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“I am breathing; it’s not helping.” She sniffed. “This is a big deal. God knows how badly the gallery will be sued if we can’t verify who the sender is or send the artwork back after they entrusted it with us.”
“First of all, are you sure it’s all from one person?”
“Yes, they all arrived together, packaged through the gallery. From our records, I can see that it was delivered to us today. But other than that, I’ve got nothing. Oh dear God, do you think I deleted it?” She wasn’t talking to me; she seemed lost in her own world.
“So, what about the restorations?” I really didn’t want to start with so much information missing. “Are there any directions at all as to how they wanted to have them cleaned—”
“Druella, you’re the expert. Why in the world would they leave directions? Just take your time and fix it up. I’ll come to see them soon,” she snapped at me before hanging up.
“Well, bye to you to then,” I muttered, placing the phone back onto the counter, spinning in my chair a bit, so I could stare at the painting. “If your owner complains about anything, I’m going to throw everyone else under the bus.”
I put my gloves back on, wheeled in closer, and began to work, which was a bit annoying because every few minutes I’d have to remember to shift or stretch simply because of the cameras in the lab. I even made it a habit to go the restroom every one to two hours. One of the things I loved about restoring art was watching the canvas come alive again. It was beautiful, all the colors, the richness of it. I found myself holding my breath as I ran my Q-tip in the solution and then back on the canvas. I wondered what the artist would think of my efforts each time I worked on a piece. Would they be happy? Would they have preferred the painting to fade into history? What did they think when they drew or painted it? What did they think about it having lasted so long? I had so many questions. I couldn’t help it. Questioning everything was in my nature.
Bathroom break. I heard the clock mounted on the wall sound at the passing of the hour. Rising from my chair, I looked at my gloves and straightened my clothes before walking toward the end of the room.
Inside, all I did was stare at my own reflection in the mirror. My curly lion’s mane of hair was kept pulled back into a tight ponytail at work. My brown eyes seemed to have gotten a bit shinier, but then again, I’d been saying that every day since my change. My brown skin was even-toned—no more dark or lighter blotches. Never in my life had I been so sad to walk into Sephora and walk out without having to buy anything but my favorite shampoo. I used to love makeup. But now, I could feel it on my face like some sort of powered mask. Now, I looked better without it, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss my glitter-gold-eyelids look.
Note to self…bring that look back for something.
Glancing at my watch, I made sure a respectable human amount of time had gone by before stepping back into the lab.
I can probably get about another four hours in before security starts begging me too…
“Theseus?” I doubted my own eyes, but when I blinked, there he was, standing in the center of my lab dressed in black pants and a button-down black shirt. Where he’d gotten them, I wasn’t sure. They looked too modern to be my dad’s clothing, but then again, I hadn’t looked through everything.
“Theseus?” I stepped forward when he didn’t respond.
His grey eyes were fixed on all of the paintings in front of him, lined against the back of the lab. “Where did you get these?” he asked gently, his eyes shifting from one painting to another.
“They were delivered today,” I said, standing beside him. “And how did you get in here? Please tell me you didn’t use your vampire speed. There are cameras—”
“I do not understand.” He frowned, turning to face me. His whole face was completely puzzled. “What do you mean they were delivered today? How? By who?”
“I don’t know by who. They were just delivered.”
“That is not possible,” he whispered.
I browsed the paintings then looked at him. “And yet, here they are.”
“And here they should not be because they should be in Ankeiros where I last left them.”
It was only then that I understood. “These are yours?” I questioned.
He just nodded, moving to them. Even though they belong to him, watching him touch them roughly with his bare hands made my art-history-nerd heart scream. I wanted to throw gloves at him as quickly as possible, but he just looked at the images.
Ring. Ring.
“Hello?” I spoke into the phone, still watching him out of the corner of my eye.
“Druella, it’s me.” Simone sounded a little bit more relieved. “So, I thought to check in some of the boxes, and there I found a note. It says, “I still hold that it is nonsensical to give you work on your birthday, but I couldn’t deny you anything. Happy Birthday. - Theseus. Wasn’t your birthday yesterday? It would have been brought down then had I not taken the day off. Do you know a Theseus? I swear if this is some game to get back at me for getting the promotion—”
“Simone, I’m going to have to call you back.” I hung up without further comment as Theseus looked back to me.
“I do not recall penning such a letter,” he said starkly before pointing at two paintings in front of him. “Nor do I recall painting these two, but I am sure it is my work.”
In that moment, I felt very much a vampire because I didn’t breathe, or blink, or even move. All of me was still.
Yet, at the very same time, I felt sick. I didn’t know it was possible to feel nauseous, but that was exactly what I felt. My eyes tingled with tears that I didn’t let fall as I stared at the bigger of the tw
