Chapter 19 #2
Finn looked skeptical, but didn’t argue. “Would it work?”
Aspen nodded. “If I get the recipe right, it should stop the dreams. At least for a while.”
I felt a wave of relief, followed immediately by guilt. “If you can just get me through the gallery opening that would be incredibly helpful. But you don’t have to do this, Aspen. I know how busy the bakery has gotten.”
She squeezed my hand. “Honey, you’re family. This is what we do.” Then, softer: “My mom always said, there’s no harm a fresh cinnamon roll can’t mend. But if there is, you add more magic.”
Oscar beamed, which for a prairie dog looked like baring two long incisors. “Precisely. You see, Miss Lawson, you are in the safest paws in Dairyville.”
I giggled and instantly felt better. I inhaled a cinnamon roll, the sugar and spice grounding me, making the nightmare seem less real. Finn had two black coffees, and a scone gone before I even noticed.
Aspen took notes on a little pad. “Just to be clear: you both had the same dream?”
Finn nodded. “At the same time. I just remember a flash of seeing Brie chained.” He stopped, eyes going flinty. “I think she was hurt. It was like somebody else was pretending to be me. At least that’s what the notes I scribbled down right after seemed to indicate.”
Aspen wrote this down, her lips tight.
Oscar chimed in, “If you require additional security, I can stand guard while you sleep.”
Finn actually smiled. “I’d take you over half the pack, Oscar.”
I reached for another roll, then remembered my actual reason for being up early. “Aspen, can I get a box of these? I want to pay Lysander and Inez for working so hard to finish the gallery install on time.”
Aspen boxed up half a dozen, adding a few extras “for creative fuel.” She labeled the box in pink marker: For the artists, love Aspen.
I stood to leave, suddenly aware that I’d been holding Aspen’s hand the whole time. I squeezed it once more. “Thank you, A. You’re the best.”
She blushed, waved it off. “You just focus on your show. I’ll have something ready for you this afternoon.”
Oscar bowed from the table. “Be vigilant, Miss Lawson. And try to get some actual sleep, if you can.”
Finn and I stepped out into the brightness of the street, the scent of the bakery still clinging to our clothes.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You good?”
I nodded, the pastry and coffee working their magic. “Yeah. For now.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead pulled me in for a long, solid hug. “I’m going to head over to the clubhouse. Bronc wants a full security run-through before tomorrow. You’ll be okay at the gallery?”
“Please. Compared to last night, the gallery’s nothing.” I grinned, surprising myself with how normal it sounded.
Finn stroked my cheek with his thumb. “If you need me, you call. No matter what.”
“I will.”
We stood like that for a minute, neither of us wanting to break the spell. But life didn’t wait, and I had work to do.
He peeled off, boots thudding down the sidewalk, already on the phone with the club. I watched him go, a pang of longing settling behind my ribs, then squared my shoulders and turned toward the gallery.
The day was young; the sun was hot, and I had cinnamon rolls to deliver.
If the darkness wanted me, it would have to wait in line.
By the time I got to the gallery, the air was thick with the smell of drying paint, overpriced espresso, and Lysander’s cologne, which today was something between a forest fire and an absinthe hallucination.
The entire main floor was chaos: almost finished temporary walls, extension cords snaking across the raw floorboards, Inez up on a ladder in paint-splattered overalls, swearing in what I was fairly certain was a mix of Spanish, Italian, and direct invocations of the Virgin.
I dumped the pastry box on the reception counter and called, “Breakfast, if you don’t want to die before lunch!
” It got their attention immediately. Inez clambered down the ladder, wiped her hands on her thighs, and snatched the box as if it might grow legs and run off.
Lysander, who’d been in the back office, glided out, his phone tucked between shoulder and jaw, gesturing at me with his free hand.
“Darling, you have saved our lives,” he mouthed, then into the phone: “No, not you, Bruce, the actual artist, yes—” and vanished into the makeshift office.
Inez broke a cinnamon roll in half and offered me the gooier side. “You look tired,” she said, which was her way of being polite about the bags under my eyes.
I shrugged, mouth full of pastry. “Didn’t sleep. Too much on my brain.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let Lysander boss you around. He gets dramatic when he is hungry. Like a child, that one.”
I laughed, and for a minute, it was almost like last year, before the universe decided to treat me like a chew toy.
We took our breakfast onto the metal benches in front of the gallery. It was early, not yet hot, and the pale light made the whole place look softer. Inez told me about her latest commission (a mural for a yoga studio in Santa Fe), then pressed: “Really, Brie. Are you okay?”
I looked at her, at the paint still clinging to her hands, and decided to just say it. “I’m having nightmares. Bad ones. Finn too. And they’re getting worse.”
She frowned, then crossed herself—a gesture she usually reserved for hospital dramas and horror movies. “Mal de ojo,” she muttered, then in English: “You need to break the curse, no?”
I snorted. “If you have a recipe, I’ll try anything.”
She leaned in suddenly solemn. “If you want, I’ll make you a protection candle. My abuela taught me.”
It was so sincere, I almost cried. “Thank you, Inez. Maybe after the install, we can do a whole exorcism.”
She grinned. “I’ll bring tequila. That’s how you get rid of all evil spirits.”
We finished the rolls and went back inside; the sugar made the next hour blur.
Lysander ran logistics like a cruise director on speed, organizing everything: lighting, installation order, photographer schedule, even the catering walk-through.
He was a machine, and I let myself get swept up in the forward momentum of it all.
