Aisling stood at the top of the spiral staircase and looked down at the brightly lit gallery. She smiled as she noticed the intrigued looks in the eyes of the patrons.
"You are a hit, Aisling. I knew you would be."
Aisling turned to look at the gallery coordinator behind her. The woman was underdressed for the occasion. Her business-smart pantsuit and the tight burn on her head did not speak of the art world. She looked like she belonged in a legal office.
"Of course, I am a hit, my sweet Nadia. You cannot imagine all I am capable of." Aisling winked. "Painting is a trifling talent."
Nadia laughed. "Of course. I am at an advantage here. Thank you for letting me benefit from your trivial genius."
The other woman looked back to the beautiful gallery. "I am a little nervous."
Nadia's eyes opened in surprise at the words. She had not known Aisling for long, but she did not seem like the kind of person who would say such as thing. She had an overconfident air which could be annoying to those around her.
The thought of the unshakable young woman being nervous was unthinkable.
However, artists were fickle creatures with strange mentalities.
"You look amazing. Everyone is going to love you." Nadia spoke in a measured, soothing tone.
Aisling lifted a brow. "Are you trying to mesmerise me?"
Nadia felt embarrassed. Mesmerising was her go-to skill when she had to deal with anxious and edgy artists who looked like they would bolt from their shows. Their inattention and turbulent minds made them susceptible to her ability, even though her Siren blood was quite weak.
"Sorry, I was trying to calm you." She paused. "Wait, how did you know?"
As far as she knew, she had no distinctive Siren characteristics, and her power was minimal, almost non-existence. Most people assumed that she was among the minuscule percentage of Pure Humans.
Aisling smiled and looked away. "The crowd is getting impatient."
Nadia was startled and looked at the patrons and found they were getting a little restless. She did not spare another thought to the disrupted topic. She walked down the stairs and called the attention of the crowd.
With her soothing siren voice, she introduced Aisling Flynn, the hottest new artist in California.
The applause cued Aisling's glorious descent down the stairs. She did not walk like a nervous woman. Her grace coupled with her ethereal beauty made her look like a queen among commoners. She smiled politely at the excited faces and stood at the centre of the floor.
"We find art, and art finds us." She paused. "Most of you are curious about the meaning of my paintings. So am I."
There was a wave of laughter in the gallery.
"Seeking knowledge on art is a noble pursuit. But we must not get caught up in trivial issues such as the blending of colours, the fineness of the brushstrokes and the quality of the canvas. Instead, let us let the art wash over us. Look with your eyes, but see with your soul, not your mind."
There was thunderous applause from the crowd. Most of them were art collectors and enthusiasts who were curious about the new artists who had the privilege of having a solo show in the most exclusive gallery on the entire West Coast.
But they had to admit, she was something special.
"Please keep enjoying yourself. If you have a question for Ms Flynn, please let me know." Nadia spoke quickly because she was afraid that they would surround Aisling.
Most of the people went to have a second look at the paintings after being inspired by Aisling's words.
But as expected, there were some uncouth people in the gallery.
Jim Smith was well-known in the art collection circles because he was never shy about investing in paintings. He would buy them, hold them for a while and sell at an exorbitant price. He was not a gifted critic, but he employed the best to assess the potential value of art pieces.
Where his eye lacked in art assessment, he made it up by targeting beautiful young artists. He was known for choosing guileless artists, having his fun and ditching them when things got boring or a new, prettier artist came along.
Without wasting time, he approached Aisling.
"Ms Flynn, you are a truly beautiful creature." He smiled with a hint of greed in his eyes. "Let me guess, you are some type of faerie. You know, I am related."
Nadia wanted to come and rescue Aisling from the vile man, but the artist shook her head subtly.
Jim continued talking. "I am a goblin. We got a bad rep, but some of us are stand-up guys. A few flies ruining the entire pot."
"Is that so?" Aisling asked with a small smile.
"I sponsor a lot of artists. I see your talents. We should spend the evening and talk about your future in the art circle." A sharp gleam appeared in his eyes. "Rising in this city is hard, but one can fall with a single word."
The threat was obvious.
Aisling's face did not change. "Is that so?"
Jim felt that the woman was too proud. Her austere face reminded her of the elfish cheerleader who had laughed at him when he had asked her to senior prom.
"A powerless person should never be too arrogant, Ms Flynn." He was sure that she did not have a powerful background.
"You are absolutely right, Mr Smith. How about we discuss my talents by looking at my favourite painting?" Aisling asked.
Jim Smith felt smug. He did not even think to question how she knew his name. He knew she would give in. They always did once they understood his power.
The two people walked to one of the nearby paintings. Aisling looked at it with a hint of strangeness in her eyes. If one looked at the piece with a superficial eye, it looked like a well-drawn road going nowhere.
"I named this piece 'Road to Paradise'. Very apt, don't you think?"
Jim Smith had never understood art. He had stumbled upon art collection as a career and without knowing, he had become a rich man.
Still, he looked at the painting. He would indulge her this time. He stared at the drawing and saw a road. He was about to make up some superficial jibber-jabber when he noticed a shadowy figure at the end of the road.
He looked closer at the dark figure which seemed to be swaying in the wind. Before he knew it, his mind was blank, and he was inside the painting. The dark figure materialised before him. It was a young woman with dark hair and a deathly pale face.
The woman reached for him, and her hands clutched around his throat. They pressed and pressed, cutting off his air supply. Bloodshot eyes looked at him, and streaks of red flowed down her white cheeks.
"You killed me. You killed me." She screamed, and the voice echoed.
In his mind, Jim Smith shouted. 'I did not kill you. I gave you a chance, and you refused. I am innocent. I am innocent'
He tried opening his mouth, but only choked sounds came out.
He remembered the ghostly girl. She had been a talented new artist from Connecticut. He had offered to 'sponsor' her, and she had refused. He had taken everything from her so that she would come willingly to him. But she had been stubborn and would not compromise.
The last he had heard; she had died from a lung infection after staying on the streets for a few days.
When he thought he would die, he was snapped out of the reverie. The shock made him fall to the ground on his fat bottom. He coughed as he tried to get rid of the choked out feeling and the image of the ghost.
Everyone looked at him with a mixture of laughter and disgust. He had been making weird sounds while looking at the painting and then fallen like an unstable drum.
The elegant Aisling looked down at him with a cold smile. "What do you think of my talent, Mr Smith?"