Day 7 — Evening 2/2

By the time the last plates were being cleared, Cassie had found a new grievance.

“Three points.”

Claire, halfway through stacking her bowl onto her plate, glanced across the table. “What?”

“Three.” Cassie held up the appropriate number of fingers. “She hadn’t even made it to dinner.”

Fiona groaned. “Don’t start.”

Lizzy nearly dropped the plate she had picked up.

Naomi gathered two glasses from her side of the table. “You know she’s going to hear about this eventually.”

“I hope so.”

The dinner had run longer than anyone planned. Without Van and Katherine there, nobody had felt much urgency to leave, and the conversation had gradually broken into smaller pieces while the remains of dinner cooled between them.

Lizzy had begun clearing the table without announcing that she was doing it. She took Mara’s plate, then Claire’s, balancing them carefully before adding Cassie’s bowl.

Naomi caught the movement on her next trip toward the serving counter. “Lizzy, you don’t have to do that.”

Lizzy turned. “I know.” She shifted the plates against her palms. “I’m doing it because I want something to do with my hands.”

Naomi’s concern remained.

Lizzy sighed. “Today was a lot. If I sit somewhere quiet right now, I’m going to start thinking about all of it at once. Cleaning is easier.”

“That I understand.”

Lizzy carried the stack toward the counter. “I feel better when I’m moving.”

Naomi picked up two more plates.

Lizzy frowned. “You don’t have to help.”

Naomi lifted the plates. “Neither do you.”

Lizzy stared at her for a second, then gave up. “You’ve been spending too much time with Cassie.”

Behind them, Cassie called, “I heard that.”

Naomi carried the plates after Lizzy.

At the other end of the table, Mara gathered the last glasses while Evelyn rose to help. The others were occupied at the service counter or near the doors by the time the two women reached the sideboard set back from the dining room.

Mara placed two glasses on the tray. “You disagree with Cassie.”

“About Katherine?”

Mara nodded.

Evelyn set down the empty glass she was carrying. “Katherine has talked about engineering her points gain in the past.”

“You think she staged them?”

“Staged is too simple.” Evelyn looked toward the far end of the room, where Lizzy was arguing with Naomi about the correct place for a stack of bowls. “She might be manipulating him. Van isn't well positioned to detect that sort of thing.”

Mara leaned one hip against the sideboard. “She might have meant it.”

“Possibly there are layers to the event.”

That answer made Mara look at her more closely.

Evelyn continued, keeping her voice low. “Katherine can enjoy something and still decide when and how to use it. She argued that we should earn points without regard for dignity.”

“So you think she’s still testing the idea.” Mara glanced toward Katherine’s empty chair. “That sounds more like her.”

“Yes.”

At the far end of the room, Fiona rose and turned toward the service counter.

“Lizzy.”

Lizzy was wiping a dish towel across a section of table that no longer needed it. Her hand stopped moving when her name was called.

Fiona crossed half the room and then lost momentum several feet from her.

Lizzy waited.

Fiona opened her mouth, visibly reconsidered whatever she was going to say, and rubbed one palm across the back of her neck.

“I'm sorry.” Fiona bit the words off sharply. “I'm bad at this part.”

Lizzy’s fingers tightened slightly around the towel.

“I was trying to protect you today,” Fiona said. “But I was treating you like a child. So, I'm sorry.”

Lizzy looked up again.

“I’m still going to tell you when I think you’re making a terrible decision,” Fiona added. “I’m probably going to be loud about it.”

Cassie made a quiet sound that might have been agreement.

Fiona ignored her. “But I won't forget that you and I are equals again.”

Lizzy swallowed. “Okay, me too.”

Fiona waited while Lizzy tightened the towel between her hands. “I mean it. Me too.”

Some of the strain went out of Fiona’s posture.

“I was pretty awful,” Lizzy said. “I yelled at you.”

“You were angry. I gave you material.”

Lizzy’s mouth trembled toward a smile.

Fiona nodded once. “We’ll work on it.”

Cassie pushed away from the chair she had been leaning against. She stopped beside Lizzy on the way to the door.

“I’m proud of you.”

Lizzy blinked.

Cassie gave her shoulder one quick squeeze before Lizzy could decide what to do with the statement. Then she kept walking.

Fiona followed her.

“Good night,” Claire called.

