“Yes; that's what drew me here.” Re smiled brighter. “Divine Disasters; I love the premise.”
“I wanted to show the other side of the myths; the darker aspects of Gods and their vulnerability,” I explained; beginning to feel more comfortable as I spoke about my art. “This one is of Thor with the source of his power destroyed.”
“It's an amazing resemblance,” Re said in surprise as he moved closer to the painting. He glanced back at me with a suspicious look. “You have...”—he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice—“magic in you. What are you?”
“What are you?” I countered with a lifted brow. “I saw the haze of it on you as well.”
Re smiled slowly. “You've done all this research.” He waved to the paintings. “You should have guessed by now.”
“Re,” I whispered his name. “As in the God, Re?”
He smiled wider.
“No way; those are only myths. There are a lot of interesting supernatural races on Earth, but Gods are not one of them.”
“Aren't they?” Re cocked his head at me. “What type of supernatural are you that you don't know about the Gods?”
“I'm not a supernatural,” I protested. “I'm a human who works with magic; a witch.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “That explains it. Well, let me clear this up for you, my sweet witch; the Gods are real—all of them. Most of the supernatural races you're familiar with are children of the Gods; they're demigods.”
“Werewolves?” I asked dubiously.
“They're called the Froekn; children of Fenrir,” he said.
“Vampires?”
“Several gods have created blood-drinkers; I don't know all of them.”
“What about Faeries?”
“What do you know of Faeries?” He went serious.
“I... nothing really,” I stuttered. “I've had strange dreams about them. Is there such a thing as a dragon faerie?”
“There were.” Re stared at me pensively. “I believe they were hunted by humans along with true dragons, and they went extinct.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“No; he's not a faerie,” Re said dryly.
“Funny.” I grimaced at him.
“What's funny is how accurately you've portrayed Thor.” He looked back at the painting. “That is exactly what he looks like, although, his power is not in his hammer.”
“Really?” I asked as I looked at the painting with Re. “I just went with what felt right.”
“Do you have one of me?” He asked with a sideways look.
“No.” I started leading him down a corridor. “The only Egyptian I painted is Anubis.”
I stopped before the one painting that deeply disturbed me. Ull made me sad, but this one terrified me. Painting it had been a cathartic process; I actually felt unburdened when it was over. I have no idea why it bothered me so much. It was a dark portrait, but not exactly frightening. Anubis sat on a golden throne with the souls of the dead standing before him; waiting to be judged. But the souls were just hazy shapes; the true focus was on Anubis' eyes—black irises with swirls of jewel-toned colors over their surfaces. It was a mesmerizing picture that had drawn a crowd of people. Re and I stood at the back of the gathering, and when he got a good look at it, his mouth fell open in shock.
“That's my grandson,” Re whispered. “And that is his throne in Duat; it's a perfect rendition. You got Anubis' cynical expression down pat and the colors in his eyes are exact.” He turned to me sharply. “You must have met him; there's no way for you to have known about his eyes.”
I pulled Re away from the crowd and through a door that led to the back offices. After I shut it behind us, I turned to him.
“I didn't know the Gods existed until you told me,” I said. “I swear it. If I painted your grandson accurately, it must have been...”
