Painted Blind (19 page)

Chapter 19

I surfaced in utter terror—disoriented, but fully aware that I lay helpless in Theron’s grasp. I could only open one eye. The other was swollen shut. When I pushed myself up, shards of glass stuck into my palm. My entire body screamed in pain, and I collapsed back to the floor. The table was cleared, most of it broken on the floor around me. I fumbled in my coat pocket, found my cell phone and pushed the speed dial. A piece of glass lodged deeper into my thumb.

“Psyche!” Aeas answered.

I struggled to breathe. “I … don’t know …if he’s still here.”

“I’m coming.”

I sank into the reassuring dark, only to be pulled out again by Aeas frantically shouting my name. It echoed through the empty rooms and ricocheted around my head.

He knelt beside me cursing heaven and earth. I opened my eye and saw him turn away and vomit on the carpet. Then he pulled off his shirt and held it against my head. “I’ve never seen this much mortal blood before.”

I was in too much pain to be embarrassed.

Aeas lifted me into his arms.

“The basket….it’s the next task.”

“I’ll come back for it.”

The stairs jarred my aching ribs as I leaned against Aeas. I couldn’t keep myself from crying. He tucked me into the passenger seat of my car.

“I need to send a message home.” Aeas dug through the compartments of the car. “Do you have paper and pen?”

“Glove box.” I tried not to breathe, because it hurt. There was glass embedded in my hand, and I didn’t dare touch my face. From the corner of my eye, I saw a piece of flesh hanging from my cheek. The pain was so raw that it consumed me.

Aeas found a pen and scribbled a message on the back of my car registration. Then he vanished. When he reappeared, he threw the basket in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Halfway across town his cell phone rang. He ignored it. The call went to voice mail, and the phone started ringing again. Aeas answered with, “I can’t talk to you right now,” then hung up. It beeped again immediately. This time it was a text message.

“Watch the road.” I struggled to read the print. “It says, ‘Answer me. Was it like the others?’” The number was local, but not Theron’s. I didn’t recognize it. “What does it mean, like the others?”

Aeas gripped the steering wheel tighter. He didn’t look at me. Across his face and bare chest were red smudges of my blood. “Theron has attacked mortals before—several of them.”

“And the others were…?”

“Raped,” he whispered.

“This number. Is it Eros?”

He bit his lip. His eyes stayed fixed on the road.

I smeared blood all over Aeas’s phone as I typed the reply,
What do you care? She’s just an unworthy, inconstant mortal.
I powered off the phone.

It was afternoon. I didn’t know how long I had lain unconscious in Theron’s bedroom. My shirt and jeans were covered in glass and blood which dried into dark splotches.

Bitter wind whipped through the valley and blew snow around in the air. Luckily, it wasn’t sticking, so my dad was still at work. Aeas carried me upstairs and rummaged through the bathroom cupboards for first aid supplies. He came back with water, gauze and tweezers.

From the feel of it, I guessed I needed a surgeon—a very skilled one—or I would be monstrous for life.

“I sent for medicine,” he said, “but the glass has to come out.” When I offered him my hand, he shook his head. “Forgive me. It will hurt.” Aeas’s face was stark white, but he clenched his teeth and went to work. He pulled five shards of glass from my forehead and another three from my cheek. He dabbed the blood as it ran down my face and apologized every time I winced.

“How bad does it look?” I probably didn’t want to know. It was bad enough to make him sick.

“Your hand isn’t scarred, is it?” he murmured, and held up a piece of the mirror he’d just pulled from my face. It was half an inch long.

Downstairs the door opened and closed with a slam. I jumped away from the tweezers. “My dad!”

“I’ll see.” Aeas disappeared and closed the door on his way out.

I turned away from the door. I would rather die than let my dad see me like this, but I was too weak to cross the room and lock the door.

There was some scuffling and arguing in the hallway, all in whispers. The door opened. “It’s not your dad. It’s the medicine I sent for.”

I turned toward Aeas, and an invisible person made a choking sound. The door wobbled as he fell against it. A piece of Aeas’s shirt disappeared as the other grasped it to steady himself. I was nightmarish enough to make an immortal swoon.

“You should leave,” Aeas muttered. He pulled away and came to me. “We need to get the rest of the glass out.” He pulled a vial from a small leather pouch. “This will make it easier.”

I drank it all and handed the vial back. Aeas cupped his hand around the back of my neck to steady me as I lost consciousness.

