Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) by Danielle Martin Williams Read Free Book Online

the dress off, stuffing it into an old backpack, along with my grandfather’s old journal that I had pulled from my hope chest. Then I took the album I had filled with the pictures I took—admiring the way it looked after I had spent all night carefully burning the edges to give it an authentic feel—and placed it on top. Throwing on a dark pair of skinny jeans and a light pink tank top, I fished in my closet for my brown boots, figuring they would go somewhat with the dress. I’d change back into it at school because there was no way I would wear it to the museum. I glanced at my watch: Eight o’clock . My class started at ten, so I had some time, but I wanted to get to the museum early, partly because I was hoping Mr. Riley might have time to translate some of the journal for me, but mostly because I had vowed that after this project was over, I would let go of this silly fixation, and it might be the last time I got to look at him; the photo I took just did not have the same effect as the magnificent painting.
     
    *****
     
    Lost in daydreams, I was at the museum before I even knew it. Inside was crowded with a group of bouncing elementary students and two teachers desperately trying to calm them. I maneuvered my way to the front desk. Melissa was there again. She looked like she was about to lose it. She saw me and mouthed “Oh my GOD!” I smiled as she handed me a note.
     
    Katarina,
    I forgot all about the scheduled field trip, please forgive me. You know where the cups are, help yourself. Good luck on your project!
    Mr. Riley
     
                  Even though he wouldn’t be able to translate the journal, I smiled at the thought of looking at Brendelon uninterrupted. Mr. Riley really was too kind, and I would have to make sure he knew how much I appreciated his help. I practically skipped my way to the back, away from the ruckus, and on my way to the portrait.
                  I grabbed the beautiful silver cups off the shelf where Mr. Riley had left them, turning them over in my hand admiring the craftsmanship. My professor would love these. Carefully, I placed them into the backpack, using the dress to help cushion them.
                  Slinging the backpack over my shoulders, I scurried to the aisle with the painting. My pulse picked up as I pulled back the tattered curtain, feeling a strange sense of relief to see the painting was still safely there.
    The eyes seemed greener today; that was odd. I leaned in to see them better, shuddering at the realness. They were focused downward , and I followed the gaze, as an eccentric glow caught my eye; my bracelet was back to the green and purple swirls. I was almost mesmerized by it. I looked back up to the eyes; they were even lighter than before. Was it the glow from the bracelet lighting them up? It really was an intense painting, too life-like that it was almost eerie, but I wouldn’t be swayed by Mr. Riley’s crazy story. I reached up, entranced by his beauty, desiring to look closer at the green peeking out from behind a malicious black curtain, but the closer I moved, the brighter my bracelet became. I pulled back slightly, looking behind me to see if there was a fluorescent light illuminating it, but I couldn’t see anything that would cause such a change. Turning back to the picture, I clambered up on a metal rack, reaching up again, ignoring the strange shine. “A face so beautiful it belongs in a painting,” I whispered, reading the inscription as I put my hand up to the painting. It felt unusually warm and before I could think twice, I was hurtled backwards by a huge force of what I could only describe as a large gust of wind.
                  The frame had fallen to the floor, still remaining upright. The front circled into a large hole, and suddenly there was a surreal vapor as the painting began to move to life, and there he was: charging with his sword swinging forward and he was coming towards me