Mysteria Nights

Then he started reading, and his heart clenched. Candice’s words were like a mirror of what was going on inside him. Could it be? Could she really care as much as he did? He read on, and images began to form in his mind, and with them a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to reach her.

Ten

To some people it might seem counterproductive to jog to town simply to eat a triple fudge banana split. To Candice it made perfect sense. She sat outside the One-Stop Mart and tried to tune out the sounds of the arguing Desdaine triplets as they fought over God knew what. Those monsters were always into something. And that poor sweet preacher, what was her name? Pastor Harmony? She’d somehow gotten trapped in there with those little demons. Candice could hear the woman trying to end the argument before any of the three little terrors could permanently disable some hapless passerby, which was just damn brave of the preacher. No wonder everyone said she was honestly nice—that she accepted everyone no matter how magical or nonmagical (or how disdainfully horrid).

Something crashed inside the store and Candice cringed. How old were those brats now? Eleven? Twelve? She’d damn sure better be out of teaching before, like a plague of locusts, they descended upon Mysteria High. Just another reason to land that fabulous job as an editor in Denver. Candice ate her ice cream slowly, dreaming of the romantic possibilities of her future profession. She’d have three-martini lunches with authors. She’d wear amazing clothes and have a loft near downtown. She’d discover the next Nora Roberts!

“Candice! There you are. Holy bat shit! You will not believe what the vampire is displaying in his gallery!” Godiva rushed up to her friend, her large round bosoms heaving with excitement.

“More porno dressed up as art?” Candice said, interest definitely aroused. She was always up for some full- frontal male nudity. Actually, it might be just the thing to help her get over the Justin Blues. Unfortunately, Godiva shook her head.

“No. It’s not porn.”

“Damn. Then what’s the big deal? You know I don’t like those bloody pictures the vamps think are cool. I don’t know why vampires are so into art, anyway. You’d think they’d choose a more, I don’t know, nocturnal profession.”

“Candice! Just come with me. I cannot begin to explain what you’re going to see.”

“Can I finish my banana split first?”

“Bring it. This can’t wait.”

Grumbling, Candice let Godiva shoo her down Main Street to Mysteria’s only art gallery, Dark Shadows. A crowd was gathered around the front display window, and as she got closer, she realized that all of them were staring in the window, and they all were crying.

Crying? The exhibition was so bad it was making the populace cry? Sheesh.

Godiva grabbed her arm and shoved her forward so she could get a better look. At first she was so completely distracted by the beauty of the pieces and the amazing talent of the artist that she didn’t understand exactly what it was she was seeing. There were two watercolor paintings on display. Her immediate impression of them was that they were dream images, and they vaguely brought to mind Michael Parks’s sexy fantasy work. One was of a woman who was in a cage that looked like it had been carved from ice. All around the outside of the walls of ice were big tufts of a delicately leafed plant in full purple bloom. Lavender, she thought. They’re bunches of blooming lavender. Candice looked more closely at the woman in the center of the cage. She was sitting on the floor, with one hand pressed against the nearest translucent wall, almost as if she were trying to push her way out. She was wearing only a white hooded cloak. Parts of her shapely bare legs were showing, but her face was in shadows—all except her eyes, which were large and mesmerizing with their mossy green sadness. There was something else about her eyes. . . .

Candice shifted her attention to the other painting. It, too, was amazingly rich in detail and color. It showed a woman sleeping on a bed that was in the middle of what looked to be a dark room in a castle. Mist, or maybe fog, hung around the bed, further obscuring the woman. A single tall, narrow window slit let in two pearl-winged doves, as well as a ray of moonlight, which fell across the bed, illuminating the side of the woman’s face so that a single tear at the corner of her eye was visible. This woman’s face was also in shadow. Her blonde hair spilled around her on the dark bed, drawing Candice’s eye. What was it about her hair?

Then she realized that displayed beside each painting was a framed poem. She pushed her way farther through the sobbing crowd until she was so close to the window that she pressed her fingers against the cold glass. Candice began reading the elaborate calligraphy of the first poem.

Come, icy wall of silence

encase my weary heart

protect me with your hold, hard strength

till no pain may trespass here.

Make still my battered feelings

within your protective fortress

safe

request I this sanctuary from life’s storm.

But, what of this ensorcelled heart?

Will it struggle so encased?

Or will walls forged to keep harm out

cause love’s flame to flicker low

till silence meant as soothing balm

does its work too well, and

no more breath can escape

to melt the fortress of frozen tears.

Candice couldn’t breathe. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Frantically, her eyes went to the second poem. It was a sonnet, and it was written in the same meticulous calligraphy.

The dreamer dreamed a thousand wasted years

Captive of wondrous images she slept

Swathed close in sighs and moans and blissful tears

Reliving promises made, but not kept.

The moon’s deft watch through narrow casement fell