The Vanishing Sculptor by Donita K. Paul Read Free Book Online

ready for you in the morning.”
    Tipper smiled her thanks and left the cozy kitchen. She made a detour to open the window in the chamber where Beccaroon would roost when he returned, then went to her bedroom.
    While she brushed out her long hair and rebraided it for the night, she gazed at the family portrait on her vanity. She was the ghost-white baby in her mother’s lap. All emerlindians came into the world exquisitely fair, and as they aged, their skin reflected the benefits of maturing. Wisdom, experience, and knowledge all revealed themselves on the outside of an emerlindian in a glorious brown complexion.
    Although twenty years had passed, Tipper’s mother looked exactly the same as she did in the portrait—wide-eyed, full of wonder, with just a hint of authority in the tilt of her chin. No matter how inane her commands might be, her mother was accustomed to complete compliance.
    Of course, Verrin Schope had painted the portrait. When he finished the likeness of mother and daughter, he painted himself as if he stood behind them the whole time.
    “Just as it is now, Papa.” She picked up the picture and tapped her father’s image on the chest. “You were not really there as you are not really here. Why do we keep up the pretense for the general public?”
    She knew the answer to her question. It was for her mother’s peace of mind that they pretended Verrin Schope still manned the helm of their family ship.
    She frowned at the picture. “What are you doing that you cannot tend to your wife, daughter, and home?”
    She did not know the answer to that one.
    Tipper blew out her candles and crawled in between clean, cool sheets.
    The creak of hinges brought Tipper out of a pleasant sleep. She listened, but the silence of the room allowed her to sink beneath consciousness once more.
    Again she roused. Breathing. Not her own. She lay very still, concentrating. Nothing.
    I’m dreaming that bad dream Gladyme warned against.
    She opened her eyes. Darkness draped the furniture, the curtains, the walls.
    Nothings here.
    A rustle disturbed the quiet. Tipper moved her eyes toward the direction of the sound. In the round mirror above her vanity, two eyes peered into the room.
    She stared. The eyes blinked. She swallowed.
    A mouth below the eyes opened, grinning.
    “Are you awake, Tipper?”
    “No.”
    “Come, now. I don’t have much time.”
    The eyes and mouth shifted, moving out of the mirror frame. The bed behind her sank as if someone sat on the edge. She realized the image had been a reflection. The person, a very real person, patted her on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze, then a shake.
    “Tipper-too, get up!”
    Only one person called her Tipper-too, and that person had not been around for a very long time.
    “Papa?”
    “Well, it better not be any other man in your room in the middle of the night.”
    She sat up and twisted around to face him. He wore black from his neck down. A robe of some kind. His complexion had darkened considerably. She reached for him, tentatively touching his arm. In a swift lunge, he enveloped her in a strong embrace.
    “My girl, you’re a young woman now. Beautiful, just as your mother said.”
    Tears streamed down Tipper’s face, and she sniffed loudly. “Have you come home for good?”
    He leaned back and looked her in the eyes. “I’ve been living a very complicated life, but I do believe I have solved the mystery that will end my constant journeying.”
    He wiped tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I have only a minute or two before I fade again. Tell me, where is your mother?”
    “She went to see Aunt Soo.”
    “Dribbling drummerbugs, that puts a twist in my string for sure.”
    “Papa?”
    “Yes?”
    “My arms are sinking into you.”
    “Rather, going through me, Tipper. Not to worry. I shall try to return tomorrow night.”
    The space before her was empty. “Papa?”
    Tipper jumped out of bed and ran down the hall on bare feet. She stopped at