And All the Stars by Andrea K Host

Author:Andrea K Host [Host, Andrea K]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrea K Hosth
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

A chorus of breathing in a room lit only by the flicker of computer screens. Madeleine shifted, warm beneath a blanket, bracketed by sleeping people. Her back hurt.

With no sign of Moths following Rover, and everyone but Nash close to dropping where they stood, the decision to stay or leave had been a forgone conclusion. As a precaution they were all spending the night in the hidden study. While his fellow Musketeers filled their stomachs, Nash had shifted the computer to the top of the filing cabinet and removed the simple desk, creating a little more room. Then he’d been stuck with a lot of cleaning up, as everyone else focused on getting warm and dry before curling up to sleep and digest. The extremes of the Blue metabolism.

Madeleine had gone to sleep propped between Noi and Emily, but, drifting awake, she could see Nash sitting beneath the window with a laptop, and Noi curled next to the sprawling pile which was Min and Pan. The shoulder she was tucked against belonged to Fisher.

Noi had most likely contrived the swap during a bathroom excursion, and Madeleine decided to be grateful, to enjoy the moment. Fisher had continued to provide a fascinated audience during the portrait sittings, helping her clean up afterwards. Today – yesterday – they’d spent all of the time between the sitting and late afternoon training chatting. He’d avoided talking about himself, instead drawing her out on what still needed to be done on the new portrait, and the chances of a young unknown winning the Archibald Prize, and all her hopes for being able to study full time, to not need to compromise between what she wanted to do and what was likely to earn her a living. About scholarships, and the gaps in her portfolio. She hadn’t meant to talk so much, but Fisher was a good listener, and so interested.

The question was whether his interest was in her, or her art. And if he was pretending to be interested in her painting as a way to get closer to her. She wasn’t sure she would be able to forgive that.

But she still filled a small secret sketchpad with images of him, and worried about how little sleep he got, and wondered whether it would be stupid to suggest they surely had enough time for him to rest occasionally. Her private challenge was to capture how he would pause sometimes to be amused at himself, and it discomforted her, in reviewing these attempts, to see just how much of her own emotions the pictures revealed.

Nash had noticed she was awake, and was smiling at her, at the way she was trying to look at Fisher’s face without moving from his shoulder. Her sketchbooks really weren’t going to tell anybody anything they didn’t already know.

“What’s the time?” she whispered.

“Twenty to one.” Nash’s voice was particularly delicious when he kept it low, and she regretted being unable to find a way to express the sound of him.

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