“Oh, Macy, that’s awesome. That’s how I feel about Jaxon, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like it doesn’t matter that he’s this badass vamp. It only matters that he’s Jaxon.”
“You certainly know how to kill a mood, don’t you?” Hudson snarks from where he’s sitting on top of my dresser. “I think I need a dose of insulin after all that sweetness.”
“Bite me,” I answer with a roll of my eyes in his direction, and Macy grins.
“If you keep saying that, one of these days I’m going to take you up on that offer,” he tells me.
“I’ll worry about that after you actually get some teeth,” I shoot back.
“Wow. Looks like you don’t have that problem,” he tells me, all mock hurt. But there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes that he doesn’t even try to hide. “Maybe I’ll borrow some of yours. Sounds like you’ve got plenty of teeth to go around.”
“Yeah, I do.” I snap said teeth at him. “My gargoyle fangs may not be as badass as yours, but they get the job done. You should probably remember that.”
“I remember everything about you,” he tells me, and there’s something in his voice, and his face, that has me turning toward him, wanting to ask…I don’t know what exactly. But definitely something.
“Okay,” Macy says with a groan that breaks the sudden tension between Hudson and me. “Class starts in half an hour, so it’s definitely a glamour day.”
I smile at her, relaxed and happy for the first time in weeks.
At least until Macy sticks her head around the wall that separates the sink from the rest of the room and says, “Don’t forget we have that assembly today.”
“What assembly?” I ask as I reach for my uniform skirt and a purple tank top.
“The one where we get the bloodstone, silly.” She peeks around the wall that separates the bathroom from the rest of the room. “The vampire king wants to do it with all the pomp and circumstance.”
And just like that, my good mood shatters. And so does Hudson’s, if the very British curses he’s tossing out are any indication…
88
Subconsciously Yours
Several hours later, it’s time for art class, and I can’t help the bounce in my step. I’ve been itching to finish the painting I started when I first got back. I still have no idea where it’s going, but it’s calling to me. And so is the fact that I need a finished product for my midterm grade.
Before I start, I do what I always do. I arrange my tools exactly how I like them, small, fine ones near the front; bigger ones near the back; all the colors of the rainbow right in front of me. And then I start to paint.
At least today I have a picture in my mind of what I want to paint. Before, it was just a desperate drive to get the background colors right. But today…today I have an image. I don’t know where it came from or where I’ve seen it before—or if it’s something from the three and a half months I have no memory of—but wherever it’s from, it’s clear as day. I don’t need answers to the other questions yet. Not when I can simply paint what I see.
And so I do, mixing color after color, shade after shade, until all the variations of blue and gray and black and white combine on the canvas in front of me. I layer the shades carefully, one tiny color distinction after another, until they form a picture so tightly painted that one tone is practically indistinguishable from another. Until trying to get through the painting means unraveling every single shade of every single color.
I work for hours—well after art class is over—until my hands are sore and my shoulders and biceps are on fire. And still I keep going, still I keep painting, layer after layer after layer, until the picture in my head slowly comes to life on the canvas.
Hudson wakes up from a nap in the middle of the painting, and I expect him to argue with me about the right shade of black again.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me with unfathomable eyes…and an oddly gentle look on his face.
When it’s finally complete, when I’m finally convinced I’ve done the picture in my mind justice, I put down the paintbrushes. And nearly weep with the relief that comes from lowering my arms.