Page 7 of Wicching Hour (The Sea Wicche Chronicles #3)

SEVEN

The Power of a Disapproving Look

H ester handed me a letter from Mary Beth, explaining in detail what the Winslows had purchased and how it all needed to be prepared for the shipping company tomorrow.

“Thank you for this,” I said, holding up the note. “I didn’t get to thank you last night. That was very kind of you to jump behind the counter and start brewing tea when you saw the wine was running low.”

She waved away my gratitude. “It gave me something to do,” she said, walking back behind the counter. She was wearing a blue-gray blouse and black slacks today, which was definitely better than the full black she’d been wearing since her daughter’s death.

“I like your blouse. It looks pretty with your eyes.” Hester was a Corey by marriage. Where most Coreys had black hair and green eyes, Hester, born a Goode, was pale: light blonde hair, light blue eyes. The black clothing had been so harsh on her, as was the mourning itself. Hopefully, the lighter top was a sign that the grief hadn’t pulled her under.

Embarrassed, she turned back to the counter, rearranging her brewing supplies. “I just ordered some new clothes so you wouldn’t have to see me showing up in the same three outfits all the time.”

“Well, you look fabulous. Doesn’t she, Faith?” My cousin was walking by with two vases from the back.

She paused, caught the context right away, and smiled. “You do, Aunt Hester. I like that color on you.” Faith then turned to me. “Frank and I weren’t sure. Should we bring it all out or do you want us to make the displays a little lighter, since it’s not opening night?”

“Excellent point,” I said, walking her across the gallery to the display tables and giving Hester a break from all the attention. “I think I do want the tables and shelves lighter. It should look like an art gallery, not a souvenir shop.”

“Told you,” Frank said. “I’ve been putting things into the back, not bringing more out. Faith was worried you’d want the opposite.”

I took a moment to study their work. “Which of you is the artistic one?” I asked.

Frank grinned, while Faith pointed at her brother. These two were over a decade younger than me and were by far my favorite cousins. How different my childhood would have been if I’d had these two to hang out with.

Working together, we moved some pieces in, a lot of pieces out, and set up the gallery for opening. It was real. Last night hadn’t been a fluke. My art gallery was open for business. Glancing around, my heart swelled at the ones here, helping me make my dream come true.

The youngest, Frank and Faith, were a beautiful combination of their parents, with light brown skin, green eyes, and ready smiles. Frank kept his hair short, like his father’s. Faith wore hers in thick braids that fell to her shoulders, but both were currently dressed like waiters, wearing black pants and white shirts.

I pointed between the two. “Did you guys create your own uniform?”

“That was her,” Frank said.

“I wanted it to be obvious that we worked here,” Faith explained, putting the vases down on the display table. “I had Mom order us matching shirts in a bunch of different colors, but always black pants and black shoes.”

“We look like waiters,” he complained. “And she’s been looking at name tags online.”

“Just for ideas,” she explained to me. “I figured you could make us something much cooler than anything we could find for sale.”

“Would you want that?” I asked. “You don’t have to dress alike or wear names tags if you don’t want to.”

The two shared a look and then Frank said, “Faith is right. If it’s obvious that we work here, then people won’t be giving us a suspicious side-eye.”

At what was no doubt my expression of outrage, he held up his hands. “They were okay last night. There were only a couple of people watching us a little too closely, double-checking their receipts.” He shrugged and then gestured to his sister. “If we have to go to the mall, we always end up with security following us.”

Faith grinned at her brother. “Until Frank creates a distraction that pulls the guards away and gives us some breathing room.” She shrugged in almost the same way her brother did. “That’s why we prefer shopping online. Anyway, I was looking at different name tags that give hometowns or interests or whatever, but we think just names.”

Seething that these two already had to have strategies to avoid bigots made me want to go out and punch everyone. I kept it under wraps, though. I didn’t want them to feel like they had to watch what they told me.

“Speaking as someone who has had to deal with creeps my whole life, I say no names. Don’t give them any personal information. You guys are here to sell my artwork, to clean and arrange. You’re not here to become besties with the customers. They don’t have any right to your personal information, okay? Polite doesn’t mean you make yourselves vulnerable to people with ill intent.”

They both nodded, their expressions more mature than their years.

“I’ll make you badges with the name of the gallery, but not your names. And if anyone—and I do mean anyone—ever makes you uncomfortable, you let me know.” I wiggled my fingers at them. “There’s a reason the whole family is scared of me.”

They both grinned, though the look in Frank’s eyes turned speculative, like he was looking forward to seeing exactly what I could do.

“And don’t forget me,” Carter said, walking in from my studio. Carter, like his brother Detective Osso, was a bear shifter. “Just because I have ear buds in doesn’t mean I can’t hear you. Call me and I’m there. I got no problem throwing assholes out.”

“I’m here too,” Hester called. “I may not have Carter’s strength or Arwyn’s very powerful magic, but I have perfected a painfully disappointed and disapproving look.”

The kids laughed.

“It may not seem like much,” she continued, “but it has shamed many a creep into quietly moving on.”

“A superpower, indeed,” I agreed.

Hester handed Carter a cup of coffee and he went to his spot by the front door.

