Chimera by Stephie Walls Read Free Book Online Page B

might have been there for twenty minutes, or it could’ve been an hour. It’s only when the gallery owner comes by to place a sold ticket on the edge of the case that I return to the present. When I catch her attention, she smiles gracefully. “Hey, Bastian! Wow. It’s great to see you! How have you been?”
    Tara Winford. Gallery owner. Art connoisseur with a brilliant knack for finding talent. At one time, her eyes were on my pieces. It seems like an eternity ago.
    “Hey, Tara. Nice to see you.” I extend my hand in greeting. I take hers and kiss the top gently with a little squeeze. She really is a phenomenal woman. She’d become quite close to Sylvie over the years. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.
    I see the indecision in her eyes, a not-knowing how-to-proceed look, so I save her from herself. “Intriguing piece here. Someone will be quite lucky to have it in their home.”
    “What? Oh, yes, The Seraphim . It’s exquisite. One of the higher-priced exhibits tonight. I think Sera priced it hoping it wouldn’t sell.” She winks at me, indicating her knowledge of an artist’s desire to hang on to special work.
    “She obviously didn’t price it high enough, or wasn’t aware of what someone would be willing to pay to have her with them daily.”
    “Yes. She underestimates her worth. Most artists do. I haven’t been able to catch her to tell her how well things are going. There are only one or two remaining in the collection that haven’t sold tonight.”
    “I haven’t seen her, either, but when I find her, I’ll make sure she comes to see you.”
    “Thanks, Bastian. I’ll tell her you’re on the prowl if I see her first.” The awkward silence fills the space between us. “Well, hey, it’s great seeing you. I hear you’re working with Ferry on a project. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of opening for you when you’re ready.”
    “Certainly. Thank you.”
    She leans in, gently pecks me on the cheek, and whispers, “I’m so glad you’re back, Bastian. We’ve all missed you.” With that, she turns on her stilettos and mingles her way through the crowd. I stand, saddened, knowing The Seraphim has gone to someone else, but I realize I couldn’t have afforded it regardless. I hope whoever purchased it appreciates the mesmerizing beauty the angel offers. I bid farewell to the stone figure.

    W andering aimlessly in search of Sera or Nate, it’s overwhelming the number of people I recognize—some who beeline toward me to reconnect, and others who cower, unsure of whether to acknowledge knowing me. I welcome those with the courage to talk and give a pass to those who are afraid. Suddenly, I’m in my comfort zone, discussing mediums, hearing about newcomers in the community, exhibits opening, pieces that have sold. My old friend, art, welcomes me back to the living with a warm smile and a firm handshake. But then I feel a chilled hand on my forearm. Turning away from the group of people I’m talking with, I see first the fingers—long, thin, delicate fingers. Traveling the length of them, the nails of an artist who, despite how hard she scrubs, she’s unable to reduce the appearance of hands worn by clay.
    My eyes cast up from the hand to a beautiful face, green eyes twinkling from the lights in the gallery like a cartoon. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. My heart constricts, the sting of my Sylvie staring back at me with the warmth of Sera calling my name.
    “Bastian.” My name on her lips is the sound of song as it rolls off her tongue.
    “Sera.” I take her hand in mine and lean in to kiss her cheek. She returns the gesture as though we’re old friends. I step back holding her hand, and take all of her in, from her black high heels up her lean body sheathed in black silk that hugs her curves in all the right places. Then my gaze touches on her full lips and high cheekbones. My mouth rises in a wide grin. “This is simply amazing. I had no idea how talented you are. Tara is looking for