The Artist's Alchemy Page 2

  It was eleven by the time I rolled out of bed. My bed isn’t traditional. In fact, very little about my life is traditional, and that’s just the way I like it.

  I live in a vintage VW van, and my bed is really just a padded platform in the back. My kitchen and living room are the great outdoors.

  I swiped my phone from its charger, and then stepped out into my “kitchen,” which was really just the patch of dirt in front of my vehicle. I busied myself with preparing tea and breakfast.

  My familiar, a snow-white great horned owl named Skili, sat silently on one of her favorite branches high above me. She didn’t greet me, which was just fine by me. Skili and I tend to give each other a lot of space, especially in the morning, which it technically still was.

  The sky was heavy with thick gray clouds. It was April, but because of the high elevation, the damp air was cold and it felt more like winter than spring. I felt a sinking sensation in my chest when I looked at the center, at the far end of the parking lot where I was positioned. I had an ominous feeling in my bones about the weekend ahead. Penny’s marketing mistake could really cause some trouble, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  For a moment, as I stared at the building, I felt a longing to escape from my new responsibility as the center’s owner. I yearned for the carefree feeling I used to have, back before stepping into my new role. I knew one way that I could get that feeling back.

  My fingers moved to the business card that I kept at all times in my vest pocket.

  It contained a name and number, along with words that tempted me in moments of weakness.

  The Lazy S Inn

  Join us for a stay!

  Check out of your life of toil and trouble—

  —and check in to a life of ease in the Spirit Realm.

  Located at Puff 3 of Cloud 9.

  I thought of the inn’s owner, a woman named Sarin. She’d tried to convince me just a month before that I would be happiest at her inn on Cloud 9. I even found out that my grandmother and mother had spent quite a bit of time resting and relaxing at her inn. Though Sarin tried to recruit me as a customer, I’d refused to make a booking. I had work to do in the Earth Realm, after all. But ever since my interaction with her, I often found myself wondering what a life on Cloud 9 would be like.

  I wouldn’t have to worry about a weekend filled with arguing scientists and artists, that much was certain.

  I looked away from the center and instead focused on the tofu that sizzled on my camp stove. It was almost done, but not quite. I plopped down in my camp chair and reached for the dreamcatcher charm that I wore around my neck.

  Touching the dainty, golden dreamcatcher reminded me that it took strength to live in the Earth Realm. I’d inherited the necklace from my grandmother, Catori Greene. The strings woven into the hoop of unity represented that very thin veil that divided the Earth Realm from the Spirit Realm. When I first inherited the necklace, Skili told me to use the charm as a reminder of the choice I always had, between the Earth Realm and the Spirit Realm.

  As I touched the miniature dreamcatcher, I whispered a reminder. “I choose to be here. Even if it’s hard sometimes. It’s my choice. Thank you.”

  Then I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I saw a missed call from Justin, so I called him back.

  “Hey babe,” I said when he answered. I yawned and stretched as he greeted me.

  “What are you up to?” he asked. He sounded excited about something.

  “Mmm... ah...” I smacked my lips as I finished up my yawn. “Just getting up. The sky is so dark with clouds, so I thought it was a lot earlier and I totally slept in. Your show was so good last night.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Hey—I have some news.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember how I entered Gordon Groover’s fifth annual songwriter competition a few months ago, for ‘She Makes Me Go-Go Bananas?’”

  “Umm.... I think so,” I said. I grinned, thinking of one of Justin’s newest songs. Justin hadn’t played it yet for the public, but since I was his girlfriend, I got the inside access to his creative talents. He’d played the song for me a few times, and I loved it. It was a little more poppy than the band's other punk rock tunes, and it had a catchy chorus that I often found myself singing in my head.

  “Well,” Justin went on, “Gordon Groover called me this morning. Marley, I won! And he wants to come here, to Hillcrest, to give me the prize money, a check for a thousand bucks! All for writing a poem and setting it to music!”

  I leapt up out of my chair. “What?!” I shouted. “Babe, no way!” I didn’t care much about the money part of Justin’s news. I knew Justin could probably use the cash, but that in itself wasn’t that big of a deal. The exciting part was that Gordon Groover—a musical icon—was going to visit our little town.

  “Way!” Justin said. I could tell he was smiling. His voice has a certain lilt to it when he smiles, which I love.

  “I’m so pumped for you,” I said. I flipped my long, dark braid over my shoulder and walked over to the camp stove to stir my tofu. “This is huge! This could be your big break!”

  “I know... I feel that too, Mar,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m going to actually meet Gordon. Even if this song doesn’t put the Funk Collective on the charts, I think pictures of us with The Groover could really help the band’s image. It’ll make us look legit. Maybe we’ll finally get invited to play at Mountain Rockers this year.”

  “I bet,” I said. I poured boiling water into my travel mug and added a tea bag. “Is he going to be here for long?”

  “I think at least for the night,” Justin said. “He’s traveling here from LA, so it’s not like he’s just going to get here, give me the check, and then go. That’s a long trip.”

