Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

subtly under the play of purple light, turning his perfect color to a mottled ash.
    She tried to project happiness, but fear radiated through the room and the apparitions expanded, coming out of the running black venomous sap and growing as her fear swelled. He didn’t notice the shadows running up his arms, his blackened fingers, or the subtle changes in his skin. Every time he turned the painting, trying to rip it from the stretcher bar, the jagged pieces of glass embedded in his skin. Blood fed the phantoms so that they took on monstrous shapes. She grabbed at the canvas, trying to get it out of his hands.
    Jean-Claude growled, ripping the painting from her, nearly tossing her to the floor, cursing as he stumbled himself. Blood dripped steadily.
    “It isn’t there,” Judith whispered. “Jean-Claude, please let’s go. It isn’t there. We have to go, right now.”
    Jean-Claude tossed the painting against the wall. The crash reverberated through the room, his anger growing in direct proportion to the building violence of swirling emotions. The energy spun madly, like a terrible twister forming from the ceiling to the floor, shooting through the room seeking a target—seeking Jean-Claude.
    He backhanded her, sent her flying, her body sprawling across the shadowed floor. Droplets of blood showered down around her. She tried to crawl toward the door, hoping he’d follow, hoping to lead him out. How could he be so oblivious? How could he not feel the swelling demons reaching for him as the purple lights of the candles stretched toward him? Everything in the room, above and below, the cracking branches, the venomous tree trunks, the crystalline tears, all of it extended toward him with greedy delight.
    He kicked at her several times, following her just as she wanted. His face, in the purple light, revealed a vicious, building anger slowly boiling until rage erupted and he caught her legs just as she reached the door, dragging her back to the center of the room.
    “Where is it?” he hissed, his lips drawing back in an ugly snarl. His teeth looked sharper, his lips thinner. The outer shell of the man, always handsome, seemed to be dissolving right before her eyes, and the inner man, dark and ugly emerged, as if those dark spirits were giving birth. “You treacherous bitch. You sold it!”
    She shook her head. “I didn’t. I found it and Paul had worked for a computer company. I thought he’d put it there when he stretched the canvas for me. I had no idea there was anything on it. I thought it was his good luck symbol for me. I put it in a cell for my kaleidoscope.”
    His head whipped around, a hound on a dark scent. He stepped in the middle of the canvas, right on Paul’s name, those weeping Japanese letters, the only beautiful thing on the work of hatred and destruction. Glass crunched beneath his boot and the crimson letters layered over with blackened soot as if the burning candles had spread a filmy layer on the floor and it had collected on the sole of his boot.
    Jean-Claude waded through the spinning energy as if he didn’t see it. The room hissed in triumph as he stepped up to the large kaleidoscope and jerked off the cover.
    Judith used her heels to try to push herself to the wall, making herself as small as possible. “Don’t,” she whispered.
    “How does this work?” he snapped, frustrated when the cell remained dark. He looked around the room, and then glared back at her, raising his gun menacingly.
    Judith shook her head but pointed to the portable ultraviolet light sitting on the table just within his reach. He snatched up the light, shoved it into the space built into the cylinder and switched on the light. At once images burst toward him, dark and hungry and filled with powerful energy. He saw himself there, as he was inside, and he couldn’t look away, held by the whirling emotions, so tightly woven, so alive and strong, they gave birth to the true image, matching the outside shell to the inside substance.
    Judith covered her face as the walls streamed black venom and overhead the weeping tears dripped blood. The door splintered. She hadn’t realized the shadows had locked it. Stefan shouted her name and his shoulder slammed into the door a second time. Then his boot. The door cracked and he reached inside and thrust it open, rushing into the room, taking in everything.
    He bent over her, looking like the very devil—or an avenging angel. He scooped her up and she closed her arms