Page 26 of Bright Dark Curses

Dru jumped off the stool and stood by my side, arms crossed over her turtleneck sweater. “I’m with her.”

I took that to mean she wanted to visit the gallery too. “We would love to take a quick tour of the gallery.”

“That’s good. No time like the present, eh?”

Dru was already striding toward the door.

No time like the present, apparently. “Sounds perfect.”

A minute later, Norman was ushering us inside the Corner Rose. The profound transformation of the interior gobsmacked me. Nothing remained of the gloomy, dusty atmosphere of Mr. Lewis’s antiques and collectibles shop. The shelves had disappeared, the old glass counter was gone, the heavy pieces of furniture gone into the ether of the bank’s auction. Two new walls now sectioned the big space into three corridors, meant to feature paintings and the odd object on display on pedestals. Modern light fixtures provided highlights on the items, but I doubted he’d need those once they took the covers off the windows, because the room was painted in a blinding white that would have no trouble reflecting the outside’s natural light.

“What do you think?” Norman asked, pride infusing his words.

“It’s…different,” I said, still trying to process the changes. “Very airy.”

“Yes.” He nodded with approval. “I’ve never been a fan of dark spaces. They bring a kind of gloom and doom to the mood, and when looking at art, once must always have a neutral disposition.”

“I see.”

Dru nudged my side, then took a step toward a painting already on display. I followed, examining the piece of art. It was a medium-sized canvas featuring a woman in a beautiful early Victorian dress posing in front of a fireplace. A simple clock sat on the mantel, and a merry fire burned in the hearth. I had expected something more modern, although there was something about the painting that didn’t feel completely period. The woman’s expression was strained in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.

Then I noticed the flames.

The human-body-shaped flames with screaming open mouths that seemed to writhe in agony in their efforts to escape up the chute.

“It’s a Sarah Lyons,” Norman said. “I love her work. It’s so lovely, don’t you think?”

I swallowed, tearing my attention away from the bizarre flames. I had the sudden urge to get on Bee-Bee and put a couple of cities between me and that painted fireplace. “Uh, yes.” My gaze fell on an antique secretary desk on the opposite wall. It was made of polished dark cherry wood with a motif of roses carved into the edges and the tiny rows of drawers. This one was definitely period authentic. “Oh, what’s that?”

“Ah, this is a piece I found not long ago. Not the usual thing you see in an art gallery, but I believe there’s an artistry to be found in carpentry that rivals the most beautiful of paintings. Art expands beyond canvas and sculpture, don’t you agree?”

As a proud owner of a coffee shop, I completely agreed. “Indeed.” I approached the desk to get a better look, but one step in and a strange feeling of unease flooded me. Unease and…dread. I studied the piece of furniture from where I stood. Were those blood splotches on the front of the drawers, or was it a trick of the overhead lights?

Sweating a little, I searched the mostly empty space for something else to compliment. A metal necklace rested around the neck of a plaster bust, the five chains knotting around each other in a way that twisted my stomach while the dangling locket screamed there is a screeching soul trapped inside and it’ll drag you to hell along with it if you dare open me.

“We’re late for the thing, Hope,” Dru said in a strained tone.

I swallowed hard. “Yes. The thing.”

“Oh, I see.” Norman sounded so wholeheartedly disappointed, I latched myself on that and managed to give him a halfway genuine smile.

“I hope you can open soon. I can’t, ah, wait to see the full collection.”

His expression brightened. “I’ll make sure to send you both an invitation to the opening.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Dru didn’t say anything. She simply turned toward the entrance, and I hurried to follow, giving Norman a last goodbye wave before the door closed behind us.

“Jesus,” Dru said, shuddering. “Did you feel that?”

I rubbed my arms. “The bad vibes were pretty overwhelming. That fireplace…brr.”

“How can he not feel them?”

“Maybe it’s a paranormal thing?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced, and perhaps she had a point. How could anyone, human or paranormal, not notice the aura of wrongness emanating from those pieces? If the rest of the art followed in those steps, I was going to have to put wards on the wall of the Tea Cauldron in case the bad auras attempted a takeover.

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