I woke in the dark. The house was quiet. Dad might have been at work or already in bed. The lamp on the table cast a small circle of light at the side of the bed. Unseen hands bathed my wounds with cool, sticky liquid. The skin tingled and itched, but I felt no pain. The person beside me sucked short, grieved breaths.

I could open my eyes completely now. The swelling was gone. “Thank you,” I whispered.

A gentle hand stroked my hair. He pressed his lips to my forehead and left warm tears there.

The gesture surprised me. Aeas never laid a finger on me unless he had to, but his kindness was touching. I reached for his hand, and my fingers found a metal band on the first finger.

It wasn’t Aeas.

There were so many things I promised myself I would say if I ever got the chance, but all that came out was, “I’m so sorry.”

When he pulled me into his arms, it opened a floodgate. I cried so hard, I couldn’t speak. My hands moved over his familiar shoulders and his muscled chest. It was him. My Eros. I buried my face in his neck. “I was helpless. I couldn’t get away.”

He tenderly kissed my healing face, but bound by Aphrodite’s contract, he never spoke. When he brought my mouth to his, love poured into me and brought the life back into my soul. I felt it from my toes to the tips of my fingers, sparkling and alive. Apology accepted; we still belonged to each other. I squeezed his shoulder, but he didn’t pull away. He kissed me deeper. I held on and willed myself not to faint.

When our lips parted, he sighed the way he did when he was irritated, probably because his little trick didn’t work. He touched my eyes and slid them closed.

“If I fall asleep, you’ll leave,” I whispered.

He held my hand to his face and shook his head. His arms folded around me and laid my head on the pillow. I clung to him, afraid that if I let go, I might lose him again forever.

Morning loomed in shades of blue when I felt Eros stir. As he untangled himself from me, I whispered, “Don’t go,” but he did.

Before climbing out my window, he dropped my cell phone into my hand. A few minutes later, it vibrated. I opened the text message.

Will return soon. Love you. E
.

I grinned at the text then fingered my face. The skin was smooth and unmarred. Happy for the first time in weeks, I rolled over and went back to sleep.

When I trudged downstairs, my dad was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper. He wore a flannel shirt and khakis. It took a moment for the clouds to clear and me to realize it was Sunday. I curled up on the couch next to him. “Is it really one o’clock in the afternoon?” I asked.

Dad didn’t take his eyes off the article. “Yeah.”

I slept almost twenty-four hours. “Will you make me waffles?”

He glanced sideways, then went on reading. “Only if you’re going to eat them.”

“With strawberries and whipping cream?”

“Out of real cream.” He folded the paper at the center crease. “Have to settle for the frozen stuff.”

I grinned. “I’ll eat four of them.”

“You will not. You can’t eat more than two when you’re not…” He caught himself. I don’t know what that last word would have been: sick, mental, anorexic maybe?

“You’ll never know unless you get in there and start cooking.”

He rapped me on the side of the head with the paper as he stood. “You’d better eat at least two.”

Dad watched as I forked down my sixth waffle. He kept up with me until three, then he sat back in his chair with a cup of herbal tea and a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. The waffles were fluffy, perfectly brown, and loaded with strawberries. I couldn’t remember when food tasted this good.

The fork poised for another bite, I stopped and let it clank onto the plate. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Dad sipped his tea. “You’d better not get sick on me.”

“Not bulimic, Dad.” I yawned. “I’m ready for a nap.”

“You just got up. Maybe you should do homework.” He reached over by the phone and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, which he slid across the bar to me.

The school’s letterhead showed through the paper. I unfolded it with dread. My midterm grades were not pretty. The letter reported eight truancies in addition to seven excused absences I earned since the beginning of school. I slid the paper back. “What good will A’s do me in a hospital in Maryland?”

“Is that what this is about?” He gestured toward the remnants of waffles on my plate.

“It’s about me getting better, if you’ll give me a chance.” I couldn’t tell him why I was better. Eros’s silent visit cured the ill effects of the dust. I was still completely under the dust’s power and more attracted to Eros than ever. Instead of love sick, today I was euphoric. And starving. My body was ready to take back what it lost over the past month. “I just need some time,” I told my dad. “I’ll get my grades up.”

He looked down at my empty plate. “Okay,” he agreed.

Outside it began to snow. Heavy flakes threw themselves at the window then slid down the glass and melted. Soon snow would pile up on the sills. “How much are they predicting?” I asked.

Dad went to the window. “At least a foot.”

It was a perfect day for napping or doing homework, so I trudged upstairs and emptied my backpack onto the bed.

“I’m sorry, Psyche,” a voice said quietly. “I failed you.”

“Aeas?”

He appeared in the corner with his head hung.

