Page 4 of Wicching Hour

He stared into my eyes again, a soft smile on his lips. “You may call me Father.”

The butterflies flapped wildly. “And while I appreciate that very much, I’d really like to know your name.” I looked back at Mom and Declan. “I mean, what did Mom call you?”

Detective Osso, Carter’s older brother, walked in the front door and gestured to Declan.

My dad patted my hand. “Walk me out. I need to get back now.”

“Oh.” My butterflies drooped. “Of course. I’m really glad you were able to make it tonight and see the gallery.”

We walked past Mom, and he pointedly did not look in her direction. When we stepped out onto the deck, he breathed in deeply and shook his head. His hair, multi-hued and curly like my own, was long again, hanging past his shoulders.

“May I visit again?” He glanced over cautiously before his chin lifted and he stared out at the waves.

“Yes, please.” Butterflies resurrected, they bumped into each other like zombie insects.

“Good. I would like to get to know you, daughter.” His perfect suit turned into a toga like it did the first time I saw him.

“I’d like that very much.” Hands clutched in front of me, I added, “I always wanted a dad.”

His austere expression softened. Leaning down, he kissed my forehead. “You’ve always had one.” He glanced through the gallery windows and then turned his back to me. “I suppose a daughter should know her father’s name.”

I waited.

“You, little one, must call me Father. Or Dad.” His brow creased at that moniker, but he smiled. “If your man needs to ask for me, though, he should use Mac. That was what she called me.”

I was pretty sure I knew who theshewas he was referring to, so I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to do anything to spoil this moment.

“Mac,” I repeated.

He nodded once. “But that’s not for you.”

“No.” I pulled his arm down again and kissed his cheek. I had a moment of fear that I’d see or hear something that would ruin this whole night, but he’d just kissed me and I hadn’t heard anything, so I took the chance. Nothing but a strong jaw and a feeling of tentative affection.

The back door flew open.

“There you are!” Mary Beth said, waving me in. “I have people I need you to meet.”

Looking around, I realized I was by myself. Dad was gone. “Bye.” I waved at the ocean and followed my agent back in.

“Okay,” Mary Beth murmured. “The Winslows will be back tomorrow morning. Tonight, I want to introduce you to Miles Cheng. He’s a tech millionaire who’s an heir to billions.”

She took us to a man standing alone, studying Cecil 2.0. He was a few inches taller than me and impeccably dressed in a black suit with a matching black dress shirt.

“Mr. Cheng?” Mary Beth said. “Please allow me to introduce you to the artist, Arwyn Corey. Arwyn, this is Mr. Cheng, entrepreneur and art lover.”

He turned, his gaze sweeping over me, before inclining his head. Thankfully, he knew not to try to shake my hand. “How do you do? I’m honored to meet you,” he said in a gorgeous British accent. “Your work, as I’m sure you know, is extraordinary. But this—” He gestured to Cecil. “I’ve been staring at him for a little while now and I swear I see his tentacles move out of the corner of my eye. I don’t understand how you make glass fluid.”

I felt Declan move up beside me, but Mr. Cheng’s eyes stayed on me. “I asked Ms. Peredel if I might speak with you about a commissioned piece.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“I’d like you to make me a window. A circle five feet across.” He paused. “Are you familiar withA Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains?”

“Yes. Fan Kuan,” I said, referring to a Chinese artist from the Song dynasty whose painting he’d named.

Finally, a smile. “I don’t expect a replica. What I’d like is a piece of art glass inspired by that painting.”

I considered the idea. I’d never done a window of that size. The challenge was exciting.

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