“I don’t believe in that paranormal shit. Crimes are crimes,” she spat out.
The elevator opened and Waverly looked to the detective. “After you.”
As they stepped inside, Waverly heard an unfamiliar male voice call out to them.
“Excuse me, ma’am. We’ve got something down here we want you to look at.” A uniformed officer stood waiting.
“I’ll be up in ten minutes,” the detective said, her tone flat as she exited the elevator.
“We’ll be in my office. Take a right through the watercolors and then another right,” Waverly told her. “I’m at the end of the hallway. Big red doors.”
She turned to Viktor, her eyes locked on his, her body tense with anger, waiting until the doors fully closed to speak. “What the hell was that?”
“I was right,” he replied. “Those boots look amazing.”
“Viktor, tell me what is going on?” Waverly demanded.
“We’re going up to your office.” A loud ding sounded. “And we’re here. After you. Please.”
Waverly didn’t think twice as she strode out of the elevator and through the exhibit, the tapping of her heels echoing throughout the marble floored hallways. She didn’t look back, her rage teetering on an explosion.
“I want the truth, Viktor. No more bullshit. Do you hear me?” Waverly turned toward her office and set her face and fingers to the security scan. The door slid open, and she made a beeline for her desk. “Why does she think we left before the shooter shot me? Why does my boss think we left for that matter? I was shot. You know it and I know it.” His smartass smile only fueled her anger. “I want to know how I got to Miami. Like in the snap of the fingers.”
“Well,” he shrugged with a nonchalant air. “It’s not my fingers, per se.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Waverly sunk down into her comfortable office chair and sighed in exhaustion.
“It means that yes, I told them all we’d left. And I did it at the exact moment we left,” he explained.
“So, you just told a room full of people that we’d left. And by some miracle, they just repeat what you told them? Despite knowing differently.”
“Yes, I suppose so. That is kind of how it works. Most of the time. And mostly with humans.”
“What works?” Waverly immediately regretted asking, already knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.
“I’m vampire, pet. Not just old. Ancient. My gifts have developed over the years. It’s a simple command to draw the energy, to warp perception. It was the easiest option at the time. There was confusion. Heightened emotions. Which meant there was lots of energy in the room. So yes, I simply told them we already left. Not everyone saw you get shot anyway. It was relatively easy.”
“What? Are you serious?” She laughed, her mind struggling to accept the unbelievable.
“This skill I have is true to an ancient. Very few of us have it. It’s kind of like fashion sense. You either have it or you don’t.”
Waverly glared at him in both disbelief and annoyance. She silently counted to ten, her stress reaching epic, mind-blowing levels.
“I hate this situation. And I’m starting to really dislike vampires.”
“Lying doesn’t become you, pet.”
“Lying? Hmm…are you ready to tell me how I got to Miami?”
“Well, you know. It’s a bit more complicated than making suggestions to humans, but let’s say it’s also a gift.”
“I see.” Waverly rubbed her forehead in an attempt to calm her mind.
“While I’d love to show you, perhaps we should take a look at that painting you were given before the detective gets here. What information do you have from the person who contacted you?”
“I don’t really have any. I have a text number that may connect to an actual person but at this rate, my guess is it’s a burner. I’ve texted it several times because I was trying to get more information, but no one is responding. The painting is over there. I showed it to you last night. The angels. I told you about the irregularity I found.” She shoved to her feet and made her way over to the painting. With a flick of an overhead switch, blue light splashed over the canvas. “This here. It’s purple. You can see how this was overtreated at one time with varnish. It must be cleaned before we can really see how it looks. Honestly, I’ve only done minimal research so far. I’ve kind of had my hands full with the exhibit, making sure the event went well.” She released an audible sigh. “Ugh. At least we raised money. What a cluster.”
“You’ll meet your goals,” he assured her. “For now, let’s focus on the painting. Gut feelings. What do you think about this spot here?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s possible this extra paint is just a varnish buildup. Dirt. Old paintings come in in all kinds of conditions. Something about this though.” She inspected the canvas. “I just have this hunch it’s something else. Like maybe an object or a botched repair. Which again, I have no idea why anything would be in there. Why would someone do that?”
“Do you believe this is real?” he asked.
“Plautilla Nelli’s work is rare. It would be an incredible discovery. She didn’t sign her work. Well, there’s one. The Last Supper. Took years to restore it. It was simply hanging in a monastery somewhere when it was found. It’s supposedly the only painting of hers in existence.”
“Humans,” Viktor mused. “They assume to know only what they see.”
“I can’t argue with that. But it’s entirely possible this is her work. The story I was told is that it had been passed down through the generations as a religious item but since there was no signature, the artist’s name had been lost. But who knows? This could be a con of some sort. I’d like to verify with the Church.”
“Do you mind if I take a closer look at it?”
“Sure. Why not?” Waverly studied Viktor as he leaned in and inspected the art piece.
“I feel like I’ve seen this painting before.”
“That’s impossible,” she asserted.
“Many of the nun’s pieces ended up in the homes of wealthy families. I haven’t always lived in the States. I do enjoy a fine Italian meal.” Viktor smiled at her.
Waverly stared at the handsome vampire, attempting to come to terms with the reality. Despite his youthful appearance, his striking good looks, the man before her had walked through centuries of time.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Sorry, it’s just…I mean you look so, so...” Sexy. Hot as fuck. She bit her lip, settling on a more appropriate word. “Amazing.”
“As do you,” he countered.
“But I’m human. And I’m aging. I wonder what it must have been like to live during the Renaissance. To sit at a wealthy family’s dinner table. Drink their wine. Enjoy their art.”
“It’s a quite useful memory when you’ve met a beautiful curator who needs your assistance.” He shot her a smile and then looked to the painting, continuing to study it.
Waverly found herself captivated. She wanted to hate him, to live her life happily without ever having known Viktor Christianson. But she doubted that even after a day, this man would be out of her life. As much as she loathed his lethal nature, the violence she’d witnessed, Viktor spoke to her heart, her passion, her art. While she still couldn’t explain the connection, the roots of attraction had already grown deep.