“How long have you been here?”

“I never left.” He looked more sick now than when he found me. “I should have gone with you. I should have protected you.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t his fault. “I had to meet Theron alone. You know that.” I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing the gray T-shirt and yoga pants I slept in, but I didn’t change before losing consciousness the night before. Where were my blood-stained clothes from yesterday?

“Did you…?” I motioned to my clothes.

“Well, uh….” He wouldn’t look into my eyes. “We didn’t want your dad to see you covered in blood.”

I was grateful but embarrassed nonetheless. They healed my shattered face and bruised body. I wasn’t sure how their medicine worked, but even my ribs, which I thought were broken, were better today. Both Aeas and Eros had seen the billboard, but it was different knowing they’d undressed me.

Aeas cleared his throat. “So, the task?” He sat on the corner of the bed.

“Fill the basket with silver wolves’ fur.”      

The way his brow wrinkled reminded me vaguely of Dad. “Wolves are vicious and somewhat reclusive, but this task seems easier than the last.”

“They’re protected animals in my world. We can’t kill them for their fur. I don’t even know where to find a pack of wolves. Somewhere in Yellowstone, but the park is huge. They could be anywhere.”

“You’re sure there are wolves in the Yellowstone Park?”

“Yeah, it was a big deal when they were reintroduced. How many do you think it would take to fill the basket?”

He shrugged. “It depends on how big they are. Two or three at least.”

“Maybe we can find someone who’s seen them recently. Still, once we find the pack, what do we do?”

“We’ll have to catch them. Winter’s coming, so they’ll have thick coats. We could brush the fur off them.”

“These are wolves we’re talking about, not golden retrievers.” We would have to knock them out. Forest Rangers had tranquilizer guns. We needed something like that, but I didn’t know if we could buy that stuff. I found my phone and scrolled through the numbers. I bet Rory could find a tranquilizer gun.

Aeas caught my wrist before I pressed the send button. “We don’t need Rory’s help.”

“We needed him last time.”

“But now you have Eros.”

Chapter 20

“What’s next?” Rory asked. We stood at our lab station in chemistry. I sorted beakers and he measured the first compound.

“Wolves,” I answered quietly. In explaining the task to him I left out the part where Theron nearly beat me to death, Aeas healed me, and Eros spent the night in my bed after I cried myself silly. “I have a lead.” I showed him the text I received in first period:
Dr. Nancy Bonner
. During English class I googled her name. “Local wolf expert. MSU professor.”

Rory lit the Bunsen burner and handed me a graduated cylinder. “So, when do we go see her?”

“Today.” Dr. Bonner’s schedule was posted on her homepage. She had office hours every Monday and Wednesday from two to four.

I looked up and caught Rory watching a girl across the room. Her name was Vanessa, and she transferred from Kalispell last year. Her dark hair was cropped short, and she wore chic little glasses.

When he realized I was watching him, his attention snapped back to our experiment. “Can’t today. I promised my mom I’d help set up the church nativity.” He set the beaker on the burner and noted the time.

I couldn’t wait two days. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed and his pen tapped the countertop. “I suppose you’re taking Aeas.”

If it were up to Aeas, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone. After haggling most of Sunday afternoon, I convinced Aeas I was safe in my dad’s house and at school. He was adamant that I not go anywhere else without him.

“I’m going alone,” I told Rory. “I can handle introducing myself to a college professor without the two of you holding my hands.”

Rory didn’t answer.

“When we’re ready for some real action, I’ll let you know.”

He avoided my eyes and stirred the compound. “Yeah, whatever.” His glance went to Vanessa again.

I elbowed him. “In the meantime I think you should ask her out,” I whispered.

He studied the lab instructions and muttered, “Says Venus.”

At the end of last period I went to Mr. Mayhue’s desk and told him I wanted to bring up my grade.

He leaned back in his chair and put his Birkenstocks on the desk. “I think there’s something you need more than a grade.” He smoothed the hair that fell from his graying ponytail.

I scoffed. “Therapy?”

Mr. Mayhue threw his head back and laughed. “I wasn’t going to say it exactly like that.” He leaned forward, and his expression grew serious. “Therapy doesn’t have to be sitting down with a shrink and telling your life story. Sometimes it’s just expressing what’s inside you.” From a bottom desk drawer he took a worn, leather-bound drawing book. “I have dozens of these.” He fanned the pages, which were filled with detailed sketches. “Full of my own personal therapy.” He smiled widely. “No advanced degree necessary.”

“So…?” I wasn’t quite sure how this related to my grade.

