouble controlling their aggression.” He blew out a breath. “It’s going to happen again if we can’t find and stop her.”

“We will,” I assured him. Somehow.