“Not chaos?”
“Chaos. I suppose. But... when you go to a museum and you see the galleries of all one type of art... Do you go to museums? Why would you need to go to a museum when you have this?”
“I suppose because it looks like this. I’ve been to museums. It’s a nice way to pass an afternoon after a meeting.”
“Yes, right. Well, there, the galleries are full of like types of paintings. Curated, if you will, to force you to look at the art in a certain way. See how the impressionists all use color like this?” She points to a painting by Édouard Manet, I think, next to us. “Or the jewel tones of the Middle Ages Jan van Eyck. But here you don’t compare Monet to Renoir to Cassatt. Because you can’t. One’s over there, another over there. Oh, oh, oh! And another’s over there. No, you have to look at each as its own masterpiece. In my favorite museum, there’s a painting by John Singer Sargent, but it’s hangingbetween a delicate Chinese tapestry and a few feet from another bold Vermeer portrait. No one stops to look at it. But it’s a better painting than either of the others. Their names—PR if you will—are bigger. And the human brain can only handle so much before the novelty of the splendor wears off. That Sargent is a better painting. Its elegance doesn’t demand attention but rewards it. It’s a quiet masterpiece in a room full of noise.”
I raise my eyebrow. “In your opinion.”
“Exactly. In my opinion. But that’s what art’s all about. When it’s broken down for you, all of a sudden there’s a right and wrong answer.” Her chest swells up with excitement. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken too much of your time. You must have a meeting to get to.”
I don’t... not today. Not with Roark unconscious from his trip to the north and Kieren back in Crest Wing. I want to hear more about color and depth and see the world again for the first time. See it from her view. With her excitement.
But we haven’t performed the ceremony yet. We need her to settle in.
“Yes. Well, don’t work too hard. You have time to get your wits about you. There are supplies and things in the alcove to the side.” I walk over to where Leopold said he was going to put them last week. “Yes, here they are.” There’s a new desk, several boxes of computer equipment, and a stack of office supplies.
“They’re all new.”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. I’m not sure why I thought I was replacing another curator. I guess it just never occurred to me that a collection of this magnitude wouldn’t have had someone already taking care of it.”
“The stuff has been sitting around for a long time.” Morelike it’s been sat on for a long time, but I don’t want to give her nightmares. “Do your best.”
“That is always my goal. And better the day after that.”
“I’ll see you for dinner.”
“Ah, I thought I would be eating with the staff tonight.” She twists an arm around her waist. I’m not sure what she means by it. Is she uncomfortable with me? Does she feel this pull?
I don’t want to leave her here. I absentmindedly rub my mark on my right arm. That has to mean something. It’s hurt before. Once in battle ten years ago, for no reason. Another time in London after we had taken over a company and were out to dinner. “I’m sure Kieren will want to hear what you’ve found.”
She nods. “Yes, well then, I’ll see you for dinner.”
I step out into the hallway and force my dragon to leave her there. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep my hands off her.
13
RAINE
I’m dazed for a moment, watching Evander close the door behind him. Good-looking, rich, dragon shifter, and charming. No, not good-looking. He’s so handsome it’s like looking into the sun.
My eyes flick away instantly.Stop with the intrusive lustful thoughts, Raine. This is the best job you’ve ever had. It’s a dream.My mother’s voice intertwines with what I overheard last night. But does it matter? I’m in a room filled with more greatness than... I have nothing to compare it to. More greatness than anywhere.
Shit, dinner tonight. That’s only five hours from now. Less, because I’ll have to change, maybe even shower. Because over the amazing art is a layer of dust.
That’s one of the things I’ll need to talk to Kieren about: getting this place into a more sterile shape. And shades for the windows.
I make my way past a few boxes to the massive windows. It’s bubble glass, but outside there’s a layer of modern UVglass. At least that’s good. Craning my neck up, I see thereareblinds. But the remote’s not around. Fine, today I’ll work with daylight, but once I make a dent in organizing, I have to work on preservation too.
By dinner, I want to be able to give him a good report. I roll my sleeves up. I want to dig in. But the unglamorous truth is I need to set up an office. It’s not sexy, but I need to unbox the computer and supplies. Keeping records is almost as important as art preservation.
The minute hand on my grandmother’s watch moves like the second hand. An hour in, I have the cardboard from the office supplies out of the way and stacked by the door. Two hours in, I’ve got the computer up and running but not connected to the printer. Because printers are the middle child of the office supply world—hard to work with and difficult to understand.
Clipboard in hand, I draw a layout of the room. While I enjoyed the room, the juxtaposition of the Vermeer and the Elena de Ravello when I came in, there’s got to be a stratigraphy to the pile. Like when the art was purchased or a time when someone moved things around. And if I come upon documentation later... that will be useful. Right now, I’m trying to keep my brain from spiraling into a squirrel mode of overwhelm. Pacing the room in a zigzag line, I walk a hundred feet to the far wall.
That’s when I see four extra-large wooden boxes. That’s how galleries send paintings that are purchased at auction. It’s the farthest thing from the large door at the other end of the room. I round the tallest. It’s six feet high, two feet wide or more. But it’s pushed against the back wall. A back wall. Not strange, right? Except it looks new. I reach up and wipe my hand over the top of the box. When I pull it back, there’s no dust. Fine, fine, Leo’s ironing stafftraveling the secret hallways of the castle might have dusted.