Cassie lifted one hand. Fiona did the same without turning. The doors closed behind them.

Lizzy remained beside the table with the towel gathered against her stomach.

Naomi bumped her lightly with one elbow.

Lizzy looked at her. “Don’t.”

Naomi’s mouth curved. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Claire finished gathering the last of her things and crossed toward them. “Naomi, are you going to be all right tonight?”

Naomi glanced up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s your first night all by yourself here. It might get lonely.”

Naomi considered the dark windows. “I think I’ll be fine. I might get a better night’s sleep than Katherine.”

Claire paused. “Katherine? Why?”

Naomi folded the damp cloth in her hands. “I don’t know. I just don’t think she’s as unflappable as everybody assumes.”

Lizzy turned toward her.

Claire’s amusement faded into curiosity. “You think she’s nervous about Van?”

“I think Katherine likes knowing what people are going to do,” Naomi said. “Living with her for a week has made that much obvious. Van doesn’t always cooperate with predictions.”

Claire considered that. “No,” she admitted.

Naomi set the cloth down. “So maybe tonight she’ll get less sleep than I will.”

* * *

The boardwalk ran close enough to the water that spray occasionally darkened the outer planks.

Somewhere between Café Crete and the first bend around the lake, her hand had settled into the crook of his elbow. By the time he became fully aware of it, removing his arm would have required making an event out of something Katherine apparently considered too ordinary to mention.

So he walked carefully. This made walking into something that felt artificial to him. Katherine showed no sign of noticing.

The waterfront had changed again since sunset. Lamps stood along the railing at regular intervals, their light reflecting in broken strips across the water. Beyond them, restaurants and small shops had changed again when they weren't looking.

He had stopped trying to decide whether that meant the Hotel rearranged itself or simply waited to show people what it wanted them to see.

Katherine leaned slightly closer when a pair of pedestrians passed them going the other direction.

Van’s arm stiffened as the soft curve of her breast pressed into his arm. He tried desperately not to notice as the pedestrians continued past.

Katherine tilted her head toward a narrow building between a bookstore and a shop selling glass ornaments.

“Oh.”

Van followed her attention to a black sign standing outside the door.

LETTING GO

AN EVENING EXHIBITION

Katherine’s face brightened. “I love galleries.”

Van examined the entrance. “You do?”

“Very much.” She released his arm and stepped closer to the sign.

She bent to read the smaller lettering beneath the title, then straightened. “I haven’t seen this place before.”

She turned toward him. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not. This is supposed to be your night.”

He hesitated before continuing. “I’ve never been in an art gallery.” Van glanced at the building again. “The closest I can remember is that my old boss had a print of dogs playing poker in his office.”

Katherine’s smile widened. “That is fine art.”

Van laughed.

Katherine took advantage of the laugh and slipped her arm through his again. “Come on.”

* * *

The interior was larger than the building had any right to contain.

White walls extended through a succession of broad rooms under warm recessed lighting. Paintings hung with generous space between them. Sculptures occupied low platforms or stood in shallow alcoves. A charcoal drawing taller than Van dominated the nearest wall.

A woman approached from behind a low desk.

Her skin was light brown, her hair a deep chocolate shade that fell in loose waves to her shoulders. She wore a black dress with simple lines and no jewelry beyond a narrow silver bracelet.

Van found her age difficult to place. Nothing about her appeared artificial, but the usual clues refused to settle into an answer.

“Good evening.” She smiled in greeting. “Welcome to Letting Go. I’m Jessica.”

Katherine smiled in return. “Good evening, I’m Katherine. This is Van.”

Jessica inclined her head to him.

Van returned the gesture, hoping it counted.

“If this is your first visit, I’m happy to give you a tour.”

Katherine glanced into the first room. “Thank you, but I think I’d rather wander.”

“Of course.”

“What exactly are we looking at?”

Jessica turned enough to include the gallery around them.

“The exhibition contains paintings, drawings, and sculpture in several media. Oil, watercolor, ink, charcoal, bronze, marble, plaster. A few pieces combine materials.”

Jessica smiled. “The exhibition is arranged loosely rather than chronologically. You don’t need to follow the rooms in any particular way. Take your time. If either of you has questions, I’ll be nearby.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said.

They stopped in front of the drawing.

