by R. J. Blain
“I was. Mostly. I only left a few hoof prints in the wall on either side of his head to impress upon him it was unwise to trifle with me.”
“How much of the talking did you do as a unicorn?”
“Only enough to convince him screwing around with me would be a very poor idea, and to prove my species was as I claimed.”
“Please tell me that’s the extent of it.”
“Mostly.”
“Damn it, Dean!”
“What? I don’t like how they treated Layla.”
Xena sighed, and as I expected the siblings would start fighting in earnest, I returned to browsing the selection of goods, discovering another row of easels I’d missed before, larger and much nicer than the ones I’d found in boxes and put in the cart. “Xena, look at these easels.”
The woman joined me, and she whistled. “You should get one.”
“I should?”
She pointed at one that stood at eye level. “That one, for your main projects. The other ones you got are table easels, and they aren’t all that tall. That one looks really nice. Dean, tell your mare she should get this easel.”
Dean joined us, and he looked the easels over, checking the price tags. He pointed at one with a rich red wood. “This one is probably better, judging from its price tag.”
“Are we just buying everything that’s most expensive in the store and assuming it’s better?”
“Yes,” they replied.
Xena turned and skipped off. “I’ll find an employee to see if there’s a box or something.”
“I bought too much,” I confessed, looking over both carts with dismay. “I don’t even know how much I’ve spent, but I’ve spent too much.”
“You haven’t spent anything because I’m buying it all. Consider it a Christmas present.”
“A what present?”
Dean sighed. “Christmas. It’s a holiday. I’m guessing you were incarcerated at a secular prison, then.”
“A what?”
“Secular means non-religious. Christmas is a religious holiday. Mostly, people just give each other presents and celebrate being with their family. Unicorns aren’t part of the Christian pantheon, but we enjoy it anyway. We went to a Christian church once as a family. Apparently, some Christians don’t believe in unicorns, and nothing tests their beliefs more than an entire herd of unicorns listening to the sermon while sniffing the poinsettias. We may have eaten a few. We had a great time, although that one little old lady was convinced we were demons in disguise.”
“You’re not?”
“No, we aren’t demons in disguise.”
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
“I’m sure. You can tell me all about what you bought and why when we get to the hotel room.”
With wide eyes, I stared at both carts. If I tried to teach him about everything, we’d be up all night. “That’s a lot of explaining.”
“And you’re worth the effort, so I’m happy to listen to you. But first, let’s get all of these purchased and into the SUV. There is an important matter we do need to discuss back at the hotel, but then you’ll have my undivided attention. I want to know about your painting, because from everything I know about you, it’s an important part of who you are.”
“I got markers, too.”
“Markers are fun, but all I use them for is coloring books,” Dean admitted. “I’m still guilty of getting crayons and playing in coloring books.”
“You do what with what in what?”
“And there’s my addition to today’s purchases. Obviously, it’s time someone introduced you to the glorious world of crayons and coloring books,” Dean announced, turning around and marching across the store. “Wait here for Xena. I’ll be right back. Actually, no. If you see something you want, put it in the cart. If it doesn’t fit in the cart, just get another cart.”
Unicorns existed to confuse me. Of that, I was certain.
Chapter Seven
The art supplies barely fit into the large SUV Dean had acquired, and the challenge pleased both unicorns, who wasted an entire hour strategizing how to avoid making two trips. The easels created the most problems, as the ones I liked couldn’t be unassembled without tools and a lot of effort. My suggestion to tie them to the roof was met with disdained snorts from the siblings.
As I had no idea how to drive the vehicle, I kept my desire to tie them to the roof to myself.
At the hotel, Xena demanded I stay in the room and sort my acquisitions while they handled ferrying everything. To make sure I stayed put, she gave me the markers, pencils, and my largest sketchbook, pointed at the couch, and suggested I start planning my next painting. I figured she wanted to make sure nobody tried to make a mess of the evening by attempting to grab me out of the parking lot.
While rare, painting without guidance did happen in prison, although I’d never found out what had happened to my woodland scenes, all of which classified as figments of my imagination. I’d seen a few forests before from the window of the prison bus, but I’d never stepped foot into one.
Even in prison, I’d heard of unicorns, but the reality of them went against the whispered talk of pure beings. Instead of pure innocence, they brought chaos with them, turning my life upside down. While an almost boring white and gray, they’d colored my world in unexpected ways.
I’d paint them both, and they’d bring color to nature in their wake. I’d painted few winter scenes, but I liked the idea of the cold making way to them. I waited for them to bring everything to the room, and to fill the time, I sketched the basic outlines I’d use as a guide when painting.
On the third trip, I considered the siblings, and I pointed at Dean with my pencil. “I need you to pose for me.”
“What about me?” Xena whined.
“You get to pose for me after I’m finished with him.”
“You’re doing this as revenge for the clothing shopping, aren’t you?”
