Behind the Canvas (24 page)

There. That was about as boring as she could make herself sound after having come through a painting.

She watched the witch's mismatched eyes.

Nee Gezicht held Claudia's gaze firmly, until finally the wicked smile reappeared on her face. “You're not a bother at all. In fact, I adore company. Why don't you stay for a cup of tea before you continue on your journey?”

“No. No, I really need to get going. I'm late enough as it is.” Claudia tried to keep the panic out of her voice.

“Ah, but I insist. Besides, you've come to the right place. I would be delighted to help you return to your painting. I'm something of an expert in crossing the canvas, as you may have guessed.” She waved toward the dark canvas she had appeared in moments ago. “Please. Stay for tea.”

Nee Gezicht turned and glided over to the black stove in the corner of the room.

This woman was evil—Claudia's mind told her so. Screamed it at her. But the witch's invitation … The words seemed to wrap themselves like webs around something deep inside Claudia and gently pull. There was a part of her that
wanted
to stay for tea.

The feeling terrified her. She had no idea where it came from. Still, staying for tea might be the easiest way to get out safely. “Okay. I need to go soon, though. My friend will be getting worried about me.”

“Ah, yes, your friend.” Nee Gezicht busied herself at the stove. “She does magic, does she? With art?”

“Uh, yeah. I suppose so.”

“Good for her. There are so few of us these days who still practice. Perhaps you can introduce us. Is she a natural artist? Does she have an extraordinary talent for it?”

Claudia shuffled her feet. How far should she take her story? She couldn't let Nee Gezicht suspect that Granny Custos was involved. “Oh, I don't know about special. I mean, she's young, she's my age. But … she's just okay, I guess.”

“And … what about you?” Nee Gezicht cast a sideways glance with her orange eye. “Do you practice?”

In other words, am I an Artisti whose will you can suck dry?
“Me? Oh, no. No, no, no. I'm not that type.” Claudia shrugged her shoulders and forced a smile, fighting the panic in her chest. “I'm just … normal.”

“Well, you never know when hidden talents might float to the surface. Please, sit.” She gestured to the odd couches.

Claudia walked slowly over to the couch shaped like a pair of red lips. She hesitated, unsure exactly how to sit on a pair of lips. She slipped off her backpack and lowered herself right in the middle of the couch.

Nee Gezicht had leaned her staff against the wall across the room. Claudia studied it longingly, knowing that there was no way to get out of the house with the staff now. She would be lucky to get out at all.

She glanced up to see Nee Gezicht watching her.
Does she think I'm an
Artisti
?

“Did you decorate this house yourself?” Claudia said quickly with a glance around the room. “You must like art a lot.”

Nee Gezicht carried a china cup and saucer over to Claudia and placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

“Most art I find repulsive. Vulgar. Void. Still, on occasion an artist will strike my fancy. Have you heard of Hieronymus Bosch,
26
for example? He painted scenes of people being thrust down to the fiery monsters of hell. Now, there was an artist with creative vision.”

Claudia tried not to shudder.

Nee Gezicht sauntered to the stove and returned with her own cup of tea. She sat on the hot dog couch across from Claudia. The witch's cup and saucer—including the part that held the tea—were made entirely of fur.

Claudia suppressed a gag and looked away.

“Please do try your tea. It's best when hot.” Nee Gezicht sipped from the furry cup.

Claudia reluctantly picked up the cup and saucer. What was she going to do now? She'd always been told never to accept food and drink from strangers, and she was pretty sure that included will-sucking
Artisti
witches. Would Nee Gezicht have poisoned it? Did she even need to? If she wanted to do something to Claudia, couldn't she just cast a spell? Claudia wished someone had given a little more information on the whole
Artisti
thing.

The steam from the teacup held a woody scent. The liquid inside was a rich caramel color.

“What kind of tea is it?” Claudia asked.

“I make it myself. From trees in my garden. It's called witch hazel.”

Witch hazel? That sounded familiar somehow. “It smells good. I'm just not much of a tea drinker myself. I have a weak stomach.”

