Amber Silverblood: Rogue Wolf

Chapter Thirty Seven

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Chapter Thirty Seven

"Hmm," said Dex appreciatively. "Interesting technique. You clearly studied the likes of Ortho Cambhutar and Elijah Hess, am I right?"

"Er, um, yes!" the artist agreed, bobbing his head up and down energetically. He looked like a cross between a neckbearded geek who thought friend was a word invented by Facebook and an oily car salesman who was trying to convince us an old covered wagon was a lightly used Corvette. "I've always been inspired by their work! Hearing you compare me to them is—"

"And your use of color is, if you'll excuse me for being overdramatic, simply outstanding! The way they refuse to cooperate. Bold! The yellow on top of the brown! And, oh, that lovely pink background. Bold, sir! Miss Pace, what do you make of it?"

Dex turned to give me a thoughtful look, stroking the stubble on his chin. We were at the fancy art show that he had mentioned, but it had only taken me a minute to realize that fancy wasn't the right word for it. Garbage would have described it better. Everything here had been made by the guy rubbing his hands greedily next to us, a creepy little man who insisted he was named Antoine Le Merde. Tonight, he was trying to pawn it all off on gullible suckers.

A role that Dex and I were only too happy to play.

The messy painting, if it even deserved to be called that, looked like Le Merde had gargled paint in all the colors that poop could come in, and then spat it out on the canvas. There were no discernable patterns, no color scheme that I could detect, and obviously no thought behind any of it. Still, I made myself look intrigued. I stepped forward, looked at it from the right, then the left. I made a frame with my fingers and squinted at it, humming in my throat.

Then I laid down on my back and looked at it upside down.

"Aha!" I declared, pointing excitedly. "Mr. Lagans, take a look at it from this angle!"

Dex—or "Mr. Lagans" as we'd decided to call him tonight—joined me on the floor, beneath the obviously confused but still hopeful Le Merde. As soon as he was lying beside me, his face lit up with an awestruck smile.

"By God!" he whispered. "You were right! From down here, it looks...why, it looks just like..."

"You see it too?" I asked.

"Of course I do! Marvelous! A daring new style!"

"What do you see?" Le Merde practically squealed.

"Mr. Le Merde," Dex said without getting up, "we have traveled all over the world to see the greatest works of art by the greatest of artists, both alive and dead. But let me tell you, my friend, that it is rare for even people like us to see a work of...no, a divine creation of such skill, imagination, and bravery!"

Le Merde waved nonchalantly, but I could see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, I assure you! One of my worst works, in fact!"

I highly doubt that, I thought.

"But if you'll come with me, I'll show you something truly amazing!"

He walked away—and then came back when he realized we hadn't moved from our spots on the floor.

"No, no, that's all right," Dex said, folding his hands behind his head. "We'd appreciate the chance to take in the majesty of this one for a while longer."

"O- Oh! Yes, of course! Take all the time you need!"

"And now," Dex whispered so that Le Merde couldn't hear, "we wait."