Page 25

Yes. It looked good. I felt… Yes, I felt pleased. The room was warm and welcoming, and different from the clinical white of the rest of the house. With a renewed sense of purpose, I went to the undecorated room where all my packing crates were deposited to find the gold paint, brush, and pencil. It was time to do the leaves.

After I’d struggled out of my sweat top, I tied it around my waist and started in earnest at the doorway, tracing a vine in pencil that would curl around the doorframe. It was so absorbing that I forgot about everything—the awkwardness of lunch, Lulu’s incessant chatter, the dreadful uniform, everything. It was a relief.

As I painted, I became aware that the fragrance had returned. It was sweet and aromatic, comforting and reassuring, like a familiar friend. I now welcomed its presence and had stopped trying to locate the source. I didn’t know if it was something I imagined or if it really existed. I suspected it had been conjured up by my grieving imagination, so I didn’t dwell on its origins. For the moment, I didn’t care.

I was completely lost in my work when a strange sensation swept over me, sending tingles up my spine. Frowning, I looked around the room, unnerved by the feeling. Someone was watching me, or so I thought, but there was no one there. I was alone. Dylan and Lulu were downstairs, doing whatever twentysomething adults did, so I shook off the uneasy feeling and continued with my work, and I was soon engrossed in my intricate mural.

By seven, the light had begun to mellow. I stood back to examine my handiwork, stretching the stiff muscles in my arms and legs, and for some unknown reason, I glanced behind me.

Standing there, admiring my painting, was a tall young man, his head cocked to one side, one arm across his stomach, holding his elbow, while his other hand stroked the stubble on his chin. He was dressed in black, and vestiges of the late-evening sun glinted in the gold highlights in his tousled brown hair.

He glanced from the gold leaves to me, to the painting again, then back to me in double quick time. His relaxed stance changed immediately, and he stiffened as I stared at him. His green eyes widened with alarm and began to blink rapidly. My heart lurched, abruptly resurrecting itself since its disappearance weeks ago, and it started to pound as fear and adrenaline flowed through my veins.

Who is this guy?

How did he get in?

His mouth dropped open, and his expression of horror must have mirrored mine. Then, all of a sudden, before I even had the chance to scream, or croak, or say anything, he disappeared. Puff-of-smoke disappeared. Like a magician’s rabbit or something.

He was gone.

What?

I stared, utterly frozen, at the empty space where he’d been standing. This entire inexplicable event had happened in a nanosecond and still I hadn’t screamed.

Where the hell was he?

Who was he?

Where did he go?

Did I imagine him?

I looked around the room. One moment he was here—and then he was gone.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Dylan entered.

“Supper’s ready,” he said. His gaze turned instantly to one of alarm at my stunned expression. “What’s happened?”

I just stared at him.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Finally recovering movement but incapable of speech, I nodded. I certainly didn’t want to go down the I’m seeing things now, Doctor route; Doctor Dyl would have me committed.

Dylan gave me a sideways look and I knew he didn’t believe me. He scanned the room, his frown deepening. Turning his attention back to me, he said, “I’m sorry I’ve left you on your own up here for so long. Oh, you’ve been painting.” He sounded surprised as his gaze turned to the elaborate golden vine I’d painted with its small dainty leaves, growing around the doorway. “Emily, that’s exquisite. I had no idea you were so artistic.”

Some forgotten part of me flushed with pleasure at his kind words, and they distracted me from the hallucination I’d just endured. It had been a while since I’d received a compliment.

“Emily, are you okay?” he asked again.

He was always asking me if I was okay. Once more I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and internally shout at him, Well, not really! My entire family is dead, I’m living with you, and now I’m seeing things!

I could only nod, more out of politeness, as I tried to gather my scrambled thoughts. Turning around again, I checked behind me. There was no one there. I must have imagined it. The strange fragrance had disappeared too. I shook my head, disgusted at myself. This was a wake-up call; my grief had gone too far and the realization was worrying.

But why would I conjure up a handsome young man? It made no sense.

Dylan regarded me, his face serious, and shifted from foot to foot.