“Ah! She shit on me!” the familiar whined as she flew away.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most ladylike thing to do, but she was in bird form. If it looks like a crow and sounds like a crow… Not her finest moment, true, but the damn thing wanted to eat her.
She soared over the silver Audi parked in the horseshoe driveway. The metallic paint glinted in the moonlight, so she circled above it, taking in the view. Hey, she was a crow. She liked shiny things.
As she started to fly away, something near the road caught her eye. Dark silver with a soft green glow, it sat atop a trash bag inside a garbage can, so it was fair game, right? Totally fair game.
She swooped down and snatched it, taking to the air again and flying home.
Chapter Two
Alice shoved the last bite of ice cream cone into her mouth and wiped her hands on her skirt. Meg would strangle her if she knew she stopped by Milly Moo’s and didn’t bring her anything, so it was best to get rid of the evidence before returning to the gallery.
The sun shone high in the midday sky, warming her skin while the crisp breeze worked to cool her down again. Spring—all three weeks of it—was beautiful in the Texas Hill Country. Bluebonnets and buttercups blanketed the ground, adding a splash of color to the deep green palette, and being outside for longer than half an hour was more than bearable… It was downright pleasant. It wouldn’t be long before the heat became sweltering, though, so Alice enjoyed the walk from city hall to the ice cream shop and finally back to the gallery.
Shifted Treasures was situated along the main town square, sandwiched between a clothing boutique and a bakery. Megan’s junkyard sculptures occupied one display window, while Alice’s wall art, made from reclaimed wood and discarded metal, was showcased in the other. An open sign hung in the window of the red wooden door, though it would be permanently switched to closed if they couldn’t fix the creek’s magic soon.
She checked her fingers for signs of chocolate—that rocky road really hit the spot—before opening the door and striding inside.
“And? What did you find out about the mystery man?” Megan didn’t look up from her spot behind the counter as she soldered a wing made from fork tines onto a soup can flamingo. She’d swept her brown hair into a high ponytail, and a bulky pair of safety glasses sat perched on her nose.
“He’s not a Rainecourt.” Alice stuffed her purse onto a shelf beneath the counter, and Megan gripped her shoulder.
“You sneaky little weasel. I can’t believe you went to Milly Moo’s and didn’t bring me anything.”
Busted. Alice tugged from her grasp, straightening. “It would have melted on the way.”
“I don’t mind melty ice cream.”
“I’m sorry. I paid the rent, and I…” She couldn’t afford the treat for herself, really, but after last night, the thoughts of rocky road refused to leave her mind.
Megan slid the glasses to the end of her nose and peered over them, crossing her arms. “I would have given you money.”
“I didn’t know I was going. It was a last-minute decision. Can you ever forgive me?”
She pursed her lips, screwing her mouth to the side before laughing. “I’m just giving you a hard time. I had a massive blueberry muffin on my way in this morning, and I didn’t bring you one. We’re even.”
Alice grinned. “I guess we are. How did you know I had ice cream?”
“I can smell it on you.” She tugged her hair from the band, letting it cascade around her shoulders. “And you’ve got a little on the corner of your lip.”
Alice wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Gone?”
Megan nodded. “So, Mr. Hottie didn’t turn out to be a Rainecourt. That’s a shame. Who is he?” She dropped the plastic glasses on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel.
“His name is Donovan Drake, and that’s all anyone at city hall knows about him.” Donovan Drake. His name tasted sweet on her tongue…or maybe it was the remnants of the ice cream. Either way, it was a nice name. Masculine. Sexy even.
“I guess the house wasn’t on the market long, then? I can’t imagine why anyone who can afford a place like that would want to move to a small town like this.”
“Now you sound like a Rainecourt.” Alice crossed her arms. “There’s nothing wrong with this town, and the house was never officially on the market. Mr. Hottie showed up with the deed yesterday morning and moved in. Probably traded his soul for it based on the previous owner.”
“Now, now. The black-market spells thing is nothing more than a rumor.” Megan stepped around the counter. “Let’s not judge my future ex-husband’s dead father too harshly.”
Alice scoffed. “Not judge? Not only did Marcus have a holier-than-thou attitude, but he up and left the town to die.”
“True.”
“And we get judged constantly. ‘Ew, you’re a crow. Do you eat carrion?’ Or ‘It’s not art if it’s made out of junk.’ Or my personal favorite, ‘You’re thirty. When are you going to find a husband?’”
Megan groaned. “I hate that one. Have they seen the selection of men in this town?”
“What selection?”
“Exactly!” Megan laughed. “Come in the back. I want to show you the bear sculpture.”
“You finished it?” Alice followed her through a blue beaded curtain into their workroom.
“Ta-daaa…” Megan gestured to the five-foot-tall sculpture.
Made out of a muffler, rebar, oil cans, and various other metallic objects, the bear rendering stood on its hind legs, lifting its paws, its mouth open to reveal massive teeth made from… Wait a minute…
“You said you were going to return the trap to the farm.” Alice lifted a brow accusingly. “We don’t make art from stolen goods.”
“I did return it.” She traced a finger along the metal teeth. “I disassembled it before leaving it by the chicken coop, but all the parts were there. I can’t help it if Farmer Tucker is too bird-brained to put it back together.”
“Watch it, trash panda. There’s nothing diminutive about a bird’s brain.”
Megan lifted her hands. “Sorry. Anyway, he threw it out, which made it fair game. Just like your new necklace.”
Alice gripped the pendant she’d plucked from Mr. Hottie’s trash can last night. “Well, if you promise he’d discarded it…” Who was she to judge?
The amulet consisted of a two-inch cylindrical green crystal. One end was nestled inside a beat-up, dark gray metal hood, which hung from a long, tarnished chain, and the other end had a chunk missing from the stone as if it had been carelessly dropped on the concrete.
She’d cleaned it up, attempting to polish the metal, but whatever it was made of, it refused to shine. The wealthy Mr. Drake probably thought it clashed with his pristine aesthetic, so he tossed it. Alice, on the other hand, found beauty in imperfection, and this clunky piece of jewelry called to her.
The tinkling of bells signaled a customer had entered, and Megan turned to her. “What do we sell?”
“Functional, quirky home aesthetics and gifts.” Because actually calling their art art either made people scoff or feel like they couldn’t appreciate it. “Let’s sell some A-R-T.”