CHAPTER SIX

“Ivy, you are so friggin weird,” Shannon said, as she crinkled her nose in disgust. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I got you the perfect birthday un-present. But we’re sitting in a nasty old attic, surrounded by mildewing crap, and your face is lit up like Time Square.” She smiled, letting out a little snort, and turned back to the boxes.  Shannon didn’t get my fascination with old stuff. She could appreciate it, but she didn’t revel in it the way I did. Shannon moved a box and peeled the lid back. A spider ran out across her hand. She swallowed a scream before it could escape, and shivered. “That. Was. So. Nasty.”

I laughed. It felt odd, but I couldn’t contain my excitement. “This is awesome! I can’t believe they let us up here. They never let anyone up here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I think all the old church ladies were just glad they didn’t have to clean out the attic this time.” A lazy smile crossed her face. “Enjoy your divine dumpster dive. I’ll just start over here. Somewhere. Geeze.” I heard her shifting boxes, trying to get to the back of the attic.

Three bare bulbs lit the room. They hung the length of the ceiling, echoing the shape of the nave below. Their bulbs cast a warm yellow light onto the boxes and books that were stacked to the ceiling in neat piles. The stacks divided the room into a maze. While it didn’t look like the stacks would topple over, I didn’t want to bump into them either.

I picked up a threadbare Bible. Turning the cover open, my finger slowly drifted down a list of names. My eyes soaked them in, one by one. It was filled with families, people who lived and died, with names and dates of the forgotten. The hollow place in my chest burned. Sensations of being robbed flooded me. I wish I knew what happened to her. My grip on the old book tightened, as I thought of what I would do if I ever found out how Apryl died. How would I react? Would the pain ease? I got up and walked to another pile, trying to ward off the hollowness that was pulling at me, sucking me into the past. My hands shifted through the pile, touching, but not seeing. Before Apryl died, I’d been such a dreamer. I thought anything was possible. But, I finally came to grips with the reality that my life would go on, without her.

A glimmer caught my attention, and pulled me out of my deteriorating mood. A corner of a golden frame stuck out from under an old sheet. Curiosity clutched me, and I walked toward it wanting to see what was hidden. A dusty pile of books blocked my path. Moving them aside, I wedged myself between the books and the frame.

Shannon’s voice called to me, “I’m bringing this box down.” She balanced it on her hip at the top of the staircase, “Be right back!”

She was swallowed into the darkness of the stairwell, and I was alone. My fingers wrapped greedily around the frame. I tugged it quickly, freeing it from a lifetime of dust. The frame creaked, as I raised it over a pile of books, and set it down on the floor in front of me. Clutching the sheet, my hand ripped it away, and it slid to the floor. Elaborate carvings of little fat cherubs and ugly looking demons were carved into the wooden frame and gilded in gold. They were all nestled into a scrolling leaf pattern. It was like a Where’s Waldo, but with creatures of Heaven and Hell. My fingers dragged across the sculpted leaves and cherub curls. 

Spiraling colors ranging from pure white, to midnight black, and every color in between funneled through the painting - from top to bottom. The colors were painted in choppy lines that reminded me of cliffs at the shore. It looked like a place where the sea met the mountains, but there was no water, just fierce, jagged rock. At the uppermost portion were angels, both cherubim and seraphim with flaming swords. Slightly above them was pure white light. My eyes followed the swirl to the deepest dark part of the pit. Even the rocks looked evil. There was no light, just soul sucking darkness. I smoothed my hands up and down my forearms, trying to sooth the churning in the pit of my stomach. A little bit above the deepest, black part of the pit, were demons. They were painted as vile things, with dripping black flesh.  They resembled short humans with greedy blood-colored eyes, and razor sharp fingers. 

As my eyes slid to the middle of the painting, there was a mix of humans and demonic looking beings. They weren’t quite demons anymore, but they didn’t seem entirely human either. Their eyes were different—hard, cold, and rimmed in red. Above their right brow was a bright, blood red scar. Valefar.