At eleven, we broke for coffee and regrouped in the office. Lysander sprawled on the couch, legs crossed at the knee, while Inez perched on the window ledge, feet swinging. I collapsed onto the couch next to him, letting the caffeine do battle with the exhaustion.
“Alright, darling,” Lysander said, voice soft for once. “Are you ready for the good news, or should we do bad news first?”
I stretched, feeling the ache in my back. “Let’s get the bad out of the way.”
He waggled a finger. “Cynicism, my dear! I love it. Okay. The bad news is, the main gallery floor still smells like industrial glue, and we might need to open a few windows and pray it airs out before tomorrow.”
I snorted. “Noted. And the good news?”
He sat up, and suddenly he was closer than I expected, eyes very blue and very, very serious. “The good news is, you’re going to sell every piece you hang. Maybe more. I got an email this morning—there are buyers flying in from Boston and Santa Fe. Not for Inez, for you.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s—what? How?”
He beamed. “Because I am a genius, darling, and because your work is honest. People can smell the blood and the sweat. You’re not trying to impress them, and that’s why they want it.”
I blinked. “Wow.”
Inez whooped, then hugged me from behind, nearly choking me. “Brie, this is amazing! See? You make something real, and people feel it.”
For a minute, I was speechless. I thought about all those years of trying to be someone else, trying to make something worth being seen, and it was almost funny that the thing people wanted was the mess I’d always tried to hide.
Lysander watched me, hands folded, smile softer now. “You okay?”
I nodded, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just…” I swallowed. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward, brushing a hair off my cheek. “You deserve it, darling. All of it.”
Inez left to call her abuela about the candle, so I was alone with Lysander. He moved closer to me, close enough that our knees touched.
His voice dropped. “Can I say something strange?”
I raised an eyebrow. “When have you ever not?”
He smiled, then bit his lip. “I know we joke about it, but I really do care about you, Brie. I’m not just your rep, you know?”
I looked away, embarrassed. “I know.”
He took my hand, held it just a second longer than a friend would. “Promise me you’ll let someone take care of you, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”
The words gutted me a little, but I managed a nod. “I promise.”
He pulled me into a tight hug. I’d never felt the slightest bit awkward with Lysander’s touches, but this one felt…
different. More personal somehow. As he let go, I caught a whiff of a familiar scent, but I couldn’t place it.
Before I could think about it, he pulled away, suddenly shy.
“Okay, enough of that. Let’s go make you famous. ”
We finished up the rest of the install by three. The floors were swept, the lighting perfect, the walls pristine. The transformation was almost supernatural—like the gallery had finally woken up and realized what it was supposed to be.
I was hanging the last label when Aspen walked in, carrying a canvas tote and looking like she’d run the entire way from the bakery. Her cheeks were flushed, and Oscar was peeking from her bag, his head swiveling on a tiny neck.
“Hi!” she called, and even Lysander looked happy to see her.
I jogged over and pulled her into a hug. “Did you come to save us from glue poisoning?”
She laughed. “No, but I brought you something.” She rummaged in her tote, then produced a little pouch tied with a yellow ribbon.
“Protection charms,” she whispered, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “You’re supposed to put them under your pillow, but you can carry them in your purse if you need to. They should block out anything trying to get into your head.”
I took the pouch, nearly crying again. “Thank you, Aspen. You are the best.”
Oscar made a tiny cough, then bowed. “I contributed sage advice, as is my duty,” he said, and for a second I thought maybe Lysander heard him, because his eyes flicked to Oscar, then back to Aspen, face unreadable. Which was odd, since only supernaturals could see Oscar.
Aspen glanced at Lysander, then whispered: “If anything changes, call me. I’ll do more research tonight.”
I nodded, squeezing her hand.
After she left, Lysander saw the pouch and pulled it from my hand. “Ooh, let me see!” He emptied the two charms into his hand. They sparkled under the installation lights. “These are beautiful, Brie! I didn’t know Aspen also made jewelry.”
I was so stunned that he had pulled the pouch from my hand that I was almost speechless.
I quickly took the charms and placed them back in the pouch and stuffed it in my pocket for safekeeping.
“Hey, Mr. Grabby Hands! Yes, she dabbles and doesn’t really want the word to get out since she’s just started playing around. So please keep it to yourself.” I lied.
We walked the gallery floor one last time. He seemed different—quieter, more thoughtful. I wondered if maybe he’d seen something in Aspen that he couldn’t explain, or maybe he just wanted to protect me the way I always protected everyone else.
Either way, I felt lighter. Ready.
At five, Finn pulled up outside in his fancy pickup truck waiting for me, window rolled down. I saw him, and my heart did that stupid somersault again.
Lysander walked me to the door, then, with a sudden rush of bravado, pulled me into another extended hug. He held me tight, then kissed my cheek, his lips lingering just long enough to make my skin tingle.
He and Inez trailed out after we turned out all the lights. I gave one last look at the gallery. We were ready as we’d ever be.
“Knock ’em dead tomorrow, darling.” He waved as he and Inez reached their rental car. She gave me a big smile as they drove away.
I climbed into the truck, the weight of the day lifting with every step. Finn reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You ready for a real night’s sleep?” he asked.
I smiled, the protection pouch warm in my pocket. “I think I am.”
For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t afraid of what waited in the dark.
If the nightmares wanted me, they’d have to get through a bakery witch, a prairie dog, a small army of cinnamon rolls, and the two best men I’d ever known.
I liked my odds.