2. We’re Ready for Your Close-Up, Stheno

"Do you have any suggestions on how Arwyn can protect herself?" Declan asked.

Dave nodded. "There's a spell that might work." He paused, looking at Sam. "She knows a good one too."

At that, Sam popped up and ran into the bedroom, coming back a moment later with a cracked leather grimoire under her arm. She sat and waited for Dave to share his first. I took notes and was able to practice it on him. On the third try, he disappeared. We all looked at one another.

"I didn't just hurt him, did I?" There went my inside source to all things sorcery.

Sam waved her hand, brushing off my concern. "He's fine. He'll make his way back soon enough." She looked toward the kitchen doorway. "Hmm. Be right back."

She returned a moment later with a bottle of orange soda for me. She'd remembered. "I just wanted to check he didn't have the oven or the burners on. Whoever didn't get their dinner is out of luck at this point, but at least there won't be a fire."

She went to her chair, grabbed the grimoire, and opened it to a marked page. "Here. You can take a picture of it. The handwriting is really hard to read, but the spell works well." She placed the book on my lap and I took out my phone, snapping a pic.

"Are there others in the book I should look at?" I asked.

She thought a moment. "You know what? You should just take it and look."

I started to protest, but again, she waved off the concern.

"I'm not that kind of wicche, not a normal one." She shrugged. "I was pretty surprised when that one worked and all these dark shadows rose up from the floor, taking bites out of Dave and then dragging him off this plane, down to Hell." She shivered. "It was horrible."

I took another look at the spell. "You did this to Dave?"

She looked so upset, I wished I could have pulled the words back.

"At the time," Clive began, "Dave was being possessed by your aunt Abigail and her demon. He was choking the life out of Sam with a burning hand. It was either use the spell or die."

"He was gone for days, though," Sam said. "I was so afraid I'd done permanent damage."

"Fuck," Dave said, walking back through the doorway. "Like you could." He patted my shoulder as he passed. "Good job."

"Are you sure?" I asked Sam, holding up the grimoire.

"Absolutely. Stheno and I went through a bunch of grimoires looking for any spells that might help me with Abigail, but we bookmarked ones that just looked good. I couldn't do them," she said, holding out a hand to Fergus, who'd just trotted in. "Owen, the Slaughtered Lamb manager and wicche extraordinaire, said there were some really good spells in there. He took pics and shared them with his family."

She nodded encouragingly. "I hold on to it because I love books, especially grimoires, even though I can't perform the magic. You, though, actually need it to fight off a sorcerer. Take it."

"Thank you very much." I slid the book carefully into my backpack, considering. "Why do I know the name Stheno?"

Sam and Clive shared a look. "Well," she said, "have you studied Greek mythology?"

I had for a project I'd worked on years ago. "I made a glass sculpture of Medusa's head for a client. It turned out well. I don't understand, though, how—"

"Stheno is Medusa's sister," Sam said. "There are three gorgons: Euryale, Medusa, and Stheno."

I'm not sure what look I had on my face, but Sam looked concerned.

"You know a gorgon?" I shouted.

She nodded warily.

I grabbed Declan's knee. "Oh my—would she be willing to sit for me? In fact, she doesn't even need to do that. I could just take some photos and paint from that." An actual gorgon. She knew an actual gorgon. Who the hell were these people?

"Show her the pictures from your wedding," Dave suggested.

This time, it was Clive who went to the bedroom. He returned with a framed picture of a huge group of people. They were in the bar here, laughing and drinking.

Clive pointed to a gorgeous smiling woman with golden brown skin and waist-length coils of black hair. "That's Stheno. And that's Medusa." He pointed to another woman, her face obscured by a huge glass of red wine. "And Euryale." The third sister looked taller and thinner, more austere than the other two.

"You had all three sisters here for your wedding?" That was insane. Wait. What the hell?! I looked between Sam and Clive. "The queen attended your wedding?"

Sam leaned forward, grinning. "You can see her? These guys can't. See, she's way in the back. She just popped in for a moment. I don't think she wanted our fae guests to start dropping to the ground, kneeling before her."

Declan looked over my shoulder. "Where?"

I pointed at the queen and Declan shrugged. "It looks a little shimmery, but it could just as easily be light reflecting off the flash. I don't see her."

Clive returned the photo to their bedroom.

"I can ask Stheno for you," Sam volunteered. "She'd probably dig it, but I don't know how they are with their images being out there. They know we keep that picture in our room."

