Page 40 of Evil Eyed
Me. It came from me.
Aidan huffed out a harsh breath. “Fucking told you so.”
“Whoa.” I lifted my hand up before my face. Rainbows spun from my fingertips, brilliant arcs of multi-colored light that danced like prisms in the air. “If I’d thought to take this to the police station, what do you think Evil Eye would look like?”
“Thick shadows dripping like crude oil on everything he touches,” Doran replied. “Tainting the very air, staining everything he comes in contact with. When you realize you’ve picked up a shadow, it’s too late. It’s already spread too deeply.”
I shuddered, my heart squeezing with dread for Vivi. Did I want to look at her through the hag stone and fully understand the toll that working for Boss Man had claimed from her? I lowered the stone from my eye, but I kept it in my palm, rolling it over with my fingers. Maybe that was why I’d gravitated toward gothic, weird paintings even in high school. I’d been seeing the creatures of fae all around me.
“Oh shit.” I jerked my head up. “The painting that Warwick has. If it spins out magic in sunlight, what will we be able to see through the stone?”
“Only one way to find out,” Aidan replied.
I glanced at the window to gauge how much sunlight we had left. Thirty minutes or so, an hour at most before dusk. I decided to risk it.
:Warwick?:
Emerald green flashed through my mind.:Aye, love?:
:Are you feeling well enough to bring the painting to me for a few minutes? I want to test out a new theory.:
I’d barely finished the thought and he stood on the other side of the island, canvas and easel in tow. He’d changed into what looked to be emerald silk pajamas and a long, flowy tunic. His hair gleamed once more, softly swishing down his body as he moved.
“At your service,mo stór. I’m quite refreshed, thank you for asking. What have you discovered?”
Rather than answering him, I put the hag stone back to my eye. Rivers of velvet magic flowed around him, glinting like crushed emeralds and diamonds. His eyes were huge sparkling jewels, dominating his face. Even his bone structure looked different. His face slender, his shoulders slim, extremely long, elegant legs and delicate fingers.
“Um, wow. Do I look like that?”
He snapped his fingers and a full-length mirror shimmered in front of him, reflecting my image back at me. My hair looked like gleaming, sable-black fur, flowing all around me. I didn’t recognize my face at all. My eyes were huge, like his, shining like a black oil slick. It would have scared me to see such dark eyes—but the black was iridescent like an oil slick. Opals, mother of pearl, and diamond swirls danced all around me, fluttering like tiny, delicate wings.
Dragonflies. My heart ached, my throat tight. My mother’s sign. Even my hair looked like Vanta’s fur.
Warwick snapped his fingers and the mirror disappeared. Then he began to drag the cover off my painting.
Eyes tight, I braced for the flash of light to be magnified through the hag stone. But the brilliant rainbows I’d seen before were gone. Everything was gone. It looked nothing like before.
I slid off the barstool, stumbling a little in shock. Doran caught my elbow, steadying me before I fell. I staggered around the island, keeping a hand on the granite top for balance.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, shaking. “It looks completely different.”
“What do you see?” Warwick asked softly.
“The doorway… it’s shut. There’s a hint of light shining through the cracks around the doorjamb, but it’s dim and thin. Weak. The woman in the doorway is gone. So’s the girl. Even the trees and tentacles, the monsters hiding in the shadows. It’s all gone.”
I leaned closer, adjusting the hag stone back and forth in front of my eye to see if I could bring it into focus better. “Bones. The trees look like skeletons. There are bones scattered on the ground in front of the door. Old, shattered, like they’ve been there so long they’re fossils. Nothing’s alive. No leaves. No plants. Just… darkness.”
“I think you’re seeing what Evil Eye will turn this world into,” Doran said. “Everything’s dead and gone. Nothing living remains. No magic. No light. It’s all gone.”
I ran my finger over the surface of the canvas. I could feel the brush strokes where the younger version of me stood, but those details were invisible through the hag stone. Slowly, I lowered the stone, watching the light flow from the painting once more. The gentle movement of the woman’s wings in the doorway. Vanta’s soft rumbling purr. The magic was still there, though not as brilliant as when it’d been bathed in sunlight.
I stepped back, trying to think. I had too many ideas swirling around in my head. Frantic birds swooping and spiraling out of control with no sense of order. There was something I needed to understand. A clue hiding right before my nose. But what? “Would looking at it in the dark with the hag stone change anything?”
Ivarr reached out, his hand hovering over the light switch. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Aidan and Doran both stood and went to the windows in the living and dining area, shutting blinds and drawing curtains. Keane did the same over the kitchen sink.
A gloomy hush fell over the house. The guys gathered around me and the painting. Aidan had even snagged his swords from somewhere—I was sure he hadn’t been wearing them across his back earlier.
