The Artisans (6 page)

‘Course, I never thought I’d live my own version either.

Without a word, Jamis pulls out a chair at the end of the table. I sit. He bows and leaves me alone. The stuffed lynx staring at me from the mantle puts me on weirdness overload. Nothing is what I expect, and I don’t know how to act or what’s coming next.

Cosmic forces in the universe must think they’re pretty funny though because the door on the other side of the dining hall opens and in walks Gideon.

Black slacks, ruby dress shirt, and a black velvet vest with ornate silver buttons down the front. He’s stunning with his short blond curls falling in perfect messy rings around his face. His compelling beauty makes me hate him all the more.

“Miss Weathersby.” He greets me with a stiff nod as he slides his chair away from the table.

Why is he here? Never did I think Gideon would show up wanting to eat in the same room with me. Does he think I’ll be his friend, eat with him every night like he hasn’t stolen my life? Well, he better think again. I jump to my feet nearly knocking my chair over in the process.

“Calm down. You’re being rather dramatic, don’t you think?” He stands by his chair. The amused expression on his face unnerves me.

My fingers weave together until the knuckles show white. “You never mentioned anything about meals, or …” My hand flaps back and forth between us. “How my living here was going to work. I don’t know what you’re expecting, but maybe we should get some boundaries in place. I’m not here for, uh … to be your … er …” I stop my mind before it wanders into an ugly episode of
Law and Order: SVU
. My cheeks heat like two stove burners.

His grin spreads wide in the most sincere show of mirth I’ve seen from him yet. He actually laughs. I glare so hard I think I’ll damage my sight. “Oh, Raven. Did you think I brought you here to seduce you?”

Yes. No. “Maybe.” I sit with a huff and Gideon sits. I throw my napkin on the table and stand. Gideon stands. “Stop that!”

“What?” His eyebrows lift.

“Would you stop copying everything I do, it’s making me nervous.”

“Manners first.” The smile is gone and his icy stare is firmly in place. “Let’s talk a while, preferably without you throwing anything heavier than that dinner napkin. All right?”

I lower my butt to the seat beneath me. My gaze never wavers from his. I’m all suspicion and fear, but I concede we need to talk through the logistics of my stay here. If he’s not lying, which I doubt, why on earth does he want to eat in this fancy-schmancy hall together? With my nerves threatening my cool, I glance at the chandelier above the table, anywhere but Gideon’s eyes. The fixture is a gorgeous thing, granted, but as big as Ben’s old recliner. I feel so out of place.

Gideon sits across from me and folds his hands on the table, fingers threading. “Concerning your stay at present, Raven, I hope you’ll consider our arrangement a short-term business agreement.” A year doesn’t sound short-term to me, but okay. “With any merger or acquisition of properties, meetings, conferences, and ongoing negotiations are necessary. Don’t you see? We will not share every meal, quite the contrary, but on occasion, you will report to me of your progress. I will have input, and you may have questions or concerns that need attention.”

I press my lips together. Doubtful, dirt bag.

“There are few electronics in this house. No television, no video games, or computers. You’re here to work. The logistics are in place for you to complete your senior year. There is a landline in the kitchen if you must phone someone. When I require a meeting, you will come without question and without attitude. Do you understand?”

I fantasize about plunging my fork through his manicured hand. First off, no one is allowed input into my work. No one. I work alone, always have. Ben says my creations are a gift from God. That I have a genius. I don’t know, maybe it’s true. I’ve always been able to create beautiful things from the time I was very young. At this moment, however, I feel like an idiot savant because sewing trendy leather boots is all well and good, but they can’t help me here. I can’t create a way to get Ben and me out of this mess. Gideon is winning in a game of high stakes poker, and I have everything I love on the table. He may have strong-armed me into moving in, blackmailed me into giving up a year’s worth of designs, but I’m not his dog to come when called, and he’s going to understand that right now.