A city occupied most of the paper. Tall buildings leaned over narrow streets, every line rendered in charcoal so dark that the windows became pale gaps carved through shadow.

Van studied it while Katherine waited.

“Am I supposed to say something?” he asked.

“You can. Tell me what it does to you before you worry about what to say.”

Van examined it again. “It feels crowded.”

Katherine looked at the drawing instead of at him. “Even with the empty street?”

“That makes it worse. There aren’t many people, but everything leans inward. It feels like the street is running out of room.”

Katherine stepped a little closer to the paper. “That’s the perspective. Look at the windows.”

Van followed her finger. “They don’t line up.”

“Right. Your eye expects the building to continue one way, and then the next floor contradicts it.”

“So the building is wrong.”

“Deliberately.”

Van nodded toward the drawing. “That sounds like art.”

Katherine laughed again.

The next room held landscapes.

Katherine moved more slowly there. She knew names for techniques Van had never heard and could identify different traditions from color, composition, and the way paint had been put onto canvas, but she gave him pieces rather than lectures. She pointed out one thing, then waited to see where his attention went next.

A field painted under a bruised purple sky made Van uncomfortable.

A watercolor of a harbor made him think of rain even though the sky in the image was clear.

A portrait of a woman in a blue dress struck him as angry.

Katherine examined it for several seconds. “I think she’s bored.”

Van looked again. “She looks angry.”

“The painter gave her all the signals for anger. Tight mouth. Rigid posture. Clenched hands. But her eyes aren’t focused on anyone.” Katherine pointed toward the woman’s face. “It feels more like she’s performing irritation because she would rather be somewhere else.”

Van leaned slightly closer. “Huh.”

“You disagree?”

“No. I just wouldn’t have seen that.”

They moved into the next room.

She paused before a bronze figure.

“Some of these are close to identifiable schools. That charcoal piece borrowed heavily from expressionism. The landscapes used several impressionist techniques. One of the portraits was almost Pre-Raphaelite in its treatment of the face.”

“Almost?”

“That’s the strange part.”

Katherine circled the bronze. “They keep breaking their own rules.”

“Maybe the artist isn’t very good.”

Katherine smiled. “No. Whoever made these is very good. Bad imitation tends to fail in different ways each time. These choices repeat.”

Van examined the bronze again. A woman stood with both arms raised while strips of metal curled away from her body like ribbons caught in wind.

“What kind of choices?”

“An imitation usually tells you what it wants to be. A forgery tells you even more.”

Van looked at her questioningly as she moved on to the next piece. “Valuable paintings are convenient things,” she answered his silent question.

“A suitcase containing several million dollars attracts attention. A canvas can hang on a wall for thirty years while its ownership crosses six borders. The art can be completely legitimate. The transaction around it doesn’t have to be.”

“That sounds illegal.”

“Most often,” she said without emphasis. “I deal with a lot of less-than-official issues.”

“You said that very casually.”

“I’ve had an interesting career.”

Van studied her profile. “How many—”

Katherine stopped in front of a large painting. “Oh, look at this.”

Van closed his mouth as she drew his attention to a painting that occupied most of the wall.

A house stood near the edge of a green cliff above a gray sea.

The structure itself was modest: stone lower walls, pale plaster above, a dark roof beaten by wind. A narrow stream ran from somewhere behind it, disappeared beneath the house, and burst from the cliff face below in a white waterfall.

Two people stood at the open front door. A man wore a dark naval coat. A woman held his hand. Far offshore, a warship waited beneath a spread of pale sails.

Van moved closer.

The husband had one foot planted on the doorstep. The other pointed toward the sea. The wife faced him.

Her expression was the first thing Van noticed. “She looks sad.”

“Yes.”

Van pointed toward the sea. “He’s going to sea.” He considered the scene. “Probably a war?”

The painting had the look of an older century. The ship flew flags Van did not recognize. Men crowded its deck in tiny painted marks.

Van focused on the couple again. Something about the grip bothered him.

“He isn’t pulling away.”

Katherine glanced at him. “No.”

Van leaned closer. “She is.”

Katherine’s fingers hovered near the painted hands without touching the canvas. “Look at her thumb.”

Van found it. The woman’s hand was opening.

“She’s letting him go.” Van took in the rest. “Why?”

Katherine pointed toward the man’s feet. “One is home. One is already facing the sea.”

“That’s a little obvious.”

