27. Did You Say a Shark?

Inodded. "Yeah. He's good. He takes after you."

He let out a slow breath and stared down at the desk. "He's alive," he said to himself.

I brought him the giraffe and explained what I'd seen. I wasn't sure if he was aware of how tightly he was clutching his son's toy.

"He likes books?" He gave his head a little shake and took in all the books surrounding him. "I could show him all… but, no. He doesn't know me. Probably doesn't want to know me."

"Only one way to know for sure," I said.

He slid out his bottom drawer and lifted a laptop computer. He opened it and began typing. "It wouldn't hurt to look up the bookstore, would it?" And then he paused and checked with me. "This is all right, isn't it? This isn't invading his privacy?"

My heart broke for him. He wanted so much to have the life his brain wouldn't allow. "You are a man who collects books. He works in a rare bookstore. You could have just stumbled upon him while searching for a book."

He lifted one eyebrow.

"Well, it's true. Besides, I don't think looking up a business name to know what city your son works in would be considered stalking."

He considered that and then resumed typing. "Boston." He sat back in his chair. "My son lives in Boston." He closed the laptop. "I think that's enough for now. My son is living in Boston and he's a bookseller." Tears filled his eyes. "That's enough."

"Listen. Since I don't know what Gran and Mom have told you or asked you, let me ask: Do you know where Calliope could be hiding? Maybe where previous sorcerers have lived?"

He was silent for quite a while. "No one asked me, but now that you say it, I believe I saw a reference to a home owned by a dark wicche we later learned was a sorcerer. Hmm. Let me think and go through some books. It wasn't an address, in any case, but I believe there was a description…or perhaps the house was named. I remember thinking that might be enough to locate it, but I was researching something else and therefore didn't—oh, that means I would have added a note about it in one of my journals."

He tapped his chin. "Give me time to think and search. If I have anything, I'll let you know."

"Thank you. Now, more immediately, do you need somewhere to park this?" When he nodded, I continued. "My gallery is on the ocean. It's a converted cannery. You can park on my property and have a view of the ocean." I gestured to the large back window behind him. "I should warn you, though. My gallery isn't sedate."

He returned the laptop to the bottom drawer and then got up and went back through the RV. "Let's go see. I'd prefer not to stay here longer than necessary." He got into the driver's seat, waiting for me to strap myself in beside him before turning on the engine.

I pointed in the direction of Monterey. "It's near Cannery Row."

He drove the behemoth with the ease of a sedan right back onto the narrow twisty road Mom and I had taken here. "I know the one. I remember when Mary bought it. The rest of the family thought she'd tear it down and build a hotel or something, but she let it sit, saying she had plans for it."

I turned to him. "Really? How odd. I'd never considered why Gran purchased it and let it sit before." I watched a couple of surfers bob in the water, waiting for a wave. Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced. "We often had family get-togethers on the beach. When I was five or six, I'd wandered away from the group to go see this building hanging over the water. I'd thought it was a house and wanted to live there."

"No one was watching a five-year-old Cassandra by the ocean? Goddess, you could have been swamped by a wave and drowned." He shook his head, angry on my behalf. "The carelessness with one so precious."

"Aww, thanks." I patted his shoulder. "I'd have been fine, though. Dad wouldn't have let me drown."

He turned to me quickly and then back to the road. "I was under the impression your mother had never shared the identity of your father."

"Oh, she hasn't, but he's water fae."

Bracken's foot came off the accelerator. At a honk behind him, he continued driving. "She chose a fae father for you?"

"Or they fell in love and nature took over. I'd prefer not to think about that part, though."

He was silent for a few minutes. "You're right. Cassandras do, almost exclusively, die as children, either at the hands of humans for being demon possessed or by their own hands because what they see is more than their little minds can process. You, though, being half-fae, have a strength and resilience they didn't, which is no doubt how you survived to adulthood. Fascinating."

He paused. "Multicolor hair with a blue halo in the sun." Laughing, he tapped the steering wheel. "Utterly fascinating."

"Thanks. All these books you have here, do you have anything about Cassandra wicches?"

"Hmm, perhaps anecdotally. As I'm sure you know, you're quite rare and while we know Cassandras are a blessing from the Goddess, we also know in times past, anything that drew attention to us could cause our torture and death. And so it happened, sadly, that it was sometimes the child's own family that took her life."

A cold chill ran down my spine. I couldn't imagine fearing my mother as well as the near constant psychic assault. Those poor girls. They'd had no chance.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I interrupted. Please continue. You, as a small child, went on an adventure, marching across the sand to visit the abandoned cannery. I have no idea if you marched, but in my head, you are. Please, go on."

"I might have marched. I could have skipped. I was, I'm sure, trying to escape my cousins. Anyway, I climbed the rocks, squeezed through a fence, and walked along the rotting deck. I remember a man appeared out of nowhere." I tried to piece the images together in my head. "He came around the far end. Thinking about it now, he didn't look as though he'd been squatting there or anything. He was just a man, jeans and a t-shirt. He smiled a razor-sharp smile and I peed myself.

"I remember being ashamed. I wasn't a baby anymore. But that was in the back of my mind. I was paralyzed. I wanted to run but I couldn't move. I didn't understand what he wanted, but I saw violence in his eyes. I saw my death and his euphoria at finding a little girl all by herself. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

"And then this massive wave came over the railing and slammed the man into the wall of the cannery. It felt like one of my visions. It didn't seem real. I wasn't wet, but the man was washed off the deck and into the ocean. Finally able to move, I went to the edge and watched as a shark—a shark—swam up and bit him in half."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet.