  Gordon Groover was legendary, not just in Colorado, but across the country, and even internationally. He was a chart-topping solo artist who was known for his outrageous outfits and entertaining performances. He was constantly being featured in magazines, thanks to his shocking appearance. He had dark, mahogany brown skin, bleached blond hair, and more diamond-stud-filled piercings than one could count. He liked to wear leather everything—boots, pants, jackets, hats—you name it. I was having trouble picturing him in all of his larger-than-life glory in our little town.

  “You know what, babe?” I said as I dunked my teabag up and down. “Why don’t you offer Gordon a room up here at the center? He could even attend the workshops with Asti the artist, if he wants. We had a cancelation, so there’s an open room and space in the workshops.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Justin promised.

  When we got off the phone, I ate my breakfast quickly. Then I headed out into the woods for a quick and refreshing streamside splash about. Even though I have a three-story luxurious spa and retreat center at my disposal, I still prefer to do most things in the great outdoors.

  Nothing beats nature, in my humble opinion.

  At quarter to noon I worked a little magic on my vehicle; I made the inside extra spacious, so that all twenty of our magical guests plus our speaker, Asti, could fit inside. Just after I completed the spell, I received a text from Justin.

  Gordon Groover is in! I’m going to meet him at The Place at four, and then we’ll swing up to the center to get him settled in. Sound good?

  I sent him a thumbs up.

  Next, I headed up to the portal gate that connects our realm to the four others: Water, Fire, Air, and Spirit. Since most of our guests were arriving via the portal gate, I’d accepted the responsibility of picking them up. Cora was in charge of picking up our four registered non-magical guests at the Melrose airport, which was about an hour’s drive away.

  I figured Gordon Groover had his own way of getting to Hillcrest. I pictured either a big shiny black SUV with tinted windows and blindingly bright rims, or a stretch limo.

  I thought about The Groover’s song competition as I steered around the hairpin turns of the bumpy road. It was really amazing that Justi
n won. I’d known right away when I heard him play the “Go-Go Bananas” song that it deserved to be a hit. But I didn’t actually think it was going to go anywhere—at least not mainstream. Now that Gordon Groover was involved, there was no telling what would happen. Maybe the attention from Gordon would help Justin and his bandmates take his song into the mainstream music scene. Maybe it would be played on the radio! Is my boyfriend going to become famous? I wondered.

  Skili flew alongside the van as we traveled up, up, up the narrow winding dirt road. I knew right away when we arrived that the waiting area beyond the portal gate was packed. The air was shimmering, which was normal, but it also bulged out around the metal gate, which I’d never seen before. The protruding air around the gate was moving, too, almost in the way Cora’s belly had moved when her triplets kicked and shifted inside, back when she was pregnant. This waiting room looked like it was ready to pop.

  I focused my attention on it, and soon the air parted like a curtain. I saw the little waiting room beyond was jam-packed with magical beings.

  Arguing magical beings, to be more exact.

  “I don’t think so!” one short, skinny man said as he pushed his way out onto the road. He adjusted his thick glasses. “I’m quite sure that we’re going to be discussing quantum transmutation!”

  “How ridiculous,” the man next to him replied. He wore faded dungarees that were splattered in paint, and a beret on his head. “I don’t know a darn thing about quantum transmutation, and I don't care to, either. I’m here to paint!”

  The rest of the crowd spilled out of the waiting room, and I heard many similar conversations.

  Oh boy. Here we go, I thought.

  The guests were so wrapped up in their various contentious exchanges that they barely noticed me, my van, or Skili, who had soared up to the gates along with me and was now circling the area.

  I spotted the woman I’d hired as the guest speaker for the weekend near the back of the crowd. I stood up on my tip toes and waved at her.

  She had gray-streaked hair that was up in a loose bun, pinned in place with a long paintbrush. Little wisps of it framed her face. The gray in her hair was the only sign of her age, which I’d read was late sixties. Otherwise, she struck me as very young-looking, full of vitality and energy.

  She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but there was a definite stunning quality to her. Her thick brows almost touched above the bridge of her nose, and she held herself like a ballerina might, with an erect spine and a level chin. Her clothes, like many of the other artists in the group, were splattered with paint. She wore a men’s work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and slacks that were so covered in paint that it was hard to tell what color they were.

  As she made her way over to me, I greeted her. “You must be Asti,” I said. “I recognize you from the photos I’ve seen. Welcome! Sorry about all this.” I motioned to the hubbub that was still brewing around us. It was thankfully simmering down as the guests were able to spread out a little bit. I imagined that being contained in the small waiting room had escalated arguments, while spreading out in the fresh air was finally letting the flared tempers cool down.

  “We had a mix-up in our marketing campaign,” I explained to Asti. “Some of our ads stated that this was going to be a weekend about science.”

  She made a sour face. “Yuck, science,” she said.

  I went on. “I think we can smooth things out though, once we get everyone to the center. It’s a beautiful space with lots of opportunities for rest and relaxation. Hopefully everyone will enjoy the weekend, regardless of their expectations.”

