Evie's Knight Page 2

  The next canvas took its place on the easel, seizing Evie’s attention at first glance. The compelling sketch of a woman’s face seemed to rise from the thin, matted board beneath. The beauty of the subject was undeniable. The talent of the artist was beyond.

  She sat up straighter. A fresh burst of interest stirred within her like a frigid breeze, awakening all of her senses. Immediately she thought of the Goth in the corner; it had to be his.

  “Materials?” the professor asked, standing beside the easel.

  Evie’s voice came out louder than she meant it to. “Chalk pastel. Black.”

  “And what do we see? On the surface.”

  “A psycho-looking lady,” the jock called from up front.

  “Let’s go with that,” the professor said. “What makes the woman in this picture appear, as you put it, psycho? She’s beautiful, is she not?”

  What the professor said was true. High cheekbones, flawless skin, and lashes that put Evie’s out of the running. She couldn’t actually figure an age for the woman; no wrinkles lined her heart-shaped face, yet the depth of many years loomed beneath her eyes. Still, as attractive as each rather bold feature may have been, the whole of it created a truly fearsome being.

  “Her hair is creepy,” one said. “It’s so black and wild. Like it’s alive.” Evie nodded in agreement. In fact, the twisting ropes of her hair reached all four corners of the page.

  “Her lips,” another said. “They look more like thin, poisonous snakes. She’s deadly, yet she’s smiling.”

  In Evie’s mind, they’d neglected the most capturing detail. “Her eyes,” she blurted. “They look back at you in the most loaded way. Like she knows you. Loathes you.”

  The loud guy sitting next to her tapped her arm. “I wouldn’t want to get on that chick’s bad side.” Though the students chuckled in mumbled agreement, the distinct truth of his words bubbled within her like a venomous brew; surely crossing paths with that woman could be deadly. She kept her gaze on the image, firm and unyielding, and let the dark beauty lure her into some evil place of foreboding. A numb, almost tingling silence descended upon the room as the black, shining spheres of the woman’s eyes consumed her. Bold, ebony lengths of her hair slithered menacingly along the canvas.

  A lucid thought told Evie she’d become deeply mesmerized, as if captured by some dark spell. She swallowed the dryness from her throat, working to break her gaze from the picture, when one last detail drew her in even further. The snake-like lips moved as a sharp hiss snapped two pointed words in Evie’s ear.

  He’s mine!

  She flinched, a slick sort of hum scurrying up her back like an electric eel, cool and jolting. Shifting in her seat once more, she let out a jagged breath, feeling as if she’d just come up for air. It took her a moment to remember that Calvin was sitting directly behind her. He’d definitely seen her jump in her seat. The whole room had probably seen it. Great. I must look crazy to everyone.

  The water bottle in her bag seemed like a solid distraction. She twisted off the cap and took a swig of the cool drink, trying desperately to shake off the effects of the drawing. Evie had never seen a sketch like the one at the front of the room. Never been so affected by a simple piece of art. Mona Lisa held a secret. That woman did too. A dangerous one.

  Calvin had spoken up on a few pieces, yet with this one he remained quiet and still. Or maybe he had commented on it. Perhaps she’d been so wrapped up in the haunting image she’d missed it entirely. Already, Professor Milton had removed the piece and was putting a new one in its place, which wasn’t hers, thank goodness.

  She tilted her head to speak over her shoulder. “Let me guess, ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yep. Not mine. My great grandfather’s.”

  “What?”

  “Actually, my great, great grandfather’s.”

  Genuine shock gripped her as she spun around to look at him. “That was your piece?”

  He nodded, a wry smile owning his face as he huddled closer, lowering his voice even more. “Just an old family legend my grandpa used to tell. He thought the Knight men were cursed by this Raven-haired Ghost. Used to scare the crap out of us as kids.”

  She eyed the teacher before responding. “I can see why. She scares the crap out of me now. That picture was…” She shook her head. “Beyond real for me.” In truth the piece had terrified her. Made her feel like some delusional lunatic on the verge of a breakdown–hearing voices and all.

