Chapter 15 Swans Are Even Worse than Coreys
FIFTEEN
Swans Are Even Worse than Coreys
It was a gallery day, but I also had an order to finish.
I decided I’d go early and get as many pieces made as I could before I had to clean up for customers.
Declan drove me over, stopping his Bronco a few feet from the front of my gallery.
We both got out and he located the spot where the ashes from the flame spell had landed.
Before I could start my work this morning, I had to deal with last night’s threat.
“Wait,” Declan said, jumping back in his vehicle and moving it forward ten feet so I’d be blocked from view. He got back out and circled around to me, crouching down when I did, prepared to keep me from hitting the pavement.
I slipped off my glove and pressed a finger to the ashes. Before I made contact, though, the shouts were already ringing in my head.
“I’m going to kill the cunt! She had no right! She can’t do this. Please, Gran, he can’t stay in jail. We have to get him out. You know Milo needs me—us.”
I tried doing what my dad had said. We hadn’t had a lesson yet, but I sort of got it. I yanked and pulled, trying to shift my perspective from the ranting woman to a fly on the wall. It didn’t work. This sort of thing came naturally to my father. For me, not so much.
“Child, calm yourself. I told you, I’m working on it. She may have detectives in her pocket, but we have a judge.” The older woman watched the young one pace angrily. “I’ll go see him myself tomorrow.”
That stopped the younger one. “You will? You said you’d never do that.”
The older woman patted her perfectly coiffed hair.
“Sometimes it’s necessary to get involved.
Mary is dead. Sybil is the head of the Corey coven now,” she said with a sneer.
“Weak. Mary was the force in that family. The artist granddaughter has been hidden most of her life. My guess is she’s half human and probably doesn’t have enough wicche in her blood to do a simple spell.
Why else would they hide her like a dirty secret? ”
The older woman shook her head. “No way would Mary not lord a powerful wicche over us all.” With a quick, angry flick of her hand, she brushed her skirt perfectly flat. To look at her, one would assume she was a meek church lady, rather than the head of the Swan coven.
“You go tonight and see what wards her grandmother placed on the gallery. With Mary dead, some of the spells may have weakened, if not broken. I’ll go tomorrow, see if she can be reasoned with or spelled into dropping the charges against Milo.”
The young woman finally calmed. She knew her grandmother would figure it out. “The ring?” she asked.
Catherine Swan nodded. “I’ll have her in my thrall in no time.”
“Good.” The young woman held out a small cloth pouch. “I have the spell ready. I’ll go tonight. You know, I read that the gallery was doing really well. Coreys are already loaded. Maybe when you influence her, you could get her to finance us.”
The harsh lines of Catherine’s face softened. “Perhaps.”
I opened my eyes and found I hadn’t moved. Declan had his arms ready to catch me, but I was okay. He stood with me and squeezed the water from the octopus bottle on my finger to clean off the ash.
“Thanks.” I put my glove back on and poured some of the water on the ash on the ground.
Declan walked me around back to the deck while I told him what I’d seen.
“Can you check?” He’d tipped into worried again. “Did your Gran’s death weaken your wards?”
Shaking my head, I patted his arm. “She thinks I’m a magical dud, that I’m half human. At least that tells us that Coreys haven’t been telling tales on me. That’s something.” I held up a finger. “That does give me an idea, though. I can tweak the ward to ban all Swans.”
I sat on the bench by the studio back door, took off a glove, and rested my hand on the side of the building.
Pouring out my fae magic to wash over the gallery building and Bracken’s RV like a wave, I added a prayer to the Goddess to protect me and mine from wicches who would take Her magical gifts and corrupt them for evil purposes.
When I was done, I turned to Declan, who’d sat beside me. I rested my hand on his gorgeous face. “Not to worry. My wards are strong. And don’t forget, the Swans are second-rate compared to my family.”
His brown eyes twinkled in the early morning light as he kissed me. “I know, but black magic is like sorcery, right? They do evil stuff to get more power?”
I held his hand in both of mine. “Yes, but I’m pretty powerful all on my own.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” Resting his forehead against mine, he added, “Promise me you’ll try to be less selfless. I need you and the little one to be safe and healthy.”
I kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll do my best.”
“I guess I can’t ask for more than that.” He stood, pulling me up with him. “I was wondering while you were doing that. With the pearl on, can you hear my thoughts now?”
“Why? Are you thinking mean things?” I squinted up at him, suddenly irrationally suspicious.
He laughed. “More like you might be shocked by how much of my day is taken up with thoughts of you naked.”
“Oh. Okay then.” Color rushed to my cheeks and I felt like an idiot. “Um, no. You’re still a closed-off null. It’s your effect on me that changes.”
“Good to know.” He kissed me again. “Have a safe and incident-free day. I’ll swing by to pick you up at closing.”
After he left, I got to work. When I noticed Frank and Faith sitting on the deck, I realized I’d screwed up my timing. The last octopus’s tentacles had been giving me a hard time, so I’d snapped off three, adding, pulling and twisting them again.
Frank, like his sister, was a gorgeous combination of Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Robert. He was almost two years older than Faith, getting ready to start his senior year, and already looking to manage the gallery for me. He was aware of everything going on in it and had an eye for marketing.
I placed the last octopus for the day in the annealer with his friends and slid open the door. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”
Faith was hanging over the railing. “I called down hello to Cecil, and he waved at me!”
Frank laughed. “He did. I saw it too. We thought he only responded to you.”
