Chapter 6 Story Time
SIX
Story Time
I had time on the flight to think about what that was and how it could be fought. As I had no idea, I was flying to Arwyn’s. The thing had touched me. Hopefully, if Arwyn, a psychic wicche, touched me too, she’d glean some information about him.
Landing on the deck of her art gallery, I tried to look through the windows for her, but she seemed to have spelled them. I couldn’t see inside.
Her gallery was in a remodeled cannery, right down the road from the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
It sat on the water, her extensive deck on pylons over the ocean.
She’d created towering, hyper-realistic octopus tentacles that appeared to be coming up out of the water to pull her gallery under, as though the Kraken was waging war on her.
I hopped on a bench by her studio door and tapped my beak on the glass.
After a few minutes, I tried again. No response.
No movement at all inside. Sighing, I flapped and landed on the gate at the end of her deck.
It felt like a good spot to monitor two sides of the gallery.
Declan had said she was in the middle of a big job.
Hopefully that meant she’d be arriving soon.
Closing my eyes to the rising sun, I waited and rested.
Voices startled me awake. Declan and Arwyn were walking down the side of the gallery building. She wore paint-spattered overalls, a long-sleeved tee, and matching gloves, with all her hair piled on top of her head. Declan, in jeans and a flannel, had her backpack over his shoulder again.
“You don’t have to walk me all the way to the studio,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He had to lean down to kiss the top of her head. “I know, but I enjoy spending time with you. And no working through lunch today. I’ll be back to make sure you take a break and eat.”
“Dude. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.”
“I know.” He reached over and rubbed his hand back and forth over her stomach. “But it’s not just you anymore. I just want to make sure both my girls are safe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just because my dad says it’ll be a girl, it doesn’t mean it will be.”
“She will be,” he corrected. “And I trust your dad.”
This felt like a conversation they wouldn’t want an audience for, so I hooted softly. They both startled and looked up.
Arwyn’s head tilted to the side. “Orla?”
I hooted again and flew to a tentacle.
They both hurried, opening the gate, and met me on the deck.
“Are you okay?” Arwyn asked.
“Can you shift and talk to us?” Declan wondered.
I hopped down to the bench beside them and then spread out a wing to touch Arwyn’s hand. I could have shifted to make all of this easier, but I was afraid that something would be lost during the fire of reforming. Changing tactics, I plucked at Arwyn’s glove, my claw snagging the fabric.
“Orla? What—why are—” Arwyn stuttered to a stop, trying to follow what I was doing.
“It looks like she wants you to touch something,” Declan said. “Is that right?” he asked me. “Do you want Arwyn to read something?”
I hooted, turned, and then looked down at my tail feathers, trying to make it obvious.
Arwyn looked up at Declan. “She talked about going back to the bridge last night. Maybe she did and brushed against him or his home or something.”
Declan nodded. “It’s worth a try.” He took the backpack off his shoulder and reached in for an octopus-shaped bottle.
Arwyn took off a glove and allowed Declan to squeeze water from the little bottle into her palm. She curled her fingers into the wetness, slowly let out a breath, and then reached for my feathers. Eyes closed, her brow furrowed slightly but she otherwise showed no signs of distress.
Declan, though, sat on the bench beside me and gently guided her down to his knee before wrapping an arm around her. “If the vision is bad,” he whispered, “she sometimes ends up on the ground.”
After what felt like a very long time, Arwyn blinked her eyes open and leaned back into Declan’s chest. “We should get Arthur and Nick on the phone.” She gripped Declan’s arm tightly.
“I have a thought, but I want to talk with Emrys or my dad.” She glanced back at me. “You know my dad’s fae, right?”
I hooted.
“Emrys is his selkie guard.” She looked out at the water. “He’s usually around, keeping an eye on me.”
She stood and walked to the railing, holding out her hand as she scanned the water. A fountain of seawater shot up into her palm. She shook off the droplets and then put her glove back on. “Come on in, Orla. Let me find you something to wear.”
When she opened the studio door, I flew in and landed on the loft railing.
“I have sweatpants and t-shirts in the top drawer of the dresser,” Declan told me. “Use anything you want in there.” He turned to a frowning Arwyn. “She’s tall. Your clothes won’t fit her.”
Nodding, she said, “Good point. I’ll call Osso.”
I shifted and went through the dresser for clothes. When I caught a glimpse of myself in her bathroom mirror, I realized I was a mess. “Arwyn? Do you mind if I use your shower?” I could wait until I got home, but I was feeling gross and I’d be seeing more people soon.
“Of course. Go ahead,” she called up. “Can I speak with Detective Osso?” Her voice changed when she started talking on the phone. I took the sweats and tee into the bathroom.
When I padded down the stairs after my shower, I found Arthur, or Detective Osso, just walking in the back door. He nodded at me and then loomed over Arwyn on the couch, his hands on his hips.
“Okay. What’s the emergency?” he grumbled.
Completely unbothered, she asked, “Is Nick coming?”
Arthur checked his watch. “He was going to try to, but he wasn’t sure he’d make it.”
There were footsteps on the deck and then Nick appeared in the door. “I can’t stay long. What’s up?” He took off his sunglasses and noticed me standing awkwardly at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, I didn’t realize you were here too. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
I nodded, fighting a wave of exhaustion.
Declan stepped out of the bathroom with a bottle of aspirin and a small glass of water, saw Arthur looming over Arwyn, and growled. It felt like it shook the room.
Arthur stepped back, moving to stand beside Nick at the door. Eyes bright gold, Declan glared at Arthur while he went to Arwyn, crouching down to hand her the bottle and glass. She placed them on the coffee table and then took Declan’s hands in her gloved ones.
