The Art of Truth (TRC #2)

Chapter 8 - Art Does Some Magic

A/N: Hey everyone. First, I really, seriously need to apologize for making you guys wait two weeks for such a short, unedited chapter. Life's been pretty busy, and this week has been particularly intense both at campus and with life, and I'm still struggling with a bit of block on AoT when I'd love nothing more than to curl up and just write, write, write. Next update will be in two weeks, on 5/04/14. I promise, Chapter 9 is worth the wait (unlike the chapter. Again, I'm sorry). Thanks for reading and for your patience. If you enjoy it, vote, comment, share :) 

~Hikari

Chapter 8 – Art Does Some Magic

“Give her somewhere to sit. Art does not wish to see such a...creature sprawled across the floor,” said Art. I didn’t even have to look up from the thick carpet to recognise his cold, formal tone. Vanessa brought a chair to me. I let out a moan as I sunk into its soft cushioning and took the load off my tired body. I had a moment of relief before Blackwell grabbed my arms and bound them to the armrests with a thick, rough rope that scraped my skin.

“Don’t try anything funny. I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice scraping my ear. He tapped the gun at his waist as if I needed any reminder that he would love to kill me. I was weak, but I had enough energy to turn my hand over in its restraints and raise a certain finger in his direction. He responded by slamming his elbow against my forehead. The blossoming pain blurred my eyes with tears and sent my head spinning again.

“Enough, Eric. Have some control. Your wild behaviour is not fitting. Art needs her conscious, anyway,” Art said, piercing the haze clouding my mind.

“Yes, sir,” Blackwell replied through gritted teeth.

Art sighed and spun small circles in the air with his finger. A glimmering, hair-thin thread followed his fingertip, dropping to the ground and getting longer with each rotation. Once a small bundle of the stuff gathered on the carpet, he snapped his fingers to sever the thread and stepped back.

“Collect your rewards,” he said.

Blackwell, Vanessa and Jaco shoved each other and scrambled for the thread. They tugged at it until each of them had a handful of the substance.

Art rolled his eyes,

“Disgusting. Get away until you are called back.”

“But the prisoner –“ Blackwell began.

“Are you doubting Art’s ability to restrain this weakling? Leave.”

Grumbling, they moved away from him and headed to the door.

“It’s not like he could escape when Hallow held him hostage,” I heard Blackwell mutter to Vanessa as he walked past me.

I waited until they left before looking up and meeting Art’s icy gaze.

“Nice trick you have there. Pulling thread out of nowhere,” I said.

“Actually, Art turned oxygen and nitrogen particles from the air into gold. It’s a gift, courtesy of the Midas Touch. Those fools are so desperate for some wealth, they fight over such a meagre amount,” he said. I caught a hint of bitterness in his tone.

I took in the carved, wooden furniture, the embroidered curtains and sparkling crystal chandelier. Sunlight reflected over every shining surface, and the effect would have been blinding if not for the heavy drapings that covered the walls of the relatively small office space.

“Is that how you’ve afforded all of this?” I asked, tilting my head to gesture at the whole room.

“Yes. It’s all unnecessary to Art, but Raven feels otherwise. None of this brings beauty.”

“It is overwhelming,” I said. “But you didn’t bring me here to talk about the décor and I don’t have the energy to waste time. What is it?”

My words tumbled out in what sounded like a drunken slur. He walked up to me and knelt down, so that my eyes were level with his.

“What Art discussed with you previously. Your chance to escape will be soon, if you agree to help Art. Art sees that you have started to heal, and will wait until you are well enough to go. You have had some time to think of my suggestion, and rejecting it will only lead to your death.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor and swallowed. My head was a little clearer.

“Maybe if you stopped with that third-person way of speaking I’d consider it,” I answered, half-joking.

 “Art cannot, Maya. Art is a different person,” he said.

I frowned and met his eyes. They were softened for a moment, before widening in surprise at his words and then returning to their previous state.

“My head is paining way too much for me to figure out what you mean,” I said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll agree with your plan, whatever it is. I just want to get out of here.”

I had no way of telling whether Art’s “slip” was deliberate or real, but I didn’t trust him either way. I was just so tired of everything. I wanted to go home, and I had given up hope of anyone rescuing me. I didn’t care if he was trying to trick me anymore. In that moment, all my will drained from me.