Mr. Mayhue shrugged. “Get one. Fill it. I’ll give you an A.”

“Seriously?”

“You’ll never master still lives and perspectives until you harness the chaos in your head.”

Sketch therapy and an A. Yeah, I could handle that.

Garland and wreathes hung over Main Street. Radio stations played holiday music, and bell-ringing Santas stood outside the department stores. I saw these festivities but felt completely disconnected from them. All I could think about was wolves.

I drove to Montana State University and parked in the visitor lot. Going alone seemed perfectly reasonable while I was at school. Now, as I watched students crossing campus in every direction, I instinctively scanned the crowd for wavy blonde hair and mean, powerful shoulders. I hated Theron for making me more afraid. I breathed hard against the knot in my chest then got out of the car and started uphill. I made a quick stop at the bookstore, where I purchased a sketchbook, before heading across campus.

For Dr. Nancy Bonner studying the Yellowstone wolf pack was a passion; sharing the knowledge she gleaned was her life’s work. She was a professor in the Ecology Department, and her research focused on the impact of carnivores on their surrounding ecosystem. Photos of the Yellowstone wolves covered every link on her homepage. Her office was located in Lewis Hall, a turn-of-the-century brick edifice with rows of forward-facing rectangular windows.

It was three-thirty when I climbed the stairs and made my way down the tiled hallway past several other offices. Dr. Bonner’s door stood ajar. Behind the desk stood a petite woman with curly red hair partially tamed by a barrette.

I rapped on the door. “Dr. Bonner?”

“Come in.” She rummaged through the papers on her desk without looking up.

“I wanted to ask you some questions about the Yellowstone wolf pack.”

“Packs,” she corrected. “The nearest is at Mammoth, but there are several.”

I rehearsed this a dozen times in my mind, but I still didn’t know how to approach the subject of gathering wolf fur. “How many wolves are in the Mammoth pack?”

“Currently there are eight.”

“Are they all silver?” I asked.

She looked at me like I stepped out of kindergarten with paint smudged on my face. I should have brought Rory. He was much better at talking to adults. But, here I was on my own and botching it up big time.

“One white, two black and the rest gray,” Dr. Bonner answered finally.

“Do wolves move in predictable patterns?”

Dr. Bonner pushed the papers aside and sat down. She considered me silently as she rolled up the sleeves of her button-down shirt.

“I mean, is it possible to see them?” I stammered.

“Most people don’t see them from the road, and if you are out hiking, you don’t want to see them at all.”

“But you’ve seen them,” I said. “There are photos of them on your website.”

She opened a desk drawer and drew out a compact photo album. She showed me the print on the first page. It was a close-up of a large white wolf. “These photos were taken from a hundred yards away while the wolves were milling about their den. They may seem cute and fluffy, but there’s no meaner carnivore out there.”

I felt myself swallow fear. “Where’s the den?”

Dr. Bonner smirked and tossed the album aside. She turned her attention to a plate of sugar cookies covered in cellophane. “There’s a bake sale at the Union—the first of many holiday fundraisers around campus.” She pulled off the plastic wrap and took a frosted snowman from the plate. “Usually I steer clear of baked goods because of my allergies, but I couldn’t pass on sugar cookies. Have a few.” She eyed my baggy clothes disdainfully. “Seriously, you could use them.”

I took a cookie from the plate. It was a reindeer with a red dot nose.

“You’re not a college student.”

“I go to Bozeman High,” I confessed.

“Your teacher assigned a science report or a persuasive paper or something like that? All the things you need to know for your assignment are on my website.” Dr. Bonner bit off the snowman’s head then wiped cookie crumbs from her lips. “I have papers to correct. Have a nice afternoon.”

Despite her dismissal I stood there a moment debating what to do. She raised her eyebrows and waited, so I thanked her for the cookie and went out the door. I bit off the reindeer head and chewed angrily.

Without Dr. Bonner’s help, I couldn’t complete the task. I needed information, and all I got was a sugar cookie. At least it was a good one. My grandma used to make sugar cookies like this with pistachios in the dough. I froze mid-step halfway down the stairs.

Dr. Bonner had allergies.

I turned and ran to her office. The door was still open. She stood there wheezing. Her neck and face were blotchy red. An oversized purse lay on the desk, and Dr. Bonner rummaged furiously through its contents. She swayed unsteadily. The swelling under her eyes made her unrecognizable from the woman who stood there minutes ago.

“What can I do?” I exclaimed.

She clutched her throat and collapsed into the chair.

