Page 71 of Deadmen's Queen

“Show me,” she said, stepping back. “You're holding back. Let go, and really paint. Next time, I want to see Paige Matthews on this canvas. Your experiences. Every scar, every joy. Paint them in every stroke. Metaphorical or literal, they are part of your story.”

I stared at my canvas, my chest tightening. Could I truly spill out the darkness, the tangled emotions, onto a canvas for all to see?

“Next time I come around, show me what haunts Paige Matthews. Show me her dreams. Her nightmares.”

“Alright,” I breathed out, the word a commitment to myself as much as to her.

“Good.” She gave a short nod and moved away, leaving me to my thoughts. I reached out and lifted the painting off the easel, setting it on the shelf against the wall to dry out. I scanned the stock of fresh clean canvases, a spark of an idea in my mind. I lifted one out, a large portrait size, and set it on the easel. I wrapped my palette up in plastic film, setting it aside, and picking up a clean one. Whispers of ideas drifted through my mind, ethereal and hard to pin down, as I set up a much darker palette of colours, and picked up a brush. Professor Drake had said true art came from the heart, not the head. I took a deep breath.

It was time to bleed onto the canvas.

***

I had always found a release in painting, and had always lost hours when I surrendered to it, but this was different. This time it was like a force moved through my body, guiding me, showing me where to sketch and layer and darken, and the world ceased to exist for me. It was just me, my pain and my canvas.

A pair of arms slid around me, and I looked down blinking in surprise. I instantly recognised the skull shaped silver cufflinks and smiled as I turned my head. Bast kissed me softly. I pulled back after a few moments.

“You'll get paint on your suit,” I said, pulling away from him.

“I don't care,” he said.

“Yes you do,” I said, grinning at him and he laughed.

“Yes, I do.” His eyes focused on the painting behind me and he frowned. “This is new.”

I turned and reached for a drop cloth, pulling it over the canvas, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“It's not finished yet.”

“Can I see it when it is?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I think… I think there needs to be more… to tell the whole story,” I said slowly.

Bast nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, but from what I’ve seen it will be stunning. It’s much darker than your normal work.”

I looked down at the palette, seeing the blur of black and green and grey. “I’m trying something new.”

“Well, I’d never argue against that,” Bast said, tipping my face up so my eyes met his. “Especially as I’ve heard you’ve tried new things in other areas too.”

He smiled wickedly, and I blushed, realising Tristan must have told him about him and Nate with me.

I swallowed and glanced away but Bast curled his finger under my chin and pulled my gaze back to him.

“You can’t blush now, after the fact,” he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief. He kissed me again, his free hand sliding down to rest at the small of my back. “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I allowed him to pull me away from my workstation, casting a glance back at the covered painting. It felt raw and exposed somehow, despite being tucked safely under the cloth.

I cleaned up quickly, washed my hands, and left my apron hanging. We’d planned to hang out and watch a film tonight, all four of us, and I was actually looking forward to just chilling out. I followed Bast out of the art department, turning to check the door was properly locked while he got in the car and started the engine. I turned around as I did so, I caught a flash of something in the trees across from the car park. A shadowed face under a dark hood watching me. My breath caught in my throat, but the wind whipped my hair across my face, and by the time I’d pulled it away, the figure was gone.

I hurried over to Bast’s Range Rover, and climbed inside, my heart hammering. He'd switched on the heated seats and I sank into mine gratefully, the February chill nothing compared to the ice in my veins.

Bast must have noticed my tremble because he frowned, his hand reaching out to lightly brush my cold cheek. “You okay? You're freezing.”

“I-I think I saw someone watching me,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes. My hands were restless in my lap, wringing the hem of my shirt.

He tensed, his gaze shifting from me to scan the car park through the windshield. “Where?”

I pointed towards the trees where I'd spotted the hooded figure. Bast studied the empty space for a moment before turning back to me, letting out a quiet sigh. “There's nobody there now, Paige,” he murmured, resting a comforting hand on my knee. “Maybe it was just a student passing by.”

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