“And the house?”

Van examined it. “What about it?”

“What is it built on?”

He followed the painted water. “The stream?”

“It passes beneath the house before it becomes the waterfall.”

Van looked from the waterfall to the couple. “The house is unstable.”

Katherine nodded. “Whatever they built together is sitting over something that never stops moving.”

“So she’s letting him go,” he said. “But he doesn’t look like he wants to leave her.”

“No. He doesn’t.” Katherine stepped closer to the painting.

Van studied the husband’s face. His body faced two directions at once. His hand remained in his wife’s even while his attention belonged to the horizon.

Katherine gestured toward the wife. “If she keeps him there, he may live. He may also spend every day watching ships leave and telling himself he stayed for her. She’ll hear it eventually, even if he never says it.”

“So she makes the choice first; she opens her hand.”

Van was quiet.

The wife’s painted fingers had nearly separated from his. There was grief in her face. There was something else too.

“She looks relieved.”

Katherine studied her. “Yes.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Maybe.” Katherine did not look away from the painting.

Van rubbed one thumb across his palm. Then he nodded toward the waterfall. “Still think the house needs an engineer.”

Katherine laughed and hooked her arm through his again. “Me too.”

* * *

Mara had made it halfway across the lounge before Evelyn spoke.

“Where are you going?”

Mara stopped. The hour before curfew had emptied most of the common areas. Only two lamps remained lit in the lounge, leaving the windows black and reflective.

“To see Lizzy.”

Evelyn closed the book resting across her lap. “I recommend you give her space before curfew.”

Mara turned fully toward her. “She’s had one of the worst days since we arrived.”

“I am aware of that.” Evelyn's response was cool. “Once you ask her about it, her evening will end right then and become all about Fiona again.”

Mara stopped.

Evelyn set the book aside. “Today was unpleasant and very publicly so. She has had enough people looking at her and asking whether she is all right.”

Mara returned toward the seating area but remained standing. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She was walking under her own power.” Evelyn picked up her book but did not reopen it. “And she appears to be managing.”

Mara’s mouth curved faintly. “Managing?”

Mara pulled out the chair opposite Evelyn and sat. “I’ve gotten attached to her.”

Mara rested her hands together. “I’ve known her a week, and I keep wanting to feed her and tell her she’s doing well. She feels like a younger sister already. I know how ridiculous that sounds.”

“It doesn’t.”

Mara looked toward her.

Evelyn’s hands rested loosely around the closed book. “You have been good for them,” she said.

“Them?”

“Claire. Lizzy. Naomi. Even Fiona, occasionally.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said.

“For what?”

“For helping them in ways I can't.”

Mara leaned back. “You help them too.”

“Yes. But Claire watches me when she’s frightened. Lizzy does too. If I start leaning on them every time I’m frightened, I become one more person they think they have to carry.”

“You admitted you were afraid to Claire.”

“I did. She wants to be a leader, so she needs the truth more than she needs the performance.” Evelyn looked down at the book in her hands. “That doesn't mean I can make a habit of getting emotional around them.”

Mara’s expression changed.

Evelyn went on before she could answer. “Someone in this group has to be able to keep thinking when the day goes badly. I know how to do that.”

Mara sat with that for a few seconds. “You think they need you to be the one who doesn’t ask anything from them.”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s a very sad way to help people.”

Evelyn’s thumb rested along the edge of the book cover.

Evelyn’s mouth softened by a fraction. “I didn’t say it was ideal.”

“I’m not going to check on Lizzy.” Mara moved toward the doorway. “But I’m also not agreeing with you.”

“I know.”

Mara stopped at the doorway. “Good night, Evelyn.”

“Good night, Mara.”

Evelyn opened the book, but she remained on the same page until curfew.

* * *

Claire and Lizzy took the long way back. The corridor curved through a section of the Hotel they had barely explored, past tall windows overlooking an interior courtyard and a row of locked classrooms whose signs changed language when they passed.

Lizzy dragged one fingertip along the wooden rail beneath the windows. “Do you think the wings would have been real?”

Claire glanced over. “What wings?”

“In the Infernal season. Your alternate version had the feathered ones.”

“They looked real.”

“I know they looked real.” Lizzy frowned. “I mean real as in part of the transformation instead of decoration.”

Claire spread her shoulders reflexively. “They would be a strange decoration. I can already fly.”

