❝Your secret is a painting?❞ I took a few cautious steps; the hairs on my arms stood on end.
❝Not just any painting.❞ Dorian approached the easel, shadows on his face as he touched the cloth protecting it. ❝It's a dark object, the manifestation of m...
Restless, depressed, I stared at Vanida's empty seat the next morning, in government. Even if I had told her family or the police she was missing, it wouldn't have done any good. They would think I was crazy. I was beginning to think so too.
After class, my ex hailed, catching up with me in the hallway. Flawless as her makeup and A-line bob, her deep brown skin sparkled with body glitter. With her straight A's, infectious laugh, and bubbly personality, there was nothing Mallory Starr couldn't accomplish. She was perfect - and that's exactly why our relationship failed. Perfection was the one picture I couldn't paint.
"Hey." Mallory walked alongside, knocking my elbow with hers. "Haven't seen you around lately."
"I know. I'm sorry. I've been—"
"Busy? Yeah, I noticed. I worry about you, Em. You throw yourself into a project; you disappear, and you don't come up for air."
"Painting literally opened a door that saved me. I can't give that up."
"Just your social life, your family, and your friends."
I stopped short, turning to face the girl who always thought she knew me better than I knew myself - and was always right.
"And what, Mallory? Are you here to save me?"
"Depends. Do you need to be rescued? Sure looks like it. Did you even sleep last night?"
"Yes. No. Not really." Self conscious, I ran my hands through my frizzy curls.
"My point exactly. Let's catch up. We'll have lunch, grab some coffee at the Sunset—""
"Can't. I have to find—I mean take care of Vanida. She's sick."
"Doesn't she have a boyfriend who can do that?"
"Mel..."
"Okay. I'm sorry. You're right—she's your best friend. But I used to be that too. Look, I don't wanna step on your toes," she said, glancing down at her Nikes. "I just wanted to invite you to a bonfire this weekend. It's up at Pearl Lake. Everyone will be there; you should come. Bring Vanida."
I scratched the back of my head. "I dunno."
"C'mo-o-on," she cajoled, walking backwards up the hallway. "What have you got to lose, besides what you've already lost?"
"Everything," I muttered. There was nothing to gain with Dark Dorian on the loose.
Lifting my face to the ceiling, I blew a breath, straightening when I noticed the canvas on the wall beside me - a century-old painting of the school's original headmaster. How many times had I walked past it over the years? A million? And not once had the stern old man ever moved - until today. Today, he was watching me.
A fearsome, insidious understanding clicked into place. Dark Dorian wasn't just using paintings as doorways, he was using them as windows...
"I'm on to you," I said, stepping close. "You're not as clever as you think."
The painting parted its teeth in a wicked smile.
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