My hand absentmindedly rose to my where my purple mark had been. My mark looked like a pixie hit me with a glitter paintball. But these scars looked like oozing, festering mutations of flesh. I felt a pang of revulsion tug at the back of my throat, and closed my mouth to choke it back.

Higher in the painting, there were warmer, brighter colors. This is where the humans were depicted. They were mostly in little groups of young and old. Women were sitting with babies on their laps, and older children surrounded their feet, playing quietly in the grass. The rocks were covered in moss and flowers, and sunshine drenched everything in rich light, vibrant colors, and deep shadows. 

As my eyes traveled higher still, there were beings that were human looking, but they seemed more graceful, more compassionate, and more beautiful. Something about their stance said they weren’t mortals, although there were no real discernable differences. I leaned in closer to see their faces, tracing them with my finger. I felt guilty doing that to such an old painting, but I did it anyway. I had to.

There were only a handful of these beings, unlike the red-marked-obviously-evil-humanoid-demon folk. The blue ones were scattered amongst the humans with their slight blue mark, glittering like stardust. Those are Martis. At the top of the cliff angels were suspended in air, surrounded by a scattering of Martis at the top of the cliff. They were all gathered around two central figures—a young couple.

Dark hair hung in long waves, and wisped quietly around her face for eternity. She was standing on a tiny stone step, above a guy. His feet were dangling. Their fingers were intertwined in the kind of grip that was about to slip away. He’d fall if she let go. He was handsome, with angular features, brown hair fluttering and obscuring his face. His eyes were looking down at the pit below.  At first glance it looked like she was pulling him up, away from the pit. But after looking at it for a minute, I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t pulling her down. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to help him, or drop him. But one thing was clear. The entire painting was poised around these two people.

Her long white gown flowed to her bare feet. Her toes were precariously perched on a single stone. One of her arms was reaching up toward Heaven, and the other was reaching down toward Hell, and her slipping grasp clutched the hand of the guy. Shock flooded me as I recognized the girl in the white gown. It can’t be. That’s not possible…

My heart hammered, as I reached for the painted couple. I felt my skin tingling with the feeling that something bad was about to happen. My thumb wiped across their faces, removing a thin layer of dust. Trembling, I clutched the frame with both hands. Staring. His mark matched the grotesque scarring of the red, evil human-demon things, but it was violet. And the girl… Her mark was a light trail of violet stardust, over her right brow swirled into a sideways S—exactly where mine was this morning.

 “Holy crap!” Shannon’s voice startled me. The rest of her words were obscured by my shriek. Clutching my chest, I stumbled backwards, tripping over my feet, as my butt hit the floor. The impact felt like I was whacked on my back with a wooden board. I spread my arms out to catch me, before my head hit the floor. Apryl’s comb clattered to the floor, skidding to a stop at Shannon’s feet. There was dead silence, as her green eyes stared at my face, shocked. After a moment, she whispered, “Ivy, that’s you.”

I blinked hard staring at the painting, wishing it would change. Hoping it would look like someone else, even a little bit. But it didn’t. It was me, and him. Whoever he was.

Shannon looked down at me, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” I asked, rubbing my tailbone. I couldn’t tell her any of this stuff with Valefar and Martis. I couldn’t say I was attacked by demons last night, got plastered with a purple mark today, and saw myself in an ancient painting tonight. Yeah, sure. That sounds sane.

She looked at me, and buried her face in her hands. Her fingers clawed at her flesh for half a second, then she let go. She was a moderately patient person, but she couldn’t stand it when I hid things from her. “Your mark. Why didn’t you tell me you were marked?” She folded her legs, sitting down next to me.

My hand rose to my brow bone, as my eyes widened in alarm. I touched it softly. “How do you know?”

Shannon shook her head. Her elegant fingers reached out and picked up my comb. Her other hand produced a hand-mirror from a dusty pile. After wiping it on her jeans, she held out the mirror. Gazing at my reflection, I saw the violet swirls glittering exactly where they were that morning.