by Clayton Wood
“Then anyone could say the word and take it off of you,” Gideon countered.
“Hmm,” she replied. “Well, can’t Myko read your thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Why not make the cloak read my thoughts then?” she asked. “I could command it to cloak and uncloak me with a thought.”
“Yes, but you should only have one thing connected to your mind,” Gideon pointed out. “Your Familiar. Otherwise it gets…complicated.”
“So I’d have to make the cloak my Familiar,” she stated.
“Right.”
She frowned. That certainly wasn’t the Familiar she’d imagined herself having. Not that she’d imagined herself having one.
“Okay,” she replied. “What if…I make a Familiar that’s painted?”
“Aren’t they all?”
“A Familiar with a body that I can paint on,” she clarified. “And then I could pull painted things from it, like I can from canvases I paint.”
“I suppose it would work,” he conceded, his eyebrows knitting together. “But why?”
“Because then I could wear my Familiar,” she reasoned. “And communicate with it telepathically to take it on and off.”
“So it would be able to protect you, and you could draw out painted things from it,” Gideon finished. “Interesting.” He began to pace, considering this. “But why not just have a Familiar and a Painter’s uniform?” he inquired. “How is this any better?”
“Because I can have both,” Bella answered. “And store twice as many paintings. And the fact that my Familiar’s technically a canvas would mean anything attacking it…”
“…would just get trapped inside that painting,” Gideon realized. He stopped pacing abruptly, his eyes widening. “My god, it’s brilliant!”
Bella broke out into a smile.
“It is?”
“It is!” Gideon exclaimed. He gave her a funny look then.
“What?” she asked.
“You know, that’s the sort of thing your mother would’ve come up with. She was always thinking differently than everyone else.”
“Strangely?” Bella inquired with a smile.
“Very,” he agreed. He crossed his arms over his chest then, arching an eyebrow at her. “You know what would make a perfect surface for painting?”
Bella frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. She did not like Gideon’s expression. He stepped right up to the painting, putting a finger on one of its wings.
Bella turned to the canvas set upon her easel. She imagined her dragon, its wings spread out wide. Imagined the black skin between the bony fingers of its wings as canvas instead, painted with all sorts of wonderful things. But not the inner surface, only the exterior. If she needed protection, it could fly to her, and wrap its wings around her. Wings with painted skin that could absorb nearly any attack.
She felt a rush of excitement, her heart starting to race. Gideon grinned at her.
“I know that look,” he stated. “Should I leave you to it?”
“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “I don’t think I’m ready to paint her.”
“You need a Familiar, Bella,” he pressed. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m not good enough at painting yet,” she retorted.
He grabbed a paintbrush, offering it to her.
“Then get good,” he replied. “Enough sketching. I want five paintings a day.”
Her eyes widened.
“Five?” she blurted out.
“That’s right,” Gideon confirmed. “I don’t care what they’re about – as long as they aren’t of people – or if they’re good. Just paint.”
“But…”
“It’s the only way you’ll get good,” he interrupted.
“Yeah, but…”
“Paint!” he commanded, shoving the paintbrush in her hand.
And then he left her to it.
* * *
So Bella painted.
She painted her mushroom-person, Gideon be damned. And she painted ravens picking the hay out of a scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, eating at its hay-intestines as they spilled out of his torn shirt. She painted a floating skull surrounded by an aura of sickly green light, its eyes glowing with a terrible inner fire. She painted dead things and living things and things that were somewhere in-between.
And, forced to paint five paintings a day, she stopped caring so much about how her paintings were going to turn out. In fact, she stopped planning her paintings altogether, merely plucking each finished painting off her easel and starting a fresh one immediately afterward. Dip brush in paint, slide paint across canvas.
Over and over again.
Freed from the constraints of quality and deliberation, Bella found that the quality of her work actually improved. Sure, she started off rough, using broad strokes to place things where they should go. But with refinement, her paintings came to life. Her colors became bolder, her palette broadening. She began to use different tools, playing with her process. Some experiments failed miserably, but others were surprisingly successful.
After nearly a week, she was painting seven paintings a day…and with hardly any effort at all.
Of course, after a week of being holed-up in the depths of an underground mansion, Bella found herself going a bit stir-crazy. So she forced Grandpa to leave his writing desk and accompany her and Gideon on a day trip in Havenwood.
Which turned out to be rather lovely.
Gideon drew Myko out of his painting to join them, and after many slobbery kisses, the great silver wolf walked at Bella’s side all the way up to the surface. The sun shone brightly in the late-morning sky, puffy white clouds floating lazily in that brilliant blue. After everyone squinted and stretched, they made their way to the spiraling cobblestone street winding down the mountain, following it all the way to the bottom. They continued on the path along the shore of Lake Fenestra, gazing at the glittering waterfall.
“It’s just as I pictured it,” Grandpa mused, taking it all in. “The Pentad was none too pleased with me after their artists started flocking here. They accused me of doing it on purpose…creating a haven for artists that wanted to get out from under the Queen’s thumb. Like your mother,” he added.
