Page 88 of Wicche Hunt

Declan went back to work and I was feeling stronger, better. Having someone I could call who’d quite literally run over to check on me was a strange and amazing gift. Another was the earrings my father had given me. I went into my closet, opened the small box, and felt that same rush of wonder I’d had when I first saw them.

Spelling them first against paint, I put them on and went down to work on the gallery. I had too much work to do to wallow all day.

It was late in the afternoon when I finished the far wall and took a quick break to eat something and move the scaffolding to the wall in common with the studio. This wall would be more complicated because of the little tea shop area and the built-in shelves. I had to take down the weathered-looking gray wooden shelves before I began to paint. Arranging them on the floor in the order I’d taken them from the wall would hopefully make putting this all back together easier.

I went out on the deck to sit on a bench and feel the ocean breeze as I ate a sandwich, one hastily assembled and rather bland. I had to remember to order more groceries. A seagull flew toward me and my food and then abruptly flew in another direction.

“That’s right. Keep moving,” I mumbled. I hadn’t been a fan of seagulls to begin with, but after Calliope and her demon had sent a horde of them to attack me, I’d spelled against them. A side benefit of the spell was no bird poop on my beautiful deck.

I finished, filled up my water bottle, and got back to work. Arms already hurting before hours of painting, I decided to start moving some of the display cases, pedestals, and tables into place. They were the same light gray wood as the cash wrap and tea shop. The countertops in both spots were stained concrete, like the floor, but in a light seafoam.

Spelling the fixtures into place was taxing in a different way, one I could live with, as my muscles were sore. When I was mostly done—I wasn’t doing anything on the studio side of the gallery because I was afraid the scaffolding would knock things over—I went into the fire room and started loading up a cart and rolling my glass sculptures out. I’d been mulling over placements for months, so it went quickly.

I knew I’d be tweaking the setup right until the grand opening, but I’d been dying to get started on this part for so long, I couldn’t tamp down the giddy. My own gallery. I brought out the octopuses first. As the Sea Wicche, the glass octopus was kind of my signature piece. I’d made a hundred, at least. Depending on intricacy, size, and price, some needed to be displayed in locked cases, while others were arranged on tiered tables.

At the top of the table, on an elevated platform, was a five-foot glass octopus. His head was a deep indigo, his irises gold. The color slid down his body, blue to purple to raspberry to orange to tentacles tipped in yellow. The suckers were pearlized. He was one of my favorite things I’d ever made. I’d have to putDon’t touchsigns everywhere, but I wanted him to be out where people could see him, where he could glow in the light.

Flicking my fingers, I turned on one of the spotlights on the ceiling, training it on my octopus. Perfect.

I filled in the lower shelves with far smaller and more affordable octopuses. I brought out starfish and whales, mermaids and jellyfish, sea anemones and rays. I had a collection of ocean waves, as well as an array of bowls and vases. After training spotlights on those displays, I went back to start hauling out my pottery.

I hadn’t realized how late it had become until I heard a gruff and grumbly, “Oh my God.” I almost dropped the huge vase I was holding when I spun at the words.

Declan held up his hands, staring at my work through the open windows to the deck. “I had no idea you already had all of this made.”

I placed the vase and then went to the back door to unlock it for him. I gave him a kiss and said, “I’ve been working for years, selling some along the way to support myself, stockpiling the rest for the gallery I knew I’d have some day.”

“I’d wondered how you could possibly fill up this entire space and now I’m not sure you have enough room.” He glanced at the watery walls. “You don’t even have your paintings and photographs up yet.” Patting his chest, he said, “It’s racing. Your gift…” His gaze continued to travel around the gallery. “This must be how da Vinci’s boyfriend felt.”

“Oh, stop,” I said, glowing on the inside.

“I came to measure that reading room and take you to dinner. Now I just want to study everything you’ve made.” And he did just that, strolling around cases and pedestals, watching the light change the pieces.

While he perused, I went back to the shelves in the fire room and brought out another cart of pottery, including an oversized bowl I’d sculpted to resemble a cresting wave.

“Amazing. It looks heavy, though.” Declan was beside me again.

“Not as heavy as the octopus, but, yeah, it’s heavy.”

“I can’t do any of this, but I can lift heavy things. Where do you want it?”

I pointed to the center of a tiered table in the pottery section of the gallery. The warning to be careful was on the tip of my tongue, but it was unnecessary. He held my work with the care one would an infant.

“I’ll measure while you finish up,” he said, heading to the reading room corner. “Think about what you’re hungry for.”

I waited for him to hear what he’d said.

“Besides me,” he called from inside the room.

Grinning, I pushed the cart to the tiered display and arranged a series of vases in graduating sizes.

“Whoa.”

I turned at the deep voice and found Osso and Hernández staring through the open windows. Flicking my fingers, I said, “It’s unlocked.”

They came in and wandered the gallery much as Declan had, with Osso carrying a black bag.

“I knew you were good,” Hernández began. “I’ve seen the paintings and the tentacles.” She gestured out the windows. “But—holy crap—I had no idea.”

---