I surveyed the work Frank and Faith had done and felt my unease settling. “This looks perfect. I worried the police stuff was going to make me late and I wouldn’t be happy with how the gallery looked when I opened. This,” I said, gesturing around, “is exactly right.”

“Like you said,” Frank began, “it’s a gallery, and I wanted every piece to look special, not like it was mass-produced and we had boxes of it in back. We knew you needed to fill everything for the opening. It was crushed in here.”

Faith nodded. “It was.”

“A regular day shouldn’t be like that,” Frank continued. “Right?”

I shook my head. “Let’s hope not. My goal is for us to work a couple of nice, easy days a week and call it good.”

“I heard that,” Carter muttered approvingly before taking a sip of his coffee.

Faith, who I could already see was the worrier, said, “But can you afford to pay us if you don’t sell your art?”

Pointing around the gallery, I said, “Do you see all the pieces with the green stickers on them?”

They nodded.

“All of that has already been purchased. It’s being boxed up and shipped to the East Coast tomorrow.”

The kids eyes got big as they spun in a circle, hunting for green dots. Carter blew out a low whistle.

“Oh my,” Hester breathed. “I guess your gallery is a success.”

“So far,” I said. “What that means, though, is that everyone can relax. If we don’t sell anything today, it’s cool. Everyone’s getting paid.”

The teens grinned at each other.

“What do the white dots mean?” Hester asked.

I looked to where she pointed and thought back. “They mean I need to call my agent and ask. I think those were sold to that other collector last night.” I shrugged. “I was talking to my dad at the time,” I said with a big grin. “And that is a phrase I have never before used in my life.”

“I was going to ask you,” Faith whispered. No idea why. “That man is your dad?” She glanced at her brother. “You were right.”

“Mom had always told us that no one knew who your dad was,” Frank explained, “but there was something about that guy. He gave off immense power and you have the same eyes. Hair too.”

“His eyes are a bright blue. Mine are green,” I said, confused.

“Yeah, but the shape is the same,” Frank clarified. “And you don’t have Corey green eyes. Yours are a brighter color, like if you mixed your mom’s dark green and his bright blue, you’d get your light green that sometimes looks almost teal. I don’t know. It’s also the shape of his face. Our moms have heart-shaped faces. Yours is more angular like your dad’s.”

The butterflies from last night returned. I looked like my dad. “Cool.”

I checked the time on my phone. “Okay. We have ten minutes until we open. Everybody do whatever you need to do. Remember, there’s a bathroom in my studio. Feel free to use it whenever you need it. Even if I’m working in there, it’s fine. I don’t distract easily.”

I remembered what Elizabeth had told me about Faith. “And if anyone wants to say hello to Cecil before we open, meet me on the deck in a couple of minutes.” I grabbed my backpack, took it into my studio, and left it by the steps to the loft. I ran up and used the full bathroom, leaving the half bath downstairs for whoever might need it, and checked if I was presentable.

I brushed my teeth again and then went downstairs and out the back door, finding my whole staff on the deck, looking over the railing.

Leaning over with them, I called, “Hello, Cecil!”

His tentacles slapped at the surface. I heard a quiet gasp from Faith and a chuckle from Carter. I glanced around for the tennis ball and saw it sitting under a bench.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I called, running into the studio for the orange ball flipper thing. I used it to pick up the soggy ball and then went back to the railing. “Okay, everyone look out at the water.” I reached back and flung the tennis ball, sending it sailing over the waves.

On a bark of joy, Wilbur shot out from under the deck and went after it.

“You have a pet seal?” Frank asked, eyes wide.

“He’s not my pet,” I said and then lowered my voice. “You guys know my dad is water fae, right?”

Hester and Carter nodded, but Frank and Faith shook their heads.

“Your dad is fae?” Frank whispered.

Huh. I thought the whole family knew that much at least. Then again, Elizabeth wasn’t a gossip, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that her children didn’t know. “Yes. That’s also why I have ocean friends. Wilbur, the harbor seal you just saw, is a selkie and one of my father’s guards.”

Everyone’s eyes got large at that. “So, when he’s in his seal skin, we play fetch, but he, just like all the other creatures of the sea, is deserving of your respect. And if you ever see a pale naked guy out here, come get me. It means Emrys—Wilbur’s real name—has a message from my dad.”

Their varying expressions of shock and wonder cracked me up. I checked my phone again. “Time to open.”

I had a moment to wonder if I’d overshared, but then decided to let it go. If three wicches and a shifter couldn’t keep a secret, who could? Plus, they worked here. They needed to know who they were working for so they could be prepared for weird stuff.

I was wrong about my belief that it’d be a quiet day. It was not. It wasn’t as crowded as last night and there were no big rollers—as far as I knew—but we did a steady stream of sales all afternoon. Unlike last night, when big pieces were sold, today we sold lots of the three-hundred-dollar-and-under items. We also had tons of people just looking around, which was cool.

The strange man who’d been staring at me last night tried to come back in, but Carter stopped him at the door. The guy argued, but Carter was very persuasive. I was standing near Hester at the time and moved forward in case a magical push was needed.

Carter kept it quiet and discreet, telling the man this was private property and he was making the artist uncomfortable, so he wasn’t welcome.

After sputtering a few Well, I never type comments, the man left.

Carter turned, saw me, and shook his head. “Sorry, but I could see it in his eyes. That one isn’t giving up.”