When he nodded, she snapped her charcoal again and handed over the nub.
I leaned in and said, “You’re in for a treat, Annie. Bowen is a very good artist.”
Bowen lowered himself to the floor, his huge frame taking up one whole side of the table. He held his piece of charcoal over the parchment and muttered, “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at drawing flowers and kittens like the ones in your picture.”
Annie giggled, and her entire face lit up. “That’s not a kitten, sir. It’s my brother.”
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He was ridiculously out of his element, but it was strangely wonderful to watch.
“What do you like to draw, sir?”
“Weapons,” Bowen said.
“You do?” Annie breathed in awe. “My brother likes to draw enemies fighting, but his weapons all look like sticks. Will you draw me one so I can show him when he gets back?”
The hope in her voice was nearly my undoing. It sounded so much like the hope I’d held onto for years after I escaped the witch. Bowen must have heard it too because he smiled softly and nodded.
“Sure thing, Annie.” His charcoal moved across the page, creating the outline of a sword.
“Do they hurt, sir?” Annie asked, angling her head with curiosity. She pointed to one of the scars running down Bowen’s jaw.
He turned his face away slightly. “No. Not anymore.”
Annie nodded, looking thoughtful. She went back to her drawing but continued to speak. “One time, I was running through the streets with my brother, and I tripped and fell on my arm. It hurt terribly. Not anymore though.” Annie paused and rolled up her sleeve. “It left this mark, and sometimes when I look at it, I remember how much it hurt. Do you remember too?”
Bowen drew in a deep breath. “I remember.”
“I cried and cried ’cause the mark was so ugly, but one day, my mom took my arm and kissed it. She told me she only kisses beautiful things, and that meant the mark was beautiful too. My mum got really sick and died a while back, but you know what, mister?”
“What?”
“Now, when I look at my arm, I remember her, and I kind of like it. I like yours too.”
Bowen’s startled gaze found mine. Time seemed to slow as dust motes, illuminated by the sun, floated in the air. I smiled, and without breaking eye contact, I added to Annie’s story.
“You know, I also have a mark on my arm, and whenever I look at it, I remember someone too.” My voice dipped. “And I kind of like it.”
Bowen’s gaze dropped to the spot he’d injured in our duel.
“Did they kiss it better like my mom did?” Annie asked.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Annie heaved a heavy sigh. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, too bad indeed.”
My lips quirked, and I lifted a brow in challenge. Bowen’s eyes darkened. He looked as if he wanted to make things right where my arm was concerned.
Annie, completely unaware of our little moment, held up her drawing. In the picture stood three people at the base of a forest. There was her brother, who Bowen had confused with a kitten, and also what looked like a little girl. It was the image of the woman off to the left of them that unnerved me. Annie had used deep strokes of charcoal, almost tearing through the paper, to draw the figure. Everything about the woman was dark, and I noticed while the two children were standing in the sun, the woman was almost buried in the forest.
“Who is that?” I asked, pointing to the woman in Annie’s drawing.
Annie shrugged. “My brother told me about her. Sometimes, he goes to visit her in the woods. But he hasn’t come back in a while. He said he’d take me with him next time.”
I went rigid, holding the charcoal so tightly it dug into my palm. “Have you told anyone else about this woman?”
“Just a few of the girls. Ethan told me not to, but I couldn’t keep it a secret.”
