Chapter Thirty-Five Aria
Chapter Thirty-Five
Aria
My hands were trembling as I dug the piece of scrap paper out from my pocket. “Where do we start?” I whispered.
“Search the name she has in caps?” he suggested.
I typed Charles Lewis into the Google search bar on Pax’s phone. The hope I was feeling sank when it populated with more than three hundred million results. How would we ever sift the information out?
Thoughts spun through my mind, and I narrowed the search, typing in Charles and Maria Lewis, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania .
The results were much more manageable, and I started to scroll down the page, looking for anything that stood out.
I wasn’t sure what it was, but my spirit rattled in awareness when I crossed an article that read, Charles Lewis, Local Artist, Found Dead at 38 .
It was an article from more than twenty-five years ago.
I glanced at Pax, who vibrated at my side, his body shifting so he could also see the screen.
He gave me a look that said he was interested, too, so I clicked on the news article.
Charles Lewis, a local painter known for his sweeping, scenic murals found throughout the city, was found dead in his home Saturday morning. Authorities arrived at the scene after a frantic 911 call from his wife, who found him unresponsive after he’d suffered a gunshot wound. There was evidence of a break-in, and authorities are currently searching for any clues regarding the incident.
There was a picture beside it of the backside of a Black man as he stood on a ladder, painting a mural onto the wall of a building. He swept a scene of color and beauty. But the beauty ... it was Tearsith.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Pax exhaled a heavy breath. “Laven.”
My nod was frantic, and I hurried to type in another search.
Charles Lewis, mural artist, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
It populated with a Wikipedia entry at the top.
Charles Lewis was an American painter.
Born: April 23, 1960, in Pendleton, South Carolina
Died: September 2, 1998, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Known for: Painting
Spouse: Maria Watkins
Parents: Carl Lewis and Isabel Lewis
Charles Lewis was an artist in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He gained the interest of Pittsburgh locals when murals began to spring up around the city, though the artist remained elusive. Lewis remained unknown for nearly a decade until his identity was discovered while he painted a mural in an alley behind Omni William Penn Hotel. While Charles Lewis declined to take credit for the previous murals, sixteen of them were attributed to his distinct styling of lush landscapes that touched on fantastical elements. After the discovery of his identity, he was commissioned to paint three murals at Pittsburgh Children’s Center.
Lewis’s works were cut short when he was found dead of a gunshot wound at thirty-eight. His death was ruled foul play, though his killers were never brought to justice.
“Fuck, Aria,” Pax breathed, and I could feel the way his heart ravaged.
I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Exactly what he was adding up, just like me.
Three Laven. Three artists who couldn’t keep Tearsith from bleeding from their fingers. Two dubious deaths ...
“He was married to Maria,” I muttered as I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat. I looked at Pax, and he gave me a knowing nod.
The two of us in tune.
Barely able to breathe, I dialed the number Maria had left us and put it on speakerphone.
A crack ran down the middle of my heart, thinking of her loss, terrified but unable to stop my mind from spinning through a thousand assumptions.
I would be next.
It rang three times, and my eyes dropped closed in disappointment; then they flew back open when she answered, her voice wary, “Hello?”
“Maria?” I rasped.
Caution filled her tone. “Yes?”
My throat was raw. “My name is Aria. I was in the library a couple days ago.”
Silence pounded through the line before there was shuffling around, then the sound of a door clicking shut. “You were with another?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“Laven,” she whispered.
My heart seized. I couldn’t believe I was talking with someone who knew what we were. “I researched your husband. I’m so sorry.”
Sorrow infiltrated her voice. “He was my ultimate gift and my greatest loss.”
“You knew what he was?”
She scoffed a soft sound. “We grew up together. Went to the same school. Knew my whole life he was different. That there was something special about him. He was the shiest, brightest person I’d ever met. He did his best to stay away from me, trying to hide what he was, but I was drawn to him. And soon, there were no secrets between us.”
She hesitated before she continued, “At first, I was terrified to believe him, but I think I’d always known there was a piece of him that wasn’t a part of this place. There was too much of him to be contained by this simple world. Plus, I saw the scars. Held him when he woke up with them.”
