Page 40 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

I must not do a very good job masking the hurt on my face because Aleric takes a step forward and suddenly looks guilty. My jaw clenches, and I tighten my arms around myself, taking a step back to match his.

He freezes, watching me cautiously. Holding his hands out to show surrender, he says, "We had our reasons, Willow. Some that we're not able to tell you right now, but trust me when I tell you they're for your own good."

"Trust you? That's a joke, right? I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. What little trust I had evaporated the moment I realized the truth," I tell him, anger lacing my words as tears prick my eyes. I'm damning myself for being a crier. Angry, frustrated, sad, or happy, I always find myself crying if my emotions get too overwhelming. Right now, the anger is building and bordering on smothering.

"Willow, you have to let us explain. At least to the best of our abilities," Aleric tries, softening his voice more than he ever has since meeting him. I know it's all to soothe the raging inferno building inside me, though. It's fake. It'sallfake. Has been from the very fucking beginning.

My nostrils flare as I try to control my temper, breathing slowly in and out until I feel as though I'm able to talk without gritting my teeth. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. And what I want is for you to get out of my studio."

I don't give him a chance to answer, turning on my bare heel and walking back to the drawing on the floor. The drawing I don't even understand or know what it actually looks like right now. Instead of paying any attention to Aleric, I kneel on the floor and stretch over to my phone, pressing play on the speaker to make sure I drown out anything he tries to say. My favorite singer blares through the speakers I've installed all through my studio, blocking out all other sounds.

Shadows creep closer to where I'm sitting on the floor, indicating Aleric has moved toward me and not the stairs I really wish he'd take. I don't look at him, picking up the ink and continuing with my art since that actually deserves my attention. All three of those lying assholes have taken up enough of my time.

Feeling the air move, I catch Aleric's hand just before he touches my cell. He proves stronger when he moves his hand anyway, pausing my music. "I'm not going anywhere until things are cleared up and explained."

"Well, I hope you like loud music and zero conversation because that's what you're going to get. Pause my music again, and I'll make it my personal mission to make your life hell," I growl, my anger growing even higher.

Something I've said makes him laugh. That is, until his eyes meet mine. Aleric blinks rapidly before nodding slowly and moving my hand away from his, his arm brushing mine. I ignore the way my body reacts to that touch alone, how reassuring and calming it is, because when I look down, I catch the small tendrils of smoke wafting away from his slightly burnt hand. I quickly snatch my hand away, horror beating out my anger like a worn piñata. My anger crumbles, leaving me utterly horrified and terrified of what's happening to me, of the impossible things that seem to be quite possible for me to do.

Wide eyes and shaking out of my damn skin, I whisper, "Get out of my studio. Now."

"Willow, I told you-" Aleric tries, but it would seem that I've reached my goddamned limit.

"Get out! GET OUT OF MY STUDIO!" I yell, hugging my hands to my stomach and curling into myself enough that my shirt envelops my shaking fingers.

Aleric backs away slowly, his shadow moving backward until it's almost out of my line of sight. Sitting on the heels of my feet, I keep my head down, my hands clutched tightly to me. I wait, listening to Aleric sigh before hearing his footsteps as he walks around me. More time passes until I hear his shoes hitting the steps of the stairs as he descends.

Reaching out a shaking hand, I press play on my phone, not caring that I haven’t heard Aleric reach the ground floor yet. I drown everything out with blaring music, the bass loud enough that it doesn't give me any room to think straight.

Deeply breathing in and out, I calm myself down until the shaking subsides and I'm able to continue with my work. I lose myself in my art for what feels like hours, splashing ink all over the large canvas on the floor, caressing my brush over the fine dents of the material. Music is pounding from the speakers, and I often find myself singing along, pausing my work to fall into the sounds of Five Finger Death Punch.

It feels like hours until the piece I've been working on is complete. Ink stains my hands, drops dotting my stolen shirt and pants. My hair feels like a frizzled mess, pieces of dark locks that have escaped their confines hanging in front of my eyes. There's a light sheen of sweat that covers my skin, evidence of the hard work I've poured into my passion. I sit back on the heels of my feet, dropping my head in exhaustion. The music is still blasting through my studio, and an ache forms behind my eyes.

Leaning over the drawing I haven't looked over until now, I press pause on my phone. The studio descends into sudden silence, causing chills to break out over my skin. There's a ringing in my ears, and the headache that had been chipping away at my concentration finally wins out over anything.

My ink-covered hands rub at my tired eyes before scrubbing at my face. With a deep sigh, I drop my hands in my lap and finally look over my new piece of art. My entire body freezes like a block of ice when I comprehend what I’ve created. My heart damn near stops, and a cold shiver snakes down my spine with a chilly familiarity.

Eyes I've seen before look up at me from the floor, dark and menacing. Eyes I've seen in my nightmares. What has my body shuddering in fear are the two large horns protruding from his forehead. They're dark, curved, and look as lethal as any sharpened knife. They wrap into spirals above his head, his hair styled around them to hide the point of their protrusion.

My entire body begins to shake, a terror like I've never known seeping into my bones, outweighing the confusion I'm feeling at having drawn the man I've seen less than a handful of times. I can't deny the striking resemblance to a face I've seen every day in the mirror for the last twenty-five years. From the eyes to shape of our faces and the small dimple that appears on the right side of my mouth when I smirk.

With that realization, I'm startled into a spotty understanding that this man is somehow related to me. That's the only explanation for the uncanny resemblance I have to him, yet he’s a complete stranger. However, that justification doesnotexcuse the horrifying horns that stem from the man's head or the dark aura that surrounds him.

I scan the painting, my eyes landing on his. My own narrow as I stare at my artwork, leaning closer to have a better look at the way the man's eyes grow darker at the edges. A memory tickles the outskirts of my mind, teasing me with the knowledge it possesses but won't hand over. I find myself leaning closer still and...

And then the eyes in the paintingmove.

I stumble back, a scream tearing its way from the very depths of my voice box. Landing hard on my ass doesn’t bring the pain I’d have expected, finding myself unable to feel anything through the terror that's consuming me. Using my feet and hands, I push myself as far away from the painting as I can. My back hits the wall, and I'm left staring in dread as the painting seems to bubble, the wet ink boiling like water in a kettle.

Another scream flows from my parted lips when the boiling intensifies, ink splattering over my clean white floor. The dark liquid begins to pool on and over the canvas, dripping down the sides of the material in quick spurts. Ink spreads from the canvas and, as though it has a mind of its own, moves toward me despite being on level ground.

"What the fuck? What the actual fuck?!" I squeal, bumping into the wall behind me when I forget I have no more room to move back.

The liquid draws nearer, spitting like scalding water the closer it gets. My knees are tucked close to my chest, my head braced against the wall as I do nothing but watch the ink snake closer until it almost reaches my bare toes.

Suddenly, so suddenly I screech, I'm wrenched up from the floor and into the arms of the very man I yelled at hours before. Aleric's hold is tight and secure as he holds me and moves us away from the disaster I somehow created. My arms wrap around his neck willingly, my legs hooking around his waist as I cling to him like a spider monkey on crack.

"What the fuck?" he asks, echoing the very same thought I have been hysterically screaming in my mind since this entire shit show began. "Willow, what the hell happened?"

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