Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(55)

Of course the owl who was painted into his painting—an owl he didn’t remember painting—stared back at him silently. That gaze never shifted as Stefan moved around the room. But that eye didn’t belong in the painting. Stefan was working on something completely different. And every time he tried to complete one of his commissioned paintings, Humbug overtook Stefan’s consciousness toward the end of the process. Thus, when Stefan came back to reality, an owl was painted in the corner of the painting.

For three days Stefan had tried six different paintings, but, as he stepped back to look at the finished work, he found a damn snow owl painted into the corner. Not a whole owl but just a head, gazing unrelenting at him, as if crying out, Help me, help her, help us.

Stefan knew Roash was out there too. Figured he’d probably start painting falcons at this rate. But, so far, he’d been blessed to have only one bird show up on his canvases.

He’d never had something like this happen before. Sure, he painted subconsciously all the time. But this was a conscious painting, one he was doing for a client. He’d painted away, thinking he was doing fine, how he was on track, but then he’d realize he had white on his paintbrush. As soon as he saw that, he knew. He’d turn, and there would be the snow owl with golden eyes. How could this owl have such control—such a strong will—that he could show up in Stefan’s paintings like this?

He took another step back and shrugged. “At least I’m getting good at painting owls.”





Chapter 18





Issa woke up feeling tired, exhausted, and broken in an odd way. With a start, she realized she wasn’t even in bed. She was in Eagle’s arms, her head on his chest. They were no longer in her bedroom but out in the living room on the couch. She shifted to look up at his face. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not too long, half an hour.” He motioned to the couch beside him. “I came out here to go through some of your papers but didn’t want to leave you alone.”

She yawned, wanting to lay her head back down against his chest. But it felt odd, now that she was awake. And then she realized she had to go to the bathroom. She slowly, carefully extricated herself from the blankets. And, with his help, finally managed to stand. She walked carefully back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. She’d warmed up, but now she was mobbed with fatigue.

She grabbed the sweater they’d bought at the secondhand store, tugged it on before she walked back out to the living room. Her feet were better every time she was on them. They still felt spongy and odd, but her mobility was much improved. She walked into the kitchen, spied the teakettle, and asked, “Do you mind if I put the kettle on?”

“Go ahead. How are the feet?”

“I was just thinking about that,” she said as she picked up the kettle and walked to the sink, filling it with water. “They feel much better actually. Still tender but not quite so clunky. More like my real feet instead of stumps stuck to the end of my legs.”

“Good,” he said, but his voice was distracted.

She put the kettle back on the stove and turned on the burner. She didn’t know where the teabags were. She opened a couple drawers, found them, grabbed a second cup rather than walking all the way back to her bedroom, and then saw a teapot. She decided she’d make a cup for him, and, if he didn’t want any, she’d have two. She placed the teabags into the pot and turned, watching him as he went through the papers in one of the files.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“I found lots that’s interesting,” he said, turning his attention from the documents in his hands to look at her. “I don’t know how relevant any of it is to you in the present though. Your father was a criminal with a record and was facing charges that would put him away for a long time.”

She frowned. “I saw something in there about criminal charges, but I couldn’t deal with reading it at the time.” She walked to where he sat, her arms wrapped around her chest. “What kind of charges?”

He stared at her quietly. “Attempted murder.”

She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

His voice was sympathetic, but, at the same time, there was nothing anybody could do. It was a long time ago. “Does it say who he supposedly tried to murder?”

“Angus McKinley,” he said.

She frowned and walked around the side of the couch to stare at Eagle. “I found my mother having sex with Angus that night. My dad must have learned of it earlier, and that’s why my dad tried to kill him. Even so, my mother didn’t stop seeing Angus.” Issa rubbed at her temples. “There was a bill of sale from Angus. For Hadrid.”

“Really? Your falcon?”

“Yeah.” She bent down and pulled out the envelopes full of papers. She came to the one she was looking for, the manila envelope with a mix of documents. “I think it’s in here. In a smaller envelope with pictures. It would be in there.” Then she remembered where she’d placed them. “Oh.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded envelope. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

He held out his hand.

She said, “No, let’s put them on the coffee table.” They leaned over, and she spread out the photos. She pointed to one of the men with a big red beard. She tapped it and said, “That’s Angus.”