“You don’t own me, Gideon. No one will ever own me. I’m here to protect Ben. So, I will give up graduation with my friends, put off my ambitions, and design for you. Allow you to steal from me for a year because I have no choice, but you get nothing else.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. Challenge fills his eyes. “You misunderstand me entirely. For our arrangement to be profitable, you and I must communicate on a regular basis. You will bend to the requests I’ve made, and you will do so with a professional attitude. This is not open for debate. One call and Ben is on the street. Tonight. How long do you think he will wait before there is a bottle in his hand? Another call to Child Services and you are a ward of the state until your eighteenth birthday.” His eyes narrow to slits. “Are we clear?”

My birthday is June 2, seven months away. Ben’s got no money, nowhere to go. Gideon is just mean enough to give him fifty bucks as he leaves the rehab facility, enough for a couple bottles of scotch.

“I hate you.” My shaky response is barely a whisper.

He pulls a large gold coin from his pocket and rolls it with practiced grace between his nimble fingers. “I’m counting on it.” He must see me balk because he adds, “Artists are their most productive when their souls are in a tortured state, did you know? The loveliest music ever written, the most profound poetry, satisfying paintings, beautiful novels all are born from exquisite suffering. There is great power in pain. My father said affliction produces a like-minded bond between spirits with a commonality in experience. Like precious metal refined by fire, those of us who understand the path are drawn to the end product of such agony. We understand and admire it.”

I’m not sure he’s even talking to me anymore. Gideon’s words seem to target someone else, something in his own experience, far beyond the room we occupy. Fear blooms in my chest. The guy is a sadist, or maybe he’s just broken. His bitterness is a sharp, jagged thing, slicing anyone who gets too close. I blink back the tears gathering in my eyes because as warped as he is, I’ve experienced the truth in what he says for myself.

An idea nags at my mind, a thought or feeling asking for acknowledgment. I numb my brain and shove all emotion aside. I’m here for Ben. Nothing else matters.

“You are here first because of your designs,” Gideon says. “I’ve never seen their equal. The innovation, craftsmanship, attention to detail—all of it, your talent is remarkable.” There is no false flattery in his tone. Why would there be? The fact we loathe one another is clear, so he must mean what he says. “What you’re wearing now, in fact, the corset, the jacket, every detail is perfect.”

“Right.” Every clothing item on my body I made with my own two hands, down to my boots. My clothes are cut from antique fabrics. Even my underwear is from vintage lace and disassembled silk nightgowns.

“A subsidiary of Maddox Enterprises took a hit in the last two years with sagging clothing sales. I intend to release a new product line next year with a show both in Paris and New York, renaming the brand Raedoxx Apparel.”

An invisible noose tightens around my neck. “You’re stealing my name, too?” I can’t control the quiver in my bottom lip. Somehow, combining his name with mine is an intimate insult, worse than the loss of my designs. I can’t breathe.

“Part of it.”

“That’s an unnecessarily low blow.” My voice cracks.

“Be that as it may, the name stays. I’m fond of the sound.”

“I’ll hate you ’til I die.”

“Not that long, surely.” His gaze remains hard, despite his small smile. “And my requests?”

Ben, think of Ben. Whole, free of addictions. You can do this. “I’ll do as you ask.”

He tosses the coin high in the air, catches and replaces it in his pocket. “Perfect,” he says. “Excellent.”

With my room dark as pitch tar, I blink again, tilting my head and listening as hard as I can.

Nothing. No sound at all other than Edgar’s soft purring. Since my cat shows zero concern that an ax murderer waits outside my door, or Gideon, I guess I’m safe enough from attack. Of course, I have no idea how reliable kitties are about watching out for their owners. The fatty would probably beat me out the door at the first sign of trouble, but I pretend the opposite is true for the sake of my sanity.

I ease out of bed and head for the double hung window of my room. The curtains are filmy white sheets of fabric, but they hide light blocking panels that I push aside. Moonlight floods the room. I draw comfort from the full shining orb in the sky, inspiration for so many writers. Poets like my beloved E. A. Poe, though I decide it’s not the smartest to dwell on
The Tell-Tale Heart
right now.