“No. It’s revenge for not having enough space in the SUV to go to the bakery you promised.”
“Crap. I forgot about the bakery. Okay. That’s fair. I’ll empty the SUV while you have your way with my brother. Then we’ll talk him into taking us to the bakery.”
“Is there are reason we can’t order in baked goods?” Dean asked.
“Yes. She’s never been in a bakery before as a customer. She needs to pick her treats in person.”
“Can you accept a trip to the bakery tomorrow, Layla? I’ll order in some baked goods tonight. I’ll explain why after you’re done sketching me and my sister. It involves the paperwork I got from the courthouse.”
“Yes, I’m okay with that. I don’t have to go to a bakery right away. I would like to see a bakery, however.”
“Then it’s decided. Sorry, Xena. Can you handle the easels alone?”
“I am a strong, beautiful woman. I can handle anything! It will just take me a few trips to get the rest is all.” Xena strolled out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“How are we going to fit everything into the SUV tomorrow? There’s clothes we have to deal with, too.”
“Easy. Xena will run while I drive.”
My eyes widened. “But cars go really fast.”
“We’re just as fast, and she could use the exercise. It’ll be okay. We’ll get rid of excess packaging and make it fit. We only have a two-hour drive to get to where we’ll be staying for a while. I think I can make everything fit without making her run, though.”
“But she can keep up?”
“She really can. I’ve clocked her at sixty, and she can maintain that for an hour before she needs a breather. She’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you. There was definitely a counterfeit art ring running out of the prisons, and you were their star painter. They’ll do a lot to get you back or silence you to prevent you from revealing their schemes.”
All telling Dean about the two men in suits would do was worry him, so I decided to keep my mouth shut about the incident. “
But you were able to question someone?”
“A prison guard who failed to get out of work in time to run once word hit the wire that the ring had been exposed. He hadn’t wanted to talk, but I convinced him.”
With force, something I didn’t mind at all. “Okay. You’ll tell me more after I finish sketching you?”
“Of course. I will protect you.”
“I can protect myself.”
“And I will protect you in such a way you will never have to worry about going to prison ever again.”
Under no circumstances could I tell him about my altercation with the men in suits, as it would take an angel to keep me out of prison after assaulting the one. “Become a unicorn. I want to paint you.”
I’d take my time with him, too. I needed to think about what I would do with a unicorn so determined to protect me from myself.
Drawing Dean challenged me. Between his curves and the way he carried himself, pride etched into every line, it took me several hours to sketch him to my satisfaction. Xena regarded my work with a mix of fascination and horror.
“I have to go next?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You only have to stand still for a while. And move when I tell you to. It’s not hard.”
Xena pointed at her brother. “He’s going to be frozen in that position forever.”
Both of Dean’s delicate ears turned back.
“Put those ears back where they belong, Mr. Dean,” I ordered, pointing my pencil at him. “I’m not done with you yet!”
I’d finished his ears long ago, but I enjoyed bossing the stallion around. I could understand why people liked being obeyed.
Power tasted sweet, even if I used it for something as little as making a unicorn stand still for a while.
Dean snorted, but he turned his ears forward.
“I’m telling Mom and Dad you’re whipped by a convict.”
I laughed. “I haven’t whipped him. I slapped his ass once. He can jump pretty high.”
“Well, you startled him.”
“Nobody expects to be slapped on the ass in court.” I checked my sketch, added a few finishing touches, and gave a satisfied nod. “Okay. You’re done, Dean.” I thought I was going to use two unicorns in my painting, but I decided I liked the balance with only one. “You’re off the hook for the moment, Xena. I’ll paint him first, and I’ll do one of you later.”
“Hah. You’re a most benevolent dictator. I will have to put you in charge of countries I like when I take over the world. A proper world ruler always keeps a few benevolent dictators around.”
I turned the sketch so Xena could see it. “The paper wasn’t big enough for you and your brother’s ego. You just wouldn’t fit.”
“Okay. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say, just from your drawing skills, there’s a damned good reason that art counterfeiting ring wanted to keep you in prison working for them. You could sell the sketch and make good money.”
I looked at the sketch, which had gone from a basic outline to shaded and defined, which would make painting from it both easier and harder. “I meant to do a basic sketch, but he kept standing there, and I kept drawing.”
Dean heaved a sigh, and he transformed into his human form with a faint pop. “And since you were enjoying yourself, I couldn’t really justify asking you to stop drawing. If this is what the rest of my life is going to look like, can I request no more than an hour a session? I like moving.”
“Ten-minute breaks to trot around between sessions?”
“I can work with that.”
“I can do that.” I set aside my sketchbook and stretched my hands. “That did take longer than I thought it would. I’m sorry. What happened this morning with the judge?”
