Evie's Knight (2 page)

Tension drained from her body as she slumped into her seat, forgetting the anxiety that gripped her only moments ago. She glanced at Calvin’s empty chair just as he sauntered into the room. A bright burst of sunlight surrounded him like a luminous halo, casting an angelic glow over his alluring face. His rich brown eyes met hers with a piercing depth that brought familiar heat to her face in an instant. The corner of his lips turned up at one side, and her conscious thoughts scattered like a flock of frightened birds. She had no idea whether she returned his half-smile as he walked past his usual seat.

She breathed in his crisp, woodsy scent as he walked by, wondering where he was headed. Her posture straightened in a blink as she realized he’d dropped into the seat directly behind hers, as if he’d been sitting there since school started a month ago. She could feel the warmth of him as he leaned across his desk toward her. Her heart sputtered.

“You made it,” he said in a low murmur.

Though entirely stunned by the fact he’d taken the seat, Evie glanced at him casually. With her body still facing forward, she spoke over one shoulder.  “Yeah. Managed to fill up that tank all by myself. Can you believe it?”

“Very good,” he praised. “You know, if you ever need help in the future, I’d be happy to meet you at the station, direct you to an appropriate spot. Course, I’d need one of those orange vests so you didn’t run over me.”

She smiled and swung around, resting her elbow on his desk. “Oh yeah? Well, I’d offer to give you lessons on social etiquette, but it looks like I’m far too late.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as he ran a warm knuckle along the side of her wrist. “You’re right about that.”

Blood pulsed beneath the spot where he’d touched her. She glanced down at his hands, liking the way he’d done it. Subtle, with a certain confidence.

A loud cough sounded from behind Calvin. The jock who normally sat behind Evie stood in the aisle, burrowing a heated glare into Calvin’s head.

Crap. Is he going to start something?
Evie pulled her crossed legs toward her body, making room for him to continue down the aisle.

Calvin glanced over his shoulder briefly, then looked back to Evie with an unrepentant smile. An awkward moment elapsed as the towering student looked around the room. He finally stomped past them in an irritated huff and slumped into the chair where Calvin usually sat.

Evie sighed, glad a conflict hadn’t come of it. The professor had never assigned seats, but most students returned to their normal place: The loud guy to her right, the meanish redhead in front, and the jock in the seat behind her. 

Since the conversation had gone quiet, she turned toward the front of the room in time to see Kelly waving from the doorway. Her bright blue eyes flashed in stark contrast to her jet-black hair and thick, matching liner. She glanced at Calvin before looking back to Evie, fanning her face as if the temperature in the room had taken a sudden climb. “He’s so yummy,” she mouthed.

Evie shook her head as Kelly disappeared into the hall, glad her wildly untamed friend had art in the next classroom–not hers.  

Professor Milton stood in front of his desk and propped a tall easel beside him. Evie’s gaze landed on the stack of manila sheets and canvas boards piled on the corner of his desk. She’d completely forgotten they were going to analyze one another’s work today. Her insides sprung into a state of panic. She’d never been the best artist, and the idea of having her work critiqued in front of the class–though each piece was presented anonymously–terrified her.
Crap. Please don’t start with mine.

The professor steadied one of the canvas squares on the easel and cleared his throat. “First piece. What materials were used here?”

Glad to see her art wasn’t first on display, Evie answered the question in a voice quiet enough to be drowned out by the others. The water painting portrayed several kittens nestled up to a mother cat, some licking at their paws in the sunlight. Looked like something the older lady on the back row might have painted.

A handful of projects made their way through the sometimes-brutal class analysis. Loud guy and mean girl played tag team on nearly every piece. Evie forced herself to participate, speaking only when she had something kind to offer. Still, with Calvin so close behind her, it was hard to focus. She kept fidgeting, worrying that the tag of her blouse was sticking up. Or that her hair was wildly out of place.

Just as Evie checked the clock, glad time was almost up, Calvin leaned forward onto his desk again. She brought the straight strands of her blond hair forward over one shoulder and leaned back into the seat, turning an exposed ear his way.

“You have a thing for rubber duckies?” His voice was nothing more than a gentle hush, yet the heat from his breath graced the curve of her neck, causing goose bumps to break out over her arms.

