Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“I wish she would have come back to give me this thing—whatever it is—herself,” I muttered, ignoring the tangent about dinosaurs. “I’m sorry, Goody Albright—I just miss her sometimes,” I added, not wanting to sound rude.
“Of course you do, my dear.” She patted my shoulder comfortingly. “Listen, don’t read too much into this. I don’t know why your Great Aunt wanted you to have it—maybe just because it’s a valuable family heirloom. She said it’s been in the Hatch family for centuries.”
“Well, it’s certainly interesting,” I remarked, looking at the enormous portrait again. The man—or Demon—in it was nice to look at, even if he did have that mischievous look in his burning black eyes.
“Yes, it is.” Goody Albright clapped her hands together briskly. “Now—where shall we hang it?”
“Er, hang it?” I asked uncertainly. The heavy dark wooden frame didn’t match the decor of my house at all, which I tried to keep airy and light. I’d been thinking of just putting it up in the attic along with all the other junk—assuming I could get it up the stairs myself. But it was clear Goody Albright had other ideas.
“Yes, hang it,” she said firmly. “Oh, I know just the place! Come on, Tilda!” she said to the Brownie.
The two of them hoisted the portrait again and marched out of the living area, down the hallway, around the corner, and right into my bedroom!
“Hey, I don’t know about this!” I protested, trailing behind them. “I’m not sure I want it in here.”
But Goody Albright was already taking down the nice, serene landscape I had on my bedroom wall and hoisting the strange Demon’s portrait up in its place.
“I don’t know about this,” I said to her again. “I think I’ll feel weird about him, uh, staring at me when I’m trying to go to sleep.” Because the portrait was now directly opposite the large, four-poster oak bed where I slept every night.
“Nonsense, my dear—it’s not like he can actually see you. It’s just a picture, after all,” Goody Albright said distractedly. No, Tilda—it’s crooked. A little to the left, I think. There—perfect!” She stood back from the portrait, beaming in satisfaction. “Well, isn’t that nice?”
I wasn’t at all sure it was, but I could see there was nothing I could say to change her mind. Maybe I could just wait until she left and then take it down, I thought. Assuming I could handle it by myself—it really was huge and heavy.
I studied it again. The Demon in the portrait appeared to be life-sized or even bigger. If he was real, he would be nearly seven feet tall. Also, he had some serious muscles bulging the fabric of the old-fashioned suit. I was sure I’d never had a customer who looked like that—I would have remembered him. Why did he look so familiar?
“Well, my job is done here,” Goody Albright remarked, dusting her hands together. “I’ll see you later at Goldie’s.”
“Wait—what?” I said, frowning. Goldie’s was the town’s diner—a place where people and Creatures alike gathered for good home cooking. I supplied all their desserts.
Goody Albright sighed.
“All right, I hate to spoil the surprise, but we’re having a birthday party for you, my dear. I’m only telling you because I can see you’re in such a low mood you won’t come otherwise,” she added, giving me a sympathetic look. “It’s at five sharp. Try to act surprised and don’t give the game away when Sarah calls to invite you to have dinner with her and Rath. All right?”
“All right,” I said, nodding. It did my wounded heart good to know my friends were planning a party for me. Not that I need to be the center of attention all the time—in fact, I mostly hate that. But it was nice to know I had people in my life who cared. See—who needs a man?
Not me, I decided as I waved Goody Albright and Tilda off at my front door. Having delivered my “birthright,” Goody A was anxious to get back to the business of running The Red Lion. I didn’t blame her. As a small business owner myself, I knew how hard it was to keep things running smoothly and how easily everything can go straight to hell if you’re not careful.
Sighing, I shut the door behind them and went back to look at the portrait some more. Standing in front of it, I frowned uncertainly—had the Demon in the picture moved somehow? I could have sworn that his left hand was in his pocket before—now it was pressed over his heart showing long, artistic fingers with short, neat fingernails that appeared to be very clean. Which was nice—I can’t stand a man with dirty fingernails. But still—had he moved?
“Well, I know one place you’re moving, buddy,” I told him. “You’re moving on up to the attic where you can’t freak me out at night.”