I blew out a breath. "I'm okay. Dad saved me."

"And that's wonderful, but you saw what he intended to do to you. No one, especially a child, should have to experience that kind of evil."

It was one of a million horrible things in my head, the fodder for endless nightmares. "Anyway," I said, "I realized, once the fear was draining away, that my foot hurt. I looked down and saw a sliver—No. That sounds too small. The deck was rotting and a shard of wood was sticking out of my bloody toe. I had a moment of a different kind of horror before the tears began to fall but then, up from the water came a tentacle. It shocked the tears away. The tentacle gently wrapped around my foot and when it slipped back into the water, the sliver was gone and my skin was smooth and unbroken."

"An octopus and a shark." He shook in head in wonder. "What I would have given to see that."

"Welcome to my world. The Sea Wicche is coming up here on your left." It was a good memory and probably explained my love of octopuses.

When he got close, he slowed again, coming to a standstill in the road. Cars honked and drove around him, but he was transfixed. Hopefully not in a bad way. If the gallery short-circuited his brain, I couldn't drive this thing. I could probably just call for Declan, though. He'd hear me.

Bracken began driving again. "I need to turn around, which is tricky on these narrow roads."

I pointed to Declan's property. "You can use his parking lot to turn around. I know the owner. It's okay."

Bracken turned on his signal, slowed, and went through the open gate. He was doing a three point turn when Declan walked out of the construction zone to watch.

I rolled down the window and waved. Declan's expression lightened immediately. We were no longer trespassers to be dealt with. His grin made my stomach flutter.

"Bracken, can you stop for a minute so I can say hi?"

He did and Declan came over.

"What are you doing up there?" he said. "I thought you were still sleeping." He stepped up on something. Running board? Wheel? He rested his arm on the window frame and then leaned in to kiss me.

Every time. He made my insides go funny every time. "Sorry. I meant to call but I had multiple messages from my mom. Her teashop was broken into, and she needed me."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is everyone all right?"

I nodded. "It happened in the middle of the night. You know, now that I think about it, I'm not sure what happened to the possessed man who helped her trash the place." Damn, Calliope was wrecking lives left and right. "Declan, this is my Uncle Bracken. Bracken, this is my boyfriend Declan."

Declan nodded and Bracken returned it.

"We just met this morning. He needs a place to park his motorhome and I suggested the parking lot on the far side of the gallery."

"Good idea." Declan didn't make it obvious but his nostrils flared and I knew he was scenting Bracken, probably trying to figure out why we'd only just met and why Bracken wouldn't meet his gaze for more than a second. "You know, if that doesn't work, you can use my property as well. You have options."

I knew what he was doing, and it made my insides flutter more frantically. Bracken was an unknown and he wanted him closer to himself than me.

"Thank you." Bracken's voice sounded strained.

"Bracken, Declan is a Quinn. His father was Alexander Quinn. Did you ever meet him?"

That did it. Bracken turned to study Declan. "Yes. I see. You favor your father. I did meet him. Many years ago. I was researching the history of lycanthropy. I have a book here—" He started to get up, but the seat belt kept him in place. "Oh, of course." He fumbled with the belt, but I rested a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps another time."

He stopped struggling and nodded.

"I'd be very interested in anything you could tell me," Declan said. "My father was killed when I was young. I'm afraid I don't remember much about either of my parents."

Bracken seemed to be trying to settle himself. "I can locate the book for you."

"How's construction going today?" I asked.

"Good. We're done with the tearing down and are about to start building new." He played with a coil of hair that had blown out the window. "How about if I bring over dinner when I'm done for the day?"

"Sounds great."

"Good." He looked over at Bracken. "Will you join us?"

Bracken shook his head while he continued to stare out the windshield at the ocean across the road.

"Okay. We need to go," I said. "We need to see if my place works for Bracken." I kissed him. "I'll see you tonight."

Declan hopped off the side of the motor home and waved as he walked back toward the barn. He stopped and turned. "Oh, remind me I need to ask you a favor."

"What is it?"

He waved away my sudden concern. "Nothing we need to worry about now. Logan's people are making a habit of slashing my tires and smashing my windshield. It's getting expensive." He wiggled his fingers. "I was hoping you could do something to—I don't know—make them harder to cut and break." He pointed to the poles around the property. "I have cameras up, but they're waiting until I'm parked at a grocery store or outside your place."

"I'm sorry and, yes, I can do something."

"It's more irritating than threatening." He shook his head. "Anyway, let that go. Have a good afternoon and I'll see you this evening." He waved and headed back to the sounds of construction.

I turned to Bracken. "Okay?"

Bracken let out a breath. "Yes. He's very large."

I laughed. "He is. He's also incredibly kind and protective."

"I sensed that. Some wolves are quite aggressive. Alexander had a commanding presence. There was never any doubt who was in charge. He wasn't as easy as his son seems to be, but neither did he have the hair trigger some wolves do. He was the most powerful wolf I interviewed, but I was never concerned about my safety. In fact, I've never felt safer. I knew if anything attacked, he'd have it sorted out with minimal effort."

Declan was indeed like his father. When he'd met soon-to-be-deposed Alpha Logan, there was no aggression and no fear. Logan had been doing everything he could to try to intimidate Declan, while Declan ignored the posturing and instead tried to finagle a brownie from me. It made Logan go all wolf-eyed, but Declan wasn't the least bit concerned. He knew he was the strongest, the most dominant, and therefore didn't need to engage. Besides, he was interested in me. And my brownies.

I pointed toward the road. "Let's head back. The gallery is even more chaotic from this side. Let's see if it's doable for you."