Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5)

Kellan shrugged, “Let’s go. We’ve got only a few hours before the sun’s gone.”

I sighed. I loved the summer. I loved the water. But I also knew what my siblings would do when the sun went down. And I wasn’t really up for that. Besides…my fingers were itching to feel the painter’s brush between them. And I had a tingle in my back. I always knew to heed that tingle when it came on.

“I’m gonna opt out. I’ve got things to do,” I tried for casual, but Kellan shot me a dark look. I waited, tensely, for him to question my decision. I’d tell him if it came to it, but my time in the painting studio had been my private time up to now…

“Okay.”

Relieved, I stood there as Kellan raked one more scrutinizing look over me before he turned and left. It was remarkable to watch everyone instinctually move aside for him. And it wasn’t because of his rakish good looks. Although that helped. Kellan, Giuseppe , and Vespar were all tall with the blond good looks they inherited from our mother.

Not me. I stood a couple inches below them with black as night hair that teased just below my shoulder blades. Giuseppe had a long mane of golden tendrils. They were just wavy enough to give her a whole goddess look. Not my hair. It was straight black, but it seemed to sparkle underneath the right light. Kellan always said that it seemed to lure the guys.

It seemed to have lured Matt Rettley in, but Kellan was right. I hadn’t met a guy that I couldn’t handle. It was just if I chose to handle them or not. It drove Kellan crazy. Not Vespar. He just sniffed and marched the other way. Secretly, I wondered if Vespar was a little jealous of my closeness with Kellan. But then again, Vespar and Giuseppe had formed their own clique in our family.

That was us, the Bradens. Gorgeous, mysterious, and a little dysfunctional.

And as I turned to head towards the art studio, I wasn’t immune to how the same students moved for me too.

“You’ve come to grace the studio walls?” My art teacher, Mrs. Ullen, smiled as she swept open the door.

I stepped inside and took in the new paintings that decorated the art room.

“They’re nice. Whose are they?” Each painting was done by a student. I recognized a few handiworks. Some were roughly outlined while others were given a detailed swoosh of the hand. The paintings were of animals, sports, and even balloons. I perused each of them as Mrs. Ullen waited in silence. She walked beside me, her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a billowy dress that dwarfed her tiny frame.

I paused at the end of the room when I saw a handful of paintings hung. Each of them was bold, dark, and encased a chilling image of a demon. Each black form had two red eyes that sent shivers down my spine. I almost felt the fire that was reflected from the demon’s hell. And the very last took my breath away. It was the same demon, but this time a slight slant had been given to the eyes so that it looked…my eyes widened as I realized the implication. I turned sharply and rasped out, “Who did these?”

Mrs. Ullen’s smile never faltered, but I caught the slight tensing around her eyes. She swept a hand toward the graying bun her hair was loosely pulled into and she mused, “You don’t like them?”

They were beautifully done. That wasn’t my issue. I demanded, “Who did these? Who did this one specifically?”

Mrs. Ullen didn’t need to look. She knew which one I meant. “These didn’t come from a student here, Shay. I hung these two weeks ago. It’s been a while since your last visit here.”

I didn’t visit. I painted. And I knew there was a reason why Mrs. Ullen wanted me to study the paintings.

“I want you to take the last painting down.”

“Shay, really. I don’t understand…” And then her eyes caught and held on the last painting. I saw the realization before I heard the swift intake of breath.

“That last one looks like Kellan. I want it taken down, and I want to know who painted it.”

“Shay—”

“I’d like to paint, Mrs. Ullen. I’d like you to keep selling my portraits in your store, but I really don’t want that painting hung on the wall. And I really want to know who the artist is.”

Mrs. Ullen looked flabbergasted. And no wonder. I usually came into the art room, perused through the pieces she displayed that week, and then I quietly went into the studio room that was kept locked. Mrs. Ullen had taken note of my talent early in elementary school. She had proclaimed my doodles as masterpieces and then introduced me to a blank painting canvas. The relationship had been cemented that day. I painted whenever I wanted. And she sold them in her private store. No one knew except the two of us. It was respected by both, but this was the first time I’d spoken against my collaborator.