Lizzy slowed.

Claire took two more steps before noticing. “What?”

Lizzy had the expression of an idea arriving before she could decide whether it was stupid. “What if she couldn’t?”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Fly.” Lizzy stepped closer. “The book never said the alternate versions had the same powers we do. We assumed they did because they were us.”

Claire’s face changed.

Lizzy’s words accelerated. “What if their lives were different enough that their powers were different too? Or they weren’t Empowered at all? Then the physical transformations might not have been random monster parts. They could have been giving them abilities they needed.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Wings because that Claire couldn’t fly.”

Lizzy brightened. “Exactly.”

“That has merit.” Claire started walking again, slower now. “If their starting abilities were different, some of the stranger transformations might have been functional instead of cosmetic. We should go back through the descriptions and separate anything that looks like a substitute power.”

Lizzy grinned. “I knew that wasn’t stupid.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t stupid.”

Lizzy’s grin vanished until Claire bumped her lightly with one shoulder. “I said it has merit. Those are different categories.”

“You spend too much time with Evelyn.”

“Probably.”

They walked several more paces.

Claire’s attention shifted toward her. “Which does raise a question.”

Lizzy immediately became suspicious. “What?”

“What did being a succubus give you?”

Lizzy stopped walking. “No.”

Claire turned innocently. “We should be methodical about this.”

“Claire.”

“Some kind of influence ability would fit the theme. Something to enthrall men's minds and force them to—”

Lizzy’s face had gone red. “Stop.”

Claire reconsidered. “All right.”

The hem of Lizzy’s shirt shimmered. Her hands dropped instantly to clamp both sides against her hips.

“Oh, come on.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a slow breath.

Claire covered her mouth as she stepped closer, amusement giving way to sympathy. “Okay. Done. We can call the succubus abilities unknown and leave it there.”

Lizzy opened one eye. “You promise?”

“Yes.”

The second eye opened.

Claire lifted both hands. “Unknown.”

Lizzy released her shirt cautiously. The fabric stayed where it belonged.

“Good.”

They resumed walking.

After half a corridor, Claire said, “The wings were still pretty.”

Lizzy pointed ahead without looking at her. “Keep moving.”

Claire laughed the rest of the way down the corridor.

* * *

The rooms had gradually widened while the number of works decreased, leaving more empty wall between them. The quiet became more noticeable too. Their footsteps followed them across the polished floor.

Katherine stopped before a painting of a woman standing waist-deep in a dark river.

The woman had both hands raised above the water. Something rested in them.

He leaned closer. “A crown?”

Katherine glanced at him. “What do you think?”

Van studied the water. The crown was painted in bright gold against all the dark color surrounding it.

“She doesn’t want it.”

“Why?”

“She isn’t looking at it.”

Katherine smiled. “You’re getting better.”

“I'm a natural talent,” he said as he examined the painting a little longer. “Did you learn this in school?”

“Some of it.”

“What did you—”

Katherine moved to the next wall. “This one is interesting.”

The painting showed a dinner table after a feast. Empty plates. Spilled wine. A dozen chairs pushed away at different angles.

No people.

Katherine tilted her head. “Which chair belonged to the person who left first?”

Van frowned at the painting. He forgot the question he had been about to ask.

They debated the chairs instead.

The room after that contained sculpture. Bronze figures first. Then white stone. Then darker pieces Van could not identify. A bust occupied the center of the room beneath its own light.

Only the woman’s head, neck, and upper shoulders had been sculpted. Her head tilted back. Her mouth was open in a cry.

Every muscle in her face had been rendered in enough detail that Van expected the expression to resolve into something obvious.

It did not.

He circled the pedestal. The plaque beneath it read: RELEASE

He walked around to the other side.

Katherine joined him. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Katherine examined the woman’s face.

Van pointed. “She could be relieved. Or overwhelmed. Maybe both.”

“People are allowed both.”

“I know. I just can’t tell what happened.”

Katherine leaned slightly toward the bust.

Van glanced at her. “What do you think she’s doing?”

Katherine considered the face for another second. “Having an orgasm.”

Van’s head snapped toward her.

Katherine laughed. “What?”

Van looked at the sculpture again. Then immediately regretted looking at it again.

Katherine’s laughter deepened.

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“A little.”

