Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  “I’ll be okay…”

  Nickoli stepped forward. “Please. Anatoly would not want….”

  I whirled to face him. “I don’t care what he would want. I’m going in.”

  “Please, just listen…you don’t know what awaits you on the other side. What if it doesn’t do any good? You’ll be sacrificing yourself for nothing!”

  “I have to at least try. If I don’t, I could never live with myself.” Adrenalin seared into my veins. My heart galloped. My throat went dry. I couldn’t stand to just talk all day about it. I had to go and go now. “Give me a knife.”

  Mila’s eyes went wide. “Cutting into it is dangerous! Demons will escape.”

  I thought for a moment. She was right. “Okay, then I won’t cut it. I’ll paint a doorway instead. Only one that I can use.”

  Nickoli frowned. “But how?”

  “If I create the doorway. I should be able to create how it’s used.” I released a heavy sigh. “Hopefully it will work.”

  Nickoli handed me my palette of paints. I dipped my brush into a chestnut brown and made the outline of a big oak door with a silver handle. I reached for the handle, but nothing happened.

  “I’m sorry,” Mila said. “I know how badly you want to go after him.” Tears flooded her eyes. “And more than anything, I want him back—but some things are not meant to be.”

  I rested both hands on the door and closed my eyes. “Let me in.” I whispered. I imagined all the love I felt for Anatoly. All the kindness and compassion he had shown me. How he had sacrificed himself for the rest of us. Beneath the palms of my hands I felt the canvas soften. Something gave way and I plunged into the painting as Mila’s screams chased after me.

  I plunged into darkness, hands and claws raking at my skin. I slammed to the ground, hardly able to breathe, suffocating in the cold, dark space. So many creatures in such a tight, terrifying place surrounding me. I hated the thoughts of dying alone and terrified. A putrid stench assaulted my nostrils, infiltrated my eyes, causing them to burn and to water. Beyond the darkness, lights flickered. Suddenly I realized the mural was more than what it appeared. Inside was an entire demon village made of tiny passages between filthy huts constructed of human bones. There were merchants, weavers, tanners, jewelers, and livestock pens filled with horrific beasts. Everywhere mayhem ensued, bickering, fighting, and periodically the sound of something wailing in despair.

  Near a dingy hut, Anatoly lay on his back, struggling to get up. Koschei leaned over him, a foot on his chest holding him down. The demon raised his sword, prepared to stab it into Anatoly's heart when Koschei spotted me. He whirled around, eyes narrowed. Nervous sweat poured down my neck. My legs trembled. I had to stop him before he killed Anatoly. As if reading my mind, he glanced at Anatoly and then back at me, smiling with satisfaction.

  “Just in time. I hope you enjoy the show.” Koschei brought the tip of his sword down inches from Anatoly’s chest.

  “Wait!” I screamed.

  Koschei paused.

  “I want to make an exchange. His life for mine.”

  “No,” Anatoly yelled. He struggled to rise but Koschei stood on him, keeping him trapped to the ground. Blood oozed from Anatoly’s injured arm. He looked pale and weak. If the demon didn’t kill him, the blood loss would.

  “It’s a deal,” Koschei said. He released Anatoly and floated near me, moving faster than when he was outside of the painting. His eyes darted to the paintbrush in my hand and then to the doorway in the mural behind me. He paused, his gaze flicked between the brush and the door once again. Koshcei was afraid of something—something that kept him from coming closer. My heart leapt. I raised my brush like a weapon and aimed it at him. He backed away and Anatoly scrambled to my side.

  Shrieks came from all around us as Koschei’s army drew near.

  “Back off—come any closer and I’ll seal the door, then no one gets out. I took a step closer, dipping the brush into the paint. Koschei's bushy eyebrows narrowed. He held up a hand to stop his demon army, fury sizzled in his dark eyes. Behind him creatures from the depths of hell dragged themselves near.

  Anatoly raised his sword, kicking and swinging at the stray demons creeping around us. Koschei suddenly lunged forward and latched onto my neck. His boney hands cut into my windpipe, choking the air out of me. Anatoly raised his sword, cutting off one of Kochei’s arms. But the demon still held on with the other, I smeared my palette loaded with paint into Koschei’s face. He flew back, shrieking and flapping.

  “Come!” Anatoly said. “Hurry! We must get out now.”

  I placed my hand on the door, beckoning it to open just as Koschei's army of demons rushed us.

  I pressed a hand on the door and extended the other to Anatoly. “Quick, give me your hand.”

  Anatoly sheathed his sword and reached for me just as a creature sprang forward, twisted yellow fingernails dug into my leg, raking at my ankle as Anatoly and I fell through the door and onto the stone floor in front of the mural. Mila screamed as one of the creatures slipped through. A hideous looking beast, hunched back with a pig-like nose with scraps of hide and flesh for clothes. The creature growled and lunged forward. Anatoly got to his feet and stumbled forward to raise his sword one last time, but fell to the ground instead.

  Nickoli swung his whip at the creature, snapping it as it sliced through the air. He caught the demon around the neck and forced it to its knees.

