Page 38 of Oracles Always Win

Sinkinginto my art,Ilost track of everything around me.

Mostof the ladies,I’ddiscovered in the months sinceI’dbeen organizing this meet-up, just came out to chat and occasionally do a sketch or two.Ilearned to only half-listen to their chatter, especially when they complained about hot flashes and other thingsIreally didn’t want to know about.

Today, they were excitedly chattering aboutMrs.Jennings’ newest bakery offerings.Theyseemed very knowledgeable about people’s personal preferences, whichIfound odd, but it was a small town, so that might explain it.Theladies cackled about howDillonliked things hot and had cleared out all the new cinnamon heart creations beforeVaneven saw them, howHaydenhad been drawn in by the smell of the new meat pies, whileWeston, who usually complained about the low salt content, had apparently been thrilled with the new salted caramel options.

Whythis was discussed with such enthusiasm,Ihad no idea.

Ifocused on the view instead.

TheListerApartmentComplexwas the first buildingIsketched onto my painting.It’danchor my drawing on the right and set the scale for the rest.Iroughed in the perspective lines and rough shapes through the wet yellow paint.Fromthis view, two sides of the building were visible.

“Fourwindows across there,”Imurmured asIcounted. “Andon the other side, another one, two, three…”

Isquinted at the building.

Somethingwas hanging out of the window on the top floor.Itwas similar to a tree branch, except it was green and undulating like a tentacle.Mystomach lurched.No, no, no.Iwould not allow myself any hallucinations today.Nope.Noway.

Asif to prove me wrong, another tentacle-like thing wiggled out of the window and wrapped around the first one.Afine mist seemed to sparkle in the air around the writhing tentacles.

“Oh!”DaphneRivers, who was to my left, gasped and pointed in the direction of those tentacles that couldn’t be tentacles.

Shehad a few sons about my age, includingSimonRivers.Hewas a bit of an odd duck—always acting like he had a guilty secret—butIwasn’t in any position to judge.Iknew him better than the others because he was one of the few guys my age who came into the pub regularly.Hewas a good-looking guy and, for half a second,I’dthought about asking him out, butIcouldn’t summon enough of an attraction to risk going on a date with him.Ididn’t want to initiate somethingIcouldn’t carry through on.

Inthe end,Idecided keeping things platonic would be better.Ifmy interest in him had been a fraction of whatIfelt withGage, things might have been different.Although,Icouldn’t imagine trying to date one ofDaphneRivers’ sons.Basedon the stories she told while painting,Iknew she was insanely protective of them all.

“Sallymust be visitingHenriettaandGaryagain.Meow.”Daphne’smeow was so much like an actual cat thatIglanced around for a stray.Shesounded more like a cat thanPawsdid.

Theother ladies giggled and watched the non-tentacles.

“Whatwas that?”Imade myself ask.

Daphneadjusted her straw hat.Hercheeks were flushed. “Oh, nothing, dear.”

Igot the sense she was lying to me in the same way an adult dismissed a question from a curious child about a complex adult topic.Fine.Whatever.Ididn’t need to know.

Isketched in more windows.

Idid not include any tentacles.

Besideher,Gloriashook her head, and wisps of her long gray hair came loose from her ponytail. “Idon’t know why they can’t just accept they are better together,” she muttered just loud enough for me to hear. “Thosethree are meant to be a throuple.Ican’t believe they make that poor succubus go to the bar to feed regularly when they should just invite her to move in.Everyonewould be happier.Theydon’t live with their consortium anymore.Theyshouldn’t be so scared about challenging traditional views.”

Againwith the succubus thing?Andwhat was a consortium?

BeforeIcould ask about that—althoughIwasn’t even sure how to phrase such a question—Vanessa,Alice’smom, waved her chubby hand at me.

“Oh,Jakedear?” she said. “Canyou come here?Ihave a question.”

Iset down my paintbrush and crossed the grass to whereVanessahad set up her gear.Shesat under a brown beach umbrella on a lawn chair that was too tall for her small body, so her feet dangled.Ina town where so many favored bright colors,Aliceand her mom were the exception.Everythingthey owned was brown, usually in the same shade as their shaggy dark brown hair.Thelight under the umbrella was muddy and dull.Vanessatilted her head up to me, so, althoughIcouldn’t see her eyes behind her dark brown sunglasses,Iknew she was looking at me.

“You’vedone a great job of capturing the shape of the tree,”Isaid asIconsidered her painting.

“Thankyou, dear.Butwhat about this branch?Ijust can’t seem to get it right.”Shepointed at the tree in question.Thebranch was coming straight toward us.

“Hmm…Yes.Ican see the problem.Foreshorteningcan be challenging, but at least with a tree it’s easier to fudge than if you’re drawing a human figure,”Isaid.Istarted describing a few techniques.Iwas pointing right at the tree when something shimmered underneath it.

Mychest squeezed asMr.HornyDude—Gage—appeared out of nowhere.Mystomach tightened andIthought for sure this morning’s breakfast was going to make a reappearance too.Hesaw us, waved, and started walking toward us.Sunlightcaught on his horns, making them shine like they’d been dipped in iridescent glitter.

Exceptpeople didn’t just suddenly appear out of nowhere.EvenifI’dhoped all my interactions with the man yesterday had been real, this wasnotreal.