Van rubbed the side of his face. “I thought it was grief.”

“It may be. Classical art was never particularly shy about mixing ecstasy, pain, religion, sex, and death.”

Van stared stubbornly at the plaque.

RELEASE had become an aggressively unhelpful title.

Katherine rescued him. “Come on.” She slipped her arm through his.

Van allowed himself to be steered toward the next room.

Katherine turned toward another piece on the wall. Her body brushed interestingly against his arm and side during the motion. Soft curves pressed in on him in a way that seemed unconscious on her part but made it hard for Van to breathe.

Van missed whatever she said.

Katherine continued speaking without paying any attention to Van's quickening pulse. Her excitement to discuss the art seemingly overwhelmed her normal attention to detail.

He eventually found the painting she had indicated. Three women stood beneath a flowering tree, each holding a different object.

“What?” he asked distractedly.

“I asked which one you think is lying.”

Van cleared his throat. “The one in the middle.”

“Why?”

“She isn’t carrying anything.”

Katherine shifted closer so they could share the viewing angle.

Her tank top had been issued to a much leaner woman. It was stretched tight against her newly generous proportions, and Van was actively keeping his attention fixed on the painting before him. He did not allow himself to glance down at the deep valley made by the shorter woman's breasts.

Van forgot what the other two women were holding.

Katherine’s eyes remained on the painting. “Interesting.”

“Yeah.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“No. Middle one.”

“Why?”

Van stared. The woman on the left held a mirror. The woman on the right carried a knife. The middle woman’s hands were empty.

He forced his attention back into place. “She doesn’t need a prop. The others are showing you what they are. She’s letting you decide.”

Katherine turned her face up toward him. They were close enough that Van could see tiny variations of blue through the irises she had chosen.

“That’s a good answer.”

He took half a step toward the painting.

Katherine released his arm only long enough to move around the pedestal between them. Then she took it again.

* * *

The exhibition changed. A woman in watercolor stood behind a curtain while another woman loosened the ties at the back of her dress.

Nothing about it was especially explicit.

The next piece was.

He took in enough of a reclining nude to understand the subject and concentrated on the painter’s use of blue.

Katherine bent forward to study the same canvas with academic calm. “The lighting is excellent.”

Van nodded with more conviction than the observation deserved. Her cotton shorts had also been made for a much leaner frame, and they were tight with restraint around Katherine's new shape. Her hips and ass were full and soft instead of strong and tight. The way she bent to examine the painting was casual. Van realized she was simply far too confident to police her body the way some women did.

Katherine glanced at him, spared him whatever comment she might have made, and moved on.

The next sculpture depicted two women embracing. The one after that added a third.

The title Letting Go had begun to feel less philosophical.

A large oil painting showed a woman seated at the end of a bed while three other women undressed behind her. A man’s hand entered the composition from the lower edge, resting palm-up beside her knee.

Van stopped. Katherine joined him.

He studied the painting for reasons he did not want to examine too closely.

“Do you notice the pattern?” Katherine asked.

Van lowered his voice even though no one else occupied the room. “Every time there’s more than one partner, there’s still only one man.”

Katherine considered the painting again. “So there is.”

“You noticed already.”

“Yes.” Her mouth curved, and she continued toward the next piece.

The next room made the previous one look restrained.

Silk, skin, open mouths, discarded clothing, bodies arranged around each other in combinations that left Van increasingly interested in architectural details.

He checked the doorway behind them. They had come through three rooms. Ahead, an EXIT sign marked a short corridor beyond one final gallery.

Closer. He could turn around, but that would require explaining why.

Katherine had stopped in front of a marble figure and was studying the sculptor’s treatment of fabric with the same attention she had given the cliffside marriage.

Van walked to her. The marble woman held a sheet against herself. It did not cover much.

“The stone’s almost translucent around the cloth,” Katherine said. “You can see how thin the sculptor made it without actually making it fragile. That takes extraordinary control.”

Van looked at the folds rather than the body beneath them. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Katherine turned. Her shoulder touched his chest again. Van stepped back just enough to regain room.

Katherine moved naturally around him toward the next piece. He followed. He could survive one more room.

He had survived Alters. Art should not be harder.

* * *

Jessica waited near the final gallery. “How are you enjoying the exhibition?”

Van wished she had asked him anything else. “It’s very well made.”

