Page 22 of Howl Me to the Moon
“Okay, see you later,” she said. “I’m going to spend more time using my land legs while I can.” She raised one leg and smiled.
I chuckled and walked away, well acquainted with the experience of trying to walk on steady land after being accustomed to sea legs over a period.
Once I ventured into the gallery to prepare for tonight’s showing, something felt off. What was it? I pursed my lips and tried to read the vibes but got nowhere—simply a nagging sensation I couldn’t define.
Where was Sloane? He was supposed to help me prep. I texted him but got no answer. What the hell? This wasn’t the time to screw around. This wasn’t like him. How could he disappear when we had so much going on?
When I entered the storage room, the air was thick with the scent of paint, canvas, and something else. Something heavy—and dark. Goose bumps prickled along my skin, warning me that something was wrong. I heard low voices and paused to listen. It sounded like Sloane. I followed the direction of the sound and spotted him tucked in behind paintings covered with white sheets. Hell’s spells, he was talking to—the Armando Painting.
I gasped. What the hell? He found it. Why didn’t he tell me? “Sloane!”
He spun to face me and sneered. His eyes looked strange—not their usual blue, but a murky charcoal. A potent chill skittered up my spine.
“Piper.” His voice was low and almost unrecognizable. “You need to leave.”
Ignoring his unsettling command, I demanded, “What are you doing with the painting? Why didn’t you tell me you found it?” I nudged my chin up. “Or have you hidden it all along?”
“Cloaked in plain sight,” he taunted. “I guess your magic isn’t as strong as you think.”
“How?” What kind of magic would he be able to use to have hidden it from me and others so well? The only explanation I could think of was dark magic—but Sloane didn’t practice that. Right?
A reverberation grew louder, turning my attention back to the painting. Whereas it had always had a captivating quality with its swirling blends of reds and golds, now the colors swirled with a downright vibrancy. Glowing. Almost like a heartbeat pulsed within.
“He’s coming.” Sloane clasped his hands together. “It worked!”
“What worked?” I asked, my voice barely audible. And who?
The unnatural vibrations coming from the painting filled me with dread. My instincts screamed to run, but my feet remained grounded.
A wispy dark shadow reached out from the center of the painting, like a beckoning hand. I recoiled from it.
“The portal opened,” Sloane exclaimed.
I gaped as my gut dropped like an anchor to the sea floor. This. Was. Bad.
The dark mists rose, twisting and forming into a humanoid shape. A raspy laughter came from its shadowy form before it solidified into a figure wrapped in a dark cloak.
Burning crimson eyes glared at me. “The witch who brought me here,” the figure said in a dark whisper.
My mouth fell open. “I—I—never.”
“In the painting.” His eyes glowed brighter.
What the—? How could I have brought this dark creature here—through a painting?
The shadowy figure lunged forward and grasped my arms, pulling them behind me in a vise-like grip.
“You recognized the magic. I sense your strength,” he hissed, his tone menacing. “You’ll be valuable to me.”
“No.” I struggled to break free, but its grip was inhumanly strong.
Potent magic swelled around me, dark and sinister.
“No!” I pushed at it with a burst of my magic. A flicker of light glowed bright for a second, lighting up Sloane’s face, which turned panicked.
The being that held me laughed. “Yes. Show me more of that magic. Show me what you’ll give me.”
Hell-freaking-no.