My chest clutched, heavy with emotion. Pax placed his hand on my thigh. Warmth streaked through my body.
“He was an artist,” I murmured.
“A brilliant artist. He’d told me he felt compelled to paint. As if he couldn’t keep the images from the places he went while he was asleep contained.”
I guess it’d been the same for me. Why I’d been unable to heed the warnings I’d been given to never speak of it. How I’d shared with my parents, as if the beauty of our sanctuary had to find its way out through me. How I could never keep it from my drawings.
“He was killed?” I hated that I phrased it as a question when I already knew the answer. But I didn’t know a better way to broach the topic.
Hatred and horror surged through the line, and her voice thinned to dismay. “It was hunting him.”
“What was hunting him?” I almost begged it.
“He called it a Ghorl. Stronger than the ones he fought in the night. It wanted him dead.”
Terror fisted in my stomach, and I could feel the apprehension roll through Pax.
There’d been more of them.
“Why?” I asked, scared to give it voice but needing her to give me the confirmation.
“Because he was different from the others. He could do the same work while awake that he could do while asleep, not that I could ever pretend to understand what that really meant. I just knew it made him significant. Special, the way I’d always known he was.”
Oxygen wheezed in and out of my lungs.
“A Valient,” she murmured in awe.
Surprise froze me for a beat before I whispered, “A Valient?”
Her voice dropped. “One with great power gifted by Valeen.”
Gasping, I sat forward. “How do you know this?”
“That new power manifested in him a couple months after he turned thirty-eight. It was just ... there one day. An urge he had to reach out and help people. But as soon as he did, horrible things began to happen. Mugged outside his shop. A drunk driver hitting him in a crosswalk. Attacked at every turn. And he could hear it ... feel that the Ghorl was after him. He sought the knowledge of Valeen, was on his knees both awake and while asleep, seeking an answer. It was whispered upon his soul that he was a Valient—the greatest of Laven and the only ones who possessed the power to extinguish a Ghorl.”
She paused, and I could feel the rush of her pain, her words choked. “He was killed before he was able to destroy the Ghorl. I was devastated, but I also couldn’t sit idle in it. Over the years, I’ve researched everything I possibly could. Read books and articles and letters. There was little to be found, but I believe I discovered mention of several others.”
The name of Abigail Watkins spun through my mind.
I didn’t have time to respond before Maria continued, “Each of them were artists. And each met a questionable demise. You must ensure you don’t succumb to the same. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it? A Valient? I felt some of the same in you as I felt in him.”
A knot grew tight in my throat, and I warred with the truth. “Yes. My power appeared about a week ago. A Ghorl is already hunting me.”
Pax twitched, and I could see the aggression roil beneath the ink on his skin as he leaned toward me, his left hand keeping him steady on the steering wheel and the other gripping the headrest of my seat tight.
I could almost see her reticent nod. “I’m so sorry to hear that. But Valeen gave him hope that he could defeat this, and Charles believed his purpose was possibly even greater than he understood. He didn’t have the time to discover it, but you ... I pray that you do. That you find the strength to end this.”
It felt like I had razors in my throat as I swallowed, and I nodded as if she could see. “I’ll fight with everything I have.”
“I’d offer my assistance, but I doubt I am of much use in this.”
“You’ve been more than helpful. You’ve answered many of my questions.”
She’d been a bolster, an encouragement, but she’d also left me fraught with more questions and fears.
“Well, at least it seems you have someone with you who might also be of help. I wish you both safety. Take care, Aria the Laven. If you ever have need of me again, do not hesitate to call.”
With that, the line went dead, and in an instant, I was in Pax’s arms. The man holding me so tight he was the only thing I could breathe, his heartbeats one with mine.
“I’m so scared, Pax. All the other Laven who were like me were—”
“Don’t say it.” The words raked at the top of my head before he leaned back, set a palm on the side of my face, and his voice went soft. “Don’t say it. Because the same fate will not befall you.”