Page 2 of Wicche Hunt

Hmm. That was a good point. “New thought: glass panels, but I paint the bottom so you see tentacles that are pushing up out of the water to crush the Sea Wicche art gallery.”

“I can’t believe that just happened.” Sam, The Slaughtered Lamb owner and recently discovered Corey cousin, was behind the bar. She had long brown hair braided down her back, leaving her lovely face unframed. She had Corey green eyes and a cleft in her chin that must have come from the Quinn side of her family tree. Shaking her head, she asked, “What can I get you two?”

“Beer. Whatever you have on tap.” Declan took the empty stool in front of her. He’d thought he was the last of the storied Quinn line of werewolves. Like me, he’d found out that he, too, had a relative, one who had been hidden most of her life.

Taking the seat beside Declan, I said, “We’ve worked it out. Declan here is your uncle. And I’m fine with water.”

Sam grinned, and it lit up the bar. There was something about her that made you feel safe and welcome. I couldn’t explain it. “Was your dad Alexander?” she asked. At Declan’s nod, she said, “I’m his son Michael’s daughter.” Shaking her head, she glanced over at her ridiculously handsome vampire husband, Clive. “This is my Uncle Declan.”

He ran a hand down her back. “So I heard.” He had a beautiful English accent, chiseled features, thick dark blond hair, and gray eyes that went soft whenever he looked at his wife. I’d seen him in a rage, eyes black, fangs descended, so I knew just how terrifying he could be. Now, though, here with Sam, he was a different man.

“That,” he said, gesturing toward the window, “was the most extraordinary thing I’ve seen in my very long life. Do whales often drop by your gallery in Monterey?”

“Depends,” I said, tipping my head back and forth. “If it’s their migratory season and I’m out on the deck, I often get a few visitors. Not close like this, though. The water’s too shallow for gray whales right next to the gallery. They’re maybe fifty yards away. I’ve taken some great shots of them, though. Once the renovation is complete, I’ll have a wall for my photographs.”

“Oh,” Sam said, like a thought had just occurred to her. Clive smiled and nodded, almost as though he’d heard her thought. “Can you do a portrait of Fergus for us?”

I glanced around the bar, looking for him, and found him once again on the landing, keeping a suspicious eye on all of us. I took out my phone, fiddled with the settings, and slid off the stool to take a few. “I’ll see what I can do now. If I don’t get anything good, we can schedule a session.”

Sam bounced on the balls of her feet. “Perfect.” She looked past me into the bookstore. “Fyr?” she called.

Out of the bookstore strode the most Thor-looking mountain of a man I’d ever seen. He had long blond hair, dragon-green eyes—you know what? Just picture Thor and you’ve got it.

“Can you watch the bar?” Sam asked Thor. “We need to go back and have a chat with our guests.”

He nodded, grabbed a bar towel, and folded it into his waistband. It was nothing, the most basic of movements, but most of the people in the bar—including me—couldn’t tear our eyes away from him.

Fingers snapped in my face, and I startled, finding Declan staring at me, eyebrows raised.Oops.I shrugged. It wasn’t my fault the gorgeous man walked in front of me. I’d been minding my own business, framing dog photos. I can’t be held accountable for noticing gods walking among us.

I caught up with Sam. The kitchen was remarkable. Her countertops were like my floors, but her concrete was stained the blue-green of shallow water. The dark floor gave just a bit with each step. “Cork?” I asked.

Dave, Sam’s half-demon cook, looked over his shoulder and nodded. He wasn’t wearing the glamour I’d seen him in, that of a tall, muscular, bald Black man. How freeing The Slaughtered Lamb must be. No humans could get in, so supernaturals could be themselves. In Dave’s case, he was still tall, muscular, and bald, but he was now also red-skinned and black-eyed.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Cork flooring is easier on the knees and feet.” He tilted his head toward the counter to his left. “Wolf, I put a cheesesteak aside for you, if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Declan grabbed the plate and followed Sam through a dark doorway. I paused, taking off my backpack and pulling out a gift cocooned in Bubble Wrap.

“Thank you for meeting with me again. As a token, I made Maggie a little something for your garden.”

Dave wiped his hands on a dish towel and then tossed it onto the nearby island. Leaning against the counter, he studied what was in my hand. “This is for Maggie?”

I nodded.

“Can I open it?”

“Please do.” Hopefully, he’d like it too. “It’s glass,” I warned. I didn’t want it broken before it made it to her.

He unwrapped an eight-inch-long glass hedgehog. I’d remembered he’d said his girlfriend wanted a pet hedgehog but couldn’t have one, as they’d been living in an apartment. Now that he’d rescued her from a couple of demons, they were looking for a house with a backyard.

“I’d never tried to make a hedgehog before.” I thought it had turned out well, though. I’d pulled and snipped the ball of hot amorphous glass, shaping sparkling brown quills, and I’d made the sweet, tapered face a color somewhere between tan and pink. When Dave came close to smiling, I thought my payment had been accepted.

“Go on,” he said, waving me toward the door.

Before stepping through, I looked back and saw him gently placing it on his desk. The world went dark again, like when we’d went through the ward on the stairs, and then…oh, it was an apartment. The living room was cozy, saddle brown walls, mahogany wood, and beautiful green leather couch and chairs. They’d moved one of the wooden chairs from the bar in as well.

Declan was sitting on the couch, chatting with Sam and Clive, who were in the matching chairs. Declan patted the cushion beside him. Instead of sitting, though, I went to a painting hanging on their wall.

It was Paris, unmistakably Paris at night, the Eiffel Tower lit up in the distance. This wasn’t the painting of a street artist cranking them out for the tourists. This packed an emotional punch. The colors, the brushstrokes, the dreamy quality of the moon glowing behind snow clouds…

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