“I've never met a person who didn't like my witch hazel tea. And I assure you, it's very soothing on the stomach.” Nee Gezicht's voice had a sudden edge to it. She sipped her tea.

The air was quickly becoming heavier. Claudia stared at the tea she held in her lap. The cat hissed from the doorway.

“Claudia, it is not wise to insult an old
Artisti
by refusing to try her tea.” Nee Gezicht smiled, but her stare had hardened. Claudia felt as though she were sitting in front of a cobra that had risen to full height. “Taste it.”

Again, the witch's words wrapped themselves around a piece of Claudia and tugged. A part of her
wanted
to taste the tea. Besides, poisoned tea or not, she was out of options. She lifted the china cup to her lips.

A tiny sip of scalding-hot liquid passed over her tongue and slid down her throat.

Nee Gezicht smiled.

“Claudia, stop!”

The familiar voice came from somewhere in the room.

Pim! Relief and terror washed over Claudia in torrents. Her gaze shot around the room, frantically looking for Pim. He had come for her! But that meant that Nee Gezicht would discover the truth.

There would be no escape now.

The witch was on her feet, staring at the painting above the fireplace. The painting of the grotesque face and—

Pim.

“Don't drink it, Claudia!” Pim shouted. “Not yet.”

“Pim.” Nee Gezicht's face showed pure astonishment. “I must say—you do know how to surprise a girl.”

“She's not yours yet, Nee Gezicht,” Pim said. His expression was smug, and his voice was thick with confidence. “Not until you hold up your end of our bargain.”

“Bargain?” Nee Gezicht smoothed the immaculate black cloth of her dress. “It's been a while since we've spoken. You will need to refresh my memory.”

Pim pressed his hands against the window-canvas. “You gave me your oath, old woman. You said if I brought you a young
Artisti
—someone to take my place—that you would let me go. You would release me from this world.” His eyes shone savagely and flicked to Claudia. “Well, there she is. I've led her right into your living room.”

The words sucked the air from Claudia's lungs, as if she had jumped into ice water. The cup and saucer fell from her trembling hands and shattered on the wooden floor.

How could this be?

After all she'd done … After all he'd promised … After all she'd trusted …

After it all … she had been played.

Deceived.

Betrayed
.

 

C
HAPTER
21

C
LAUDIA'S MIND
whirled, yet she stood motionless in the eye of the storm. She couldn't feel her limbs. She was vaguely aware of standing up, stepping forward. If there was a world around her, she was oblivious to it. Her only clear vision was of Pim, hands pressed against the window-canvas of the painting on the wall. Pim the liar. The deceiver. He wouldn't even look her way.

“An
Artisti
!” She heard Nee Gezicht's ravenous voice through the din in her head. “I suspected she might be. Another few minutes, of course, and I would have discovered it for myself.”

“You'll need more than a cup of tea to reap her will,” Pim said. “She's a strong one.”

Still he didn't look at her. The tempest inside Claudia took form and shape and slowly began to aim itself at Pim. Less than two hours ago he had been baring his soul to her, telling her everything, coming clean. Now he was selling her to the witch. How could he do this?

“And so young,” Nee Gezicht replied. “As young as you were, Pim.”

“Yes. And
I
brought her here. You took an oath. And not even someone with a heart as black as yours would dare break it. Set me free.”

Claudia had come here to help him fight against Nee Gezicht. It had been a trap all along.

“And just in time, too,” Nee Gezicht continued, walking in a slow circle around Claudia. “My bones have ached ever since you left, Pim. But we're advancing on the Southern Tier in a week, and I'll need to feel fresh if I'm going to join in the fun.” She paused and looked at Pim. “We could still use you, if you cared for a part.”

Pim offered only a cold stare.

Nee Gezicht shrugged. “I'll honor the oath. But not until I reap her will. I need to prove the goods, boy, before I can pay for them.”

“Then hurry up and do it. You'll need charcoal. And ironweed, freshly picked.”

