Page 11 of Muzzled

She skirted a crowd and grabbed his hand, pulling him along a storefront until she was behind a spray-painter who was still on his list. She crouched down to him, speaking low enough to keep her words from his spectators. “William, you talentless bastard. You aren’t still trying to pass that assembly-line crap off as original, are you?”

Without missing a beat, the guy sprayed his own hand with red and slid it over her exposed leg, continuing on with his piece as he grinned and switched out cans. “You aren’t still perpetuating the starving-artist myth with those bulk-bin brushes and dollar-store sandals, are you?”

Grabbing a rag and turpentine off the artist’s table, she straightened and got to work on cleaning the paint from her knee. “Will and I have been running the circuit together for eleven years,” she explained, tossing a few dollars into his hat. “His wife is back in Ontario with their two kids, so it’s my job to take over her harassment of him in her absence.” As William finished his piece, she eased them out of the noise of the bidding and out of the artist’s earshot. “Not a sci-fi art fan, are you?”

He craned his neck to look over the artwork on display. “They’re good. But no, not quite my thing.”

Nudging him along, she stopped in front of a jewelry display. “I’d probably be a millionaire if I didn’t spend my sales on this stuff,” she murmured, lifting a pair of earrings up and examining the clasps. “I’m a sucker for quality, unique pieces.” Taking her wallet out and passing the seller a handful of bills, she reached into her purse, pulled out a small mirror, and smiled up at him. “Hold this?”

He stilled while she traded her old earrings out for the new ones, her lips pursing slightly as she concentrated in the dim lamplight. He’d done this hundreds of times for his mistress over the centuries, but it wasn’t until now that the direct connection between pursed lips and earrings amused him. Her nose scrunched, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer. He caught the faint scent of raspberries and vanilla and he found himself inhaling deep.

With a quick tilt of her head, she nodded in approval. “Yes?”

“Stunning.”

*

Ryan padded alongthe shadows of the deserted street, his nose tight to the cement while he tracked the path of the Pirithous.

The elusive prey had been active that evening while he’d been strolling alongside Mike, their paths likely crossing while they’d been perusing the vendor stands and dodging tipsy patrons.

William had been high on his list for the night, his hopes sinking when the bloodline was no stronger in the spray-paint artist’s staked claim than it was farther down the block.

Logan was too young.

The magician Mike introduced him to was too old. And a little more hands-on with her than Ryan thought proper.

Artist after artist had been eliminated until he was left with a smattering of far-reaches, remote possibilities who he knew logically weren’t a match.

Whoever it was, it wasn’t a performer or artist.

The scent was too evenly spread throughout the street, the lingering heat of the day amplifying the weak trail from one end of the road to the other.

He paused at Mike’s corner, backing into the darkened stoop of the coffeehouse to remain out of sight of the odd car passing by.

The stench of turpentine was strong, but beneath it lay a hint of the lavender he’d scented on her as they walked tightly together, inching through the rowdy masses in search of the next unique jewelry find.

Despite his frustration over finding neither the Pirithous nor answers to the disturbing artwork sitting face down in his motel room, it hadn’t been a bad evening.

If he was being honest with himself, it hadn’t just beennot bad, it had been good. Very good. Good enough to give him thoughts of doing it again.

Mike was highly entertaining and far more talkative than he was. Her energy seemed to grow to almost frenetic levels as the festivalgoers became louder and more raucous. She knew most of the performers, yanking him to a stop frequently to introduce him or, more often, to make a smart-ass comment only he and her target could hear.

He found himself drawn in by the intensity of her spirit and the excitement she shared without apology. It was as though she had shifted all the power she channeled into concentrating while she created to dispersing it amid the crowds—him, included—and it was impossible not to get swept up in it.

He’d smiled. Laughed.

Relaxed.

And he never relaxed.

His ears perked up with the sound of a rodent in the vicinity, and he zeroed in on a small mouse scrounging a meal out of the gutters.

“Orion, honey. No.”

His eyes snapped up and focused on Seph while she walked across the road, hands on her hips and a look of disappointment on her flawless face.

Hades sauntered behind her, grunting in annoyance when he stepped into half a discarded burrito. “Save your energy for larger prey.” He chuckled, stomping his foot toward the gutter and sending the terrified mouse running.

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