As dreary as the atmosphere was, it was always a great source of inspiration. Bodies held secrets, and if they didn’t tell you before their passing, they would tell the mortician. I didn’t see a difference between a muse and an artisan.
Lately my creativity had run bare, scraping the bottom of the well. Client work kept me busy, but it wasn’t the same as being inspired. It had been months since I’d created for myself, and those were always the pieces that kept me afloat for a year or two.
“Let me see,” I demanded.
“Eager for someone whoisn’t supposed to be down here.” Kostya clicked his tongue against his teeth as he finished cleaning his instruments.
I sloped my head back and took a deep breath before returning with a more agreeable tone. “May Ipleasesee now?”
Kostya frowned and pinched the edge of the white sheet covering a newly departed. “That’s more like it.” He paused and raised a critical brow at me. “You arenotallowed to bring anything home this time. She has to stay here.”
“Christ, Kostya, I may be dead myself by the time you lift the sheet.”
My friend finally folded the sheet over, revealing a fair woman, gone before twenty-five. Beautiful, but the beauty stopped abruptly halfway across her face, as it was charred.
“I thought you said this one was in good condition to study.” I pulled the notepad from my jacket pocket.
“Well, she’s pretty, I never said she was in good shape aside from that. She has good muscle definition. Some freak field-labor accident upstate.”
I shook my head and pulled out the pen, beginning to look closely at the skin. I pinched the sheet, pulling it down more to expose her collarbone, her arm, her ribs, then to reveal more charring. Her hand was exceptionally striking, something so dainty covered in a stark singe.
I took a quick sketch of the different parts, but I found myself studying the way the texture changed from smooth to something like bark on the non-surviving parts, only a prominent portion of the bone structure escaping the fire.
She was technically beautiful, but something was missing. A certain vibrance. Perhaps it was because she was dead. I wouldn’t know. But, once again, I was going to be leaving the same as I came—uninspired.
“You know, we should take our wives out together sometime, parade the birds around town,” Kostya said from the opposite side, leaning on the metal slab.
“Sure, of course.” A few more notes jotted, and the loose lines around a few more forms.
“You don’t seem thrilled.”
“Doing the bear isn’t at the forefront of my mind lately.” I snapped the book shut.
“Have you spoken to her at all, or have you hidden yourself away in the studio?” His tone was teasing, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Ihavespoken to her, matter of fact.” I flashed an unamused smile.
“And she thought of you as decent after that conversation?”
I thought about it for a moment too long.
“That’s what I thought,” he snorted. “You know, having a partner isn’t so bad, even if you do not love her.”
“She’s aware the arrangement is mutually beneficial. I plan on going about business as usual.”
“Appearances matter, Arkasha.” Kostya sighed. “Especially since her family’s money is your lifeline. It couldn’t hurt to entertain.”
“We get along fine.”
“Enough to convince the public that both of you aren’t dabbling between other people’s legs?”
“Why do you care?”
Kostya combed his fingers through his neatly placed hair. “I know you are a decent man, I believe it, and I know you would rather be alone than surrounded by women—but that’s not what the public thinks. Certain occupations come with certain prejudices.”
“Why do you care?” I repeated.
Kostya circled the slab and slapped his hand firmly on my shoulder. “Because I want the best for you, brother, and for you to be happy. The public isn’t very receptive to the poor, the underprivileged, or immigrants—of which you are all three. Make an effort, and you will find both of you are happier. I didn’t watch you claw your way through this life just to see you falter.”