  I herded everyone toward the van, and they loaded in one after another, like clowns into a clown car. It was miraculous that they all fit, but that’s how magic often works: miraculously. I put on some loud reggae music—Bob Marley, my favorite—to head off any arguments before they had a chance to erupt. I hoped that arriving at the center would distract the scientists from their concerns about the weekend’s content, and I was right. As everyone emerged from the van I heard less bickering and more “ooh”s and “ahh”s, and even an “oh, look at the view!”

  We all crossed the lot and entered the center. Cora was in the lobby with a clipboard in her hand. Penny and Azure flanked her, and I let the three of them handle most of the guests while I walked Asti up to her suite.

  We were ahead of the rest of the crowd, and finally had a chance to talk in private as soon as we crossed through the doors to the third story, where the guest rooms were located. The hallway was wide, with a skylight running down the middle that offered natural light. Because of the building rain clouds, the light was diffuse and silvery gray. Either side of the hallway was lined with doors, as well as plants. We padded along on the thick oriental rug, and I spoke in a hushed tone, because the ambiance seemed to call for it.

  “Thanks for being here, Asti,” I said. “I know you’re a busy woman, and I read that you don’t often take speaking gigs any more.”

  She remained quiet. Then, instead of answering me, she said, “I can’t believe he’s here. After all these years...” She spoke in a hushed tone, as if she was talking to herself rather than me.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she muttered after a moment. “It’s just—my ex is here. Robert Elgin. He’s an astrophysicist, very well-known for his work with solar storms. Why in the world would he sign up for my workshop?”

  She looked over at me and waited for an answer.

  “He probably signed up by mistake,” I suggested, “under the impression that this was going to be a workshop about science. I’m so sorry.” I felt bad about our sloppy advertising. Asti didn’t look happy.

  “Is it going to be a problem—having him here?” I asked.

  “He’s never been interested in my work,” Asti said. “I can’t imagine that he’ll actually attend my lectures, once he figures out that I’m going to be talking about painting. Robert always acted as though his discipline had more value and merit than mine.” She shook her head as if at a frustrating memory. “We loved each other when we first met, but then our differences drove us apart.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. We were almost to the suite that I’d booked for her, so I took out my keycard so that I’d be ready to open her door.

  She went on. “Ah, well. It all happened decades ago when we were both so young.”

  “Did you have a chance to talk to him, in the portal gate waiting room?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “He was in a discussion with another man. But I know he saw me, because I saw him get upset. Robert was never good with his emotions. I'm afraid he never processed the pain of our breakup properly. He’s probably still carrying around some anger for me, about the way things ended.”

  “It ended badly?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. What can I say? We were both so young... Our arguments were brutal at times. I’d be willing to put it all behind me, except for the fact that he joined the Order of Anti Art shortly after we split, and—”

  We were interrupted by a loud whistle, and a male voice that called out, “Oh, hey Miss Marley! Are the guests here?”

  I looked down the hall and saw Geoffrey, one of my employees, step out of one of the suites.

  Chapter Three

  Geoffrey wore a white, ruffled apron and carried a feather duster in his hand. The rest of him looked like Big Foot rolled in a giant mud puddle.

  That’s because he was a Golem—a magical monster made up of sentient mud. He’d emerged from my mudbath when I first opened the center, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t stay. He was about seven feet tall, and chocolaty brown, head to toe. He dripped mud when he walked, which was why I was happy to see Margie, a fairy and my second employee, emerge from the room just behind Geoffrey with a rag in her hand. She wiped up his muddy prints as he walked.

  I waved at the two of them. “Hey guys,” I said. “Yeah, the guests are here. How are the roo
ms looking?”

  “Tip top!” said Margie cheerfully.

  I swiped the keycard through the lock near Asti’s door, and then opened the door for her.

  “This is you!” I said to her. “Enjoy settling in, and I’ll see you down in the lobby around four so I can help you set up for your art show.” I eyed her suitcase, which she dragged along behind her. It didn’t look big enough to house her large paintings, which she’d promised to bring along. I hoped that she’d remembered them.

  She seemed to guess what was on my mind. “Yes, yes, the art show,” she said. “I have all of my artwork in here,” she pointed to the suitcase. “You’re not the only one who can work space-saving magic, you know.” She slipped past me into her suite, and I closed the door behind her. Then I turned to my employees, who were now much closer.

  “Thanks for doing that, you two,” I said to them. “I meant to check on the rooms this morning, but I slept in by accident.”

  “We’ve got you covered, Miss Marley,” Geoff said. He moved as though to loop an arm over my shoulder.

  I quickly sidestepped out of reach as Margie added, “You know we’re happy to assist. This is our home now, Marley. We’d do anything to help the center, and you.”

  I thanked them both again, and then we took the stairs together down to the spa on the first floor. Geoff and Margie helped me set up a crystal grid around the communal mud bath. I set the stones out according to my intuition, and had a faint sense as I worked that the grid would help scientists and artists get along. I didn’t think about what I was doing, I just let my intuition guide me. Margie and Geoff worked to set out little lines of flower blossoms and petals between the stones. Once the grid was done, we split up and readied the rest of the spa.