Page 17 of Wicche Hunt

“We’ll have to test it out,” he said.

“I’m twenty-eight years exhausted, so I’ll take you up on that offer. Also, if you get hungry, I have muffins in the studio. Courtesy of the nightmare night before last, your choices are blueberry-raspberry or strawberry cheesecake.”

“Mmm. I’ll definitely be over soon. By the way, I called to say the mural is amazing. I know you’re not done yet, but it absolutely looks real. I’ve had a few cars pull into my drive to turn around and then park by the side of the road, watching you.”

“Oh, that’s…not at all threatening.”

He laughed again. “I had my eye on them.”

“Okay, good. Well, this wall isn’t going to paint itself.” Especially now that Otis was playing with my brushes.

“Try to take a nap later.”

“No can do. I have a Corey Council meeting today. Oh, speaking of which, can you give me a ride to my mom’s or should I order up a car?”

“What time?”

“Elevenish.”

He paused a moment. “I can make that work. I’ll pick you up and grab muffins then.”

“Sounds good. Happy building!”

“Thanks. And happy painting to you.”

I disconnected and put the finishing touches on the tentacle. It was almost photorealistic in its detail. Even this close, I was proud of what I’d created. The flesh was a lightly mottled gray that turned more blue and purple in different spots. I’d used an iridescent paint to highlight the suckers and then a high gloss clear coat just on the tentacle to give it a wet look.

I was letting the clear coat dry while I continued to make my gallery look as though it was one strong gust away from collapsing into the sea. I’d finished the section I was working on and was about to climb up to the top of the scaffolding when a text pinged on my phone. I checked my pocket. It was a text from Declan.

Declan: Check the time.

I did.Shit.

Me: Thanks

I collected my stuff, filled the basket, lowering it to the ground, and then turned to say goodbye to Otis. He was gone. Darn. I’d missed him leaving. Oh, well. After hauling in the basket, I ran upstairs to shower. Mother would be most displeased if I arrived in my paint-spattered overalls.

Hair care was always the biggest time suck for me. I could shower quickly, but once shampooing and conditioning came into the mix, forget about it. Wet, my hair hung down past my butt. I’d tried cutting it a few times over the years. It always grew back to the exact same length by the following day. Clearly, it was a fae thing and I just needed to deal with it.

Far more time-consuming than washing was drying. Couldn’t I just spell it dry? Sure, but that filled it with static and made it stick up crazy. So, lots of leave-in conditioners and emollients later, I was gently drying with a hair diffuser. Okay, fine. I was vain about my hair. It was a pain, but it was also soft and beautiful because I took good care of it.

My mom would have preferred I wore a dress, like that was ever going to happen. Clean black jeans with no paint spatters, loafers instead of sneakers, and a lightweight lavender sweater was the best she was going to get. I pocketed my phone and a slim billfold. I’d grab my backpack on the way out. First, though, I needed to try something.

When I went downstairs, I saw my driver lounging on the deck. I unlocked the door and opened it.

“Sorry. Running late. Come on in and eat. I need to do one thing and then we can go.” I went to my pantry and looked for an empty jar. Ha! I knew this would come in handy someday. When I turned to go outside, I found Declan leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

“You’re looking beautiful, Ursula.”

Not gonna lie, the voice, the look in his eye, all of it was doing things to me. “Does that mean you’re not angry I’m ten minutes late?”

He shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”

I patted his chest as I walked by. “Sucker. Oh, and the muffins are on the counter.”

I went out to the deck and hung over the railing. “Hello, Cecil!” A tentacle slapped the surface of the water. “Hello, Charlie. Hello Herbert.” My starfish friends were looking bright and handsome on the posts holding up the deck. I searched the waves for the gray seal head of Wilbur, a selkie. We played catch most every day. I scanned the deck for his tennis ball but didn’t find it. He must not have returned my last throw yet.

I unscrewed the conical hat on the plastic bear and balanced it on the railing beside me. Holding my hand over the water, I began to pull. Water rose like a slow, measured fountain. I could make seawater shoot wherever I wanted. It had been one of my key defenses against my shitty cousins. The slow control was far more difficult, but I’d been practicing.

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