I walked over and stood beside them. “Nah. Cecil’s a friendly guy. He knows you two now. If you ever want to go for a swim and meet him for real, let me know.”
Faith looked excited at the prospect. Frank less so.
“There was a news conference with the police and the mayor,” she told me.
“Okay.” I had no idea what that was about.
“Show her,” Frank said.
Faith took her phone out and started tapping. “Here it is. They’re talking about that creepy horror camp that was in your vision.”
She handed me her phone, and I watched the captain discuss finding the crime scene and how it was an active, ongoing investigation.
A man I didn’t know stood behind him. He took over, assuring reporters that Monterey was a very safe community and that this could be an ancient burial site.
Regardless, all available resources would be used to investigate the situation, perhaps bringing in archeologists from the university.
As the men spoke, my stomach twisted. I didn’t want to think about those poor victims. It was so dark and ugly.
I handed the phone back. “I was there yesterday.” At Faith’s look of interest, I added, “It was horrible. I’ll tell you about it later when the thought of it doesn’t make me sick.
” I pointed at the open door to the hot shop.
“You two can cut through there.” I flicked my fingers to unlock the gallery’s back door.
Frank took one step in and stopped. “Whoa. You weren’t kidding. No wonder your face is so red.”
I pushed him in farther and flicked my fingers at the ceiling, opening the roof vents.
“Art is pain.” I pointed at the door into my studio.
“Go that way. If you’re hungry, grab something out of my kitchen.
I need to go shower. Hester and Carter know to come around back.
” I closed and locked the hot shop door, then followed them into the studio, where the temperature dropped a good thirty degrees.
Frank went to the freezer, no doubt looking for his favorite cookies.
“Top shelf. I baked a new batch.”
Grinning, he pulled out a full container of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. “I’ve been practicing that defrosting spell you taught me,” he said. “I think I have it now.”
“Good,” Faith said, grabbing a grape soda from the fridge. “Warm me up one too.”
“Oh.” Halfway up the stairs, I stopped. “I forgot. There was someone creeping around last night, trying to get past the wards.” At their worried expressions, I continued. “She couldn’t get past, so we’re good. I want you to be on guard, though. It felt like black magic.”
Faith and Frank shared a look.
“Let Carter know, if you see him first. I’ll try to get cleaned up quickly, but we all know it’s a losing battle. Be careful, okay? If you feel another wicche in the gallery today, let Carter and Hester know, assuming I’m not there.”
I got ready as quickly as I could, but I was still coming down the loft stairs about twenty minutes after opening.
My curls were mostly dried. I had them pushed back with a black silk headband.
Deciding I’d lean into the morose artist aesthetic, I wore all black, including my gloves and boots.
Mascara and a berry tinted lip gloss meant I was ready for the public.
When I entered the gallery through the studio door, I found Bracken standing at the café counter, talking with my Aunt Hester.
Hester’s daughter Pearl had been murdered a couple of months ago.
It’d been rough, but she’d found that forcing herself out of the house was helping.
She’d been working the café counter since I opened a few weeks ago.
I’m only open two days a week, which seemed to work for all of us.
“How are you both today?” I asked.
Hester gave me a sweet smile and started brewing me a cup of tea. “It’s a bright, sunny day and I’ve already sold at least a half dozen of your muffins.”
Bracken held up a muffin in a napkin. “Including to me.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’re not paying for anything, are you? None of my people should be paying for my food and drinks.”
“Oh.” Hester looked flustered. “Actually, I paid for him.” She sighed and lowered her voice.
“I asked him to check all the food for poisons.” She clasped her hands in front of her.
“I know it was a one-time attack and I wasn’t even here, but I’ve been so worried about handing out tainted food.
Especially to children.” Her hand went to her mouth.
“That was what you saw. I was going to kill a child.” She shivered.
I went behind the counter and wrapped an arm around her. “That wasn’t you. That was Milo Swan. He sprinkled poison on the food, but we figured it out before anyone touched anything.”
“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “It may sound silly, but I worry every time I pass food across the counter to one of your customers.” She gestured to my great-uncle. “Bracken has been kind enough to check everything for me so I can relax and not worry I’m handing someone their death.”
I rubbed her back. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were dealing with this.” I looked between the two of them. “I love having you here, but if this is causing too much stress—”
“No. I’m fine. I want to be here with you all in your beautiful gallery. It gets my mind off other things, and I so enjoy spending time with Faith and Frank. They’re such lovely children.”
“Arwyn?”
I turned to see Carter at the front door giving me a subtle gesture, beckoning me over. I circled back around the counter, patting Bracken on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
Carter was Detective Osso’s younger brother and my security guard.
Being a black bear shifter made him uniquely qualified for security.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered Black man who wore a perpetual scowl.
Bracken and I had spelled my work against theft, so really Carter was here as my protection.
His presence encouraged ne’er-do-wells to move along, which was a bonus.
He was working on a PhD in Marine Biology, so working two days a week was a good fit for his schedule.
When I stepped up beside him, he popped out his earbud, through which he was no doubt listening to an audiobook. “Frank and Faith told you about the black magic wicche problem, right?”
He nodded, his hand on the front door.
“I can make you a sketch,” I told him, “so you know who you’re looking for.”
He opened the door a foot, giving me a view of the front of the gallery. “Is that her?”
And there she stood, in another very prim navy dress with a sensible handbag.
“Yep. That’s her.”