The Wayward Child

 

"The Wayward Child" by Christine Graves via NightCafe Studio

Return of the Spirit Chapter 2

Read the whole story here 

The art gallery was dark, with rhythmic music thumping in the background. The crowd murmured as they sauntered from one painting to the next. "Another amazing piece," one person was heard to say. "How does she do it?" was heard from another.

The artist strolled through the room. She feigned interest in their well-wishes, but her Gothic indifference shone through. She sipped her Absenthe Bordeaux, languishing in the memories behind the works on the walls.

"Madam," squeaked a little woman running up from behind. "There is someone here asking for you. She's not like the rest of the crowd, she's...normal." 

"I told you I didn't want an audience tonight. I'll speak to the few in the room, but I'm not doing a private convo with anyone. Send them away." With that, the artist flicked her wrist and moved deeper into the crowd.

Darque D'Sire had built her brand around her Gothic, brooding demeanor. Her artwork had been sold all around the world, with pieces being housed in museums in France, Italy, Japan, and even Russia. It seemed she had a knack for creating pieces that spoke to buyers on a deeper level. 

"Madam," the squeaky little woman continued, chasing after her mistress. "She has one of your private invitations. I asked for her name, but she only said to tell Dessie she'd be in the foyer. Who's Dessie?"

Mistress D'Sire stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned and faced the doorway. "She came," she said in an almost childlike tone. With that, she brushed past her assistant and quickly made her way to the door. 

As she stepped into the foyer, the woman turned around. "You actually came," Darque whispered once again.

"How could I pass up such a beautiful invitation?" Demeter smiled as she looked into the eyes of her eldest child. "Hello, Dessie. It's been too long."

"Hi, Mom," Darque replied. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Well,..." Demeter's voice trailed off.

"Let me guess," Dessie said with obvious disappointment in her tone, "Auntie Cate made you come, didn't she?"

"She didn't make me," Demeter shot back, "but, yes, she is the main reason I'm here."

The two women faced off, though they tried not to stare directly at each other. 

"Look, Mom," Dessie finally quipped, "you don't have to stick around. I know you don't want to be here; it's not your kind of crowd. I get it. Maybe we can meet up for lunch before you leave tomorrow."

Demeter's face softened. "No, it's not my kind of crowd, but it is yours, and I'm not going anywhere. I came to see your latest works and maybe buy one or two."

Dessie tried to keep her hard, Gothic demeanor, but a slight smile peeked from the corners of her mouth. "Suit yourself. Come on, I'll show you around."

The two women went into the gallery, and Dessie pointed out several pieces to her mother, asking her if she remembered the stories behind each one. They shared a few giggles and a couple of quiet moments in the process. Many of Dessie's other guests began to comment about the woman taking up so much of the artist's time. 

Demeter took her daughter's hand. "Sweetheart, I should let you get back to your friends. I don't think they like me much."

"Tough shit," Dessie replied. "These people are not my friends. The only reason they're pissed is that they each think if they can get closer to me, they'll end up famous or some shit. Here, hang on..."

Dessie turned to the crowd, still holding her mother's hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please."

Dessie's little assistant came running, thinking she had forgotten to do something. "Mistress, I'm sorry if I..."

"Stop, Vivian," Dessie hushed. "You're fine."

As soon as the crowd fell silent, Dessie began her speech. "First of all, I want to thank all of you for coming out this evening. I worked very hard putting this show together, and I couldn't have done it without the help of my lovely assistant, Vivian." The little woman blushed as a smile crept across her face.

"Furthermore, I'd like you all to meet Ms. Deedra Masterson. She's an attorney helping to secure a deal between myself and an art historian in Germany who's shown interest in some of my work. I'm hoping that by the end of the week, a few of the pieces before you will be hanging on the walls of a German castle."

The crowd gasped, then applauded with joy. 

"But for now," she continued with a wave of her arm, "I invite you to enjoy your evening. If you're interested in any of my paintings, please let me know by the end of the night so Ms. Masterson can catalogue whatever's left. Thank you all for your patronage. I am forever in your debt."

The crowd cheered once again before scrutinizing each piece.

"Well, that was entertaining," Demeter said, trying to hide the smile on her face.

"Oh, trust me," Dessie remarked with disdain, "by this time tomorrow, everyone in this room will be trying to figure out who you are and how they can get into contact with you. You might think about adding art broker to your resume."

The little assistant stepped closer. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Masterson. I'm Mistress D'Sire's assistant, Vivian. If there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Vivian. I will." Demeter smiled at the little woman with a bow of her head. 

"Actually, Vivian," Dessie interjected, "there is something you can do for Ms. Masterson. Work your magic and get her a room at the Waldorf. Have a limo sent over to pick up her and her...wait. Where are your things?" Dessie suddenly realized that her mother's luggage wasn't with her.

"It's fine, Dessie. I got a room at The Bowery. And I don't need a limo, but I will need a ride. Miss Vivian, would you be able to make that happen?"

Vivian gleamed. "Yes, Ms. Masterson. Just let me know when, and I'll make the call."

"Go ahead and make your call. It was a long flight here, and I'm ready to unwind." Demeter smiled once again at the little woman, then turned to her daughter. "Dessie, I am so proud of you and all you've accomplished. I know I don't tell you that enough, but it's true. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and we'll get together tomorrow." Demeter hugged Dessie, then turned to Vivian, who was on the phone with the driver's service.