  Anatoly got to his knees, raised his sword, decapitating the beast. Green ooze spurted from the severed creature’s neck before it collapsed onto the floor again, his sword clattering away. I dropped to my knees beside him. Anatoly’s lips were pale. He’d lost so much blood I wondered if there was anything left to pump to his heart. Mila tied off the wound, cleaning it with some bottled water and adding herbs to the bandage.

  “We have to get him to a doctor, now!”

  Anatoly sat halfway up. “No. You stopped the bleeding. I will be better now.” His big, dark eyes found mine. “Thank you, Natasha, for coming after me. You should not have done it.”

  “I couldn’t leave you trapped in that painting.” I bit back a flood of emotions. “I know you would have done the same for me.”

  He struggled to get up.

  Nickoli helped Anatoly to his feet. We hurried out of the catacombs, relieved to leave the mural behind. I glanced back at it one last time feeling a hundred evil eyes watching us as we left it behind.

  It all seemed so unreal—but it wasn’t. Someday I’d have to face Koschei and the mural again. Life teaches us to move on, to keep pressing forward, and that is what I intended to do. I wanted to explore Russia, to learn more about the culture, and most of all the art.

  When Anatoly had recovered we celebrated with a picnic near the river. Mila made lemonade and juicy chicken sandwiches. I loved the way she laughed, lying on a wool blanket in the grass with her head resting in Nickoli’s lap. She was always happy now, always smiling. They talked about getting married and of the future they planned together. Even if we were stuck here in this village. At least we would all be happy together.

  I hiked a short distance from everyone else and set up my easel and canvas. A soft breeze cooled the back of my neck as I studied the others. I loved painting them all, capturing moments I never wanted to forget. Creating images of Anatoly in a rare moment of laughter, or Mila and Nickoli sitting together.

  “There’s someone missing in this painting.” Anatoly put his hand on my shoulder. I gazed up at him and smiled. I turned my attention back to the canvas and dipped my brush into a fleshy color to make the oval of my face, dipped the brush again, and made the outline of my eyes and lips—my smile. I worked until I had all of me, standing near Anatoly with his big arm wrapped around my shoulder.

  “There,” Anatoly said. “That is better.”

  I nodded. “I think this will be my favorite painting of all.”

  Anatoly frowned. “Why is that? I am sure you will paint many beautiful pieces.”


  “Maybe, but none as good as this one because each and every one of us has a reason to be happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been truly happy before. But I feel it now. Even after all we’ve been through.”

  Anatoly walked around to face me, kneeling in front of me. “Do I make you happy?”

  My cheeks flamed. “Yes, you make me very happy.”

  He leaned forward, pressed his lips to mine. I pulled away and stared up at him in utter shock. “You just kissed me?”

  He smiled. “Yes, and I plan on doing it again.”

  “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  Anatoly shrugged. “The rules are clear, but they say nothing about kissing. Kissing is fair game.”

  He leaned in again and I pulled back. “Yeah, but isn’t it pretty clear about you having a relationship with me—other than a protector?”

  Anatoly paused. “When you decided to throw yourself into painting, you were following heart not brain. Now I do same thing. Now you will kiss me again. Please.”

  I leaned forward again and he pulled me closer. All I knew was the two of us at that moment. Everything else dissolved as I succumbed to the gentle domination of his lips.

  When he released me, I leaned my head against his broad chest listening to the steady, calming beat of his heart. I thought about all that had happened, about Chuck and Bambi. I realized Chuck really had loved me, he had his motives for bringing me back here, but he could have just kidnapped me or forced me to return to Russia. But he didn’t. He waited until he was sure I was ready, nurtured the broken pieces inside of me. And maybe Chuck knew if I returned to Russia, I would meet three of the best friends I would ever have and gain a real family. People who meant something to me.

  There would always be a part of me that missed Seattle, the city at night, the market place. There was even a part of me that missed Bambi—I wanted to forgive her for what she had done—but I wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe someday. I wondered if she’d been given a chance, gotten away at seventeen and experienced what I had found here, friendship and love, if her life would have been different.

  Maybe next summer I’d return to Seattle and take Anatoly with me. But only when we could be sure it was safe to leave the mural. I’d visit Bambi in prison and see if she’d changed. I’d do it for me more than her. I would be forever grateful to Chuck for the new life he gave me and the chance to find happiness.

  I would strive always to make him proud.

  I would like to thank everyone at Clean Teen Publishing for making Moonflower come alive in print. I would like to thank my boss Dale McGarvey for his continued support and all my critique friends and family. One final thank you to my editors: Emily White, Cindy Davis, and Mariah McGarvey.

  Angela Townsend was born in the beautiful Rocky Mountains of Missoula, Montana. As a child, Angela grew up listening to stories told by her grandparents, ancient tales and legends of faraway places. Influenced by her Irish and Scottish heritage, Angela became an avid research historian, specializing in Celtic mythology. Her gift for storytelling finally led her to a full time career in historical research and writing. A writer in local community circulations, Angela is also a published genealogical and historical resource writer who has taught numerous research seminars. Currently, Angela divides her time between writing, playing Celtic music on her fiddle, and Irish dancing.

  Angela resides on a ranch, in rural Northwestern Montana, with her two children Levi and Grant.

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