The Rose Witch - Chandelle LaVaun Page 0,9
the goosebumps, but the chill still clung to my bones. My whole body still felt like it was buzzing with electricity. My hands were still shaking. I needed to call my grandmother and let her know I had arrived, but then my gaze landed on the wall across from me lined with books. Our miniature library, it was just a small sample of what we had in the main library but it still filled a fifteen-foot-tall wall. I sprinted over and grabbed the first book my fingertips touched, then flipped it open. Golden light shot straight up into my face. I cursed and leaned away and my stomach dropped.
It happened again.
Holographic images of soldiers with swords that were so lifelike they looked real popped up from within the pages of the book and moved. Like they were acting out whichever war the book was about. I slammed it shut and shoved it back into its spot, then hurried a few feet over to grab a different one. Then another. And another. Each one I pulled off the shelf came to life when I opened it. My hands were shaking and my pulse was beating out of control.
I pushed my hands into my hair and tugged. What is happening to me? I stumbled backward, just staring at the wall of books like the answer to this madness was written on the spines, but then my legs hit something hard and I crashed onto the sofa. My head bounced off the plush cream cushion. I groaned and rolled onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut as I gripped the edge of the sofa for dear life. Just breathe. This isn’t real. None of this is real.
And if it is real there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it.
A voice echoed down the hall and my eyes flew open. I sat up and glanced around the room. “Granny? Mum?”
Silence.
I pressed my fingers to my temples and pushed. Hard. Something moved in my peripheral vision. I sat up straight…only to find myself still alone. I frowned and let my gaze sweep left to right, then right to — I gasped.
Across the room from me, on the far wall that led into the kitchen, three massive paintings hung within metallic gold trim on white walls. The frames of each were as thick as my arm and shinier than a brand-new penny. And they were moving. Just like the books…and the paintings in the bookstore…and the one I somehow walked through.
I jumped to my feet and sprinted over. It had to be a trick. The most elaborate prank ever. By whom, I had no idea, yet it had to be the answer. Even as I got up close, the images still moved – in fact, they were moving more. Perhaps it’s some sort of projection rubbish? Yeah. That has to be it. Technology these days is rather advanced. But then I pressed my fingers to the painting and instantly felt the rough surface of canvas. The picture moved beneath my fingertips. My breath left me in a rush and I stumbled back a few steps.
The paintings were all gorgeous…and custom made. All of the artwork in the estate was. All made for Lancasters over the centuries and preserved by our own family. Kept for ourselves. I knew for a fact many of them had been privately commissioned by prestigious artists in history. Hell, the mural on the ceiling was supposedly done by Michelangelo himself.
I swallowed roughly and looked up at the painting in front of me…and shook my head. This one depicted an elegant, beautiful woman with long golden hair and a dress made of white. Her entire body seemed to be glowing. A man knelt in front of her, holding up a single red rose. Normally the woman’s fingers were pressed under his chin – the endearing pose frozen in time. Yet now she smiled down at him and brushed her fingers through his hair. He smelled the rose, then lifted it higher toward her face. It looked so real, like I was watching a 3D show.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out to touch the blades of grass under their feet that swayed in a nonexistent breeze— and landed on the ground beside him. I scrambled back to my feet, then spun around. A few feet in front of me was a small rectangle with our living room inside of it. A cold chill slid down my spine. I gasped and turned back — and