“Chaos. All but one of the guards had bailed, and I’m guessing the police only nabbed the one by good fortune; they’d caught him leaving the night shift, so he’d missed the warning the ring had been busted. Once he started talking, the judge and angels got a list of names of those involved. Their information dried up at one of the sellers. We got a confirmation that they were using you to paint ‘newly discovered’ pieces of art to sell to private buyers and museums. What we don’t understand is how they were bypassing the counterfeit checks. The paints they used then aren’t the same as they use now, and some of the pigments don’t even exist anymore.”
“They used special paint; she couldn’t find any of the paints she was used to, although I think they were using some modern primers; she recognized the primers and coats, and she had some knowledge of written colors. So, they were labeling the colors and she could read those labels, but they weren’t anything mass produced. The store had a good selection of brands.”
Dean shook his head, retrieved a briefcase from near the door, and sat on the couch beside me. “Their plan was brilliant, really. They kept you just ignorant enough you had no idea you were part of a very illegal and profitable art counterfeiting ring. The lawyers and judges getting a share of the profits made sure they didn’t ask questions that would reveal your activities. The change of judge for your latest trial sank them—as did your defense attorney, too new to have been initiated into the ring. Our guess is they were going to wait until she was struggling to draw her in. They had someone inside the court system who handled the scheduling make sure your case was given to judges who would send you back to prison, no matter what crime you committed.”
I shrugged, as there wasn’t a whole lot I could say.
“It’s not your fault, Layla. Your life was very carefully orchestrated from the moment a greedy prison supervisor realized you’re artistically talented.” Dean glanced at my sketchbook. “More than just talented. Talented and practiced. You’ve been spending your entire life drawing and painting, and the result is someone who can produce art equal to the masters. Someone likely used magic to age the paint and canvas so they’d pass as the real deal. Assuming you enjoy painting, you don’t need to go to college. You just need a basic education, and we can teach you when you’re not painting. And if you’re tired of painting, we can look into other options for you. You don’t need to keep painting unless you want to.”
“I like to paint.”
“And draw, as you’ve been happily sketching for hours.” Dean set his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. “I was given a list of people to be wary of along with their photographs. If you see any of these people, you should be very careful, as they’re confirmed to be part of the counterfeiting ring. At this point, kidnapping is more likely than murder, but I’d rather take no chances at all.”
Dean lifted out several sheets of paper with rows of pictures on them featuring men and women, some of whom I recognized as prison guards and other workers in the legal system. I pointed at one of the prosecuting attorneys. “This is the guy who likes to blame women for being raped.”
“Yeah. Judge Davids had opinions about that one. He’s facing a lot of charges now for concocting false accusations while knowing they were false. He’s also going to be charged with his participation in the ring. I expect he’ll be in the first batch to face justice for his crimes. He’s already facing debarring.”
“Facing what?”
“He’s having his law license revoked for participating in a felony. They’re revoking it until his trial as a precaution. All the attorneys on this list are facing that.”
“But why do you know that?”
“I happened to be in the room when the judge placed the calls to the bar association with the charges. Apparently, North Carolina has taken a more aggressive stance about attorneys and felonies. It’s harder to have a law license revoked elsewhere, or so Judge Davids explained.”
I put a check mark on the images of people I knew.
Xena snorted and pointed at the white men in suits I’d tangoed with before our shopping expedition. “I wasn’t going to mention this before, but these two had it out for Layla this morning. She educated them. This charming fellow got a k
nee to his groin and beaten into submission with my purse. Those things that she told you about trying to turn blunt objects into shanks or shivs? They’re true. I thought she might actually transform my purse into a piercing weapon by the time they bailed. It took her all of five seconds to subdue the one. I’m actually impressed they both left; the guy she’d beaten had to crawl into their car.”
Dean grunted. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? By earlier, I mean when it happened.”
“She was fine, I wasn’t worried about her ability to take care of herself, and you were busy. And since no cops showed up, we went about our day. Who are they?”
Dean rummaged through his briefcase, referenced the number beside their pictures, and said, “Camdenno and Larenzo Manetti. They’re brothers and former drug runners who seem to have moved into black market art. According to their biography, they act refined and cultured, luring people in by pretending they’re reformed and showcasing how former thugs can be valuable members of society. In good news, the note on their file marks them both as general pacifists; that’s what drove them out of drug running in the first place. They preferred ensnaring their victims with honey and addictives rather than violence. Kidnapping is borderline for them, at least according to this.”
“So, are you saying I should have hit him harder or been easier on him?”
Both unicorns bowed their heads and sighed.
“What? I thought it was a good question.”
“I’m going to answer with harder,” Dean replied.
“Just make sure you request an angel’s verification of self-defense immediately if approached by the police. And if an angel isn’t summoned, refuse to acknowledge them beyond demanding an angel to verify the truth. That’s important.” Xena grabbed the briefcase and sorted through the pages. “Damn. There are a lot of nasty people in this file, Dean. I think we should clean house.”
“No.”
“Don’t be rude. If we clean house, we’d be doing North Carolina a favor, and we’d be protecting Layla at the same time.”