Page 30 of Bewicched

“I can, but I could without the phone.” He was already back on the bank, picking up a thicker framing board.

“I need this to stay open,” I said, “so I don’t pass out in here.”

He nodded.

“So,” I began, walking back to the tentacle, “why don’t you go by Quinn if you are one? From what I’ve heard, that’s a pretty important name in the werewolf community.” I slipped on a face mask, dipped my brush into the sealer, and began the process of coating the iridescent purple tentacle. The gradation in color, from deepest eggplant to lightest pearl, along with the sinuous curve, gave the impression of movement, like a real octopus.

“Yeah. It’s a loaded one, all right. My father was Alexander Quinn. He was Alpha of the Santa Cruz Mountains Pack. My mom owned a nursery. The story goes that he had a green thumb himself and liked working in the soil. He came in, looking for plants that would do well in the shade, and he and Mom hit it off. They started dating.

“It was all going well and then there was some big blow-up in the family. He apparently never explained what it was, beyond not approving of his son’s wife. It was right around then that Mom realized she was pregnant. They were really happy, though. He eventually told her what he was and what I might be. She freaked out, but he calmed her down and moved her into his big home in the mountains.

“I’m told I came early. That’s not unusual for a born wolf. Since born wolves are so rare, though, it got people gossiping about whether or not my father was my father. They discussed getting married after I was born but didn’t seem to be in a hurry.”

“I’ve always wondered about couples like that,” I said, dipping in for more sealant. “It must be hard when one is immortal but the other isn’t.”

“Yeah, but while wolvescanbe immortal, most don’t live that long. Submissives might. The more dominant ones, though, are always getting pulled into fights. Alexander was very strong. From what I’ve heard, he was hundreds of years old and the original Alpha of the pack. I remember him. Sort of. He’s more of a strong, protective presence than a person.”

“Do you look like him?” I was picturing a scowling baby Declan and smiling while I painted.

“No idea. I’ve never seen any pictures of him. I was about two when he and my mother died.”

It came on so quickly, I barely had time to plop my butt down on the tarp.A man very much like Declan, but with no beard, walked in the forest, along the edge of a ravine, with an attractive woman. She appeared to be somewhere in her thirties, tall and slender, the top of her head reaching his nose. She wore jeans and a sweater, her golden-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.

They were laughing and it was lovely. A small boy with dark brown hair scampered ahead, stopping frequently to study the plants and bugs.

“Not too close to the edge, baby,” the woman said.

“Not baby,” he responded, running ahead again.

“Stay where we can see you,” the man called.

The child giggled from behind a tree.

The man and woman shared a look and a smile. And then the woman’s eyes flew open as she tumbled over the edge, a thick arrow shaft in her chest.

The man roared, reaching for the woman, trying to catch her when an arrow pierced the back of his head. He followed her over the edge, falling to the jagged rocks below.

Eventually, the boy jumped out from behind the tree, trying to scare his parents, but they were no longer there. He searched, thinking they were hiding as he had. Finally, he wandered to the edge and saw them, broken at the bottom of the ravine.

He giggled at first, calling to them. When neither moved nor called back, fear crept into his voice. Finally, some understanding seemed to settle on him because he crumpled to the ground, curled up, and cried for the mommy and daddy who had fallen and hurt themselves.

“Arwyn? Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes and stared into intense brown ones, dark brows furrowed. The man had very expressive eyebrows.

“Was it the fumes? Did you pass out?” He was holding me outside in the fresh air, balancing on a board.

“No,” I shook my head, trying to figure out how to get down. “Listen, put me back inside, okay.”

He hopped across the doorsill and then put me down. “Was it a vision?” He crossed his arms over his chest, still clearly uncomfortable with my gifts.

I nodded. “It was the death of your mother and father. I’m sorry you lost them both so young.”

“You saw my dad?” He moved closer. “You saw it happen? Who killed him?”

Waving him over to the couch, I shook my head. Declan ignored the invitation to sit and instead paced the studio while I explained what I saw, finally stopping at the window and staring out.

“My mom and I were there? You’re sure?”

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