I dumped the purse contents onto the desk. Caught in the folds at the bottom was an EpiPen, which fell out last. I didn’t know how to use it, but the instructions were on the side.

Dr. Bonner’s eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness. I pulled the cap off the EpiPen and jammed it hard into her thigh. The instructions said to leave it there ten seconds.

Was I too late? Would I have to tell campus police and the county sheriff that she’d been killed by a sugar cookie? I watched for her chest to rise and fall, but it didn’t.

Suddenly she gasped and startled awake. She grabbed my shoulder and squeezed hard.

“Let me guess.” I tried to make my voice light, but I was shaking. “You’re allergic to nuts?”

The answer was labored breathing.

“Should I call an ambulance?”

She shook her head, still unable to speak. Within minutes the swelling in her face disappeared. As she gained strength, she touched her throat and looked away from my eyes. Finally she whispered, “What do you really want to know about the wolves?”

I dropped the EpiPen onto the desk. “I want to know how to gather wolves’ fur without getting killed. It’s a task I have to complete—fill a basket with silver wolves’ fur.”

“You’re too young to get into a sorority.”

“It’s more serious than that.” I forced a smile. “Almost as serious as pistachios in sugar cookies.”

The natural color returned to her cheeks. A tiny circle of blood on her khaki skirt where the needle pierced her thigh was the only indication that she nearly died. “The only time I touched a wolf was when they tranquilized the pack to tag them. Once you’ve seen a pair of wolves take down a fifteen hundred pound moose, you realize they’re best admired from afar.”

I groaned. I didn’t want to hear how the task was impossible.

“However,” she continued, “your particular task is easier than you think.” The fierce strength returned to her green eyes. “Between the den and the nearest stream is a blackberry bush—thorny and twisted. The wolves pass it every day on their way to water.”

“And they leave fur behind.” Hope quickened my heartbeat.

She nodded slowly. “Lots of it. All you have to do is wait until the pack leaves the den, then gather as much as you need. Grab a sheet of paper from the printer, and I’ll draw you a map.”

She explained the route through Yellowstone Park I would have to use to get there. “Go early in the morning and watch with binoculars from the hilltop.” Dr. Bonner marked a star on the map. “Count them as they leave the den. One white, two black and five gray. When they’re all out, make your way to the bush here.” She marked another spot on the map. “Take some pepper spray in case you meet the pack. The alpha male is one mean S-O-B.”

I folded the map and tucked it into my pocket. “You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”

“Ditto on that one.”

“Are you sure I can’t drive you to the hospital or something?” I offered.

“No, I’ll call my son. He lives on campus.”

I thanked her again and started to leave.

“Wait.” Dr. Bonner gestured to the plate of cookies that nearly killed her. “Take those.”

I finished the cookies on the way to the parking lot, and I was still hungry. I called Dad’s cell as I drove home. “Are you home?” I asked.

“No. Where are you?” he replied.

“MSU,” I answered. “I was talking to a professor.”

“Gonna see if they’ll take you with C’s and D’s?” He chuckled at his own humor.

I ignored the jibe and got down to the more important matter. “I was thinking maybe you could bring home Chinese—sesame chicken, beef and broccoli, egg rolls…” Just thinking about it made my mouth water.

“Still interested in food?” he interrupted.

“Starving.” I arrived home and wondered if Aeas was in the house ready to chew me out. I’d gotten tired of him tromping in and out my bedroom window, so I copied my key and gave it to him, which made it harder for me to tell when he was around.

“Maybe I’m getting my daughter back after all,” Dad observed.

I unlocked the door with the phone propped on my shoulder. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Chinese food.” Someone hollered in the background. “Give me an hour.” Dad hung up.

I locked the bolt and climbed the stairs. “Aeas?” No answer. I continued down the hallway and into my room. “Are you here?” The room was still. I sent him a short text:
I know how to complete the task
. He didn’t immediately reply, which was odd.

I settled on the bed with my new sketchbook and smoothed the clean white page beneath my fingers. I picked up a pencil and started to sketch. There was only one image my mind wanted to create, and I could not get it right. I did five sketches, all from different angles but the same scene—Eros awakening with angry eyes. The room and the bedcovers I remembered well. The eyes I could sketch perfectly. The rest of his face I couldn’t recreate. It was torture knowing it was somewhere inside my head, but I was unable to put it on the page. I turned to a clean page and tried again. This time I outlined a square jaw line and tufts of wavy hair. Onto this face I drew those angry eyes. The rest of the features remained blank. I tossed the sketchbook aside in frustration. Spilling my guts to a shrink might be easier than this.