Page 67 of Things Get Dark
But not this time. I know this kind of art is supposed to trick your eye, mess with your perception. But I’m sure the intricately painted figures aren’t supposed to actually be moving.
Chapter Two
It’s the smallest thing.A flicker of a smile. That’s all. I look away, my breath caught in my lungs, banging on the walls, desperate to be let out. Around me the world seems normal. Well, as close to normal as I generally allow myself. My stomach still feels unearthed, unanchored. Dr Kaung’s words come to mind, and I try to follow her advice. But instead of searching for five things that are red or naming three things I can hear, I count the floor tiles. Something steady and rhythmic will help.
One, two, three…
Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-si—
“You must be Jamie Stewart.”
I leap to attention, pulling down my suit jacket with one hand and thrusting out the other. My eyes settle on—
“Augustus Grant.” My voice is about five octaves too high and may or may not have cracked in the middle there.
He smiles indulgently and shakes my hand. “How are you enjoying the party?” he asks.
I don’t want to lie and say I’m having a nice time. But I also can’t say that my anxiety is making my skin crawl, and I don’t have anything in common with his other guests. So I opt for something true but non-committal.
“Your house is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”
He smiles graciously, steps forward, and… fixes my tie. I freeze. It’s so unexpected and so intimate. Also, Augustus Grant is touching me. I do a stellar job of impersonating a statue, waiting for it be over. He’s handsome for sure, but this is too much.
“That’s exceptionally kind.” He lets go of my tie and steps back, then eyes me up and down like he’s judging how much he might be able to sell me for.
“Mr Grant—”
“Call me Augustus.”
“Augustus…” His name tastes strange in my mouth, but maybe that’s the remnants of the Palma violets. “What am I doing here?”
“Only you can answer that. Why would you accept such an invitation?” His voice, smooth as silk, glides across my skin, whisper-soft, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Why did you send me the invitation?”
“Same reason you accepted it. Curiosity.”
“A-About me?”
He nods.
“What could you possibly be curious about?” I ask.
“I find there’s always something about us that piques the inquisitive nature of others. For you, it’s your art.”
I’m taken aback by this. I didn’t realise anyone outside my immediate circles was even aware of my art apart from the handful of people who attended a local exhibition last year.
“My art?” My voices comes out wavy, and my gaze falls to my shoes. I definitely should have polished and waxed them befo—
“Yes. You have promise, you know. We never know how our creations can impact the lives of others. Gifts have an obligation to be shared.”
I glance up and fall into his eyes. Everything around us blurs. His face is my entire world. High cheekbones, strong brows, perfect teeth. He’s the epitome of male beauty.
“And you have a gift.” His words dance in a captivating melody, swirling, inviting.
“I-I do?” I really wish my voice would stop quivering.
“You do. I hope this evening you’ll discover a way to bring yourself to share it.”