by Ashlyn Chase
“It’s probably nothing. Just a rumor. And although I appreciate the offer, I don’t expect there’s much you can do. Unless you see her and then tell her to come home immediately. Please.”
“Of course. You must be worried. I know I am.”
Dr. Samuels walked him to the door, clasping his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Noah Fierro. I appreciate your looking out for my daughter.”
Noah knew when he was being dismissed. If only he could tell the guy he was a phoenix shifter. But how would he explain that he knew the guy believed in shifters? Nobody believed in shifters…unless they had some paranormal abilities themselves. Whoa. Could the good doctor be some kind of paranormal? Maybe a vampire? The patriarch opened the door and didn’t burst into flames, so no. Not a vampire. Maybe some kind of male witch or wizard?
There was really no polite way to ask. He shook the man’s hand and strode down the flagstone walkway to the street. He wished he didn’t have to work that night. He’d be worried about Kizzy the entire time—unless she called.
Noah pivoted and bounded back up to the front door. Before he reached it, Dr. Samuels opened it again.
“Did you forget something?”
“Yes. I forgot to ask you to have Kizzy call me as soon as you hear from her. I have to work a seventy-two-hour shift, and I’ll be unfit for duty if I can’t sleep.”
“Ah. You’re the firefighter.”
“Yes, sir.”
To Noah’s surprise, the older gentleman smiled. “I’ll be sure to give her the message.”
Chapter 9
Dante hadn’t seen his troublesome brother for several days. Of course, they’d had seventy-two-hour shifts, and after that, he’d spent a lot of time with Mallory. That’s what happened when people fell in love. They spent every spare minute together. He’d even been sleeping at her town house when he wasn’t at the station.
To her excitement and horror, the gallery owner had loved her work when she’d stopped by to show it to her. Now her big gallery show was coming up, and she was terrified. Despite assurances to the contrary, Dante was terrified for her, knowing she could turn into a monkey at any moment. It seemed to be her way of escaping stressful situations.
In her basement studio, Mallory lifted a heavy canvas and walked to the stairs. Before she carried it up and out to her car, she stopped. “Dante, I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
Dante set down the two canvases he was carrying and leaned them carefully against a concrete post. He walked over to her, took the canvas out of her hands, and placed it next to the others, then he braced her with his hands on her arms and looked her straight in the eyes.
“I know you’re scared. You don’t need to be. I’ll be right there with you, and I won’t leave your side. No matter what.”
She sagged. “I know. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even consider this. Who wants a monkey bouncing around their gallery?”
Dante enfolded her in his arms. “If I had a gallery, and you were the monkey, I’d want exactly that. What better way to attract attention?”
She laughed. “You’re nuts.”
“Maybe. But I’m only telling the truth when I say you can handle it. You’ve got this, honey.”
They shared a reassuring kiss and returned to the task at hand.
Mallory lifted her canvas again and shuffled. “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…” She made the chugga-chugga-choo-choo sound of a train.
“Now who’s a nut?” Dante chuckled.
Mallory looked over her shoulder and grinned as she preceded him up the stairs.
The large canvases wouldn’t fit in Dante’s car, so he’d borrowed a van from one of his firefighter buddies. He’d actually trusted the guy to take care of Joanna while they traded vehicles.
As soon as they had the paintings draped in clean sheets and stabilized in the back of the van, they went back for more. They repeated the procedure three times, loading the van with nine paintings total. When everything was ready to go, Mallory stood before the open van doors, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands in prayer. Dante sensed the need for some respectful silence, so he simply waited beside her.
When she opened her eyes, he saw a sparkle in them. She seemed happy—not that she hadn’t been—but he could tell there was a sense of accomplishment just by making it this far.
“I’m proud of you, Mal.”
She smiled. “I’m kinda proud of me too.”
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I guess. No. No, I mean yes! I’m ready!”
“That’s my girl.” He closed the van doors and strode to the driver’s side while Mallory made her way to the passenger side. They both hopped in, and she slid right across the bench seat. Sitting right next to him, she laid her head on his shoulder.
“Do you mind if I’m this close while you drive?”
“Not at all. I’ll have to keep both hands on the wheel, despite my wanting to put one of them somewhere else.” He glanced at her crotch.
She laughed. “Stop it. You wouldn’t do that, and you know it.”
Had he said that to any woman before they’d become so intimate, he’d probably have had his face slapped. As it was, her face turned pink, but she was grinning from ear to ear. She kissed his cheek. “Let’s go, handsome.”
Dante pulled away from the curb, and as soon as he was on a straightaway, he rested his hand on her bare knee. She had taken to wearing short dresses or tunics rather than skirts with blouses…just in case she wound up exposed after shifting back. The dress she wore today was adorable. It was sleeveless with some kind of artsy splashes of color that were vaguely reminiscent of flowers. She had sweated over what she was going to wear for days.
As if she’d read his mind, she glanced down at her dress. “Did I wear the right thing? It’s not very sophisticated.”