Claudia's heart pounded. The witch was going to take her will. She would be a prisoner, trapped in the world behind the canvas, like Pim. She would never close her eyes in sleep. She would never taste real food. She would never see her family again.

Nee Gezicht leaned in close and Claudia jerked backward, ready to push, slap, scratch—anything she needed to do to get away from that evil woman. But with the witch's head turned, Pim finally locked eyes with Claudia. His wild, smug mask fell away, replaced by a look of terror and desperation. What did that mean? Was he afraid of the witch, too?

Nee Gezicht's words were low in her ear. “You have sipped my tea, Claudia. That means the reaping of your will has already started. You can't help but follow my every command. My command is this: Don't move from this spot until I return. And don't worry, dear. When this is all over, you won't feel a thing.”

Claudia had sensed a tugging before when the woman told her to do something. But now icy fingers wrapped themselves around something inside of her. That something controlled her feet, and suddenly her feet wouldn't move. She tried to leap away, to run to the hallway and up the stairs and through the attic and out the painting—but her feet held fast as though superglued to the floor.

Nee Gezicht patted her on the head. Claudia didn't flinch—how was this happening? The witch turned to the wall behind her and grabbed the staff.

Winds of fear joined the storm in Claudia's head. She turned to see Nee Gezicht move toward the dark canvas on the wall. The witch looked at her cat, still in the doorway across the room.

“Keep an eye on them, Francis. I'll be back shortly.” Then, staff in hand, she stepped through the canvas and was gone.

The storm inside Claudia broke the moment Nee Gezicht disappeared.

“How could you!” she yelled at Pim.

“Claudia—”

“I trusted you!” She picked up the furry teacup from the table and hurled it toward the painting. It fell short and scattered across the floor.

“Claudia, I—”

“No one else did, Pim. Nobody but me.” She reached for a pickle relish pillow from the couch and threw it after the teacup.

“Listen to me!”

“No, you listen to me, you piece of … of … trash!”

“Claudia, shut up and listen!”

There was desperation in his voice. She looked around for something else to throw.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I said those things just to get her out of the house. There was no other way.” His painted blue eyes pleaded with her.

The storm inside her faltered but continued to blow.

“I don't know how to trust you anymore, Pim,” she said.

“For now you just need to trust me more than you trust her.” He pointed toward Nee Gezicht's darkened canvas. “How much tea did you drink?”

“What?”

“The tea, Claudia, how much did you drink?” he snapped.

“Just a sip.”

“Then you have a chance. The tea is a temporary binder and it's weak. She thinks it will hold you, but she doesn't know how strong you are. I do.”

The storm in her head was now a buzz of confusion. What did Pim know? He only cared about himself. About Nee Gezicht's staff, which had gone with her through the painting anyway. “My feet are stuck! I can't move my feet!” she shouted angrily.

“You still own your will, Claudia. Not her.”

A fierce hiss came from behind. The cat bolted toward Pim's painting.

He glanced at the cat and spoke quickly. “Look inside yourself. Take control.”

The cat leaped onto an armchair, then onto a stone statue by the fireplace mantel.

“I know you can do it,” Pim shouted. “Get upstairs to the other painting.”

Claws extended, the cat lunged in an upward arc and slammed into the painting. It hissed and snarled as fore claws slashed pell-mell, tearing at the canvas and rattling the frame. Within seconds, the picture hung in shreds. By the time the cat landed gracefully on the floor, it was obvious why Nee Gezicht had chosen it to guard her house.

The cat flexed its claws and hissed in Claudia's direction.

But her eyes sprang back to the painting. Or rather, the frame. It was made out of a dark, coarse wood, like thick boughs of a tree attached at rough corners. Except that one long side wasn't completely attached. The cat's slashing must have knocked it loose, because now it hung at a skewed angle. It was a slightly darker shade than the others, and one end seemed smooth and shiny, as if years of handling had polished it.

It was just the right size for a short walking staff.

A meter and a half.

And a dark wood.