Page 26 of Muzzled

“That’s exactly what I was craving,” she said with a groan, wiping her hands on the towel draped across her thigh. “Probably until ten. I want to be back on site by noon tomorrow.”

Glancing around at the onlookers, he handed her a coffee, pulled up a chair, and placed his palms on her spine. “You mind if I hang out until then?”

She rolled her shoulders out, leaning back and closing her eyes for a moment when his hands made contact with her tense muscles. “You’re hired,” she muttered, returning to her work and letting out a little sigh of relief when he started massaging her.

Needing to focus on something—anything—other than the feel of her body growing relaxed and compliant under his touch, he decided now was as good a time as any to approach her past. “So, do you have old friends along your route? High school sweethearts, maybe?”

“I can’t say I’ve really kept in touch with anyone I used to hang out with when I was younger. Except for the few artists who are still on the circuit.” His hands stilled and she shrugged them back to life. “I pretty much cut ties with everyone else once I started traveling.”

“Do you ever head home for a while? Take a break from moving around?” he asked, his thumbs pressing into a knot. “My brothers and I try to get back there two or three times a year.”

She grunted inelegantly. “Seeing my family isn’t a break. My half-sister lives on an acreage in South Dakota with her trust fund husband and won’t lower herself to speak to her ‘loser of a sister.’ And my mom’s only communication with me is to call for money every two or three years.” Using her nail to define the lines on the canvas, she looked over her shoulder at him. “For all I know, my dad could be married, dead, or here. How about you? Do you and your brothers rip through the ladies back home every time you go and leave a trail of quivering thighs behind you?”

Shocked, he let out a barking laugh and shook his head. “No. Not anymore. I was never the party guy to begin with, and with Bo married and Alex almost married, our next trip home will probably be pretty sedate.” A movement across the crowd caught his eye and he stopped his massage. “I’ll be right back.”

He moved swiftly through the crowd, completed a transaction he’d been itching to make since he’d stepped foot on the festival streets last week, and returned to find Micah still hard at work, adding a few more swipes of blue and blending them into the river.

“I’ve been looking all over for that guy,” he announced, unrolling his prize find in her line of sight. “I have an uncle who would love this.”

She smiled at the sight of the amazingly detailed ship, the masts and sails standing out against the precisely spaced lines of the body of the boat. Looking up at him, her face reflected his excitement. “He’s a city icon who draws these exclusively. Your uncle’s a lucky guy.”

“He has a thing for the ocean,” he replied, rolling the paper up carefully and sitting back behind her, kneading her shoulders until she tensed a fraction. “Sorry,” he muttered, working the knot out carefully. “I’m not sure how you’re able to move your arms at all, you’re so damn tight.”

She laughed as she shook out a can of sealant. “And I’m amazed there are any knots left at all. I’m so relaxed right now.” Turning away from the nozzle, she blasted her last piece and sunk into his hands while Logan began the bidding. “Nothing beats the feeling of finishing the final piece after a long night.”

Dropping his hands, he leaned back while she began tearing down and packing up.

He was no further ahead in his hunt to link her to the Pirithous than he’d been the night before. They’d discussed everything from family to friends to stupid things they’d done in their youth, but nothing stood out, and he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something he was missing.

As Logan packed the art supplies, Ryan joined Micah while she stacked the unsold pieces into a plastic tote, separating the canvases with prints. “You did some incredible stuff today,” he said, passing her a canvas filled with bright daisies and daffodils.

She wrinkled her nose and slid a print into the box. “Thanks. But it was all reworks of old pieces. Anything new in my head is just a little too macabre to be trying to sell.”

“Have you tried painting it out?” he asked, folding up the display cloth. “Maybe once all the images are out of your system, you’ll be able to move past them.”

With a groan, she looked over at Logan and dropped the volume of her voice. “I’ve been filling every sketchbook I own, and it’s like it’s feeding off itself.” She took the cloth from him and tucked it in tight with the canvases. “It’ll pass eventually. I’m not worried.”

He watched her bloodshot eyes scan the rooftops before she stood. “What are you expecting to see out there?”

“Ghosts.” She laughed, taking his hand. “Walk me home?”

*

With his noseto the ground, Ryan followed the Pirithous scent as it looped along the festival street, its potency incrementally stronger than it had been a mere week prior. With fewer artists on site and more musicians, the overpowering odors of cleaners and sealers were significantly decreased, allowing him to single out the bloodline and trace its path along the sidewalk.

When he heard footsteps approaching from the east, he backed into the shadowed overhang of a business and watched while two men passed by without noticing him, their animated conversation carrying through the quiet street.

The scent of the line grew stronger as he approached the bridge, peaking in front of the coffeehouse and raising his hackles as the odor of turpentine fought the bloodline for dominance.

It had been there, the intermingling smells placing the Pirithous within striking distance of Micah right around sunset.

He growled and paced the area, unable to determine precisely where it had stood.

Micah’s nervous assessments of her surroundings barreled into the forefront of his mind.

“Ghosts.”

The Pirithous was watching her.

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