Chapter 10 The Artist Greenhouse
It seemed like Adrian was part of the mystery I needed to find. What he painted yesterday is happening now.
And what happened at the tree, was that… magic?
My eyes dropped to my palms. “Did I just do that… or was it the tree?” I muttered to myself. The skin on my hand still tingled where the ivy had gripped me. I looked up toward the house. The sun was sinking low, its dying light turning the windows into dull mirrors.
“Adrian?” I called, voice trembling slightly. No response. I took a cautious step forward, then froze, the air shifted. A fast motion passed by, too quick to see, like someone had run past me before I could even blink. I turned back from the house. Was that Adrian?
I wasn’t familiar with these woods. Every tree looked the same, their shadows long and twisting. “No… I need to get back before the sun goes down,” I whispered, trying to calm my pulse. Then came the sound again, something moving between the trees. “Who’s there?!” I shouted, spinning around, but the silence in the woods swallowed my voice.
“I need to get out of here,” I breathed. The house loomed behind me, and a sick feeling curled in my stomach. I remembered a story I once read, about a girl who stepped into a house in the woods and never came out. And my dream… What if this was it? What if what happened in the dream is happening now?
I turned away, deeper into the forest, calling, “Adrian!” again and again. My voice echoed back at me, lonely. I pushed through ferns and branches until my foot slipped, I missed a step, twisted my ankle, and fell hard against the ground. Shards of glass and rough stone bit into my skin. Pain shot up my leg as I scraped my right hand, and blood welled fast.
I hissed, clutching my hand. My ankle throbbed, too sore to stand. For a moment I almost cried. “No, Lexie,” I whispered to myself. “You have to be strong.”
Oliver would be looking for me now. The sun had already dipped beneath the canopy; everything smelled like damp soil and cold air. What if Adrian had made it back already? What if no one found me here?
I sat down, holding my ankle, whispering prayers for someone to find me. The world grew still, then I heard it. A low growl, the kind that tightens your spine before you even see what’s coming. I turned my head. Out from the trees crept a husky, its coat ragged, its collar gleaming faintly. There was a police badge on it.
I froze. The dog’s eyes glinted, feral, its lips curling to bare its teeth. Sweat slid down my face as it lunged toward me.
But something blurred past, faster than I could see. The dog hit the ground with a heavy thud. The figure that stopped it stood in the shadows, dressed in a black Gravenmoor uniform.
Relief flooded through me, until I saw what he did next. He grabbed the dog, and with a terrifying calm, bit into it. My breath caught in my throat. He drank its blood. The sound of the wet and desperate pull, made my stomach twist.
I froze in horror. The dog went still, and when the boy lifted his head, the moonlight hit his face. It was Julian.
My body went cold. His skin was white as a corpse, his lips stained red, and from his mouth extended long, sharp fangs. His eyes were black threaded with thin veins, looking almost hollow.
“Ju… Julian?” I stammered, my voice trembling. My body shook uncontrollably; my heart felt like it would burst through my chest.
He stepped closer, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He knelt beside me, his expression unreadable, then took my left ankle. Before I could protest, he twisted it back into place. I screamed, the sound raw, tears spilling from my eyes.
He released me gently. I gasped for air, clutching my leg. The sight of my bleeding hand made him flinch. His jaw tightened; he turned his face away, hissing softly.
“Take… the blood… away,” he said through clenched teeth.
I quickly grabbed the hem of my skirt and wiped the blood off, shaking. He tossed a white handkerchief toward me, his breathing still uneven. “Tie it,” he said. His voice was calmer now. I obeyed, wrapping the fabric around my wound.
As I looked up, his fangs retracted, his eyes cleared, and his skin returned to its usual pallor. We sat there in heavy silence, the forest breathing around us.
Then a man’s voice echoed from the distance. “Search this area!” a man called.
Our eyes met in panic, recognition.
Julian leaned close. “Can you walk?” he asked. His voice was lower now, rough.
“I… I can’t,” I admitted, my throat was dry.
He stood, turned his back to me, and without asking, crouched down.
“Climb on,” he said.
I hesitated only a second before doing so. My arms looped around his shoulders as he lifted me effortlessly. His body was cold but steady.
“Where are you going?” I asked as he started moving fast, too fast. The trees blurred.
He didn’t answer.
“School isn’t this way!” I tried again. Still nothing.
He was heading straight toward the abandoned house.
“No, Julian, we should…” but before I could finish, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, setting me down gently on the floor.
The room was filled with canvases shrouded in dusty white cloths, and candle lights hung on the wall, casting golden glow. A long table sat near the window, scattered with old paintbrushes, palettes, dried inks, and sketches. My chest tightened, this was the exact place I’d seen in my dream.
Julian moved toward the table, brushing dust off a half-open sketchbook. “Why would an artist live here… in the middle of the forest?” he muttered.
“I don’t think we should touch anything,” I said quickly. “We should head back before someone catches us…”
He slammed the brush down, making me jump. “...here,” he finished for me.
I flinched. “You didn’t have to…”
He turned sharply. “You shouldn’t even be talking to me after what you saw out there.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ve been seeing strange things lately, Julian. Things that don’t feel real. I know that wasn’t you.”
He gave a low laugh, cold and humorless. “Stop trying to convince yourself otherwise.”
He stepped closer to one of the canvases, his hand brushing the cloth that covered it. “You saw it clearly. You know what I am.”
In a blur of motion, he was suddenly behind me. His breath grazed my neck.
“A… a vampire?” I stammered.
“Correct,” he whispered near my ear. I could feel his voice in my bones.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I whispered back. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He appeared before me again in an instant, his movement stirring the air so sharply that one of the cloths slipped halfway off a large canvas. “How can I trust you,” he asked, “when you’re still meddling with that manuscript?”