Hmm…
Even with a full police investigation going on, surely it couldn’t hurt to ask the help of someone more mystical, right? Even though magical folks were now in law enforcement, and there were several working on the case, no one had mentioned seeking out an oracle.
Maybe that was a mistake.
Maybe this Ophelia could divine who had killed my father, my brother, and their entire security detail. Maybe she would be able to tell me where they were. Maybe she could confirm whether I was just a paranoid fuck or if someone was really trying to kill the rest of us before the investigation was over.
Even if she couldn’t do anything, I didn’t see any harm in it beyond some disappointment. Which, considering everything toiling in me, wouldn’t be that hard to deal with.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea at all.
Chapter 4
Cheribelle
Smoke and Mirrors (and Adderall)
“Just a little bitof robin-egg blue there for a shadow, I think,” I said, picking up my cup to take a drink only to realize the straw I’d just wrapped my lips around was a paintbrush handle. I glanced down at the cup. My paint water. “Whoopsie-daisy.”
That wasn’t the first time I did that, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
I really need to get something to make sure I don’t do that anymore.
One day I’m gonna actually swallow some!
What would work, a lid?Nah, then I’ll have to pull it off every time I want to wash a brush.Waaaayyy too annoying
Lid with straw hole for brush??
What if brush too big?
Did you order that replacement lid for your crockpot?
Shit! I forgot.
“Mrrrrp?”
“Sorry, Hudson, you’re right. I did stop paying attention to you for thirty seconds, and for that I am eternally sorry. Could you find it in your kitty heart to forgive me?”
“Brrrrrrrlll.”
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you over all that catnip you have in your system.”
Really, I was to blame for that, as I was the one who provided her with the kittynip, but I wanted to paint a still life, and there were only so many ways to convince an active cat to sit still long enough so I could properly capture her in all her glory. I was an amateur painter, after all, not Picasso.
Yeah, I’d need to be like eighty times more sexist to come close to him!
“Come on, just a little longer, and then you get a tube treat!”
“Meeeerk!”
“I thought you would see things my way.”
I swirled one of my finer detail brushes in the mixture of light blue, light gray, and cream I had on my palette, then started on those delicate shadows along her white coat. Before I could sink into any sort of hyperfixation, my phone rang.
Barely paying attention, I pulled it out of my pocket and answered.
“Haus de Donmoue, oracle through the ages, how may I help you?”