Page 71 of Wicche Hunt

He waved away my sudden concern. “Nothing we need to worry about now. Logan’s people are making a habit of slashing my tires and smashing my windshield. It’s getting expensive.” He wiggled his fingers. “I was hoping you could do something to—I don’t know—make them harder to cut and break.” He pointed to the poles around the property. “I have cameras up, but they’re waiting until I’m parked at a grocery store or outside your place.”

“I’m sorry and, yes, I can do something.”

“It’s more irritating than threatening.” He shook his head. “Anyway, let that go. Have a good afternoon and I’ll see you this evening.” He waved and headed back to the sounds of construction.

I turned to Bracken. “Okay?”

Bracken let out a breath. “Yes. He’s very large.”

I laughed. “He is. He’s also incredibly kind and protective.”

“I sensed that. Some wolves are quite aggressive. Alexander had a commanding presence. There was never any doubt who was in charge. He wasn’t as easy as his son seems to be, but neither did he have the hair trigger some wolves do. He was the most powerful wolf I interviewed, but I was never concerned about my safety. In fact, I’ve never felt safer. I knew if anything attacked, he’d have it sorted out with minimal effort.”

Declan was indeed like his father. When he’d met soon-to-be-deposed Alpha Logan, there was no aggression and no fear. Logan had been doing everything he could to try to intimidate Declan, while Declan ignored the posturing and instead tried to finagle a brownie from me. It made Logan go all wolf-eyed, but Declan wasn’t the least bit concerned. He knew he was the strongest, the most dominant, and therefore didn’t need to engage. Besides, he was interested in me. And my brownies.

I pointed toward the road. “Let’s head back. The gallery is even more chaotic from this side. Let’s see if it’s doable for you.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

He Just Looks Crazy. He’s Okay. Mostly

Bracken maneuvered back out onto the road and once again stopped when he saw the mural and tentacles. This time, though, people just drove around him without the honking. Maybe locals were used to people slowing here. I really hoped the gallery didn’t get a public safety citation.

He started driving again, went past the gallery, pulled to the side, and then backed onto the newly paved parking lot. His precision was impressive. The rig was less than a foot from the outer wall of the gallery and he was backed up to the water.

“Would you like a tour?” I unbuckled and moved into his living room.

“Very much.”

We got out and he stopped to watch the waves a moment before stepping onto the new deck. His fingers trailed over the edge of one of Declan’s curved benches. They’d been built to fit perfectly with the curve of the deck itself.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

“Declan built the deck and benches. That’s how we met.”

He nodded absently as he approached one of the tentacles rising up out of the water, seemingly poised to rip apart the gallery.

He reached out and then stopped himself. “May I touch?”

“Of course. They were pretty strong to begin with, but I added a spell to protect them. Once I open, people will be grabbing them and taking selfies, so I needed them close to indestructible.”

“Extraordinary.” His fingers ran over the tentacle and suckers. “It looks so real, I expected it to feel fleshy.” He turned to me with wonder in his eyes. “Truly extraordinary.”

“Thanks.” I waved him forward. “Is it too much for you?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to be. Perhaps because it’s art.” He gestured to the water. “The ocean is chaotic, but that doesn’t bother me either. Nature has rules and forms that it adheres to in its own chaotic fashion. Art must be the same to my brain.”

“Come see the rest then.” When we got down to the studio door, I pointed to the railing. “Wait. I want to introduce you first.”

I leaned over the railing, and he mirrored me. “Cecil! This is my Uncle Bracken.” Cecil did more than just tap the surface this time. He rose up, right below the surface, and eyed Bracken.

“Charlie, Herbert, you’re looking quite dapper today.” The starfish were a gorgeous orange against the vibrant purple of the algae on the pilings they clung to.

A tennis ball rolled to a stop by my foot. “Hey, they all decided to say hi. Give me a sec.” I opened the studio door and grabbed the whippy ball thrower, sending the tennis ball sailing over the water. With a bark, a seal went racing after it. “That’s Wilbur. He’s a selkie, but when he’s in his seal skin, we play catch.”

I put the ball thrower back inside the door and waved Bracken in. “This is my studio and apartment.”

He smiled, studying it all. “You live where you work. Like me.” He stopped in front of the corridor painting. “Ominous. I’m not sure what’s going on behind that door, but it feels deadly.”

---