Open Season by Gail Z. Martin & Larry N. Martin

Author:Gail Z. Martin & Larry N. Martin [Martin, Gail Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Falstaff Books

I spent some extra time scratching Demon’s ears when I got home and took him for a bit of a walk around the yard, as I tried to let go of Amy’s words. Back in the day, back before, she and Sean and Lara and I had been tight. We got together every few weeks, babysat Nikki so Sean and Amy could go out, and went on vacations together. Then it all went to hell, just another casualty of that damn wendigo.

Once I fed Demon, I texted Chiara with the info about the artist, poured myself a couple of fingers of JD and pulled out my laptop. Demon napped on my feet while I dug around on the internet. I’d do the easy Google stuff and let Chiara dig through the seedy virtual alleys of the Dark Web.

Ted was right: Thomas Arhawk was a man of mystery. I couldn’t find much of a social media trail, which in itself seemed remarkable, especially for someone trying to promote their work. He’d had a few gallery showings in Pennsylvania and Ohio, and some museum acquisitions. His webpage didn’t even have a digital showcase, and none of his work was featured on any of the popular online art sites.

But what I did find intrigued me. Three of his larger works sold at auctions throughout the country, for five-figure prices. Not too shabby for someone who only seemed to have a history going back two or three years. An article about one of those sales portrayed Arhawk as a troubled, reclusive genius who had burst on the art scene out of nowhere.

That worried me. Nothing says crossroads deal with a demon like someone who goes from zero to sixty almost overnight. If Arhawk didn’t sell his soul, some of that black magic Amy was so sure I practiced might have been to blame.

I sipped my glass of Jack and tried not to dwell on the reception clusterfuck. Instead, I grabbed a pen and pad and jotted down the names of the galleries and museums—and any individuals—who had acquired an Arhawk original. A quick online search gave me the identity of the local doctor whose estate sale was being handled by Ted’s auction house. Then I looked to see what became of them.

“Well, lookie here,” I murmured. The list read like a disaster report.

Within a year of acquiring an Arhawk painting, two of the galleries filed for bankruptcy, something that came as a surprise to the business news sites. One of the museums had a major fire, while another had a very destructive water main break. The rest of the galleries and museums fared equally badly, including a few that were the site of random shootings. Individual collectors had just as bad luck, and as best as I could piece together, most of them died within twelve to eighteen months of purchasing one of his pieces of art. The causes varied, but all were sudden, and many violent. I did my best to find photos of the unlucky purchasers, to see if they had mysteriously appeared in the hotel lobby painting.

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