  The final critique played out, and Professor Milton addressed the class. Evie remained in a thoughtful stupor, nearly missing everything he said. Chairs slid against wood, and the students came to a stand, shuffling their way toward the door.

  “See you Wednesday.” Calvin’s low, husky voice had interrupted her thoughts, but by the time she looked back he was lost in the crowd.

  Her gaze fell to the stack of canvases piled on the desk. Yeah. Wednesday.

  Chapter Three

  As Evie pulled into the quiet drive, the afternoon sun slipped silently behind a thick bed of clouds, dismally wandering from view. The lush, green grass surrounding her house was slightly overgrown. She tugged off her pumps and let the cool, velvety blades cushion her aching feet while heading toward the porch. If only she were taller–she’d live in flats.

  The weathered wood groaned beneath her feet as Evie made her way up the steps. She felt almost sad for the old porch; flakes of white paint chipped away as the days moved on, and there wasn’t a paint job in sight.

  Just as she opened the creaky screen door, a burst of wind kicked up in an angry whirl, slamming the door shut once again. The porch swing rocked violently, the massive wind forcing the metal frame to bash against the house.

  Evie dropped her shoes and gripped the chalky rim of a large terracotta pot next to the door. A dried, yellowed plant rattled loosely in its soil bed as she tugged the heavy pot with a series of forceful grunts. After propping the swing against the house, she turned to look over her shoulder, certain a dark shadow had drifted across the porch.

  No one was there. She spun in full circle, assuring herself of the fact, and shook her head. Calvin’s picture must’ve freaked her out more than she wanted to admit. Geeze, Evie, get a grip.

  With a tight hold on the door handle, she shimmied into the house, closed it snugly behind her, and focused on the task at hand. Earlier, she’d skipped her morning run and opted for more sleep instead. Now she was glad about it; the weather was irresistible. Running in the rain always invigorated her, especially the fresh, sweet-smelling start of it.

  Evie rushed through the living room and kitchen without hitting a single light. Since no one was home, she unbuttoned her blouse on her way downstairs and dropped her skirt while entering her room. In mere moments she was in running clothes and pulling on socks. After taking the stairs two at a time, Evie slid the hairband from her wrist and pulled her hair into a high pony.

  The first cool drops splashed along the back of her neck as she laced up her running shoes on the back porch. After jogging through the field behind her home, she reached the high school track. Metal bleachers lined the long, narrow row of stairs that led to the tarred, oval-shaped course. Giant, leafy trees lined the outskirts of the arena while the football field–a spacious gully of lush-looking grass–rested in the center. All stood green and thriving, seeming to breathe life into her as she picked up the pace.

  Events from the day wove through her mind, Calvin and his dark art taking the lead. Visions of the black-haired woman seared a vicious pattern into her brain. The strange hiss replayed in her head again and again. Though she’d chosen not to tell Kelly about what happened, Evie had spent the drive home assuring herself the voice was real. Only now, with the fresh, rain-misted air to clear her senses, she wasn’t so sure.

  She thought about Calvin next, still unable to believe it was him who’d actually drawn the haunting image. My grandfather thought the Knight men were cursed, he had said. Calvin hadn’t believed it himself. Yet every
time Evie thought back on the image, a strange force–as dark and foreboding as the art itself–clung to her skin like a layer of tainted smoke.

  She hated associating that darkness with Calvin, and forced herself to focus on something more pleasant. Like their encounter at the gas station. Each time she remembered the way he’d looked at her–the deep, capturing appearance of his smoldering eyes–a warm dose of pulsing heat spread through her body. He was so … affecting.

  A distant crash of thunder brought her back to the present. Evie welcomed the distraction. Enough thinking about Calvin for one day. Too much, in fact. She was becoming obsessed. With a disappointed sigh, she looked out to the west; the storm had settled over the Great Salt Lake, leaving no more than a measly splatter of tiny drops in its wake.

