Chapter Thirty-One #2
I steered her firmly to the last hall we intended to cover — the Impressionists.
“I’m chock-full of impressions for today,” Gen grumbled.
“Indulge me,” I whispered, tugging her gently along.
Something in me thirsted for a full-circle moment, having been here with Gen in bad circumstances and now in good.
I put my hand over her eyes, whispering, “Take me to my favorite.”
“You still don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you. But it’s like seeing a masterpiece — you want to see it again and again.”
She grinned and held my hand, keeping her eyes closed. “Okay. Just keep me from knocking into furniture. I can only hear paintings.”
And off she went, identifying the artworks we passed by sound.
“Gustave Caillebotte — The Floor Scrapers. Gypsy caravan. A church.”
I nodded. “L’église d’Auvers-sur-Oise.” The woman was amazing.
“Bong, bong,” she joked, pointing to Monet’s Houses of Parliament.
I chuckled. “Yes, Big Ben.”
And yes, her eyes were still closed. I would have sworn it was impossible, but hey. That was Gen’s specialty. I grinned so wide, a woman gave me a side-eyed glance that said, These paintings aren’t that amazing.
Maybe not, but Gen was.
“There.” Gen pointed. “Your favorite.”
She opened her eyes, and we admired Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rh?ne for a while.
“My turn for a request. Ready?” she asked.
I didn’t reply right away, too busy imprinting the moment in my memory. How many times had I stood in exactly the same spot, but alone, not even imagining the turn my life would take?
“All good?” Gen asked quietly.
I squeezed her hand. “Great.”
Better than I ever thought life could get, in fact.
Yes, we faced a huge challenge in terms of saving the chateau. And yes, we would probably encounter more nasty supernaturals in the future. But as long as we stuck together — all of us, not just Gen and I — we could surmount those obstacles. We could thrive beyond our wildest dreams.
My chest swelled as I smiled at her. “Lead the way.”
She set off, backtracking through until we reached Monet’s Poppy Field.
“This is where you figured it all out,” I said, more in awe of Gen than the painting.
“Thanks to your help,” she whispered.
I let my eyes wander over the painting, noting the prominent elements. Camille’s blue parasol… The red stripe in Jean’s hat, matching the color of the waist-high flowers… The slight V of the landscape farther back…
Gen did the same with her eyes closed. Was she listening to little Jean call to his mother? The whisper of wind over the fields?
A smile played on her lips, then faded away as she tuned in to something else. Seconds ticked by. Then she lurched and blinked, gazing around.
I grabbed her arm, going on red alert. Had she sensed danger? Intruders? Yet another painting?
God, I hoped not.
I searched her eyes. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I mean…” She leaned in and whispered. “I saw it. Monet’s painting of Manet in his garden.”
I nodded dumbly. “We both saw it.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean, I had a vision of it. In a big frame on a wall in a different gallery.” She closed her eyes again, recalling the vision. “There were people there…cocktails… Like opening day at a new exhibit.”
Her eyes popped open, and she grabbed my arm. “A gallery. Grepper is going to show it.”
My eyes went wide. She could see the future too?
“I guess I can’t be sure. But it felt so real — the same way I saw you and me as tigers.”
Now that vision, I liked.
“And now, this,” she murmured.
Her eyes shone, and she clasped my hands. “Maybe we did it. Maybe we convinced Grepper to exhibit the painting.”
“If he does, it’s thanks to you.”
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Her eyes shone with excitement.
I drew her in for a kiss. Whether Grepper exhibited the painting or not didn’t matter much to me. But it mattered to her. And, hell. If anyone could talk a greedy warlock into doing the right thing, it would be Gen.
“You’re something, Geneviève,” I said, letting her name roll off my tongue. “Truly.”
She grinned up at me. “If so, then it’s you bringing out the best in me.”
* * *
Thank you for reading Touched by Magic!