She smiled, eyeing the piece at the front. Bright rubber ducks of blinding yellow filled the canvas board. She nodded, whispering over her shoulder. “How’d you guess?”

Calvin didn’t respond, but he stayed in place, so close she could smell his delicious spicy scent once more. Evie wondered if they’d critiqued his piece yet. She figured somehow she’d know which one was his, but so far, she’d only been confident about which ones were
not
his.

The next canvas took its place on the easel, seizing Evie’s attention at first glance. The compelling sketch of a woman’s face seemed to rise from the thin, matted board beneath. The beauty of the subject was undeniable. The talent of the artist was beyond.

She sat up straighter. A fresh burst of interest stirred within her like a frigid breeze, awakening all of her senses. Immediately she thought of the Goth in the corner; it had to be his.

“Materials?” the professor asked, standing beside the easel.

Evie’s voice came out louder than she meant it to. “Chalk pastel. Black.”

“And what do we see? On the surface.”

“A psycho-looking lady,” the jock called from up front.

“Let’s go with that,” the professor said. “What makes the woman in this picture appear, as you put it, psycho? She’s beautiful, is she not?”

What the professor said was true. High cheekbones, flawless skin, and lashes that put Evie’s out of the running. She couldn’t actually figure an age for the woman; no wrinkles lined her heart-shaped face, yet the depth of many years loomed beneath her eyes. Still, as attractive as each rather bold feature may have been, the whole of it created a truly fearsome being.

“Her hair is creepy,” one said. “It’s so black and wild. Like it’s alive.” Evie nodded in agreement. In fact, the twisting ropes of her hair reached all four corners of the page.

“Her lips,” another said. “They look more like thin, poisonous snakes. She’s deadly, yet she’s smiling.”

In Evie’s mind, they’d neglected the most capturing detail. “Her eyes,” she blurted. “They look back at you in the most loaded way. Like she knows you. Loathes you.”

The loud guy sitting next to her tapped her arm. “I wouldn’t want to get on that chick’s bad side.” Though the students chuckled in mumbled agreement, the distinct truth of his words bubbled within her like a venomous brew; surely crossing paths with that woman could be deadly. She kept her gaze on the image, firm and unyielding, and let the dark beauty lure her into some evil place of foreboding. A numb, almost tingling silence descended upon the room as the black, shining spheres of the woman’s eyes consumed her. Bold, ebony lengths of her hair slithered menacingly along the canvas.

A lucid thought told Evie she’d become deeply mesmerized, as if captured by some dark spell. She swallowed the dryness from her throat, working to break her gaze from the picture, when one last detail drew her in even further. The snake-like lips moved as a sharp hiss snapped two pointed words in Evie’s ear.

He’s mine!

She flinched, a slick sort of hum scurrying up her back like an electric eel, cool and jolting. Shifting in her seat once more, she let out a jagged breath, feeling as if she’d just come up for air. It took her a moment to remember that Calvin was sitting directly behind her. He’d definitely seen her jump in her seat. The whole room had probably seen it.
Great.
I must look crazy to everyone.

The water bottle in her bag seemed like a solid distraction. She twisted off the cap and took a swig of the cool drink, trying desperately to shake off the effects of the drawing. Evie had never seen a sketch like the one at the front of the room. Never been so affected by a simple piece of art. Mona Lisa held a secret. That woman did too. A dangerous one. 

Calvin had spoken up on a few pieces, yet with this one he remained quiet and still. Or maybe he
had
commented on it. Perhaps she’d been so wrapped up in the haunting image she’d missed it entirely. Already, Professor Milton had removed the piece and was putting a new one in its place, which wasn’t hers, thank goodness.

She tilted her head to speak over her shoulder. “Let me guess, ex-girlfriend?”

“Yep. Not mine. My great grandfather’s.”

“What?”

“Actually, my great, great grandfather’s.”

Genuine shock gripped her as she spun around to look at him. “That was
your
piece?”

He nodded, a wry smile owning his face as he huddled closer, lowering his voice even more. “Just an old family legend my grandpa used to tell. He thought the Knight men were cursed by this Raven-haired Ghost. Used to scare the crap out of us as kids.”