Jessica smiled. “Thank you.”

Van realized what he had just implied and looked toward Katherine. The small crease beside her mouth told him she was enjoying this.

Jessica spared him. “I appreciate that.”

Katherine looked around the final room. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

“Please.”

“There aren’t any artist cards. I assumed the front room might contain the information, but none of the individual works are signed either.”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

Jessica smiled. “Because there is only one artist.”

Katherine’s eyebrows rose.

Jessica touched two fingers lightly to her own chest. “Me.”

Van glanced back toward the rooms they had passed. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Katherine’s interest sharpened. “You work in all of these media yourself?”

“I do.”

“That is an unusual breadth.”

“I’ve had time.”

The answer did nothing to resolve Van’s earlier difficulty placing her age.

Katherine smiled slowly. “I knew something was connecting them.”

Jessica’s expression brightened. “The inconsistencies?”

“The deliberate ones.”

“Good.”

Jessica stepped away from the wall. “Then I’d like to show you my newest piece.”

Van’s confidence collapsed. He produced a smile that probably looked painful.

Jessica led them toward the far side of the final gallery where a sculpture stood alone.

At first Van only saw the general details: a woman knelt on the floor, stone silk draped her body in thin folds, gathered around her hips and crossing her chest in narrow bands. A collar encircled her throat.

A leash descended from it.

She held the loose end up with one hand. The man’s body was absent except for one leg, sculpted from the floor to above the knee before ending in a clean plane of unfinished stone.

The kneeling woman pressed against that leg. Her free arm wrapped around it. Her face was tilted upward toward the missing figure.

Van stopped several feet away.

Jessica moved beside the pedestal.

Katherine approached more closely. “That is fascinating.”

Van stared at the abrupt end of the man’s leg. The unfinished plane drew attention back to the woman because every other part of the piece had been carried to extraordinary detail.

Jessica turned to Van. “What do you think?”

He had no answer. Van stepped closer to the sculpture. He could find something to say besides the obvious. Composition. Material. Expression. Anything.

He studied the woman’s face. Her lips were parted. Fine tool marks around the mouth softened into the impression of dampness without the stone ever ceasing to look like stone. The eyes were open. Even the irises had been cut with tiny differences around the pupils.

Van moved a little nearer. Something about the nose caught him. Then the curve beside the mouth. His eyes moved from the sculpture to Jessica.

Back to the sculpture. Jessica waited with excruciating patience.

Van’s stomach dropped. It was her.

The exact slope of her cheek. The small asymmetry where one side of her mouth sat fractionally higher than the other. The shape of her brows. The tiny crease beside one nostril when she smiled.

He looked at Jessica again to confirm what his eyes had already decided.

Then the craftsmanship made the rest impossible to dismiss as generalized erotic idealization.

The sculpted silk showed the tension of the body beneath it. Individual tendons stood out along the hand offering the leash. The arm wrapped around the absent man’s leg compressed flesh against stone with the same attention given to Jessica’s face. Even small differences in posture—the angle of one shoulder, the twist through the waist, the way the knees settled against the floor—had been observed rather than invented.

Van’s attention caught on the thin fabric crossing the statue’s chest. Tiny nipples were carved in detail, pressing against the silk of the figure. His gaze immediately returned to the face.

Jessica had not sculpted a fantasy woman who resembled her. She had studied herself closely enough to make recognition unavoidable.

The raised leash remained between the statue and the unfinished space above it.

Van looked at the carved expression again.

The open mouth, lifted chin, and complete attention directed toward a figure who had not been given a face left him with nowhere comfortable to put his own eyes.

Jessica spoke from beside him. “What do you think?”

Van opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

He tried again. “It’s—”

Van abandoned the sentence. “Excuse me.”

He turned and walked toward the exit.

He managed not to walk quickly until he reached the corridor. Then the door opened and he disappeared through it.

Katherine watched the empty doorway.

Jessica stepped beside her. “Too much?”

“For him?” Katherine looked once more at the statue. “Yes.”

Jessica’s attention moved toward the face she had carved. “At least he recognized me before he looked anywhere else. Most see the sexuality first and the person last.”

Katherine’s gaze returned to the kneeling figure, then to the offered leash.

After another second, she inclined her head. “Good night, Jessica.”

“Good night, Katherine.”

Katherine followed Van out.