Clive took his seat again. "Our friends know we keep their secrets, just as they keep ours. You two are now a part of this, which is why I shared it with you. Sam will ask, and given how Stheno feels about my wife, she'll probably agree."

Elated at the prospect, grimoire safely stowed, we finally took our leave. The drive home was lovely, Declan keeping mostly to the coast route. It took a little longer but was worth it.

"Are you nervous?" I wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about the upcoming Alpha challenge or not. Declan was a Quinn, one of the last of the werewolf origin line. Because of that, even as a child, he'd been challenged often. His parents had been killed when he was small, his human mother's sister taking him in and raising him. They'd both been quite shocked the first time he'd shifted.

After that, they'd moved often, especially when the local pack would get itchy about a dominant—even an adolescent—in their territory. He'd had to fight a lot and hadn't, at that age, learned restraint. Consequently, he'd left a lot of dead wolves in his wake. After his Aunt Sarah was killed, he just moved on when there was trouble. He couldn't take the blood on his paws. That had worked for him until recently, when he'd decided to stay, local Alpha's hissy fit be damned.

"Nervous?" He glanced over at me. "About—oh, that." He shook his head. "Not nervous, no."

"Maybe he'll back down and you won't have to kill him." I was pretty sure I knew what was bothering him.

He held my gloved hand. "That won't happen. Alphas don't turn tail. There's a healthy dose of testosterone and arrogance that goes with being an Alpha. This one in particular has spent his life being the golden boy in town. Ladies love him. Men want to be him. I doubt he can conceive of losing. He'll cheat to assure his win, but he won't back down."

Declan squeezed my hand. "What about you? Nervous about the opening?"

I stared out the truck window at the moonlit waves. "Thankfully, a gallery opening involves far less bloodshed, so there's that."

He laughed.

"I don't know. I've been dreaming of this for so long, I want it perfect. The mural's almost done, but then I need to paint inside and place all the artwork. And put those stupid price tags on them. And, and, and. Usually it's nightmares waking me up in the middle of the night. Lately, it's been stuff I need to get done before the opening."

"You know it doesn't all have to be done before you open, right?" He rubbed his thumb over my glove. "It's not a finish line. When you open the doors, you'll be inviting people into The Sea Wicche to see where you are now. An artist is always changing and growing, though, so every time they come back, there'll be something new."

I let out a breath. That was true. I didn't think I had it in me to be that relaxed about my gallery finally opening, though.

"Shall we discuss the elephant in the truck?" he asked. "Or should I say the grimoire in the backpack?"

"I hate it all. I have so many plans, so much work to do for what I love, but in the background all the time I'm wondering what Calliope is up to. Where are she and her demon? Has someone else been hurt that we don't know about? Why kill Aunt Sylvia?" My voice caught on her name.

Turning away from the window, I watched Declan drive. "I know people always say, She was the kindest person in the world. She lit up a room, but in her case, it was true. I'm an asshole. Lots of people hate me, but Sylvia? No. You couldn't."

"A. You're not an asshole. B. Someone could. Her daughter."

"Yeah, you're right. Cal's the asshole." I stared down at his strong, warm hand wrapped around mine. "I can't get it out of my head. When we were in the hospital and Sylvia was in a coma?"

He nodded.

"I was touching Sylvia, listening to the voice in her head." A tear ran down my face. "Sylvia died with her own daughter's voice in her head, telling her how much she hated her." I wiped my face dry with my free hand. "I want to do Calliope harm."

"Understandable."

"The spell Sam showed me in the grimoire was scary. I can't imagine calling up demons to send someone to Hell. For Calliope, though… I'm looking forward to studying it, seeing what else it might have. First, though, I want to do some research. I don't want to take spells from a dark grimoire. My family has too great a proclivity for black magic as it is. I don't need to make it worse by studying some other family's black grimoire."

"Good," Declan said. "Sam is so sweet, it's hard to think of her engaging in black magic, but that spell sounded horrible."

"Dave said it was a good one—effective, that is. And Clive said it was life or death. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do in order to survive for the next fight. And Sam is a survivor."

Declan let out a gust of breath. "Yeah, sometimes you do." And we were back to the Alpha challenge. In order for Declan to survive, Logan had to die.

We were quiet for the rest of the drive, each lost in our own thoughts. When Declan pulled up to The Sea Wicche, there was already a familiar car parked in front.

"Looks like the good detective needs you again," Declan said.