Nicole turned and headed out, her eyes sweeping over the rest of the sculptures, recognising a bust beside the door as the Greek Goddess Artemis, from the crescent moon atop her head like a pair of horns.
Heading out into the hall, she passed the front desk to reach the double curving staircases that led up to the painting gallery.
Kyan took the mirroring stairs on the right, while she took the left, and together they ascended.
She tried not to look at him – focusing instead on the great painting hanging on the wall above. A wicked, dynamic piece, featuring a dark-haired man being wrestled by more than five others, while a mischievous witch-like figure looked on with glee from the right. It was so intense, so beautifully painted, she nearly missed a step. That, and something about the image of the straining man fighting so many people reminded her of Kyan.
The gilded glass door at the top of the stairs announced VictorianArt beyond, so Nicole pushed into the large rectangular space, scouting for any paintings that were remotely similar to the Muse or her mysterious stolen flower.
The whole room displayed mythological, biblical, or historical pieces, exactly the kind of images that made Nicole’s supernatural academia instincts bloom to life. She swept her eyes over the Angels and monsters, the Grecian stories and the tales of Dante. Between every thick gilded frame was deep pink damask wallpaper that caught the light from the arched skylights above.
There was so much colour amid the romantic, dynamic poses: in the largest Rossetti painting she’d ever seen, and a Perseus and Andromeda that made her loath to move on, fascinated by the dragon whose great inky wings stretched over the twisted nude woman with her spill of red hair. Then, there was an angel with wings not of white or black, but lilac-silver and peach-tipped like the dawn. She strolled by a sulky Helen of Troy with flaming red curls, pausing to note it since the Muse had mentioned Helen.
And female artists – Nicole perked up at their names.
Annie Swynnerton and Evelyn De Morgan, who had paintedTheAngel of Deathpiece that had hung behind Westmoore’s desk.
‘Anything?’ Kyan asked.
Nicole sighed as her eyes roamed, reluctant to go back into the city. ‘Not yet.’
‘What is it?’ he asked.
Her instinct was to brush off the question, pretend she was fine. That she’d figure it all out. But she hadn’t been able to be honest with him in Estwood.
She wanted to be now.
‘I’m fine, it’s just – very loud. I was … having trouble drowning it out and not panicking.’
‘Do you want help?’
Her lips almost curled up. ‘I wish I did it instinctively.’
She could hear the slight smile in his voice. ‘Of course you do. But, you’re used to suppressing yourself. It makes sense.’
Nicole chewed the inside of her mouth, frustration sharpening her words. ‘I should have learned this by now.’
‘You’ve suppressed your abilities your whole life. Having them unleashed isn’t easy to handle. But – I can teach you how to quiet it down.’
She nearly turned her head so forced her muscles to lock. ‘How? If I don’t take everything in, I could miss something.’
‘You have to trust your body to alert you to the real issues, rather than loud sounds or shouts and constant traffic. The kill scent is the thing that turns us, that’s the most important. Our bodies don’t miss it. The key is having a mental image that calms you for everything else.’
‘What do you imagine?’
They moved so they were standing either side of a faux wall that broke up the space to display another painting.
She couldn’t see him, but she was facing towards him, even if they were separated by paint and canvas.
Nicole searched the painting like she would have searched his eyes.
‘A stream,’ Kyan said, so softly she almost didn’t hear it. ‘I imagine lying on the bank in the grass with my eyes closed. It’s grounding, it’s still. The sun warms me. I know the forest is calm. I know I’m safe. I know my people are safe. I have nowhere to be, no one to fight, and all is well.’
Her throat tightened and her eyes blurred suddenly with tears. Safety: how deeply they both craved it, needed it for their loved ones, functioned around that one concept.
‘You need to think of somewhere you feel safe,’ he continued, as if his words hadn’t torn her open. ‘Somewhere quiet. Somewhere you’d like to stay for a while.’
Here, she thought, eyes almost closing.Right here.
