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“About $20,000.”
I glance at the other crates. “Do you know the back stories on all of this stuff?”
She nods. “I was home schooled and my lessons included writing out the histories of each piece mom brought home. I also wrote out biographies for each of the artists.”
“What sort of grades did you get on your history projects?”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? I was a total keener. If I got anything less than an A+, I’d harass Professor Mom until she relented and gave me extra credit projects.”
I can tell she enjoys talking about her mom, but the artwork has been a burden to her. While Izzy was comfortable leading a life of crime, her daughter has a murkier relationship with her mother’s past. After her death, Izzy’s secrets fell to Vanessa to guard. Talking to me about it, sharing her stories, eases some of the responsibility of caring for her mother’s legacy.
“I’m right here with you every step of the way,” I assure her, tugging her against me. “I’ll be here forever.”
For the rest of my life, as short as that might be, she adds silently. I won’t be here much longer, according to the curse, but Keenan will. The best thing I can do is teach him about each piece in the room and write out instructions on how to care for them. Keenan will love them the way I do because he loves me and that love extends to the things I love.
Her thoughts break my heart, but I have no idea how to ease them when they’re true. Instead, I say, “I have an idea. Why don’t you unpack some of this stuff while I order takeout. We can have a picnic in here with a bottle of wine and some food. You can tell me about your favourite pieces.”
Her bleak thoughts vanish and an image of fried chicken, and gravy and biscuits fill her head. “I like that idea.”
Standing, I pull her off the floor. “I’ll grab a blanket too.”
“A blanket?”
I pull her against me, rocking her into my erection. “After we eat, I intend to lay you out and show you how something precious and delicate should be handled. It will be like a job interview so you trust me to care for all this stuff.”
She laughs, then says in a husky whisper, “You better grab the gloves. Wouldn’t want to get fingerprints on your work of art.”
I swat her ass. “My work of art better get busy while I hunt us some fried chicken or I’ll have to eat her instead.”
As I walk away, my smile falls. I hate that she’s thinking about her death, creating a succession plan for her mother’s art. The days and weeks are ticking by and the curse looms over us. She’s determined to live in the moment and I’m doing my best to give her what she wants. If she has to die, then I’m going to make damn sure she dies the happiest woman on the planet, surrounded by the things and people she loves.
Chapter 29
Spirited Away
VANESSA
“Ummm… hello?”
Startled, I spin around, my cookie dough encrusted fingers held up defensively. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” I shriek as I edge toward my cell phone. “How did you get in here?”
The blond woman standing next to my breakfast table holds her hands up. “My name is Magdalene Rage Witch Wolven-North, but you can call me Mags. I’m here to take you to the Shadow Realm.” She frowns. “You asked another question? Oh yes, I got here through teleportation. Are you ready to go, or do you need to wash whatever that is off your fingers?”
I look blankly at my hands. “Magdalene? As in Sarina’s Magdalene?”
She tilts her head, thinking. “I would say I’m more Rush’s Magdalene, but I suspect we’re talking about the same person. Sarina talks about me?” She looks flattered at the idea.
I rinse my hands, deciding she probably won’t attack me while I’m doing it. “She talked about you incessantly before Pinky came along. I think you might be her best friend.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet! She growled at me the first time I met her, but relations seem to have thawed.” She gestures toward the back wall of my kitchen. “Are you ready to go?”
“Uh, so you want to take me to the Shadow Realm?” I wipe my wet hands down the front of my apron. “I think I should check with Keenan first. He’s out back learning about zinnias from our gardener.”
“Oh, zinnias are great for conjuring grave spirits,” Mags says brightly.
“Good to know,” I say, trying not to offend the witch who talks about conjuring grave spirits like she’s making coffee. Where the heck is Keenan? I glance out the window but can’t see him from this angle. “Is he about to conjure a spirit? Should I be worried?”
“Only if you parked your house on a graveyard.” She glances at the wall again. “We really should go. Every minute spent here is a minute too long. The sand is running out.”