“I was just thinking about how adorable you look.”
“Oh no! I don’t want to look adorable. I want to look sophisticated.”
“That’s what I meant. Adorably sophisticated. Or sophisticatedly adorable. Whichever one will get you to stop worrying.”
She laughed. “I guess it’s too late to second-guess my ensemble. If I become a famous artist, I’ll have money to buy a whole new wardrobe.”
Dante enjoyed her flights of fancy, even though he knew the chances of her becoming rich and famous were slim to none. He wasn’t about to burst her bubble—especially after having watched her recover from the despair of being fired from her job at the mall.
“Did you invite anyone?” he asked.
“To the gallery show?”
He was tempted to say something silly, like “No, to Sydney Opera House,” but he didn’t want to come off sounding like a jerk. He just nodded and waited for her reply.
“You know, I thought about it. I just didn’t know who would be interested. I’ve lost touch with most of my fellow Mass Art students. I wasn’t close to any of my professors. And the other friends I’ve had since high school don’t really care about art.
“Actually, as I think I mentioned, my real friends are far away. I only have acquaintances left here in Boston. I wouldn’t want anyone to think they should buy something just to support me. I don’t know what the gallery owner is going to charge for my work, but I know my fellow struggling artists can’t afford it.”
“They couldn’t just show up, eat the cheese and crackers, and look like they’re enjoying the show?”
She laughed. “I don’t think they’d be comfortable snacking on someone else’s food with no intention of buying art, knowing they could be mistaken for homeless people.”
“Well, I have a giant family I can invite. Actually, I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of already did.”
She straightened her spine. “What? Who did you invite? And what does
‘kind of’ mean?”
“It means I told my mother when she called me at work to ask how I was doing. I said you had a show at a gallery on Newbury Street this Friday. She said she would like to come and asked exactly where and when it would be held.”
“And you told her?”
He faced her for a moment. She looked nervous. “I did. Was that wrong? Do you not want her to come?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I like her a lot. I like all of your family. It’s just that…”
He glanced at her again. “What?”
“Well, I’m not sure it’s fair to them either. I doubt they want to buy any artwork.”
“Who says? I remember Misty saying Gabe was living a spartan life before she moved in. No artwork on the walls. He didn’t even have wineglasses. He gave her a glass of wine in a Solo cup. But he had plenty of money he could have spent on art or glassware. He just didn’t think of it, apparently.”
Mallory chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like a typical bachelor’s apartment.”
“Maybe there will be some rich bachelors coming to the show with their girlfriends. Or rich women with their boyfriends. You never know.” Dante wondered who his mother might have mentioned the show to. His dad, of course. She had already said they would be there with bells on.
Going through the rest of his brothers, he knew Ryan wouldn’t dare come back to Boston and risk being seen in public. As far as the city of Boston was concerned, he was supposedly a dead and buried firefighter. His wife, Chloe, might come back from Ireland for it. She had an entire castle to furnish.
Jayce and Kristine lived in a one-bedroom condo and both had good salaries. His brother didn’t have much artwork before Kristine moved in. Dante hadn’t seen the place recently. It was possible they might want a large piece over their bed or something.
Miguel and Sandra had been living in their second-floor apartment in Brighton for years. They had artwork, but that didn’t mean they might not change it out for something special.
If Misty hadn’t already bought some, he knew Gabe would probably hand her a blank check and tell her to pick out anything she wanted.
All the brothers below Gabe were still young bachelors—Luca didn’t even have his own apartment yet. But it sounded like his mother might have invited the others, hoping to help her make a few sales.
“What kind of advertising did they do for you?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know. She said something about a notice in the Boston Phoenix, in their online list of things to do, and a notice in some trade journal or magazine. I can’t remember which one. I was half frozen in fear as she was talking about it. I just realized something. You’re a Boston Phoenix, just like the newspaper!”
Dante laughed. “I wish we could say we owned it, but we have nothing to do with the newspaper…unless we wind up in a cage and somebody puts a few pages in there for us to poop on.”
She gasped. “Has that ever happened? Have any of you wound up in a cage?”
Dante realized this might not be the best time to talk about how his family handled death and reincarnation. That was a pretty involved subject, and they were two blocks from the gallery.
“Let’s table that discussion for another day. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but we’re almost there.”
“Okay.” She folded her hands in her lap and took a few deep breaths.
He glanced over at her. “Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine. I think.”
“I think you can, I think you can, I think you can.”
She smiled. “Choo-choo!”
* * *
Noah couldn’t stand waiting for Kizzy to call and tried her phone number. Perhaps her father had forgotten to give her the message. Yeah, right. He’d thought he’d made a good impression. Maybe the guy was just grin-fucking him.
After an inordinate number of rings, Kizzy finally picked up. “Hello?”
“Kizzy! It’s Noah. Are you all right?”
An audible sigh met his ears. “Yes and no.”
