Page 44 of Monster's Delight

There was a name plate at the bottom, inscribed with the nameDarragh Doyle, so I pulled my grimoire out of my pocket and flipped to the family tree at the back, unfolding it to its full size across the mahogany desk that was in front of the portrait.

“Darragh, Darragh, Darragh...” I muttered, tracing my finger along the lines from son to father. “Ah, there you are. One, two, three,” I counted under my breath, “my eight times great-grandfather. Impressively old.”

“I still look in decent condition.”

I stared at the portrait. “Yes, you do. I didn’t know portraits could speak.”

“I can move too.” He uncrossed his arms and sat in the chair behind him.

“Why didn’t you move when I came in? Do you get tired? Do you feel hunger? Is boredom a problem? Do you have my ancestor’s memories or are you actually him? Do—”

Darragh started laughing. “Enough! I can’t answer every question if I’ve forgotten the first ones. I move when I want to, and I didn’t want to when you came in. I didn’t know who you were. No, no, no, and I’m only a repository of knowledge, not an actual person. I interact with a person, using my subject’s personality, but when you leave, I go inactive.”

“That’s amazing!” I leaned in and touched the tip of my finger to his hand. “Can you feel that?” I wondered. It just felt like paint to me.

“Not in the slightest, my dear. I was painted with knowledge, not feelings.”

“I don’t remember this being taught in class,” I said.

“Turn to page two hundred and three. I wrote the spell myself,” Darragh proclaimed, puffing up a bit with pride. “The Art History teacherswishthey had my knowledge.”

“And you didn’t share it with them?” I asked, surprised. I flipped to the indicated page and read through the spell. “Oh. I see.” I wrinkled my nose at the potion ingredients included in the paint. “Ew. It had to be that?”

“Fluids from all the different humors are necessary for the duplication of one’s energies.” Darragh nodded along. “Blood, brain fluid, tears, snot, saliva, piss, and—”

“I’m not sure I can hear you say that and keep my soul inside my body,” I interrupted him.

He smirked at me and mimed locking his lips. “I thought they only accepted adults into Blackthorn Academy?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that reminded me of Grandfather.

“Hey! Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I want to hear about my many times great-grandfather’s sex fluids!” I exclaimed.

“Semen,” he clarified.

I rolled my eyes. “You owe me.”

“What can I owe you? I’m a painting.”

“You said you have knowledge. Well, tell me the secrets of the grimoire.” I showed it to him.

Darragh’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t just tell you the secrets. You have to discover them yourself, or else they won’t work for you.”

I hummed thoughtfully. That made some sort of sense. Magic was a lot like logic.

“Okay, well, what about the relationship between my grandfather and a monster named Bridget. What can you tell me about that?”

“A witch and a monster?” Darragh scoffed. “Not in my family!”

“That didn’t seem as indignant as your family probably meant it back then,” I retorted. “What happened? Did you have a soul bond with a monster too?”

Darragh was silent for a moment. “No, not I. It was my descendent, Declan. Your grandfather?”

I nodded silently.

“They came in here often, doing research.”

“Research on what?” I asked eagerly.

“Soul bonds.” Darragh clamped his lips tightly. “I can’t tell you more than that. They wrote a lot of it down in the grimoire, though. If you find their notes, you’ll know a lot more about it.”

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