The Artisans

by Julie Reece

  I squirm under his weight until I’m able to sit. He allows it, but won’t release my hand.

  “To think I almost let you leave …” His head hangs with his long breath. “I’m a complete and total ass.”

  “Not arguing.”

  His lips quirk, the humor reflected in his eyes. “You do realize it took me all of ten seconds once you walked away for me to wake up to what I’d done. I can’t let you go, though I should. If I were unselfish enough I would, but you make me want to be different, better. I’m new at this. Forgive me.”

  “It’s not about forgiving you. I’ve seen what you are underneath your family’s influence.” Dark waves of hair shield my face as I duck my head. When Gideon pushes my hair back, I turn away. “I know I’m right about the people in those pictures. When you let them go, you free yourself. I hope you will, because you could be happy.” I smile but it comes out weak and tired. “I’d love to see you happy, Gideon Maddox, but …” My thighs burn as I push to a stand. “You were right about one thing. You and me … it’s not going to work.”

  Gideon shoots to his feet. “You’re wrong.”

  He takes a step forward as I step back. “Am I?” I laugh, the sound so cold it scares me. “That’s not the message you were sending when you gave me your back in the cellar. Actually, ever since I got here. Women are disposable, something to collect and discard when you’re bored.” His nostrils do the bull-flaring thing again, but I’m immune. “Two days ago, we kissed. Big deal.” I shrug. “There was a minute or two where I thought we had something special, different. I was wrong. You were right. We’re better off apart.”

  “I see.” With a head toss, he shakes the curls from his eyes. His expression is calm but calculating. I see the wheels turning in that gorgeous head of his and it’s got me worried. “I’ll make a deal with you. Stay. Help me release the people trapped by my forefathers. After we’ve done that, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

  Gideon’s good at making deals. He ought to be, he’s been groomed by his father since childhood. With the instincts of a hunter, he sees what he wants and goes right for the jugular.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He’s trying not to smile when he answers. “I know.”

  I fight not to punch him in the nose.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gideon turns from me and walks to the polished, antique camera sitting on a tripod in the corner of the room.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes.” He lifts the camera from its base and holds it over his head. His biceps bulge under the sleeves of his form-fitting T-shirt. “Here goes nothing.”

  Without hesitating, a downward thrust and the camera rockets toward the hard floor. Wood splits and glass shatters as it crashes. No longer a means of imprisoning people, or even a priceless heirloom, the camera is no more. It sits in a pitiful heap on the floor in ruins.

  “Well?”

  “Hang on.” I spin around. “Cole. Cole can you hear me? Are you here?” Nothing happens as we wait. “Gideon!” I dare to hope. “We did it. We—”

  Raven …

  Damn. Peering over my shoulder, I watch as Cole floats into the room. “Aw, you’re still here.”

  “You can see him?” Gideon asks.

  “Yes.” My voice is soft with disappointment and pity.

  “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  Cole winks at me, and I smile. “He’s over here, by the door.” I answer without turning. “By the way, Cole says you’re as big an ass as you ever were.” When I step back, I bump into a wall. Firm and steady, the wall gives, and I dare a peek up at Gideon.

  “Very funny. Ask him if he’s good for anything besides insulting me. Does he know how to break the curse?”

  “He may, but I don’t think he can tell us. He’s bound by it somehow …” Cole nods. He grins as though he’s proud of me. In a fluid motion, he glides until he’s right in front of me. “But anything you can tell us might help.”

  “Why are you whispering?” Gideon demands.

  “I don’t know.” When Cole rubs his chin, a cocky smirk appears. I giggle. I can’t help it.

  You want me … admit it. Just wait until I have my body back.

  I blush.

  Gideon heaves an impatient breath. “And are you looking at him? Right now?”

  “Yes.” I pause. Gideon obviously can’t hear Cole either. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like how you’re looking at him.” Seconds tick by. “Raven? Raven!” The more pissed off Gideon’s voice becomes, the wider Cole’s grin. “Tell him I’m going to bring him back, just so I can kick his ass all the way back to England. And tell him to stop flirting with you, or I’ll kill him. And tell him—”

  He can try.

