13. What’s in the Box?!

Ijogged up the stairs and changed into my work clothes, a purple long-sleeve thermal top, overalls, and paint-splattered sneakers. I had nothing on my calendar other than gallery work. When I came down, I remembered the brushes I'd left sitting out beside the corridor painting. After cleaning and treating them, I grabbed multiple muffins in case I got visitors while I was on the scaffolding.

Attaching my supply basket to the rope, I heaved until the basket was swinging near the top. Sea spray made the bars slippery, but I was agile and the last of the painting went fast. This side of the gallery looked derelict. The two-dimensional tentacle glistened in the sun. Now I had to attach one of my three-dimensional, thirty-foot ones.

It was awkward and tricky, pretending the tentacle was too heavy for me. I used the rope and pulley again to bring it to the top of the scaffold. I'd already painted the hole the tentacle was busting through. Now I needed to fasten it to the building in a way that was safe, secure, and realistic-looking.

Magic works great for these types of situations. Unfortunately, I was out in the open and lots of cars were driving by, gawking at the mural. I couldn't do magic in full view of human eyes.

My phone rang. Declan. I swiped and hit speakerphone. "Hey."

"It looks like you could use some help." His deep rumbly voice made my stomach wobble.

I put down the tentacle and then turned, looking down the road at the barn, where I knew he was. "If I didn't have to pretend to be human strong and coordinated, I'd be done by now."

"Ah. In that case, how about if I run over and pretend to be your very strong and manly boyfriend who helps you do the thing you could easily do on your own?"

I sighed. "Yeah. That'd be good. I need to get started inside. I don't want to waste time, pretending this is more difficult than it is."

"On my way."

A moment later, I saw Declan run across the busy road, in between cars traveling at high speeds in opposite directions. My heart stopped before I remembered he had a wolf's speed and strength. If a car hit him, he'd be more likely to leave a dent than go flying.

He jogged on the shoulder of the road and was climbing the scaffold in no time flat.

I pocketed the phone I'd forgotten about while watching him. "It's not fair that just because you're a dude, you can do superhuman shit, and they won't bat an eye. If I try it, they have their phones out recording me. It's bullshit is what it is."

"Blame the patriarchy," he said, picking up the tentacle.

With the two of us working together, we had the tentacle attached in no time.

"Et, voilà!" I said. "Now I need to move this all inside."

"You use a little magic. I'll use a little more than human strength, and we'll get this down in no time," he said, beginning the process of taking down the scaffolding.

It took longer than no time, but once we were done, we both just stared at the mural.

"Damn, Ursula, how do you do what you do? This is unbelievable. I'm standing fifteen feet from the wall and it looks real. A sea monster is tearing apart your gallery."

Thankfully, the second part of the task was far easier. Once we moved the aluminum bars and plywood planks around the corner of the gallery, we didn't need to pretend we were straining under the weight.

I put down tarps, not wanting the floors scratched, and then he stayed to help me erect the scaffold again so I could paint the interior. Magic played a part, and it went quickly.

Declan checked the time on his phone. "I'm starving. Let's go get something to eat. You're buying."

Laughing, I went through the adjoining door into my studio. "Fair. And I'm starving too. Where do you want to go?"

He followed me, scratching his beard and thinking. "What are your thoughts on Mexican?"

"First," I began, shouldering my backpack, "I'm enthusiastically in favor of Mexican food. Second, I have a conditioner that'll help with the itchy beard."

He dropped his hand. "Sorry. I get sawdust in it. I always take a shower when I'm done working. Until then, though, scratch." He paused at my back door. "I can go clean up in your bathroom."

Waving him forward, I said, "Are you kidding? Have you seen me? I'm wearing overalls and covered in paint. Come on. Let's eat."

"Oh. My truck's back at the workshop. Give me a minute and I'll be back to pick you up." He was gone before I could protest.

Honestly, though, he was right. I shouldn't be running across busy roads. I could have a vision at the wrong time and drop right in front of a speeding car. It was why I'd never learned to drive. Too much potential for death.

I took a wide loop around the side of the gallery, checking again that the mural looked the way I wanted it to. Declan's truck pulled up to the curb and I noticed two other cars, parked and taking pics of the gallery.

A middle-aged man in one of the cars rolled down his window. Brown hair slicked back to showcase a sweaty brow and narrow eyes. He rubbed his lips with his index finger and then said, "Excuse me, miss. Are you the artist?"

I nodded.

"Incredible," he murmured, looking over my shoulder at the mural.

"I'm glad you like it," I said, reaching for Declan's door handle and instead finding Declan's hand.

He opened the door for me but had his eyes on the man. Once I was in, he shut the door, circled around, and slid in. "There's something off about that guy. You have alarms and wards, right?"

