Page 42 of Wolf's Chance

“Because every time you paint something like this, it’s dangerous.”

“It’s a landscape painting.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“I can’t tell you why, just trust me.”

“No.” She crossed her arms, her face hardening. “Tell me why.”

“I can’t.”

We glared at each other for a few more moments beforeWillow turned away from me, seeking the support of a chair. “You exhaust me.” I could see how heavy her exhaustion lay upon her.

“I know.” Turning away from her, I took the painting off the wall. “I’ll pay for this.” Looking over at her, I saw her anger and frustration. “You need sales, I’m buying, you should be pleased.”

“You’re buying them to destroy them. It doesn’t make me happy. I put hours of work into that.”

“Name the price.”

She shook her head sadly as she looked away from me. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that you’re painting scenes you don’t know. I understand that your visions scare you. What I don’t understand iswhyyou’dwantto paint them.”

Her brow furrowed as she thought about it. Sniffling a little, she looked down at her legs. “Because they speak to me.”

“Really? What do they say?” I asked her, knowing I hadn’t hidden the sarcasm in my question.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Pushing my hair back, I watched her, with my hands on top of my head. How could one woman be so completely aggravating? Iwouldunderstand, but to push her might scare her away even more. “There’s a lot here that neither of us understands. I don’t really want to know more, do you?”

“The frequency with which I painted when you were gone increased.” Willow was looking at her gallery wall. “Painting takes time, preciseness, but these…they flew off my palette onto the canvas.” She looked at me and back to the wall. “I couldn’tnotpaint them. Do you understand that?”

“Truthfully? No.”

“Me neither.” Slowly she walked over to the other side of the room, and I watched as she opened a door to a small storage cupboard. When she struggled to lift a canvas, I hurried over to help. When we were finished, there were six new paintings.

All landscapes, all of places she could never have seen.

“The two men who came here the other week and bought six paintings, I think they’re linked.”

Carefully I watched her. “What do you mean?”

“They bought six, you bought one, I made seven more.” Her hand had a tremble in it when she waved it over them. “I don’t know these places, but Iknowthem.” With a tired sigh, she rocked back on her heels. “These are my best work, and I produced them like I was rolling them off a printer.” Willow pointed to one. “I don’t think the paint is even dry on that one,” she scoffed. She finally looked up at me. “What’s happening to me, Caleb?”

“We need to figure that out.”

“And how do we do that? Do you continue to break into my home?”

“I would like to stop having to do that,” I admitted. “But I feel that—no, that’s not right, Iknowthat—I need to make sure I see what you’re painting.” I dreaded the next words that I would have to say. “I need you to meet someone.”

“Who?” Willow waited nervously.

“A friend of a friend.”

“What does this friend do?”

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