“Did you?” Bella pressed. Grandpa’s eyes twinkled, and he gazed up at the top of the waterfall, reciting the following:
“And beyond the belly of the beast,
Deep within Dragon’s Peak
Sat a haven in Havenwood,
Far from danger’s reach.
For its tail did reach
Across an impossible space,
To bring the traveler home
To her strange, dark place.”
Bella’s eyebrows furrowed.
“The traveler was Mom,” she realized. “And the strange dark place was home.” She glanced up at Grandpa. “You created Havenwood…”
“For her,” Grandpa confirmed. “Such a small part of the book, really. The Pentad’s editors didn’t even catch it…not until it was too late.”
“So Mom traveled to Havenwood so the Pentad wouldn’t arrest her?” she pressed.
“Oh no,” Grandpa replied. “Your mother stayed right in her home. It was already underground, you see. In a cave. My book created a connection to that cave, and your mother simply collapsed the existing tunnel that led to it. Her mansion isn’t in Havenwood at all…only surrounded by it.”
“So Havenwood was the only way to get to her home,” Bella realized. “Wow…that’s brilliant!”
“Yes,” Grandpa agreed. “Can’t imagine why they haven’t published any of my work since.”
“Which begs the question,” Gideon piped in, “…how exactly are you going to distribute this sequel? Without enough people reading it, nothing within it will become reality.”
“We’ll need to distribute it on the black market,” Grandpa answered. “I have a smuggler that would be more than happy to get exclusive rights to sell it.”
�
��And how are you going to get it to this smuggler?” Gideon pressed.
“I’m not,” Grandpa replied, pointing a finger at Gideon. “You are.”
Gideon’s eyebrows rose.
“I’m done with the first draft,” Grandpa continued. “I’ll have it edited in a few more days, and then you’ll need to get it published and distributed. There is a publisher in the Twin Spires that owes me a favor.”
“In the Twin Spires?” Gideon inquired.
“A black-market publisher,” Grandpa clarified.
“Who owes you a favor,” Gideon stated, clearly unconvinced.
“You may have heard of her,” Grandpa continued. “A woman by the name of Petrusa.”
Gideon’s eyebrows rose even higher.
“Petrusa?” he blurted out. “The Petrusa? Are you serious?”
“She has the manpower,” Grandpa insisted. “She’s the only one who can publish and distribute my book quickly.”
“At what cost?”
“Petrusa owes me,” Grandpa repeated. “The cost has already been paid.”
Gideon ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. Bella frowned at both men.
“Who’s Petrusa?” she asked. Both turned to her.
“Ah…” Grandpa began. He glanced at Gideon.
“A…an associate of your mother’s,” Gideon answered. “She sold paintings on the black market for Petrusa’s…people after she ran away from home. Before she and I got together.”
“She knows?” Grandpa inquired.
“A bit,” Gideon admitted. Bella’s frowned deepened, and it was her turn to cross her arms over her chest.
“Okay, enough secrets. Tell me everything,” she demanded.
Both men glanced at each other again.
“Well?” Bella pressed.
“Your mother was a member of the Guild of the Golden Coin,” Grandpa answered. “Ostensibly a guild of merchants. They have branches in nearly every country in the world. Very powerful, you see.”
“Very,” Gideon agreed.
“The leader of the guild is a woman named Petrusa,” Grandpa continued. “She’s even older than I am, if you can believe it. A truly gifted Sculptor. She was ancient when I was young.”
“And?” Bella pressed.
“Petrusa is also the leader of a…group of people who dabble in forbidden magic,” Grandpa explained. “And sell information and paintings and such on the black market.”
“Like books,” Gideon added.
“She has a vast distribution network, and can make an enormous quantity of my books and send them across the world in very little time,” Grandpa said. “Faster than the Pentad.”
“Makes sense,” Bella stated. Grandpa turned to Gideon.
“Petrusa can be accessed through a tomb in downtown Twin Spires,” Grandpa told him. “I’ll write down detailed instructions on how to reach her.”
“Wonderful,” Gideon grumbled.
“You’ll be fine,” Grandpa reassured. “Especially considering your relationship with Lucia.”
“Why not just send your book to the Pentad to have it published?” Bella inquired. “Wouldn’t they jump at the chance to get the edge on the Collector?”
“Maybe not,” Grandpa countered. “They probably don’t see him as being a big threat, fools that they are. And they have every reason to distrust my work after what happened with the last book.”
“Oh,” Bella murmured. “Right.”
“And you can’t imagine how slow traditional publishing is,” Grandpa continued. “Miles of administrative red tape, months to years of review processes to go through. We can’t afford to wait that long.” He made a face then. “Besides, they’ll make me write a synopsis, and frankly I’d rather have my hair set on fire.”
“Very well,” Gideon replied with a sigh. “Petrusa it is.”
“When will you be done?” Bella asked.
“The first draft is already complete,” Grandpa declared.
“You’re already finished with the first draft?” Bella blurted out incredulously. “It’s only been a week!”
“I’ve been thinking about this book for ten years,” Grandpa reminded her. “Ten years without feeling the Flow,” he mused, shaking his head. “I missed it terribly…and apparently it missed me more.”
