Page 2 of Wicching Hour

“And by appointment,” I said. We’d already had this argument a few times. “Collectors prefer private viewings. Anyway,” I said, trying to change the subject, “that earpiece Carter’s wearing? It’s not hooked up to a security system or anything. He’s listening to podcasts.”

Declan laughed. “Nice.”

“Are you sure he can handle one of your obsessed stalkers?” Mom asked.

Carter turned to us from his spot across the gallery, eyebrows raised.

Leaning into Mom, I whispered, “He’s a bear shifter. He can handle any of them. Probably all of them.”

He nodded and went back to surveying the room.

“Mary Beth’s walking them to Cecil 2,” I whispered.

“Who?” Mom followed my gaze, studying the couple for a moment. “Oh. Your agent is very good, darling. The Winslows look like middle-class, elderly tourists, but the wife’s from serious old money and the husband used it to make them even more. They’re very committed philanthropists, so at least they’re doing a lot of good with it.” Mom elbowed me. “You should feel honored they’re here. They live on the East Coast. Connecticut, I believe.”

“How do you know all this stuff about them?” I asked her.

“I read an article on the charity work they do. I never would have recognized them if your agent hadn’t gone straight to them.”

“Aaaand there they go.” My hopes sank. Not only did they not buy my five-foot glass rendering of Cecil, they didn’t even pick up a starfish paperweight.Damn.

Mary Beth moved back to us, the crowd parting to make way for her and then reuniting behind her. “Sybil, that dress is gorgeous on you,” she said as she went behind the cashwrap.

My Aunt Elizabeth’s kids Frank and Faith were working the cash register, ringing up and wrapping purchases.

Mary Beth went into a drawer and pulled out a roll ofSoldstickers.

“Did they buy something?” I whispered, hope bubbling up.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you sweet summer child, it would be easier to tell you what they didn’t buy. Cecil is gone. They’ve put in an order for one hundred and seventy-five of the large octopuses.” At my look of shock, she said, “I explained you’d need time for an order that large. They’re planning to give them to their top executives in their companies as holiday gifts. I told them we could deliver by November fifteenth. That works, doesn’t it?”

She was referring to the twelve-inch octopuses. There was only one five-foot Cecil. I considered and then nodded.

“We’ll hire a team when it’s time to ship. We donotwant them arriving with broken tentacles. They also bought three of the paintings, seven of the framed photos—your underwater series—and assortment of this and that. They want to come back tomorrow before opening so they can browse properly. We’ll pull out any of the big pieces you still have in the hot shop for them to see.” She stopped. “No. We’ll take them to the hot shop so they can see what you do. That’s better. They get to feel themselves close with the artist. Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll get here first.” She looked out over the crowd. “It’s going well. Let me get these stickers on. And we have another collector who just walked in. He’s going to be very annoyed the Winslows got here first.”

She left me reeling, doing math in my head.

Declan picked me up and kissed me soundly. “Congratulations, Ursula. Looks like The Sea Wicche is a success.” When he put me down, I had to hold tight so my knees didn’t buckle.

“Very good, Arwyn. I guess you were right about only needing to be open a couple of days a week.” Mom looked as dazed as I was feeling.

I knew it when he walked in. The air changed. Mom made a noise, and I followed her gaze to the door. He’d come. He’d promised he’d come, and he had.

Dad.

Larger than life, he stood just inside the door, taking it all in. He wore a dark gray suit with a snowy white shirt and a watery blue tie. His hair was cut short, making his aqua blue eyes stand out even more.

I grabbed Mom and Declan’s hands, giving patrons a mental push out of the way so we could go to him. Mom resisted, but I pulled harder. She hadn’t seen him since before I was born, since she did what the family ordered and broke up with him. To say this meeting was fraught was an understatement.

He met us halfway across the room. “Daughter, I like your gallery very much.” He may have been speaking to me, but his eyes were on Mom. “Sybil. You look well.”

She swallowed and then nodded.

His focus swung to Declan. “And you. Are you strong enough to protect my child?”

Declan said, “I am,” just as I said, “I’m strong enough on my own, thanks.”

“That’s true,” Dad said, taking my gloved hand. “You have a lot of me in you.” He tucked it into the crook of his arm and moved us away from the other two. “Show me what you’ve created.”

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