My gaze dropped to the citrine pendant around her neck, and the identical ring around her long finger. Corbin said the jewels were a symbol of her status as the coven’s High Priestess. They made her look so powerful – a force of nature, capable of great and terrible things. I hoped she used that power wisely, as I wanted to do.
“I wish you could tell me what to do,” I said out loud, feeling foolish.
My eyes flicked back to my mother’s face, and I gasped, staggering back.
Before, Aline Moore’s lips had been closed in that sensuous half-smile. But now, her lips were parted, her cheeks sunk into shadow, and her eyes…
Her eyes were wide with terror.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAEVE
That’s impossible.
My heart clattered against my chest. I shut my eyes, hoping like hell when I opened them and stared at my mother’s face again I’d see the same serene half-smile that had always been there.
It’s just a trick of the light, a figment of my overactive imagination, a hallucination caused by too much sleep and whatever the hell it is Rowan puts in his hot chocolate.
I opened my eyes.
No.
The horrible expression remained. My mother’s face twisted in a mask of pure terror, vividly captured on the canvas that had only seconds ago been alluring and beautiful.
It’s got to be some kind of optical illusion. Maybe the roof leaked and the paint dripped away and this contorted the expression?
Dragging my legs forward, I reached up a shaking hand to touch my mother’s face.
Cool, dry paint met my fingers, the canvas hard and unyielding. No dampness. It was just layers of paint and gesso. It couldn’tmove.
And yet, I knew what I was looking at. My mother’s expression was different.
I gulped down the panic rising in my throat.
“Arthur!” I yelled. “Flynn! Get your asses up here!”
Footsteps clattered on the stairs. A moment later, thick arms wrapped around my body. I sank into them, my trembling limbs steadied by Arthur’s bulk. I pressed my face into his shoulder, breathing in his hot, smoky scent. It calmed my nerves a fraction.
“What’s wrong?”
“The painting…” I stammered out.
Blake whistled. I guess he’d followed them upstairs. “She’s beautiful. I’d happily explore her fairy grotto?—”
“That’s my mother you’re talking about.” I snapped. “She’s dead. And shemoved.”
“What do you mean, she moved?”
“Can’t you see it?” I jabbed my finger at the canvas. “Her expression is completely different?—”
The words caught in my throat as I glimpsed my mother’s face again. Her placid eyes and hidden smile stared back at me. No trace of the horror I’d seen only moments ago.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I frowned. “She looked completely different. Her face was all twisted with fear.”
“It could have been the light falling on the canvas.” Arthur rubbed circles on my shoulders. “The paint is quite thick and maybe it tricked your eye into?—”
“I know what I saw,” I said. “I’m a scientist, remember? I’ve run through all the rational explanations already. And I’ve concluded that the paintingmoved. I’m not going to willfully ignore the evidence of my own eyes.”
