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The cut was shallow, but deep enough for blood to begin rising to the surface. She held her hand over the silver bowl and over the next 60 seconds, three drops of blood fell into it. “That’s enough,” Sebastian murmured, and gently turned her hand palm-up. “I’m going to heal the wound, okay?”

She nodded and he brought her hand to his lips. His tongue gently brushed her sliced skin, and a shiver ran down her spine. When Josephine had healed her, it felt awkward. But Sebastian’s tongue caressing her felt intimate, like a pleasant memory waking. She stared at his soft features in the firelight and repressed the urge to touch him so tenderly in return.

The pain immediately disappeared as her skin knit itself back together. He paused at the end of the cut, still holding her hand, and pressed his lips to her palm before letting go. “All better,” he whispered.

Sure enough, the wound was gone. But the emotions and warmth of his mouth lingered like an echo. While she was lost in the strangeness of the situation, Sebastian began preparing the paints. He poured a clear liquid into the silver bowl and mixed it, then separated that into five paint pots. Pigments came next, carefully measured and stirred in with tense hands.

And then he began to paint. Isabel watched the measured strokes and the way he seemed entirely absorbed in the task. He never looked away from the canvas, seemingly mixing the colors by instinct. The background began to take shape, a dark forest behind the silhouette of a church. While it was beautiful, a dark sense of foreboding crept in the longer she stared.

Foreboding grew to concern, which increased to terror as he began painting in the foreground. She recognized her form taking shape under his hand, which was to be expected. But as he painted in the details of her face, she let out a soft shriek.

That was not her face.

The distorted, angry face of the shadow met her gaze. She leapt off the couch and attempted to knock the brush out of Sebastian’s hand, but he didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He continued painting no matter how hard she pulled on him, as if she were no more than a fly landing on his skin.

He painted in a crooked smile to complete the figure, and Isabel felt a pulse of pain in her head. Blood began trickling out of both nostrils and she fell forward, landing face-down in the soft carpet.

Instead of darkness, Isabel found herself standing in front of the church from the painting. She shivered in the frigid air and wrapped her arms tightly around her body, though it brought her no warmth. Wind caused the bare branches of the trees to thrash, and moaned as it raced through them.

The doors of the church opened and Isabel rushed toward them, hoping that the inside would be warmer, even if it just got her out of the wind. However, as she approached, the shadow figure appeared in the door. It was far more detailed now, obviously a distorted reflection of her own face.

“Y…cannot ent…,” the shadow croaked, her voice staticky as if coming from a poor radio connection. “He…lying…trust…”

Isabel stepped closer instinctively, trying to make out what her reflection was saying. “What? Lying? Who is lying? Who are you?Whatare you?”

But the figure gave no more reply. She only closed the church door, and theclickof the lock engaging echoed in Isabel's ears. Isabel ran to the door and began pounding on it with both fists, shivering harder as the temperature seemed to drop by the second.

“Let me in!” she screamed. “I’ll freeze to death out here! Please! Why do I nearly die every time you appear?!”

She slammed the door with her shoulder over and over, growing weaker with every blow, until she collapsed into the door and slid down its surface. She sat on the ground with her back to the wood and pulled her knees to her chest. She reallywasgoing to die, wasn't she?

Her eyes slid closed and she began to pray, not even knowing who she was praying to. Anyone who would listen. Anyone who could save her from the bitter forest and the biting cold.

But no one came.

CHAPTER26

Venice, Italy. 9 June, 2007

Sebastian placed the brush in a cup of water and the trance was broken. He blinked a few times as if just waking up, complete with a small yawn. He hadn't gotten so deep in his magic for a long, long time.

He shook his head once and took a deep breath. The painting taunted him in his refusal to look at it right away. Instead, he turned around to gauge Isabel's reaction from the couch. Only…she wasn't there. Okay, she must have gone back to bed. He had no idea how long he'd been painting, after all.

Yet when he popped his head in the bedroom, the sheets were flat. The door was closed, locked, and the key still hung around his neck, so she couldn't have left his chambers. His stomach began to tremble and he returned to the living space.

Slowly, he rotated to face the painting. He took in the winter sky and the familiar black forest. The nightmare came rushing back, causing his hands to tremble. There was the chapel…and in front of its doors, Isabel lay crumpled on the ground. Standing over her was the shadow figure, its twisted face gleeful as it reached for her throat.

Surely that wasn’t actually Isabel inside the painting?! Sebastian looked at his hands in horror. The splattered paint felt like they were covered in blood, far more than the paint actually contained. “I have to get her out of there,” he muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the canvas. But the paint was still wet, so his magic would not work.

He scoured the room for something,anythinghe could use to make the paint dry faster. “I’ll just use another canvas as a fan,” he said, picking up a small painting nearby and flapping it up and down. Time seemed to stand still as he kept his eyes firmly latched onto the new painting, watching as the shininess of the paint slowly faded. When he could no longer see any wet spots, he cautiously brushed his finger along the surface.

Hopefully good enough. He called to the magic and felt it rise up, and pressed his palm to the slightly tacky surface. It fought his entrance, but Sebastian pushed harder. The cost of his impatience was exhausting, but eventually he stood, panting, in front of the chapel.

The shadow looked up and made eye contact with Sebastian, her all-black eyes narrowing. “You’ve done this to me,” she hissed, her voice sounding like words in rushing waters. “You tore my soul apart, one piece at a time, and banished it to this fragmented world. You’ve trapped me in Hell, and you’re too selfish to undo the damage.”

“I didn’t know!” Sebastian howled, the wind stealing his words away as they left his mouth. “I love her! Why do you insist on hurting her?”

Pure hatred filled the shadow’s face. “Ignorance is no excuse for centuries of torture! You say you love me, yet you continue to rip away pieces even after learning the truth. The only person insistent on hurting this poor being isyou.I am simply trying to lessen the pain and reunite the two parts of my soul as soon as possible.” She reached down and ran her finger along Isabel’s cheek. “You finally passed the threshold and gave me enough strength to bring my body here, so I suppose I should thank you for that.”