The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

13

A few days later, dawn's pale pinks and oranges colored the fluffy clouds scuttling across the blue sky. Wolstan sat at his desk after a long night of painting when the rasp of paper against floorboards drew his attention to his bedroom door.

Frowning over his right shoulder at the folded sheet of paper on the floor, he rinsed his brush, and set it aside. He quietly retrieved it, half expecting to find Uncle Em's or his mama's handwriting scribbled inside.

However, Wolstan's frown disappeared, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips upon flipping the paper open. Taking up the entirety of the paper was a humorous illustration of a larger-than-life, poorly drawn Luella being ridden like a horse by an impressive sketch of Declan in his nightshirt and cast, yelling, 'CHARGE!'

Setting the drawing aside, he covered a yawn and prepared for bed. But the instant he laid down, Wolstan caught sight of the folded piece of paper, and before he realized he'd moved, he'd thrown off his covers and returned to his desk to take another look.

Nothing in the picture had changed, but down at the bottom of the page, written small enough he hadn't noticed it the first time, were the words, 'Something is missing, feel free to make any additions to complete the scene.'

He couldn't deny it intrigued him, and ideas were already flowing. So without giving his actions a second thought, Wolstan sat and picked up his pencil, inspired. Forty minutes later, he finished shading the last cannon and chuckled at the completed battle scene.

With the drawing in hand, he tip-toed to his bedroom door and opened it a bare crack to ensure the hallway was clear before sneaking to Mae's room. Sliding the picture under the door, he quietly sprinted across the hall to his room before she discovered him.

The following morning, Wolstan was surprised by the rush of delight that flooded his veins when Mae slid another sketch under his door. He was even more shocked to find himself retrieving it before realizing he'd set down his paintbrush.

A deep rumble of laughter escaped him when he unfolded the paper and saw another talented illustration of Declan—his casted leg held high in the air—mixed with a clumsy depiction of an excited Luella beside him. But instead of charging into battle like yesterday, the two struggled to pull some unidentifiable and monstrous fish to shore.

Back at his desk, Wolstan snickered as he spent the next forty-five minutes adding the landscape and missing details to complete the drawing. Snorting a laugh, he stood, snuck it under Mae's door, and crawled into bed with a wide grin on his face.

Over the next few weeks, every morning passed this way. Mae would slip the beginnings of a drawing involving an inept likeness of Luella in a scene of outlandish action paired with a skillful sketch of a member of the household. Wolstan added his embellishments to finish it off before slipping it under her door.

But then one September morning, he lurked in the hallway to listen to her reaction, inordinately pleased with himself when their joint creation sent Mae into a fit of delightful, contagious laughter.

It sank deep into his skin, coiled around his pounding heart, and caused heady sensations to coalesce in the pit of Wolstan's gut before launching tendrils of achy need throughout his limbs.

Wolstan stood barefoot as he stared at Mae's door, wearing only the cutoff bottoms of an old union suit secured around his hips by an improvised drawstring he'd sewn himself.

The floorboards in Mae's room creaked, and her shadow blotted out the sunlight in the space between the door and the floor. Wolstan's frantic heartbeat increased tenfold, and he took an unconscious step forward.