"I do," I said, adding another protective spell to my home.

He started the engine, waited for a break in cars, and then reversed and swung around, driving back toward the center of town. "You should hire a guard too. Your artwork is worth a lot of money, so it makes sense, but if that guy's any indication, you need a bodyguard."

"He just liked the wall. Maybe he has a thing for octopuses. There are lots of completely harmless sweaty, obsessed people in the world."

"His scent was off. He had the sour tang of the long unwashed and desperate. His car and clothes were nice. The stench emanating from his body was not." He turned up a hill, away from the water. "He smells sick. Maybe physically, but it feels mentally."

"Okay," I said, having felt a darkness around the man as well. The thing was, most people weren't bright, shiny, and smelling of soap. We all had personal baggage we dragged around while trying to present a stable and contented version of ourselves to the world. He might have been struggling with a new diagnosis or spiraling after losing a job or partner. It hadn't felt like he was an imminent danger, but Declan was right. My artwork was worth a great deal. I needed a security guard to make sure my smaller pieces didn't walk out the door while I spoke with other patrons.

He pulled into the parking lot of a small Mexican restaurant off the beaten path.

"Hey. I thought you were new around here. How did you find Mariana's?" I slipped out and slammed the truck door.

He met me at the front of his truck and took my hand. "Juan recommended this place when I was working with Phil's crew on your deck." He pulled open the door to a busy restaurant.

"Juan didn't steer you wrong. This is one of my favorites."

The hostess, a young Latina with beautiful brown eyes, had her hair pulled back in a messy bun. I understood the challenge of tying up thick hair. Wearing black pants and a white blouse, she held up a finger, asking us to wait a moment while she spoke with another customer.

Checking the lock screen on his phone and then looking around Mariana's, Declan said, "I think we picked the wrong time to come."

"Eh. It's worth it." I pointed to his truck. "I've got protein bars in my backpack if you need something now."

The hostess waved us forward. "Arwyn, right?"

I'm sure the confusion was clear on my face. "I'm sorry…"

She waved away my embarrassment. "We went to the same high school. I was a few years behind you. I remember your hair, though."

I nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I was told people often just referred to me as The Hair."

Her brow furrowed. "Really?" She shook her head and lowered her voice. "There are creeps everywhere and at some point, they attend high school."

Laughing, I said, "True. And middle school."

She rolled her eyes. "Middle school was the worst."

A group walked in the front door.

The hostess said, "I have your name on the list, but it'll probably be twenty to thirty minutes. Is that okay?"

I nodded but Declan didn't look happy.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Beatrice," she said.

"Good meeting you, Beatrice. We'll wait outside."

She nodded. "I'll come get you when we have a table ready."

The benches outside the door were taken. As Declan had nabbed a parking spot one car down, we opted to sit in his truck, windows rolled down. I pulled a chocolate peanut butter protein bar out and handed it over.

Sighing, he took it. "I hate these things."

"Everybody hates them, but sometimes you've got to eat."

Nodding, he bit into it and paused, a disgusted look on his face. Then he stuffed the whole thing in and ate it quickly. Grabbing his water bottle, he washed the taste out of his mouth and then looked at me accusingly. "Why don't you carry around muffins or cookies? You bake constantly. Where does it all go?"

"Well, I have some raccoon siblings that have recently been added to the payroll."

Eyebrows raised, he waited.

"At first, it was just Otis. He liked watching me paint the mural while he played with my brushes. He sniffed the muffin I had in my basket, so I gave it to him."

"That was your first mistake."

I shrugged. "I don't mind classing up his usual meals. Anyway, the next day there were two more little raccoon babies with him, staring down at me from the skylight."

Declan grinned and shook his head. "You're going to have his entire family sitting on your doorstep."

I thought about it. "There are worse things."

"Okay. Besides the raccoons, where does it go?" He glanced over when Beatrice stepped out, but she waved to the couple sitting on the bench.

"There's also a new werewolf in the neighborhood who eats a lot."

Patting his flat stomach, he said, "True." His attention, though, was on all the people waiting for a table.

"We can go somewhere else," I suggested.

"Hmm?" He turned to me. "No. It's not that. I'm smelling something strange. They probably have the back door of the kitchen open. That smell is great. There's another one underneath it. It's like decomposition but not quite." He glanced up at the trees around us. "There could be a dead squirrel in that tree, but I don't think that's it."

I scanned the people too. "Zombies?"

"Bite your tongue," he said, stepping out of the truck.

"That's a zombie's job." Looking over my shoulder, I watched Declan search the bed of his truck and then open the top of his tool chest before rearing back.

He slammed it shut and then got back in, starting the engine and pulling out of the space. "Sorry. We'll need to do this another time. I'll drop you off, and then I have to take care of a few things."