After Moonrise by P.C. Cast Gena Showalter

Author:P.C. Cast, Gena Showalter
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-10-22T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Not again, Harper thought, panic rising as she peered down at her paint-splattered hands. She clutched a paintbrush, the tip drip…drip…dripping crimson onto her bare feet. Sickness bloomed in the pit of her stomach like a poisonous flower, its pollen drifting through the rest of her, sticking and growing until her blood was ice and her skin fire, her breath jagged and burning as it rasped against her lungs.

Before she looked up and faced the reality of what she had created, she spun and checked her surroundings. She stood inside her apartment’s studio. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Okay. She could deal with anything else. Right?

Her gaze took in other details. The clock on her wall flashed 12:01—no, 12:02. The dark of the night seeped through the five-inch crack in the red, orange and yellow curtains Lana had made, and the scent of rain saturated the air, a roll of thunder booming.

Once upon a time, she had loved storms. Had loved the smells and the drop in temperature, the feel of raindrops against her skin. But lately they reminded her too much of Lana’s tears, and even the tears she sometimes wanted to shed. Now that love was dead. As dead as the girl you’re painting.

Ugh. The sickness intensified. So…she must have blacked out. Last thing she remembered was sitting on the couch, talking to Lana, waiting for Levi to come over, praying he’d learned something, fearing he’d learned something. Then…nothing.

Lightning suddenly struck, blazing the sky with gold and—a scream lodged in her throat, her heart pounding uncontrollably. A girl stood on the balcony outside her window, staring in at her with violet eyes. Other details registered. A fall of black hair, the wistful features of a young woman ready to fall in love, happy with her life yet somehow miserable at the same time.

How long had she stood there, watching? Had she noticed the scene unfolding on the canvas? As the questions filled Harper’s mind, anger filled her chest. The peeping had to stop. Now.

Harper dropped her brush, heard the plop of it against the plastic covering she kept over the floor and stomped to the window.

By the time she had the pane lifted, the girl was gone.

Cool, moist air wafted inside the room, carrying the scents of floral spices and freshly cut grass; both failed to calm her, only ratcheted her anger higher. Harper pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she snapped the pane back in place and threw the lock. She closed the curtains, being sure to hook the edges and prevent even the smallest fissure from forming, then she stood there for several minutes, knowing she was stalling, knowing she needed to turn, to face the truth one more time. Maybe this time would be the last. Maybe this time she had finished the painting, and all the answers would slide into place.

Maybe.

But hopefully not.

As much as she wanted to know, she didn’t want to know.

“I can do this,” she muttered. Slowly, so slowly, she turned on her heel.

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