Page 6 of Evil Eyed
I cupped his cheek, smoothing my fingers over his stubbled jawline. “Die a mortal death and give up all this? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
4
“Not to burst your bubble…” Warwick drawled, returning to catch the last of our conversation.
Aidan bared his teeth in a growl as our group hug loosened, the moment of connection broken.
Unbothered, Warwick set an easel down on the floor, the painting covered with a gold velvet cloth. “If Evil Eye manages to take over the mortal plane, then we won’t have eternity withmo stórin Tír na nÓg, because the Land Beneath the Waves will be his next target. None of the realms, Faerie or otherwise, will be able to withstand his darkness.”
“Are humans that important to the magical realms?” Vivi asked.
Warwick grimaced. “Not exactly. Important, yes, but not to the magical realms.”
Confused, she looked at me and then back at the leprechaun. “I don’t understand.”
Aidan snorted. “Humans are fodder. Evil Eye wants to take the mortal realm as an infinite food source for his minions. The more they eat, the stronger they get.”
She paled and huddled against Hammer, who shot a dark look at Aidan. “Don’t you worry one pretty little hair on your head, sugar. Nobody’s getting eaten on my watch.”
Ignoring him, Aidan said, “Let’s see this masterpiece.”
We all moved closer to the easel, standing in a loose arc before it. With an innate sense of showmanship, Warwick gripped the edge of the cloth but didn’t lift it to reveal the painting, drawing out the suspense. “Everyone have a weapon handy, just in case?”
Ivarr reached beneath his long trench coat and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun that he passed to Aidan, and then unsheathed his long, heavy sword. Keane unsheathed a curved wicked-looking knife that I hadn’t noticed on his hip. Doran didn’t pull out a weapon, but his broad shoulders rippled. I could feel his gargoyle surging inside him, ready to explode into wings and claws at a moment’s notice.
Slowly, Warwick pulled the velvet cover off the painting. For a moment, I couldn’t see. It was too bright. I thought that Ivarr’s light must have blasted out of his chest like a massive sun, but this light shimmered like a prism. Dazzling rainbows spun around the room, glinting off the windows and walls.
Blinking rapidly, I focused on the people around me rather than the painting. I wanted to see their reactions to gauge whether Warwick’s amazement was justified. Despite being practically blinded myself by the rainbows dancing in the air, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that something I’d painted years ago was actually magical and otherworldly.
Vivi’s eyes widened and she breathed out, “Oh, Ri. My god. You painted this and you don’t remember?”
“Not at all,” I whispered. “You don’t recognize it? I thought that maybe I’d painted it years ago in high school.”
She shook her head. “I’d never be able to forget seeing this. The longer I look at it…”
“Tell me what you see.”
“There’s so much light in the colors, even the dark ones. It’s almost like you painted with glitter or embedded crystals and glass in the paint. Glitters that seem to move and shift, shadows that writhe and twist along the edges. If I turn my head or let my eyes move across the canvas, I’d swear it’s moving. The illusion is unbelievable. Even her wings seem to move and flutter behind her.”
“They are moving,” Doran rumbled, leaning closer to the canvas. “She looks so familiar, but I can’t think of her name. Greenshanks?”
Warwick didn’t answer. He’d gone down to one knee before the painting and stared at it intently, enraptured or just studying it, I wasn’t sure.
“Dark fae all around,” Aidan said. “Kelpie tentacles. Heads in the upper right-hand corner, the Ellén Trechend. Imps crawling everywhere. Pookas in the trees. You were warning us all along, Riann.”
“Aye,” Keane replied, pointing at a shape in the lower center. “I guess we can look forward to an oilliphéist soon.”
I had no idea what that was, but it sounded bad.
“Where’s Evil Eye, though?” Ivarr asked. “Or the changeling?”
Bracing myself, I finally let myself look at the painting. The girl, me, lifted her paintbrush up to a wall or huge canvas, painting a shining doorway. Vanta, her green-gold eyes shining with love, stared out of the doorway. The lingering resonance of her purr vibrated through me. My throat tightened and I bit my lip, holding back a sob. I wanted to see her again. Stroke her head and feel the heavy weight of her in my arms.
I needed to thank her for trying to help me, even though she’d suffered terribly. Why hadn’t she come back after I finally escaped Jonathan? Was she gone for good? Maybe Jonathan had wearied of torturing her and found a way to keep her dead.
No. I refused to even consider such a thing.
The woman in the doorway shone with a pearly white light that cut through the swirling darkness. Her long robes fluttered about her, blending with her gossamer wings. Her face was delicate and beautiful, her eyes gleaming like huge moonstones. Soft lavender hair flowed around her shoulders and down to flow behind her like a billowing cape.
