Page 8 of Broken Wolf

“Your wolf would be horribly conflicted and in a bad spot. Yes, I would keep outsiders away and be as locked down as possible.”

“I’m just too all over the place, and I’ve told you many times you are not an enemy I want. I know you’ve shown me patience and let things slide, but those come with a cost when I insult someone as powerful as you. I just don’t have it in me right now. I don’t. I’m just trying to keep going.”

“You do much better than you think, dear Seraphine. I will look into this matter as I should as council and loop in Apollo. He can update Carter. Be well and know many of us are rooting for you.”

He hung up before I could reply. Well, that was something positive at least.

3

Later that night I was dressed up a bit and Zeno couldn’t hide his curiosity… And confusion why he had to be up at four in the morning his time.

I showed him where I was and understanding lit up his eyes. “You mentioned this gallery and one of the artists who is part of this showing. You said they were an up-and-coming artist in Chicago, so I got tickets to the event, and your Father’s Day present is we’re going to pick out your gift together and virtually enjoy this.”

“You are such a gem, Daughter. Truly. Yes, let me make coffee now that I understand so I am fully awake with you.”

“He is so excited,” Alena whispered to me as if Zeno wouldn’t hear.

Good. We all needed more fun.

Even if it woke us at four in the morning.

I put in one of the earbuds paired to my phone and so did Orson since he was big into art. I wasn’t about to be that rude person who had my phone on speaker to disturb others. My security would be assuring people that we weren’t livestreaming or recording anything, simply a private call with my dad when there was an ocean between us.

I had my phone the correct way so he would see the art but I would still get to see his excited face on the video call. It was cute the way Alena was snuggled up with him to enjoy this as well.

I listened as he talked about brushstrokes and intent, the pressure and pallets. He talked about the feeling and headspace of the artists. Orson replied a lot and agreed or countered with his own opinion, the two of them peas in the same pod and having a great time.

“We are boring you, Daughter,” Zeno worried after an hour of it.

“No, not at all,” I promised him, flipping the phone around so he saw me and could feel assured. “I could listen to you talk for hours about all of this. Seeing it from both your perspectives is really educational and cool.”

“But?” Orson pushed.

I shrugged. “I just don’t have anything to add. I don’t—I’m not knowledgeable about art. It doesn’t speak to me and—I’m not sophisticated enough to be able to speak on any of this. I don’t really think there’s anything wrong with saying that either. I completely enjoy being here and sharing this with you though.”

“Daughter, oh daughter mine, no one who speaks nine languages fluently could ever be called unsophisticated in anything,” Zeno gently chastised. “This is simply not your medium for art to speak to you.”

“Ten actually now,” Orson corrected. “The ancients from France say she’s way beyond conversational now that she’s been working with them. They all laughed when she said she’s conversational and said she’s fluent. Ten languages is unreal to me.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled but then thought about what Zeno said. “I think the ones that speak to me are the ones where you could see the difference. I saw a lot of street painters when I had an assignment in New Orleans. That was what I loved. You could see what they saw and then the difference of their perspective.

“Or a few I saw they started hours ago and the lighting changing as they painted were pretty. That idea that you sat there the whole time and the city or busy Bourbon Street passed you by while you didn’t move. Those are the ones I feel. Paintings of skylines where I can see what they do but then feel their mood or point of view. I think that’s what I need to feel it, feel their moment.”

“You are very profound, Seraphine,” Alena praised. “I like it very much. You want to be more involved with the artist to appreciate their work. Yes, I can see that. And I have always wanted to see the street painters of New Orleans. I hear some are akin to Parisian street artists. We will get permission from that Alpha and take a weekend once you can fly again.”

I agreed because that sounded like heaven. A four-day weekend just to eat and walk around, enjoy life, and be tourists.

I had never really done that. I’d tried a few times in Vegas but… Yeah, nothing ever went to plan.

Two from the same artist really spoke to Zeno most, it was obvious from how exuberant he became talking about them. Alena was flagging me behind her mate’s back and it was hard not to laugh because there was a view of what their camera was showing in the corner of their phone as well.

“My love, I can see you giving our daughter gestures,” Zeno finally busted her. “Seraphine is rather bright and I’m sure already flagged her security to acquire one of the paintings.”

Both actually.

One could be for Christmas.

“I love you both so much,” I chuckled, touched they were so excited for this fun and liked my idea. I had been hesitant and thought it might be cringe… But clearly not.

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