“I’m fine,” she murmured. “You know he’s just grumpy, especially when we ask him to leave work and come here.”
Arthur’s gaze was jumping between Arwyn and Declan, a small line forming between his brows. A moment later, his face cleared and a side of his mouth kicked up. He and Nick shared a look and then they both smiled.
I didn’t understand how people did that. I had heard the conversation earlier. I knew why the wolf was being so protective of his mate, but Arthur and Nick just got here. How did they figure it out so fast?
When Arwyn took the aspirin and Declan sat, Nick and Arthur seemed to understand the danger was over and they moved farther into the studio, both grabbing chairs and sitting by her worktable, a good ten feet away. Following their lead, I sat on a step, giving the couple room as well.
Arwyn looked around and spotted me before waving me closer, pointing at the reading chair adjacent to the couch. I looked warily at the wolf. Arwyn nudged Declan with her knee and he turned, smiling and gesturing me forward. Perhaps I was seen as less of a threat because I was female and an owl.
Uncomfortable, I sat on the edge of the chair, ready to take off if need be. Nick was watching me, his smile gone. There were undercurrents in the room I knew I was missing, but what I did sense was making me quite tense. Books were so much easier than real life.
“I think we should start with Orla,” Arwyn said. She turned to me and added, “You went back to the bridge last night, right?”
I nodded and explained what had happened.
Arthur stood and began to pace around the room while I spoke. “So, we think it’s killed at least two people: the backpacker and the driver?”
“That would be my guess,” I replied, leaning back in the chair.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked. “Did he hurt you when he grabbed you?”
I shook my head. “Not really. He pulled out some feathers and I have some bruises, but I’m okay. Just tired. I heal quickly.”
“When we arrived this morning,” Declan said. “We found Orla in her owl form perched on the gate waiting. She made it clear she wanted Arwyn to read her.”
“Why didn’t you just shift and explain what happened?” Arthur asked.
I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how it worked. I didn’t know if shifting back and forth would lose his fingerprints—or whatever it is that Arwyn needs to see a vision.”
Arthur paused near the couch. “Did it work? Did you see something?”
Arwyn’s stomach quietly gurgled, but she was in a room with shifters. Declan was up and heading to her little galley kitchen.
“Muffin? Yogurt? I can make you some eggs.” He opened the fridge and searched for food. “There’s some leftover Chinese.”
“Ooh, that, please,” she said.
He opened cartons. “There’s some fried rice, some beef broccoli, and a little of the lobster garlic noodles.”
“Perfect.” She kicked off her paint-spattered sneakers and crossed her legs on the couch.
Declan looked over his shoulder. “Which?”
“All of them, please. Just chuck ’em in a bowl and heat it up.” She grinned at him. “Thank you.”
Arthur shook his head. “While he does that, tell us what you saw.”
She closed her eyes. “It was all very dark and murky. I don’t think that was the vision itself. I think it lives in the dark.”
“What is it? Could you tell?” Nick asked.
She rubbed her forehead.
“Let her think,” Declan growled. “She already has a headache.”
She opened her eyes and gave him such a soft look, I felt like a voyeur to have caught it. “I’m okay.” She went into the backpack beside the couch, took off a glove, and dripped more water from that little octopus bottle into her palm. She then put the wet, bare hand over her forehead and eyes.
“I can’t be sure,” she muttered. “I think he’s fae, but I want to check with someone first. What I know is he had a home for a very long time.
It was dark and quiet, and he was content.
And then all the rains and flooding came.
His little shelter that had lasted for eighty—a hundred—years had washed away and he’d been forced to wander in a world that was too bright and too noisy.
“He searched for a new home, but—this part feels muddled. There was a barking dog, the sounds of kids playing, loud music, an echoing thump, thump, thump. He couldn’t find the calm contentment of his original home again.”
The microwave dinged and Declan brought Arwyn a big bowl of Chinese leftovers, which actually smelled pretty good.
Before he sat, she said, “Can I have an orange soda, too?”
Arthur glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a little after eight in the morning. He blew out a breath. “Anything else?”
Arwyn chewed and swallowed. “Oh, sure. The longer he wandered and searched, the angrier he got. When he found the Rocky Point Bridge, where he is now, it was all wrong. Too big. Too noisy. But he’d hit the ocean.
He was at the end of the land, so he had to stop.
The anger festers, though, so he goes out often to eat the noisy ones. ”
Declan brought her a glass of orange soda on ice and then sat back down
This sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “When you say he was looking for a home, do you mean it the way we’re probably picturing it? Was he looking for a little cottage in the woods, or are bridges his natural home?”
Nick looked at me and nodded. “I was picturing abandoned houses. I mean, this thing is big enough to stop a speeding car.”
Arwyn took a bite and turned back to me. “I think you and I are thinking the same thing.”
Arthur looked between the two of us. “And what is that?” Since Arwyn was eating, he glared at me.
“Bridge,” I said. “Troll. Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
Arwyn nodded. “I think so too.”
“Wait,” Nick interrupted, looking between Arwyn and me. “It’s a goat troll? What is that?”
Grinning, I shook my head. “Three Billy Goats Gruff is an old Norwegian fairy tale. You know, the three goats need to cross the bridge in order to get to a beautiful meadow to eat. The littlest goat crosses first, and the troll comes out to eat him. The goat tells him that he’s too small.
He wouldn’t be worth the effort. The troll should wait for his big brother to come—some translations say it is a child, father, and grandfather, but most depict the goats as brothers.
Anyway, the second goat is bigger, but again says he’s not worth eating, that the troll should wait for the oldest brother, who will make a fine meal. And again, the troll lets him go.”
Nick threw his hands up. “Why not eat all three?”
“Trolls aren’t smart,” Arwyn explained.