“Hi,” I said, my voice light, friendly. “Sorry to bother you, but… I’m looking for the person who made this.”
The man barely glanced up.
“What?”
“This painting,” I said, lifting it slightly. “Do you know who made it?”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as they met mine. “Who the hel are you?”
“I’m just trying to find someone,” I said, gripping the frame harder. “Please. Is she here?”
“She’s not.”
My stomach twisted. “So you do know who made it.”
“You need to leave.” he muttered.
Will stepped beside me. “She asked you a question.”
The man turned his glare on him. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Please. Just tell me where she is.” I begged.
“She’s not here,” the Serpent snapped. ”Now leave, I’m busy.”
Aran scanned the room with his usual smirk. “Busy doing what exactly? This place looks like shit. Is it a gallery? A studio? A shithole?”
“None of your damn business what it is,” the man spat.
I tried to keep my voice level. “Please.”
“Get out,” he barked.
Will put a hand on my shoulder. “Kera. Maybe we should—”
I shook him off. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Aran’s eyes narrowed. “You know her, don’t you? Licia?”
The Serpent stiffened. Not much, but enough.
“That is her name, yeah,” he muttered reluctantly.
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw like the conversation bored him. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“And she just left her paintings here? With you?” I asked, my voice rising.
He laughed, short and humorless. “She madehundredsof them. Sat up in the studio day and night. Used up all my fucking paint.”
“She lived here?” I asked.
“For a while,” he murmured.
I shook my head slowly. “She wouldn’t leave this one behind.”
“She left ’em. I sold ’em.” He shrugged.
