Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mr. Riley. My face burned bright red; I hadn’t expected him to meet up so soon or perhaps I had been lost in that daydream longer than I had known. He gave me a gentle smile, as he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels still staring at the portrait. For a moment, he looked like he was a younger man, but I supposed it was due to him moving with such ease, or perhaps it was the boy-like smile on his face.
    “I actually saw him the other day,” I confessed, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, looking at him sheepishly.
    He smiled. “So your grandfather never told you anything about Brendelon,” he looked at the picture almost as captivated as I had felt, “and yet here you are,” he added quietly, glancing down at me with the smile tugging on his lips again. “The first time he visited my museum he was drawn to this portrait too…” He nodded his head, keeping his eyes on the portrait.
    “Really?” I asked, scrunching my eyebrows, intrigued.
    “Yes, that was how we met actually. He had come to see the medieval exhibit, as he was very interested in the time period as well. He saw the picture and demanded to see me .” He chuckled at the memory. “Sure, we had a few heated debates on our different views, but we became friends ever since.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that was only a decade ago.”
    I smiled. “H e never told me that story.” It made me miss him, so I decided to change the subject. “Why is the portrait over here instead of with the other artifacts?”
    He tilted his head, s crunching his eyebrows together. “Well, about seven years back I was going to sell it to a buyer in Colorado, but the deal fell through last minute; the whole thing was rather bizarre. I guess I never moved it back to its proper place.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It seems safer away from the other relics,” he added strangely.
    He was hiding something , and I was itching to reveal it. “So you never said how he died…” I started.
    His eyes twinkled, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket to point at me. “I never said he died .”
    “You mean Morgaina didn’t kill him?”
    “No, she didn’t kill him, although she might as well have.”
    “Well , surely he died at some point. Where did he go? What happened to him?” I pulled down on my black tank top. I was getting frustrated with Mr. Riley’s enigmas.
    He didn’t answer and instead con tinued to stare at the portrait, looking almost as swept away by the fantasy as I was, intrigued by the beauty of this man. I looked up at it too. “I can’t believe the quality of this painting,” I said, trying for a different approach, “especially coming from the medieval era.” In all truth it was breathtaking; I had never seen a painting look so lifelike.
    Finally , he glanced down at me; he cocked his head to the side, and his light blue eyes lit up with secrets again. “Perhaps that’s because it’s not a painting…”
    “Not a painting?” I didn’t understand. It did look too good to be a painting; it was bright, vibrant, and full of life. So detailed that it looked more like a picture than a painting , but obviously they didn’t have cameras back then.
    “It was believed that Morgaina used black magic to trap Brendelon into an endless moment,” he finally continued, “but black magic onl y works on what is already dark; it cannot penetrate the good. The power of the Lord will always prevail over the dark demons, for those who choose to accept it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Brendelon was arrogant, prideful, selfish, and even cruel in some stories...” He pointed to the inscription of the frame, “but had a face so beautiful it belonged in a painting…”
    Oh my . It hit me. Those eyes: terrifying and unforgiving, and that prideful arrogant smile…
    “He’s in the picture,” I choked out.
    Mr. Riley smiled. “Clever girl.”
    My eyes widened in shock , and my mouth hung open.