Page 3 of Wicching Hour

TWO

A Flutter of Butterflies

Iescorted him through the gallery, pointing out paintings and photographs. It was my glasswork that drew him, though.

“I would like something small of yours,” he said. “Something I can carry with me.”

Other patrons noticed us and tried to approach, but they quickly turned away and moved on. I guess Dad didn’t want any interruptions, which was good by me. I took him to the locked display case against the slanted wall. My psychic reading room was behind this wall, not that I’d had time to do readings lately.

“I know just the one.” Using a spell rather than a key, I slid open the case and retrieved a tiny, perfect replica of a baby octopus. It had been extraordinarily difficult to get the details right when working with something so small. I was very proud of the transparent little guy, with tiny tan spots and big gray eyes.

“My gift,” I said, offering him the baby in my palm.

With a delicate touch, he picked up the little octopus and studied him. Turning his attention to me, he smiled and the room grew brighter, the butterflies in my stomach beating their wings furiously.

“Perfect. I know he’s made of glass, but my eyes believe him to be real.” With a nod, he added, “I accept this gift from my exceptional daughter.” He closed his fingers over the glass octopus, gave me his arm, and we continued our walk around the gallery.

We stopped in front of a painting I’d done of a tidal pool right before a large wave hits. Lots of little sea creatures working in the clear pools as a curl of ocean gets ready to slam into them. Some will get washed away. Some will spin and roll, buffeted by the force, but in the end remain where they were.

“There’s a lesson there,” he said. “We can’t always prepare for what’s coming. Often, we need to ride out the unforeseen and then make a new plan depending on where we end up.”

I squeezed his arm and nodded, probably getting more emotional than the moment warranted. Look at me, getting life advice from my dad.

“Maybe we should go talk with Mom,” I suggested. It hadn’t escaped my notice that his gaze kept falling on her.

“No.” He studied my gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. “Is this fashion?”

I shook my head. “I’m a Cassandra wicche. When I touch people or objects, I hear thoughts, see memories, know who last touched it. I have my mental blocks up high tonight, but persistent thoughts are still getting through.”

He nodded. “Like that man in the corner who’s been staring at you, dreaming of being your lover?”

Halfway across the crowded gallery, Carter’s head swung to the corner to see who Dad was talking about.

I knew exactly who he meant without looking. I didn’t recognize the man, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. I nodded. “Yeah, like him.” If I’d had my shields lower, I’d probably have picked up enough of a mental signature to place him, but I was blocking hard tonight. No doubt he was one of the very intense men who’d watched my daily progress on the huge mural on the side of the gallery.

My father stared down at me, his gaze charged with barely contained power. “I could kill him for you, so you needn’t worry.”

My throat went dry as I shook my head. “No, thank you. I have my gifts to keep me safe.”

He gave a quiet grunt of approval and then looked over to where Mom and Declan were standing. “What about that one? Are you sure he can be trusted? Can you hear his thoughts?”

I pulled his arm down as I went up on tiptoe. Whispering, I said, “He’s a magical null. I can touch him without visions and voices. I have a little bottle of seawater I carry with me, though, to reset my magic after he kisses me.”

Nodding slowly, he pulled me on so we could continue our walk. “Wolves are strong. I can see that he has good sense and loves you. I approve.”

Declan and I had never used that word. It made the butterflies in my stomach start up again. Dad stopped in front of my pottery, eyeing a large bowl that came up on one side in the shape of a wave.

“I like that I see myself in your art. The ocean is everywhere in here. As your father, it is a fitting tribute.”

I glanced around. I supposed I could see where he got that. “It’s me, though. I didn’t know you. I have my own affinity with the water.”

He nodded proudly. “Of course you do, through me.” He looked over his shoulder into the back corner again. “I find him quite irritating.”

“Uh, Carter,” I said, trying not to tip off the humans that I was talking to the large man across the gallery by the front door. “Can you escort that guy out before my dad does something these people can’t unsee?”

Carter moved toward the creepy guy and my father turned his back, looking out over the crowd again like he was surveying his subjects. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

A thought occurred to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know. What’s your name?”

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