  “Cole can hear you, Gideon.” I face him. “Destroying the camera didn’t work, what about the pictures themselves?”

  “Let’s try.”

  Gideon and I race from the west to east wing in eleven point four seconds, awkward in my combat-boots, black tights, and black lace skirt. Cole floats behind us. I’ll never get used to the creepy way he gets around.

  When we reach the framed photos on the east wing landing, Gideon rests his cane near a delicate side table covered with china vases. He lifts the old photos one by one from the walls and hands them down to me.

  “Find the one of Cole,” I say. His picture is third from the end, the handsome boy in his crisp, white shirt. Man, does he need a makeover, and I have the perfect clothes for him.

  Gideon scowls as he disengages the frame wire from its hook on the wall.

  Tell Gideon if he keeps making that face, it will stick like that.

  “Do you have a death wish?” I ask.

  “What?” Gideon says.

  “Nothing, I was talking to Cole.”

  “Well, stop.” He angles his head away, glowering into an empty space on the landing. “You don’t talk to her, Wynter. Understand?” Gideon raises Cole’s picture over his head. His arm muscles flex. The planes of his chest show through his snug T-shirt in a way that sucks ten points from my IQ.

  I back away and hunker down against the balustrade. Gideon hurls the picture to the floor. Tiny shards of glass fly in all directions. They glitter under the glowing candles of the chandelier, hover for one promise-filled moment, and then fall with a hush onto the carpeting.

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “That’s it?” I ask.

  “What were you expecting?” Gideon’s mouth tips up at the ends.

  “Purple smoke, a big bang … something.”

  His eyes glint with humor. “No such luck. Is Cole finally gone, I hope?”

  I face the brunette boy wavering beside me. His shoulders sag, his large eyes so full of sorrow I reach for his hand. “I’m sorry.” I have no idea if he can feel my touch, but I want him to know how much I care. I whip around as another thought hits me. “What happens when you take their pictures, Gideon?”

  “Not much.” He kneels sifting through the wrecked picture. “A flash of light, a long hissing noise … then there’s the process of developing.” He runs his fingers through his hair the way he does when he’s frustrated.

  “What happens to their bodies?” I ask.

  Gideon’s head snaps up. “What did you say?” His eyes flash wildly.

  Confused, I hesitate, unsure if I’ve said something wrong. “Their bodies … what happens to them afterward?”

  Gideon leaps over the mangled picture and grabs me by both arms. He hauls me to my feet as his head descends.

  When I open my mouth to ask what the hell he’s doing, his lips crush mine. His strong arms wrap my waist. One hand moves up my back, pressing me against his hard frame, the other moves south, to my hip. My lips part, allowing him to deepen our kiss. Our breath mingles. I’m lost in his sweet scent of black licorice and spices.

  “You’re a genius,” he says, when he finally lifts h
is head. The words hum against my lips. I have to agree if whatever I said causes this reaction from him. When I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him in for another kiss, he groans, sending my pulse into overdrive. He nips at my lower lip, then runs a line of kisses along my jaw to my ear. His rough breathing has my eyes rolling back.

  “Tell me what I did, so I can do it again,” I whisper.

  Must I be subjected to this?

  I startle and jerk away. “Cole! Sorry. Really. I forgot you were there.”

  “I didn’t.” Gideon grins like the Cheshire.

  I face him again. “You ambushed me. That kiss doesn’t change a thing between us.”

  Gideon smiles, grabs my hand, and tugs. “Oh, things changed, but I won’t elaborate on what right now.” My mouth drops. “Come on. I know what to do.” He retrieves his cane off the credenza. “Let’s free your little playmate and send him on his way.”

  I’m jogging to keep up, but Cole has no trouble.

  “When you mentioned the bodies, I got an idea. My father may have given me the answer without me knowing.”

  “That sounds promising,” I pant.