  Evie beat her dad home and threw her barely damp clothes in the washer, knowing it was time to do some laundry. After pulling on a comfy pair of PJ bottoms and a snug tee, she hauled more clothes up to the wash and scanned the pantry. She’d been dying to try out a couple of new recipes, but they’d have to settle for fast and easy. A can of tomato soup stood out among the boxes and packages–it’d have to do.

  The screen door creaked open, and a gust of cool wind swept through the kitchen. “Evie,” her dad called.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  The cold air followed him into the room as he tugged out of his suit coat and ran a hand over his dark, peppered hair. His gaze fell to the stovetop. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got it.” The buttered slices of bread sizzled as she dropped them onto the heated pan. She piled shredded cheese onto the slices. “Just going simple today.”

  Her dad rolled his unbuttoned sleeves up to his elbows and washed up at the sink. “Simple’s good. Looks great.”

  Yellowed light poured from the dangling fixture over the kitchen table as she set down the steaming bowls of soup. Dad smacked the back of the remote and pointed it at the TV. He tapped the volume down a bit and looked at her.

  “How’s school?”

  Well, I got hissed at by some crazed witch. Just a sketched one, of course. She shrugged. “Good, I guess. We’re analyzing each other’s work in art. Like, they put it in front of the class and every one says what they think of it.”

  He stirred at his soup. “Are they constructive? Polite?”

  “Not always,” she said.

  “Have they critiqued yours yet?”

  Evie shook her head.

  “Which one is it? The one of the front porch?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled. “You dreading it?”

  “Totally. At least I’m off the hook until Wednesday.”

  With a knowing nod, he looked up at the TV and clicked the volume back up.

  “How’s work?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond her to the screen. “What was that?”

  “Work going all right?”

  Looking back to her, he exhaled a slow, drawn out breath. “Work’s not too bad. Had a suicidal teen at the home today. Spoke with both him and the parents.” He stirred at his soup some more. “Think we might have made some progress.”

  She nodded in reply, hoping he wouldn’t elaborate. Why anyone would want to specialize in teen psychology was beyond her. Evie was nearly out of her teens, and she was still a mess.

  With a contented sigh, she turned her attention to the blaring box and pretended to watch the news with him. Yet every few bites or so, she’d check the time, knowing the newspaper would be there soon.

  Once her dad finished the rest of his soup, Evie stood up. “You done?” She hovered her empty bowl over his.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The dishes clanked as she stacked them together, dropping both spoons into one bowl. After placing them in the sink, she slipped into the front room and creaked open the screen door. A cool rush of wind swept over her body as she stepped onto the porch to grab the paper. Evie latched the door closed, wiping her damp feet on the carpet while a burning anxiety seeped into her core.

  The rain-splattered bag hit the ground as she yanked the rubber band off the crisp roll, hurrying to the coffee table. After dropping to her knees with a thud, Evie flattened the paper, searching the index as her heart thrummed like the tick of an explosive bomb.

  Obituaries–7C.

  The tips of her fingers felt clumsy and numb as she flipped through the pages, chanting the destination in her head. 7C, 7C. Page after page of printed text meant nothing to her. All that mattered–everything she needed to know in that heightened moment would be on that one page.

  She couldn’t take in the diverse names–the foreign faces–fast enough. After a hurried glance at each obituary, she read the names a second time, slowly, thoroughly checking each picture–absorbing every female face. By her third survey of the entire section, the rigid tension drained from her limbs.

  Mom’s still alive, wherever she is.

  Her dad cleared his throat, announcing himself as he entered the room. His gaze dropped to the open page, concern framing his deep blue eyes. Evie hadn’t missed the subtle, disapproving shake of his head. He glanced back at her, and she placed the expression in an instant. He was giving her the exact look he’d given the new disposal the other night when, upon installing it, the thing still leaked beneath the sink. The flustered expression of, I’ve done all I can do, and it’s still broken. In this case, ‘it’ was his own daughter.

  “Are you done with that?” he asked.

  She stood up, straightened her back, proud and unrepentant. “Yep. Done.”

