Chapter 23 Arabella #3
The crowd clap in appreciation. Quoth looks like he’s going to be sick. Mina squeezes his hand and beams. Behind them, Heathcliff downs a blood cocktail and promptly spits it out all over his rumpled black shirt.
Gideon moves down the line of sculptures, giving a short introduction to each piece before unveiling it.
Quoth has contributed three pieces in total, all of them variations on the theme of cages.
His work is stunning, and it no doubt helped ease Gideon’s fears that Alaric wouldn’t come through with enough pieces.
Not that I care if Gideon is afraid of anything.
Alaric’s sculptures are next. People gasp when Gideon reveals them one by one. They are studies of the Upyr form from our various myths, each more beautiful than the last. There is something of Rodin in Alaric’s technique – a sense of passion and tragedy and the breadth of human experience.
Finally, Gideon pauses at the last sculpture.
His gaze sweeps the crowd, but he stops when his eyes land on mine.
“This final piece is from a creator who is a little ashamed to have his work displayed alongside these two other amazing artists. This is his first ever sculptural work, but what he lacks in technique I hope you can agree he makes up in passion for his subject.”
Gideon yanks off the sheet, revealing…
What is that?
It’s an abomination to the craft of sculpting. A travesty in travertine.
Bulbous blobs protrude from a lopsided base that looks in danger of toppling over beneath the weight of its creator’s ineptitude.
It might be said to vaguely resemble a woman’s torso if the model were made out of potatoes and you were feeling extremely generous.
Beside me, Eleanor winces.
Winnie covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh no, he somehow made it worse.”
She looks over at me, and something tells me I need to take a closer look at that sculpture.
I rush over just as Celeste bends down to examine the plinth. “Um, this sculpture is called Arabella.”
“Is that supposed to be you?” Alyra asks me.
My mouth falls open. Who would create a horrific sculpture and name it after me?
Is this a sick joke?
Gideon glides over to me, a blood cocktail resting casually in his fingers.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Do I…” Realisation dawns as I take in his expectant smile. “You made this?”
“Of course! Alaric helped me. Well, he tried to help, but I told him I had to do it myself.” Gideon gestures to the abomination behind him. “I wanted to show you how I feel about you, that even though one hundred and fifty years have passed, I still remember every curve of your body—”
“Clearly you don’t, because my curves don’t resemble the Elephant Man!”
His smile freezes on his pouty lips.
“I can’t believe this. You thought putting an ugly sculpture of my naked form in the garden of the estate where I live would win me back?” I glare at him. “You’re even more clueless than I thought. I don’t want you back.”
Gideon’s face freezes. “You still have feelings for me. I can tell. Why else would you help me?”
“Oh, I have feelings. But I won’t repeat them in polite company,” I hiss.
“Why do you think I want to help you keep this place open? Why did I buy a house in Sanctus in the first place? Because you promised discretion. You promised safety. I don’t want to be reminded of what I had and lost because of you.
I don’t want this—” I gesture at the monstrous effigy.
“Reminding people that I used to dance naked and sell my body for money. I want you to stop trying to win me back and accept my eternal hatred like a man.” I whirl on my heel and storm away.
“Arabella, wait!”
My friends call after me, too, but I ignore them. I cross the babbling stream and rush up the winding path towards my house as fast as my Louboutins will carry me.
“Arabella!” Celeste jogs up alongside me, her short brown bob with the red streaks flying around her face, and her cupcake earrings jangling as her dress rides up over her ample breasts.
I don’t slow down. “How come you’re not puffing?”
“You think that because I run a bakery and eat raw cookie dough every day, I’m not in shape?
” Celeste leaps in front of me, forcing me to stop so I don’t plough into her.
She thrusts her hands on her hips. “You know I run in the woods near the Old Mill most days. What I want to know is, why are you so upset?”
“Wouldn’t you be upset if someone created a hideous naked statue of you and put it up for the whole neighbourhood to see?”
“Only if they were someone I cared about.”
“I don’t care about Gideon. I hate everything about him, from his stupid face and his ridiculous smile to that suit he’s wearing and—” Something behind Celeste’s head catches my eye. I dart around her and step onto the path that leads to the front door of my house.
“Arabella, what is that?”
But I can’t tell her. Because I have no idea why there is a beheaded songbird nailed to my brand-new front door, with a message beneath, scrawled in what looks suspiciously like blood, that says:
MINE.