At the end of the night, the crowd began to disperse. They purchased fourteen of the twenty-six paintings Dessie had exhibited between them. As the last patron left the gallery, Dessie locked the door behind them and let out a sigh of relief.

"Mistress," Vivian cautiously murmured to Dessie, "can I ask a question?"

"Of course," she replied.

"The woman who was here earlier, Ms. Masterson. Why did she refer to you as Dessie?"

Dessie giggled at the utterly confused look on her assistant's face. "You looked her up online already, haven't you?"

Vivian blushed. "Yes, Ma'am. There's just something about her that doesn't sit well with me. I had to make sure she was who she claimed to be. My gut's telling me that you need to be careful in any dealings with that woman. I don't trust her."

This time, Dessie let out a full belly laugh. "My God, Vivian. She's an attorney, not a vampire. Although if she were a vampire, I'd probably spend more time with her." Dessie put her hand on Vivian's shoulder. "I promise, it's fine."

Vivian huffed a bit, then snapped at Dessie. "How well do you really know this woman? How do you know you can trust her? Do you trust her? Do you fully believe that you can rely on her?" Dessie could feel the emotion in Vivian's words.

"Trust her? Yes. I know I can fully trust her. I've known her a long time, and she's never gone back on her word. However, rely on her? Hell no. She's the one person in this world I know damn well I can't rely on. But yes, I trust her."

Dessie's answer confused Vivian even more. "Mistress, how can you trust someone you can't rely on? That makes no sense. If you can't rely on her, how can you trust her?" Vivian's words were more of a plea than a question.

"Easy," Dessie said with a twinkle in her eye. "She's my mother."

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The Stone Beast

 

"The Stone Beast" by Christine Graves via NightCafe Studio

Madison had lived in the oldest part of the city since she was a kid. She’d managed to find her own place, but it wasn’t much. A studio apartment at the top of one of the oldest buildings in town. One of the first, to be exact. She loved the old architecture, but was always afraid that pieces would start crumbling away at any moment. 

She worked in a bakery, so she was always up before the sun. She needed to be at work by 5 a.m., so she was usually up by 3. It was still dark, still quiet, the calm before the city came to life. It was her favorite time of day. 

As usual, Madison poured herself a cup of coffee and went to her Eastern window. It opened out onto a small balcony. It was a breathtaking view and her only luxury in life. Sitting to the right of her window was one of the original gargoyles put in place all those years ago. It had become her morning companion and confidant. 

She stood at the railing and took in a deep breath of morning air. “Aw, Sydney,” she said with a coo in her tone, “if only I could find someone like you. Stoic, brave, a good listener, and handsome. What do I have to do to find someone like you in my life?” 

She took a sip of her coffee, eyes half closed, then heard, “Well, you might offer me some of that coffee.” 

Madison froze in place for a moment, then screamed at the top of her lungs. The cup fell over the railing as she frantically tried to get back into the apartment. Once inside, she ran to the other side of the couch, then hid. 

Who had said that? Was there someone out there? Was there someone in her apartment? Terror gripped her soul. 

She calmed down a bit and looked around her room. Nothing. She didn’t see anyone in her apartment, and there weren’t many places to hide. She looked at the windows, and there was nobody out there. She was eighteen stories up and knew nobody could have climbed up that high. So who had talked to her? 

She slowly walked back to the window, looking out to only see the gargoyle who’d sat outside her window since day one. 

She opened the window and slowly stepped outside. “Okay, Sydney. Unless it was you talking to me, I think I’m losing my mind.” 

“It was me,” she heard replied. 

She shot a look at the gargoyle, which was sitting there staring back at her. Her fear gripped her to the point she couldn’t move or scream. 

“Please, don’t scream,” the gargoyle continued. “I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry if I scared you, but you’re the first person to talk to me in almost five hundred years.” 

“You…you can talk?” Madison still couldn’t move, but her fear was beginning to subside. 

“Yeah, we all can,” the gargoyle noted with a gesturing hand. “We just choose not to do so. But, I like it when you talk to me, so I…” His voice trailed off. 

Madison’s fear had vanished, and her curiosity had been piqued. “So, does that mean you can get up and fly?” 

“No,” the gargoyle replied with his head down. “We can get up and stretch throughout the night, and wander around the roof, but we can’t leave…ever. It’s our job to protect the tower.” 

Madison nervously laughed, “Protect it from what?” 

The stone beast turned his face toward the rising sun. “Pray you never have to find out.” With that, he became as stone again. 

Madison felt a shiver run up her spine. She looked at her watch and realized she needed to get to work. As she made her way through the window once again, she lost her footing and fell headlong into one of her end tables. 

She tried to get up off the floor, but to no avail. The room began to spin, and soon, all went black.

 ~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~ 

“Madison?” a strange voice bellowed. “Madison, can you hear me?” 

As she came to, Madison heard a cacophony of voices and sounds around her. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to make out the situation, finally focusing on an older woman in a uniform jacket. 

“There you are,” the lady said with a smile. “Do you remember what happened?” 

“Who are you?” Madison mumbled. “My name is Melissa, and I’m an EMT. Your friend, Carlie, called us. You’ve got a pretty nasty bump on your head and lost quite a bit of blood. We’re going to take you to the hospital.” 

As they lifted Madison onto the gurney, she glanced out the window, seeing the old gargoyle sitting on his ledge. Had she really had a conversation with him, or had it all been a hallucination? She thought she noticed the stone beast glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but she couldn’t be sure. Then she had another thought. 

What were they protecting the building from?