  Chapter Four

  The sight of the dagger ripped a hollow gasp from Calvin’s throat. Blood, deep and crimson, oozed down the gold blade. He knew–before even looking–that it was Evie’s blood.

  Breathless strides took him closer to the delicate girl, lying pale and lifeless on the altar. He glared at the Raven-haired Ghost hunched over her form. “You killed her.”

  With eyes as dark as the death in her wake, the demon scowled at Calvin, and spat words so haunting they tore him from sleep. “No, Calvin. You killed her.”

  Calvin jerked into consciousness, compelled by the horror–the sheer terror of what he’d seen. Of what he’d heard. He took in the darkness around him, panting for breath, and ran a hand through the damp strands of his dark hair. He peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. “Stupid sketch,” he mumbled, shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed. He dropped his head back onto the pillow, cursing Grandpa Knight and his wild stories.

  It’d been years since Calvin had feared the ominous Raven-haired Ghost, and now, after drawing a likeness of the beast, relating the tale in short to Evie Wylder, the unwelcome terror had gripped him once more.

  But only in sleep, he vowed, closing his eyes again. He was no longer a child, a naïve believer of impossible tales. He pushed all thoughts of the demon out of his mind, wishing he could conjure a pleasant image of Evie. Her innocent beauty and capturing smile. Yet all he could see was the violent image of blood and horror. He pushed it aside and waited as the hours passed, anxious to see Evie once more. Desperate to replace the vision in his mind.

  ***

  “Ready to see your lover boy today?”

  “Shh.” Evie looked over her shoulder. A mass of students scurried across the foyer of the art building. “Seriously, Kelly. He could be anywhere.” They filtered into the bright bathroom, each taking a stall, and met at the sink to wash their hands.

  Evie straightened her shirt over the waist of her jeans. The yellow tone of fluorescent light took the blue out of her eyes, leaving only a sea of green. For a brief moment she wondered if her mom’s eyes did that too–teetered between the two colors.

  “I’m dying to skip art today,” Kelly said.

  Evie slid some Chapstick over her lips, blotted them together. “Why?”

  “Cuz I feel like crud. Plus I’ve got this gargantuan zit.” Kelly thrust her chin toward the glass. “Ugh. Let’s bolt
.”

  “You know what? Maybe we should skip.”

  Kelly’s eyes widened as she chewed at her lip ring, the way she always did when something excited her. “Wait. Did Evie Wylder actually say we should ditch class?”

  Evie sighed, wondering if she really had it in her to skip. She only had art three times a week, and she didn’t want to wait until Friday to see Calvin again. Still, she’d just barely managed to rid herself of the ugly darkness that followed her home on Monday and if she returned to class now, the looming fog might come creeping back. She wanted more time. A bit of distance to keep her head straight.

  Kelly cleared her throat. “You going to tell me why you want to skip?”

  She thought of another reason, a less complicated one. “They’re critiquing my art in class today. I know it’s going to suck.”

  “I forgot about that,” Kelly said. “They’ll probably do mine too, but I don’t want to miss it.”

  Evie gave her a sideways glance as she pushed open the heavy door, raising her voice over the hallway chaos. “You don’t?”

  “No way. I want to see if they can make sense of my painting. I’m telling you, it’s epic.”

  “I wish you would have shown…” Evie let the sentence die as she watched Kelly’s gaze move slowly from the center to the corner of her eyes. “Who are you looking at?”

  Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “Your boyfriend. He’s with Conehead.”

  “Who?” Evie knew the boyfriend part was in reference to Calvin, though it was nowhere near the truth, but she had no idea who Conehead was. She flipped around to see the mean little redhead from art nudged up beside him as he strolled toward class. A wave of jealous heat spilled over her skin.

  “That girl is evil,” Kelly growled. “Trust me–I’ve got biology with her and she is vicious. Better not let her get her paws on your man.”

  Evie had already seen as much for herself, but she didn’t bother saying it aloud. “Conehead?”