Page 20 of Outside the Veil
The man droned on and on in a pompous, self-important way. No wonder the boy was so bored. If Diego had described art to him that way, he would have dropped off to sleep.
Finn nudged the boy’s elbow and whispered, “Do you feel anything when you look at it? My friend says art is supposed to make you feel things. Or see things differently. Or something of that sort.”
The father halted his exposition in surprise. The boy glanced up at Finn then at the painting. “I like the colors.”
“As do I.” Finn nodded. He cocked his head to one side, to see the blobs of red, blue and yellow from a different angle. “I think,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face, “that I might begin to understand. There is a playfulness to this one. I think it must have been great fun to paint.”
“Like the colors made the artist happy?” Jaime leaned forward on the bench.
“Perhaps so.”
The boy wandered closer to examine the painting in detail while his father turned to Finn and stared. “You’re good. I can’t get him to look at the paintings to save my life.”
“One hopes it wouldn’t come to that,” Finn answered, his brow wrinkling in concern.
The man laughed as if he’d made a joke. “First time in America? You’re Irish, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He considered a moment. The man seemed friendly enough now. “I don’t suppose you could point the way to the European Sculpture Court? I’m just a wee bit lost.”
The man pulled out a rectangle of paper and Finn watched in fascination as he unfolded it to a much larger rectangle. A map. Ah. Not that it did him much good. Maps confused him as much as writing. But he listened as the man described the way back, which sounded easy enough. He thanked him and started off, confident he would find his way.
Several flights of stairs and what seemed several miles later, he still wandered. His chest hurt. Lungs could be such a bother. He’d considered shifting to a fish and plunging into one of the fountains he passed but the water smelled worse than the stuff from Diego’s sink.
This is ridiculous.Lost in a bizarre labyrinth, unable to find Diego because of the confusion of human scents, he bristled.Was he or was he not Fionnachd the Hunter? The one who had tracked the red-eared boar through endless thickets and mazes of thorns for the Queen’s pleasure?
“Long ago, bucko, in a different world,” he muttered, and leaned against a doorway to catch what was left of his breath. Not to mention the fact that no one had ever called him Fionnachd the Hunter except Herself, and only that once. And the boar had been so frightened he’d let the poor thing go.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Finn glanced down and forced a smile. One of the shiny-buttoned ones had asked the question. Lovely thing. Chestnut skin. Hair plaited into a hundred tiny braids like rushes decorating her head.
“Yes, beautiful lady, I’m quite well.” The lie was ruined by the wheeze in his voice.
“Mmhm. Right.”
“Forgot my inhaler.”
“Oh, hon, you should know better at your age.” The woman’s voice had shifted from professional to maternal scolding. “We better get you to sit down. You here with someone?”
“European Sculpture Court…supposed to meet him there…” Why did his chest constrict further the harder he tried to breathe?
“All right, baby, all right. It’s just through there. Come on.” The woman took his elbow, not to restrain him, he realized, but to hold him up. He gave her a wan smile. Such a confident little thing. She might be able to catch him if he toppled at that.
Under the final archway, relief flooded through him to see the long-sought hall. Better still, Diego stood in the center of the room, eyes searching the crowd. Finn’s mouth twitched up into a foolish grin. Compact and lean, those oh-too-serious features, those heart-melting eyes, Diego was a beautiful sight.
“That’s him,” Finn murmured to his guide and pointed.
She chuckled. “Oh, you got it bad, boy.”
“What do I have?”
“For him. Well, not that I blame you. He’s damn cute.”
Nonsense. He wasn’t lovesick for any human. Never again. Diego was lovely and it would have been wonderful to seduce him. He was certainly grateful for all the man had done, could even call him a friend, but he wasn’t becoming attached to him.
Diego spotted them while the woman helped Finn into a chair. The profound relief in those loam-dark eyes, the way he hurried over as if Finn were the most important thing in the universe—
Oh, blast.Perhaps the pretty woman was right. He wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t recognize the signs of rescuer infatuation. The warmth of it had spread through him when Diego’s gentle hands had caressed the filth from him under the little waterfall in the bathroom.
