Page 2 of Prayers for the Prickly

Or a dragon’s?

Decisions, decisions.

Lay it down, caress it more, let the image form in my mind.

If I went with scales, I could add resin inlays, with stone chips to match the stone it held. Maybe I’d add some silver flecks to it, or goldleaf, depending on the color of the stone I choose. It would definitely need to hang, and the jagged angle of the neck would give it character, especially if I dipped it in molten steel and forged a crossed ring mount for it and dual chains, to make certain the weight was evenly distributed and wouldn’t come crashing down on someone’s head.

While it was tempting, I didn’t want to turn this one into a light fixture. Adding a bulb would ruin the effect of the stone. It would look awesome in front of a window, though, especially if I chose something with a marbled effect, so the sunrays would highlight the different hues. Something more translucent than solid, like rose quartz, or amethyst, or even a light smoky with clear quartz ribbons spun through the gray.

And I knew just who to see for a stone the size of the one I was thinking, as well as the length of wrought iron chain that would be needed to support it. The more I studied it, the more I could see the dragon’s claw taking shape.

Definitely dragon.

There would be little I’d have to do to the actual wood, aside from the inlays, and the sharpening of the claws. Pleased that the wood had revealed its hidden truth so easily, I began to assemble to materials I had, so I could make a list of what I needed. I never started a project until I had every component in hand. There was nothing more vibe wrecking than reaching for something I didn’t have and would have to stop and go get before I could move forward. Leaving my workshop took preparation, and not just in the form of lists and itineraries. Mentally composing myself to be able to deal with people presented its own set of challenges.

I hated leaving my workshop. Peopling was not my thing, even on the best of days. My demeanor was too gruff, and my scowl put people off. I was a wolverine, for fuck’s sake. What the hell did people expect from me?

More, apparently.

Olly was forever after me to smile more, rather than walk around wearing what my youngest brother called my resting bitch face.

He should be happy I wasn’t snarling as I stormed down the street. What others considered brusque and even rude, I saw as expedient. What was the point in making polite conversation when I had shit to do and nothing to say? No interest in what they had to say either. Not when most of it was useless gossip. I didn’t poke around in other people’s business and I didn’t need them poking into mine. If folks would just learn to mind their own gods be damned business and keep their thoughts and opinions to themselves, the world would be a much better place.

Muttering beneath my breath, I turned to grab the notepad I’d thrown on my work bench, nearly colliding with Olly, who as usual, had a big, cheerful smile on his face. My brother was the most charming wolverine I had ever met, especially on our old man’s side of the family. Having witnessed Olly’s mother’s spectacular array of shittiness over the years, I could say with all certainty that he hadn’t gotten his disposition from her, either.

Everyone said I took after Uncle Ransom, who took a greeting ofgood morningas both a personal threat and an insult, often snarling backwho said I want it to be.

“Sorry,” Olly said. “I’d have said something, but your lips were moving so I figured you were talking to yourself again.”

“I was, thanks for not interrupting,” I replied. “What did you need?”

“Got a customer looking for something very specific. Is it okay to bring them back or do you want them to wait until you bring the new pieces out onto the floor?” Olly asked. “I’ll tell him whatever you’d like if you don’t want him back here.”

“I know, that’s why I appreciate you being here,” I told him, trying to smile, because it always made my brother smile more. “You can bring him back. I’ve got to take off and pick up a few things once they’re finished. Want anything for lunch?”

“Fried clams?”

“You and your damn fried clams,” I grumbled, chuckling a little. “You’re gonna turn into a clam one day, I swear, and you know what will happen then.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll toss me in the pot with the rest of the ingredients for a clam broil and that will be the end of me,” Olly replied, giggling all the way back to the front.

He returned a few minutes later with a man wearing the brightest ensemble to enter the shop since we’d opened. A sweet scent wafted my way when the man offered his hand in introduction.

“Thank you so much for letting me come back here,” the man said. “I’m August, and this place is fabulous.”

“I…”

For a moment, I forgot my name. Between the sunny yellow shirt, yellow shorts with thin pink pinstripes, yellow socks and pink sneakers, August reminded me of my favorite candy. Strawberry lemonade twists, extra sour. August’s hair was even streaked with vivid shades of pink, yellow and lavender, and dammit all, he smelled like candy. That sweet, sweet smell was coming from him.

“He’s Gregor,” Olly said while I stood there blinking. “Sometimes he forgets how to form words, but that’s okay, because his hands never forget what they’re supposed to be doing. He’s really good with them.”

While my mind tried to process if Olly had really said what I thought he said, August giggled, slapping a hand over his mouth while his eyes lit up so bright they practically sparkled. The moment Olly realized how his words could be taken he started giggling, too, while I snorted and suddenly found myself chuckling as well.

What the hell?

Now that I started, I couldn’t stop, which just seemed to fuel their giggles, creating an endless loop of laughter. I was just glad that no one else was in the shop to see or hear the chicanery, or they might have called for a welfare check, to see what Olly and August had done to one of the town’s snarliest wolverines.

“I-I can’t stop looking at his hands now,” August choked out, which made Olly snort and laugh harder.

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