Page 6 of Darling Beasts

Two minutes left.

Ozzie peered out the window. It was dusk, the city lights just beginning to flicker below. The buildings had a glowy, orangish cast, and it somehowlookedevery bit as muggy and hot as it was.

One minute left.

He was going to win this auction, and the realization made Ozzie start to sweat.It’s an important piece, he assured himself. At the end of the day, how much was $1.3—Ozzie checked his phone again—$1.345 million? His collection was undefeated, and to go undefeated, you had to take risks.

Unlike his dad, he wasn’tbroke. Granted, his bank balance was on the low side these days, but no worries. Thanks to Gramps Gunn (RIP), Ozzie received the mildly embarrassing (for a trust fund) but not insubstantial $50K per month, and his collab game was strong. He was the king of brand deals. Or, he had been. He needed to get back on the grind.

Ozzie already felt better, and he wasn’t even factoring in the definitely probably seven-figure payday he’d receive in a year and a half when he turned twenty-five, also courtesy of Gramps. The plus-twenty-five Gunn progeny weren’t permitted to reveal the amount, though Talia had called it “not insignificant,” while theircousin Tug described it as “fine,” and Ozzie guessed this pointed to somewhere between $1 and $5 million. Luckily, Gabby’s birthday was December 1, and she’d spill, no problem.

Anyway. His bid was in, and Ozzie could work out the math later. Or not. That’s what business managers were for, and he should find one, at some point. Aside from the fact he was about to be minus one Hamptons pad, nothing had really changed for Ozzie since F.D. Gunn went down. He wouldn’t get a massive windfall when Pops became one with the earth, but how much did a person need? Ozzie was against billionaires, as a rule.

Suddenly, his and Ballsack’s phones dinged in unison. Dread washed over Ozzie, which was not a great sign.

“Hey! You wonBestiary,” Ballsack said, waving his phone.

“Yep,” Ozzie answered between gritted teeth. “Pretty cool stuff.”

“I like the juxtaposition of the piece,” he said, trying his best. “How, on the surface, it represents the containment of danger, yet the danger can spread infinitely.”

“Period,” Ozzie said.

If worse came to worst, he’d sell it. Or other pieces of art. His collection was sick as hell.

As they approached the heliport, Ozzie began to relax. @DegenerateOz was a brand, andBestiaryfit right in. He thought of the other people in his family, who were out here running for office and starting experimental theaters and working in office buildings for the love of Christ. It was nice to be the only one who had it all figured out.

Chapter Four

Gabby

I drove the one hundred eighty miles home, hunched over the steering wheel, my skin itching the whole way. Ozzie once offered to let me borrow his helicopter—anytime—and I’d laughed. If only I’d had the tiniest bit of imagination, because a helicopter would have been pretty useful right then.

I turned down my quiet country road. Up ahead was the entrance to my property. A twenty-four-year-old probably didn’t need a thirty-acre farm on the Hudson River or indeed an 1820s farmhouse with original beamed ceilings, but I ran my entire business from the place. Also, I liked the peace and quiet.

Engine still running, I popped out of the car and slid open the gate. The sign on it read:

Welcome to the

Spooky Hollow Cultural Collective

OUR VISION

To draw people together so we can bear witness to and celebrate our similarities and differences and share in our humanity.

OUR MISSION

To create performative art that fosters open communication, nonhierarchical collaboration, andcommunity engagement. At SHCC, every voice will be heard, and every story honored.

***The Spooky Hollow Cultural Collective acknowledges and recognizes the Wappinger and other members of the Algonquin Federation, who lived on the east bank of the Mahikannituck (Hudson River) in peace for centuries until 1609, when Henry Hudson sailed in and laid claim to their land on behalf of the Dutch Crown.

My best friend and business partner, Sydney, came up with most of it.

Standing in the car’s headlights, I checked my arms. The rash raged on, and the noxious scent continued to fill my nose. Two years. I’d been symptom-free for two years. I really thought I’d outgrown this.

I jumped back in the car and barreled up the road toward my house. When I rolled to a stop, it took several minutes to drum up the nerve to get out. Who knew what I might find? It could be literally anything. Finally, and with a deep breath, I flung open the door and stepped onto the gravel drive.

The night was silent, the only sound the buzzing of late summer bugs. Floodlights illuminated the front of the house, the driveway, fields on both sides. I saw nothing amiss. Cautiously, I tiptoed around the house. After slipping through the side gate, I unlocked the kitchen door, tossed my mini backpack onto the counter, and began opening the cabinets, one by one.

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