Blue eyes and crimson blood


Photo via Visualhunt

Helene bent backwards, stretching her spine. She put the brush down and shook out her hands. She’d been working on the portrait of her client’s daughter for the past three days and she needed a break, mostly to get away from the blue.

There was so much blue in this painting. Sabrina Jones was a blond haired, blue eyed, angel faced child with doting parents and a love of the color blue. In the photo Helene was turning into the painting, Sabrina was wearing a pale blue dress with darker blue flowers on it and bright blue ribbons in her hair. She’d even been wearing a pair of earrings that Helene suspected were actual sapphires, given just how wealthy the Joneses were.

The wiry artist made her way to her favorite chair and sat down. She picked up her glass of tea and took a few swallows. She’d long ago learned iced tea, or other cold drinks, were her best bet for when she got into the “zone.” Hot drinks got ignored until they were tepid at best, and often had to be reheated. As Helene no longer had a working microwave, she went with cold drinks to save the headache.

She took another sip of her tea before closing her eyes. Sabrina’s portrait was waiting for her, but she didn’t know if she could look at more blue that day. The little girl’s blue eyes were chilling when you saw them in person, though they looked perfectly normal in the photo. While her parents haggled on the price of the portrait, Helene had watched Sabrina wander around, looking for something to steal. The young empathic artist was able to read the preteen girl far better than her parents. Sabrina wasn’t able to find whatever she was looking for, and had left very disgruntled.

Helene glanced at the predominately blue painting again and sighed. She put the tea down and stood up. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could have the family out of her life. As she started across the room, someone pounded on her door.

Helene lowered her shields slightly and tried to test the mental state of whoever was out in the hall. There was a sense of emptiness behind her door, but a little farther down the hall was the raw emotional turmoil Helene tended to equate to a young mind.

Helene shook her head. She opened the door just enough so her voice would be heard. “You might as well come out, Sabrina. I know you’re there.”

The blue eyed girl, now more of a demon than an angel, came into plain view. “You shouldn’t have known I was here,” she said, petulance in every inch of her petite frame. “I was hiding. No one can hear thoughts if the other person isn’t in the line of sight.”

“Who told you that?” Helene asked. She reached over to a small shrine next to her door and set a small rune in the center of it before opening the door all the way. “Thoughts are easy enough to hear if the person is broadcasting them no matter where they are. And you, my dear, are broadcasting on every level possible.”

Sabrina scowled. There was blood spatter on her normally pristine school blouse and the navy wool of her skirt was saturated with the sticky crimson liquid. “My mother told me I was too powerful to be heard that way. She said no one would ever know.”

“Obviously she never met another psionic,” Helene said. “So, what made you decide to kill them?”

Sabrina tossed her hair back, sneering. “You wouldn’t understand. You, with your pretty colors and your broken furniture, couldn’t comprehend it even if I explained it in small words.”

Helene snorted. “My guess is your parents told you no when they usually told you yes, your mother stopped you from using your gift to control them, and in the end you lost it and slaughtered them. I’d say you used one of your dad’s guns to do it. You probably did your mother first so she couldn’t stop you from killing your dad. Then when he ran in to see what was going on, you shot him too.”

Sabrina’s jaw dropped. “You can’t have known that unless you were watching me. Is that why my mother gave you that stupid school portrait of me? Because she wanted you to spy on me?”

“No. I’m an artist. I paint portraits. I just happen to also be able to hear thoughts and sense emotions,” Helene said.

Sabrina stomped her foot. “You’re lying,” she screamed. She drew a gun and aimed it at Helene. “Now I’ll have to find someone else to blame the murders on.” She pulled the trigger.

The gun didn’t go off. In fact, from what Helene could tell, the trigger itself didn’t even move. Sabrina shrieked and pulled hard on the gun. Suddenly she went rigid, eyes wide with a mixture of rage and fear. Elric materialized behind her. His soldiers took the more mundane option of coming up the stairs.

“She’s rather precocious, isn’t she?” Elric said, his lightly accented voice full of amusement.

“I’d say blame her mother, but since she’s dead there’s no real reason for it,” Helene said. One of Elric’s soldiers took the gun from Sabrina. Elric used his power to force Sabrina into a wheelchair, where she was strapped down and taken away. “She’s going to start screaming as soon as she’s out of your sight.”

“I brought my son,” Elric said.

“Ah.” Helene shook her head. “Spoiled, moderately gifted, and convinced she can do and say as she pleases without consequence.”

“This is what, your fourth this month?” Elric asked.

“Sixth, but you missed the other two. The humans took them down,” Helene said. Elric shook his head. He slipped into the shadows and vanished while his men took the stairs. Helene shut her door. She went over to the painting. She decided it was sufficiently far enough along she could deal with the cops when they arrived to question her, and returned to her tea. She picked up a book on psychic phenomena and resumed reading where she’d left off when the Joneses first arrived earlier that day.




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