Watch Me Die by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page B

in the Bavarian style of painting on glass, the artist had achieved an amazing amount of detail. Mira had tried her hand at the process, a complex layering of enamel paint and kiln firings, and found it exacting to the point of maddening. Calling her finished product sophomoric in comparison to this would be giving herself way more credit than she deserved.
    This artisan had managed to portray Mary Magdalene’s deep pain at the loss of her beloved. Mira understood the saint’s pain; she had connected with it immediately.
    She, too, had lost the love of her life.
    “Good morning, Maggie,” she said softly, perching on the edge of a table, gazing at the saint’s anguished expression. “You’re going to be disappointed with me. I fell off the wagon.”
    Mira paused, as if waiting for a response, then continued. “Dr. Jasper thinks it’s because we’re about to say goodbye. I hate thinking she’s right, but I do.”
    Mira heard someone arriving. Deni, she thought, glancing at her watch. She had hoped for a few more minutes alone, but she wasn’t surprised by her ever-prepared assistant’s early arrival.
    Mira turned her thoughts back to Dr. Jasper and what she’d said about substitute addiction—an addict trading one dependency for another. It happened all the time.
    Is that really what she’d done? Used her obsession with saving the Magdalene window like a drug? And now that Magdalene was complete, would she fall apart?
    Even as every fiber of her being rebelled against the thought, she admitted not only that it was true but also that she had already begun.
    No. She curled her hands around her mug. She couldn’t go back to that desolate place. She wouldn’t.
    She heard Deni moving through the retail area. “I’m in here,” she called.
    Behind her the pocket door slid open. Mira got slowly to her feet, fixing a welcoming smile on her face. “I thought you were supposed to sleep in,” she said, turning around. “I should send you…”
    The words and smile died on her lips. It was the homeless man from the night before, the one she had given money to. But unlike the night before, this morning she could clearly see his face. The expression in his eyes made her skin crawl. They burned with an unnatural intensity.
    “I saw you last night,” she said as steadily as she could. “Outside the Corner Bar. I gave you twenty dollars, remember?”
    He didn’t respond, just continued to stare at her. She cleared her throat. “There’re no drugs here. I don’t keep any cash on the premises. If you’re hungry, there’s a mission on Baronne Street.”
    He took a step toward her. “And the Lord said, in the end the wheat will be separated from the chaff. And the chaff will be plunged into the unquenchable fire.”
    “I don’t want any trouble,” she said softly, “and I’m certain you don’t either. Just leave now. No harm done.”
    Something he held caught the light, glittering. A knife, she realized, heart leaping to her throat.
    Mira glanced around. Her only chance of escape was the fire exit in the back corner of the room. She eased in that direction.
    “In the end, the Shepherd will gather together his flock.” His voice rose. “What awaits false prophets is far worse than eternal damnation!”
    He took another step, then another, lifting his hand.
    Not a knife, she saw. A long, thin shard of glass. One of hers. He must have found it while digging through her trash. Blood dripped from his hand.
    He stopped within striking distance. She saw that a small cross had been crudely tattooed between his eyes.
    “The flesh will be peeled from their bones, roasted and eaten by demons.”
    From outside came the sound of conversation, then laughter. Deni, for certain this time. And Chris.
    The man heard them, too. It registered on his face. In the next instant, he lunged at her, going for her throat. She screamed. His fingers, slippery with blood, circled, then clawed at her neck. She fell backward against a