Page 21 of Evil Eyed
“Art is art,” Aidan said. “You could probably draw the fucking cat on the pavement with a piece of chalk and bring her to life.”
Though that would involve going outside too and I didn’t want to get dressed. “How about a sketchbook and charcoal pencils?”
Warwick snapped his fingers and the supplies appeared in my lap. The pad of thick paper was new, but I recognized the tin box of pencils as some of my favorites from the Art Institute days. Using the medium pencil, I started a rough sketch. The perk of her ears, her large oval eyes, the cute flip of her tail. Her fur was fairly long, almost Persian fluffy, especially her tail.
I filled in most of her body, using my fingers to smudge and soften the lines. While I drew, I ran through the few things I could remember about her, trying to hold that love in my heart.
“She loved to watch the birds and people outside. We placed the sofa in front of the living room window in our apartment so she could lay on the back cushions. She’d stare out there all day, sometimes making the sweetest little noises. Kind of like she was chatting with us, you know? We’d take turns making up things she was saying as people walked by. Like ‘Oh my god, can you believe he went out dressed like that?’ Or daring the big dogs to come closer so she could take a swipe at them. She always slept with me, right on the pillow by my head. I’d wake up and her tail would be curled around my neck or tickling my nose.”
“Oh good,” Aidan drawled. “What we really need is another hot furry body in this tiny bed.”
“It’s not tiny,” I said with a laugh. “You’re just big, and beds really aren’t made for three or more people. Not unless you get those giant whole-room beds. Or maybe push two together?”
“Leprechaun delivery service,” Warwick repeated. “Though I’d rather not have two beds pushed together. I’ve heard stories about people falling through the crack in the middle. I certainly wouldn’t want to end up at the bottom of that pile.”
Staring at my drawing, I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. Not even at Aidan’s disgusted grunt of agreement. With trembling fingers, I laid the pencil down.
Even in simple charcoal, her eyes gleamed with intelligence and knowledge. As if she could see me through the paper, pulling me deeper into her gaze. I didn’t fight it, hoping she could pull me to wherever she was.
Something whispered, a soft, distant sound that I could almost understand.Where are you? Can I see you?
The sound deepened and clarified into gentle rumbles that vibrated from inside of me, rolling outward from my thoughts. Until I could feel the rhythmic sensation in my body, as if she were lying on my chest. Her heavy weight and heat, her comforting purr. The fluffy down of her fur beneath my hands.
“How can you see me if you don’t open your eyes?”
I didn’t remember closing them. Her voice didn’t sound familiar at all—until I heard it. Then she sounded exactly right. As if she’d whispered to me many times, even though I couldn’t remember it. Holding my breath, I opened my eyes. Her face hovered over mine, large green-gold eyes shining back at me. She dipped to lightly bump her head against my forehead, and I promptly burst into tears.
Her purr rumbled like thunder, drowning out the guys’ words, though I felt them both press closer to hold me.
Trying to pull myself together, I asked, “You can talk? Did you talk to me… before?”
“Of course I can talk.” Vanta sat on her haunches on top of my thighs. She was bigger than the vague images that survived the changeling’s memory feast. Even sitting, she was nearly three feet tall. “I couldn’t speak aloud to you before, but we were able to communicate very well.” Her head cocked, her tail twitching restlessly. “You still don’t remember?”
I swallowed hard. “No. Jonathan destroyed most of my memories, especially anything with you. He only returned a few to hurt me.”
Tail snapping faster, she narrowed her eyes into slits and turned to glare at Warwick and then Aidan. “I hope the slimy rat received appropriate recompense for the harm he brought her.”
Warwick huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely. She wished him to Fhroig.”
Vanta let out a surprisingly melodious laugh that didn’t sound feline at all. “Oh, dear. That’s absolutely the perfect place for him. Well done indeed, Riann.”
Even the way she said my name was beautifully strange—but exactly right once I heard it. I’d always answered to “Ryan,” but she said my name like “Reeeen.”
“You have questions.”
She said it with a light lilt of expectation at the end, which made me suspect she was under some kind of geas like Warwick had been. Unable to help me unless I specifically asked.
“Are you fae?”
Her whiskers twitched upward, curving in the air like a wide smile. “But of course.”
“Am I fae?” I asked breathlessly.
Her whiskers bounced harder. “Think you a human could have survived the changeling’s appetites for so long? He suspected much, trying endlessly to force you to betray yourself. But you couldn’t betray what you did not know.”
“Am I like him?” I swallowed. “A changeling?”
She snarled a low, vicious hiss. “You’re a creature of love, not selfishness and hatred.” Her tail flicked up and brushed my cheek. “You would never harm an innocent, even to save yourself.”