“You couldn’t feel the Flow in the apartment?” Bella asked.
“That’s why you can’t write a magical book within a book,” he explained. “A Painter can feel the flow in a book, although less so, but a Writer cannot. And no one can feel the Flow in a painting, because there’s no time within one.”
“Oh.”
“So what’s the book do?” Gideon inquired.
“Nothing that the Pentad would be able to point to as being illegal,” Grandpa answered. “But there’s a very specific word-choice error…one that will give us the manpower we’ll need to fight the Collector’s army.”
“Why not just get the Pentad to attack him?” Bella asked. “Don’t they have huge armies?”
“They do,” Grandpa confirmed. “But keep in mind the Collector hates your father. And if the Pentad ever found out that Gideon was the one who painted him…”
“Right,” Bella muttered. Then she frowned. “Why hasn’t he told them already?”
“I don’t know,” Gideon admitted. “Maybe he wants me to live in fear of the possibility.”
They continued down the cobblestone path, reaching a fork in the road. One turned left, toward the mushroom forest and the entrance to Havenwood, while the other continued along the shore of the lake. A black-cloaked figure was strolling down the leftmost path toward them.
“Raising an army is all well and good,” Gideon pointed out, “…but we still don’t know where the Collector is. How are we going to find him?”
“It’s all in my book,” Grandpa replied. “You see, I…”
“Don’t need a book to find the Collector,” a gruff male voice interrupted. “Give me what I want and I’ll tell you exactly where he is.”
Chapter 33
The black-cloaked man stopped before Bella, Gideon, Grandpa, and Myko, barring their way forward. They all stopped, realizing that the man who’d been walking toward them had been the one to speak. Myko growled, stepping in front of Bella protectively.
The cloaked figure stood before them, his hands at his sides. He was imposingly tall, and even with his body nearly completed covered by his thick black cloak, he was obviously very well-built. His face was hidden within the depths of his hood, giving not a hint of what lay beneath.
And then something very strange happened.
His cloak thinned, seeming to melt into his body…and revealed a golden shirt and pants beneath. At the same time, he seemed to shrink a few inches, until he was as tall as Grandpa. His hood vanished, revealing a handsome face, like a movie star’s. He had a finely trimmed black goatee, with dramatically arched eyebrows and attractive blue eyes.
Gideon glared at the man, pulling his cane from his chest-painting and slamming the butt of it against the cobblestones. Then he pointed it at the man in gold.
“I suggest you leave,” he growled. “Now.”
The man held up both hands.
“Whoa there,” he replied, taking a step back. “I’m unarmed.”
“Right,” Gideon shot back. Myko growled again, baring his teeth at the stranger. “Come to spy on us for the Collector?” Gideon inquired. “I thought you were smarter than that, Piper.”
“I am,” the man called Piper replied. “I’m not here for him.”
“Bullsh-”
Grandpa cleared his throat, glancing at Bella.
“It’s not like I haven’t heard the word before, Grandpa,” Bella pointed out.
“Even so,” Grandpa replied. He turned to Piper. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here after everything you did.”
“Yeah, about that,” Piper replied with an apologetic look. “It was just a job.”
“You hunted us for ten
years!” Grandpa shot back.
“Worked out well enough, didn’t it?” Piper countered, gesturing at the three. And taking another step back when Myko took a step toward him, still baring his fangs. “Look, it wasn’t like I was mean to her or anything. That was all Stanwitz.”
“Wait, what?” Bella asked. “Who are you?”
Piper hesitated, then transformed, a police uniform forming around him. His skin darkened, and soon he was all-too recognizable. Bella gasped.
“Reynolds!” she blurted out.
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted.
She stared at him, hardly believing her eyes. He looked completely different…even sounded different.
“How…” she began.
“He’s an Actor,” Gideon explained. “Reynolds is a character he plays.”
Reynolds transformed again, back into the golden-uniformed man named Piper.
“Like I said, it was just a job,” Piper insisted. “Stanwitz was a complete psychopath,” he added. “He was never supposed to hurt you, kid. Or your grandfather. We were just supposed to find you and take you out of the book.”
“Uh huh,” Bella grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Look, Stanwitz got what was coming to him,” Piper insisted. “And not for nothing, I saved your ass when Stanwitz tried to shoot you in the head, remember?”
Bella grimaced; it was undeniably true.
“I’m not here because of the Collector, or to try to kidnap you or anything like that,” Piper insisted.
“Then why are you here?” Grandpa inquired. Piper sighed.
“Because the Collector took Kendra,” he revealed. “And he tried to kill me.”
“And you’re surprised?” Gideon inquired.
“I never trusted the Collector, but my wife did,” Piper told them. “She got promoted over a week ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I started asking questions, and the Collector sent an assassin to murder me in my sleep.”
“Pity it didn’t work out,” Gideon muttered.
“Point is, the Collector is either holding my wife hostage, or he’s already killed her,” Piper continued, ignoring the quip. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jawline rippling. “And I’m not about to let him get away with it.”