  “When I was a kid, my father gave me this twenty-dollar gold piece …” He lets go of my hand, retrieving the coin from his jean pocket to show me. “At first I thought this was just something shiny to play with. You see its size?” He tosses the coin, catching it again. “Easily lost or stolen, only my father would give a rare, antique coin to his son as a toy. When I grew older, I learned of its dual purpose. That’s why it’s never out of my sight.”

  Gideon charges forward, his cane thumping on the ground with each step. Cole and I follow. Hope mixes with curiosity, and by the time we reappear in his office, I’m out of breath and my heart is thundering.

  “What now?”

  “You need silver salts to develop film with this kind of camera.” Gideon holds out his twenty-dollar gold piece and walks to an armoire standing innocently in the corner. “My dad made a special kind, though. A salt recipe passed down for generations from the magician who first sold us the camera. We keep the ingredients in here.”

  Instead of a key, a long slit in the door accepts the coin. The intricate lock whirs and clicks and Gideon pulls the door open. Inside are rows of narrow shelves covered with bottles in all shapes and sizes. He lifts a crystal cut decanter and holds it up to the light. The container is filled to the brim with a gleaming white substance, like sugar or ice crystals. A shudder runs through me as I consider the power he has.

  Gideon gives the decanter a shake. “To the cellar.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In the bowels of Maddox mansion, Gideon and I rearrange the coffins in two rows, a dozen in each. There’s something surreal and macabre in the task. With the room awash in smoky blues and grays, it’s as though I’m an extra on stage, starring in a tragedy, and none of this is real.

  I brush the chalk from my hands. “What is this stuff?”

  “Lime. For moisture control … and the smell.” Gideon steps over the pile of tools we stopped for on the way down.

  Power of suggestion sends a crawling sensation over my skin. I don’t smell anything other than lime. Do bodies frozen in time rot? I remember the wiggling maggots in Desiree’s vision, and rub my hands up and down my arms to keep the chill off. “Are all of the bodies here?”

  He shakes the hair from his eyes, the blond darker from sweat. “This should be everyone.” He rests on an old bench near the head of the first coffin. “When I was twelve, my father told me who I was. Explained my role as an Artisan. I read the diary, poured over the accounts in the ledgers. My family has been managing people and their crimes forever, but by comparison, few were ever awarded this punishment.” He faces the coffins. “Most we ruined financially using our power and connections. Behind the scenes, of course. The camera was reserved for those committing the worst crimes. As far as I know, only two of the photos upstairs were taken by my father. One by me. Most of the people here were photographed long before my time.”

  I nod believing I must be amongst the bodies of murderers and who knows what else. Cole isn’t like that. He was a cruel, stupid kid, yes, but one that deserves another chance. The rest were tried by a court of law and found not guilty, until the Maddox family intervened. Life is never fair; no one knows that better than me. But it’s God’s job to figure this out. Not human judges. Not Gideon.

  My gaze roams over the dusty room. Who knows what will happen when Gideon lets them go? I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about it until now. Some will find themselves in another era. Maybe they can start over, build a different life. The rest can take their chances with the police or with their Maker. I hardly care. I just want Gideon free of them so he can get on with his life.

  Despite the cold, my clothes are damp with sweat from moving the heavy boxes. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and sling a heavy curtain of hair over one shoulder.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  I freeze. Gideon’s words almost make me forget what we’re doing here. “Don’t.”

  “Why? I wish you could see what I see.” He rises, moving toward me with the stealth of a hunter. His finger slides feather-light along my collarbone. I close my eyes, hating my weakness. “Your skin looks almost translucent in this light.” I refuse to look at him, so he crooks his finger beneath my chin, drawing it up. My lids flutter open. “Thank you, Raven. I’m grateful you’re here with me.”

  Stunned by the conversation he chose to have in the cellar of doom, I say the only thing I can. “You’re welcome.” Then I add, “I’m glad, too.” Who knows why Gideon felt he needed to say that right now, but I’m truly proud to help him. Self-conscious, I step out of his grasp. “Are you ready?” I’m surprised at how calm I sound, as if he didn’t just set my skin on fire with his touch.

