It was one of those nights. The kind that made Sunshine Runningwolf wonder why she bothered leaving her loft.
"How many times can a person get lost in a city where she's lived the whole of her life?"
The number seemed to be infinite.
Of course, it would' help if she could stay focused, but she had the attention span of a sick flea.
No, actually she had the attention span of an artist who seldom stayed focused on the here and now. Like an out-of-control slingshot, her thoughts drifted from one topic to the next and then back again. Her mind was constantly wandering and sifting through new ideas and techniques- the novelty of the world around her and how best to capture it.
To her there was beauty everywhere and in every little thing. It was her job to show that beauty to others.
And that neat building they were constructing, two or three, maybe four streets over, had distracted her and got her thinking up new designs for her pottery as she wandered through the French Quarter toward her favorite coffeehouse on St. Anne.
Not that she drank that noxious stuff. She hated it. But the retro-beatnik Coffee Stain had nice artwork on the walls and her friends seemed partial to drinking gallons of the tar-liquid.
Tonight she and Trina were going to go over...
Her mind flashed back to the building.
Pulling out her sketchbook, she made a few more notes and turned to her right, down a small alley.
She took two steps, and ran into a wall.
Only it wasn't a wall, she realized, as two arms wrapped around her to keep her from stumbling.
Looking up, she froze.
Ay, Caramba! She stared into a face so well formed that she doubted even a Greek sculptor could do justice to it.
His wheat-colored hair seemed to glow in the night and the planes of his face...
Perfect. Simply perfect. Totally symmetrical. Wow.
Without thinking, she reached up, grabbed his chin and turned his face to see it from different angles.
No, not an optical illusion. No matter the angle, his features were perfection incarnate.
Wow, again. Absolutely flawless.
She needed to sketch this.
No. Oils. Oils would be better.
Pastels!
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there. But do you know your face is pure eurythmy?"
He gave her a tight-lipped smile as he patted the shoulder of her red cape. "Yes, I do. And do you know, Little Red Riding Hood, the Big Bad Wolf is out tonight and he's hungry?"
What was that?
She was talking about art and he...
The thought faded as she realized the man wasn't alone.
There were four more men and one woman. All insanely beautiful. And all six eyed her as if she were a tasty morsel.