She eyed the teacher before responding. “I can see why. She scares the crap out of me now. That picture was…” She shook her head. “Beyond real for me.” In truth the piece had terrified her. Made her feel like some delusional lunatic on the verge of a breakdown–hearing voices and all.

The final critique played out, and Professor Milton addressed the class. Evie remained in a thoughtful stupor, nearly missing everything he said. Chairs slid against wood, and the students came to a stand, shuffling their way toward the door.

“See you Wednesday.” Calvin’s low, husky voice had interrupted her thoughts, but by the time she looked back he was lost in the crowd.

Her gaze fell to the stack of canvases piled on the desk.
Yeah. Wednesday.

Chapter Three

As Evie pulled into the quiet drive, the afternoon sun slipped silently behind a thick bed of clouds, dismally wandering from view. The lush, green grass surrounding her house was slightly overgrown. She tugged off her pumps and let the cool, velvety blades cushion her aching feet while heading toward the porch. If only she were taller–she’d live in flats.

The weathered wood groaned beneath her feet as Evie made her way up the steps. She felt almost sad for the old porch; flakes of white paint chipped away as the days moved on, and there wasn’t a paint job in sight.

Just as she opened the creaky screen door, a burst of wind kicked up in an angry whirl, slamming the door shut once again. The porch swing rocked violently, the massive wind forcing the metal frame to bash against the house.

Evie dropped her shoes and gripped the chalky rim of a large terracotta pot next to the door. A dried, yellowed plant rattled loosely in its soil bed as she tugged the heavy pot with a series of forceful grunts. After propping the swing against the house, she turned to look over her shoulder, certain a dark shadow had drifted across the porch. 

No one was there. She spun in full circle, assuring herself of the fact, and shook her head. Calvin’s picture must’ve freaked her out more than she wanted to admit.
Geeze, Evie, get a grip.

With a tight hold on the door handle, she shimmied into the house, closed it snugly behind her, and focused on the task at hand. Earlier, she’d skipped her morning run and opted for more sleep instead. Now she was glad about it; the weather was irresistible. Running in the rain always invigorated her, especially the fresh, sweet-smelling start of it.

Evie rushed through the living room and kitchen without hitting a single light. Since no one was home, she unbuttoned her blouse on her way downstairs and dropped her skirt while entering her room. In mere moments she was in running clothes and pulling on socks. After taking the stairs two at a time, Evie slid the hairband from her wrist and pulled her hair into a high pony.

The first cool drops splashed along the back of her neck as she laced up her running shoes on the back porch. After jogging through the field behind her home, she reached the high school track. Metal bleachers lined the long, narrow row of stairs that led to the tarred, oval-shaped course. Giant, leafy trees lined the outskirts of the arena while the football field–a spacious gully of lush-looking grass–rested in the center. All stood green and thriving, seeming to breathe life into her as she picked up the pace.

Events from the day wove through her mind, Calvin and his dark art taking the lead. Visions of the black-haired woman seared a vicious pattern into her brain. The strange hiss replayed in her head again and again. Though she’d chosen not to tell Kelly about what happened, Evie had spent the drive home assuring herself the voice was real. Only now, with the fresh, rain-misted air to clear her senses, she wasn’t so sure.

She thought about Calvin next, still unable to believe it was him who’d actually drawn the haunting image.
My grandfather thought the Knight men were cursed,
he had said. Calvin hadn’t believed it himself. Yet every time Evie thought back on the image, a strange force–as dark and foreboding as the art itself–clung to her skin like a layer of tainted smoke.

She hated associating that darkness with Calvin, and forced herself to focus on something more pleasant. Like their encounter at the gas station. Each time she remembered the way he’d looked at her–the deep, capturing appearance of his smoldering eyes–a warm dose of pulsing heat spread through her body. He was so … affecting.

A distant crash of thunder brought her back to the present. Evie welcomed the distraction.
Enough thinking about Calvin for one day. Too much, in fact.
She was becoming obsessed. With a disappointed sigh, she looked out to the west; the storm had settled over the Great Salt Lake, leaving no more than a measly splatter of tiny drops in its wake.