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“How can you think a machine could ever equate to the soul of an artist?”

“It is the evolution of knowledge,” Nathaniel replies.

“Do you truly believe that contraption can portray the true essence?”

Behind us comes a light rustle, accompanied by a scent of cedar that catches in my throat.

“It portrays only a fleeting moment.”

I move aside, Dorian has his gaze fixed on me.

Why does he follow me everywhere?

René snaps forward.

“I too can portray the fleeting moment! And it will never be comparable to that thing!” He points to the camera in the distance.

Dorian arches an eyebrow and moves to my side. Our elbows brush ever so slightly.

“I shall paint a portrait of you.”

“I have not the patience to pose,” Dorian retorts.

“I do not need you to pose.” René’s hands make a circular motion in the air. “I have an impeccable memory.”

I stare at him, intrigued. “How will you do it if you do not have the subject before you?”

He smiles. “You shall see. It will be the most surprising thing you have ever beheld.”

Then he moves off among the garden paths.

Nathaniel sighs. “Touchy.”

I lift a corner of my mouth.

“Brownell.”

Nathaniel turns his gaze toward Dorian. “Vasiliev Ashford.”

The latter presses his lips together for an instant, then tilts his head toward me.

“Your complexion seems improved.”

I give a sharp, dry cough and look away.

Dorian gestures toward the other guests. “I believe someone was looking for you, Lord Brownell.”

“Let them come here, then.”

My gaze wanders between the two. I point to the camera in the distance. “Have you tried it?”

Dorian moves behind me, the toe of his shoe clipping my heel.

“No. Do you wish to try?”

“No, absolutely not.”

Nathaniel tilts the cane in his hands.