Page 33 of One Bad Knight

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Kat pushed her way past me, only to be stopped short with a strangled gasp of horror. The cup clacked against the wood floor, froth and coffee splattering all over for the second time.

Then her wild eyes turned toward me, with the fearful expression of a cornered animal.

All of the paintings were of me as a boy. There must have been thirty of them. Of me hovering over a cup of hot chocolate, intense curiosity with a hint of a smile at the corner of my mouth. I could almost smell the cocoa, feel the warmth coming off the mug in the picture.

Of me hiding in the tree outside her balcony in the dead of night. I stared out from the branches, my eyes glittering like hard diamonds that could cut through anything.

I found myself drawn in by one of me curled in on myself in a dark room, my head down, not noticing the streaks of light reaching out toward me. The cold blues and grays that surrounded me kept me trapped and blinded. But those rays, they were coming for me whether I knew it or not, and the movement of the paint communicated they couldn’t be stopped.

“Wh-what the hell?” Kat sputtered.

The curvy girl with heavy eyeliner, who I’d learned was her friend, but didn’t know her name, trotted up, her hands flapping nervously. Her words tripped over each other. “I’m so sorry, Kat. The gallery curator came and said she was here to pick up the last couple pieces for the show. We couldn’t find them, and while I was searching, she got Sam to open your private closet to see if they were in there. Please don’t be mad, Sam thought he was helping.”

“And he was helping,” a woman’s voice interrupted. She approached, wearing white overalls, cat-eye glasses connected by a sparkly chain, and a fancy hair updo. I recognized her as the woman who ran the gallery where Kat’s show was supposed to be. They’d had several meetings in the previous weeks that I’d watched from the shadows.

“The pieces you gave me were good, Kat, but these…” The curator opened a hand at the mini show behind her. “These are tremendous, moving, striking. And you had them locked up?”

My eyes connected with a piece unlike the rest. Unable to help myself, I moved toward it. It was done more recently than the others. I could smell the paint fumes more strongly, and instead of the visage of a boy, she’d created the face of a man.

My face.

She must have done it the day after I'd saved her from the She. I’d followed her, of course, watching from the building next door as she furiously painted.

Half of it still needed detailing, but my eyes were finished. She used the same colors as the painting of me as a boy in a dark corner. I’d been recreated in blues, blacks, and grays, but this time, the warm, unstoppable light was in my eyes. As if a powerful magic were barely being kept at bay inside me.

The curator went on. “Kat, we need these pieces. You said you want to do this thing for real? This is how we do it. Admittedly, I wasn’t entirely unmotivated to give you a show because of who your uncle is, but honey—”

Out of my periphery, I could see her take Kat’s hands in hers. “You let me show these and the only name we will need is yours.”

One of the male students who stood nearby in a small cluster took notice of me. “Hey, you look just like…” His voice died as he realized.

Kat pulled her hands away from the curator and spoke in an unnaturally loud voice. “The remaining paintings for the show were left downstairs with the barista. I left a message with your assistant. I had these locked up for a reason, and no one had a right to open that door without my permission, much less drag them out for everyone to see.”

A burly man with a ponytail and beard, wearing a flannel plaid shirt, stepped forward. “Kat, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

The curator raised her hand. “Don’t apologize, Mr. Rutgar. These were too good to be kept hidden away, that is the magic of the world. It will always reveal what is necessary. But I understand, Kat, you need time to come to terms.”

“Could everyone please leave?” Kat demanded, in that unnatural voice again. She seemed on the verge of screaming, breaking down, or running. But I couldn’t help her.

What I felt was so overwhelming I almost couldn’t control it. It bubbled and pushed its way up even though I wanted to stay calm and collected.

“Yes, of course,” Sam said, before ushering everyone out.

I finally tore my gaze away from the painting, having seen more than enough.

The curator grabbed Kat’s shoulders. “Don’t let fear stand in your way. It is the only true gatekeeper between you and your dreams.”

Then she left, along with Kat's friend, who seemed reluctant to go. Still, she shut the door behind her, leaving only Kat and me surrounded by her paintings.

“I… I never meant for you to see these.” Kat stuttered almost uncontrollably. She pinched and wrung either hand. I’d seen Kat face a She demon and a swarm of flesh-eating pixies, but right now, she looked far more terrified having to face me.

“How many years have you been—” I swept an arm toward the pictures when I couldn’t finish. My voice was gruff, as what felt like a stormy ocean thrashed about inside me.

Her hands dropped as if she were defeated. “The very next day after you left.” She took a step toward the one with me balled up in a dark corner. “I started in pencil and charcoals. I wasn’t very good, but it was the only thing that kept me from crying. The only thing that made me feel sane. Drawing made me feel like you were still… with me. I drew more and more, then moved on to paintings, and made so many pictures of you standing between me and that… thing. The nurses at the institution said it wasn’t healthy. They said I had to let go of the nightmare and a made-up boy.”

My hands fisted. I tried to swallow, but a lump caught in my throat.