  He smiles. “I’m always ready.”

  I roll my eyes.

  He’s right, you know. Cole appears on my left. You are beautiful.

  I ignore them both. This is so not the venue. “Can I help wake them up?”

  “No!” Cole and Gideon say at once.

  “Do me a favor and take a seat up there.” Gideon points to the stairs. “Please?” His hand disappears for a moment behind his back and materializes again with a gleaming, black gun. Where the heck did that come from? He pulls a clip from his pocket, shoves it into the bottom of the gun, and replaces the weapon in the waist of his pants.

  Holy crap!

  “We don’t need that, do we? I can help. I want to.” And I do, even though I have no idea how.

  “I know, and you have.” Gideon leans over retrieving a crowbar from the pile of tools he left on the chalk-covered floor. “But if this works, I don’t know what might happen. Do you understand? Don’t suppose everyone will be so grateful for their release that they’ll march off into the night and never bother us again.”

  Point taken.

  “More likely they will try and cut my heart out.”

  “Oh, don’t!” My breath catches, but Gideon’s expression is unwavering, confident. I love you, I want to say. What comes out instead is, “Be careful, please.” His gentle smile and nod steady me.

  “Now that I’ve decided, I just want the thing done and over with for good. And I need to know that you’re safe.” He stands erect, tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Cole?” Gideon pauses, then looks to me. “Can he hear me?”

  My gaze darts between them. “Yes.”

  “You’re up. I know we’ve had our … differences.” His smile is stiff. “If things go badly, I need you to get Raven out of here safely. I couldn’t exactly call the police. What would I say? I’m going to wake people from the dead and we need backup in case they’re pissed off? I’m not even sure this will work, and if it doesn’t, how would I explain your lifeless bones in a box.” Both boys laugh, but Gideon’s expression quickly sobers. A palpable tension rises between them. “She’s inn
ocent of this. And she means everything to me. Will you help her?”

  Already my plan, Cole says. He faces me. No one will hurt you. No one.

  “Well?” Gideon barks, jolting me to attention.

  I gulp a shuddery breath. “He agrees.”

  “Then get up those stairs, Rae. And if I say run, you run. No arguments.”

  It’s the moment of truth. My legs tremble as I climb to the top stair and squat. Cole appears at my side. He takes my hand. “Good luck,” I say, and squeeze his ghostly fingers. I hope he can feel it.

  Raven, thank you. Thank you for saving me.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.” His dark round eyes, so earnest and sad, tug on my heart.

  You have. His smile is as faint as a watermark. Whether or not I’m freed today, you already saved me.

  A bang drags my focus to the other room. Gideon starts at the far end of the first row, prying the lids off. Old nails groan and complain. Boards crack as they’re loosened. I wince, afraid of what I’ll see, yet unable to look away. Like eggs nestled in straw, man after man appears as Gideon tears the coffins open.

  The bodies lie quiet. I recognize them from the photos I’ve passed for weeks on the landing upstairs. Their arms lay crossed over their breasts, faces are drawn and bloodless, but there are no maggots, no decomposition. They might be sleeping if not for their blue color. Most are wearing dark suits, the lovely Desiree in her frothy white gown, of course. I watch the years pass in the style changes of their garments, hairstyles, and facial hair.

  Gideon works at a fever pitch. When the last lid is lifted, I suck a breath as Cole’s body appears. His pale blue face looks so young, no different from the guy sitting next to me, except the one in the box can’t move. And the one beside me is bodiless. Yeah, except for that.

  Shoving a discarded lid away, Gideon coughs as he limps out of the maze of coffins. In a corner near the back of the cellar, a black tarp covers a series of large, uneven lumps. Before I can guess what’s underneath, he bends, taking hold of one end. With a swish and crackle of plastic, I’m staring at the carcass of a great white horse. The hound, Rex, I’ve met on at least two occasions, rests in between the stallion’s legs.