A shudder overtakes me as I stand at the window. There’s enough light on the yard to highlight the mighty oak trees outside. Spanish moss sways in the breeze. The draping of foliage waves as though gray banshees dance a warning to stay indoors. Heat lightning flashes in the sky revealing a small building next to a charming little pond amid the trees. If my warden will let me out, maybe I’ll investigate the gardens tomorrow.

A familiar thud signals Edgar has jumped off the bed and is on his way over. “Come here, boy.” I scoop him into my arms and continue watching the yard. Ben’s face pops into my mind. What’s rehab like? Is he in pain, lonely, does he miss me like I miss him? I wish so hard for him that I accidentally squeeze Edgar. I whisper a prayer, begging God to help him and me. Dane, Maggie, and Sales Hollow High assault my thoughts next. Maddox assured me I’d finish school, but how? The thought makes me crazy. He probably lied just to shut me up. I scratch Edgar’s chin and he purrs his brains out. No matter what, I’d always kept my grades up. “What happens now?” I ask my cat. He squints his kitty eyes, ignoring me. All those lessons will remain undone. My seat in each classroom will stay empty. And my teachers, what will they think as they a draw a line through my name on the role, obliterating the memory of my ever having attended at all.

I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, but no one’s here to watch. No one but Edgar. Whoa and the guy outside!

Another flash of lightning shows a boy streaking across the lawn beneath my window. I didn’t get a good look, but he was young, a brunette in a white shirt and black pants. What the heck? Edgar growls, freaking me out more, and I put him down. Peering outside for another glimpse of the stranger, I can’t see a thing.

Help me
…

With my heart stuttering in my chest, I whirl around, but no one’s there. I swear I heard a voice behind me. That’s enough scaring myself for one night. I bounce back into bed and pull the covers over me, adhering to the unwritten law of all girls everywhere. If all extremities are well beneath the covers, the boogeyman cannot get you.

Edgar releases another growl as I hunker down deeper in my blankets. My cat doesn’t make that sound for no reason, so I know something’s up. My fingers wrap the sheets in tight balls. My heart gallops, my legs are trembling, and I feel like the biggest scaredy-cat ever. Wasn’t that me last year trying to convince Mags that horror movies were so fake they made me laugh? I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m an idiot.

Help me
…

“Who’s there?” I demand, like ghosts usually come out and introduce themselves. My lungs constrict to the point I think I’ll pass out. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. “Gideon? This isn’t funny. Knock it off!” I don’t like the thin quality of my voice. I clear my throat. “Jamis, are you okay?” My thoughts move from Gideon being a jerk, to Jamis. I picture him lying on the floor in the hallway hurt, having a heart attack. The man is old, and I’m cowering under the blanket while he might need help. “I’m coming, Jamis.”

I leap out of bed. My feet tangle in the sheets and my knees hit the ground hard. Way to go,
Grace
. “Hang on. I’m … just a second.” I kick the sheet off my legs, bolt for the door, and throw it open. When I stumble into the hallway, Edgar saunters out behind me, nosey as ever. My head snaps back and forth as I glare down the shadowy hall. No one is here. Not a soul. “Hello?” Cripes, this place is getting to me. My imagination and Jenny’s rich cooking is a bad combo. “Come on Edgar, here kitty, kitty.”

My cat ignores me, moving down the hall, sniffing everything in sight.

“Bad cat!” I chase him, not happy to deal with a disobedient feline in the wee hours of the morning. Edgar spits as I lift him over my shoulder. “Tough noogies.” I scold him to cover the fact that his hiss frightens me. “You’re with me, big boy.” Whatever is spooking my cat affects me, too. Usually too sotted with an overindulgence of kitty chow and excess weight to care, his skittish behavior is the last straw. “We’re going to bed, old man. You can chase mice tomorrow.”