“You see her?”
I don’t answer. I need to catch my breath first. There’s no sign of the little girl. What stopped me was a sudden slam of negative curse energy, knocking the wind from my lungs and setting my heart racing.
I take one careful step toward the last room. Then another. The logical part of my brain points out that we’ve already triggered the curse. It can’t do any worse. Yet once again, logic doesn’t matter. My heart races so fast I struggle to draw breath. I step through that doorway, and there it is.
The painting.
It hangs on the opposite wall, impossible to miss, the only object in the room. It’s the girl from the illusion. She stares out at the viewer with tears streaming down her face. When the painting has been an image on a screen, I could roll my eyes at the manipulative melodrama of it. In person, having just seen that girl standing beside me, dread creeps down my spine.
I shake it off and step forward. Connolly catches my arm.
“It’s a trap,” he says.
He’s right, of course. We haven’t found the painting by accident. Haven’t followed the address to walk into the new owner’s home. Haven’t even tracked down the spot where the new owner is hiding it. The painting hangs on the wall, waiting for us and my brain screams that this was a bad idea, such an incredibly stupid idea. We thought we were smart, recognizing a potential trap, but now we’re here, in this room, and whoever lured us here has us trapped, where we can’t—
Wait.
I shine my light at the wall. There’s a message scrawled on the faded wallpaper.
Congratulations, you just passed your first pop quiz!
Chapter Ten
Ten
Last month, I discovered the Greek gods are real. Not actual divinities, but immortals with powers who were worshipped as gods. We’re descended from those immortals. Connolly can trace his line back to Mars, god of battle luck. And I can trace mine to Mercury, the trickster.
Mercury is gender fluid. Being from a very different time period, she still uses female pronouns and goes by Mercy. I’ve never met her. I’ve just gotten messages from her. Tests that I passed, which apparently “win” me a mentoring from the greatest curse weaver of all. I’m not sure “win” is the word, and I certainly never applied for the gig, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’ve spent the last six weeks eagerly awaiting my first lesson.
I turn on my heel and march out of the room. This time, when the girl appears in my path, I snarl, “Get out of my way,” and walk right through her.
I continue down the steps and out the front door. As I inhale deep breaths of evening air, Connolly says, “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
I turn, about to answer that question, when a voice answers, “No, not at all. Is something wrong?”
Connolly has his phone out and on speaker. The voice coming through it is Vanessa Apsley. Better known to history as Venus Aphrodite.
Connolly glances over to see if I want to explain that situation. I shake my head. I’m too angry to do it properly.
Mercury had chosen me as her protege. Me! It was like getting an invitation to a magical school, long past the age where we believe such a thing is possible.
The god of curses herself had seen promise in me. Singled me out. I joke about being special, being the chosen one, but deep down, it’d been a fantasy come true. I couldn’t wait for her to reach out and start my training.
Now she has, and I am furious. I expected better. Mercury is the trickster god of the Greco-Roman pantheon. She’s a little flighty, a little quirky, and she can drive people around her a little crazy. Yes, Vanessa and Marius—Mars—may have suggested I remind them of her, but that seemed mostly flattering. Everything they’ve told us indicated that her pranks are the kind I like—the fun ones, devoid of cruelty.
This prank may not have been outright cruel, but it is inconsiderate. And, yes, that’s a very Connolly word, one that would normally make me roll my eyes. An inconsiderate prank? Aren’t they all, at least a bit?
This one is inconsiderate to the point where I’m seriously pissed off. We spent our evening pursuing a painting that I considered dangerously cursed. We broke into an abandoned house, taking the risk that it was a trap. We endured multiple heart-stopping scares because by that point, I knew the painting was there and couldn’t turn around. I went through all that and, worse, I pulled Connolly into it . . . and it was all just a game. A game involving a terrifying illusion that could have sent us falling down those stairs to our deaths.
So no, I don’t want to explain the situation to Vanessa. I don’t think I could form a coherent narrative. Connolly does—not only coherent but concise, while still making it clear that I am furious and he agrees with me.
“That doesn’t sound like Mercy.” The voice coming through the phone now isn’t Vanessa’s.
“Hello, Marius,” Connolly says.
“Vess put me on speaker right after you started. Now, I can be too quick to defend my sister, but . . .”
“Marius is right,” Vanessa says. “That doesn’t sound like Mercy.”
“The message was clearly hers,” I say.
“That part does sound like her,” Vanessa says slowly.
“Or anyone who knows her,” Marius says. “And knows her plans for you, Kennedy.”
“Which doesn’t mean it absolutely could not be her,” Vanessa says. “I can imagine her nudging you to buy a cursed item, pretending it’s been sold and sending you on a treasure hunt. Even luring you into an abandoned house. Yes. But it’s the nature of the curse that doesn’t sound like her.”
“The cat tea caddy was one-hundred percent her style,” Marius says. “A harmless jinx hiding a puzzle with a greater prize. But a haunted painting? And you say you’ve heard of this painting before?”
“It’s one of a set. An urban legend about an artist feeling compelled to paint them and selling them right away. The paintings are supposed to depict children killed—”
“In a fire?” Vanessa cuts in. “You don’t mean the Victor Costa paintings, do you?”
“Right. It’s Crying Girl, from the Costa quartet.”
Silence.
“Vanessa?” I say. “Marius?”
“We’re going to need to get back to you on this,” Marius says.
“You’re contacting Mercy?”
“We’ll try, but that’s always tricky. Do you have the painting?”
“It’s in the house.”
“And you say you saw the little girl? Both of you?”
“Uh, yes. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Vanessa cuts in quickly. “Let us handle this. Can you transport the painting safely?”
“I can.”
“Then I would suggest you do that, but only if you can do so safely. Let us look into this and get back to you tomorrow.”
We sign off, and I glance at Connolly.
“Something is up with that painting, isn’t it?”
“Most definitely.” He looks toward the house. “I would suggest we attempt to take it. However, I would also suggest I drive along the back roads until we are certain that curse shield you brought works.”