Color Weaver Read Online Free PDF Page A

studio. And Sampson’s great body lay sprawled at her feet. The dog hadn’t left her side since she returned home.
    She remembered something and picked up the phone. On the second ring a secretary at the Grayson orphanage answered. Summer asked for Lena, a caseworker, and canceled the kids’ art lesson she had scheduled tomorrow. Lena was disappointed. She said the kids looked forward to getting out of the city and into the country and their lessons. Summer said she would miss them, too. Guilt stabbed her, but she couldn’t put them in danger by allowing them anywhere near her. And the yellow crime-scene tape was still outside the window. She knew they would ask questions that she couldn’t answer.
    She hung up and sat at her easel. Meikoda’s words came back to her, Since you are tied to the wendigo through your magic, only you can wipe it from your life for good . An idea popped into Summer’s mind. It might just work, but could it be that simple? She braced herself, picked up the charcoal pencil and sketched a picture of herself ramming a sword through the wendigo’s heart.
    She worked from her mind’s eye. She’d never seen the wendigo clearly, only those burning red eyes, but somehow her subconscious knew exactly what it looked like. With each fluid stroke of the charcoal, the violence of the image not only took shape on the paper but also inside her. The creative juices within her swirled with energy, and she let that power transfer to her fingers and the charcoal pencil.
    In seconds the image took shape. The creature rearing back as she plunged the blade in. Right before she drew the final point of the sword, she heard…
    Screeeeeech!
    Fear froze her blood. She couldn’t breathe.
    The wendigo stood at the window, red, flaming eyes gleaming, its clawed fleshless fingers scraping the glass.
    Oh, God!
    Sampson leaped to his feet. He yipped as if someone had kicked him, then he backed out of the studio, tail and ears tucked. The cats had already disappeared.
    “Leave me alone!” She felt herself caught in a battle of wills. She couldn’t move the fingers holding the charcoal. Her hand began to burn.
    The wendigo’s power fought her own will.
    A crushing sensation, like her fingers were caught in a vice, made her cry out. Pain shot up her arm. Her hand trembled as she fought to break free. The pencil began to move. She physically could not control her movements; the wendigo had complete control. Below her drawing, two triangles emerged, one directly opposite the other, their apexes connected by one line in the center. The pencil kept going over and over the lines, the pressure almost crushing her hand. Finally, the charcoal tumbled from her fingers.
    “Noooooo!” she cried.
    The wendigo’s eyes glowed brighter as if it were annoyed, then it swept past the window.
    Summer caught the profile of its body. Bones. Nothing but bones. Long flowing white hair. Jutting jaw and fangs.
    When she could move again, she forced herself to breathe. Adrenaline made her feel as if she’d climbed to the top of Mount Everest. Her heart throbbed in her chest. She stretched her fingers. They weren’t broken, but they ached and were already turning blue from bruising.
    So much for drawing the demise of the wendigo.
    Tears stung her eyes and she banged her head against the easel Reese had made her. She’d never be rid of the wendigo. Never.
    She held on to the easel to keep from falling off her stool. Then her gaze landed on what the wendigo had forced her to draw. It was the female symbol in her tribe. The image was on their sacred pottery and beaded into their ceremonial robes and headdresses. Why had the creature made her draw the symbol? Why? She heard Meikoda’s words again. If you face your fear and communicate with it, you may discover why it has returned. I believe there is more involved than just evil intentions. What did it want? The thought of getting close enough to communicate with the creature terrified her to