Immortal Sin |✓|

1.2 Blood and Unicorns

Golden sunshine spilled from the open window-seat onto the bed. Feeling hungover, I yawned and stretched, untangling myself from the sheets and blanket. I sat up in the warm puddle of light, cold all over as gunshots rang in the back of my mind.

Maybe it never happened. Maybe it was all a dream...

Elbow on my knee, head in my hand, I gave in to the awful memory of last night. I hoped none of it was real. But when my phone buzzed on the nightstand, I saw its cracked screen and knew that was wishful thinking.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the list of missed calls and angry texts. Mom and Jeff weren't happy that I had missed the speech, but there was no way I could ever explain Dorian without sounding as crazy as him and Opal. Dorian was still alive; if I didn't make amends with Mom and Jeff I wouldn't be.

Slipping from the bed, I padded the short distance to the claw-footed tub, cast aside the sheer shower curtain, and turned on the shower-head. Since I had insisted on moving out of the mansion, Jeff had set me up with a superb studio apartment at the edge of the suburbs - a birthday gift for my 21st I couldn't refuse. In my downtime, I made peppermint tea and sat on the window-seat, painting monsters and visions only a fiend could imagine. Other days I was content just painting the blue-gray sea sparkling in the distance. The best part about Harbor Village was living on the coast, where incredible sea food, spectacular views, and the beach were only a drive away.

In the shower, I was crippled once more by images from last night. How I had stumbled into my apartment, a bloody mess. How I had stared at myself in the mirror above my vanity, transfixed by the blood smeared across my forehead and down my arms. How I had rinsed and scrubbed and exfoliated in the shower, watching pink water circle the drain. Three shots. Opal had put three shots in him and Dorian had died in my arms. How was he alive? How? 

But did I really want to know?

I stepped from the shower, wrapping myself in a towel as I headed for the closet. I threw on my clothes - jeans and a netted sweater with a camisole underneath - and stepped in my ankle boots, running a comb through my damp curls. A cream cheese bagel and a dab of makeup was all I had time for. If I didn't hurry, I'd be late for my shift at the gallery. My job as in intern consisted of answering telephones, managing the display areas, keeping portfolios on the artists, and wooing new clients at exhibitions. Miriam had been so impressed with my efforts she had given me a small space to participate in the previous viewing. I sold one painting - to my best friend. Unless I wanted it to be my last, I couldn't afford to be tardy.

"Salt by the Sea Gallery. This is Amelia, how may I help you?" Sat at my desk, I balanced the phone against my ear, jotting down the client's message for Miriam. Minutes later, I knocked on her office door and was given permission to enter.

The large space was bright and airy as the rest of the gallery, with several windows to let in the natural light. Her walls were covered in artwork, some of them gifts, some of which she'd acquired on her own. One of my own paintings occupied the space behind her cluttered desk - a portrait of two little Black girls with gap-toothed smiles and bouncing curls, shooting marbles on a white tile floor as red eyes peered from the darkness behind them.

Miriam Fotopoulos smiled and raised one chubby ringed finger, her ear pressed to the phone as she addressed the speaker on the other line. A short, plump, vivacious woman with cat-eye spectacles and a penchant for caffeine, Miriam had a true eye for art and fashion. Originally from New York, she had chosen to leave the bustling art scene behind fifteen years ago, following her fisherman son out of state and to the sea. She worried about him. Two weeks ago he had nearly drowned in the ocean.

"Sweetheart, I would love nothing more than to acquire another piece but until the others have sold my hands are tied. We're bursting at the seams with collections, darling, I simply haven't the room. Have you considered E-Bay?"