Noah hesitated, but she didn’t elaborate. Finally, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Um…it’s…complicated.”
“Why are you being evasive? If something is wrong, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“I’m sorry, Noah. It’s my father. He really… I shouldn’t share the details. That family situation I told you about? It’s getting worse. I really can’t see you right now.”
“Are you sure? I want to help.”
“You can’t.” Her voice wobbled a bit.
Noah wished he could tell her “Yes, I can.” But how could he reveal his supernatural identity without compromising their relationship? It already seemed tenuous, at best.
“Kizzy, whatever it is, I’m here for you. I really wish you’d let me in.”
“I wish I could. You’ll just have to trust me. It’s the timing. It’s not you.”
Without meaning to, Noah let out a resigned sigh. “Okay. Is it all right if I call once in a while and check on you?”
“Yeah. That would probably be all right. But if I don’t pick up, don’t worry. It’s just…”
“I know. Not a good time.”
“Exactly.”
“Just tell me one thing. Did your father tell you I returned your phone?”
“Huh? No. He didn’t. I found my phone here in his kitchen and thought it was weird. I texted you to say I had an emergency and had to go. I must have dropped it when I thought I hit the send button. I couldn’t find it while Ruth and I were on our way to the hospital.”
“You went to the hospital? Are you all right? Is Ruth okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. There was a major car wreck, and they needed me.”
“Shit. I didn’t hear about that.”
“It was on the news.”
“I don’t like to watch the news these days.”
So her father hadn’t mentioned him at all. What the hell was going on? Why would he feel he needed to lie about that—even if it was lying by omission? Maybe this relationship really wasn’t a good idea. His heart broke a little bit as he thought about never seeing her again.
“All right. If things settle down, let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you be.”
“I’m sorry, Noah. I wish things were different. Just know that.”
“Fine. Take care.”
“You too.”
After he hung up, Noah laid his phone down on his kitchen table. He seemed to be on the outs with everyone. He wished he could talk to Dante, but he was busy helping Mallory today. Her gallery show was this evening.
Gabriella had called and invited him to the show—more like twisted his arm. At the time, he’d said he didn’t know if he would be able to make it. Now, he really felt like going. He needed his family. More accurately, he needed to be surrounded by his family’s unconditional love and acceptance. The sting of rejection was weighing heavily on him.
Maybe it was time to accept Dante’s choice of Mallory. He really had no business telling his brother who to date. Someday, she might become his sister-in-law, and he didn’t want any awkward history following them throughout their lifetimes. His and Dante’s lifetimes would be a heck of a lot longer than Mallory’s.
That helped him put things in perspective. His father and some of his brothers would deal with the loss of a spouse long before they took their final flight. A human spouse would face mortality long before a phoenix. If he ever found his soulmate, chances are he would have to deal with the loss too. Two of his brothers were lucky in that respect. They married dragons and would probably be outlived by their wives. However, the rest of the phoenix family would need one another for support when the time came.
Kizzy might be a doctor and know how to take care of her physical health as she aged,
but she couldn’t escape death. It might be best to forget her—while he still could.
He would set up the rest of the lab, then clean up, put on a suit, and go to the gallery for the show. Chances are he wouldn’t buy anything, but he could at least lend emotional support to Dante and his girlfriend. He owed them that.
* * *
Helen Smythe, the gallery owner, sat down with Mallory about an hour before the show opening. Mallory had confessed how nervous she was, and the woman seemed to understand. The funny thing was, she’d said Mallory appeared better adjusted than some artists she’d worked with. Mallory almost burst out laughing at that. Instead, she just said, “Oh dear.”
Now, the day had arrived and they were actually doing this. Dante leaned against the doorjamb, listening quietly.
“How are you feeling?”
“Scared. Unprepared. Like an imposter.”
Helen laughed. “At least you’re honest. That’s why I asked you to come early. A lot of artists blunder or bluster their way through a gallery show—even those who’ve had several. Because this is your first, I thought I’d prepare you a bit in advance if you’re open to it.”
Mallory sat up straighter. “Yes, please! I want to know what to expect and anything else you want to tell me.”
“Good. Every art show or exhibition opening marks a milestone in your career as an artist. This is your premier and a critical window of opportunity. It may only last a few hours, but think of it as taking a shot at changing your destiny. Why? Because anything can happen—and it often does—which means you’ve got to be ‘on’ and be ready.”
“Oh crap.”
Helen laughed again. “Don’t worry. You look gorgeous, and your art is fantastic. Of course, it’s my job to make sure it shows as well as it possibly can at your opening.”
“And thank you for that! It doesn’t show nearly as nicely in my unfinished basement.” She cracked a smile, and Helen seemed to know she was joking—sort of.
“Well, there’s a reason that we make it look pristine and perfect. Everyone wants favorable reactions, healthy sales, and great reviews. But the most important ingredient is you, and the more aware you are of the art lovers, the better the chances to upwardly alter the course of your success.”