Calaca "Cal" Calavera's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Cal painted all night. By morning, a dozen skulls gleamed on the counter, bright as the jeweled ones on the roof. Word of them spread fast. Kids pressed their faces to the shop window to stare. Cal should have felt proud. Instead, Cal felt watched. The next day, Cal came back with brushes and found the doorway blocked. A tall skeleton sat on the step, boots crossed, chains hanging off his jacket. His mohawk stood stiff and black. He rattled when he shifted, loud as a bag of bones. "Shop's taken," Spike said. He didn't look up. "Go paint somewhere else." Cal knew him by reputation. Spike Boneshire stole candy off other kids and dared them to say something. He'd heard about the bright skulls too. Now he wanted the one still workspace for himself. "I made those skulls in there," Cal said. "That's my work." "Was." Spike cracked his knuckles. "I rattle too loud to work outside. People hear me coming. In here it's quiet." He planted his boots wider. "Mine now." Cal stood frozen. The parade was close. Hundreds of white skulls waited inside, and one angry skeleton sat between Cal and all of them. Then a skateboard screeched to a stop. Chaos Calaverez stepped off it, hair spiked wild, purple eyes glowing. Cal barely knew him, but everyone knew Chaos never sat still. He'd helped fix a scary doorway once so kids would come back. He liked turning problems inside out. "Bright skulls," Chaos said, peering through the window. "Whole town's talking." He grinned at Spike. "You squatting on the artist?" "I need quiet," Spike said flat. "Not a parade crew." Skully Sweetooth slipped up behind them, sock-wrapped hands folded. She'd been the one who sent Cal to the factory for ink. She looked Spike over. "You want quiet," she said. "Cal wants to paint. Those aren't the same room." Chaos snapped his fingers. "There's that old place across town. Hearth, big floor. Nobody's in it." He looked at Spike. "Walls that thick, nobody hears you rattle. You'd have the whole thing." Spike went still. "Alone?" "Dead quiet," Skully said. Spike stood. He looked at the bright skulls one last time, then at the empty street behind him. "Fine," he said. He stepped off the doorway. "Don't follow me." He walked off, chains rattling, and didn't look back. The door was clear. Cal pushed inside and touched the counter. The skulls were safe. Chaos spun his board under one foot. "You got your shop," he said. "But a dozen done, hundreds left. Parade's in days." He looked at Cal straight. "You can't paint that many alone. You know that, right?" Cal looked at the long rows of white sugar. Chaos was right. The workspace was Cal's again. The real problem hadn't moved. Cal needed hands, many hands, and fast.